by Donna Hatch
Uncle Andrew cleared his throat. “Cole, there’s nothing wrong with developing feelings for a young lady.”
“I have no feelings. Not for her. Not for anyone. And I’ll thank you not to bring it up again. Perhaps I’ve stayed too long. I hear Italy is nice this time of year.” He almost cursed aloud. He sounded like a petulant child trying to profess his innocence.
Aunt Livy leaned forward to pat his arm, and he had to force himself not to yank back out of her reach. “Don’t go yet, dear. I vow I will respect your privacy.”
“Why start now?” he snarled.
“Because I can see that you are quite vexed by it. You both may consider me silenced.” She pressed her fingers over her mouth and glanced at Uncle Andrew. “In this matter, at least.”
Andrew grinned and kissed her gloved fingers. Their expressions for one another betrayed their obvious affection, despite their banter. They loved each other, even with the years and accompanying illnesses and injuries, and their strong personalities. Or perhaps because of them.
That Cole might have such a comfortable relationship with another seemed a tantalizing dream.
Chapter 8
Cole parried the thrust of his opponent’s rapier and drove in one of his own.
“Touché.”
Grinning, Cole lowered his rapier and held out a hand to his fencing partner. The duke shook it before they removed their protective coverings and handed their rapiers and gear to the servants.
“Well done, Amesbury,” the other man praised.
Beads of perspiration ran down Cole’s face and back. “And to you, Your Grace. You execute your moves flawlessly.”
Fencing always proved an interesting diversion. Submersing himself in technique and strategy restored a sense of balance to his world.
“Next time you have the urge to fence, send me word. I enjoy a challenging opponent. So many are unable to offer any real sport,” the duke said.
“I shall, Your Grace. Thank you.” Cole toweled off his face.
Over the course of the week-long house party, the duke had proven himself remarkably gracious. A dignified gentleman, the duke was an attentive and generous host.
Too bad Miss Sinclair and her family were also invited to the same house party. Cole had grown weary of her scheming.
“Your Grace.” A servant ran into the room.
The Duke gave a sardonic smile. “Duties, it appears, Amesbury.”
Cole grinned. “Thank you again for the excellent match.” They shook hands again and Cole went back to his room to bathe and change.
“Are you enjoying yourself, sir?” His valet, Stephens, sent him a wry smile.
As former comrades-at-arms, they had saved each other’s life many times. Since then, Stephens proved his loyalty repeatedly when Cole found himself dodging eager young ladies or their overzealous mothers.
Cole grimaced. “Outside of hunting and fencing matches—the only things I truly enjoyed—the week has been filled with games of all kinds and women with matrimony on their minds. Aunt Livy probably helped plan the menu, commonly known as the guest list. I’m surprised they didn’t serve me to the ladies on a platter, sautéed in butter.”
Stephens chuckled. “Miss Catherine Sinclair would have been the first to take a serving.”
“No doubt. Although she did prove herself a worthy partner in whist. Her ability to bluff won us many rounds last evening.” Few women had perfected the art of keeping her face as impassive as Miss Sinclair. “Overall, however, the whole party has been an adventure in escapes from feminine wiles.”
He’d briefly considered accepting the lovely young widow Norrington’s offer for a liaison last night. Lately, however, nothing filled the emptiness that seemed to be devouring him one bite at a time.
“Thank heavens tomorrow the party will come to a close and we can escape back to the relative safety of Uncle Andrew’s estate,” Cole added.
After bathing and changing, and receiving a fortifying grin from Stephens, Cole went downstairs for the next round. Dinner passed as smoothly as could be hoped, and he welcomed the after-dinner ritual to enjoy port or brandy and manly conversation, sans the ladies.
Cole nursed his brandy outside the circle of men. Anytime Members of Parliament or of the House of Lords began discussing politics, Cole usually kept his ears open and his mouth closed. His father, the fifth Earl of Tarrington, took his responsibility as a member of the House of Lords seriously and had never missed a session until his health began to decline.
When the day came that Cole would assume the title of Sixth Earl of Tarrington, he would do his duty faithfully and be a peer of whom his father would be proud. It was the least he could do, considering how he’d disappointed his father in his youth.
The conversation became bawdy as the glasses drained and refilled and drained. Cole only half- listened without comment, staring into his glass, absently watching the liquid swirl. Then the name Palmer jerked his attention back to the men.
“Willard Palmer can’t make a business deal to save his life these days,” the marquis said.
The duke frowned. “I met him years ago. He seemed a decent sort then.”
“Ever since he inherited his brother’s estate, it’s been bad luck. One loss after another.”
“Too bad. Decent sort,” the duke repeated.
Alicia’s face swam before Cole’s eyes. He had never obsessed over a woman in this manner. And Alicia Palmer failed to fit the type that normally piqued his interest—unremarkable in many counts and far too innocent.
But she was different. Perhaps there lay the key. He had met so many Catherines that he grew weary of their pretenses.
Alicia’s compassion had been refreshing, as was her concern for people. He admired her natural ability to include everyone with whom she came in contact, not in a calculating way like Catherine Sinclair, but in a way that made them feel important. Cole had witnessed Mr. de Champs’s chest swell in her attentive company at Lord and Lady Sinclair’s ball. She had done the same with every man with whom she spoke, looking at them as if they were the only person in the room, asking in her soft tones about their families and their lives. After only moments in her presence, each man, young or old, all walked taller.
Her expressions revealed her feelings; her hurt when Catherine and her parents scorned her, her amused disapproval at Catherine’s flirtatiousness, her alarm when she could not recall a name right away, her sweet pleasure when others remembered her. She’d been compassionate to Catherine Sinclair’s friend. Her reaction to the footman dropping a tray of food at the dinner party revealed no anger, no vindication, only concern for the footman’s distress and embarrassment for being the focus of attention. Seeing her thoughts plainly cross her face had been so entertaining that he wanted to sit down and watch her. Her genuine kindness continued to amaze him.
Cole scowled. Kindness. Bah! When did that become anything but blasé? So she was uncomplicated and wore her heart on display. So what? He had no desire to marry for several more years, despite his aunt’s machinations. Surely it would take another decade or so to find a suitable girl. That settled, he squared his shoulders and left the study to find Stephens.
“Oh, Cole, there you are, dear,” said his aunt.
Cole arranged his mouth into a smile. Then when he turned and saw his aunt, he broke into a grin. Her turban sat crookedly upon her head.
“We were just discussing you, dear. Come into my room, I need to speak with you.”
Cole grimaced. That never boded well. Someone had probably convinced her that Cole had developed an interest in their daughter.
Aunt Livy sat at a chair near the fireplace and turned toward him. “May I offer you a drink, dear?”
Cole waved it away. “I already had a brandy downstairs.”
“Now, dear, tell me. What do you think of the duke?”
“I wish I’d met him sooner.”
She leaned back, pleased. “And his sister?”
Cole blinked.
His sister? Oh, the redhead who giggled too much. “She’s not someone I had thought of at all, Aunt.”
“Cole! She is our host’s sister. She likes you. Be honest, what do you think of her?”
Since this would surely be a long night, Cole found a comfortable chair. “She is unremarkable.”
Aunt Livy’s face fell. “Oh, that’s too bad. She would be an excellent match, you know. And the duke thinks highly of you. I’m confident he would give his consent.”
He raised his brows. “Are you saying other guardians would not give their consent?”
“One never knows. And you have developed a bit of a reputation, you know.”
“Good. It will scare off any promising matches.”
She pulled off her turban and waved it at him. Her hair stuck out in all directions, making her appear as if she’d suffered a terrible fright. “You are heartless, you know that?”
Cole fought to keep his face straight at the comical sight. “If I ever make the mistake of forgetting, I am sure you will remind me soon enough.”
“Cole, be a good boy and find someone soon. I won’t live forever and I wish to meet your son before I die.”
Cole frowned. “You are only sixty and in excellent health.”
“Then think of your father.”
Cole winced at the reminder of his father’s declining health. “Yes. He had the misfortune of having a son like me, and then my brothers. I wouldn’t wish children such as us on any respectable girl.” Cole leaned back with his hands folded behind his head and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles.
“Perhaps your heir will be respectable. Not like you. Nor Jared.”
“No, I think Jared makes even me seem a gentleman.”
“Your poor mother,” she lamented.
“Have you ever considered that it might be your influence upon us, Aunt?”
She wagged her finger at him. “Come, now, Cole. My own children turned out all right. And perhaps your children will be more like Christian.”
Cole grinned. The “perfectly perfect Christian” should have been the heir to the earldom. He was good, and responsible, and everything Mother longed for in a son. At times, Cole almost hated him, except that no one could muster up a disliking for the youngest Amesbury boy.
He said, “I doubt such goodness is likely to be produced from me.”
“Cooperate with me. Your father asked me to guide you. Isn’t there anyone here who piques your interest? Catherine Sinclair comes from a good family. She’s quite beautiful.”
“She harbors a stone in her breast she calls a heart.”
Aunt Livy nodded pensively. “She is a bit manipulative, I suppose, but it will take cunning to win you.” She proceeded to list the names and virtues of every girl in attendance at the house party, and everyone who had been at the Sinclairs’ ball. Cole’s ears perked when she mentioned Alicia Palmer.
“Now, she is truly a delightful girl. Very closed- mouthed about your first meeting. I think she has mixed feelings about you. Perhaps you could correct whatever went wrong then. Her financial situation is not to her credit, but I think a man of your means can overlook that. I have already asked her to come to tea sometime after our return home.”
However tempting, now would be the worst possible time to ask Aunt Livy about Alicia Palmer; she might mistake his questions for genuine interest and then there would be no stopping her.
He stood up. “I am through discussing this boorish subject. Good night, Aunt.”
“Cole, please, sit down.” Her face and voice both sobered.
Cole complied, but he folded his arms and glared at her. The fire popped and crackled in the grate in the stillness of the night.
“What is wrong with you, dear? If it isn’t a lady, what is it?”
He let his elbows slide down to the arms of the chair. Perhaps it was the brandy. Perhaps he was tired of wondering. “Someone mentioned a Palmer boy who died.”
“Yes.” She leaned forward.
“Do you know the details?”
“No. I am not close to the family. Why? What’s disturbing you?”
Losing his nerve, he stood and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Nothing, Aunt, just curious. Good night.”
He closed the door on both his aunt and his curiosity about Alicia Palmer.
Chapter 9
Alicia sat in the garden next to her sister, breathing in the aroma of fresh flowers and sunshine and trying to push back her cares for a moment.
“Oh, look at this one.” Hannah inhaled deeply before she carefully snipped a flower. Beaming, she handed it to Alicia. “We’ll have a lovely table arrangement for dinner tonight.”
Sunlight slanted through Hannah’s hair, making it shimmer gold. She had all the fragile beauty of Maman and the same thoughtful, careful ways of Papa. Alicia dredged up a smile, trying to cover her concerns.
The head cook said if she didn’t receive her pay by the end of the month, she’d be forced to give notice as well. The cook’s assistant had already left. How could they cope without a cook? Alicia could barely boil water. Of course, Uncle Willard’s creditors had only given them until the end of the month, too. If she didn’t marry by then, a cook would be the least of their concerns.
Mr. Braxton had left the country without making an offer, and Alicia’s relief overshadowed any curiosity of the reason. But Colonel Westin, despite the set-down Lord Amesbury gave him at the races, had agreed to pay Uncle Willard’s debts and provide a respectable dowry for Hannah in exchange for marriage to Alicia and her dowered plot of land bordering his own. No one else could afford her. Or had the desire.
Alicia made a vow to stop running away from her troubles. She would encourage Colonel Westin, and when his offer came, tell him she’d be honored to be his bride. And hope the sick feeling in her stomach would fade in time.
Hoof beats reached her ears. A stunning white horse cantered into view and rode to the house. Alicia could not clearly see the rider from this distance, but Colonel Westin never rode horseback. Perhaps the visitor sought Robert or Uncle. She turned her attention to Hannah, accepted the next flower, and laid it in her basket with the others.
They spoke of inconsequential matters, enjoying each other’s company while Alicia tried to shake off her melancholy. A chill breeze began, blowing in a large, dark cloud. Alicia eyed the clouds, trying to determine if they looked dark enough to threaten rain.
Hannah began humming. She seemed so content that Alicia did not wish to spoil the afternoon by suggesting they return inside merely because of a few clouds. She said nothing.
“Miss Palmer,” a male voice called.
She looked up. At that moment, the clouds parted and shone down on the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She gaped at Lord Amesbury, undone by the sheer power and masculinity of that man. His long, muscular legs brought his marvelous form toward her in space-devouring strides. Again, the graceful, predatory way he moved reminded her of a great cat. His immaculately tailored clothing included a creamy cravat, rich green tailcoat, striped waistcoat, fawn breeches, and black Hessians. He casually carried his topcoat over his arm and his hat in his hand, but there was nothing casual about his purposeful stride. Sunlight shimmered off his dark hair. How could such a heartless man be encased in such beauty?
“Lord Amesbury,” she all but stammered.
Alicia’s heart pounded so noisily that she expected Hannah to stare. She and Hannah climbed to their feet and sank into curtseys. The clouds darkened, covering the sun.
“Forgive me for interrupting. May we walk?” He bestowed that familiar, heart-thumping smile. Clearly, any conscience he might have possessed at birth no longer resided within him.
Alicia glanced at Hannah, who could have lit up a large room with the intensity of her blush. Alicia wanted to run, to escape the unrelenting power of his magnetism. Her mouth dried and her palms grew moist, but she could hardly refuse. Fiend!
She reminded herself of her vow to stop running and d
rew herself up. “As you wish.”
The coolness of her voice brought Hannah’s head up in surprise. Lord Amesbury sobered and glanced back in the direction he’d come, as if second-guessing his mission. Alicia wondered if it were the first time any lady had been less than enthusiastic at the honor of spending time in his presence. Perhaps this would be good for his humility.
He solemnly offered them each an arm. He slowed his pace to match their smaller strides, and they strolled down the garden paths, commenting on pedestrian subjects such as the gardens, the weather, and everyone’s health. He smiled down at her, his eyes almost a tangible caress. Again, gentleness shone there. Alicia wished heartily that he would leave and take her swirling, chaotic emotions with him.
Finally, realizing that he would never mention the reason for his visit with Hannah next to them, she turned to her sister and gestured at the gardener on the path ahead of them. “Hannah, dearest, would you ask O’Leary when he plans to dig up the bulbs?”
Hannah blinked at the odd request, glanced at Lord Amesbury, and murmured an assent. She curtsied prettily to the viscount before trotting to the gardener, out of hearing.
Lord Amesbury’s look of gratitude might have softened her heart if it had come from anyone but Lord Amesbury.
“Is there something you wished to discuss, my lord, or is this a social call?” Alicia could not decipher his sideways glance.
“I know it’s bold of me to pry, but I must ask; whom are you considering for a husband?”
She pressed her lips together. “You’re correct. You are both bold and prying.”
“Please oblige me.”
Alicia looked over the horizon and said softly, her heart sinking with each word, “Colonel Westin.”
“The cretin who spoke so rudely to you at the race?”
She stared down at the ground. “I have no choice.”
“Everyone has a choice.”
She shook her head, trying to steady her voice. “I don’t. This will save us all from debtor’s prison. It’s the only way.”
He nodded. “I understand.”