Читать книгу Historical Romance March 2017 Book 1-4 - Louise Allen - Страница 28

Chapter Eighteen

Sara wrenched open the door and ran to them, nightmare visions of riding accidents blurring her vision. When she came to a panting halt in front of them they straightened up a little and she could take in their injuries and their clothing.

‘You’ve been fighting—look at the pair of you!’ Both had grazed and bloody knuckles, Ashe was sporting a split lip, a promising black left eye, a ripped shirt and seemed to be limping. Lucian’s right eye was bruised, the side seam of his breeches was gaping, there was a nasty graze on his left cheek and a footprint on his shirt over his ribs.

‘Sparring, that’s all,’ her brother said and winced.

‘Bare-knuckled without gloves? In your decent breeches? Kicking? You’ve been fighting, you horrible creatures. How could you? You are going to be brothers-in-law, for goodness sake.’ Oh, she could have wept, if she wasn’t saving all her energies for thumping the pair of them just as soon as she was sure neither had any serious injuries. ‘Come inside, quickly, before any of the ladies see you and faint dead away. Into the flower room, at least there is water in there and good light.’

‘Good light for what?’ Lucian asked as the two of them resumed their unsteady progress towards the house.

‘Checking you over and patching you up, of course, you pair of savages. Peter!’ One of the footmen came out of the door with a vase of drooping flowers in his hands. ‘Put those down for now and go and fetch me the bandages and salves. Hurry now.’

She got them into the flower room and sitting on benches. ‘Take those coats off, strip to the waist. Oh, let me help—have you broken ribs?’ she demanded as Lucian struggled out of his coat and began to tug at his shirt.

‘Doubt it. Just bruised.’ He squinted down at himself as Sara tossed the shirt aside and prodded the discoloured foot-shaped area. ‘Hell’s teeth. Yes, just bruised, possibly a crack.’

‘And you.’ She whirled round to her brother. ‘Why are you limping?’

‘Twisted my knee when I went down. And, no, I am not going to take my breeches off.’

Peter came in with the hamper full of salves and bandages. ‘Shall I stay, Lady Sara?’

‘No, thank you. Fetch hot water and some small bowls, would you please?’ She waited until he was out of earshot. ‘How could you both? Papa and Mata are happy for me—couldn’t you be, too, Ashe?’

‘I am. Cannock’s a perfectly decent fellow.’ Her brother shrugged, swore in Hindi under his breath and managed a lopsided grin at Lucian. ‘Can’t fight worth a spit, but otherwise, I approve.’

‘Can’t fight, you cheating excuse for a viscount?’ Lucian lobbed a wadded-up neckcloth at Ashe. ‘I had you down as many times as you floored me and you know it.’

Sara glared at them both. ‘Oh, I see. This is that ridiculous male thing where you have to knock seven bells out of each other and then you’re friends for life, is that it? Never mind that Mata has a houseful of guests, or that Lucian’s sister might be upset at the sight of him in this mess or I might be, come to that. And do not roll your eyes at me, Ashe Herriard!’

‘Are you certain you want to marry her?’ Ashe enquired, reaching for a wad of lint and dipping it in the cold water before he applied it gingerly to his eye. ‘She’s grown into a shocking nag.’

Lucian looked at her, his face as innocent as any young urchin explaining how it wasn’t his fault he’d come home bloodied, dirty and with split breeches. ‘I’ve got to,’ he said, sounding resigned but noble. ‘A gentleman doesn’t jilt a lady even if she turns out to be a virago and he was expecting a ministering angel.’

‘Well, the virago can jilt the gentleman,’ Sara retorted and put down the pot of calendula salve with a bang. ‘And you can minister to each other as you are such good friends now.’

She swept out and off to the library where the volume of prints was sitting in the middle of the table, which did something to soothe her. By the time she came across Porrett in the hallway she was calm enough to ask him to send Ashe’s valet down to the flower room. If anyone could make them halfway respectable in time for dinner it was Gorridge.

She delivered the album to Mrs Galway and plumped down on a fat cushion next to her mother. ‘Those wretched men have been fighting.’ When Mata raised an interrogative eyebrow she explained, ‘Lucian and Ashe. They are black and blue, limping and look as though they have been in a street brawl.’

‘Oh, bless them. That is a relief. I was so worried about Ashe refusing to accept Lucian.’

‘Mata, they look as though they were trying to kill each other and now they are apparently the best of friends.’

‘That is men for you.’ Her mother shrugged. ‘They are like dogs and need to establish their order in the pack. Lucian outranks Ashe, but Ashe is your brother. It sounds as though they were evenly matched when they fought, so they have settled for equality, with each respecting the other.’ She fell silent for a while as Sara sat and fumed quietly. ‘Michael didn’t fight, did he?’

‘Certainly not, he was far too civilised for that.’

‘A pity, because they let so much aggression go that way. If Michael and Francis had been used to that sort of rough-and-tumble way of settling matters, then possibly Michael would have punched him, not challenged him.’

She laid her hand on Sara’s head and began to smooth her hair absently, as she might have stroked a cat. Sara let herself relax back against the rattan chair and absorb her mother’s words.

‘It isn’t that I object to fighting if it is necessary,’ she said, as much to herself as to her mother. ‘You taught me to defend myself and sparring wearing gloves seems to be very good exercise for men, but that fight must have been brutal.’

‘Are either of them seriously hurt?’

‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘Then they were deliberately making sure it did not become dangerous. Ashe is trained to kill and if Lucian was holding his own with him then he knows how to fight seriously, too.’

So Lucian’s instinct to fight to protect his sister and now, she supposed, her, was actually part of a strictly controlled repertoire of responses and if Michael had allowed himself to be just a bit more uncivilised he would not be dead now? It was an indigestible thought and part of what made it so hard to accept was the nagging fear that her own expressed opinions on what constituted civilised, rational behaviour might have contributed to Michael’s reluctance to simply let fly when his friend was so foolish.

* * *

Sara was too preoccupied with her thoughts about Michael and the duel to have any room for anxieties about the evening’s announcement, other than to think that if Lucian and Ashe were too obviously battered, then Papa would simply postpone mentioning the betrothal. But she dressed in her best evening gown, a pale straw-coloured silk sheath embroidered with crystals around the low neckline and the hem. She put her hair up with strings of crystals woven into it and wore no other gems. The image in the mirror was elegant and ethereal and renewed her flagging confidence in everything from her basic beliefs to her decision to marry Lucian.

It was a reaction, she told herself. Meeting Lucian had turned her world on its head just when she was beginning to feel unsettled in Sandbay, thinking about what she should do with the rest of her life, how she wanted to live it.

Perhaps this disquiet about Michael was simply a stage in the mourning process, a belated upwelling of unhappiness at his loss. But marriage to Lucian was a very big step away from everything she had thought that she wanted. Just how well did she know him?

I know him quite well enough in bed, she thought ruefully as she descended the staircase towards the hum of conversation in the drawing room. Even though they had only slept together twice she knew her betrothed was skilled, thoughtful, demanding and understood to a certainty how to pleasure a lady. But how well do I know him as a future husband?

‘That is a very charming blush on your cheeks.’ Lucian appeared at her elbow as she entered the room and handed her a glass of champagne. ‘Who has been flirting with you on the stairs?’

‘The second footman,’ she said with a smile of thanks for the wine. It would never do to let him guess she had been thinking about him, let alone his performance in bed. ‘Ashe’s valet has done wonders, I must say. You look as though you have actually been indulging in a proper sparring match with padded gloves, not some primitive free-for-all. Does Ashe look as respectable?’ She wanted to brush the hair away from his brow where it fell over a discreet patch of sticking plaster, wanted to run her hands all over his body and check him for injury. If truth be told, she was feeling possessive and wanted to fuss. ‘And how are the ribs?’

‘Your brother is pretending not to limp, although I suspect Phyllida has kicked the other leg, so it is more of a pained hobble. And my ribs are merely bruised. It doesn’t hurt at all unless I laugh.’

‘I will promise not to say anything amusing.’ They moved until they were shielded by the partly open door and Sara slipped her hand between his coat and waistcoat to cup it around his ribs. ‘I really do not blame Phyllida.’

‘But you forgive me?’ He was smiling down at her and under her hand his body was warm and solid.

‘I might as well forgive you for being male,’ Sara said and leaned in until she could rest her forehead against his lapel.

‘I cannot do much about that state of affairs, whether you forgive me for it or not—and if I wasn’t male I wouldn’t find you half as beautiful when I looked at you. Tonight you are exquisite, a creature of fairyland, Sara.’

She looked up as he bent his head to kiss her and his breath feathered over her lips, blurring her mind and her fears.

‘Stop it, the pair of you.’ Ashe was resting one hand on the edge of the door, a screen between them and the room. ‘If the old biddies see you before the announcement they will very correctly conclude that this is not a well-regulated, carefully contrived dynastic marriage and that the two of you actually care for each other. Bad enough Phyllida and me making a love match, but both of us being so unsophisticated? Shocking.’

He glanced back over his shoulder as Lucian gave a snort of laughter that ended in a sharp intake of breath. Sara drew in her breath sharply. A love match? But Lucian had not seemed to notice the implications of what Ashe had just said. ‘Everyone’s down now and Father is about to make the announcement. You had both better make your way to his side and look suitably bashful.’

Surprisingly, given that she had been married before and was both older and more experienced than the last time this had happened, Sara found that she did, indeed, feel bashful. It was probably the fact that she and Lucian had anticipated their vows.

Her father did a very good imitation of a proud parent. Perhaps now he knew Lucian did intend to marry her he was genuinely content with the match. His speech was short, warm, and had several of the ladies sniffing into their lace handkerchiefs.

Lucian responded with a few dignified words about how fortunate he was to have secured such a beautiful and intelligent bride and kissed his future mother-in-law and then Sara—both chastely on the cheek. Everyone applauded warmly and then clustered round to congratulate Lucian and kiss Sara.

The hubbub had almost died down when Marguerite appeared at Lucian’s side, her hand on Gregory’s arm. ‘Lucian, we must speak to you.’

‘You must?’ He gave her a quizzical look.

‘I must, my lord.’ Farnsworth’s scarred face was pink with embarrassment, but he kept his head up and looked Lucian squarely in the eye.

Lucian looked from one to the other, then turned to Sara. ‘If you’ll excuse me for a moment, my dear.’

She watched him lead the two lovers out of the drawing room and was immediately in the midst of a buzz of speculation as all the ladies began to wonder out loud just what was going on.

‘I suspect we have another romance here tonight,’ she said with a smile. ‘Lady Marguerite has been spending much time assisting Mr Farnsworth. I did think that I detected a growing attachment and I believe they have just realised that they have fallen in love. He is such a worthy, intelligent and diligent young man, the son of a clergyman, I understand. Lord Cannock believes he will go far.’

‘She is very young, is she not?’ Lady Fitzhugh queried. ‘And it is a somewhat unequal match.’

‘One such as I made and I was very happy indeed, for the short while it lasted.’

That gave all the ladies pause. Sara could see their minds working—she was a marquess’s daughter, she had married a commoner and a scholar, but she had remained a lady. Perhaps it was not so shocking after all...

Lucian came back, spoke with her father and then raised his voice for attention. ‘My friends, this is an evening for good news. I am delighted to say that my sister Marguerite is now betrothed to Mr Gregory Farnsworth.’

Gregory was white with nerves, Marguerite was pink with happiness and Lucian was smiling with what looked like genuine pleasure, but was probably simply relief that they had pulled off the deception. Sara found she was dabbing sentimental tears from her eyes with her handkerchief without even realising that she had taken it out of her reticule.

When Lucian returned to her side he took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Thank you, Sara. If it had not been for you this would never have ended well.’

‘Anyone would have wanted to help them, despite their errors and adventures, and I am very fond of Marguerite. Lucian, we are going to have to plan wedding dates.’

‘I know.’ He looked faintly harassed, which Sara found rather endearing. Lucian was not a man given to being harassed, she suspected. He would make up his mind about something and then ensure it happened. ‘You and I must marry first and as soon as possible, then we can establish ourselves in the London house and Marguerite can be married from there.’ He looked down at her. ‘Is that rushing you? I do not want you to feel our marriage is simply a convenience for establishing Marguerite and I confess I have no idea how long you would want to plan everything.’

‘I need to go down to Sandbay to close down Aphrodite’s Seashell.’ Lucian managed to cover his relief about that really quite well, she thought. ‘There is a lady in the town who comes to our group and who I think might well like to buy me out, but I must speak to her and of course pay Dot and make certain that she does not suffer for this. If you came with me we could make our plans at the same time.’ She watched him think that through. ‘Marguerite could stay here with Mama as chaperon, I am sure she would love to have her stay on.’

‘And I could send Farnsworth to open up the London house and you and I—’

‘—would be alone again.’

‘A pre-emptive honeymoon?’ Lucian suggested, his voice suddenly husky.

‘Is that very wicked of me?’

‘Oh, I hope so, my Aphrodite. I do hope so.’