Ravish Me with Rubies

by Jane Feather

  Petra absorbed this. She looked at it from every angle and apart from her innate dislike of big parties, she could find no fault. It would only be one evening. Slowly she nodded. “I could live with that.”

  “Thank the Lord for that.” He gave a deep sigh of relief, getting up from the window seat, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Give me your hand, sweetheart.”

  She held out her right hand and he shook his head impatiently. “No, not that one. The left hand.”

  “Oh.” Understanding dawned. She held out her left hand and watched mesmerized as he slid a star ruby, richly faceted, and deep reddish purple, onto her ring finger. “It’s so beautiful,” she breathed, turning her hand this way and that to catch the light in the depths of color. “And it’s a perfect fit.”

  “I hoped it would be. My mother had small hands and slender fingers too,” Guy said. “It’s part of a set. History dates the Granville rubies to Tudor times but my own mother had all the pieces reset with more modern designs. There’s a necklace, earrings, which are pigeon’s blood rubies, a bracelet and a tiara. They are traditionally worn by Granville brides and I hope you’ll wear the set on our wedding day, my love. For all that it will be a simple ceremony,” he added, with a flicker of an eyebrow.

  “I will be honored,” Petra said simply.

  Guy held out his hands to her, grasped hers and pulled her into him. “Now, my quarrelsome bride-to-be, kiss me and we’ll seal our bargain.”

  Petra melted into him, losing herself in the warm aff ir-mation of his kiss, only to jump apart as the door was abruptly opened. “What’s going on?” Jonathan’s startled voice broke the peace. “I couldn’t credit it when Foster told me you were entertaining Granville alone in your bedroom. What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

  “Kissing, what does it look like, Joth,” Petra said, unable to resist the urge to tease her brother.

  “For shame, Petra,” Guy chided. He took her hand and smiled at the irate but confused Jonathan. “Rutherford, I am happy to say that your sister has just agreed to be my wife.” He extended his free hand.

  “Oh.” Jonathan took the offered hand and shook it, still bemused. “Betrothed? I . . . I . . . how did that come about? I knew you were seen around town together, but I didn’t think it meant anything . . . oh, damn it, what am I saying. Congratulations, both of you.” He hugged his sister. “I don’t know how you got to this point, but I’m very happy for you.”

  Petra hugged him warmly, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, dearest. I’m very happy. See my ring.” She showed him her hand. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “Stunning,” Joth said simply.

  “But you’re the first to know about this, so don’t say anything yet.”

  “No, no, of course not. Haven’t you even told Diana and Fenella?”

  “No, not yet. It only happened this afternoon. You’re back early from the races.”

  “Yes, I wanted to read some reports on improving shipping access to Bristol harbor. Dredging needs to be done,” he said. “Perhaps I could persuade you to look at them with me, Granville.”

  “Oh, Joth, not now,” Petra exclaimed, half laughing. “Please.”

  Her brother flushed. “Sorry, you’re quite right. Let’s go down to the library and open some champagne. We should be celebrating.” He walked to the door, continuing over his shoulder, “Have you notified the parents yet?”

  “I was intending to send Sir Percy a telegram this evening,” Guy told him, following him out of Petra’s bedroom. “They’re in Baden-Baden, I understand.”

  “No, they moved to Nice last week,” Jonathan said. “I have their address downstairs. You could send the telegram from here if you wish.”

  Once the telegram was sent everything else would follow in the customary order. Petra paused, her foot on the top stair as the men preceded her downstairs. Every step of a society betrothal and wedding was foreordained. Her mother would fling herself into preparations, it would be as bad as Petra’s debutante Season, the only time she could remember when her mother had devoted her full attention to her daughter. And Petra much preferred it when she was not the focus of her mother’s waking hours. But at least the ceremony itself would be as she wished it. She could handle her mother that far.

  “I’ll join you both in the library in a few minutes,” she called, then turned and retraced her steps. She would send the news to Diana and Fenella, so that it would be waiting for them when they got home. They could convene in the morning and this bubble in which she seemed trapped would burst with a commonsense discussion that would put everything into perspective.

  * * *

  The front doorbell was ringing at Brook Street before nine o’clock the next morning. Foster greeted the two visitors on the doorstep with a calm good morning. “Miss Petra hasn’t come downstairs as yet, ladies. I’ll send a message up to her.”

  “No, don’t trouble yourself. We’ll go straight up ourselves.” Diana waved a hand vaguely and headed for the stairs, Fenella on her heels. They burst into Petra’s bedroom without ceremony. “Sorry, I know it’s horribly early,” Diana said. “We met on the doorstep. Tell us everything at once.”

  “Oh, give the poor girl a chance to wake up,” Fenella protested, laughing. “Not that I’m not as desperate as you to hear the whole. When did it happen, Petra?” She dropped onto the edge of the bed where Petra sat drinking her morning tea.

  “All in good time,” Petra said, casting a warning glance toward the bathroom door where her maid could be heard humming as she drew Petra’s bath.

  Diana nodded and Petra called, “Dottie, leave the bath for now. I’ll ring for you when I need you.”

  The maid appeared from the bathroom wiping her hands on her apron. “As you wish, Miss Petra. Should I fetch coffee for the ladies?”

  “In half an hour, please.” Petra waited for the maid to leave the room before sliding her left hand out from under the bedclothes where she’d been concealing it. “So, what do you think?” She laid her hand on the coverlet, where the ruby glowed, its interior star sparking in the deep red.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Diana said, taking Petra’s hand to look at it closely. “Is it a family jewel?”

  “Part of the Granville rubies set. Guy wants me to wear the rest of it on the wedding day.”

  “They’re quite famous, I think,” Fenella said. “I heard my mother talking about them once, I can’t remember why.”

  “I’m afraid they’ll overwhelm me.” Petra looked at the ring again. “I think I can get away with the ring, but I think I’m too small and insignificant-looking to get away with the whole set at once.”

  “Nonsense,” Diana stated, sitting on the other side of the bed from Fenella. “There’s nothing insignificant about you at all. So, start from the beginning. Did the engagement have anything to do with why you both left Ascot so suddenly?”

  “Yes, it did.” Petra told them everything except for the quarrel about the kind of wedding they would have. She said only, “Guy wants to hold a big society engagement party in town, but the wedding will be small and in Somerset.”

  “I wonder how many noses this will put out of joint,” Diana mused. “Clothilde Delmont’s for one.”

  “Should I concern myself with that?” Petra asked.

  “No, of course you shouldn’t,” Fenella responded vigorously. “The engagement will be the talk of the town for a while, it’s inevitable, Guy Granville’s doings are always matters for gossip and speculation, but once Sir Percy and Lady Rutherford are back in town and the planning’s in full swing no one will think of anything but guest lists and speculation about the marriage settlements.”

  “Well, I couldn’t care less about settlements,” Petra declared. “I just want to ensure that I keep control of my own money. I don’t need any allowance from my husband and I don’t want one either.”

  “But Guy is said to be hugely wealthy,” Diana pointed out. “Sir Percy is bound to want to negotiate someth
ing for you.”

  “Then I shall tell him not to bother,” Petra stated. “I don’t intend to be dependent in any way upon my husband. I have my trust fund from great-aunt Agatha. It’s more than enough for my personal needs.”

  Diana and Fenella exchanged a look. Petra intercepted it. “What was that look for? You’re neither of you dependent on your husbands.”

  “Not financially, no,” Fenella conceded. “But in all sorts of other ways, dearest. Support, love, friendship. Oh, there are countless ways Edward and I depend on each other.”

  Petra nodded slowly. “I understand that. I wasn’t thinking in those terms. It’s just . . .” Her voice faded.

  “Just what, Petra?” Diana asked into the ensuing silence.

  Petra sighed, feeling somewhat deflated. “Guy can be rather . . . rather opinionated.”

  “He wouldn’t force you to do something you didn’t want to do?” Fenella asked, frowning. “Surely he wouldn’t.”

  Petra shook her head. “No, no, of course he wouldn’t. But he can be very persuasive.”

  “So can Rupert,” Diana said. “But so can I be. And so can you be, Petra.”

  “Yes, of course I can.” She smiled, her spirits rising again. “It’s only that this is all so new and I keep thinking of all sorts of aspects of marriage that I’d never considered before.”

  “Perhaps you should have this discussion with Guy,” Diana suggested. “Just to establish some ground rules. He’s older than you and he’s had longer to decide what he wants out of life, he might be a bit set in his ways.” She looked hesitantly at her friend.

  “The more set in them he is, the harder it will be to move him,” Petra said. “Yes, I see what you’re saying.”

  “But he’s not an unreasonable man,” Diana said with a reassuring smile. “You never hear anyone say anything bad about him.”

  It was true, Petra thought. And she remembered how he’d responded with immediate understanding to Joth’s complaint that he’d upstaged him at their lunch in the Savoy, and even how he’d resolved their argument the previous evening. Guy was strong-minded, firmly opinionated, used to getting his way, and if she was brutally honest, that was a pretty good description of herself. They would clash at times, probably quite fiercely at times. As did Diana and Fenella with their husbands. But she could hold her own.

  Guy was not an unreasonable man. And, besides, she loved him. And she’d been out in the world quite long enough not to expect a fairy-tale marriage. She and Guy were real people, well versed in the practicalities of life. They had their differences and they understood them. But the love they had for each other, the wonderful pulsing passion they shared, those feelings overrode any differences.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Do you think Pa’s really injured his ankle?” Petra asked her brother as she climbed into the carriage outside the house in Brook Street on a lovely evening four weeks later. “I’m wondering if he decided he didn’t want anything to do with this engagement party. He was distinctly snippy about the idea of Guy’s hosting it instead of himself. I’d have thought he’d be delighted not to have to worry about anything, he’s usually so uninterested in any of London’s society doings. But his telegram about Guy’s engagement plans sounded less than enthusiastic, and then suddenly he’s hurt and can’t travel.”

  “Well, I suspect his sense of paternal obligation warred with inclination,” Jonathan said with a chuckle. “Inclination won. A sprained ankle on the tennis court gives him the perfect excuse to grumble at Granville’s arrangements while allowing him not to participate in them. And Ma certainly wouldn’t travel from the Riviera without him. So it’s the best of both worlds as far as they’re concerned.”

  “Well, I refuse to feel guilty at being glad of their absence,” his sister announced. “To be honest, I wouldn’t mind if they missed the wedding.”

  “That, sister dear, is going a step too far,” Jonathan declared. “And I can assure I wouldn’t relish walking you down the aisle.”

  “The whole business is archaic anyway,” Petra grumbled. “I’d like to elope like Rupert and Diana did.”

  “Well, you can’t,” Jonathan stated as the carriage drew up outside Granville House. Lights blazed from every window although it was still light outside, and the square garden was a wonderland of lanterns strung from the trees, offering an enticing playground for anyone choosing to stroll the pathways. Liveried footmen stood waiting at the open doors to the house, from which the strains of an orchestra drifted into the evening.

  Guy himself came down the steps to greet them as the carriage arrived. “You’re about to be late,” he chided, lifting Petra down to the pavement, holding her in the air for a moment with a teasing smile before lowering her to the ground, kissing her before turning to Jonathan. “Jonathan, good evening.”

  “Good evening, Granville.” Jonathan shook the offered hand and followed as Guy escorted Petra, his directing hand as usual at her waist, into the house, up the splendid staircase and into the salon that ran the length of the front of the house.

  Petra had rather hoped for a comment on her dress. She was pleased with the brilliant emerald taffeta with lavender silk ruffles at the neckline and edging the elbow-length sleeves. She had thought it striking, but clearly it had not immediately struck Guy. “Champagne,” Guy offered, taking two glasses from the tray brought forward by a footman and handing one each to his guests. He raised his own. “To a successful evening.”

  Petra and her brother echoed the toast, then Petra asked, “What will make it a success, Guy?”

  He looked at her for a moment with a slight smile. “You, sweetheart.” He raised his glass again, his dark eyes glowing. “My congratulations. You look entrancing.”

  So he had noticed. She flushed with pleasure. “You look intimidatingly handsome yourself, sir.” Which was only the truth. Evening dress looked remarkably good on him.

  “It’s not every night a man celebrates his betrothal,” he said, lightly kissing her cheek. “I had hoped my sister would be able to make the journey from Scotland but one of the children has some ailment.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. The child’s not seriously ill I hope?”

  “I don’t think so. One of the usual childhood ailments, but Elinor is afraid all the children will catch it.”

  “Well, Joth will have to do duty as family for both sides,” Petra said, smiling at her brother. “You don’t mind, do you, Joth?”

  “Not in the least,” he said with a gallant bow. “Not for one evening, anyway.”

  “Let’s go into dinner.” Guy moved to the door. “Just the three of us, since we lack other family.”

  “Well, I for one am heartily glad of it,” Petra said. “Although, I would really like to meet your sister, Guy.”

  “So you shall. I hope at the wedding, but either way we’ll visit Scotland on our honeymoon. I think you and Elinor will get on well.”

  “We haven’t discussed a honeymoon.” Petra took her seat at the dining table. “I thought we might go to Florence. I’d love to spend more than a flying visit at the Uffizi.”

  “Then we’ll do both,” Guy said. “Tell me what you think of the white burgundy, Jonathan.”

  * * *

  At ten o’clock Petra glanced behind her at the tall case clock on the gallery at the head of the staircase. At eleven she and Guy would be able to leave their post where they had been receiving guests since nine o’clock. The orchestra was playing a lively polka in the ballroom behind them and she wished for the tenth time that she could be done with this irksome courteous ritual and join the dancers.

  Guy had not been joking when he said all the prominent members of society would be invited to the betrothal party. For the last hour the stream of guests ascending the staircase had been unbroken, members of Parliament and government ministers, including the prime minister, mingled with representatives of every major aristocratic family, including the royal family.

  Congratulations were on every li
p, but Petra detected more than a casual curiosity from many of the guests, sharply inquisitive eyes appraising her, the surreptitious whispers as the guests moved on into the ballroom, and not a few backward glances. She felt as if society at large was wondering what on earth had drawn the noble Lord Baron Ashton to the unremarkable Petra Rutherford. Her birth was more than respectable, but hardly spectacular. Sir Percy was significantly wealthy, but the Ashton fortune was known to be vast, so any dowry prospects would hardly be an incentive. She was not particularly beautiful, the most she could claim was the unusual color of her hair and a somewhat striking wardrobe.

  The scrutiny and the whispers made her hold her head higher, tilt her chin with a touch of hauteur, and keep a neutral smile on her lips as she trotted out the stock phrases of welcome, her hazel eyes meeting every artificial smile with a pinprick of defiance.

  Guy, for his part, was a genial host with an appropriate word of welcome for every guest. But he kept a hand resting on Petra’s arm, a proprietorial gesture she found reassuring. He was obviously not oblivious to the questioning glances or the whispers. But he had warned her to expect something of the kind and she understood now his insistence on forestalling prolonged rumors and speculation by facing them down.

  It was ten thirty before there was a pause in the stream of ascending guests and Guy said softly, “Have you had enough?”

  “I’d like to dance,” she responded. “The music is so inviting.”

  “Then to hell with this. Let’s dance.” He swept her ahead of him into the ballroom, where a waltz had taken the place of the polka.

  Guy led her onto the floor and Petra was again aware of the curious glances directed their way as they moved into the dance. Guy was a superb dance partner and she was content to let her feet follow instinctively as he held her. She was acutely aware of his body, of his scent and the pressure of his hand against her back in the low-cut ball gown. She caught sight of Diana dancing with Charlie Aldershot, whose arm was finally out of its cast and pathetically thin.