Lord Carlton’s Courtship

by Alexandra Ivy

  He instilled in her such a maze of confusing emotions that she barely knew what she was feeling from one moment to the next. The only thing she was certain of was the knowledge that he had turned her sane and normal world upside down.

  Sighing at her ridiculous thoughts, Roma determinedly focused her concentration on more important matters, namely her brother and his unexplainable disappearance.

  Her initial reaction to Thomas Slater’s information had been panic. If William was indeed attempting to capture a man willing to betray his own country, then anything might have happened to him. Horrible visions of him being brutally tortured or smuggled to France and tossed into a dark prison had rushed though her mind. But with a determined effort she had thrust aside the hysterical thoughts and had attempted to view the situation in a reasonable manner.

  There were still a thousand unanswered questions, but Roma had been nearly overwhelmed by the abrupt need to return home. She had accomplished what she had wanted in London by alerting the government to the fact that William was missing and by discovering that he had no reason to leave Greystead Manor. Now she was anxious to return to the estate so she could continue her search. She was certain there must be some method of tracing his movements.

  But she had to reluctantly concede that Giles had a legitimate point. She couldn’t simply leave London without offending her aunt and, worse, creating unwanted gossip throughout town. She didn’t want people speculating on her reason for returning home, especially the person or persons, responsible for William’s disappearance. But what possible excuse could she give for leaving?

  With a small shake of her head, Roma absently finished pinning her auburn curls into a manageable knot. The maid who had been assigned to her when she had first arrived at her aunt’s home had long ago reconciled herself to the fact that Roma refused to behave like most young ladies in her position. Roma far preferred to see to her own needs, and only when she was forced to wear a gown that was ridiculously designed so that she was unable to dress herself did she allow Mary to help with her toilet. Now she barely noted the fresh muslin gown in a pale cinnamon shade or the tiny tendrils of auburn curls that stubbornly strayed from the severe chignon to rest against her ivory skin. Her beauty was completely natural and unstudied, but she cared only for the fact that she was presentable to make her appearance downstairs.

  With a last glance to ensure her expression did not reveal the anxious impatience that simmered just below the surface, Roma left the privacy of her bedroom and made her way down the long flight of stairs. Without thinking, she turned toward the long hall that would lead her to the breakfast room. Quite unfashionably, the family made a habit of sharing an early morning meal rather than lying in bed until noon and taking trays in their rooms. But even as she absently began to cross the marble floor, the door to the formal salon was abruptly thrown open and her aunt appeared with an expression on her round face that sent a strange tingle of apprehension down Roma’s spine.

  “My dear,” she gushed, practically glowing with an excitement that made Roma halt in wary puzzlement, “why did you not tell me?”

  “Tell you?”

  “You could at least have dropped some hint in which direction the wind blew.”

  “What?”

  “It is so sudden … so unexpected … I can scarcely think of what to say.”

  “Aunt Clara, is everything all right?” she asked, cautiously moving toward the older woman.

  “All right?” Clara gave a twittering laugh, her blue eyes gleaming with open pleasure. “Things could not be better. You realize, of course, that you have pulled off the social coup of the Season, and that I shall be the envy of every matchmaking mama in town. I can not wait to spread the news, especially to that overly superior Lady Powell. Just to think that she had the nerve to suggest you were dangling after Lord Carlton, not to mention she was so certain that milk-and-toast miss of hers would be the toast of the Season. Between you and me the poor girl hasn’t had so much as an offer. This should take her down a peg or two … ”

  Shaking her head with indulgent confusion, Roma broke into the unintelligible chatter with a firm voice, “Aunt Clara, what in heaven’s name are you talking about?”

  “As if you didn’t know.” She reached out to lightly tap Roma with her fan. “Such a sly young woman. Here I was worried that you might ruin your chances at a proper match by revealing such a lack of interest in your suitors, when all along you were capturing the elusive affections of Lord Carlton. What a tremendous stroke of fortune.”

  Suddenly concerned that her aunt had taken a serious injury to the head or perhaps been afflicted with an unexpected mental illness, Roma carefully considered the best method to approach the deranged woman.

  “Maybe you should go upstairs and lie down for a little while, Aunt Clara,” she suggested softly. “You appear a bit flushed.”

  “Nonsense, I feel fine.” Clara gave an airy toss of her silver head. “And what woman worth her salt would not be flushed at the realization that she had managed to launch her debutante and within a few weeks land Lord Carlton, the top catch of the Season as a groom?”

  Roma blinked; then, without warning, the floor seemed to shift beneath her feet, her mind spinning with bewilderment at the outrageous words. She wanted to laugh at the ludicrous misunderstanding, but even as she opened her mouth to protest, a dark shape suddenly appeared behind the portly woman and she found herself meeting a warning blue gaze.

  “Good morning, Roma,” Lord Carlton said, looking as superbly handsome as ever in his superfine jacket of pale blue and buff pantaloons. Not even his strangely watchful expression could mar the dark beauty that had begun to consume her thoughts in a manner she refused to contemplate. “I apologize for calling at such an unreasonable hour.”

  “Lord Carlton—”

  “Giles.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, overtly conscious of her aunt’s avid curiosity.

  “Giles, what are you doing here?”

  “I did say that I would call, my dear,” he answered with an engaging grin. “And I am afraid my eagerness to speak with your aunt led me to arrive on the doorstep unfashionably early.”

  “So romantic”—Clara sighed, clearly missing the stunned puzzlement in her niece’s eyes— “but come, let us make ourselves comfortable. We have a great deal to discuss.”

  “Yes, but I don’t suppose” —Giles paused, sending her susceptible aunt a glance that had melted the hearts of women since the day he was born— “Roma and I could have just a few moments alone?”

  Clara hesitated, torn between her rigid sense of propriety and her purely feminine love of romance. At last it was Lord Carlton’s irresistible charm that swayed the balance, and with a teasingly stern glance at Giles, she gave a reluctant nod of her head.

  “Very well, but mind, only a few moments and remember that Roma is still under the protection of her brother and not yet your fiancée. I may have acquired gray hair and a few years since I was a wide-eyed debutante, but I clearly remember the impatience of a man in love and I will not have you stepping over the line.”

  “You have my word as a gentleman.”

  Clara smiled. “I shall go order us tea. You have precisely five minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  With a small chuckle, Clara turned to walk out of the room, firmly closing the door behind her retreating form. Roma, however, barely noted her exit. Instead, her horrified gaze was attached to the man calmly eying her with a suspiciously bland expression.

  “Fiancée?” she breathed out, the vague apprehensions forming into a solid lump of unease in the pit of her stomach. “You told my aunt that I was your fiancée?”

  He carefully studied her shocked expression before giving a small shrug. “I told her that I wanted to ask for your hand in marriage.”

  The floor once more did its crazy tilt. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  A small, unexpected spark of amusement entered the vivid blue eye
s.

  “It is a definite concern,” he murmured. “However, at the moment I am simply attempting to fulfill the promise I made to you yesterday.”

  She raised a hand to her thundering heart. “What promise?”

  “I said that I would find a way for us to return to your home without creating unnecessary gossip.”

  “And this is your solution?” She gave a disbelieving shake of her head. “As far as I can see it will only create a flurry of gossip without getting us one step closer to Greystead Manor. It is a completely preposterous idea.”

  His lips twisted to a mocking smile. “Thank God I have an arrogant belief in my own self-worth, Miss Allendyle, a lesser man would have already crawled away in the certain knowledge that he was a thoroughly worthless creature in your esteem.”

  She possessed the grace to blush at his taunt, but remained determined to stand her ground. There was something deeply disturbing in the mere thought of becoming this man’s fiancée.

  “I did not intend to insult you, Lord … Giles, but you must realize that even the rumor of our engagement would send tongues wagging all over England. You have eluded the Marriage Mart too long not to cause a sensation when you abruptly decide to take a fiancée. Especially when your intended is an unknown, the daughter of an obscure family with no assets and a young woman with no claim to beauty.”

  His humor only deepened at her dry words. “And what does any of that have to do with love, my dear?”

  “Would you please be serious?” she snapped, irrationally annoyed by his ability to laugh at such a situation.

  “But I am,” he retorted smoothly, “and if you would calm down and allow me to explain, then you would realize that I have come up with a perfect solution.”

  “Calm down?” She gave him a smoldering glare. “I wake up to what I assume is another normal day and come downstairs to discover that I am newly engaged to London’s most eligible bachelor, and you expect me to be calm?”

  Without warning he gave a sudden laugh, moving to place an arm about her shoulders.

  “Come and sit down, Roma. I promise that I can fully explain my madness.”

  This time she was on the receiving end of that melting smile, and Roma abruptly understood why her aunt had found it so disarming. Almost unconsciously she allowed herself to be led to the loveseat and carefully arranged on the hard cushions, her hands being held in his slender fingers as he took a seat close beside her.

  Belatedly realizing that she had somehow lost control of the confrontation, she squared her shoulders in a determined manner.

  “All right, Giles, explain exactly how this absurd plan can possibly help me find my brother.”

  He paused, as if considering the best approach to use in the face of her less than enthusiastic attitude.

  “Well, to start with, we need a viable reason to return to Greystead Manor,” he began, his expression unreadable, “and since your aunt brought you to London with the express purpose of finding you a husband, it occurred to me that if you were to supposedly locate a prospective groom there would be no more reason for you to remain in town, especially since it would only be natural that I approach your brother as your legal guardian to ask for his permission. What better excuse to return to Greystead Manor?”

  She frowned, attempting to push aside her jumbled emotions and consider his words in a logical manner.

  “But my brother is not there.”

  “Yes. No one is aware of his disappearance, however,” he said slowly, as if speaking to a rather dim-witted child. “At least, no one that will spread the news. All we need say is that he is currently visiting a friend in the north, and as an anxious suitor waiting to officially claim you as my fiancée, it will seem quite natural for me to put up in the neighborhood and await his return.”

  She silently absorbed his words, reluctantly conceding this wasn’t as crazy a scheme as she had initially thought.

  “But that won’t prevent people from speculating on our relationship,” she pointed out.

  “What will they say?” he asked, lifting his shoulders in a negligent motion. “That they are surprised by our engagement? What does it matter as long as they do not suspect we have any other reason for leaving London? In fact, the more people discuss our swift engagement, the less time there will be to question our movements and the fact that your brother is absent.”

  She bit her lip, feeling the fiery indignation slowly slipping away. A part of her grudgingly conceded that she had overreacted. After all, this man had no reason to go to such lengths to help a complete stranger, beyond the fact that he had given his word to aid her in her search. And certainly he was making a considerable sacrifice, not only to leave London at the height of the Season, but to also lumber himself with an unwanted fiancée.

  But while she knew she should feel a portion of guilt for her ingratitude, she couldn’t prevent herself from shying away from the outrageous scheme. Somehow the notion made her nerves coil into a tight ball of unease that refused to be dismissed.

  “Must we say that we are engaged?”

  His brows drew together as if annoyed by her resistance. “Do you have a better suggestion?”

  “I …” She heaved a small sigh. “No, I suppose I do not.”

  “You needn’t fall into such a dismal state, Roma,” he protested, an exasperated smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Surely there are worse things than being engaged to me?”

  “I—”

  “All right, you two lovebirds, that is enough time alone for the moment.” Without warning, Clara bustled back into the room, her smile widening at the sight of them seated together so intimately. “We have a simply appalling amount of work ahead of us. There will be plenty of time to be alone after the wedding.”

  Roma felt a warming blush rise to her cheeks, and it was almost a comfort to have Giles give her hand a reassuring squeeze before firmly taking control of the situation.

  “To be honest, Lady Welford—”

  “Oh, my dear boy, you must call me Aunt Clara, you are about to become a part of the family, after all.”

  “Aunt Clara”—Giles gracefully slipped into his role— “I have never been a notoriously patient man, and since I am quite anxious to make Roma my bride, I intend to leave for Greystead Manor almost immediately.”

  Clara blinked in surprise. “Well, of course you will have to speak with William,” she agreed reluctantly, “but did you not say he was currently away from the estate, Roma?”

  “Yes, but I expect him back before the end of the month.”

  “I see.” Clara frowned, clearly not seeing at all. “I do not suppose you could convince him to come to London?”

  “Oh, no.” Roma firmly shook her head. “He will no doubt be very busy getting the estate back in order.”

  Clara sighed. “Then there is nothing for it but to return home. Until we have William’s blessing we can not very well announce the engagement.”

  Her disappointment was so obvious that Roma could not help but try to cheer her up.

  “There is no need for you to leave, Aunt Clara. I know how much you enjoy the Season.”

  “Nonsense,” the older woman argued, a delighted expression returning to her round face. “We have accomplished what we set out to do in London, and quite naturally Lord Carlton will stay at our home until William returns. In the meantime, my dear, there is no reason at all that the two of us can not devote our time to planning your wedding. We have a hundred decisions that must be made as soon as possible. I daresay we shall have the most wonderful time …”

  Thirteen

  Seated on the threadbare sofa that had been relegated to the back drawing room, Roma absently stitched at her lopsided sampler. A restless night spent brooding on Lord Carlton’s outlandish proposal and her own impulsive agreement had left her unnaturally pale and eager to avoid the ceaseless chatter of her delighted aunt.

  No doubt she should never have agreed to his shocking suggestion, she silently acknowle
dged. Not only was it highly improper, but it had placed her irrevocably in his debt. A realization that was far more disturbing than the fear of a scandal, if the truth should be discovered.

  But what choice did she have? As Lord Carlton had so saliently pointed out she possessed few options. She could remain in London until her aunt eventually tired of the glittering whirl, or she could return to Devonshire on her own and perhaps place her brother in even greater danger.

  “A fine muddle you’ve gotten yourself into, Roma Allendyle,” she muttered beneath her breath.

  Stabbing her needle through the heavy fabric, Roma paid little heed to her uneven stitches. Indeed, she was so intent on her inner turmoil that she even failed to note the sound of approaching footsteps. It was not until the door was abruptly thrust open that she realized her blissful solitude was at an end.

  With a small start, she lifted her head to see her cousin entering the room, an expression of disapproval on his youthful features.

  “There you are,” he said, his tone almost accusing.

  “Good morning, Claude.”

  “Do not good morning me, Roma Allendyle.” Claude immediately launched into an attack, not even bothering with the common civilities. “What the devil are you playing at?”

  Against her will, a warm flush spread on Roma’s cheeks. The day before Claude had been gadding about the less respectable establishments in town with a handful of cronies, not returning to the house until quite late. Obviously he had just been informed of her supposed engagement to Lord Carlton.

  She attempted a bluff. “I fear I do not know what you mean.”

  “Do not presume to gammon me, my dear.” Claude’s tone was as forbidding as his countenance. “Not even I am noodle witted enough to believe a gentleman who has dodged every contrivance known to man to lure him into the parson’s mousetrap has suddenly succumbed to a country miss with a sharp tongue and disobliging manners.”

  Despite her flustered unease, Roma could not prevent a wry grimace. “Such flattery, sir. I shall be quite overcome,” she chided.