Читать книгу The Captain and the Wallflower - Lyn Stone - Страница 11

Caine promptly went to work, but found he could not concentrate. Impatiently, he pushed aside the account books for his uncle’s largest estate. The figures were not in good order, but today there were more pressing matters.

There were inquiries to answer, orders for supplies and letters of instruction to be prepared for signature. He arranged the paper, dipped a pen in the inkwell and began to write.

In all his life, he had never thought to do anything but soldier. He liked the structure of army life in general, but had hated the chaos of battle and the incompetence of leadership. If not for his wounding and the earl’s illness, he would have continued trying to rise in rank until he could displace some of that inefficiency. But now here he was, facing the ever-increasing responsibilities of an earldom. So many people were dependent upon his ability to manage well. And soon, so would a wife.

Thankfully, Grace shouldn’t pose a problem or even much of an added responsibility. She would remain practically invisible, by her own choice, he expected.

She was easily led and apparently preferred solitude. An excellent match indeed with which to satisfy his uncle’s demand and Caine’s own need for time and space to acclimate to the nobility. Yes, he had his personal affairs arranged precisely as they should be. Well, almost. There were matters there that needed his attention before he could relax.

That afternoon, he put aside the earl’s business for his own. A meeting with Grace’s uncle was necessary and might as well be accomplished as soon as possible to get the unpleasant errand out of the way. He changed his coat, ran a comb through his hair, adjusted his eye patch and set off on foot for Wardfelton’s town house.

The man was not at home, but the maid who answered the door did advise Caine where the earl might be found at that hour.

Caine had avoided the clubs since returning from the war. Before that, he and Trent had frequented White’s on occasion. His leanings were Whig, as were his uncle’s. Apparently, Wardfelton preferred Brooke’s, overwhelmingly Tory.

Things had worked out well, after all, he thought as he strode down St. James road. A public place would be better than a private meeting.

Caine used his uncle’s cachet and feigned interest in joining in order to gain entrance. He strolled room to room. Attendance proved low in midafternoon, most of the cardplayers and drinkers still at home, readying for the next night’s revels, he supposed. He found Wardfelton upstairs, sitting alone in one of the assembly rooms and reading a newspaper.

Grace’s uncle certainly looked the part of an earl, though he, like Caine, had not been born to it. He was a third son. The elder brother had died accidentally, thrusting the title on Grace’s father. Then the country doctor, cum lord, had perished of cholera two years later, leaving Wardfelton to inherit.

Caine assessed the man who had not yet noticed him. The suit appeared to be Saville Row, tailored to perfection, the linen snow-white. His black hair, stiffly pomaded, showed no gray. The waxed mustache curled upward in direct opposition to his thin, pale lips. His hands were smooth, long-fingered and as delicate as a woman’s. Nothing else about him looked effete, considering that he was nearly the size of Caine.

Wardfelton looked up suddenly, glared at Caine and folded the paper into a neat rectangle. He did not speak and he did not stand. The gaze of steel held fast as his lips tightened to a straight line.

Caine pasted on a smile in an offer of civility. This was Grace’s uncle, her only family. And though she obviously had no love for the man, nor he for her, it would serve no purpose to irritate him further.

“Good afternoon, milord,” Caine said as he approached the table and executed a congenial nod in lieu of the bow convention demanded.

“You have no business in this club. Or with me,” Wardfelton said, his tone flat. He slapped the paper on the leather tabletop.

“Surely I do, sir. We should discuss the contract. The marriage is in three weeks.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” Wardfelton snapped, looking past Caine, a deliberate cut. “I made it clear that my niece is destitute, without property or funds.”

“I thought you might want her interest served, since I am not destitute. We should decide her portion, agree to provisions should I drop dead before I inherit.”

Wardfelton sighed, rolling his eyes. “Very well. Sit down, Morleigh. I see I shall have to speak with you about her, but it’s nothing that you’ll enjoy hearing.”

“Nothing that will dissuade me, either.” Caine pulled out a chair and sat, certain that the man had suddenly decided to stifle his anger over Caine’s appropriation of his niece and be reasonable. “Understand that we must amend today’s contract after I inherit, for there will be more to settle on her then.”

“I doubt either will be needed once I’ve had my say. What has Grace told you?”

“Very little,” Caine said truthfully, unwilling to share how much he had divined from the bits she had revealed. “But I have heard that her parents died, as did her betrothed. She served as her fiance’s mother’s companion, then came to live with you almost two years ago. Have you something to add?”

Wardfelton nodded and sighed again. He pressed his fingers to his brow. “I’m afraid I do. I had hoped not to have to reveal this. The grief affected her mind, Morleigh. I regret to tell you that Grace is quite mad. She conceals it at times, but she is rarely stable for long.”

Caine froze, locked in denial. Of course it could not be true. Still, a shadow of doubt began to flirt, tempting certainty to desert him. Grace’s response to him had been unexpected, definitely out of the ordinary for a young unmarried woman. There was that sudden faint. And she had expressed unusual candor on such short acquaintance with him. Then there was the fact that she had admittedly starved herself, no reason given.

She certainly seemed lucid enough, however, and he had witnessed no hysterics or incomprehensible tirades. How did this supposed madness present itself?

“I cannot blame you for what happened,” Wardfelton declared. “Grace can be quite persuasive when she chooses and I do not doubt she fabricated some tale of woe to stir your sympathy. Some imagined plight to do with me. You see, I’ve had to keep her confined for her own safety, no choice about the matter. I thought it better than sending her to strangers in some institution.”

Caine listened well enough, but observed even more carefully. His army command and dealing with all sorts of men had taught him that. Tongues could easily lie, but the body often spoke the truth. Wardfelton’s eyes met his only briefly now and again, as if gauging whether Caine trusted what he was saying. The man often shook his head as if he couldn’t believe himself.

“Yet you took her to a public ball where you knew she might embarrass you before the ton?” Caine asked.

“And so she did,” Wardfelton said with a huff. “But I had to do it. Rumors were gathering. Some thought I had done away with her. As if I would harm my own flesh and blood! They have no idea how difficult it has been to care for her at home rather than relegate that duty.”

“That must have been a difficult decision. Did you even consider it, putting her somewhere?” Caine asked, projecting sympathy he did not feel. Wardfelton struck the wrong notes in this song of woe. It simply did not ring true.

The earl pressed his fingers to his forehead, hand concealing his eyes, and groaned softly. “I am ashamed to admit that I did inquire. Not Bedlam, of course, but a licensed house in Houghbarton that provides such care. You see, Grace has wandered away twice and had to be brought home, kicking and screaming.”

“But you decided against sending her? Why?”

“Even though our own king is so afflicted, poor devil, I dreaded the scandal to my own house,” Wardfelton confided, his voice deep and sorrowful. “Madness in the family, you see … You understand my conundrum, surely.”

“Indeed. An unfortunate situation for anyone to imagine,” Caine remarked with a nod. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, letting the silence gather, wondering what the man would say next to fill the void.

Once again and once too often for his act, Wardfelton heaved a sigh of regret. “So you must bring her back to me, Morleigh, or let me fetch her. No one has to know why the betrothal was dissolved. We can put it about that Grace herself had second thoughts.”

Aha. The crux of the matter. Caine stood, now impatient to be away. “No, sir, that won’t do. I said I would marry her. Once my word is given, I hold to it. Grace and I will wed, come what may.”

The earl stumbled to his feet, almost upsetting his chair. “No! I insist … Wait. I implore you, Morleigh. Think, man. You’ll be disgraced!”

“Better I than you, eh? You should be relieved. If Grace’s madness is ever discovered, everyone will believe I am the cause. They shall have Miss Thoren-Snipes to verify once again that Morleigh’s become a monster.” Caine smiled. “I gave her nightmares!”

He looked directly into Wardfelton’s eyes and read fear. Caine wondered at that. “Good day to you, sir. You may have your solicitor call on me regarding a contract and your niece’s future.”

Caine left him standing there, obviously dismayed.

On reaching the street outside, worry began to gnaw at Caine like a ravenous rat. Could there be a grain of truth in what her uncle said? Had Wardfelton’s fear been for Grace, or for the earl himself, should his treatment of her be revealed?

The path to truth lay with Grace and her behavior. Caine hurried back to Hadley House to observe that, praying all the while that Wardfelton was simply a mean-spirited man trying to gloss over his abuse of a helpless relative.

Good lord, he should have listened to Trent. What had he gotten himself into with this hasty arrangement? But, as he had stated to Wardfelton, his word was his bond. His decision had been made. Grace was his now, for better or worse, whether that wedding vow had been repeated or not.

Caine felt apprehensive about talking to Grace, though he certainly needed to after his meeting with Wardfelton. The man must be lying, but his words had required careful reflection, in case Caine’s reasoning about this was faulty.

He spent hours after returning home reviewing the visit with Grace’s uncle. His preoccupation was so intense, he barely tasted the meal Mrs. Oliver brought him on his tray. He ate absently as he considered every word, every move, every sigh Wardfelton produced.

Caine denied himself that last element of consideration, the woman herself, until he had examined the rest in detail. That accomplished, he would now have to judge her for himself in light of her uncle’s declaration. He was resolved that, mad or sane, he would never return her to Wardfelton, but Caine felt he should know her state of mind one way or the other.

Grace had been left to her own devices all day. How must she feel in strange surroundings among people she hardly knew? He wanted to give her no reason to reconsider their betrothal, least of all because of his neglect of her when she was most vulnerable.

The visit with Grace could prove awkward. Now that the matter of their marriage was settled, what would they discuss? Most of their conversation thus far consisted of fielding insults, arguing away her mistrust and convincing her that he meant business.

His trepidation annoyed him. She was only a little bird of a girl after all, hardly anything to dread. If grief had stolen her reason, then he would restore it if he could, keep her comfortably if he could not. He would see that she was as happy as he could make her and as free as possible. She would know that she was cared for.

Caine postponed calling for her. The evening would be soon enough, he figured. He resumed working, poring over numbers in the earl’s accounts.

Late that afternoon, the butler interrupted the never-ending effort. “A Mr. Tinroy to see you, sir. He insists it is urgent.”

“Show him in,” Caine said, shuffling the paperwork into a neat stack and setting it aside, welcoming the intrusion, whatever it was. The visitor’s name was unfamiliar. Perhaps it was Wardfelton’s man.

“Thank you for seeing me, sir,” the spindly little fellow said after Jenkins had introduced him. Hat in hand, he stood before the huge oak desk like an errant schoolboy called up for an offense.

“What is this urgent business, Mr. Tinroy?” Caine demanded, the former commander in him responding naturally to the man’s subservient attitude.

“It concerns your betrothal,” the man said with a timid smile. “I should say, the original one made with Miss Thoren-Snipes.”

“Ah, a thing of the past then. What of it?” Caine replied, clasping his hands atop the desk and leaning forward.

“The thing is, she never officially ended it, sir. Her brother has retained me to speak on her behalf and tell you that, as a gentleman, you are obliged to carry through. He mentioned a breach-of-promise-suit if you prove unwilling.”

“So she would sue?” Caine almost groaned at the irony. “How can one be a gentleman, Mr. Tinroy, when he has been quite publicly declared a beast? Please inform your client that unless she wishes a countersuit for defamation of character, the matter is best considered closed.”

“Oh, sir, she meant no harm by her words. You know how young ladies natter on to one another when they are upset. But never did she cry off the engagement!”

No, she had screamed it off as far as Caine was concerned. He sighed, unclasped his hands and stood. “No contract was ever signed, because her brother originally opposed it. Of course, I was not heir to the title at that time. Perhaps that has inspired his sudden inclination to find me an acceptable match?”

Tinroy rolled his hat brim and tried a smile. “Oh, no, sir, not at all! It’s merely that the young lady has realized her foolishness and had a change of heart!”

“So have I,” Caine declared, rounding the desk and towering over the little toad. “Good day to you, Mr. Tinroy.”

He watched the solicitor back out at a near run. Caine felt like dusting his hands and hoped he never heard the name Thoren-Snipes again in his lifetime. Greedy buggers, the lot of them.

After a day fraught with confrontation, he knew he had one more to face before he could rest. Grace. Only, this meeting, of course, was to be more in the nature of an evaluation to see whether Wardfelton’s accusation held any semblance of truth.

He flagged a maid in the hallway and sent her up with a summons for Grace. They might as well meet here in the library. If she were a reader, they could discuss books. There, that was settled. He waited.

Grace appeared within five minutes, almost breathless as she entered the room. Had she taken the stairs at a run? Her hair was pulled back into a rather untidy bun at the nape of her neck and several strands had come undone. She raked them back with an impatient hand. “You wished to see me?” she asked with a nervous laugh.

“Yes, of course. Good evening, Grace,” he replied as he stood and surveyed the change in her. It was not so remarkable. She wore a plain gray long-sleeved dress, not a good color for her, but better than the yellow. It was a bit short and so large it hung rather loosely at the waist. He figured she must have borrowed it from one of the maids. In fact, she looked like a young maid on her first day of work, sans apron and reporting late.

He could not help comparing her looks to the stunning, yet shallow, beauty of Belinda. Somehow, even in her plainness and disarray, Grace did not seem wanting. Surface attraction held little appeal for him, especially now. Grace’s smile was sincere and she seemed honestly happy to see him. Lord, maybe that alone made her unhinged.

He smiled. “How was your day, my dear?”

She cocked her head and studied him for a minute, then seemed to form a conclusion. “Interesting, indeed. How was yours, Captain?”

Caine sensed she was really interested instead of just being polite. “Honestly? I have had better.” He indicated she should take one of the large wingback chairs beside the fire. He sat across from her in the other as he elaborated. “Business matters consumed me, being new to the chore of managing properties. I must have been born to soldier. That was never so difficult for me.”

“Ah, but you love a challenge,” she guessed with a sly grin that lighted her slender features.

“That’s true enough,” he agreed, noting that she had a foxlike manner, watchful, knowing, quick to respond. “Do you?”

She inclined her head and nodded once. “I suppose I do, come to think of it. We certainly took on this one without much hesitation, so it seems we have something in common from the start.”

“Apparently.”

The silence drew out between them. Caine wondered if there were any more to say. He had to think of something. “You seem quite … rested.” Truth was always appropriate. Her eyes were brighter, such a true, clear blue. Like a cloudless sky at its best. “I take it that you slept well?”

She sat back in the chair, perfectly relaxed, though her feet, clad in her soft yellow dancing slippers, didn’t quite touch the floor. She swung them idly as he watched. “Oh, yes, and I haven’t slept much of late, so that was a great relief. And the food here is remarkable!”

Ah, there was that prodigious interest in food again. “I shall commend the cook,” he promised. “Have you already eaten this evening?”

“An hour ago. You were busy and Mrs. Oliver said I shouldn’t wait for you. I understand your aunt takes a tray in the earl’s chambers early in the evening to keep him company.”

“Yes. We seldom dine together at table these days.” Caine felt guilty that she’d had to eat alone. He should have joined her. But she must grow used to his being absent, since he would have little time to entertain her in future.

He grew impatient to end the exchange that was beginning to seem forced. And yet, he needed to evaluate her condition. Nor did he want her to feel dismissed. Or lonely. She had probably had far too much time alone in Wardfelton’s care.

“I look forward to traveling to the country,” she declared with another bright smile. “It has been a while since I have been anywhere at all if one doesn’t count the trip from the manor to the house here in Town.” She leaned forward, her expression animated. “Do tell me about your estate, the one where we are to go.”

“Wildenhurst is not mine yet, though it is where I was born.” Immensely relieved to have a topic he could expand upon, Caine let himself meander back to childhood. “It’s the lesser of two properties owned by Hadley, the grander one being Hadley Grange, his seat near the Eastern Coast.”

“A grand mansion, or perhaps a castle?” Grace asked.

He answered absently, “A country house, quite impressive and easily thrice the size of Wildenhurst.”

“But what is Wildenhurst like? Has it a great history?”

“Well, I suppose it has that. The property was purchased by my great grandfather who had the house built directly over the site of an old monastery destroyed by King Henry. The stones lining the underground floor are still there. The rest is relatively new.”

“You have a dungeon!” she exclaimed. “I love old things and places!”

Caine hated to dash her streak of romanticism. “Not a dungeon at all. It consisted of monk’s cells originally, and with the new structure over it, it became a rabbit warren of storage rooms and a marvelous place for a boy and his imagination.”

“Even better!” She listened avidly and Caine saw yearning for a real home in her faraway look. The place where she had played, laughed and loved now belonged to someone else. Perhaps one day she could think of Wildenhurst as hers.

He continued, “I think of it as home. My father managed it for the earl until his death. As I said, it’s where I first saw light of day, where I lived until I went away to school and then where I took holidays. There are the greenest of hills to ride, a river at the back, trees in abundance and wildlife to watch. Gardens with flowers of every sort you can imagine.”

“I adore flowers,” she said, clasping her hands beneath her chin. “And herbs are a must. Is there an herb garden? Say there is or I shall make one for you.”

Caine searched his memory. “I believe so. Yes, I’m sure of it.” He went on. “The house itself is rather modest, comfortable and not too elegant, but with plenty of rooms. When I retreat to a place of peace in my mind, that is where I go.”

“Oh, I know I shall love it!” she exclaimed. “Your description makes it sound heavenly. Why would anyone ever leave it to come to Town?”

He laughed, quite liking her exuberance and her optimism. Caine could use a dose of both, and hers were infectious. “Well, there is the season, of course. And meetings in the House of Lords, though I’ve yet to experience that and hope I shan’t in the near future. Uncle could not attend this year, but remains in town now to be near his physician.”

“I see. Well, I do hope you may spend some days in the country to restore your sense of peace after your time at war. It would probably do you a world of good,” she said with a succinct nod.

He thought so, too, but did not see it as possible the way things were now. However, he agreed with her anyway. “I expect it would. You know you may take complete charge there if you like. My aunt has declared she will do no more with it. I think she always felt somewhat isolated in the country. For all intents and purposes, other than formally deeding it over, my uncle has consigned the place to me.”

“On condition that you marry,” she guessed with a wry purse of lips.

Caine nodded again. “With that stipulation, yes.” He looked at her. “Grace, I sincerely hope you will be content. And I thank you for accepting my offer. This cannot be easy for you and I do appreciate that.”

She laughed, a merry sound and not at all bitter. “I did admit I welcome a challenge. Here’s proof of it. I hope you will be happy, too. There. We have set our goals—contentment and happiness, each for the other. So be it. Now, if you would excuse me, I believe I shall visit the kitchens, nick some milk and biscuits and retire. I understand tomorrow is to be a busy day.”

Caine stood when she did and reached for her hands. “Good night, Grace. Sleep well.”

“Thank you. I’m very grateful,” she said with all seriousness. “I never thought to have such good fortune again in my life.” She gave his hands a fond squeeze and let go.

Caine watched her leave, wondering how he could have dreaded her company. No one could be less intimidating than Grace. Or less mad. Wardfelton was a bounder and ought to be hanged.