At breakfast, she’d asked his godmother for permission to take the boat on the lake, and of course it was granted. He didn’t believe there was a single person who could ever refuse any request she might have.
It had been on the tip of his tongue to ask if she would like him to row her, but Mr. Woodlyn had beaten him to it.
Woodlyn—who’d remained so late after dinner last night that he’d forced an invitation to stay over. Woodlyn—who’d already stolen every opportunity to take a turn with Miss Bourne, willingness to play chess should Miss Bourne like the amusement, and to ask Miss Bourne’s opinion on whatever thought crept into his hollowed-out gourd of a skull.
Mr. bloody Woodlyn.
Though, this morning, it had turned out well enough, because she’d refused Woodlyn, claiming that she had to go out on her own because it was a surprise.
Curious, Nicholas ambled closer to the pond, continuing to watch her. Occasionally, she peered over the side, her hands busily weaving a basket, of sorts, out of broad blades of grass.
“It would not be a terrible hardship for a man to pass the rest of his years in such company, I think,” Woodlyn said, rounding the outside of the garden, apparently taking another tour around the lake. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Edgemont?”
“Not a ‘terrible hardship,’ no.”
“Did I hear correctly, that you are interested in asking Miss Bourne’s uncle to find you a wife?”
Ambling near the mossy bank, Nicholas kept to the excuse he’d given his godmother. “I’m considering it.”
“Though, it is a peculiarity that her uncle would allow her and her sisters the freedom to assist in such important matters. In small parishes such as these, the congregation typically turns to one like me to find them the ideal spouse.”
“And if your wife wanted to assist you, just as Miss Bourne assists her uncle?” Nicholas asked, slyly raising his voice with the knowledge that sound traveled quite well over water.
He caught Briar’s attention. She glanced up from her weaving and automatically smiled, the sight warming him.
Woodlyn chuckled. “It is the man’s place to ensure the security and happiness of all who reside under his care, is it not?”
“And the woman’s place . . . in your esteemed opinion?”
“Why, to do all those little things that women do—sketch pictures, embroider handkerchiefs, and whatnot.”
Briar pursed her lips, flicking a frosty blue glance at the cleric, but kept her opinion out of the conversation.
Nicholas subdued a grin. “And is whatnot a euphemism for her own interests and pursuits?”
“What interests could a wife have other than seeing to the needs of her husband and children?” Woodlyn picked up a stick and trailed it absently through the tall grasses. Oblivious to his audience, he continued, gradually closing a noose around his own neck. “Certainly, a man who is courting a young woman provides allowances for a freer spirit, which one might have in their youth before true obligations are required of them. Even he may have a certain degree of wildness that needs tamed. But it is up to a man to rule himself, to take firm control and give up amusements when he is, at last, settled.”
“Are you saying that a married man is not permitted a bit of fun, even with his own wife?”
“I have counseled a few young, newly married men, and I have advised them to temper their passions quickly and to strap on the yoke of life.”
Nicholas shuddered. If this was the type of matchmaking provided by Woodlyn, he was surprised that anyone in the parish married at all. He made it all sound like nothing more than an obligation one performed—get married, have children, hate the rest of your life.
Actually, that sounded eerily similar to what Nicholas’s own marriage might have been.
“After all, a married man does not keep a sporting gig and jaunt about the countryside. That is the pastime of a bachelor who is winnowing away the husk of youth.”
“Don’t you have such a gig?” Nicholas had heard all about it in many letters over the past two weeks. Pages and pages of it riding over the countryside, until he’d hoped that the wheels would fall off.
“I do, indeed. But I am ready”—Woodlyn glanced out across the water and waved when he saw Briar looking at him—“for a landau. And you, my lord? Are you equally ready to—”
“Strap on the yoke of life?” Nicholas was unable to say it without a smirk. “I’m a bit of a free spirit. I enjoy many amusements, which I want to enjoy for as long as I am able. And, were I to marry, I should like someone to enjoy them along with me, and even invite me to enjoy some of hers.”
“Hmm . . .” Woodlyn mulled this over, swiping the stick through the grass, so lost in his own thoughts that he missed the best surprise of all.
Briar extended her foot over one side of the boat, while she dipped her shallow basket into the reedy water on the other side. Then, after only a moment, came up with a pair of wriggling fish.
In that instant, the sun glinted off the surface of the water in a shower of sparks, blinding him. He recalled with perfect clarity the afternoon she’d shared her scone and told him of his perfect wife.
All she wants is a honeymoon beside a lake, alone with you. And there, you’ll discover that there is more to her than you could have anticipated.
Perhaps you’ll learn that . . . oh, I don’t know . . . that she is a remarkable fisherman.
And Nicholas was suddenly wondering if Briar should add soothsayer to her list of accomplishments.
* * *
From beneath the stone arch of the side garden that afternoon, Briar watched Mr. Woodlyn’s curricle hasten down the drive.
Not surprisingly, after overhearing his conversation with Nicholas, she no longer felt conflicted about his attentions. Nor did she worry about wounding his feelings and ruining Temperance’s chance of marrying him. She wouldn’t wish such a man on her worst enemy, let alone her dearest friend.
She growled, swiping a climbing jasmine off the vine, and tore its fragrant petals free, one by one. “Why am I such an abominable failure at matchmaking?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Nicholas said, giving her a start as he came up beside her. “Mr. Woodlyn was quite smitten with you. I’m sure he would have made a very fine husband, and might have even let you out of the house every now and then.”
His mouth curved in a grin that was a bit too pleased and too smug for her liking.
She narrowed her eyes and tossed the wrecked blossom to the ground. “For your information, he was never supposed to be smitten with me. I’d intended him for Temperance all along.”
She relished the quick blink of shock that slackened his jaw.
“And the letters?”
“They were only meant to entice her,” she admitted, though with a sudden rise of trepidation as she remembered that they had also brought Nicholas here.
He eyed her shrewdly.
She looked down at his cravat and reached up to dust a few crumbs from it. “It might have been in the back of my mind—the very back, darkest corner, mind you—to make you the ever-smallest bit jealous as well. Why are you covered in crumbs?” She gasped, lifting her gaze abruptly and wagging her finger at him. “You found the scones, didn’t you?”
“I did, indeed.” Unrepentant to the core, he had the nerve to lick his lips.
“They were supposed to be a surprise for later.”
“Mmm . . .” He wagged a finger back at her, touching the tip of her nose. “But what I cannot fathom is how Mrs. Darden’s scones could have traveled all this way and taste as if they were fresh out of the oven. Unless some little minx gave the recipe to my godmother’s cook, when she refused to share it with mine.”
She set her hands on her hips. “As a matter of fact, I did not share the recipe. Mrs. Darden would never have approved. It is a family secret. She did, however, teach each of us girls how to make them ourselves, along with many other valuable skills.”
“Like catching fish in bask
ets?”
“She taught me how to weave the basket, but using it to catch fish was something I learned on my . . .” She lost track of her thoughts as he crowded closer, skimming his finger over her lips and down her throat. She was suddenly breathless. “. . . on my own. Nicholas, you cannot kiss me here. Someone will see.”
“Just one. Your lips are too tempting.” He nibbled at the corners of her mouth, his hand at her nape, the other dipping to the small of her back, pulling her flush. “I simply can’t resist.”
Briar smiled and slid her arms around his neck. It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was the next best thing.
Chapter 28
“He owed it to her, to risk any thing that might be involved in an unwelcome interference, rather than her welfare . . .”
Jane Austen, Emma
“We’ve come to steal you away for an outing,” Temperance announced almost the second she stepped foot in Holliford Park manor the following morning. Enthusiasm fairly vibrated from her.
If her friend possessed a pair of wings, Briar would be embracing the tallest hummingbird imaginable.
The missive Briar had received yesterday afternoon was just as wild—a few lines announcing her plan to visit, and a wonderful surprise to follow, and to be prepared to depart at once.
“Can we not pause to bid everyone a good day, first?”
Temperance blushed and looked around to see that the Duchess of Holliford was framed in the archway of the sitting room, just off the foyer. “Forgive me, Your Grace. It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen my dearest friend that I forgot myself.”
“No need to apologize. Mrs. Fitzherbert and I greet each other in the same fashion,” the duchess said, her mouth drawn into a tiny smirk, apparently pleased with her own jest.
Briar laughed at the vision that conjured—the two older women giggling like schoolgirls while clutching their shawls, but then abruptly altering to austere expressions when another person might come into the room.
Daniel stepped into the open door next, greeting her with a shy smile and a bow before seeing the duchess and offering the same to her. “Your Grace.”
Temperance, already over her embarrassment, tugged on Briar’s arm. “Fetch your bonnet. And where is Nicholas? Ah, there you are, cousin.”
He ambled toward them with a covered basket in hand, mouth moving suspiciously as he gave Briar an unrepentant look. “I came upon the rest of the scones, purely by accident and not rummaging about the larder at all. Assuming you planned to bring them along, I decided to do my part.”
Daniel, recovering from his shyness, strode past her. “Are they Mrs. Darden’s scones?”
“Even better,” Nicholas said, rotating evasively as Daniel reached for the basket. If it wasn’t for the compliment, Briar might have been quite cross. Instead, her heart kicked in a few additional beats, feeling quite too large for the cage of her ribs.
Temperance came up beside her. “I have the best news to share with you. Let’s away so I can tell you all of it, hmm?”
“Very well, for if we do not leave this instant, I’m afraid there will be no scones left by the time we reach the carriage.”
After bidding the duchess a good day, and her doing the same with a pleased smile on her lips, they left Holliford Park in an open carriage, sunlight peering down at them through a gradual gathering of clouds.
Temperance looked up at the sky with worry. “I hope it does not rain, for I want today to be perfect.”
“And am I ever going to learn our destination, or is that part of the grand surprise?” Briar asked, watching Nicholas and Daniel on the opposite bench, each with a hand on the lip of the basket.
Temperance turned, angling toward her. “Before we get into all that, you must tell me about your gentleman. Your Mr. Woodlyn.”
“Well . . .” She exchanged a wry look with Nicholas. “It was all a terrible misunderstanding, I’m afraid. He portrayed himself as a much different person at first, but after your cousin arrived, I was able to see his true nature.”
“It’s rather fortunate then that Nicholas read your every correspondence,” Temperance said, a sly glance darting between the two of them. “When he snatched the last letter out of my hand and left without a word, I never imagined that we would learn he’d ridden all the way to Holliford Park, and even more shockingly, that he’d decided to stay. I thought, perhaps, his horse had gone lame.”
“You make a very good point,” Briar said, feeling a bit daring as she sent a grin across the carriage. “I never inquired, my lord. Why did you remain at Holliford Park?”
His lips quirked back. “Perhaps I enjoy the pond.”
“There is a pond at Blacklowe Manor,” Temperance supplied.
“Ah yes, but there isn’t a summerhouse, and I’m rather fond of those.”
Briar turned away from the warmth in his gaze and tilted her face up to the sky so that anyone would think her cheeks were pinkened by the sun. Of course, the sky chose that precise moment to darken, lavender-tinged clouds crowding closer together.
“Come now, cousin, you could build one of those, if you truly wish, so that is not an answer.”
“If I were Nicholas,” Daniel said, sneaking a hand into the basket, “I’d stay wherever I could find these scones and never leave.”
Nicholas did not respond, but turned his gaze heavenward as well, a contemplative frown on his lips. “How much further to our destination, Teense?”
“Not far, for the place is only five miles from Holliford Park.”
A cold shiver skirted down Briar’s limbs at the mention of the distance. The cottage where she grew up, where she had lived with Mother, was only five miles from the duchess’s residence. Though, surely that was a coincidence.
She shrugged off the sensation, blaming it on the cool breeze here beneath the shade of elms on either side of the road.
It was a familiar setting. The village was just to their left, houses and old stone buildings with thatched roofs, nestled up to a narrow cobblestone lane that led to the square. With her sisters, she’d taken this path many times in her youth, but not once after Mother died. They’d gone to live with Uncle Ernest, and his estate was nearly twelve miles in the opposite direction. Even when they were invited to visit Holliford Park, they never found reason to return. It had been too painful.
“And now for my news,” Temperance said after they’d chatted for a while. Drawing in a steadying breath, she shook out her hands as if her short gloves were making them hot. Then, after a moment, she laid them in her lap, her expression earnest and excited. “I’ve been exchanging letters with John Cartwright.”
If Briar had been suddenly bounced out of the carriage and run over by it, the sensation would have made less of an impact. “You have?”
“When you said you were not bothered at all by our introduction, I gave myself over to the fullness of the feelings I had the instant we met. And when he wrote to me that first exceptional note, I knew he’d felt something, too. From that point, and from each correspondence since, my affections have only grown. He has confessed the same to me. I’ve already told Daniel.”
“In great, unending detail,” Daniel said, rolling his eyes.
“And Mother knows, too. In fact, that is where we are headed today. It’s rather serendipitous that he should have a house here, and to be visiting north Hampshire precisely when we are.”
“Temperance,” Nicholas said, his voice low with warning as he sat forward, looking from his cousin to Briar, his surprise and displeasure apparent. “You should have mentioned this beforehand.”
His cousin disagreed with a shake of her head. “You couldn’t be more wrong. Briar understands these things better than most. And I didn’t want to tell her because she would have felt obligated to arrange for harp music and rose petals. Isn’t that right?”
Laughing, Temperance clasped her hand. Briar nodded but looked down to shield her expression beneath the brim of her hat. She wasn’t certain she co
uld fix a smile on her face. Too frozen with shock, any movement at all might break her.
There was so much news coming at her all at once that she hardly knew how to process it.
Then before she could even begin, the driver turned down another lane, passing a familiar obelisk with the letter C cut into the pitted stone. C for Cartwright.
Unspeakable dread filled Briar. She had traced that letter hundreds of times. When she was young, and still Briar Bourne-Cartwright, she’d thought of the marker as a wishing stone. If she held her breath, ran around it, and traced every C with her finger, it would surely work to bring Father home and make Mother well again.
But he never came. Not for his wife. Not for his legitimate children. And so, years later, Briar and her sisters had abandoned his name, like he had abandoned them.
“Briar,” Nicholas said quietly, his low tone so tender that she felt the first prickle of tears.
Without looking at him, she shook her head in silent communication. Not now, when I’m so close to falling apart.
Temperance did not seem to notice her distress. Understandably, she was caught up in the thrill of meeting someone she was fond of. Briar could not fault her for that.
“Oh, I think we are here. Is that he? Daniel, move your enormous head out of the way.”
“Miss Bourne, are you unwell?” Daniel asked.
Gathering the last bit of strength, she flashed a glance up to him and hoped that a smile touched her lips. “Perfectly hale. A bit too much sun, perhaps.”
No sooner had she uttered the last syllable than the rain began, proclaiming her a liar. It was a small scattering at first. The droplets warm on her chilled skin. They beaded up on her forearms, magnifying the sparse golden hair. She almost wished she could disappear into one of the tiny domes.
The driver spurred the horses, jostling the party—and Temperance with a gleeful giggle—as they drove the final stretch to the cottage where Mother had died.
Briar still couldn’t look up. It would be like seeing Mother’s eyes drift closed for the last time. To see her skin change from glowing cream to the ashen gray of death, like the façade. To hear her mournful sighs slowly give way to that awful, wet, and wheezing final breath.
Ten Kisses to Scandal (Misadventures in Matchmaking) Page 27