by Candace Camp
“Mm. She probably did not dare show her face after that,” Eve surmised.
“Too true. I’d have given her a piece of my mind.” Mary looked at Eve. “Do you know Aunt Euphronia?”
“Lady Harrington?” Eve gave a little smile. “Indeed. If one has had a Season, one knows Lady Harrington.”
“She criticizes everything,” Vivian said. “But she has to be invited, because if you don’t, she carps even more. She cannot be ignored.”
“Oh, dear.” Lily drooped. “Will she be there criticizing us?”
“Doubtless.” Vivian nodded. “But don’t worry; she will complain about all the other girls as well.”
“Did she complain about you?” Camellia looked skeptical.
Vivian laughed. “She still does.”
“But you are a duke’s daughter. I would have thought she considered you above reproach,” Mary put in.
Both Eve and Vivian laughed. “No one is above reproach in Lady Euphronia’s eyes,” Eve assured them. “Except, I suppose, herself.”
“She allowed that my family lineage was at least long,” Vivian told them wryly. “My father wasn’t some vulgar mushroom, which is, I believe, how she referred to Lord Kelton, whose ancestors have held their title for only two hundred years. But the Carlyles were a bit too ‘wild’ for her taste—an opinion, I must warn you, that is held by some others in the ton. And of course, the color of my hair was apparently an affront to her good taste.”
Camellia let out a crack of laughter. “That’s rich! What about you, Mrs. Hawthorne? What did she say about you?”
“Let’s see . . . that I put on airs above myself, for my father was only a vicar, and even if his cousin is an earl, well, one must draw the line somewhere. And oh, yes—” Her eyes kindled as she recalled another memory. “She said that I must have washed my hair in lemon juice and stood out in the sun to make it so pale, which I have never done.”
“Does that work?” Lily asked.
Eve had to chuckle. “I don’t know; I never tried it.”
“Aunt Euphronia is a wicked old crone.” Camellia set her jaw pugnaciously. “And you better not let her bully you, Lily.”
“I won’t—at least, not if you are there with me.”
“I shall be, though I’m sure the balls and soirees and all that will be deadly dull.”
“I suspect you will find them interesting enough when all the young men cluster about you,” Eve told her.
“Me? No, that will be Lily.”
“It will be both of you,” Eve corrected her firmly. “Trust me on this. You are very attractive; you are the earl’s cousins; and you have a romantic history. Both of you will be the center of attention. That’s why the earl wants you to have a chaperone. He doesn’t want you thrown into all that without adequate preparation.”
“I thought he just wanted to torture us.” Camellia’s half-smile indicated that she was at least partially joking.
“No, silly, he doesn’t want us to embarrass him,” Lily put in.
“To be fair to the man, I think he does not want you to embarrass yourselves,” Vivian told her. “The earl doesn’t really move that much in society or care about it. If someone tried to embarrass him with your behavior, he would simply curl his lip and ignore the man. I truly think he is trying to help you.”
“Yes, just think how mortifying it would have been if you had had to go to some grand dinner back when we didn’t know which fork to use for the fish,” Mary pointed out.
“That’s it,” Eve agreed. “They always say one should learn from his mistakes, but I find it’s much better to figure it out beforehand, don’t you?”
“Well, I still say I’d rather stay here and ride and shoot,” Camellia put in flatly. “Which reminds me, it’s time for our shooting lesson, Vivian.”
“Shooting?” Eve’s eyes widened. “You and Vivian are learning how to shoot a gun?”
Camellia laughed, and Vivian explained, “No, Cam is teaching me how to shoot. She’s terribly clever that way. She can use a knife, too.”
Startled, Eve looked at her new charge.
Camellia sighed. “I know. I know. A proper lady shouldn’t know such things.”
Eve chuckled. “You might not want to admit it to the ladies of the ton. But I am most impressed. It must make you feel quite . . . confident, even on your own.”
“Exactly.” Vivian jumped to her feet. “That is why I want to learn it myself. I’ve improved a good deal, haven’t I, Camellia?” She turned toward Eve. “Come join us, why don’t you?”
“Yes, let’s all go,” Lily agreed.
“Just let me get my bonnet,” Eve said. She smiled to herself as she went back to her room. She would not have to worry here that her life would become too dull.
Chapter 5
Fitz and Sir Royce strolled out of the earl’s office, leaving Stewkesbury settling down behind his desk to read a stack of papers. Sir Royce cast an amused glance at his half-brother and said, “Neatly played. I never thought you would manage to pass your agent’s letter off on Oliver.”
Fitz chuckled. “You doubted me? Really, Royce, I am hurt.”
“You know, it might behoove you to spend a little time on your business affairs yourself.”
Fitz raised his brows. “Why? When there are so many things I would prefer to do? Oliver enjoys that sort of thing; you know he does. He likes to look pained and tell me I should pay more attention, but I know he expects to do it in the end. And he’s far better at it.”
“Still . . . how can you be sure that no one’s cheating you?”
“Oliver? Are you mad?”
“No, of course not Oliver.”
“Well, he looks over all my businessman’s reports, and he will catch it if the chap’s bamboozling me. And our uncle runs the business, so all I have to do there is accept the money, just as you do. Surely you don’t think Uncle Avery is cheating us.”
“God, no.” Royce frowned. “But . . . well, wouldn’t you like to know what you have?”
“I like to know that I have enough to buy a team of horses if I choose or a new jacket or whatever takes my fancy.” He shrugged. “And I know there’s plenty for that. If there were not, I would have heard about it endlessly from Crabbe and my uncle and Oliver.” He smiled. “I’m not like you. You had your father’s estate to inherit—a house, land. Grandfather raised you and Oliver to manage those things. I, on the other hand, inherited only money. You know how our mother’s father was—he wanted us to be gentlemen and never stain our hands with the actual business.”
“But surely someday you’ll have a house. Land. When you marry.”
Fitz sent him a wry look. “What is it about proposing to a woman that makes a man assume every other man is going to take the plunge?”
Royce looked a trifle sheepish but retorted, “Perhaps because we’ve found out how quickly one’s convictions change when one meets the right woman.”
“I have met many ‘right’ women,” Fitz shot back. “Indeed, few of them, I find, are ‘wrong.’”
“You know what I mean—the one who is right for you. Who makes you wonder why you ever thought you wanted to remain a bachelor.”
Fitz smiled fondly at his brother. “I am very glad that you have found Mary. And I wish you both the happiest of lives. You know that. But I don’t think wedded bliss is in my future.”
They had strolled out of the house as they talked, and after a brief pause for Royce to light his cigar, they continued around the terrace to the side of the house. They paused at the sight of the Bascombe sisters, along with Lady Vivian and Mrs. Hawthorne, standing in the yard beyond the garden. A target butt had been set up there, and twenty paces from it Vivian and Camellia were taking turns aiming and firing at it. A footman stood nearby, holding the case of dueling pistols, and one of the gamekeeper’s men stood beside him, reloading after every attempt.
“Ah. Target practice.” Royce smiled, watching the women—or, more accurately, watching Mary a
s she talked to the others.
“Care to join them?” Fitz asked.
“I’m enjoying watching,” Royce replied with a grin.
“They are a sight,” Fitz agreed. “Too bad I’m related to most of them.”
“Not Vivian.”
“Mm. Lovely, true, but I prefer a subtler beauty. There’s something about hair the color of spun gold . . .”
“Have you taken a fancy to Mrs. Hawthorne?” Royce looked at him with interest. “Oliver will have your hide if you cause a scandal with our cousins’ chaperone.”
Fitz grimaced. “Please. When have I ever caused a scandal?” When Royce opened his mouth to reply, Fitz added quickly, “In recent years, I mean, not when I was a callow youth.”
“You are generally discreet.”
“I am always discreet,” Fitz corrected him.
“Still . . .” Royce shrugged. “Rather close to home.”
“I have no intention of taking advantage of her.”
“Of course not. It’s just, well, carrying off trysts right in your own home, with no one finding out? It’s a trifle risky.”
“But dear chap, what would be the fun if it were safe?” Fitz tossed him a grin and started down the stairs to join the women. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Royce followed him.
* * *
Over the next few days Eve found it almost absurdly easy to establish a relationship with her new charges. The Bascombe sisters were friendly and open, easily accepting her as one of them. Eve fell in with the wedding preparations, helping them sew and pin and write out place cards, going with Mary to visit the vicar’s wife, and even helping her discuss the arrangements for the wedding feast with the earl’s cook.
Mary, brave and outspoken in so many ways, was less assured when it came to taking on her new role as a gentleman’s wife. “No one at home would believe it,” she told Eve confidentially. “They all, quite frankly, consider me rather bossy. But when I face the earl’s servants, I know they are all thinking that I don’t belong.”
“Nonsense. Of course you belong. I have never dealt with the number of servants that the earl has, but the principle is the same. You cannot let them see that you’re scared. You must present an air of confidence; you must remember that you are in command.”
“It would be easier if I knew what I was doing.” Mary gave her a wry smile.
“I believe that bluffing is the key.”
The days remaining before the wedding flew by, each one bringing some new crisis or other that had to be managed. The earl’s aunt Cynthia arrived with her daughter Charlotte, Lady Ludley. They were accompanied by Lord Ludley, Charlotte’s husband, and their rambunctious brood of boys. Fortunately for everyone, Camellia took it upon herself to keep the boys entertained outdoors on some adventure or other. Lady Cynthia and the Ludleys were not a problem. Unfortunately the same could not be said of Lord and Lady Kent, who were highly aware of their own importance. Though Charlotte and her mother treated Eve as a friend of Vivian’s, the Kents were inclined to treat her as a sort of higher-class servant, and they brought most of their complaints to her.
Late in the afternoon before the wedding an unexpected visitor arrived at Willowmere, strolling into the house and greeting the footman with the air of one familiar with the place.
“Hallo, John.” He handed his hat and gloves to the footman just as Eve and Lily came down the hall, carrying rolls of wide ribbon to be used in decorating the grand ballroom. “What the devil’s going on here? There must be five gardeners out front, clipping and raking.”
“Who is that?” Lily breathed to Eve. She came to a dead stop, staring at him, her eyes starry.
The man was, Eve had to agree, something to behold. Though not as handsome as Fitz—a high measure to be judged against, Eve had to admit—he was nonetheless striking. His face was highlighted by broad, soaring cheekbones, and his eyes were an unusual golden brown, almost the same shade as his caramel-colored hair. He was dressed for traveling in a lightweight drab coat decorated by several shoulder capes, which he removed now and handed to the footman. Beneath he wore buckskin breeches, an olive green coat of kerseymere, and gleaming top boots.
“It’s the wedding, sir.”
“Wedding! Good Gad, don’t tell me Stewkesbury’s getting himself leg-shackled. I would think Fitz would’ve slipped me the word.”
“No, sir, it’s Miss Bascombe, his lordship’s cousin.”
“Oh.” The visitor seemed to lose interest at this. “One of that buffle-headed Gordon’s sisters? Devil take it, I’ve stepped into a right mess, then, haven’t I? Perhaps I should just nip out before—”
He cast a glance around the foyer, and his eyes fell on the two women who had just entered. His brows shot up. Then a slow smile spread across his face, and he swept them a deep bow. “Ladies, your servant. Pray, ease my mind and tell me that neither of you is the imminent bride. I should hate to know that such visions of loveliness are about to be removed from the ranks of the unmarried.”
Lily giggled, blushing, and dipped a little curtsey in return. “No, sir, it is my sister Mary.”
“Ah, you have relieved me. But I cannot believe that Fitz has never told me that he had cousins such as you and . . .” He looked a little questioningly at Eve.
“I am not a cousin. I am their chaperone,” Eve told him in her most quelling tone.
“A chaperone? Never!” He placed a hand theatrically on his heart. “You make me doubt my senses.”
There was the clatter of footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later Fitz burst into view. “Neville!” A wide grin split his face as he trotted down the last few steps. “I thought that was your curricle I saw. What the devil are you doing here? Never tell me you came for the wedding.” Fitz reached him and shook his hand, clapping the other hand to Neville’s shoulder.
“How could I? I was unaware it was happening. Am I in your family’s black books now?”
“I never dreamed you would want to attend,” Fitz retorted.
“Well, and so I wouldn’t,” their visitor agreed cheerfully. “Or at least I would not unless I had seen the beauty of your guests. Never tell me this lovely young lady is Gordon’s sister.”
“Good Lord, no.” Fitz turned toward Eve and Lily. “I am sorry. Mrs. Hawthorne, Cousin Lily, allow me to introduce you. This chap who’s been rattling away is my friend, Mr. Neville Carr. Carr, please meet Mrs. Hawthorne and Miss Lily Bascombe. Miss Lily is one of our American cousins. I told you about them.”
“No doubt you did, but you know I so rarely listen. You should have told me that Miss Lily was enchanting.”
Lily dimpled and blushed, her eyes sparkling. Eve took her firmly by the arm. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carr, but I am afraid that we must go now. We have an urgent task awaiting us.”
Lily reluctantly let Eve pull her away, though she murmured in an injured tone, “They don’t need the ribbon that badly.”
“Mm.” Eve kept her tone light and noncommittal. “It’s only polite to allow your cousin a bit of time alone with his friend. Besides, it’s always to one’s advantage to appear indifferent.”
“Oh.” Lily fell silent, considering this.
Behind them Eve heard Neville Carr say, “Sorry to barge in on you like this, Fitz. I had the urge to get away for a bit. Thought of you whiling away the time up here, and I imagined you’d welcome the company. Bit awkward, though. I’ll nip down to the village and get a room at the inn. Head back to London tomorrow.”
“Nonsense. There’s no need for that,” Fitz protested. “The wedding’s tomorrow, and almost everyone’s leaving the day after that. Stay. Royce will be happy for you to attend the wedding.”
“It’s Royce who’s getting married?” Neville’s voice rose. “Devil a bit! Of course I’ll stay. Never thought I’d see this day.”
The men turned and walked off in the other direction, and Eve could no longer hear their words. Apparently Lily had been listening to their conversation as well, for she
turned now to Eve, her eyes sparkling.
“Wasn’t Mr. Carr handsome? How long do you think he will stay?”
From the look on Lily’s face, Eve could only hope that it was not long.
The next day dawned bright and clear, with just a nip of autumn in the air to remind everyone that it was, after all, September. It was a perfect day for a wedding, and a beaming Mary clearly thought so, too.
Eve, thinking to give the sisters a chance to bid good-bye alone, went downstairs to check on the arrangements in the ballroom. Everything seemed to be in place, lacking only the flowers that the gardeners were to cut that morning.
“Everything in order?”
Eve turned to see Sir Royce standing just inside the doorway. He advanced into the room, adding somewhat doubtfully, “I’m not bringing down some horrible curse on our heads by being here, am I? I’ve been warned away from so many rooms in the past week I’m beginning to feel I should have retreated to Iverley Hall.”
Eve smiled. She had come to like Mary’s future husband. More lighthearted than the earl and less carefree than Fitz, he was, she thought, perfectly suited for the headstrong, engaging Mary Bascombe. He would be able to hold his own, Eve thought, when it came to battles of will, but he seemed at ease with Mary’s strong personality, even proud of it, and was more apt to laugh about her “American ways” than to try to change them. Eve could only hope the other girls found men as well suited to them.
“I think you are safe from dreadful curses here,” Eve told him. “’Tis only the bride and the dress that are banned from your sight.” She gestured toward the room. “How does it look?”
“Beautiful.” He made a turn, taking it all in. “Of course, I’m so nervous right now I’m surprised I can even see it. No one ever told me the wedding day turned one’s knees to jelly.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll pull through.” Eve chuckled. “I remember my husband told me afterward he’d rather have jumped an untried hunter over a four-foot fence than face his wedding day.”
“I sympathize. It’s silly, of course. I’d rather marry Miss Bascombe than anything in the world, but the thought of standing up in front of a churchful of people to do so gives me the shivers.”