Читать книгу Historical Romance March 2017 Book 1-4 - Louise Allen - Страница 27

Chapter Seventeen

‘It is not a question of good enough, you exasperating man! Being lovers and being husband and wife are two very different things.’

‘A married couple cannot be lovers? I suspect that you are thinking with your emotions, Sara, not working this through and considering the benefits.’

‘Of all the patronising things to say, Lucian Avery.’ She pushed away from the door and took one furious step towards him before caution stopped her where she was. Too close and they might well end up kissing again and that simply turned her brain to pottage. He had made it very clear that he wanted marriage for three reasons—one, he desired her, two, she was suitable and, finally, by needing no courtship she would save him a great deal of trouble and effort. ‘Marriage should involve emotions. I do not want some coldly calculated suitable match, I want a marriage of friends, of lovers, of shared interests and passions. Of equals.’

‘Men and women can never be equal, we are different.’ He straightened up, too, and came to stand in front of her, reached for her and drew her, stiff but unresisting, into his arms. ‘Delightfully different.’

‘I had noticed.’

Sara resisted the temptation to rest her forehead on his chest. Just because marriage to Lucian would be a disaster it did not stop her wanting him, stop her wishing it could work.

She tried to explain. ‘Men are usually larger and stronger, women have different anatomies with all the consequences of that, but everything else is simply differences we allow to exist or which society imposes. Gentlemen normally get a better education, so of course you are often better informed and have a firmer grasp of many subjects. Men are allowed freedoms that women are not, so you can become fitter, more adventurous, can travel more widely, have a say in political affairs. But...’ She paused to draw breath. At least he hadn’t begun arguing yet.

‘I have a good education, thanks to my parents’ enlightened views, and I have built on that. I know that as a woman there are limits on what I can do in public, I know I have no vote and no power. But I do have a brain and I do have opinions and I must and will decide how I live my life. If I married you we would constantly be at odds. You would want to decide everything, you would be mortified if I behaved unconventionally, you would never believe I could stand up for myself if I was attacked, physically or verbally.’

‘Marriage is a compromise, I imagine. Your experience of that is greater than mine.’

‘Yes,’ Sara agreed cautiously. She had expected a flat rejection of what she had said, not talk of compromise. ‘Yes, even when you believe you are in accord, there are still compromises to be made.’

‘If I promised equal decision-making in all aspects of our life together, promised to discuss everything fully with you and to take your opinions seriously, would you compromise by being at least as conventional a marchioness as your mother is and allowing me to leap to your defence whenever you are threatened or slighted? If we could agree on that, would that help you to decide? You are a woman of courage, Sara. Take a risk, follow your instincts.’

I love him, I desire him, I like him. Is that enough to risk the rest of my life on? Marrying Michael was so...safe. No doubts, no real compromises, an escape from a world that was alien and where I did not fit in. Now...I could cope with that world. Was I timorous before when I thought I was brave and bold? What are my instincts telling me? If I say yes, this is for the rest of our lives.

Lucian took half a step back as though to reassure her that he was not pressuring her. ‘Stop biting that beautiful lower lip of yours,’ he chided. ‘Or I will have to kiss it better.’

She came up on tiptoe and leaned in to press her lips to his. I love you. Is that enough? It felt right. Right but frightening. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes?’ Lucian caught her up, whirled her round and spun down the length of the room with her laughing, clutching at his shoulders.

This was such a different man from the one she had first met. He is happy, she realised. The thought of marrying me makes him happy. He set her on her feet at last, both of them laughing. Sara felt slightly weak at the knees, perhaps from the spinning, perhaps from the decision she had made.

‘I must go and find your father before those two old hens cannot resist cackling their secret. But first, I need to find Marguerite and knock some sense into the pair of them.’

Not literally, she sincerely hoped. He would never lift a finger to his sister, but Gregory was battered enough. ‘If you go and find Papa, I will locate Marguerite and give them both a trimming. I know I have no standing yet—but perhaps as your betrothed I might be allowed to help with this?’

‘With my abiding gratitude,’ Lucian said. ‘Tell Farnsworth he is within an inch of a horsewhipping now and if he steps out of line one more time I will not hold back.’

Sara ran upstairs. She had no great hope of finding Marguerite in her bedchamber and was not disappointed when the room was empty. Nor was there anyone in Gregory’s bedchamber. Cursing that she was going to have to search the entire house for them, and then probably find they had taken refuge in the summerhouse, Sara went to her own suite to repair the damage that Lucian’s kisses had doubtless created. When she pushed open the door to her sitting room the two young lovers were there, one each side of the cold hearth as though a respectable distance might make things better.

Sara closed the door and advanced on them. ‘Thank goodness I have found you. What did you think you were about? Gregory, you know perfectly well that this is our one chance to safeguard Marguerite’s reputation and have your early marriage accepted without gossip. Have you any idea how close you came to being discovered by two of society’s most avid tattlemongers?’

‘It was my fault,’ Marguerite admitted, waving aside Gregory’s protests. ‘I suggested we discuss tactics and we were, honestly, Sara. Just talking. Gregory had been working in the library earlier and we decided that if he pretended to go back after dinner I could discover him and be shocked and lecture Lucian about it in public and everyone would see that I was becoming emotionally involved with Gregory and then he would come in and I would fly to his side and he would take my hand and...’ She shrugged. ‘We would play it by ear, but I think by the time we had finished Lucian would have had to take us both away to discuss Gregory’s intentions and everything would be perfect.’

‘And I kissed her because it was such a good idea and to give her courage before she went back to the drawing room for the big scene. And it got out of hand,’ Gregory confessed, looking as hang-dog as a young man with a piratical scar and eyepatch could.

Was I ever this young? Sara wondered. And yet these two had conceived a child together and had survived weeks on the Continent and, if it had not been for the accident, might well have begun married life in a respectable, if humble, manner.

‘I do not think tonight would be a good night for the plan, but you might try it, say, the day after tomorrow. Another day of being seen to fret over Gregory’s well-being and “helping” him would make it more convincing,’ Sara suggested. ‘And let us pray it succeeds, because I, for one, cannot stand the strain on my nerves much longer.’ And the guests would think that Lucian’s happiness over his own betrothal had made him soft-hearted towards the young lovers if he gave his consent once her own betrothal was known.

‘Marguerite, I suggest you go back down to the drawing room. Gregory, a strategic retreat to your bedchamber is in order and I advise you to avoid being alone with Lord Cannock tomorrow—he was muttering about horsewhips when I last saw him.’

* * *

Lucian gave his appearance a hasty check in the hall mirror, ran a hand through his hair and straightened his neckcloth under the interested gaze of a passing footman before braving the drawing room again. His heart was thumping and he realised he had not felt this nervous since he was a raw youth. Sara had agreed to marry him. He should be delighted. He was delighted—she was everything he needed, had hoped for, in a wife. But there was a nagging doubt now where before there had simply been certainty. Did she need more than he could give her? Could he live up to the expectations of this complicated woman? Marriage was for life and it would change their lives for ever.

Lucian gave himself a brisk mental shake. He knew what he wanted and Sara was no green girl who did not know her own mind. He strode into the drawing room and found his quarry was standing, one foot on the fender, glass of port in his hand, arguing the rival merits of snipe, woodcock and grouse as game birds with a group of the male guests.

Lucian waited for a lull in the conversation. ‘Might I have a word, Eldonstone?’

Sara’s father turned, one grizzled eyebrow raised. ‘Of course. My study?’

‘If you don’t mind, sir.’

When they were alone Sara’s father waved Lucian to a chair. ‘Port? Brandy?’

‘Brandy, if you please.’ There was no cause to feel that knot in his gut. He was an excellent match for Sara and there was, surely, no reason to fear her father’s approval would be withheld. Not that he needed it with a widow who was of age, but it would distress her immeasurably if her family were hostile.

‘I have come to ask your blessing,’ he said as the older man handed him the glass. ‘I have asked Sara to marry me and she has very graciously consented.’

‘Have you, by God?’ Eldonstone sat down. His expression was impossible to read.

‘Yes. I am aware that this visit did not get off to a good beginning because we had chosen to anticipate this decision,’ he began. He was damned if he was going to be defensive about becoming Sara’s lover, but an acknowledgement of Eldonstone’s feelings was certainly in order.

‘You’ve changed your tune. Marriage was out of the question, I seem to recall.’

‘Certainly it was while we were unsure that our feelings would endure. Neither of us wants this marriage to be less than happy.’

‘You’ve a glib tongue, Cannock.’

‘I have an honest one, sir. I thought I would be looking at the cream of the crop of next year’s Marriage Mart, some well-bred little chit scarce out of the schoolroom. Observing some at close quarters and in proximity to Sara has shown me that what I would truly value in a wife is a woman of character and intelligence.’

‘And you are telling me that my daughter, who you quite rightly say is a woman of character and intelligence, has agreed to marry you?’

A nasty dig, that. This was a man who had fought his way round the Indian sub-Continent and then taught himself how to be a marquess in middle age. He was never going to be a soft touch.

‘I am almost as surprised as you are,’ Lucian agreed, refusing to let Eldonstone rile him.

‘Hah!’ It was a bark of laughter. ‘I trust Sara and she, it seems, trusts you. But if she is wrong you’ll have her brother to deal with and I will be standing right behind him to finish off anything that is left breathing.’

‘As I would expect. You forget, perhaps, that I have a sister. I share your sentiments about men who betray the trust of a lady.’

‘Is that why you refrained from retaliating when Ashe hit you? I was most impressed.’ Eldonstone lifted his brandy glass in an ironic salute.

‘Brawling on my hosts’ doorstep when Clere was merely being protective seemed unlikely to endear me to Sara.’ Lucian returned the salute and took a mouthful of the dark liquid. ‘My compliments to your wine merchant.’

‘Good, isn’t it?’ They sipped in comfortable silence for a while. ‘Doubtless brothers-in-law would enjoy sparring a little.’

‘Oh, yes.’ And there was no need to wait until he was Ashe Herriard’s brother-in-law. Just as soon as they found themselves outside and safely out of sight of the ladies he intended returning that punch with interest. ‘You will want to discuss settlements. I’ll have my secretary assemble some figures for you.’

‘You can discuss that with Sara and she will ask me if she needs advice. I presume I have no need to worry about your ability to keep her in the manner I would wish for her?’

‘None at all.’

‘Then I suggest we take our brandy back to the drawing room and rejoin the other guests. When do you want to announce this?’

‘Tomorrow night before dinner?’ Lucian suggested. Now they just had to get Marguerite’s love life choreographed to climax at the most advantageous moment and all would be well.

They strolled back to the drawing room as the clocks struck eleven. It seemed incredible that so much had happened in so short a time—that his life had turned around so completely.

Sara was with a somewhat subdued Marguerite, talking to her mother and some of the older ladies, and he went to drop a kiss on his sister’s cheek. ‘Staying up late, Puss?’

‘I shall go to bed shortly,’ she said, then adopted a chiding tone. ‘Poor Mr Farnsworth is probably still labouring over all that paperwork you gave him and you are not worried about him.’

‘You are very protective of young Farnsworth,’ Lucian observed with a tolerant smile. ‘I hope you are not flirting with him and distracting him from his work.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of flirting with him,’ Marguerite said indignantly. ‘He is far too serious to take any notice if I did. I admire him greatly,’ she added, verging towards Mrs Siddons at her most tragic.

And you are a loss to the stage, my dear.

He smiled across at Sara and she smiled back, with a little gesture of her head towards her mother. Whispered confidences had been exchanged, he assumed. He met the Marchioness’s beautiful green gaze and was rewarded with a smile, as lovely as her daughter’s, but holding years’ more experience and guile. This was the woman who had taught her daughter to defend herself with a knife and to ride astride and he had asked of Sara that she was at least as conventional a marchioness as her mother.

A month ago all he had asked of life was to have his sister back well and happy and to find a wife of the utmost, highly conventional, suitability. And now... He met Sara’s smile again. And now what could possibly go wrong?

* * *

‘I would like to see your stables, Clere. Any objections?’ For the first time Lucian found himself alone with Sara’s brother. The ladies of the party, Sara and Marguerite amongst them, were either sketching on the back lawn or admiring the artists. The other men had accompanied the Marquess to see his improvements at the Home Farm and Lucian had taken the opportunity to come across Ashe Herriard on his way to the front door, dressed for riding.

‘None at all. Care to ride?’ The Viscount nodded thanks to the footman who opened the double doors for them and led the way diagonally across the circle of the carriage drive to where a clock tower appeared above a screening shrubbery.

‘I would certainly enjoy some exercise,’ Lucian agreed, truthfully.

‘I gather you are marrying my sister,’ Clere said as they emerged from the shrubbery on to a rather trampled area just outside the arch into the imposing stable block. ‘You had better make her happy,’ he added with a charming smile that entirely failed to hide the threat behind it.

‘Oh, I intend to.’ Lucian smiled back. ‘We don’t know each other very well, do we? I keep my word, I take my duty to look after my family very seriously and I never, ever, forget a debt.’

The right hook was perfect. Solid, powerful, right on the point of Clere’s chin. The bruise on his own chin ached in sympathy. And he had taken the other man totally by surprise.

Ashe Herriard levered himself up on his elbows in the dust and grinned. ‘Point taken. Give me a hand, will you?’

He held out his right hand and Lucian took it, was jerked forward and on to a booted foot that rose to catch him squarely in the stomach. He let himself go with the move, over the top of Clere and into a rolling somersault. Lucian came to his feet and stripped off his coat to find Clere doing the same thing.

‘Come on.’ He lifted both hands, open, beckoning Lucian to advance. ‘I am going to enjoy this. Who do you spar with?’

‘The Gentleman, of course.’ Lucian tossed aside his neckcloth and squared up to the other man. ‘I’ve seen you there, but I’ve never seen you fight.’

‘Thought I’d come across you at his saloon. Jackson’s a good teacher, even if he does live up to his soubriquet.’

Gentleman. That is a polite warning that this pupil will be anything but gentlemanly, Lucian guessed. And Ashe Herriard had grown up in India, learning any number of exotic tricks, he had no doubt.

As he closed with him the other man’s left foot shot out, aiming a high kick at his elbow. Lucian spun away, untouched and landed a punch on Clere’s ribs. Oh, yes, this is going to be fun.

* * *

‘Darling, can you see if you can find that album of prints of Calcutta? Mrs Galway was interested and although I left them on the side table in the Chinese Salon they aren’t there now. I cannot think where they have got to.’

‘Of course, Mata.’ Sara made for the library first, glad of an excuse to escape the knowing looks and whisperings of Lady Thale and Mrs Montrum. It seemed the logical place for an over-tidy housemaid to have put it and she took a shortcut from the side terrace where the ladies had been sitting out of the direct sun and through the rear corridor that led from the gardens into the flower room, the boot room and down to the basement.

A glance through the glazed back garden door as she hurried past brought her skidding to a halt on the worn old flagstones. Two men were coming across the gravel from the direction of the stables. Staggering across, holding each other up. Ashe and Lucian.