Читать книгу Historical Romance March 2017 Book 1-4 - Louise Allen - Страница 26

Chapter Sixteen

I love Sara? No, impossible. Love, from what he had heard of it, involved a great deal of mooning about sighing, the urge to write poetry to the lady’s eyebrows and an inability to focus on anything but the beloved object and her perfections.

There was nothing, from what he had ever heard, about brooding on the beloved object’s imperfections and she certainly had those. Sara was independent to a fault, argumentative, worryingly apt to produce weapons when thwarted and had no hesitation in telling him that she disagreed with him on the subject of masculine honour and a man’s responsibilities to his womenfolk.

And she had made a love match before, had felt her husband had been a friend. Lucian scrubbed his back and tried to fit that kind of relationship into his model of a ton marriage. It did not fit, however much he twisted and turned it.

So why did he want to marry her? Because he desired her? But they were already lovers. Because she was so good to Marguerite? But they could remain friends whether sisters-in-law or not.

He slid right under the water and came up again with a sudden flash of insight. He felt alive when he was with Sara in a way he did in no other company, or his own, come to that. She made him feel happy.

Lucian climbed out of the bath and began to towel his back, then, swathed toga-style in a pair of large bath sheets, strolled into the bedchamber to find Charles laying out evening wear.

‘What do you think about happiness, Charles?’

‘My lord?’ The young man eyed him warily. Nobs were obviously not expected to come out with questions like that, but he answered readily enough. ‘I’m all for it, my lord.’

‘So what makes you happy, Charles? Not just cheerful for the moment, but happy.’

Charles pondered while he smoothed out a shirt. ‘Having a good place, like this, where they’re fair and there’s opportunities. And being with my girl.’ He shot Lucian a sideways glance, obviously assessing his views of staff ‘walking out’. ‘If I make second footman then we could get married, because she’s head dairymaid now and I reckon her ladyship will let us have one of the little sets of rooms over the dairy. Anyway, I’m happy when I’m with Miriam. And going home to see my old mum and her being proud of me, like she is. Plain black silk stockings, my lord? Or the ones with the stripe in them?’

‘Oh, striped, I think. Let us be frivolous today, Charles.’

* * *

Sara was in the drawing room before dinner, in the midst of a group of the younger guests, when Lucian came down looking immaculate and not at all like a man who had been pitched into a muddy lake. He took a chair opposite her and smiled when the other men chaffed him about his misadventure.

‘Most inelegant, I know. The word will get around town and I’ll be cut by all the swells,’ he said easily. ‘I trust you not to spread the word, gentlemen, or I’ll be lampooned in the press as the Marquess of Duckweed.’

‘You’re a good sport to take it like that, Cannock,’ Lord Tothill remarked. ‘Me, I would have been contemplating putting an end to my existence.’

‘Oh, I was utterly cast down for a while,’ Lucian agreed. ‘Actually fingering the edge of my razor. But then I had a most uplifting conversation about happiness with my temporary valet, a young man named Charles, and now I am positively cheerful about the whole thing. After all, I have the satisfaction of making you gentlemen all feel superior, of entertaining the ladies and of having the opportunity of holding Lady Sara in my arms for minutes on end.’

‘That, naturally, is worth any amount of pondweed,’ Philip Greaves agreed, with a gallant bow to Sara.

When the laughter died down she studied Lucian, trying to decide what was different about him this evening. He seemed far more relaxed, she realised, which was strange considering he had proposed and been turned down and had ended up in the lake.

‘What did Charles say about happiness?’ she asked.

‘That for him it is being in a position where he feels he can do well and advance, he is making his old mum proud of him and he has a young woman he hopes to marry. It made me think and it seems to me that is not a bad definition—be doing something we enjoy to the best of our ability, make those whose opinion we value proud of us and have the prospect of a happy marriage before us.’

‘I think that is truly inspiring, Lord Cannock,’ Miss Eversleigh, the most sensible of the young ladies, said. ‘I shall write that in my commonplace book so I do not forget it.’

‘Sounds a bit serious to me.’ Johnny, her brother, pulled a face. ‘What about fun, I’d like to know?’

‘Nothing wrong with adding champagne, race horses, a good hand of cards and a dance with a pretty girl to the recipe,’ Lucian said and the other men laughed.

‘Are you looking for that special young lady yourself, Lord Cannock?’ Miss Hopely, definitely not one of the more sensible girls, enquired with a flutter of long lashes.

‘What single gentleman with any sense is not, Miss Hopely?’ Lucian countered.

‘And what young lady is not looking for a handsome gentleman with some sense?’ Marguerite came up and perched on the arm of Lucian’s chair. ‘It works both ways, brother dear. And I am come to scold you for overworking poor Mr Farnsworth. You must remember he has only one eye now. I have been helping him sort those dreadfully dull estate papers you have heaped on him.’

‘That is very thoughtful of you,’ Lucian said absently. Sara thought she caught just the flicker of an eyelid in her direction. ‘But there is a great deal I need him to do.’

Marguerite pouted in a most convincing manner and Sara got up and went to find Porrett, the butler. ‘Can you place Mr Farnsworth next to Lady Marguerite tonight please, Porrett?’

‘That is just as her ladyship made out the seating plan, Lady Sara. It did not appear to accord with precedence, but her ladyship said that she would like to create an informal atmosphere.’

‘Excellent.’ The plan was working out perfectly. By the end of the week Gregory and Marguerite would appear inseparable, Lucian, in this strangely mellow new mood, would bow to the force of young love and all would be well.

But what on earth was the matter with him? First he proposed to her, out of the blue, now he was talking about happiness and marriage in a way far removed from the starchy man she had first met. Very strange. This Lucian she could almost...

Mata was already working her way around the drawing room, chatting to the guests and pairing people up for dinner. ‘Lord Cannock, will you take Sara in, please?’ she said. ‘Mr Eversleigh, Miss Hopely. Lord Brendon? Now, where has he got to...?’

Gradually everyone sorted themselves out and began the walk to the dining room. ‘It is going well with Marguerite and Gregory, I think,’ Sara murmured as she laid her white-gloved hand on his sleeve. ‘We must draw him out a little, make sure the more influential ladies have an opportunity to discover what a nice young man he is.’

‘Yes.’ Lucian sounded vague, although Sara had the distinct impression that he was anything but, this evening. ‘I would like to talk to you later.’

‘That might be as well,’ she agreed, evenly. ‘We need to clear the air, I think. I promise not to get you soaking wet this time.’

‘You think I had a brainstorm this afternoon, don’t you?’ He held her chair and then pushed it in as she sat and began to remove her gloves.

‘Didn’t you?’ She did wish he would stop alluding to that proposal. Even thinking about it made her feel confused and flustered and she hated feeling like that—had not felt that way for an age, not since Michael had kissed her in the bookshop and she’d realised—

‘Oh, no. No.’

‘I am sorry, my lady. Would you prefer the white wine?’ The footman at her elbow was looking at her in a way that made her realise she had spoken aloud.

‘Oh, Thomas, I’m sorry. The champagne will be perfect, thank you.’

No, I am not falling in love with Lucian Avery. I refuse to. I... He... We...

‘The library, do you think?’ Lucian suggested. ‘It always seems deserted in the evenings.’

‘Yes, yes of course.’ I must stop gibbering, I sound a complete ninny. ‘Papa is threatening to put together a cricket match later this week. Will you play?’

‘I would enjoy that,’ Lucian said politely. ‘But are there enough men to make up two teams?’

‘He has an Eldonstone Eleven already made up of staff and tenants and they play regularly with other village and estate teams all through the summer. With him and Ashe, and if all the male guests play, then we will have two teams.’

* * *

The meal passed in a blur. On one level Sara made unexceptionable conversation first to Lucian on one side, then to the vicar who had been invited for the evening, on the other. Both men were interested in cricket, so it was easy to engage harmlessly with that. On the other level she was wrestling with her feelings for the man sitting so near that she could feel his familiar heat all down her right side.

All she could think about as dinner wended its way through what seemed like interminable courses was that she must sit down with Lucian, quietly, calmly—without touching—and ask him why he had proposed marriage. He had said he would propose again when they were both dry and this time she hoped that he would explain just why he thought it even likely, let alone a good idea.

He watches you, Marguerite had said. And you watch him.

Finally, her mother stood up and led the ladies out to the drawing room where the doors were open to the terrace and the warm evening air. The men joined them after half an hour and people began to stroll outside or break up into small conversational groups around the drawing room.

Sara joined Lucian as he stood looking at a picture in one corner. ‘I think we can safely escape now.’

They did so by the simple expedient of going out on to the terrace, then ducking into the dining room and out again into the deserted hall. ‘I like your parents’ approach to a house party,’ Lucian said as they walked slowly along to the far door that led into the library. ‘Very relaxed.’

‘I would have thought you would disapprove and expect something more...starched-up.’

‘I do not know where you get the impression that I am starched-up,’ Lucian remarked. He turned to face her and bent to snatch a kiss. ‘I would not have thought my behaviour merited that epitaph.’ When she did not answer immediately he asked, ‘Do you think me a hypocrite? I was very strict with Marguerite because she is young and not out. And I strongly disapprove of adultery and of seducing single girls.’

‘I am glad to hear it. No, I do not think you a hypocrite and it was unfair to say that about being starched-up. I suppose it is your attitude to duelling. I live in dread of finding that you have called Ashe out over that punch when we arrived.’

‘He was within his rights to resent me and to want to protect you.’ Lucian shrugged. ‘I may well return the favour should we find ourselves in the stable yard with no ladies around, but that is different.’

‘Yes, I suppose it is. You would thump each other black and blue and emerge firm friends, I suppose. The masculine mind never ceases to amaze me.’ She was still shaking her head and laughing as Lucian opened the door into the study for her to step inside.

The room was unlit, except for the two lamps left burning on the side tables, but the curtains were still drawn open and there was more than enough light for Sara to see the young man who started up from the comfortable old leather sofa that stood with its back to the door.

He had obviously been lying on the sofa and what he was doing there was all too obvious from his open shirt, missing neckcloth and tousled hair. Gregory?

There was a muffled shriek and Marguerite sat up beside him, clutching the bodice of her gown to her half-exposed bosom. Behind Sara Lucian said, ‘What is wrong?’ She could feel him pressing close as he tried to see past her as she blocked the way.

Sara was about to close the door on them and at least allow them to get themselves decent before Lucian got his hands around Gregory’s throat when there was the sound of footsteps.

‘I am sure Eldonstone has a good globe or an atlas in the library. I can show you exactly where my nephew Alfred is posted in India, Marjorie dear.’

Lady Thale. Sara whirled around, pulled the door to and leaned back against it, giving the panels a painful warning thump with her elbow while she was about it. If those two inside had not managed to escape through the window by now they would have to take their chances.

‘Kiss me.’

‘What? Here? Now?’

‘Kiss me. This is an emergency.’ She could not wait for any further protests—or to worry about what happened next—the two ladies would come around the corner at any moment. Sara threw her arms around Lucian’s neck, pulled his head down and kissed him with fierce determination.

From behind them as they stood embracing there was a shriek, then, ‘Lady Sara! Lord Cannock?’

Sara untangled herself from Lucian as slowly as possible, ‘Lady Thale, Mrs Montrum—oh, my!’ She managed a flustered, fluttering gesture that was only partly play-acting. What had she done? ‘Oh, you must be shocked, but believe me, you are the first to know our secret.’ She beamed at them and kicked Lucian on the ankle as she clutched his arm. ‘Lucian... Lord Cannock, I should say, is just on his way to speak to Papa.’ Under her hand she felt his muscles tense like iron.

‘A betrothal!’ Mrs Montrum advanced on them, hands outstretched. ‘What a marvellous union, so suitable in every way. Now, you are a very naughty fellow, Lord Cannock, but one cannot be too critical of a young man in love, can one? Not when he has such honourable intentions.’

‘You may rely on us to look suitably surprised and delighted when the news is announced,’ Lady Thale added, nodding approval. ‘Come along, Marjorie, we will go and consult the atlas while we recover from the excitement. It would not do to return to the drawing room and betray this little secret, now would it?’

‘So kind,’ Lucian murmured, opening the door for them.

Sara held her breath, but there was no shriek of horror, so Gregory and Marguerite must have made their escape and managed not to leave any incriminating items of clothing behind them in the process.

‘What was that about?’ Lucian demanded, towing her none too gently back along the corridor and into the empty dining room. ‘Why did you kiss me—and kick me? And why the sudden change of mind about marriage? Not that I am not delighted that you have come to see it as I do—’

‘I have not changed my mind, but it was the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment.’ Could I have done something different? Fainted? Have I only created an even worse problem? ‘Gregory and Marguerite were in the library.’

She apparently did not need to draw him a diagram. ‘How bad was it?’ Lucian demanded.

‘Bad enough. They still had some clothes on.’

‘I will kill him, I swear it.’ His fists were clenched and Sara could well believe it. ‘We go to all this trouble, impose on your parents, gatecrash a party and the blo—confounded fool can’t keep his breeches buttoned for a week.’

‘Killing him is not going to help and you know it.’ Sara kept her back to the door, even so. ‘I strongly suspect Marguerite is leading him about by the...er...nose, as it were, and he is almost as young, and, I suspect, as inexperienced, as she is. I am sorry about telling Mrs Montrum and Lady Thale that we were betrothed, but I do draw the line at ruining my own reputation with two of the biggest gossips of the ton. We can always decide we do not suit after a week or so.’

‘Why should we do that?’ Lucian enquired. He rested one hip against the sideboard and folded his arms. At least, she thought, he was not bent on murder any longer. ‘If we had got inside the library just now, I fully intended asking you to marry me again and doing it properly this time.’

‘And I fully intended asking you why you would ever think of such a thing,’ Sara retorted. ‘One minute you are more than happy for us to be lovers, the next you are proposing to marry me.’

‘It occurred to me that I would be driven to drink by some sweet little innocent no older than my sister and with probably even less sense. You, on the other hand, have a great deal of sense and would make a very suitable wife.’

How very flattening. It was wonderful to find a man who valued sense, flattering that he attributed some to her, but even so, the most practical young lady wanted something rather less prosaic and more passionate in a proposal. Sara did not point that out: she did not need him spouting romantic nonsense he did not believe.

‘We would drive each other mad within days. I need my freedom, Lucian, and that includes the freedom to do things that you will not find suitable for your wife. I know what a good marriage is like and I do not want to settle for second best.’ That was probably not the most tactful way to put it and Sara realised it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. ‘I mean, the marriage would be second-best, not that you would be.’

‘So I am good enough to sleep with, but not to marry?’ Lucian enquired coldly.