A Gentleman Always Remembers

by Candace Camp

  His eyebrows vaulted upward. “They plan to run to Gretna Green?”

  “Lily is willing to. I cannot speak for Carr. But she says that her mother and father did so and were very happy.”

  Fitz let out a snort. “Oh yes, starving to death in America. Raising four girls on a shoestring and then having to marry a scoundrel to support them. I am sure that my aunt would wish that life for her daughter.”

  “Lily is a complete romantic, as I assume her mother must have been. And there is a certain headstrong quality in the Bascombe sisters.”

  “You mean they are all willful and hardheaded.” He set his jaw, his eyes dark with anger. “But it is not her I blame. She is only eighteen. She’s never even experienced a Season. Bloody hell, I never thought Neville would be such a blackguard.”

  He pivoted and began to pace up and down the room. “I’ll call him out. No, I’ll toss him out of the house on his ear. But first I’ll give him the thrashing he deserves.”

  “I doubt those solutions will benefit Lily’s reputation,” Eve pointed out drily. “Besides, it won’t stop her from running away with him.”

  “I’ll lock the girl in her room if I have to,” he threatened, scowling.

  Eve raised her hand to her mouth to cover a giggle.

  “Are you laughing?”

  “I’m sorry. You sound like the overbearing father in a bad play.”

  Fitz glared at her, but then the corner of his mouth twitched, and he relaxed, letting out a noise that was part groan, part laugh. “So I do.” He collapsed into a chair and leaned his head back with a sigh. “I didn’t realize Neville was this far gone. I understand—he never thought he would fall in love, and now he finds he can’t live without her. Damn. I hate to be the one to condemn him to his lonely fate.” He looked at Eve. “He does love her, I think.”

  Eve nodded. “And I fear she loves him. I don’t think it would be a bad match if it weren’t for the problem of his engagement. Lily would not be happy married to a staid, respectable sort. Mr. Carr will always provide her with excitement.”

  “He will that. But, completely aside from the scandal, how would they live? His father will not stand for him throwing over Priscilla, not after all this time. And Lady Symington—” He gave an expressive shudder. “No, if Neville marries Lily, it will be a dreadful scandal. Lord Carr will cut him off. Oliver will be furious—though, of course, he would never allow them to starve. But Camellia’s debut will be completely shadowed by it. Everyone will bring up the old scandal with Aunt Flora’s running off.”

  “I am so sorry.” Tears started in Eve’s eyes. “I fear I have failed Lily and . . . and all of you. I should have watched her more closely.”

  “No. No, dearest Eve . . .” He leaned forward and took her hand. “Do not think that. All of us, including Oliver, knew what a difficult task it would be to chaperone the girls. Especially now that they are without Mary’s and Rose’s steadying influence. And with this crisis upon us no one could expect you to oversee her every minute of the day. Indeed if anyone is at fault—besides the two of them, of course—it is I. You warned me what might happen. I should have made Neville leave the instant you told me. Clearly I put my trust in the wrong person.”

  Eve squeezed his hand. “I fear your brother may not be so kind.”

  “He will ring a peal over my head, I’ll tell you that.” Fitz released her hand and settled back in his seat. “But I am not ready to concede defeat just yet. Surely they are not planning to escape tonight.”

  “No. Lily promised that she would do nothing while the household is still so disrupted. She said she would stay and help. Measles don’t run their course for two weeks, so with the ones who came down with it later, I should think we have at least another week.”

  He smiled, his eyes lighting mischievously. “Then there is still time for my plan to work.”

  “You have a plan?” Eve brightened.

  He shrugged. “I set one in motion a few days ago. Now, whether it will work out, I don’t know.”

  “What is it? What did you do?”

  He grinned. “I cannot say. You will see it as it plays out.”

  “Don’t be so mysterious! Tell me.”

  Fitz chuckled at her expression. “No, it will be better if you don’t know. Your reaction will be much more natural.”

  “Oh! You are so aggravating.” But Eve felt the cold knot of worry within her chest ease. Perhaps everything would turn out all right after all. It was much easier to feel that way when she was around Fitz.

  “So I have been told.” He stood up. “Would you like a drink? Sherry perhaps?”

  Without waiting for an answer he went to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of the golden liquid. Desultorily they talked about their day as they sipped their drinks. She told him about Camellia and her progress, as well as the housekeeper’s slower healing. He described a dispute he had to settle between two of his brother’s tenants over a cow that had gotten into his neighbor’s field.

  “You look tired,” Fitz told her. “You work too hard.”

  “Not so hard.” Eve smiled faintly. “I spent most of my day sitting beside Camellia’s bed, reading or talking.”

  “Mm. And the rest of it scurrying about trying to take care of all the rest of the problems in the house. I wish I could take your problems from you.”

  “I would be very happy to relinquish them, I assure you,” Eve retorted. “Unfortunately I think they are squarely in my hands.”

  He set aside his glass and stood up. Coming around behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders and began to rub them, his thumbs and fingers working at the knots in her muscles. Eve let out a sigh of pure pleasure as the tightness eased. He moved to her neck, then returned to her shoulders and upper back.

  “Here, stand up,” he said, and she obeyed.

  He continued his work down her spine. Eve felt herself loosening, the muscles easing. The worries that had plagued her drifted away, along with her weariness. Her very bones seemed to melt, and she sagged, leaning back into the strength of his hands. Heat flickered within her and grew, warming her loins and traveling along her veins. A pulse began to throb deep within her, and her breasts felt full, the nipples hardening. Her breasts ached for the touch of his hands on them; she longed to have him cup the heavy orbs as he had before, to feel his thumbs stroke her nipples.

  “Oh, Fitz . . .” She let her head fall back against his chest as he slid his arms around her from behind, circling her waist.

  He nuzzled the crook of her neck, his lips bringing her skin to tingling life. He murmured her name as his mouth traveled over the side of her neck, nibbling at the taut cords. His hands slid up to cup her breasts, and Eve let out a little shivering sigh at the touch she had hungered for. The ache grew between her legs, pulsing and eager. She wanted him to take her, to pull her to the floor and cover her with his hard male body. She longed to feel him inside her, filling her, and she imagined wrapping her legs around his back, holding him closer.

  Footsteps sounded on the back stairs, loud in the still house. Fitz released her and spun away, moving like a shot to the door. He fumbled at the lock but did not find the key, and, letting out a low curse, he put his hand on the knob and stood still, listening. After a moment he opened the door and stuck his head out, looking up and down the hall.

  He turned back, closing the door after him. “Someone’s gone to the kitchen, I think.” He faced her, back against the door. “I was a fool. I don’t even know where the bloody key is.”

  Fitz strode across the room and took his jacket off the back of the chair, pulling it on. Eve watched him, unsatisfied passion still thrumming through her.

  “I have the key to my door,” she said boldly.

  Light flared in his eyes, but he shook his head. “No. Please don’t tempt me. I swore I would not do anything to bring you harm. There are too many people in the house, too much going back and forth. I am certain that Cousin Gordon pops downstairs in the middle of
the night to raid my brother’s supply of port.”

  Eve smiled faintly at his words. “I know. You are right. It is just . . .”

  “Soon,” he told her, crossing the room and taking her by the shoulders. She looked up into his face as he repeated, “Soon this will all be over, and our blasted guests will be gone. And you and I . . .” He did not finish his sentence but bent and kissed her, hard and fast, then stepped back. “You’d better go now.”

  Fitz went to the door and opened it, once again checking the hall, then stood aside with a nod. Eve went lightly through the door and down the hallway, not looking back.

  * * *

  Camellia seemed much improved the next day. Her fever was gone now, her forehead cool to the touch, yet conversely she seemed more aware of her own tiredness and less inclined to fuss about sleeping. Eve was able to leave her and slip away to write a few letters that she had been putting off for days, including a note to Vivian to inquire after her health and that of the others at Halstead House. She looked around for Lily, hoping to persuade the girl to sit with her and chat while she penned the letters, but she could not find her. Eve suspected that Lily was with Neville, probably in the garden. She could waste the entire afternoon searching the gardens without finding them, and she wasn’t sure it would do any good anyway. So she settled down at the desk in the drawing room to tackle her correspondence.

  She looked up at a noise outside and was startled to see a large, old-fashioned carriage rolling up the long driveway toward the house. It was not a carriage she had ever seen before, certainly not Lord Humphrey’s nor the smart equipage Lord Stewkesbury had taken to London. But whoever it might be, she realized, she must stop them before they dismounted and entered the house, lest they be exposed to the measles.

  She jumped to her feet and started out of the room. Before she reached the front door Fitz came hurrying down the hallway to intercept her.

  “No, no,” he said in a low but carrying voice.

  “But there’s someone co—”

  He held up his forefinger to his lips in a hushing gesture and seized her wrist with his other hand. Carefully he peered out the long, narrow window beside the door and stepped back, a grin spreading over his face.

  “I knew it!” he exclaimed softly, and he pivoted, pulling Eve down the corridor after him.

  “Fitz! What are you doing? Do you know who that is?”

  “Our salvation, I hope.” He turned the corner, walking swiftly toward the conservatory. “I believe that you and I are far too busy elsewhere to hear the knock at the door.”

  “You want someone to come in even though they’ll be exposed to the measles?”

  “I am without conscience, I know,” he told her blithely. “Shall we sit?” He directed her to an uncomfortable wrought-iron bench beside a large fern and himself took up position at one of the long paned windows. “Ah, there are Neville and Lily coming along now. He appears a bit agitated.” His grin grew.

  He looked, Eve thought, like the cat that had gotten into the cream. She opened her mouth to question him, but at that moment she heard the sound of voices in the distance. Then a woman’s stentorian tones echoed through the hallways. “Fitzhugh! Fitzhugh Talbot!”

  A spasm of unease crossed Fitz’s face. “Perhaps I went too far.”

  He turned around to face the doorway as footsteps sounded outside. Two women strode into the room, followed by Bostwick, literally wringing his hands. Eve stared at the visitors in surprise. From the sound of the voice she had been expecting a woman of large stature. Instead she saw a petite middle-aged woman. She had thick brown hair done up in an intricate style, with two dramatic streaks of pure white swooping back from her temples, and she was stylishly dressed, from the top of her bottle-green silk bonnet to the bottom of her kid half-boots. The expression on her face, however, matched the demanding voice, for it was set in deep lines of hauteur.

  Trailing after her was a much younger woman of similar size. She was not unattractive, having rather large brown eyes and a trim figure, but she did little to aid her looks. Her eyes were obscured by glass spectacles, and her hair was in a simple bun at the nape of her neck. She kept her eyes on the floor as she walked, glancing up anxiously from time to time at the woman in front of her.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” the older woman snapped at Fitz. “Your fool butler tried to keep me out of the house. Since when have I not been welcome at Willowmere?”

  Bostwick moaned, his hand wringing increasing. “No, no, my lady . . .”

  “Mama . . .” The younger woman blushed, casting an agonized look at Fitz. “I am sure he did not mean that.”

  “The late earl must be turning over in his grave if hospitality at Willowmere has come to this.” The girl’s mother ignored her, continuing at full steam. “Reginald was ever a gentleman. I had always thought Oliver was too, but the young have no manners apparently.”

  Fitz strode forward, saying easily, “Please accept my apologies. Of course you are welcome here anytime. I am sure that what Bostwick was trying to tell you is that measles are rampant in the house and indeed throughout the area. I am sure that Bostwick was only concerned about your health.”

  The woman compressed her mouth, letting out a little “humph,” as though she was not at all convinced of Fitz’s explanation. At that moment the door from the terrace flew open, drawing her attention. Neville Carr rushed in, with Lily right on his heels.

  “Fitz, I thought I saw—” Carr’s gaze went past Fitz to the group at the door, and he stopped so abruptly that Lily bumped into his back. “Good Gad!”

  “Neville. So nice to see you finally,” the woman said with asperity.

  Neville recovered enough to close his mouth and make a courteous bow. “Lady Symington. Priscilla. What a surprise.”

  Chapter 18

  Neville’s words confirmed the suspicion that had been growing in Eve from the moment the two women entered the room. Lily, however, let out a little squeak of dismay.

  “Yes, isn’t it?” Fitz agreed blandly, and Neville shot him a suspicious look. Fitz turned to Lady Symington and her daughter, saying smoothly, “Mr. Carr you know, of course, but pray allow me to introduce you to my cousin Miss Lily Bascombe and Mrs. Hawthorne. Cousin Lily, Mrs. Hawthorne, this is Lady Symington and her daughter Lady Priscilla.”

  Eve came forward to curtsey to the two women and was pleased to see that Lily, despite her shock, also made a creditable curtsey and murmured a polite greeting. Lady Symington favored them with a frosty nod, but her daughter smiled shyly and offered her hand in greeting.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Priscilla murmured. “I am so sorry to intrude upon you like this. Particularly with illness in the house.”

  “Nonsense, Priscilla. We have both had the measles,” her mother told her. “We shall be fine.” Clearly the problem their visit might cause for the residents of Willowmere did not concern her.

  Priscilla quickly looked away, coloring—whether in embarrassment for herself or her mother Eve wasn’t sure.

  “Still,” Neville said, joining them, “’tis quite a virulent episode of the disease, I believe.”

  Lady Symington favored him with a long look that could have frozen running water. “One can only catch it once, Neville, no matter how strong it is.”

  “Indeed, but many of the servants have fallen ill to it. The earl’s household is much reduced. I think you’ll find that the accommodations will be rather less than you are used to.”

  “Are you insulting the quality of my hospitality?” Fitz asked, eyes dancing with amusement.

  “Of course not.” Neville sent him a fulminating glance. “I am merely pointing out that Lady Priscilla and Lady Symington would find it much more to their taste and comfort to stay at the inn in the village.”

  “Yes, Mama, perhaps we should—” Priscilla began.

  “An inn?” Lady Symington’s chin lifted, and her tone suggested that Neville had suggested she stay in a pig sty. “I dare say Wil
lowmere would outdo a village inn, even in the midst of an epidemic. Really, Neville, you must learn to curb your penchant for theatrics. Nor, Priscilla, is it necessary for you to agree to every madcap thing he says.” She fixed her daughter with a basilisk glare. “You will be in for a very long marriage indeed if you begin that way.”

  Priscilla was now an unbecoming shade of red. “But I did not—” she started, then subsided, turning away and folding her hands tightly in front of her.

  “I will see to it that rooms are made ready for you right away, my lady,” Eve assured Lady Symington. She would have preferred to make the obnoxious woman cool her heels, but Eve felt too sorry for Lady Priscilla not to do whatever she could to ease the situation. “Bostwick?”

  She cast a glance at the butler and another at Lily, both of whom followed her out of the room with every appearance of relief. She and Bostwick conferred quickly in the corridor. Then he headed for the kitchen and the servants’ area while Eve and Lily hurried up the stairs to the bedrooms.

  “That is Lady Priscilla?” Lily asked breathlessly as she trotted alongside Eve. “The one Neville is—is supposed to propose to?”

  “Yes.” Eve cast a look at the young girl. “I am terribly sorry, Lily. I know it must be upsetting, but—”

  “I know. I—I’ll have to face much worse than that, won’t I?” Her young face was more doubtful than it had been the day before. “She, um, seemed quite nice.”

  “Yes, she did, though her mother is a tyrant.” Eve led Lily into her bedroom and went to the wardrobe to pull out her bags.

  “Yes indeed.” Lily went through the drawers quickly, pulling out Eve’s things and piling them on the bed while Eve packed. “But—what you said to Bostwick—do you really mean to give up your room to them?”

  Eve nodded. “It’s the only way that makes sense. It is already clean, and it’s one of the nicest bedchambers. You said so yourself. Besides, it’s next door to Mary’s old room, which won’t need more than a dusting and new sheets, either. So Priscilla and her mother can be side by side. They’re the best rooms in the house aside from the earl’s room, and of course we can’t put either of them in there.”