18
“Oh look, Lord Kilmaire, I do believe that’s the ruby-throated thrush.” Lady Helen’s voice raised another annoying octave in her excitement at discovering her quarry.
Colin couldn’t tell the difference between a golden finch and the ass of his horse, but he resigned himself to his situation and followed the intrepid Lady Helen.
“Do keep up, Lord Kilmaire. It’s rather important that we don’t lose sight of him.” Clutching her notebook, Lady Helen neatly sideswiped a thorny bush.
God, he wished to be anywhere but there, traipsing through the woods with Lady Helen, who seemed intent upon convincing Colin to compromise her.
Lord and Lady Cottingham also seemed intent upon the ruination of their daughter at Colin’s hands. The pair trailed several paces behind Lady Helen and her suitor.
Lady Cottingham, overdressed for an outdoor excursion, greeted Colin warmly as the quartet set off. A straw bonnet sat atop her head was held in place by ribbon wound underneath her double chin. She giggled prettily as Colin took her hand, ignoring her husband’s frown.
Lord Cottingham grunted, the cigar clamped between his yellowed teeth wobbling as he did so. Ham-fisted and beefy, Lord Cottingham was not known for his skill at polite conversation. A brutishness emanated from the newly minted earl, as if he’d recently done something unsavory.
Colin did not doubt that he had.
“Watch for that stump, Lord Kilmaire. I don’t wish you to become injured.”
Were he a man bent on the seduction of a much too forward virgin whose dowry was the talk of London Colin may have responded to her saucy remark with one of his own.
Unfortunately for Lady Helen, he’d already been seduced by a beautiful virgin. One he still wanted.
He should have found a plausible excuse and begged off this intolerable excursion with the Cottinghams. Lady Helen and her dowry no longer interested him.
His interests lay in another direction.
At least the air was crisp and cool in the shadow of the trees. He could smell the earth and hear the scamper of small animals scattering before him. Taking a deep breath of the pine scented air, Colin saw his past behind every tree.
He’d stolen a kiss from one of the chambermaids underneath the weeping willow to his left, charming the girl with his Irish accent. Lord Cambourne had taught him, Nick and Cam to fish in the small stream trickling in the distance. All three of them had proudly held up their small catch to be admired by the Dowager, while she congratulated them on their skill before ordering a servant to take the fish to Cook for supper. Cam bragged over dinner that the entire household was eating due to his skill at fishing, while the Dowager smiled quietly into her napkin, and Lord Cambourne applauded each boy’s efforts.
Colin doubted the trout they ate that night was the same they’d fished out of the stream for their catch had more closely resembled minnows than trout.
Lady Helen entered a small clearing, but as Colin watched, her form changed into that of a small, chubby child, determined to follow her older brother and his friend, no matter how they tried to dissuade her.
Miranda stared up at Colin with eyes the color of leaves, proudly holding a frog out to him, a token of her childish affection. Then he saw her again as she’d been last night, the same hand reaching out to him as he walked away, leaving her in the garden. Colin had stopped before a hedgerow at the sound of her weeping, each sob tearing at his soul, but his stubborn pride held him back from her. She’d accused him of being unable to love. And he was too afraid to tell her, even after he’d taken her virginity. He’d left his grandmother’s ring for her but didn’t have the courage to place it on her finger himself. Was that why she’d written the letter? To force a declaration from him?
Christ. I never even fought for her.
“Over here, Lord Kilmaire. I think I’ve run him to ground. Little devil.” Lady Helen turned and waved a gloved hand at her parents who paused on the path, pretending to examine a profusion of wild violets.
Colin had the distinct impression it was he, and not the ruby throated thrush, being run to ground.
“I understand your seat, Runshaw Park is in a rather wild area of England. I’ve even heard there are wolves to be found in the surrounding woods.” Lady Helen took a reluctant stab at conversation.
“A few, none so much as to be a problem to the livestock. But, you are correct, Runshaw Park is a bit isolated. The distance and the demands of my estate are such I don’t often visit London.” He could think of nothing but speaking to Miranda, a need that was suddenly urgent after so many years.
Lady Helen climbed over a rotten log. “The distance?” Her nose scrunched in a most unbecoming manner as she contemplated how in the world, she could avoid Runshaw Park.
“Three days ride. Longer if you are in a carriage.”
That tidbit did not sit well with Lady Helen. “I’ve no love of the country, Lord Kilmaire. I grew up hearing the sounds of crickets and the cows as they moved around the pasture. Bugs everywhere. Dust on every bit of clothing. And, you’ll forgive me for saying, the smell of dung.”
Apparently, Lady Helen hadn’t smelled the Thames recently. The smell of cow dung would have been an improvement.
“I much prefer London to the country..”
Her declaration didn’t surprise him in the least.
She paused and pointed into the branches of the enormous oak looming before them. “Pity there are no footholds on this tree.” She walked around the trunk, studying the gnarled bark with a look of concentration on her pretty face. Pouting, she put a hand up to her forehead and looked up into the limbs of the oak.
How could I have left her weeping in the gardens?
“There he is, Lord Kilmaire! My goodness, do you see him? He’s beautiful.” Lady Helen cried in excitement, rapture lighting her face. “Do you see him? He’s just there.” She pointed upward into the branches.
Colin looked up to spy a tiny bird no bigger than Colin’s fist. A flash of red showed on the bird’s breast, but otherwise didn’t look remotely interesting. Probably only a robin. He spared a glance at Lady Helen staring up at the ruby-throated thrush. Is this where his obstinance would bring him? Boring days spent wandering the woods with his pretty, wealthy, uninteresting wife? Endless dinners sitting opposite the length of a long table with Lady Helen, eating in silence? Spending his wife’s dowry to repair Runshaw Park while his countess flitted around London taking lovers?
He would doubt the paternity of every child she bore.
But the letter, his mind shouted. If Miranda loved you why did she return the ring?
Miranda would marry Ridley and produce a tribe of children who dressed in a garish manner and used too much pomade. He would have to see her at various family gatherings, or perhaps at the opera, with Ridley’s arm around her waist. He would live with the knowledge that she shared another man’s bed. He would drink whiskey in the dark halls of Runshaw Park and dream of her, with only his stubborn pride to keep him company and not Miranda. Would he be grateful then, that he’d not put the past aside?
Colin couldn’t breathe for a moment. The thought of spending the remainder of his life, alone without the sun, was not in the least appealing. Would I rather be wise or right?
The ruby-throated thrush flew off, disappearing into the canopy overhead.
“Come, we must follow.” Lady Helen posed, her breasts thrusting forward. The bonnet she wore slid gracefully from her head to expose the perfect oval of her face. Cheeks pink from her exertions, with the sunlight streaming through the trees upon her golden hair, she remained still for a moment so that Colin could appreciate her lovely form.
He had to admit, Lady Helen painted a pretty picture. But her posturing was wasted on him.
Taking hold of her skirts in both hands, she stepped over a large rock in the path, giving Colin a view of her ankles, clad in half-boots.
“Oh no,” she batted her eyes and kept her skirts raised, “I’ve dropped my sk
etch book. Would you mind fetching it for me, Lord Kilmaire?”
Stooping, Colin bent to pick up the notebook as she bid, wondering that the girl hadn’t been ruined many times over. Her every action spoke of practiced flirtation and artifice. Most men would respond willingly to the temptation she offered. Just not Colin.
For the love of God, he ruined Miranda and the least she expected was that he speak to her father. Instead, he’d only left a note with a promise and a ring.
“Lord Kilmaire, I don’t mean to be rude, but is your attention on our excursion? I feel certain it is not,” Lady Helen said, her lips pursed.
“My apologies, Lady Helen.” Where were Lord and Lady Cottingham? “I think we should wait for your parents.”
“Whatever for?” The blue of her eyes shone with feminine calculation.
Apparently, his assumption earlier was correct. The small bird flitting about the thicket before them was not the only thing Lady Helen stalked this morning. Colin had the urge to follow the creature to safety.
“We can sit here and watch the ruby-throated thrush.” Lady Helen spun about and carefully sat herself on a nearby tree stump, arranging her skirts as if she sat on a throne. She looked up at him expectantly.
“May I have my notebook, Colin?”
The use of his given name set off warning bells. Any woman of good breeding knew better than to call a gentleman by his Christian name on such short acquaintance. Lady Cottingham and her husband were much farther down the path than Colin originally thought. In fact, all he could see of Lady Cottingham was a large flash of color among the trees.
Maintaining a proper distance, Colin held out the slim leather notebook to Lady Helen.
A frown crossed her pretty face, crinkling her brow in an unappealing way, before her features smoothed. A winning smile crossed her lips.
“Come, sit next to me, Colin.” Her fingertips brushed his as she took the notebook from him.
Ignoring her invitation, Colin made his way to a large tree, leaning back against the pitted trunk. It was rapidly becoming apparent that the Cottinghams grew impatient waiting for Colin’s proposal. Surely it could not be only that the girl was headed for a scandal? He eyed her waist.
“You are so far away,” Lady Helen pouted, “that I shall have to shout at you to make myself heard.”
Lord and Lady Cottingham finally rounded a bend in the path and came into view.
At the sight of Colin, a good distance from their daughter, defeat clouded the faces of Lady Helen’s parents. Lady Cottingham shook her head in resignation and looked as if she might weep.
Lord Cottingham said something to his wife and she nodded.
“You’ve known the Marquess of Cambourne for quite some time, haven’t you my lord?” Lady Helen’s fingertips stroked the top of her notebook, tracing the design that decorated the cover.
“We attended Eton together. I spent many summers at Gray Covington before leaving to live with my uncle in Ireland. I’ve known the Marquess and his family for many years.” Colin crossed his arms and wondered what Lady Helen’s parents were discussing.
“I had only met Lady Miranda before arriving here” Her mouth turned slightly as if the taste of something bitter happened upon her tongue. “But I understand Lord Cambourne has two sisters. The younger, I’m told, is at a convent in Scotland. Imagine, the sister of a marquess languishing in a convent.”
“Yes, Lady Elizabeth is Lord Cambourne’s younger sister.” He offered no more information. Lady Helen was not only spoiled, but ill-mannered to say such a thing.
Well, I was warned.
“No one speaks of her. It’s as if she were a ghost.” Lady Helen paused and put a finger to her lip. “Unlike Lady Miranda, who everyone knows about.” The blue eyes grew wide and innocent. “Does Lady Elizabeth reside in Scotland so as not to be tainted by the scandal?”
Colin resisted the urge to take Lady Helen over his knee for saying such, though the little twit would probably imagine it as foreplay and not punishment.
“Perhaps it’s time we joined your parents.” He pushed away from the tree and nodded to the couple standing some distance away.
Lady Helen pretended not to hear and instead opened her sketch book. She took out a small charcoal pencil from a pocket in her skirt. Her hand hovered over a blank page before saying, “I’m given to understand that Lord Ridley and Lady Miranda will soon be wed. It’s fortunate, of course, that someone will offer for her. She’s nearly on the shelf. A spinster.”
“I would hardly call Lady Miranda a spinster.”
“Well, I certainly would.” She leafed through her journal. “How relieved her brother must be to know that Lord Ridley will save her from such an embarrassing fate. She had literally dozens of offers during her first Season and refused them all. Too picky.” The small shoulders shrugged. “At least, that’s what Lady Dobson says.”
“Perhaps Lady Miranda found no one to suit her.” Colin’s chest tightened, and breakfast soured in his stomach. He knew with certainty that had there actually been an engagement to St. Remy, Lady Dobson wouldn’t have resisted gossiping about its demise.
“I find it odd,” Lady Helen continued in a catty tone, “that the Marquess didn’t arrange a marriage for his sister before now, or at least,” she lowered her voice, “before the scandal.”
How many suitors had Miranda rejected before the death of Archie Runyon? His heart thudded dully.
I am your heiress, Colin. Me.
“Very tragic. I don’t know how Lady Miranda goes on. Why, if I were the subject of such conjecture, I’m not sure I could show my face in London. I fear I would retire to the country and give up all hope of marriage.”
“Indeed.” He needed to return to the house. Immediately.
“I find her incredibly brave,” Lady Helen continued, “to attend balls knowing that she will not be asked to dance. I’ve seen her,” Lady Helen shook her head as if saddened by Miranda’s fate, “standing with the other spinsters against the wall. Outside of Lord Hamill and Lord Ridley, I’ve only ever seen the heir to the Earl of Marsh dance with her. I can’t remember his name but he’s very handsome.”
“Lord Malden,” Colin said quietly.
An ugly snicker left Lady Helen’s pink lips. “You’ll forgive me for saying that Lady Miranda is a bluestocking as well and she’s—”
“Wonderful.” He watched, delighted, as Lady Helen’s nostrils flared in annoyance. “Educated. Amusing.”
Lady Helen’s lips thinned in disapproval. She carefully placed her charcoal into the sketch book and slapped it shut. “You deliberately provoke me, Lord Kilmaire. I realize you’ve known her since she was a child but how can you not be horrified by the shame she’s brought to her family?”
“She’s brought her family no shame. You are jealous of her because she is beautiful and intelligent.”
Lady Helen stood abruptly. She swatted at her skirts. “I don’t care for your tone.”
“Nor do I care for yours.”
That rebuttal earned him a curled lip from Lady Helen. She raised a gloved hand, summoning her parents. “Have a care, Lord Kilmaire, I have other suitors.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Colin did not offer Lady Helen his arm as they rejoined her parents.
19
Cambourne House 1830
Thank goodness she was taking matters into her own hands.
Lady Jeanette Cambourne schooled her face into concern, even wrinkling her brow a bit. Something she rarely did. “Oh there you are, Mr. Hartley.”
The Irish pauper stopped as his boot hit the last step, looking a bit chagrined. He likely hadn’t expected to see her waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. He looked past her into the breakfast room and frowned slightly.
Probably looking for his free breakfast.
“Good Morning, Lady Cambourne.” He bowed slightly over her hand. “I didn’t realize the time. I’m not accustomed to sleeping so late. You have need of me?”
Ha
rtley was obviously disappointed to find only herself in the breakfast room, despite the hour. He didn’t really care to speak to her, that much was certain. Pity, for she had so much to tell him.
Jeanette held out a note, still damp and mud-stained. “A messenger came to the kitchen door this morning. I was having tea when Bevins brought the note to me. You were still abed. The messenger didn’t wait for a reply.”
A complete and utter lie. The letter had arrived the previous night and the messenger had, indeed, been instructed to wait for a reply, but Jeanette made sure one of the footmen sent him away.
Hartley took the missive and ran his fingers over the elegant seal of the Earl of Kilmaire. He looked at it for so long that Jeanette was afraid he would be able to tell she’d already steamed the note open when it first arrived.
Tearing open the note, she was pleased to see Hartley’s eyes widen in surprise and concern.
“Is something amiss, Mr. Hartley?” Jeanette let her voice tremble as if concerned. Of course something was amiss. One of Hartley’s brothers had fallen ill. Hartley was being called back to Runshaw Park immediately as the brother wasn’t expected to live. Tragic, really, and quite fortuitous. She’d long been racking her brain trying to figure out how best to rid herself of Hartley. She nearly wept with relief after reading the note.
“My brother. Ian.” He looked up, worry and fear in his eyes. “He’s quite ill. I need to leave London immediately for Runshaw Park.”
“Oh dear.” Jeanette placed her hand on his arm in what she hoped was a consoling manner. “Is there anything I can do?” At his nod, she continued, ‘I’ll instruct the footman to ready your horse immediately and have Cook pack you something for your journey.”
She’d actually already told Paul, her most loyal footman, to have Hartley’s mount readied, a small basket with bread and cheese attached to the saddle’s pommel. She wanted the Irish pauper out of the house as soon as possible.
“I must make haste. Excuse me.” Hartley bounded up the stairs towards the guest room he’d slept in last night.
MY WICKED EARL: The Wickeds Book 3 Page 24