by Buck, Gayle
Mr. Owen nodded. His cordial countenance held all the warmth of expression that a host would show to an agreeable guest, “Of course! You are most welcome. I hope you will continue to accept the service of my man. I will instruct him to do whatever he can for you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Owen. I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” said Cardiff with a slight bow. He was used to the informality of the English country home and he crossed without hesitation to the sideboard, where there were several covered dishes, and began to serve himself a plate of eggs and several slices of ham and beef.
Mr. Owen waved aside his lordship’s expression of gratitude and casually turned the conversation to hunting when Lord Cardiff had seated himself at the table. It was not very many minutes before the two gentlemen discovered they shared a mutual love for the hunt. “Perhaps if the weather lets up and you happen to be still with us, we will take the guns out,” said Mr. Owen hopefully.
Cardiff expressed his willingness to enjoy such entertainment. “The sport on the plains in Spain is far different from that in England. We mainly course rabbits from horseback with greyhounds. The trick is to watch for holes so that your horse doesn’t come down with you!”
Mr. Owen chuckled. “I can readily understand how that might add a bit of spice!”
The ladies came into the breakfast room then, and the conversation ran in other directions. Mrs. Owen eventually revealed that she proposed to spend the morning with her correspondence. “It will not go out today, of course, but it will be ready when I am able to post it,” she said complacently.
As a proper hostess, she listed several activities that were available for her two guests, ranging from billiards to taking exercise in the picture gallery to choosing titles from off the library shelves. “I apologize that we have not anything more diverting, but this snow will keep even our most hardened neighbors from calling on us,” she said with real regret.
Mr. Owen said that he would be ensconced in his study going over estate business all morning with his bailiff, but that he would be free after luncheon and at his guests’ disposal. “Perhaps you might show me a game of billiards then, my lord.”
“I would be delighted, sir,” agreed Cardiff.
Mrs. Owen turned to her niece. Her kindness showed through her earnest manners. “Perhaps you would like to see the gallery, my dear. We have quite a nice collection of portraits. There is a very good likeness amongst them of your mother when she was a young girl.”
“Yes, I would like that,” said Thea at once, looking up from putting orange marmalade on a biscuit. “I have a miniature of Mama when she was young, but I have not seen a portrait that was done of her before she wed my father.”
“If you would not mind it, Miss Stafford, I shall appoint myself your escort,” said Cardiff. He had thought to merely offer civil company in order to ward off the inevitable boredom of a slow morn, but when Miss Stafford smiled brilliantly at him, he felt at once that he had been accorded a high treat.
“Thank you, my lord,” said Thea, still smiling at him. Her large eyes glowed with anticipation. “Your company will be most appreciated.”
“Then it is settled,” said Mrs. Owen with satisfaction. “My conscience will be clear now that I am reassured that you and Lord Cardiff will be suitably entertained for at least part of the morning.”
Mr. Owen seemed somewhat amused by a private thought, for he gave a soft chuckle. When his wife glanced inquiringly at him, he merely said, “I like the way the cook has with the kippers today, my dear.”
“I will be certain to send a congratulatory message to the kitchens,” said Mrs. Owen, still gazing fixedly at her husband.
Ignoring his spouse’s obvious desire to know what was on his mind, Mr. Owen explained to Thea and Lord Cardiff how to find the gallery and thereafter applied himself to a hearty serving of kippers and eggs.
When breakfast was over, Thea and Lord Cardiff left their host and hostess to make their way to the gallery. It was a very long room, the paneled wall being overlaid with portraiture of various sizes and styles. The other side of the gallery was covered by a row of tall, velvet-draped windows.
Thea paused before one window to look outside. She noted an expanse of white-covered lawn that was rimmed in the distance by dark winter woods. The snow was still falling. She hugged her shawl close around her against the chill emanating from the glass panes. “It is beautiful,” she commented, her gaze on the pristine perfection of snow and woods.
“Yes. I had forgotten what England looks like during the winter,” said Cardiff, his eyes also roaming the countryside but with a keenness made sharp by habit. “It is so peaceful and untouched. One would never imagine for a moment soldiers emerging from that wood or bivouac tents and cook fires marring the clean white ground.”
Thea turned towards him curiously. “Is that what winter is like in Spain?”
Cardiff smiled slightly. “It is cold, just as it is here. But there are not the amenities such as can be found in your uncle’s home. Good food, good wine, a warm bed—these are things that soldiers dream about and talk about. Then when summer comes and we are on campaign, we yearn for cold water to cool our parched throats and we talk incessantly about the green of England.”
“Is it difficult for you to be in the army? Would you rather be back in England?” asked Thea with ready sympathy. She quickly realized that such an emotion as wasted on Lord Cardiff.
He laughed, his keen eyes gleaming with amusement. “I told you before, I thrive on what others might regard with dismay. Of course there are things that I dislike, but on the whole I think the army life suits me very well. There are long stretches of boredom punctuated with periods of frenzied activity. I fear I was not made for a staid life.”
“I wonder, then, about myself. I lived the most secluded, protected life imaginable until Mr. Quarles abducted me. It was a terrible experience and not one I should like to repeat, but in a strange way I have enjoyed myself since then,” said Thea thoughtfully. She looked up at Lord Cardiff, feeling suddenly embarrassed. She wondered what he must think of such an idiotic confession. A smile hovered on her lips. “Isn’t that peculiar of me?”
Cardiff took her hand and raised it to his lips, brushing her cold fingers with a brief salute. The expression in his deep blue eyes was intent as he gazed down on her fair countenance. Quietly, he murmured, “I would say, rather, that you are an intrepid and brave young lady, Miss Stafford. I knew it that first moment when I met your eyes.”
Thea felt color rising in her face. Somewhat breathlessly, she turned away from his lordship. She hastily crossed the short distance over to the paneled wall. “Shall we look at the portraits, my lord?”
“As you will, Miss Stafford,” said Cardiff suavely.
Thea felt her heart pounding. She wondered whether Lord Cardiff was deliberately flirting with her, and hoped that he was. What a ninny she had been to turn him down when he offered for her, she thought dazedly as she stared unseeing at a large painting. She could scarcely hope to discover another such gentleman who embodied the qualities that she most admired.
Cardiff drew her attention to another, smaller portrait and Thea obediently examined it. She made some disjointed observation, which did not make the least sense even to her. She tried to retrieve her slip. “I do not care for the lady’s equine profile. I hope she was not a direct ancestor.”
Cardiff regarded her with a pronounced twinkle in his eyes. Very politely, he said, “I believe it is not a particularly ugly lady, but a gentleman sporting the romantic locks of the Cavalier period, Miss Stafford.”
Embarrassed, Thea gave a rueful laugh. She glanced up at him. “Forgive me, my lord! I am not usually so dense, I assure you.”
“We shall see,” said Cardiff with a playful note in his voice. He took her arm and walked with her to stand in front of another portrait. It was a huge canvas framed in heavily gilded wood and depicted a pomaded, much-laced and beribboned gentleman leaning against a well-formed horse. T
he expression on the gentleman’s face was one of boredom and dissipation. “Well, Miss Stafford?”
Throwing his lordship a glance brimming with laughter, Thea said primly, “Obviously a gentleman of the Puritan persuasion, my lord.”
“I must agree, Miss Stafford. There is an otherworldly earnestness in the gentleman’s expression,” said Cardiff in mock seriousness. “He was probably a pillar of the church.”
Thea chuckled and drew his lordship on, quite willing to continue their impromptu game. They slowly made their way down the stretch of gallery exchanging bits of nonsense about the subjects of the portraits that became more and more outrageous the further they progressed. At length, Thea came to one picture that stopped her short in her tracks. “Oh!” She stared up at the portrait of a young woman standing in front of a tall window that overlooked a long expanse of green lawn rimmed by trees in the distance. Even if Thea had not recognized the subject’s face, she would have known the young woman to be her mother simply from the background painted behind her. Thea had looked out on just such a scene not an hour before, except that at present the vista wore the cloak of winter.
There was a long silence, at last broken by Lord Cardiff. “You look much like your mother,” he said quietly.
Thea shook her head, still looking up at the portrait. “No. I thought so, too, at first. But she was much more beautiful.”
“Her features were perhaps slightly more perfect, but I confess that I prefer the sparkle of willfulness in your eyes to that dreamy gaze,” said Cardiff matter-of-factly.
Thea looked around quickly, a faint glimmer of annoyance in her face. It set up her back that he could criticize her mother’s image by even a prettily turned backhanded compliment. “My lord? Just what is it that you are implying?”
Cardiff glanced down at her, and his quick smile flashed. “Confess, Miss Stafford! You would have been too hard-headed to have married a man like your father. You would have sent the gentleman to the roundabout.”
All of her indignation flown, Thea felt her lips quiver at the justice of his lordship’s observation. “Perhaps, my lord!”
Cardiff smiled again. He shook his head. “I suspect I know you better than you know yourself, Miss Stafford.”
“Oh, I think not, my lord!” retorted Thea. “It is the prerogative of a gentleman to assume such, of course, but it is the lady’s privilege to divulge only that which she wishes to reveal!”
“And what do you wish to reveal to me, Miss Stafford?” asked Cardiff softly, smiling down into her face.
Thea did not know how Lord Cardiff came of a sudden to be standing so close to her. His nearness discommoded her, setting her pulses pounding. She managed to tilt a smile up at him. “Why, my lord, that would be telling! And that goes against the rules, you know.”
“You are an accomplished flirt, Miss Stafford,” said Cardiff, stepping back from her and lacing her arm through his. For an instant his hand continued to hold her fingers against the crook of his arm. “Now let us finish our tour. You are beginning to take on a bluish tint from the cold—a startling phenomenon, I assure you.”
“How very ungallant of you, my lord,” said Thea affably. Lord Cardiff laughed. She was glad that he had reverted back to being her friendly companion. Contrary to his lordship’s teasing assertion, she did not feel at all like an accomplished flirt. It had taken all of her social training not to let him see how much he affected her. If there was nothing else that she understood, Thea knew that it was the height of folly to wear one’s heart on one’s sleeve. She would not embarrass Lord Cardiff by revealing feelings for him that he could not possibly return on the basis of their brief, peculiarly begun acquaintance.
It did not take long to finish their tour of the gallery, and when they had turned around to start the walk back down its length, Cardiff suggested that they repair to the back parlor “If you would not mind indulging me, Miss Stafford, I would like to listen to you play the pianoforte again,” he said.
Thea readily agreed. She could not think of a better way to while away the remainder of the morning and said so. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “I dearly love music, whether I am playing it or listening to someone else,” she said.
“I have a pronounced fondness for music also,” said Cardiff. He stopped her by the simple expedient of turning and laying his hand on top of hers where it rested on his arm. “Do you dance, Miss Stafford?”
Thea looked up at him in surprise. “Why, yes, my lord. And I enjoy the exercise very much.”
“As do I,” said Cardiff. “We have something else in common, then. Miss Stafford, do you recall the last piece you played last night?”
“Of course, my lord.”
“I have not been able to get it out of my head since,” said Cardiff. He drew her arm out of his, only to slide his hand down her slender sleeve until he could clasp her hand warmly in his. “I believe the melody went something like this.” He hummed the tune softly, even as he began to lead her in the steps of a simple round dance. She followed his lead hesitantly at first, then with greater assurance. Her head tilted as she listened to Lord Cardiff’s humming and a faraway expression entered her eyes.
It was magic, dancing to music that mainly existed only in their heads, alone in the cold gallery with the snow falling silently outside.
Their gazes met and tangled. As she stared into his lordship’s intent eyes, Thea’s steps faltered.
Cardiff stopped, but he did not remove his gaze from her still face. Slowly, he gathered her into his hard embrace. She did not resist, but rather melted against him. He murmured in satisfaction and bent his head downwards.
It was the most natural thing in the world for Thea to lift her lips to Lord Cardiff’s. Her lashes fluttered down as he kissed her. Her heart beat wildly in her breast. Her mind whirled as though she were spinning.
When Lord Cardiff released her, Thea raised a shaking hand to her still-parted lips. She stared up at him with a dazed expression in her darkened eyes. “I have never been kissed before,” she whispered.
Cardiff shook his head as though to clear it. “I think I must be mad,” he said, half to himself. “I swear I heard an orchestra playing just now.”
“Then we must be mad together, for I heard the music just as plainly,” said Thea.
Cardiff appeared to make an effort at regaining reality. “Miss Stafford, forgive me. I have taken unfair advantage of you and I know it, “he said quietly.
Thea felt a trembling smile come to her lips. “My dear sir, I do not in the least regret it. It was part and parcel of this very odd interlude in my life.”
“Yes, of course.” Cardiff sought a diversion for himself. He thought that if she continued to look at him like that he might snatch her back into his arms, and that would be an unpardonable breach of trust. There was no knowing where it might lead. He brought his heavy gold watch out of his waistcoat pocket and opened the engraved lid. “It is almost of the hour. Allow me to escort you back, Miss Stafford.”
Feeling deflated by his lordship’s reversion to a formal manner, Thea assented and together they left the gallery. They made polite conversation for the several minutes it took to reenter the lived-in area of the manor, neither alluding to what had transpired but both consumed by nothing else in their reflections.
Thea and Lord Cardiff parted on the landing, each to enter their separate bedrooms in order to ready themselves for luncheon.
Chapter Eighteen
When Thea entered her bedroom, her thoughts were tumbling so disjointedly that it would have been wonderful if she recalled why she had opened the door. However, she stopped short at sight of the sturdy figure bustling around the room, and all of her confusion fled. “Hitchins! Oh, Hitchins!” She rushed to embrace her maid, laughing and crying with happiness. “I have missed you so!”
The maid’s face reddened and she sniffed, equally affected but not wanting to show it. “Now, miss, do give over! I am that glad to see you, too, but we’ve work to
do if you are to be changed in time for luncheon.”
Thea obediently turned around so that her lady’s maid could start undoing the tiny pearl buttons down the back of her gown. She looked over her shoulder. “But what are you doing here? And have you really brought my clothes with you? Oh, Hitchins, I could kiss you!”
The maid chuckled. “What a funny one you are, miss. I am very happy to see you alive and safe. It was a relief to hear that you were here.” She helped her mistress to discard the gown. She clucked over the strange garment, shaking her head. “This gown is beneath you, miss. I shall get rid of it at once. Perhaps I shall give it to that inferior female I discovered in your bedchamber earlier and who is now residing in her proper place in the servant’s hall.”
“I don’t understand! How did you know where I was?” asked Thea, turning around to face her maid. She was attired only in her light camisole and slip and she wrapped her arms around her body to ward off a shiver.
“Why, Master Thomas and Master Philip returned home without you and this lord of yours, Miss Thea, and told your Papa everything that happened. Mr. Stafford flew into a fury, as much over that as over the blistering letter they had carried to him from your great-aunt. He called it a great impertinence,” said Hitchins. She lifted a freshly pressed merino gown from the bed where she had laid it and tossed it expertly over her mistress’s head.
As soon as her head emerged, Thea asked, “Great-Aunt Theresa? Hitchins! Did my brothers search for me at our great-aunt’s?” Thea hastily pulled up the sleeves of the olive merino gown to her shoulders and turned so that the maid could button up the back of the dress.
“Indeed they did, miss, and from all I heard they were sent away after a fine trimming from the old lady,” said Hitchins with a chuckle.
Thea laughed. “Oh, poor Thomas! Poor Philip!” She sat down on the small backless stool at the vanity so that her maid could brush out her naturally wavy hair.