All for You

by Lynn Kurland

  Hobnobbing with nobility, she decided as she filled a plate that was wholly inadequate to supporting food while her trembling hand was carrying it, was just not her thing. She liked one-on-one encounters with people who liked her. She did not like being in a room full of people she didn’t know, most of whom were looking at her as if she’d just come in from rolling around in the stables.

  She stood at the buffet and gulped a time or two. Unfortunately the only thing that did was give her a good whiff of her sweater. She had to blink her eyes rapidly to keep them from tearing uncontrollably, but what else could she have done? Her only blouse had been hopelessly wrinkled and wearing an evening gown had seemed inappropriate. The sweater had been damp, but she hadn’t realized it had been that fragrant. That said something about the state of her room, something she didn’t want to think about. As for her current condition, it hadn’t been as if she could have worn Stephen’s overcoat, had it?

  She looked in the mirror to see her doom coming toward her in three parts. David was laughing with guests as he moved toward her, but he was definitely on his way to talk to her. Andrea was currently engaged in conversation with Irene but looked to be trying to extricate herself from it to come Peaches’s way. And, finally, there was Stephen de Piaget, inexorably working his way toward her while working the room at the same time. He looked like a jaguar, polished, lethal, and absolutely relentless. Women he stopped to speak to were left in various states of swoon. Men looked vaguely dissatisfied, as if they hadn’t engaged in all the nobleman chitchat they’d desired.

  He scared the hell out of her.

  There, she had said it. He was snobby, tweedy, and absolutely undeterred, apparently, when he made up his mind about something. She pitied the poor books he was looking for in the library. She wouldn’t have blamed them for hiding behind Tudor manuscripts just to escape his scrutiny.

  She had no interest in what he would say to her, because she was certain it would have to do with her not having dressed suitably for the evening. She imagined it would also involve a long, tedious lecture on all reasons she didn’t belong—actually, given that it was Stephen, it wouldn’t be a long lecture. It would just be a look that would speak volumes.

  Which was why she would avoid him like the plague.

  Fortunately for her, Andrea reached her first. She looked at David’s cousin warily, but was relieved to find Andrea seemed to be on her side.

  “Oh, Peaches,” Andrea said with a miserable smile, “it was a bit of a slog to get here, wasn’t it?”

  “Does it show?” Peaches asked lightly.

  “You should have sent for something of mine,” Andrea chided.

  “I didn’t think to,” Peaches said, because that was true. She’d been too busy trying to regain the feeling in her hands and feet and wondering what in the hell she’d been going to do since she hadn’t had anything dry to wear in public.

  “Well, lovey, next time just trot down the hall—oh, except you aren’t down the hall. No matter,” she finished quickly. “Send your maid up later tonight for something to wear tomorrow if she hasn’t already gone to bed by the time you get back to your room.”

  Peaches wasn’t sure what Betty’s nocturnal habits were, but she thought she could safely guarantee she herself would be indulging in an early night. If not, she would have no trouble kicking Betty’s cot on her way to her room. Maybe the woman could be sent off on a mission of sartorial mercy.

  “And here comes David,” Andrea said. “I think he’s been waiting for you.”

  Peaches resisted the urge to close her eyes and indulge in a little prayer, because someone might notice. Instead, she took a firmer grip on her plate and turned to find David Preston indeed coming toward her, entertaining souls along the way with his sparkling wit and no doubt vastly entertaining anecdotes about things Peaches was sure were just fascinating.

  And she smelled like wet dog.

  To his credit, David only wrinkled his nose once and so quickly that she hardly noticed. He frowned slightly.

  “Get caught out in the wet, Peachy?”

  She suppressed a wince, because the sound of that name was a bit like fingernails on the chalkboard, but then again, she was sure nothing could have made her happy at the moment. It didn’t bother her at other times. Honestly.

  She took a careful breath so she didn’t make her eyes water and looked at him. “Yes,” she said, doing her best to smile.

  David continued to frown. “That’s odd. Irene said she had sent someone to the station to pick you up. I’m sure of it.”

  Peaches didn’t want to credit Irene with nefarious intentions, so she pushed aside a tiny, unpleasant thought about the fact that her clothes were damaged and she was making a bad first impression. Surely David’s sister wasn’t purposely malicious.

  “Well, there was a mix-up somewhere,” Andrea said with a shrug, “but we’re all here now and mostly dry. Things could be much worse.”

  “Well,” David began slowly.

  “And isn’t Peaches’s sweater lovely?” Andrea continued. “And did you know she counts among her clients one of Seattle’s most famous telly hosts?”

  David continued to sniff despite Andrea’s continued efforts to create a verbal résumé for her. Peaches was grateful for the thought, but she found it difficult to concentrate on what Andrea was saying. There was a smell that smelled even worse, if possible, than she did. She sniffed surreptitiously, then realized that the stench was coming from her plate. What next? Poison?

  She looked for somewhere to deposit the goods, as it were, but couldn’t find anywhere convenient to stash them. It wasn’t possible that karma had a very long memory and those eleven-year-old kids she’d deprived of their Ding Dongs and Ho Hos had truly suffered, was it? And did retribution have to come while she was standing there in a damp wool sweater and wearing wool trousers that hadn’t quite managed to be rid of the proof of their trip in the vegetable cart?

  Apparently it did. She listened to Andrea and David discuss her in increasing detail, then watched in horror as other people came her way, people that made her wonder if she would actually manage to keep things on her plate. Stephen de Piaget was still working his way across the room toward her, still leaving swooning women and disappointed men trying to talk to him in his wake.

  And then there was Irene Preston approaching in a more direct fashion and leaving those in her wake quivering in fear.

  Peaches was beginning to think she’d made a terrible mistake. It was a fairy tale, all right, but not exactly the kind she’d been hoping for. She was horrendously uncomfortable, feeling terribly out of place, and now she had the twin terrors of Irene Preston and the Viscount Haulton to deal with.

  Irene reached her first and her look of disdain was like a slap. “Interesting evening wear, Miss Alexander.”

  Peaches would be the first to admit she generally didn’t much care what people thought of her. But somehow, now that she was out of her comfort zone and still smelling slightly like wet sheep, she cared very much.

  “I thought we were sending a car for her,” David said, looking at his sister sharply.

  “Of course we were,” Irene snapped at her brother. “Surely you don’t think I would purposely put her out in the weather, do you? She probably sent it away so she would garner sympathy or something equally ridiculous. What do I know of how this person thinks? It’s hardly my fault she hasn’t a clue how to dress properly—”

  Peaches found her plate leaving her hand. She jumped, terrified its contents were about to land on the floor, only to find that that dastardly Stephen de Piaget had poached it. Never mind that he had taken it out of her hands and simply set it on the buffet.

  “Is that your sweater that smells so badly?” Irene asked incredulously.

  Stephen took Peaches by the elbow. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Alexander needs to call her sister immediately.”

  Peaches looked at him in surprise. “What?”

  “Sedgwick is on fire.�
��

  Peaches felt her knees buckle, but she was spared the indignity of landing on her less-than-pristine slacks by Stephen making excuses for her and pulling her through the crowd that had turned to look at her. She didn’t want to credit them with smirking, but she didn’t imagine it was Stephen they were snickering at. Being hauled out of dinner like a recalcitrant child was no doubt adding a great deal to the spectacle. She tried to pull her arm away from him, but he didn’t seem inclined to release her.

  “I can walk, you know,” she said pointedly.

  He said nothing. He simply continued to pull her along with him.

  “Why did Tess call you and not me?”

  He ignored her.

  Peaches put up with it until they were out of the dining room and twenty feet down the hall before she pulled her arm away from him and glared at him.

  “Stop herding me.”

  He simply looked at her. “You must be hungry.”

  She blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Nothing in particular.”

  She was obviously light-headed from having missed lunch. That was the only reason nothing that was happening at the moment made any sense. She focused on Stephen with difficulty. “Is Sedgwick on fire?”

  “I haven’t eaten, either,” he said. “I imagine the edible food is still hiding in the pantry.”

  She rubbed her arms and wondered if she had just dropped into some sort of alternate reality. There was a man standing in front of her, an extremely handsome man dressed in a quite lovely sport coat, trousers, and burgundy tie. He didn’t look as if he’d just lost his mind, but he was saying things that simply didn’t make sense.

  “Is my sister’s hall on fire?” she asked again.

  “No.”

  She felt her mouth fall open. “You pulled me out of that party with a lie?”

  “Subterfuge,” he corrected. “It comes in handy when the food at a buffet is inedible and the company intolerable.”

  The brittle laughter echoing down the hallway sent a renewed flush to her face. She had credited the last blush to the number of people in the room and still having her extremities warming up. Now, she had to admit, it had been more a blush of shame than anything else.

  “They’re very good people,” Peaches said, trying to be polite. “High society, and all that.”

  “But the food was dreadful,” he said, taking her by the elbow yet again. “And if we don’t hurry, they’ll fetch us and make us eat more of it.”

  “I don’t want to be rude,” she protested. “To Lord David.”

  “Trust me, he won’t notice your absence. He has other things to keep him occupied.”

  It took her another twenty feet to realize what he’d said. And when she did, she felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She managed to get her elbow away from him without undue fuss. It occurred to her that she didn’t even have the energy to be angry with him for what he’d said because it was probably the truth.

  Stephen cleared his throat. “I meant—”

  “I’m tired,” she said, her voice sounding far away and slightly tinny to her own ears. “I think I need to just go to bed, if you don’t mind.” She looked around herself, but all she could see were wallpapered walls decorated with mirrors that reflected just how unlovely she looked at the moment. “If I could just find my way—”

  Stephen stepped between her and the largest mirror she couldn’t seem to stop looking in, leaving her no choice but to look up at him. “I didn’t have lunch,” he said quietly, “and I imagine you didn’t, either.”

  She was slightly unnerved by the kindness in his voice, but she decided to treat that as an aberration. He couldn’t be trying to be nice to her. “I wonder if they’ll let me have a glass of water before I retire?” she muttered.

  Stephen didn’t move; he only remained where he was, silent and very grave.

  Peaches would have tried to get past him but she found her way blocked by a new butlerish sort of person who was dressed in clothes that looked as if he’d swiped them from a Regency-period piece set. He made Stephen a small bow.

  “My lord,” he said, then turned to her. “And Miss Alexander, of course. I have a meal prepared for you both.”

  Peaches felt her mouth fall open. “You do?”

  The older man nodded. “His lordship doesn’t much care for rich food, miss, and given his terrible temper, I do my best to humor him at all times.”

  Peaches retrieved her jaw from where it had descended. “Do you know each other?”

  “Yes, miss,” the man said. “I am Humphreys, Lord Stephen’s gentleman’s personal gentleman.”

  Peaches smiled in spite of herself. She thought it might have been the first time she’d smiled all day. “Are you, really?”

  “I am,” Humphreys said seriously. “Really. And as such, being familiar with his lordship’s legendary unhappiness when he misses his usual fare, I have taken the liberty of providing what suits him. I hope, miss, that it will suit you as well.”

  She wanted to say that any meal that didn’t include Irene Preston commenting on her wardrobe suited her just fine, but she didn’t have the chance. She simply followed Stephen’s keeper past the kitchen and along a hallway to a delightful little breakfast room.

  An older woman was standing at the window, but she turned when they entered. Humphreys paused, then made the woman a bow before he turned and made introductions.

  “Her Grace, Raphaela Preston, dowager Duchess of Kenneworth,” he intoned, “may I present Miss Peaches Alexander. I believe, Your Grace, that you already know the Viscount Haulton.”

  “I believe I do,” the duchess said, coming over to allow Stephen to kiss her hand. “I’m pleased you found these two, Humphreys. They look hungry.”

  Peaches found herself swept up into Raphaela Preston’s cloud of perfume and exquisite manners and didn’t have the energy or the desire to fight the trip.

  Whoever had determined that supper down the way should be a buffet had obviously not dared tangle with the duchess and her desires for a decent meal. Peaches didn’t pay much attention to what she ate past noting that it was hot, vegetarian, and delicious. Stephen’s meal, from what she noticed of it, was much like hers with the addition of a few heartier side dishes that he plowed through with single-mindedness. Peaches looked at the duchess finally and smiled.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  The duchess waved her hand dismissively. “Call me Raphaela, darling. We don’t stand on formality here in this little room.”

  Peaches was quite happy to discover that the duchess preferred private meals over lavish buffets and French over English. She was also enormously relieved that she had taken such pains to become fluent under Aunt Edna’s Swiss-style finishing school tutelage. She was almost surprised to listen to Stephen take part now and again in the conversation in his own perfect French.

  She had to close her eyes briefly. How could the man be so deliciously cultured yet such a cad at the same time?

  “I see, my dear, that you have dressed very sensibly for a quiet evening after a long journey here.”

  “Ah, yes,” Peaches managed, because it was the best she could do. She was acutely aware of her less-than-pristine attire. At least the worst of the wet sheep smell had been left behind in some location that wasn’t her present one. “It has been a long day, Your Grace.”

  “Raphaela,” the duchess said with a small smile, “though I’ve heard so much about you I think you might soon be calling me something more familiar than that. If my son has his way, of course. I wonder what Haulton has to say about that?”

  Peaches looked at Stephen to find him watching the duchess with a bland expression. Whatever else could be said about the man, he would have made a formidable poker player.

  “I believe, Your Grace,” he said, “that on some subjects it is best to remain silent.”

  Peaches imagined it was and did her best not to scowl at Stephen. She could only imagi
ne what he would say about David wishing to have anything of a romantic or fairy-tale nature to do with her.

  Raphaela laughed and reached over to pat his hand. “Wisdom gained from many years treading carefully, no doubt. Now, Peaches darling, tell me of yourself. What brought you to England during such unpleasant weather?”

  Peaches didn’t dare look at Stephen as she spun a very elaborate tale about wanting to keep in touch with her twin sister, which easily led away from her own circumstances to a discussion of twins in general.

  By the time she had warmed up sufficiently by the small fire in the delicate hearth, she was starting to feel less out of place. Raphaela Preston was a wonderful host, dinner had been marvelous, and the conversation delightful. Even Stephen had managed to keep his mouth shut.

  She was almost to the point where she thought she could stop second-guessing her decision to come at all. She had a wonderful ball gown thanks to her sister’s generosity. If she worked things right, she might manage to avoid tomorrow morning’s shooting party and the accompanying humiliation of having to ride a horse. The afternoon would be more difficult, but maybe Raphaela had some intentions she needed help focusing, which would require Peaches to remain with her out of sight until supper. She could perhaps borrow something from Andrea for dinner, then spend the bulk of Saturday preparing for the ball.

  And perhaps somewhere along the line, she might manage to pull together the slightly unraveled threads of her fairy tale.

  She was in the kitchen, true, but she wasn’t covered in soot. The lady of the house seemed to like her, not want to put her to work, and the eligible duke hadn’t even had the chance to move past the unfortunate condition of her sweater to really get things zipping right along.

  Now, if she could only manage to get rid of that enormous fly in the ointment sitting approximately three feet from her, sipping manfully at his tea, things might start really looking up.