Читать книгу Marriage of Inconvenience - Cheryl Bolen - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Though Maggie had repeatedly instructed her on how to gracefully descend the stairs, Rebecca knew that no amount of coaching could render her as elegant as her sister now gliding down the stairs two steps ahead of her. For one reason, Rebecca kept forgetting she was to pretend a book was balancing on her head. It would have been an altogether different thing were she permitted to descend the stairs actually reading a book. That was an art she had positively mastered. Until Maggie forbade it, that is.

As she followed Maggie and Warwick down the stairs, she made her prosaic announcement. “This will be my last ball.”

Maggie sputtered to a stop, turned and leveled her sternest glare at her sister. “Pray, why do you say that?”

“Since we’ve been in England I’ve given far too much of my life to the Great Husband Hunt—save for the six months I spent cataloging the library at Windmere Abbey—and I’ve decided I’m of the age to know my own mind.” She stopped for a moment. “That mind assures me that of all the things on earth, I detest balls most.”

“Since you’ve decided you actually do wish to marry, you must attend balls in order to find a mate.”

Rebecca shrugged. Why had she confessed to Maggie about her ill-fated visit to Lord Aynsley’s? Now, she would never hear the end of it. “I daresay my desire to wed must not be acute.”

Before taking their place in the receiving line at the foot of the stairs, Lord and Lady Warwick exchanged amused glances. Rebecca was growing tired of being the butt of those escalating amused glances.

She joined her friend Trevor Simpson to chat with Lord and Lady Agar for a few moments, then mounted the stairs with him to the third-floor ballroom where the orchestra had begun to play.

Though she found dancing as tediously irksome as getting her hair dressed, she rather enjoyed standing up with Mr. Simpson. He was so fluid a dancer he made her feel as if she tiptoed across clouds.

It was while she was performing a quadrille with Mr. Simpson that she caught sight of Lord Aynsley staring at her. Because he stood a bit taller than the average man, she could see him even though he was on the opposite side of the room.

Despite her annoyance with the earl, her gaze kept flitting back to him as she and Mr. Simpson glided around the dance floor. His lordship looked rather handsome in his black coat, gray silk waistcoat and black breeches. Though he was not a particularly large man and his leanness lacked ruggedness, she thought he emanated more power than any man she had ever seen as he stood alone watching her. Supreme confidence. That was what Lord Aynsley emanated. In great quantity.

When his gaze met hers and held, she quickly looked away. Her heartbeat began to drum madly, and she could feel the heat staining her cheeks. Twice now, the odious man was responsible for making her blush. A most distressing occurrence, to be sure! Then she recalled his tender farewell in the morning room the previous day. Perhaps he wasn’t that odious.

What in the world was he doing here? His previous reclusiveness had assured her she would not have to suffer the man’s company ever again.

As soon as the dance was finished, she begged Mr. Simpson to whisk her away for refreshments. From the corner of her eye, she could see that the earl continued to watch her, and she wanted nothing so keenly as to be invisible. But she would settle for finding a chamber where she could seek refuge from his lordship’s prying eyes. She reversed positions with Trevor Simpson to shield herself from Lord Aynsley’s view. A pity her companion was not possessed of broader shoulders.

“You really wish for refreshments so soon?” a puzzled Mr. Simpson asked.

“I assure you I am positively dying of thirst.”

As she and Mr. Simpson reached the west doorway to the ballroom, Lord Aynsley greeted her. “Good evening, Miss Peabody. How good it is to see you again.”

A surprised look on his face, Trevor looked from her to Lord Aynsley.

Merely nodding, her eyes fixed on Trevor’s diamond studs, her limbs trembling, she refused to meet his lordship’s gaze.

The orchestra began to play a waltz.

“I beg that you do me the goodness to stand up with me, Miss Peabody,” Lord Aynsley said. “I came here expressly to see you.”

She was still hiding behind Trevor, who had the audacity to smirk, then beg to take his leave.

With no Trevor to shield her, she could not have felt more vulnerable had she stood barefoot in her shift in front of Lord Aynsley. She wished to decline. She wished to run to her bedchamber. She wished to never see Lord Aynsley again for as long as she lived. But the good manners Maggie had instilled in her prevailed. Lifting her gaze to his, she nodded and placed her hand in his.

When they reached the crowded dance floor and his hand fitted to her waist, she sincerely hoped he did not detect the tremor that rumbled through her body.

That his dance movements were flawless surprised her. How could he be so fine a dancer when the man never attended balls? Obviously she was not the only person surprised that Lord Aynsley knew how to dance. If she was not mistaken, every eye in the ballroom was on him.

So much for her plan to be uncivil to him. Maggie would most definitely hear of it and become livid. “You, my lord, are the last person I would have expected to see here tonight,” she finally said. At least Maggie could not accuse her of being rude to his lordship. Against her own better judgment, Rebecca was actually speaking to the odious man.

“Why do you say that, Miss Peabody?”

“Your distaste for social gatherings is rather well known.” Is that one of the reasons she had selected him for her potential husband?

“It wasn’t always that way, you know.”

“Yes, I have surmised as much, owing to your competence at dancing.”

“I thank you for the compliment.”

“I did not compliment you.”

“But you said my dancing was competent. Is that not a compliment?”

“I do not wish to compliment you. I do not understand why you’ve come tonight. I do not even want to be dancing with you! Is it your desire to humiliate me that’s brought you here?”

His dance step slowed, and he looked down at her, his jaw clenched with concern. He squeezed her hand. “Never that. How could I when you’ve so singularly honored me?”

Odious man! “If you were possessed of decent manners, you would not mention so embarrassing a topic.”

He chuckled. And held her a bit tighter as swirling couples in rustling silks waltzed around them.

She looked up into his amused face. He was tall enough to have rested his chin on the top of her head. “You have not answered me, my lord. Why have you come tonight?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m here because I wish to know you better, Miss Peabody.”

“You, my lord, know all you need to know—and obviously dislike what you know.”

“Forgive me if I’ve given that impression.” He paused, a contrite expression on his serious face. “Perhaps I wish to know if you are, indeed, as mature as you assure me you are.”

Good heavens! Was he actually contemplating the offer she had made him more than two weeks previously? In that instant, an odd sense of well-being exploded inside her. She was suddenly incapable of responding. If ever she needed to converse in a mature, intelligent manner, it was at this moment. And for the first time in her life, Miss Rebecca Peabody was speechless.

Also for the first time in her life, Rebecca Peabody wished she had no need for her spectacles. She wondered if Lord Aynsley would find her becoming in the peach-colored dress. Had Pru arranged her hair in a flattering fashion?

When the orchestra stopped playing and she found herself being escorted from the dance floor by Lord Aynsley, she was still moritfyingly mute. Even when he failed to relinquish her arm and led her down two flights of stairs and along the marble entry hall to Lord Warwick’s library, she could not find her tongue.

Lord Aynsley led her into the library, a room that was lit only by a single taper in a wall sconce and the fire blazing in the hearth. He closed the door behind him and solemnly gazed into her eyes. “I wish to take this opportunity to get to know you better, Miss Peabody.” Then he walked to the hearth. “Do you not find the room cold? I beg that you join me.”

* * *

It was a moment before she joined him, and in that moment he took the opportunity to study her. She looked far too fetching in that gown that duplicated the color in her cheeks. The girl was possessed of the creamiest complexion, which was a perfect setting for those deep brown eyes of hers. She was really quite lovely—even in her spectacles.

“So you wish to determine if I’m truly mature?” she asked.

He peered down at her. “I do.”

“The only way to do that is to converse.”

“I agree.”

“Then, my lord, I would like you to explain something to me. I’ve a keen interest in politics and I keep up with Parliament the best I can, but I’ve been unable to determine if you align yourself with the Tories or the Whigs. You must own, you seem to embrace both factions.”

Could there be another young lady in the kingdom who had such knowledge of Parliament’s activities? He would vow many of his colleagues in the House of Lords had been unaware that he played one side against the other in order to achieve his goals. A smile broke across his face. “You’re very astute, Miss Peabody. I’ve found that to accomplish what I wish to accomplish I must not alienate either faction. It’s my intent to make both sides think I’m with them.”

“Pray, my lord,” she asked, gazing up at him with those mesmerizing eyes, “what is it you wish to accomplish?”

“Reform.” He had never told this to another person before. “I must ask that you tell no one I’m a reformer. Such knowledge would dilute my effectiveness in Parliament.”

Her eyes began to dance. “Yes, I can see that it would.”

Not many young women, he would vow, understood so well the compromises that were the backbone of politics.

“I suppose that’s one of the reasons I wished to marry,” she said.

“You’ve lost me. What was one of the reasons you wished to marry me?”

She scowled at him. “Really, my lord, must you allude to the humiliating act that reacquainted us?”

How ungallant of him to refer to the offer she had so brazenly made. “Forgive me, but please do explain one of those reasons for wishing to be wed.”

“The reforms,” she said.

Excitement began to course through him, but he could not allow her to know he had unmasked her pseudonym. “Yes? What reforms would that be?” He tried to sound casual.

“All the reforms, actually. As long as I live in Lord Warwick’s house, I can’t very well promulgate reforms against the very government he serves, but that is exactly what I wish to do. Unfortunately, I’m totally dependent on Lord Warwick, owing to the fact I’ve no money of my own.” She stopped abruptly and peered up at him. “So I must marry in order to gain my independence. The pity of it is, I have no dowry.”

There was not a morsel of doubt in his mind that Rebecca Peabody was indeed P. Corpus. A smile tweaked at the corners of his mouth. “Your lack of a dowry shouldn’t matter to a man of means.”

“Do you mean a man of means like you?” she asked, her voice squeaking, her lashes lifting as she innocently gazed into his eyes.

She reminded him of a frightened puppy as she looked up at him with those big eyes of hers.

He patted her hand. “I am a man of means, though I’m not in the market for a wife.”

As they stood in front of the fire, her gaze fanned across the chamber, stopping at a large bookcase some ten feet away, its gilded leather volumes bathed in the fire’s buttery glow. “Are you aware that I cataloged Lord Agar’s entire library at Windmere Abbey?”

Miss Peabody obviously wished to acquaint him with her organizational skills. “Actually I am. Warwick told me.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Please say that you did not reveal to Warwick that I asked you to... I won’t discuss what I asked you to do.”

He could not help himself. He laughed. “I beg your forgiveness if I’ve upset you by telling Warwick, but is the man not as a guardian to you?”

Her eyes grew even larger. “Pray, my lord, what did you discuss with Warwick?”

“I asked him if you could possibly be possessed of more maturity than you have heretofore demonstrated to me.”

“And how did his lordship answer?”

“He assured me you were most mature as well as wonderful with children.” He must not give her false hope. “Were I interested in marriage, I should desire a wife who was attracted to me, and I know you are not.”

That curtain that concealed her emotions dropped over her delicate face.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. The only sounds merging into the deep silence were the muffled laughter in the hallways beyond the library door and the sputtering fire before them.

“I cannot lie,” she finally said, “and say I have romantic designs on you.”

“Since you’ve never had romantic designs on any man?”

The firelight reflected off her spectacles as she nodded.

“It won’t always be that way, you know,” he said. “As a man and woman—or husband and wife—grow close to one another, intimacy is as natural as breathing.”

“I do understand that,” she said, her voice soft and devoid of embarrassment. “I read my Bible. A man shall leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.” She peered into his eyes. “I’ve seen it with my sister and Warwick and with Lord and Lady Agar. Both couples are deeply in love.”

The curtain went back up over the softened features of her face, and she changed the subject. Without looking at him, she spoke. “Will you answer a question, my lord?”

“Anything.”

“Are you considering marriage with me?”

Being coy was as alien to this young woman as frugality was to the regent.

He had not admitted to anyone—not even to himself—that he was considering marriage to Miss Rebecca Peabody. But she knew. Could she know him better than he knew himself? “I’m considering it,” he said with great honesty. “I must tell you, though, that a marriage without mutual affection and intimacy holds no appeal to me.”

It was a moment before she made a response. “Would you consider marrying me if I promised to be open to that at some time in the future? After a deep bond of friendship had the opportunity to form?”

He felt his chest expanding. Though he’d had no intentions of begging for her hand, such an idea now held appeal. “I would consider it, but I must first tell you some things that might change your mind about wishing to marry me.”

Her brows lowered. “What things?”

“You know I have six sons?”

She nodded. “What are their ages?”

“They range in age from three to nineteen.”

“I assure you I love little boys. In fact, I like them much more than I like girls—owing to the fact they’re all I’ve ever been around.”

Would she still feel that way once she became acquainted with his rambunctious sons? “My sons are really

good lads, but they’re always into mischief. They’ve run off more nurses, governesses and housekeepers than I can count.”

“How do they run them off, my lord?”

He frowned. “The last one left after she found worms in her garment drawer.”

Miss Peabody giggled. “The woman should have locked her chamber door.”

“My sons should not have gone into her room,” he said in a stern voice.

“Were I their mother, I would have to be a firm disciplinarian.”

“Exactly what they need.”

“And I adore worms.”

He burst out laughing. At that very instant he wished to ask her to marry him. Because of the worms. But he couldn’t offer for her until she knew the obstacles that would face her should she become his wife. “In addition to my seven children, I’m also responsible for two other people. I’m guardian to my sister’s son, a wastrel named Peter Wallace who is two and twenty, and I’m responsible for my daft uncle who’s been banished to the dowager’s house.”

Her brows lowered. “Pray, my lord, why did you banish your uncle?”

Aynsley really did not want to tell her. “He has a peculiar habit that is most offensive, especially to females.”

“What habit is that, my lord?”

He swallowed. “He believes he’s a kissing bandit.”

“Do I understand you correctly? He tries to steal kisses from females?”

He nodded ruefully.

She did not say anything for a moment. Then she said, “I sincerely hope his peculiar propensity does not run in your family, my lord.”

He laughed. “I assure you, Miss Peabody, I do not accost women for the purpose of stealing kisses.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.” Her lips pursed, she shook her head. “Has your uncle always done this peculiar thing?”

“No. That did not commence until his eighty-fifth birthday.”

“Oh, I see. His senses are in the same place with his head of dark hair and unlined skin?”

“Regrettably.”

“And now that he’s banished, I suppose he lacks the mobility to bother the females at Dunton Hall?”

“Usually. But he occasionally chases them about the park in his bath chair.”

“The poor old dear.”

“You would not say that were he leaping at you with pursed lips and groping arms.”

“No. I daresay I wouldn’t.” Now she met his gaze. “Is there anything more, my lord? Any skeletons in your closet?”

His gut plummeted. “Yes.” He swallowed.

Her eyes rounded. “Pray, my lord, what odious offense have you committed?”

“I have turned my back on God.”

She did not say anything at all for a full moment. “There is nothing I can do to remedy so great a loss,” she said at last. “Only you can open your soul to receive the Holy Spirit’s grace.”

“I don’t even know if I believe anymore.”

“Then I am very sorry for you.”

They stood there, illuminated by the fire, its heat rushing over them as tensions mounted. Finally, she spoke. “What of your children?”

“They do not attend church, either.”

“I see.” She nibbled at her lower lip. “Would you object if...if the woman you marry encourages your children to embrace God?”

“I would not object.”

Silence filled the room like a heart that no longer beat. For a man as proud as he, it had been difficult not only to have laid before her his faults and his family’s foibles but also to beg her understanding, even her acceptance. That she still stood there querying him bespoke her compassion, a compassion he’d known she possessed in great store.

He had a strong wish to marry this woman and bring her back to Dunton Hall. How could a woman who liked worms not be perfect for his boys? Miss Peabody now knew the worst about him. Would she still consider plighting her life to his?

There was only one way to find out. He must ask her.