Читать книгу The Trouble With Misbehaving - Victoria Hanlen - Страница 9
ОглавлениеBeau slumped against dusty seat cushions as the hired coach rocked and bumped along, jarring his every muscle. Two days had passed since the bungled meeting at Cremorne, and he’d come no closer to sorting it out or getting C.C. off his mind.
What an astounding woman. Delving into her steady gaze and finding the strength of will to defeat his battle demons still filled him with awe. And every time he thought about her tender response to his stolen kisses, his pulse jumped. But the rest of it—villains on her tail and a havey-cavey business proposition—made him certain his first instincts had been correct. Had he stuck to his rule, the whole bizarre, confusing escapade could have been avoided.
Besides, there were other things he’d vowed to do. The losses he’d recently endured made him long to reunite with his family and return to the peace and quiet of his childhood home.
The reunion made him a little uneasy, however. After little communication for more than a decade, he wasn’t sure how he’d be received. With all he’d been through—an officer in the Royal Navy, the informal, wild revelry in the Bahamas, a blockade-runner, and a prisoner of war—conforming to the confines of English aristocracy might be a challenge. And heaven help him should there be any sudden noises like at Cremorne.
As the coach pulled through the heavy iron gates, Beau lowered the window for a better view. Morning mist veiled rows of terraces in the distance. Rising above the clouds like a castle of old stood his family’s ancient crenellated and multi-spired country home.
When the horses finally halted at the manor’s front entrance, Beau swung open the door. He climbed out, stretched his stiff back and took a deep breath. The fragrance of ancient yew trees and old oaks surrounding the mansion mixed with the unique combination of damp earth, rock and antiquated mortar—the scent of Grancliffe Hall.
Home.
Once, he’d considered the country mansion’s quiet to be stifling, its tranquility boring, and the fortress’ solid security a jail. After enduring the real-life miseries of a Union prison, he drank in the sight of the old place almost with reverence. The experience had altered his perspective. Now he saw a mythical castle filled with one hundred and two rooms of blessed, hushed peace.
On the west lawn a man and four children played croquet. Nostalgia hit him like a heavy gust. He’d spent many a boyhood hour romping over that lawn with his sire and siblings. The man rushed toward him, waving a croquet stick. A big smile covered his face.
Beau rubbed his tired eyes. It couldn’t be Father. He was long dead. As the man neared, he realized he was his eldest brother, Thomas, now the Earl of Grancliffe. Thomas had grown into an exact likeness of their patriarch—a tall, formidable, strong-featured man with dark eyes and thick, wavy dark hair—another identical copy of their marauding ancestors.
Grinning broadly, his brother marched up, grabbed him in a strong embrace and then held him out by the shoulders. “I knew it was you, Beau. You haven’t changed a bit, well, maybe more weathered, a little more fur on your face.”
Beau scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Aye. Haven’t had a meal or shave in two days.”
“You don’t look like you’ve had much sleep either.” Thomas winked.
“None to speak of. When the first train broke down its replacement took hours to collect us. I missed the next two because of the first. I apologize for my untidiness and tardy arrival.”
“No need for apologies.” Thomas pulled out his pocket watch, flicked it open with his thumb, frowned at the time and arched a brow at him. “It’s only been a dozen years, what’s a few more hours?”
Beau’s eyes widened. So his brother had become a time stickler like their father?
Thomas threw his arm around Beau’s neck and pounded him on the chest. The same kind of rough hug he’d given him as a boy. “I’m teasing, little brother. Get me full of ale and I can reprise more of Father’s memorable quirks. I’m glad you’re finally home.” He pounded him again fondly. “We should have warned you. Trains in these parts are reliably unreliable. Many forgo the frustration and take a coach.”
Thomas’s joking calmed some of Beau’s unease. He’d always idolized his eldest brother and couldn’t help a surge of affection. Thomas had intelligence, good looks, a good nature, and strength of character—everything an admirable earl needed. And he never stepped wrong. Not one foot out of place.
Stepping wrong had been Beau’s lot in life.
But no more—he’d vowed to change. If his brother could be respectable, so could he. He was done playing the family’s scoundrel.
Three boys, all miniature versions of his brother, romped over. A little girl dragging a croquet stick soon followed and latched onto her father’s knee.
“I’d like you to meet Alistair,” Thomas said. “He’s nine, Royce is seven, Ernest is six and Daisy here is three. Children, this is your sea captain Uncle Beauford come home at last.”
The boys stepped forward like little men, stuck out their hands and gave his a shake. The little girl stuck her thumb in her mouth.
Beau lowered himself to Daisy’s eye level. Her sweet little face and dark eyes and hair squeezed the damaged, hollow place in his heart he dared not think about.
He spoke quietly, smiling. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Daisy.” She popped her thumb out of her mouth, gave him a shy smile and bashfully hid her face in her father’s pant leg.
By now a footman had unloaded his luggage.
“A minute, please.” Beau strode over and opened his trunk. “I have presents!” He pulled out four American frontier coonskin hats and handed one to each child.
“Thank you Uncle Beauford,” they chorused.
“A fine family you have here, Thomas.” He smiled. “It’s good to be home.” He’d longed for a quiet, peaceful rest and a chance to get to know his family. His sister-in-law’s invitation had said a small birthday party for his brother.
“Has Wills arrived for your party? Beau hadn’t seen his second eldest brother, six years his senior, since their father’s funeral.
“He and his wife may be greeting their new babe as we speak. He sent their regrets, and hopes he may introduce you to his family in the near future.” Thomas curled his arm around Beau’s shoulder and steered him toward the door. “My lady wife is eager to make your acquaintance. I don’t know if you were told, but Amelia thought my birthday party the perfect opportunity to show off the new renovations. Once you get settled you can meet all the guests.”
***
The last thing Beau wanted to do after such an arduous trip was sit at a long dinner table with thirty-plus guests and make polite conversation. Yet here he sat, five from the end.
After a bath and an abbreviated nap he’d arrived just in time to take his place at table. Stifling a yawn, he surreptitiously glanced left and right. On either side of him sat two nearly identical, shy young women. Both possessed even features, blue eyes, pale skin, blonde hair and similar white gowns—ideal flowers of English womanhood.
His sister-in-law obviously took matchmaking seriously. The two lasses were daughters of landed gentry and probably considered a reasonable match for a questionably suitable, questionably solvent and questionably steadfast third son of an earl.
Beau sat uncomfortably in his new formal black suit. He slid a finger between his neck and collar and tugged.
Down the far end, at the head of the table, sat his brother Thomas. He now wore a splendid tailored dark suit, stiff white shirt, white waistcoat and a perfectly tied white cravat. Somehow his eldest brother had always looked impressive, yet comfortable, in clothes that would chafe Beau’s hide.
Clearly his sister in law, the new Lady Grancliffe, was having fun restoring grandeur to the earldom and the old hall. Lavish new gold candelabra, sparkling silver and abundant flower arrangements decorated the white tablecloth.
Beau turned to the young woman on his right. “Did you grow up in these parts, Miss Winfield?”
She nodded, giggling, and reached toward her ear to twist a hair curl around a finger.
He turned to his left. “And how about you, Miss Trundel?”
She gave a quick cough he interpreted as a yes. Then she became engrossed in—if he wasn’t mistaken—a silver question mark dangling from her charm bracelet.
He tried again with Miss Winfield. “Have you known Lady Grancliffe long?”
She blushed and shook her head, making her gold and pearl earrings twirl in circles.
He turned back to Miss Trundel. “Is this your first visit to Grancliffe Hall?”
Her rouge-brightened lips puckered. “No.” She twiddled the next charm resembling a canoe—or was it a slipper?
The footmen placed dishes in front of them and filled their wineglasses. Evidently the young women were as relieved as Beau with the interruption, for they made a production of cutting their poached pheasant and savoring their dry rosé in silence.
Far down the table on his side, a glass tipped over. The sound of breaking crystal cut through the hum of conversation. A strange hooting cackle seemed to come from the vicinity of the breakage.
A female voice announced loudly, “No apologies necessary, sir. I’m quite all right. However, I must make an observation. If you’re unable to refrain from spilling your wine, it seems doubtful you could possibly keep any woman happy.”
Beau’s lips quivered. He knew that voice, though it sounded more strident than he remembered. Her insinuation wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow in most dockside taverns he’d frequented, but such words brayed at an earl’s table were nothing less than shocking. Excitement surged through him. And he couldn’t decide if it was from the memory of holding C.C. in his arms, or his prison camp paranoia leaping back to life, screaming trap.
He hadn’t noticed her when he entered the room. What was she doing here? He looked down the table for a woman resembling the coal-smudged shopkeeper he’d kissed at Cremorne. Then he looked again. Only one woman met her basic description, but she couldn’t be her. Everything about her screamed ‘elegant lady.’
A jingling sound drew his attention back to Miss Trundel as she sawed industriously at her pheasant. “My, what a lovely bracelet.” He smiled. “Do the charms have special meaning?”
By now she’d warmed to him, a little, and she smiled shyly. “Yes.”
“That charm, the one that looks like a canoe, what’s its significance?”
Miss Trundel curled her hand to her mouth and whispered, “It’s a banana.”
He gazed at the small charm. “So i’tis. I take it you’re fond of bananas?”
She giggled and leaned to exchange speaking glances with Miss Winfield.
Beau turned to Miss Winfield. She’d obviously been staring at him. Her eyes went wide and her pale skin brightened to crimson.
He worked to give her a smile and took a gulp of wine. This was getting painful. Struggling to extract dull small talk from proper young women barely out of the schoolroom was giving him a headache. He’d much rather talk to a certain cheeky shopgirl.
During the next course, a grating giggle rose above the conversation. It went on and on until finally ending with several porcine-like snorts. “Dear me,” she said, “Yankee Doll? A man of your advanced years and you still have a tendre for dolls?”
Beau stifled a laugh. The table grew quieter. He stretched forward to see around the other guests and found himself staring. No. She couldn’t be C.C. The woman at the end of the table was resplendent, almost…ethereal.
A low-cut, exquisite lavender gown emphasized her long neck and soft, creamy bosom. Amethysts draped her cleavage. Flower buds adorned an elaborate profusion of sable curls. Her features were more pronounced, lovelier, as if a master artist had applied a regal finish.
He looked closer.
Good God, it was her. What a transformation. And what an enchantress!
Heat rushed through his body as he recalled their kisses. He willed her to make eye contact. As if hearing his request, she turned, raised her thick dark lashes and locked gazes.
Nothing. No reaction. Her eyes could have been marble for all the response they showed. She turned away to speak to another guest.
Beau casually shifted his gaze. Either she was tragically purblind, or she didn’t wish to know him—most likely the latter. She’d sent him three letters, and had been so eager to meet with him she’d chastised him for burning the first two. Now she mysteriously appeared at his family’s country home and didn’t acknowledge him? What was she up to?
The gentleman on the other side of Miss Winfield leaned around her and groused, “I don’t know why they continue to invite that crazy woman. She is positively off her nut, insulting Viscount Falgate that way.” The man shook his head and wrinkled his nose distastefully. “The stories I could tell you about her.”
“Why is she here?” Beau responded.
“I don’t know. Ask your brother. It’s his party.”
Beau eased back into his chair. Fascinating. At the pleasure gardens C.C. had looked like a trade woman or possibly a governess. Her note asked him to meet her at a time when a proper, respectable woman would have long since departed. Now she looked like a goddess and sat disparaging a viscount at an earl’s dinner table.
Was she a Union spy as he’d suspected? And what about her business opportunity? Had it been truthful or was she ‘off her nut,’ like the fellow said? For certain, the woman was unsettling. But dear God, what a beauty, and by the way she tempted his reckless side, a lot could be forgiven.
At the conclusion of dinner, he waited for her in the hallway. When she exited, he stepped in front of her and bowed. “Hello again, madam.”
She quickly looked behind her. Lord Falgate lingered in the doorway talking to another guest. “Not now,” she muttered under her breath. “Excuse me sir,” she announced louder and held her frothy bell-shaped skirt to edge around Beau.
Her curt dismissal only tweaked his curiosity more. Could it be she didn’t want Lord Falgate or someone else to know she and Beau were acquainted? Was she married after all? He almost followed her down the hallway, but her strange behavior made him reconsider. It might be wise to first get the lay of the land. He turned the opposite direction and made his way to the billiard room.
While several men racked up balls and began a game, Beau savored two glasses of his brother’s fine brandy and walked around admiring the room’s redecorating. Any hopes of turning in early for a long night’s rest would have to wait.
He stopped at a side table to gaze at a familiar bottle. As a boy he’d spent untold hours studying its contents. Oh, what dreams that miniature East India tea clipper had conjured. How carefully he’d measured, drawn and redrawn the vessel inside. It had been the genesis of his ship designs.
Two small paintings of his father and mother hung on the wall behind. Both had dark eyes and hair. He’d never known his mother. The answer to who he really was died at his birth.
Thomas approached, slapped him on the back and offered him a cigar from the box he carried. “Thank you for these excellent Havanas, little brother. I do so enjoy a good cigar.”
“You’re very welcome,” Beau replied. “And happy birthday.”
His brother set the cigar box on the table while a diligent footman refilled both their brandy glasses and lit their cigars.
Beau took several satisfying puffs and gazed at his father’s picture. He could almost hear the old man growl, “When it comes to mischief, you’ve not lived a life of missed opportunities.” Now his motto, he’d spent his life challenging the words ‘no’ and ‘forbidden.’ Though the rewards had filled his pockets with gold, the risks had finally taken their toll.
“I wonder how many of my little hellions will take after the old man?” Thomas mused.
Glancing at his brother and then at his father’s picture on the wall, Beau responded, “If memory serves, eleven generations in the portrait gallery would say they’d all resemble him.”
His brother took a long puff and blew smoke out between his teeth, grinning. “We haven’t announced it officially, but it appears we’ll be adding to the nursery in another six months or so.”
A cloud of grief threatened to engulf Beau.
He arranged a smile on his face and concentrated on deploying proper vowels and consonants. “Congratulations. I never would have thought domesticity would suit you, but I see you flourish in it.”
“Thank you. If I should be so bold, you might discover advantages in the situation as well. Thomas lowered his voice and leaned in. “Money is important, of course. I was fortunate to find a woman I couldn’t live without who brought a pot of money to the earldom. But more importantly, finding the right woman and settling down to make a family has many hidden benefits. I dare say it’s what life is all about.”
A familiar ache tormented his heart. I’m sorry, Millie…my darling Freddie.
Beau had once considered such a life. His irresponsible, unreliable streak made it impossible. If a woman wanted someone steadfast, she’d best look elsewhere. Still, he could play along and worked to keep his smile in place. “I did take note Lady Grancliffe is on a mission to help me with that very thing.”
“Ah, my lovely wife. As soon as she realized you were thirty she evaluated her friends and acquaintances and came up with a ‘must introduce’ list.”
“Is the lovely young woman in the elegant lavender gown on the list?”
His brother looked confused. Then he winced. “Do you mean our Auntie Cali?”
“Is that her name?”
“That’s what the children call their favorite relative. I suspect some replace the Auntie with a less flattering title,” he muttered and then cleared his throat. “Her name is Miss Calista Caroline Collins.”
“She’s quite possibly the most exquisite woman I’ve ever seen. Maybe you or your lady wife could introduce us.”
Thomas frowned and puffed on his cigar. “No, not Miss Collins.”
Beau blinked, surprised. “Since you call her ‘Miss,’ she’s unmarried? Is she attached?”
His brother pursed his lips and motioned to the footman for an ashtray. Both tapped off their ash and waited for the footman to leave.
Thomas gave Beau a pointed look. “You’d best steer clear of her, dear brother. She’s one of Lady Grancliffe’s relatives from New York City—first cousin, don’t you know.” He puffed on his cigar and then studied it as he seemed to consider his words. “Miss Collins created some kind of unforgivable scandal in New York City. Her parents were all too eager to park her somewhere. Poor girl had a tough time of it. Kept to her bed for months.”
“Was she ill?”
“Doctors said severe melancholia. One even thought her a lost cause, urged us to commit her to a French institution. My wife and Mrs. Arnold, my mother-in-law, wouldn’t hear of it. Mrs. A. determined diversion the best medicine and took her on a tour of the continent. Miss Collins eventually got better. But she’s fragile—some say she’s touched in the head.”
Beau blew smoke rings around his cigar as he considered his brother’s story versus the compassion and strength of will he’d seen in C.C. at Cremorne. So his wife’s wealthy family was clothing and sheltering a poor, cast-off relation? “It’s very generous of you and your wife’s family to take her in. I would think with your status and position you could find her someone.”
His brother bit down on his cigar and growled, “She’s not the kind of relative one readily acknowledges. The newspapers are filled with reports on England’s plague of insanity. We don’t want it put about we imported one.”
“I would think with her beauty she would have offers, even if she is a fragile, penniless woman.”
Thomas pulled his cigar from his mouth and frowned. “On the contrary, our Miss Collins is heiress to an enormous fortune.”
Heiress? Beau hacked out cigar smoke. Bloody hell! She’d enticed him—a total stranger—to a pleasure garden after dark and was chased by two villains. She could get herself kidnapped or worse! “A beautiful, rich, young woman should be buried in offers.”
“She’s managed to maintain a youthful appearance, but she’s almost thirty.” Thomas took a long draw on his cigar and tipped his head back to blow smoke toward the carved rafters. “No, I’m afraid she’s quite on the shelf.”
“Truly? We’re nearly the same age, and I’m in the prime of my life.” Any woman who returned his kisses the way she had definitely was not on the shelf either.
“Did you hear her outbursts toward Lord Falgate at dinner? Quite off color. She has strange spells too.” Thomas shook his head and muttered, “Unpredictable woman.” After subtly checking about them, his brother leaned in, frowning, and said sotto voce, “Falgate has a dubious reputation, rumored to be in hock up to his wrinkled cravat. His wife supposedly fell off a bridge. Her body was never found.
Beau’s brows went up. “He’s a friend of yours?”
“Long story. Our wives were friends since childhood.” Thomas leaned to his other foot as he quickly peered about them and whispered, “It’s rumored he’s consorts with a bad lot, blackguards all. But he still has powerful connections, can be extremely ruthless when his ire’s up, and is a crack shot when he’s sober. It’s prudent to stay in his good books.”
Taking another puff on his cigar, Beau considered what his brother said. “How did Falgate end up seated next to Miss Collins?”
“He insisted Lady Grancliffe place him there. Evidently, he hoped to gain leverage with Miss Collins for the friendship she also had with his wife. Or perhaps, he hoped he could impress her with his title and status in the House of Lords. Who knows?” Thomas darted a look to the far corner where Lord Falgate slouched in a large armchair. His snores carried across the room.
“Surely she can do better.” Even in repose the man looked dangerous. Beau had known men like him in prison. Darkness seemed to swirl about them. Some had the uncanny ability to sleep with one eye open. “Clearly the fellow is in need of a new money purse. Don’t you have a ‘must introduce’ list for Miss Collins too?”
“Shot through it long ago. Falgate knows the story. You see, Miss Collins’s mama gave her specific marching orders. She must land herself a titled husband before she will be welcomed back into New York society.”
His brother placed his empty glass on a side table and turned back to Beau. Through puffs on his cigar he spoke in a confidential tone, “For the first year, or so, Miss Collins dedicated herself to the task like a general laying siege to a keep. One or two indigent titles showed interest and were willing to overlook her problems and past. Eventually her true colors came through. Even the most determined sought greener, saner pastures. Word got around, don’t you know.”
“Maybe she just needs proper instruction. We shouldn’t hold it against her if she grew up with the mongrel hoards in New York City.”
“Dear brother, it’s more than cultural differences! She’s been here a decade. We’ve talked ourselves hoarse trying to convince her she only reinforces the rumors of instability with outbursts like those at dinner. She truly acts chastened and then does it again. I’ve a mind, deep down, our Miss Collins hates men.”
Beau slowly rolled his cigar in his mouth remembering how her soft, full lips moved so delightfully under his and how her lush body melted against him. He jerked the cigar from his mouth. “There must be some mistake.”
His brother’s expression grew reflective. “Had a mare like her once. Refused every stud we presented. Nearly gelded one or two we had mount—”
Mount. Dear God. “Well I—” Beau coughed as he struggled to keep a provocative image of he and C.C. from his mind. Fatigue, too much brandy and now this added bit of mischief made his head pound. Pinching his eyes together, he blinked and grasped for some topic to erase the image. “Does she have outbursts with women?”
“Never seen one. Can’t say she’s ever spoken to me in any way but cordial either. Odd woman, our Auntie Cali. The insanity must come from her American mother’s side.”
Thomas turned and slapped Beau on the back. “I’ve a wonderful wife and must occasionally brush up against some of her crazy relatives. You, on the other hand, are free to keep whatever company suits you. Miss Collins is a pretty package but believe me, you can do better.”
