Wildblossom

by Wright, Cynthia

  " 'Ave a wonderful day, ladies!" Nigel cried, beaming over the tip Shelby had given him. "I'll keep an eye open for you later, a'right?"

  As they walked toward the entrance to Fortnum and Mason's, Shelby held the umbrella aloft in one hand and guided her friend with her other hand. Vivian had never been anywhere except St. Louis and Wyoming until these past weeks, so Shelby could forgive her for staring openly at each new sight.

  "Oh, Lord—Shelby!" she gasped suddenly, pointing toward Hatchard's Bookshop, which was located next door. "Look, look!" Realizing that Shelby seemed determined not to look, Viv gathered her wits and cried, "For pity's sake, it's Geoff! Hurry, before he's gone!"

  Nearly faint with shock, Shelby stood on tiptoe and tried to find him. There seemed to be a sea of black umbrellas, plus lots of dark-suited men wearing bowlers. And then there he was... the recalcitrant aristocrat. Hatless, Geoff stood out in the crowd. Even in December, he wore the lingering mark of the Wyoming sun, and his burnished looks were perfectly accentuated by a tasteful camel hair topcoat and a deep blue wool scarf. Under his arm he carried an unopened umbrella. Just the sight of him made Shelby feel giddy.

  In chiseled profile he spoke to the driver of an enclosed Mercedes motor car that was idling at the curb. The other man leaned out and replied, smiling, in the familiar way of a friend. Geoff turned back, looking toward Hatchard's again, and for an instant Shelby feared he might see her. Just then a woman came hurrying out of the bookshop, nearly dropping her parcels.

  "For God's sake, Clemmie, come along before we begin to rust out here!" Geoff scolded genially.

  The sound of Lady Clementine Beech's laughter sent a sharp pain through Shelby's heart, and yet she had to look. Her rival's face, half hidden by a Gainsborough hat, was plain at best. Yes, she brooded, but her blood is blue! Geoff returned then to Clementine, gallantly carrying her packages and handing her the umbrella, while Shelby wept, unseen. Moments later the door of the cream-colored Mercedes closed behind them and it eased into the Piccadilly traffic, seeming to take care not to frighten the horses.

  "Are you all right?" Viv dared to whisper.

  Shelby couldn't help straining for one more glimpse of his ruffled hair inside the motor car, but then it turned a corner and was gone. A powerful sense of hopelessness swept over her. She stood outside Fortnum and Mason's and pressed her hot, wet cheek against the cool gray stone while Vivian looked on in concern and passersby moved to and fro.

  "It's too late," Shelby managed to say at last. "It's over."

  "How can you say that? How do you know?"

  She took out a lace-edge handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "He's not the same, Viv. And he was with her. It's too late."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Why, just what I came to England to do. I'll fulfill my promise to Colonel Cody, and you and I will enjoy ourselves." Her voice was hollow, even as she forced herself to straighten up and smile. "It's not the end of the world! Let's go and have a cup of tea and buy ourselves some presents. I think that I should have lots of presents, don't you?"

  As they went through the doors of one of England's oldest stores, Vivian offered, "My mother used to say, 'There are plenty of other fish in the sea where that one came from!' "

  Shelby kept on smiling, but her heart said, There is only one Geoff....

  * * *

  Deep in the Cotswolds of Gloucestershire, a picturesque village called Sandhurst nestled in a fold of rounded hills. The town's buildings were fashioned of golden limestone, the meadows were thick with sheep, and Geoffrey's ancestral home was located just a few miles south.

  "It's as if time has stopped out here, don't you agree?" Charles remarked as he steered the mud-spattered Mercedes up the last hill leading to Sandhurst Manor.

  "You always say that," Geoff murmured, stretched across the back seat, half asleep. Long ago, when they'd stopped for petrol, Lady Clem had climbed up in front with Charles for a better view, not to mention better company.

  "I may as well tell you that my mother is terribly put out with you for luring me to this remote spot without chaperones, or even my maid in attendance!" Clementine feigned shock herself, wagging a finger at Geoff although she wasn't certain whether he saw her under his hooded lids. "Do you have something beastly in mind, Geoffrey?"

  At length, he replied sardonically, "No, actually. I thought I might save the beastliness for our wedding night."

  Charles seemed to find this hugely amusing, laughing so loudly that Clementine gave him a sharp look and snapped, "Are you quite finished?"

  A quarrel was averted when they gained the crest of the hill and Sandhurst Manor came into view. A fanciful salmon-brick concoction of turrets, half gables, and odd-sized chimneys, the house had been built in sections dating back to the fifteenth century. It was tucked into a deep valley, surrounded by extensive stables, ancient groves of beechwood, and lush gardens.

  "Isn't it odd that I've never been here before?" Clementine remarked.

  "Is it? Not to me." Geoff sounded bored. "You've spent lots of time at my parents' estates. This one is my own. There wasn't a reason to show it to you until now."

  "Hmm." She looked unconvinced.

  "I've always preferred the other name for the manor," Charles chirped, starting down the other side of the hill. "Have you heard, Clemmie? They call it Sandhurst-in-the-Hole."

  "It is rather odd-looking." She squinted at the sprawling house. "Perhaps it's time to pull it down and put up something modern...?"

  That roused Geoff. Sitting up with a start, he thundered, "Absolutely not! Not one brick of Sandhurst Manor will be altered unless I say so, is that clear?"

  Shrugging, she glanced away. "There's no call for hysteria, my dear. I'll simply spend my time in the stables when we're here. Will that meet with your approval?"

  The servants were lined up in anticipation, as if an entire house party of guests was arriving instead of this rather peculiar trio. Geoff always felt uncomfortable about these sorts of traditions, but felt equally powerless to change them. If he told Parmenter, the butler, and Meg, the housekeeper, that he didn't want them and their staff to go to so much trouble on his account, they would be crushed. So he gave them the kind yet slightly imperious greeting that they expected, and presented his friends.

  "My lord, isn't Lady Clementine also your betrothed?" Meg ventured. As tall and spare as Parmenter was portly, Meg Floss was not much older than the Marquess of Sandhurst, and had inherited her exalted position a year ago when her mother had died of influenza.

  "Yes, you're right about that," Geoff replied. "She, uh, is." Why was it that the words invariably stuck in his throat? It killed him to introduce Clemmie as his future wife, although he had nothing against her. As chums, they dealt together quite well. "I'd like a bath, Meg, and I've left Manypenny behind in London. Can you show my guests to their rooms and then send someone to see to my bath?"

  "Haven't you more luggage?" The housekeeper had a hopeful thought then. "Perhaps it's coming separately—with the others?"

  He knew she was referring to the added guests and servants who usually would complete this sort of grand affair. "There are no others, and no more luggage. We've just popped in for a couple of days, Meg. Sorry."

  Just as Geoff began to walk away, Parmenter called, "Beg your pardon, my lord, but I have wondered about His Grace's health. We've not heard very much since summer, when he had that spell...."

  Realizing how little thought he gave his father, Geoff felt another twinge. "He is much better, thank you. His heart appears to have strengthened, and he's been taking exercise. I spent a good deal of time with him over Christmas, and felt quite encouraged by his progress."

  "His color is very good," Lady Clem put in, "but he refuses to give up his pipe."

  "Ah, good for him," Parmenter agreed. "A man's got to protect his pleasures, after all, hmm?"

  "Here here," Charles chimed in.

  Geoff caught his sleeve and dragged him away, muttering good-
naturedly, "Bloody idiot. I can't stand it when you wax philosophical. Come and have a drink in my room after a bit, all right?"

  "What about Lady Clem?"

  "She can have a drink in her own room."

  * * *

  The wings of Sandhurst Manor were grouped around a square courtyard of sculpted gardens, trellises, and stone benches. Inside, the house was a warren of rooms that included twenty bedchambers, a two-story great hall with an arched ceiling, a long gallery lined with Flemish tapestries on one side and courtyard windows on the other, and a magnificent library. One of the most splendid aspects of the manor was the generous application of intricately carved linen-fold paneling that dated back to the sixteenth century.

  Bored with his grand suite upstairs, Geoff had decided last year to move to the ground floor. He liked being away from the other guests, if there were any, and favored the French doors that opened onto a stone terrace. Also, he had had the sixteenth century buttery converted into a Moorish-style bathroom that featured a tiled pool-bath sunk in the floor. Blue and ocher baked-clay tile covered the walls and there were stained-glass windows to let in jeweled sunbeams.

  Few things gave Geoff as much pleasure as a long soak in his pool, though he'd only been in it a few times before setting off for America. Now he emerged from the steamy bathroom wrapped in a toweling robe, his hair damp and curling slightly.

  Charles Lipton-Lyons was standing by the fireplace where a cheerful blaze was roaring. "I've brought the brandy," he said, and made a little toast.

  Joining him, Geoff perched on the end of the mammoth testered bed and lifted his glass. "Now that we're here, what do you suggest that we do?"

  Charles laughed. "I thought you were the host! The weather doesn't seem to favor croquet, and we'd need a fourth for bridge." He paused, then added, "I thought that this outing was rather last-minute... almost as if you were anxious to get out of London. Wouldn't have anything to do with the Wild West Show, would it?"

  "Have you been talking to Manypenny?"

  "No, but I have enough wit to surmise that Cody's visit to London might remind you of Wyoming... and that, uh—ranch girl. What's her name again?"

  "Shelby." It burned his throat to say it. "Stop calling her a ranch girl."

  "Sorry, old fellow. No offense intended, but you really must get on with it, don't you agree? It's not fair to Clemmie that you're dreaming about this—Shelby person, when you're supposed to be thinking about marriage." It was difficult for Charles to put his heart into this speech since it was quite clear that Lady Clem was no more in love with Geoff than he was with her. "See here, you were supposed to come back from America revived, but instead you're even more..."

  "Bored."

  "Yes, more bored than you were before!"

  "Perhaps that's because I know now what I'm missing." He finished his drink and gazed at Charles with expressive brown eyes. "I miss Shelby."

  "I thought you told me, when you first returned to London, that it could never work. Do you remember that night? You may have had a bit too much whiskey, but you were impassioned all the same. You certainly convinced me that it was a brief affair that must be relegated to the past. You said that she could never live in your world, and you were unable to stay in hers, so it was better to face reality and—"

  "I was probably trying to convince myself," Geoff murmured. "And I have tried. Why else would I subject myself to all that Christmas torture?"

  "We can't run away from our responsibilities forever," his friend observed, starting on his second drink. "It may not be pleasant, but we have to soldier on and produce heirs."

  "You make it sound as if we're in our dotage! Ready for a reserved table every noon at the club, followed by a pipe and a nap!" Geoff got up and paced across the room, then began getting dressed. "I would appreciate it if you'd leave me alone about my shortcomings, at least for the remainder of the weekend. I feel rotten enough as it is that I'm not more eager to please my father by sacrificing myself on the altar of our title. Then, there's my lack of enthusiasm for my betrothed—"

  "You called?" Clementine poked her nose in, caught a glimpse of Geoff's bare calf, and withdrew.

  The two men exchanged uneasy glances. "You weren't eavesdropping, were you, Lady Clem?" Charles called in jovial tones.

  "I only heard Geoffrey utter the word 'betrothed.' It seems I'm more on his mind that I had guessed!"

  "Come in for a drink," Charles urged. He drew her into the room.

  "There isn't a lot to do in this hulking great castle," she remarked. With practiced ease Clementine poured three fingers of brandy into the glass and drank happily. Out of the corner of her eye she observed her fiancé buttoning a fresh pin-striped shirt from the tails up. The glimpse of his brown chest made her tilt her head to one side and smile.

  "I believe I ought to make a telephone call to my parents," Charles exclaimed, and then he was gone.

  Geoff wished he could leave the room, too, but clearly that wasn't the point. Instead he smiled at the woman who would be his wife. "Did you enjoy Christmas? I hope my family didn't drive you to distraction."

  "No, not at all. I get on quite famously with Her Grace. She's so very certain about everything, rather like I imagine I shall be at her age." Lady Clem smiled, showing lots of teeth. "As for His Grace... as long as I let him beat me at chess, we did very well. Did you enjoy the holiday season?"

  He blanched. "I? Why—I suppose so, as much as one might expect." Fastening another button, Geoff looked at Clementine and wondered why he had to be engaged to the one young woman who stirred not a single spark of desire within him. Of course, he didn't recall feeling aroused in the company of any female since he'd returned from America, but Lady Clem was singularly uninspiring. There was nothing soft about her that might invite his touch, nor any fragrance wafting out that made him instinctively long to smell the back of her neck. Her eyes were fine, but too no-nonsense; Geoff missed the warm luster and playfulness of Shelby's gaze. He also missed something even more important—the spiritual sympathy they had enjoyed. With Clementine, he envisioned a lifetime of conversations involving the weather, dull gossip about titled friends, problems with the servants, and perhaps on a good day, politics.

  Or, the children. What sort of children might they produce?

  Of course, the English aristocracy routinely married for convenience, then carried on separate lives. If he were lucky, he might not have to spend more than a few days a year in her company.

  Geoff walked to the mantel and poured himself another brandy, all too conscious of Clementine watching him.

  "We'll manage somehow, you know," she said at length.

  "I suppose so." He bit the inside of his lip in a way that made him, unknowingly, look even more appealing; then he sent her a flickering smile.

  Emboldened by the liquor, she took a silver-backed comb from the bureau and walked up to Geoff. Summoning all her womanly arts, Clementine pressed lightly against him, reaching up to comb his damp hair into place. "I've loved your hair since we were children."

  Deciding that he might as well give it a try, Geoff slid his hands around her waist. When he drew her into his embrace, yearning for Shelby nearly overcame him, all the more acute because Clementine felt nothing like Shelby, smelled nothing like Shelby, and, when he kissed her, tasted nothing like Shelby. Her arms were around his shoulders. Her breathing changed; she was returning his kiss, parting her lips slightly, but for Geoff it was a moment completely without inspiration. He felt sick inside, more at himself than anything.

  Clementine slipped a hand inside his shirt, eagerly caressing the contours of his chest and the base of his throat. She kissed him there and it was clearly a signal.

  Deliverance took the form of a knock at the door. His heart jumped with relief as he went to answer it. There stood Charles, looking as if he'd seen a ghost. "Come out into the hallway for a moment, all right?"

  "What is it?" A strong sense of unreality permeated the entire scene.

&n
bsp; "I'm sorry to tell you, old chap." Charles put a hand on his shoulder, where Clementine had just been clinging with such unlikely fervor. "I've spoken to my mother—"

  "Yes?" Geoff prodded.

  "Your father—His Grace died peacefully early this afternoon." Charles's voice seemed to come from a distance. "Your mother didn't know where to find you at first. I think they have sent someone from London to tell you. Dear old friend, you are now the Duke of Aylesbury...."

  Chapter 16

  "Used to be that it was enough to be able to shoot a cork from a bottle, especially if you happened to be female," Buffalo Bill remarked to his newest protégée. They were standing in the middle of the showgrounds at Earl's Court, where Shelby and Ben practiced for hours each day. "But now there are so many fancy shooters that the audience demands a moving target. Missie had to outdo herself every year...."

  Shelby knew that "Missie" was his nickname for Annie Oakley, who seemed to be hovering over her shoulder, at least in spirit. As the winter wore on and her own March debut with the Wild West Show neared, it was hard not to compare her own skills with those of her predecessor, an international star.

  "Annie Oakley sent me some of her favorite Schultze gunpowder," Shelby told Colonel Cody now as she paused to reload. "And she wrote me a very nice note, wishing me luck. I am so sorry for her injury."

  The Wild West Show wasn't doing as well this London season as it had in the past, and sometimes Cody looked as if he had a heavy weight on his shoulders. "We seem to be plagued with bad luck, ever since beginning of the new century, and Missie's train crash was a big blow. I still think maybe it's time for me to retire and concentrate on my projects in Wyoming. I'm too old for this punishing life."

  Ben patted him on the shoulder and smiled. "You'll know when it's time to pack it in, Colonel. I still see that sparkle in your eyes when the show starts and you ride into the ring!"