by Tuft, Karen
“Exaggerated rumor.”
“Or it might very well be true. I think we should investigate the matter for ourselves. What do you think?”
He was flirting with her, and she was flirting with him. Flirting had only ever been a tool in her arsenal for keeping men off-balance, not a playful means of expressing her attraction to someone.
His eyes twinkled merrily as he waited for her response.
Oh, but he was lovely—strong and capable and handsome, and she was attracted to all those things about him. Her trust in him was growing stronger. It made her feel less alone and vulnerable and, unexpectedly, more real. It was a step toward discovering who Lavinia Fernley, the woman, was.
She placed a finger to her lips in feigned deep thought. “Such a curious location should be studied carefully, if for no other reason than to dispel or confirm its claim. Unsuspecting people might wander into this spot and find themselves in complicated attachments that were not of their intent. We should indeed investigate.”
He grinned and crooked his elbow out for her to slip her arm through. “I was hoping that was what you were going to say.”
“Indeed?”
“I am a hopeful man,” he said.
Oh, she was in trouble—deep, deep trouble, she thought as she strolled with him through the house and along the formal gardens to a secluded spot that was indeed pretty but much like the rest of the landscape. But because she was with Lucas, it was as breathtakingly romantic as he’d claimed it would be, and she had to concur with the rumors, for she indeed kissed him willingly, and there was no hesitation on his part either.
His arms enveloped her and felt both secure and freeing. She closed her eyes as her hands explored the strength of his arms and shoulders and the softness of his hair, by contrast, while his lips sought hers over and over again. His face was still smooth from his morning shave, and he smelled of soap and warm amber. Lavinia closed her eyes, and for the first time, she allowed herself to revel in the arms of a man. An honorable and caring man.
His lips eventually parted from hers. “We must return to the house now, my dear,” he said softly. “I will not have your reputation remarked upon, even if I am allowed time alone with my ‘betrothed.’” He kissed her again and gazed into her eyes, and Lavinia could not look away. “I must take you back while I am still in control of my wits. You are even more beautiful than usual, if that’s possible, when you look at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you?” She had no idea what he saw.
“I daren’t say. I will let you figure that out on your own. Come, Lavinia. Let us return. We have a farm to restore and a wedding to pretend to plan.”
She put her hand in his, and they walked back to the house.
Chapter 16
Lucas and Lavinia had scarcely entered the house when one of the servants informed them that his lord and ladyship were awaiting them in the drawing room. When they arrived there, they saw that Isaac had returned, and he had James in tow. Thomas and Isobel and Clara, Susan, and Rebecca were there as well.
“Look who I discovered on the way back here,” Isaac said cheerily. “Told him it was too late to change his mind and turn around now that I’d spotted him.”
“I had no intention of turning around, not when I had your assurance that our wayward brother had actually shown his face at Alderwood this time. Hello, Lucas,” James said, shaking Lucas’s hand before pulling him into his arms for a brotherly embrace. “Welcome home.”
“It’s good to be home,” Lucas said. Lavinia was standing quietly to the side, and he drew her next to him, feeling more than a trifle possessive after their tête-à-tête in the garden just moments before. “Allow me to present my future bride, Miss Lavinia Fernley of Primrose Farm. Lavinia, my brother James.”
James bowed elegantly over her hand, his eyes fixed on Lavinia’s face, as smitten as any man who encountered Lavinia for the first time. “A pleasure indeed, Miss Fernley. Perhaps you can be persuaded to forget this old warhorse and be induced into matrimony with a different Jennings brother.”
Lavinia smiled at James’s flirtatious comment. Lucas, by contrast, felt poised for battle.
“I see no ‘old warhorse,’ Mr. Jennings, but only the most honorable man I have ever met,” Lavinia replied. “Any efforts on your part to direct my interest elsewhere would be utterly in vain.”
“High praise, Lucas. You are a fortunate man. Alas, my heart is broken.” He threw a hand dramatically over his heart.
“I’m sure it will mend,” Lavinia said with a twinkle in her eye.
“But certainly you must be tired from standing, Miss Fernley,” James continued with a smoothness that he must have honed as a barrister speaking before judges.
James extended his arm for Lavinia and led her to a spot on the settee next to Rebecca, then took a seat on the chair next to her. Lucas wandered over and stood by the fireplace, resting his shoulder against the mantel, trying to act as indifferent as he could when his instincts were yelling, “Get away from her; she’s mine” at top volume. James was a handsome devil; some—like their outspoken sister Susan—might even say he was the most handsome of all the Jennings brothers—not that what a sister said about such things typically counted for much.
Except that right at this moment, it did.
James was speaking softly to Lavinia, Lavinia chuckling in response, and Lucas strained to catch bits of the conversation, even though he knew he was behaving like a jealous boor. James must have said something witty, blast his brother to Hades and back.
In the first place, Lucas thought grumpily, one would think a brother one hadn’t seen for seven years would rate higher than the said brother’s betrothed—however dazzling she may be. In the second place, one might also think said betrothed, however fictitious the betrothal might be, would be a little more . . . clingy, for sake of a better word, following a half hour of highly enjoyable kissing with said faux-betrothed.
Susan wandered over. “Lucas, you won’t believe what I’ve just seen. Come with me over to the window, and I’ll show you. It’s quite remarkable.”
He was deuced unwilling to be that far from Lavinia while she was still in the clutches of his brother, but he begrudgingly pried himself away from his sentry post and followed Susan over to the window. She gazed out at the formal gardens, so he followed suit.
“I don’t see anything I haven’t seen a thousand times before,” he grumbled.
“That’s because you’re not looking in the right direction,” she said.
“Then why don’t you tell me more specifically where it is you wish me to look?” he snapped. His mother turned and glanced at him with alarm. “Apologies, Mama,” he said. Thankfully his voice had been low enough not to register on anyone else.
“Oh, Lucas, you are in such a bad way,” Susan said with a knowing smile on her face. “I have seen the most incredible thing—you have only to look inwardly to see it yourself. I see a brother who suffered so much from unrequited love he could not see past his feelings toward a happy future. And now—finally—that brother is in love with someone else. I believe I can stop worrying about you now. I was more concerned about that than your ability to survive on the Peninsula, although I would never have said such a thing to Mama.”
“In love?” He was barely willing to entertain such a thought, especially after what had happened with Isobel. Attracted to Lavinia, yes. Cared for her, yes. A bit possessive at present . . . But in love?
“And she loves you too,” Susan said. “But of course she does, or why else would she have agreed to marry you? You have little to offer a bride beyond your charming self.”
He stared at her.
“And,” she continued, “if you were being observant at the moment rather than jealous and petulant, you would have seen that your fair bride’s back has straightened, her chin has lifted, and her airs have become all genteel perfection. She has not looked so proper and untouchable since the day she and her friends arrived here
with you, before she knew any of us. I daresay she is tolerating James’s attention, but that is all.”
“Tolerating?”
“Just look, Lucas.”
He turned so he could discreetly watch the two of them converse. James was thoroughly entranced by Lavinia; Lucas could see it in his face. Lavinia, however—
Devil take him for a fool.
Lavinia was precisely as Susan had said. The changes in her demeanor wouldn’t be apparent to anyone who didn’t know her well, but Susan was clever and observant, so she had seen it too, and it had taken her to shake him loose from his jealous reaction—and fear.
For it had been fear. Fear that he’d lose the woman he loved to another brother. Again.
Susan had been right about that too—he did love Lavinia.
What a mess he’d created for them both.
* * *
A few days later, Finch informed Lucas that he’d received word from Allard. Repairs on the farmhouse were proceeding well: the stone foundation had been thoroughly inspected and its weak areas reinforced, as well as the original framework. They were beginning the repairs to the roof, with new shingles scheduled to follow, and the carpenters had begun work on the stairs. The house would be ready for habitation within a week’s time, give or take a few days, depending on the weather or any other unforeseen event.
Cash transfers from Lavinia’s bank had arrived the previous day; she had insisted on repaying Lucas’s father herself. Lucas had accompanied her as she’d approached his father in his study. He’d been very gracious to her, for which Lucas had been grateful, although he’d pulled Lucas aside later in the day and had questioned her odd insistence—his words—in repaying him thus.
“We all agreed she would reimburse me, although soon enough, the two of you will be wed and I would consider it a moot point,” his father had said. “It is something that can be addressed easily enough in the marriage contracts. There was really no need for her to be part of it when you could have dealt with it easily enough for her. I sometimes wonder at her, Lucas, I must tell you.”
Marriage contracts, Lucas had thought. That was going to be trickier to deal with than pretending to set the wedding luncheon menu with Cook.
“And those relations of hers, Lucas! They’re agreeable enough, I’ll admit, very likable and quite entertaining—that encore performance they gave us the other evening was better than I expected. But they are lacking the discretion one usually expects in the elderly. Just the other day, I actually saw Mr. Drake in the park doing cartwheels, of all things, with Edmund and Isaac Junior. I’m not opposed to the boys doing such antics, but to see Mr. Drake—his movements were inelegant, and I was deathly afraid he was going to dislocate his shoulder or something equally dreadful. It was most peculiar, watching someone his age going feet-over-head that way, over and over again. Edmund and Isaac Junior thought it a lark, but I must wonder at the old man’s antics.”
“Hmm,” was all Lucas could think to say.
Before dinner that same day, Lucas’s mother had said something similar to him about Delia. “Miss Weston is a curiosity, Lucas, although she seems a dear lady. I am doing my best to keep an open mind. Just this morning, however, she complimented me on my marriage and lovely family—and then proceeded to ask me how I’d managed to snare your father. Snare! Her word. As though I hadn’t the qualities to earn your father’s affections otherwise. I have chosen to think she merely wished to hear our love story since we are all in a betrothal state of mind, what with you and Lavinia. But I was rather taken aback, I must say.”
“Perhaps we can chalk it up to the idiosyncrasies of old age,” he’d suggested.
He’d had no intention on either occasion of saying to his parents, “Please forgive Delia and Artie their oddities. They’re actors, you see—have been all their lives. They know nothing else.”
Today, with the arrival of Allard’s letter, Lucas had an excuse to get out of the house for a while and away from his parents’ questions. He wanted to see the progress at Primrose Farm for himself. He also needed time to think. The ride would do him good. Before he left, however, he needed to tell Lavinia what Allard had said in his letter. She would want to know, and she would wonder at his sudden departure.
He found her in his mother’s favorite sitting room, where the ladies had congregated. His mother and Clara and Isobel were busy with their needlework. Susan sat next to the window and was reading a book; she had always loathed sewing of any kind. Rebecca sat at the small pianoforte located in the corner of the room, with Lavinia standing nearby, turning pages for her. Rebecca had always had a gift for music, and it was a pleasure to hear how accomplished she’d become while he was away.
He stepped inside the room and quietly closed the door behind him and then listened and watched as Rebecca filled the room with the sounds of Mozart. Every so often, she nodded slightly and Lavinia turned the page in response.
Delia was listening to the music with her eyes closed.
Soon the piece came to an end, and everyone, including Lucas, applauded. “Well done, Rebecca,” his mother said. “You are improving nicely under Mr. Burnhope’s instruction.”
“Thank you, Mama. I like Mr. Burnhope exceedingly well. He is extremely good at explaining the heart of the music to me in a way I understand.” She pulled another piece of music from the small stack sitting next to her. “Do you know this song, Lavinia? It is one of my favorites.”
“I do,” Lavinia replied.
“Will you join me?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Her eyes fluttered briefly in Lucas’s direction.
Rebecca played the introduction, and Lavinia began to sing.
Lucas liked her voice immensely. She had a fine voice, true of pitch, and she seemed comfortable singing before the others, which, undoubtedly resulted from her experience in the theater. But her voice wasn’t extraordinary—at least, not like her physical beauty was. And that made her voice absolutely perfect for her.
Midway through the song, she stopped. “The melody is rather high for me in this key,” she said.
Rebecca stopped playing. “You do seem to be more of an alto,” she said. “Can you sing harmony? Isobel, come sing the melody with us. You’re a soprano. A vocal duet will be such fun!”
Both ladies froze.
Isobel moved first. She calmly set her needlework aside and stood, straightening her skirt before crossing the room to stand next to Lavinia. The others set their needlework in their laps so they could watch. Susan closed her book.
Isobel nodded at Rebecca to begin.
Rebecca played the introduction again, and Isobel began singing the melody Lavinia had just sung. Isobel’s voice was superior to Lavinia’s, having taken voice lessons throughout her girlhood.
On the second phrase, Lavinia added her voice in harmony. Their voices blended well, and soon they were sensing each other’s musical nuances—or so it seemed to Lucas, untrained as he was.
Much too soon, the song ended, and there was a moment’s pause as everyone savored the music before breaking out into enthusiastic applause.
“Oh, well done, well done, all of you!” his mother cried, clapping.
“That was the prettiest thing I’ve heard in an age,” Clara said, dabbing at her eye with her handkerchief. “Sorry. Don’t mind me. I’m a watering pot these days.”
Delia sighed gustily.
Lavinia and Isobel shared a look—Lucas held his breath—and then they smiled at each other. It was the slightest of smiles, true, but it was, perhaps, the beginning of reconciliation. And with that shared look, Lucas realized he no longer envied Thomas or harbored resentment toward Isobel. He wanted peace with them. He was no longer in love with Isobel—and most surprising of all, he realized he probably hadn’t been for a long time.
Pride could make a man do foolish things.
It was time for him to congratulate them on their performance. He crossed the room. “What a visionary you are, Rebecca, as well as being
so much more accomplished on the pianoforte than I remember. Asking these two to perform together was brilliant.”
Rebecca beamed at him, and Isobel and Lavinia turned to acknowledge his compliment. “Thank you, Lucas,” Rebecca said. “Perhaps Susan isn’t the cleverest of your sisters after all.”
“I heard that,” Susan called from across the room.
Rebecca giggled.
“Isobel, Lavinia, you were enchanting,” Lucas said. “No one would ever know you had never sung together before. Brava to you both.”
Isobel’s eyes traveled from Lucas to Lavinia and back again. “Thank you, Lucas,” she said, smiling. “That is generous of you.”
“Yes, thank you, Lucas,” Lavinia said, her eyes glowing. “It was a privilege to sing with such a gifted vocalist as Isobel.”
“It was a joy to hear you sing once again, Isobel. You have a great gift, you know, one I enjoyed even as a boy. Now, I’m afraid I must steal Lavinia from you, if you’ll excuse us,” he said.
Isobel’s face fell slightly, but she recovered nicely. “But of course. Lavinia, it was truly a pleasure. Perhaps we can sing together again soon? I would enjoy it very much.”
“I would like nothing better,” Lavinia replied.
Isobel nodded, and Lucas led Lavinia from the sitting room to the corridor beyond. “I am leaving for Primrose Farm. Allard has written. The farmhouse should be habitable by sometime next week. I wish to inspect the work and discuss the next plans with him.”
“Oh, I wish I could go with you, Lucas. I’m interested in seeing the work being done for myself.”
“In time, Lavinia, all in good time. Next week will arrive soon enough.”
“When it is habitable, my friends and I will be returning there to live,” she said as though to put him on notice. “We cannot remain guests here in your parents’ home when we will have a perfectly suitable home of our own in which to stay.”
“I understand.” He was already aware of what the information in Allard’s note had implied. The farmhouse’s completion meant Lavinia would be gone, and they would have to proceed with their plans to end their feigned betrothal.