by Mary Balogh
“By coincidence, neither am I,” he said. “I was about to eat from force of habit only. Shall we walk down to the bridge?”
She peeped at him from beneath her lashes. “I am sure Mama would say that I may,” she said. “The bridge can be seen from here.”
“I think you must have worn green to torment me, Susan,” he said as they began to walk, looking down at the pretty bonnet that was all he could see of her head for the moment. “It quite perfectly complements the auburn of your hair.”
“I am sure I do not mean to torment you, my lord,” she said, looking up at him with her hazel eyes. “It would not be fitting, with you so far above me in rank.”
“Ah,” he said with a grin, “but beauty is the great leveler, Susan. If you were side by side with a duchess at the moment, no one would even notice the duchess standing there.”
“Oh,” she said, “you are funning me, my lord. Who would ever notice me if I were in such grand company?”
“I would, Susan, that is who,” he said, patting her hand. “And every other man for a radius of five miles, I warrant you.”
Her eyes brightened with tears and she lowered her lashes suddenly. “You are making fun of me, my lord,” she said, her voice low.
“No. Susan!” His hand closed around hers as it rested on his arm. “Of course I am not. Do you not even realize how very lovely you are? And how utterly adorable?”
“I am nobody,” she whispered.
“Susan!” he said, stopping and turning toward her. “Look at me. Please look at me.”
She did so, her cheeks flaming, her eyes still bright with unshed tears. He looked hastily back the way they had come. They were hidden from the picnic site by a clump of bushes beside the river.
“Susan,” he said gently, “you are someone, believe me. You are surely the prettiest and sweetest young lady of my acquaintance. In fact, I would go beyond saying you are someone. I would say you are everyone, Susan. To me you are everyone and everything. There. Does that reassure you?”
“Oh,” she said, and two tears spilled over and began to trickle down her cheeks.
Lord Eden took her face in his hands and wiped the tears away gently with his thumbs. And that little rosebud of a mouth, still formed into an “Oh,” was not to be resisted. He lowered his own to it.
And then his hands came away from her face and gathered her slight, yielding body against his own. Her hands stole up to his shoulders. Her lips trembled beneath his and returned their pressure.
Lord Eden did not allow the embrace to be anything else but gentle. She felt very small and very fragile in his arms. She made him feel large and protective. He gave himself up to his love for her.
But only for as long as the kiss lasted. As soon as he lifted his head and found himself looking down into her large trusting eyes, he knew that he had just succeeded in complicating his life even further, just at a time when a contemplation of the tangles of his mind was already enough to give him a headache. He groaned.
“Oh, my sweet love,” he said, “what a wretch I am! I have no right doing this, you know, no right giving in to my love for you. I have other obligations, Susan. I am not free. At least, at present I am not free.”
Tears welled into her eyes again but did not spill over. “I cannot help loving you,” she said. “It is not wrong to show you that I love you, is it? I cannot help myself. But I do not expect you to return my feelings. You are Lord Eden.”
“Susan.” He hugged her to him again and then held her at arm’s length. “That has nothing to do with it. I wouldn’t care if I were the King of England and you a milkmaid. I would still love you. But I have obligations. I am in a tangle.”
“You love someone else,” she said. “It is understandable that you do. You are so very handsome.”
“No,” he said. “At least…Susan, forgive me. I have acted unpardonably this afternoon, setting my own needs and feelings before yours. Forgive me. Please forgive me.”
“I forgive you,” she said. “I love you, my lord.”
Lord Eden closed his eyes briefly and released his hold of her arms. “I certainly do not deserve your love,” he said. “I should take you back, Susan. Or would you prefer to walk on to the bridge? We are almost there.”
“To the bridge, please,” she said. “I would not wish Mama to see my tears. Are my eyes very red?” She raised perfect eyes and complexion to his gaze and looked anxiously into his eyes.
“You look quite beautiful,” he said, raising one hand as if to touch her cheek, but lowering it again before he did so. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Let us stand on the bridge for a while, then. It was perfectly placed, was it not? The view is quite lovely in both directions.”
“Yes,” she said. “Did you know that the regiment may be going to Spain? That is what Lieutenant Jennings told Papa earlier.”
“Yes,” he said. “The whole neighborhood is agog with the news, though no one seems to know it if is quite certainly true.”
“I think it is dreadful,” she said, “to think of all those men going where there are guns and fighting. I do not know how they can even support the idea. I would die at the very thought.”
“And yet that is the job of a soldier,” he said, “to fight when it is necessary to do so.”
“I would die,” she said. “I would just die!”
MADELINE WAS SITTING ON the lawn with Captain Forbes, Sir Peregrine and Lady Lampman, Miss Letitia Stanhope, and her cousin Walter. She was gaily telling them stories about London and keeping them all laughing. She was trying desperately to fall in love with the captain.
He was very tall and very handsome, and looked perfectly magnificent in his regimentals. Only a few weeks before, she would have had to make no effort whatsoever to fall in love with him. In fact, she would have had to try very hard indeed not to do so. He would not, after all, be a desirable match for her. He was the younger son of a baronet, without property of his own and without fortune. He was, moreover, a soldier with the declared intention of making a lifetime career out of the army.
No, not a desirable match at all. It was not that she really needed to marry a fortune. Her dowry was extremely large. And she did not need to marry a prince or a duke. Her family was remarkably enlightened about the idea of marrying untitled people. But she really could not picture herself living the unsettled life of an officer’s wife. Once she had almost done just that, of course, when she had tried to run away with Lieutenant Harris. But she had been barely eighteen at the time. Besides, she had admitted to herself afterward that she had probably left that letter almost deliberately where Edmund was bound to find it and put a stop to her plans. It had been easier to blame him for being a tyrant than to decide for herself that after all the elopement would just not do.
But this time it just could not be done. Although the captain showed her every deference and would need very little encouragement to be declaring himself, she just could not fall in love with him.
“Someone else tell a story,” she said now, as the laughter died down following her latest anecdote. “Walter, you were in London for a few weeks. Something interesting must have happened to you.”
“Well,” he said, “there was the day I tried to get into White’s with Hanbury. He said I could look older than I am if I pursed my lips and looked very stern.”
“And it did not work, I take it,” Sir Peregrine said with a grin.
“The years will pass quickly enough,” Lady Lampman said, “and you will be able to join all the clubs you wish, Mr. Carrington.”
It was an inspired moment to call Walter “Mr. Carrington,” Madeline thought. He must appear little more than a babe to Lady Lampman. She flashed a curious look at the lady. She had always found her intriguing. So quiet and unassuming when she had been the rector’s housekeeper that she had been scarcely noticeable. And then coming into a shocking prominence as the bride of Sir Peregrine.
Madeline had once fancied herself in love with him, and he had
been in the habit of paying her lavish compliments and flirting outrageously with her. She realized now that his intentions had never been serious. But Lady Lampman! How could he have brought himself to such a thing as to marry her? She was so much older than he, and had no obvious attractions.
Madeline looked again, as she had looked many times, for signs of unhappiness or discontent in Sir Peregrine’s face, and could find none. What an intriguing relationship theirs was! It was impossible to know if they were mildly contented or desperately unhappy. Impossible to know if Lady Lampman ruled him with a rod of iron, as she sometimes liked to fancy. The woman certainly watched him wherever he went when they were in company.
And she was with child. Madeline would have thought she was far too old.
“Yes, please, Perry,” Lady Lampman said now, handing her husband her empty glass so that he might bring her more lemonade. And she followed him with her eyes as he crossed the lawn and stopped to talk briefly to the rector’s wife. He was looking after his wife’s needs—like an obedient puppy? Or like a devoted husband?
Madeline found her eyes straying up the river again, as they had against her will at least a dozen times in the past hour. But they were still not returning—Howard, Uncle William, Anna, and Mr. Purnell. They had gone to look at a good fishing spot, though what there was to see in a good fishing spot escaped Madeline’s comprehension. She could have gone with them. Uncle William had asked her, and Howard had looked hopeful. Mr. Purnell had not looked at her at all. And of course she had not gone.
Did she love him? That was the word she had used to Dom a few days before. But was “love” a suitable word to describe her feelings for Mr. Purnell? Perhaps “obsession” was a better word. She certainly was obsessed. She avoided him at every moment of the day, and yet at every moment of the day she knew were he was and with whom. When he was within her sight, she tingled with awareness of him and studiously avoided looking at him. And found herself darting glances at him every few moments.
She was very much afraid of him. And she did not know why. There was his way of talking to her, of course. He had never made a secret of his dislike of her and had insulted her on more than one occasion. But then, that was not the sort of behavior that would make her cringe. If any man wished to talk to her in that way, well, she would give as good as she got, and better. She could even enjoy the banter. Not that she had had much practice at that sort of game, of course. In her experience men tended to be worshipful. And boring.
And there was the way he had treated her the last time they had been alone together. She had still not succeeded in shaking the memory of that kiss from her mind. And she was not sure that she had tried very hard. It had been a bruising and an insulting kiss, and she supposed quite sufficient to explain her fear of Mr. Purnell. But for all that, that was not the reason for her fear. Perhaps it was foolish of her to be so trusting, but she did not feel that she had been in danger of being ravished, or that she need fear such danger. She did not believe him quite that unprincipled.
No, she could not explain her fear. It was a fear of the unknown. And Mr. Purnell definitely represented the unknown. There was something about him, something locked up inside him, that frightened her. Not that she feared it would erupt in violence. She was not afraid of being physically harmed by Mr. Purnell.
What was she afraid of, then? Of falling in love with him so irrevocably that she would not be able to feel an interest in any other man ever again? Yes, she was afraid of that. Very afraid. She was two-and-twenty years old, and she wanted to be married. She wanted her life to settle down. She wanted to be in love, to marry, to have children.
And she was afraid of finding herself irreversibly in love and then discovering something dreadful about Mr. Purnell, something that should distance him totally from her regard. Not that it would matter anyway, of course. Not in her wildest imaginings could she ever picture Mr. Purnell loving her, wanting to spend his life or any part of it with her. And yet, in some small way he must share her obsession. She had never heard him treat any other lady as he treated her. He had apologized twice to her—once for what he had said, once for what he had done. And that kiss had been quite unpremeditated; she was sure of that.
“Oh, yes, thank you,” she said, smiling up at Sir Peregrine, who had brought her a glass of lemonade too. “It is a warm afternoon. I should tell you about the time Lord Timmins brought me a glass of lemonade at Almack’s and tripped just as he was holding it out to me, though no one could discover afterward what it was he had tripped over. The poor man. That was all of three years ago, and I have never seen him there since.”
The others joined in her laughter. They were on their way back, she saw, Anna tripping along beside Mr. Purnell, her arm through his. He was looking down at her, an indulgent smile on his face. Madeline laughed at Sir Peregrine, who was declaring that he was terrified to hand his wife her lemonade lest he spill it all down the front of her dress.
ALEXANDRA HAD DREADED THE ARRIVAL of her father, and in the event had fallen into his arms and hugged him with a fervor that had surprised herself quite as much as it had him. She had never been separated from him for as long before, and seeing his familiar bulky figure step down from his carriage outside Lord Amberley’s door had made her realize what she had not fully known until that moment: she loved him.
“Well, Alexandra,” he had said, holding her at arm’s length and glancing up the marble steps to where Lord Amberley and his mother waited, and to his wife at the bottom of the steps, “I see you have forgotten your manners, miss.”
And yet, she had thought as he turned to greet Mama in a far more restrained manner and to acknowledge his host and hostess, he had not been angry. His gruffness had hidden some pleasure. Or had she imagined that? Was it possible that Papa could be pleased at being hugged? She had never done such a thing before.
She had had very little private talk with him since. If Mama had recounted her misdeeds, he had not yet found the moment to take her to task about them. He had addressed one remark to her the night before after dinner.
“Well, Alexandra,” he had said, “you will be pleased with the latest news from town, doubtless. The Duke of Peterleigh has just engaged himself to Lady Angela Page. She has made a fortunate catch, under the circumstances. She is seventeen years old.”
What had she felt? Alexandra asked herself now. A sense of finality, as if a door had been finally closed in her face? Yes, she did feel that. Relief? Yes, definitely. It might so easily have been she. In fact, all her life she had expected that it would be she. And she knew now after a few weeks of rapid growing up that she would never have known a moment’s happiness in her life if she had married his grace.
Indeed, she thought with some surprise, that ridiculous kidnapping that had been the origin of all her woes had probably been the single most fortunate thing that had ever happened to her. She was in a tangle, and there were worse days to come, but at least she had been made aware of herself as a distinct person, quite separate from her father or the Duke of Peterleigh or any other man. She had a great deal to thank Lord Eden for. She must tell him so when she had the chance, she thought with a smile.
“Alex,” Lord Amberley said to her, taking her empty plate from her hand, “shall we stroll along beside the river with your mother and father? Perhaps we should cross the bridge first. I always prefer the walk at the other side.”
She took her father’s arm while Lord Amberley offered his to her mother.
“You have a very pleasant seat here, Amberley,” Lord Beckworth said as they walked. “It is too bad that there has to be such a lot of wasted land.”
“You refer to the valley?” Lord Amberley said.
“And to the land close to the sea,” the other replied. “No good for anything but grazing sheep, I gather.”
Lord Amberley smiled. “You are quite right,” he said. “It is waste land, is it not? It is strange that the idea had not occurred to me until this very moment. And yet the valley and
the cliffs are my favorite parts of my land, the parts that make it so very precious to me. Perhaps something is not valueless if it can warm one’s heart.”
“The hunting is good?” Lord Beckworth asked.
“Forbidden, I am afraid,” Lord Amberley said, “though I do allow fishing. I have the notion, considered somewhat amusing by many who know me, if not downright lunatic, that wild animals have as much right to life as we do. Your next question is quite likely to be: do I eat meat? The answer is yes, unfortunately. I do not quite have the courage of my convictions, you see. If I lived quite alone, and prepared all my own food, perhaps I would abstain. But I always think how very inconvenient it would be to all concerned if I became so eccentric.”
“Live without meat?” Lady Beckworth said. “It would not be possible, my lord, would it? You would not long survive, especially during the cold of the winter. It seems a strange notion to me.”
“And quite unnecessary,” Lord Beckworth said. “You have only to read your Bible, Amberley, to know that animals were created for man’s food. It would be rebellion against God to refuse to accept his gift.”
Lord Amberley smiled. “You are quite possibly right,” he said, “though opinion on the matter does depend on which version of the Creation one reads.”
“Hm,” Lord Beckworth said. “I came down, Amberley, to settle the matter of your wedding. The end of summer, I thought, would be the perfect time. The end of August, perhaps, or the beginning of September. In St. George’s. A large enough number will be in town or will return to town for the event if we send out the invitations without further delay.”
Alexandra held her breath.
“Alex and I have not discussed the matter,” Lord Amberley said. “We had certainly not thought of such an early wedding.”
“The best possible thing,” Lord Beckworth said. “Why wait?”
“Ours was a precipitate betrothal,” Lord Amberley said. “We did not know each other at all, and have had only a few brief weeks to become acquainted. I do not wish to rush Alex into marriage.”