Sally MacKenzie Bundle

by Sally MacKenzie

  Was the miscreant going to reveal her secret now? Anne waited for the cold dread in her stomach to blossom into panic.

  Surprisingly, what she felt was a thread of relief.

  She was able to keep her voice level and force one eyebrow to rise. “I’m afraid you’ve confused me with someone else, Lord Brentwood.”

  He opened his mouth to call her a liar, and she braced herself, even as she realized she’d spoken the truth. She wasn’t that young girl who’d so foolishly gone with Brentwood into Baron Gedding’s garden any longer. She’d changed.

  Stephen’s muscled forearm tensed under her fingers, and his hand squeezed hers slightly. She smiled. It felt so good not to be facing Brentwood alone.

  Brentwood paused and then closed his lips. He must have realized he’d lose any hope of getting her to crawl into his bed at the end of the week if he gave up the sword he was holding over her head now. He bowed slightly. “I cannot contradict a lady.”

  She inclined her head. “Then if you’ll excuse me?” She looked up at Stephen. “I think I’d best leave. I imagine the boys are at the carriages already.”

  “Of course.” Stephen nodded at their unwelcome companions. “Brentwood, Lady Noughton, good day.”

  They walked across the yard and out the gate. Once they were away from the crowds, Stephen looked down at her. “Care to tell me what that was all about?”

  “Not now.” George was running toward them with Nick, Philip, and Harry not far behind. “Later. The story will require some privacy.”

  He nodded. “Very well.”

  “Perhaps when we are in the carriage.” Her stomach twisted at the thought, but there was no point in putting off the inevitable.

  “Unfortunately, Mama and Da have sent their conveyance back to the Pulteney and will be riding with us.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t deny she was relieved, but the reprieve was only temporary and necessarily brief—Stephen wasn’t a slowtop. He must suspect some of the truth.

  “Tonight,” he said. “I will arrange it.”

  George reached them then, just as Evie and Mr. and Mrs. Parker-Roth came up from behind, so there was no more opportunity to discuss the issue. She walked next to Stephen, listening with half an ear to everyone’s opinion of the menagerie.

  She would tell him tonight. Her stomach shivered with nerves, but she would do it. And then all this would be over.

  Pride mixed in with her nerves. She had faced down Brentwood and she would tell Stephen the truth. She glanced up at him. He was teasing Philip about something. If only . . .

  No, no “ifs.” No wishes. Just the truth.

  She would tell Stephen tonight, but she dearly wished she had nothing to tell.

  Chapter 16

  “When do you and Stephen plan to wed?” Mama asked Anne.

  They were headed back to Crane House. Harry had been banished to the other carriage with Nick, Evie, and the boys. Mama obviously wanted nothing to distract her from this inquisition.

  Stephen looked over at Da, but his father was studiously gazing out the carriage window. He’d been married to Mama too many years not to recognize the futility of trying to stop her when she was determined to venture into sensitive subjects.

  Anne looked miserably guilty, not at all like a newly betrothed woman anticipating marriage with the man she loved. “We, ah, haven’t given it any thought.” She cleared her throat. “Yet.”

  “You haven’t?” Mama shot him a look laden with suspicion. Blast! Why couldn’t she be like other society women, interested more in the latest fashions than her children?

  “We thought we should wait until Anne’s father and stepmother return from Greece to make any plans.” He took Anne’s hand. “Though I’m all for a special license. No one knows when Lord and Lady Crane will return.”

  Mama snorted. “That’s no surprise. I’ve always thought the earl and his second wife consider no one but themselves—certainly not their children—when they go haring off after antiquities.”

  “Mama!” She must be more upset about his betrothal than he’d guessed; she wasn’t usually so tactless. “You should not criticize Lord Crane. Have you forgotten his daughter is present?”

  Mama flushed. “My apologies, Lady Anne.”

  “No, you are quite correct.” Anne freed her hand from his. “Papa and Georgiana do run off without warning or consideration about how their absence will affect their family.” There was definitely an undercurrent of bitterness in Anne’s voice.

  “And you are the one left in charge?” Mama sounded sympathetic.

  Stephen shifted in his seat. He must be on guard; he’d seen Mama work this way before, especially with the girls. She’d appear sympathetic—well, she probably was sympathetic—and before you knew it, you’d spilled all your secrets. Anne was in great danger.

  “Yes,” Anne said. “I don’t mind so much when we are home at Crane House, you understand. I know exactly how things should be run there; I’ve managed the estate forever. But here in London . . .” She bit her lip. “As I said, Papa did engage to have our Cousin Clorinda come stay with us.”

  Mama snorted again. “Please. I am familiar with Miss Strange. If the thing doesn’t have feathers and a beak, it’s of no interest to her.”

  That surprised a choked laugh out of Anne. “It is not quite that bad, but she has not been a great help with Evie’s come-out. And since I know next to nothing about London society . . .” She shrugged.

  “You poor thing. I cannot imagine how Lady Crane could have gone off like that when her daughter was to make her bows to society. And to leave you with no guidance! Did she and your father stay for a few days at least to help you get situated?”

  “They dropped us off on their way to the docks to catch their boat.”

  “Oh!” Mama pressed her lips together. “I think it would be best if I not say anything on that head, except—”

  “Cecilia.” The warning was clear in Da’s tone.

  Mama swallowed. “Yes, well, I do feel for you, my dear. You have been given a very challenging task.” She suddenly turned her gaze to Stephen. “I’m afraid I have very strong feelings about the importance of parents raising their own children.”

  Why the hell was she looking at him in such an accusatory fashion? He didn’t have any children.

  Yet.

  “As you can see from Lady Anne’s experience,” Mama continued, “it is very hard on children when their parents—or parent—are absent frequently.”

  “Eh?” He looked to Da for help, but his father was treating him to a similarly serious gaze. He was in deep trouble if Da was taking up arms with Mama.

  “I do hope you intend to curtail your trips after your wedding,” Mama said.

  “I hadn’t thought . . . I mean I had thought Anne could go with me.”

  “In the beginning,” Da said, “but not after you have children.”

  “Yes, I know, but . . .” He glanced at Anne. She was studying her skirt rather intently. He couldn’t condone the way Crazy Crane had dumped all his responsibilities on her shoulders . . . and yet, wouldn’t that be exactly what he’d be doing if he took off on months-long expeditions?

  “You’re quite wealthy; you’ve no need to go traveling. Stay home and tend your own gardens like John,” Mama said.

  “I don’t think John will agree with you, Mama. He benefits too much from my travels.”

  “There are other men who can supply him with his specimens,” Da said.

  An uncomfortable silence settled on the coach.

  Damn it, there were others who could do the job, but he liked the hunt. He liked exploring unknown lands, tracking through jungles, dodging competing plant hunters . . . falling in rivers, sleeping in the mud, being eaten alive by insects . . .

  Perhaps he was ready to settle down. He could try breeding plants, like John did. Plants and—he looked at Anne—babies.

  Anne cleared her throat. “I should say with regard to Evie’s come-out, if it ha
dn’t been for your son’s help, I don’t know what we would have done. He found us an excellent dressmaker, got us invitations to the Earl of Kenderly’s ball, and convinced Nicholas to act as Philip and George’s tutor.”

  Da laughed. “I’ll wager it was your sister and not Stephen who persuaded Nick.”

  “Oh, I’m sure Evie never said a word to Nicholas about taking charge of the boys.” Anne looked worried.

  Now Mama laughed, too. “Lady Anne, Evie didn’t need to say a word. Nicholas isn’t blind, you know.”

  “Oh.” Anne flushed slightly. “Evie is very beautiful—everyone remarks on it.”

  “And do they also remark on the beauty of her sister?” Da asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Her sister?” Anne frowned. “But I’m her only . . . oh.” She turned bright red and then laughed awkwardly. “No, of course they don’t.”

  “And why not?” Mama lifted her brow as well. “None of my sons is blind, Lady Anne.”

  “Cecilia is a painter, my dear,” Da said, “so I’m afraid you’ll have to believe her on this. She has an eye, you know.”

  Mama nodded. “You’re not in the common way, but why would you want to be? Life would be deadly dull if everyone looked alike.” She gestured toward Stephen. “Certainly my son has already told you all this—I don’t think he’s a complete clod pole. Given his ridiculous nickname, one would think he’d be quite adroit at such matters.”

  It was a sad situation if he had to take pointers from his parents when it came to wooing his betrothed. “Of course I’ve told Anne she’s beautiful,” Stephen said, taking her hand again. She was now redder than a ripe apple and wouldn’t meet his eye. “Several times. Haven’t I, Anne?”

  “Er, yes. But please do stop. I appreciate your kindness, but—”

  “It’s not kindness. It’s truth.” Stephen pressed her hand, but he wanted to shake her. Clearly she wouldn’t believe a word they said.

  “Yes, well—Oh, look. There’s Crane House.” She sounded so relieved he expected her to jump from the carriage before it stopped, but she managed to restrain herself. She smiled somewhat weakly at Mama and Da. “Would you care to come in and see Clorinda?”

  Da looked as if he’d be happy to decline, but Mama nodded. “That would be splendid,” she said.

  They climbed out of the carriage and started for the front door when Stephen saw Damian’s coach with Nick, Evie, and the boys approaching. “You go on ahead. I need to have a word with Kenderly’s coachman.”

  Stephen talked to the coachman while Nick helped Evie and the boys alight.

  “I assume Mama wished to speak with Miss Strange,” Nick said when Stephen turned to him.

  “Of course. You know she must ferret out every detail she can when one of us is involved.”

  Nick laughed. “Then I’m sure my presence is not required in the drawing room. I must begin my duties with the boys.”

  “Coward.”

  Nick grinned. “I prefer to view it as a strategic retreat.”

  The boys and Evie had fled by the time Stephen and Nick entered Crane House. Anne was waiting with Mama and Da. Nick gave Mama a quick kiss and then was allowed to escape—he was not the focus of Mama’s interest today.

  “Miss Strange is in the blue parlor,” Hobbes told them. “Lady Brentwood is with her.”

  “Oh.” Anne turned pale. “Thank you, Hobbes.” She led the way down the corridor. “I’ve brought Mr. and Mrs. Parker-Roth in to see you, Clorinda,” she said at the parlor door. “I hope we’re not intruding.”

  “Of course not. Do come in—and ring for more tea.” Miss Strange eyed Stephen and Da. “And perhaps some brandy. Do you know Lady Brentwood?”

  “Of course we do,” Mama said. “How are you?”

  Lady Brentwood was smiling, but her eyes looked suspiciously red. “I confess, I’ve been better, Mrs. Parker-Roth. And look! You have your husband with you. Whatever could have caused you to tear yourself away from your sonnets, sir, and come all the way to London? I thought you detested Town.”

  “I do,” Da said as he and Mama took a place on the settee, “but I was the only one available to escort my wife—and she insisted on making the trip.”

  “Of course you came because of the betrothal—but how did you learn of it so quickly?” Clorinda gave Anne a very puzzled look. “Did you perhaps know of it beforehand?”

  “No.” Da looked at Mama who jumped into the slightly awkward pause.

  “We were coming up to see how our younger son was doing in Town and were completely surprised by Stephen’s news. I assume we’ll find his letter alerting us to this happy event when we return home.” She sent Stephen a speaking look. “And we had the great pleasure of meeting Lady Anne at the Royal Menagerie just now. We are, of course, delighted at the match.”

  The tea and brandy arrived then, thank God. Stephen cradled his brandy glass and listened to the conversation with one ear while he studied Anne. What was her connection to Brentwood?

  He would find out tonight. But where could they have the discussion? She’d said the tale required privacy. It was obviously something that was hard for her to talk about, so they’d need a place where they would not be interrupted.

  They couldn’t go to his rooms—that would be far too scandalous, even for an engaged couple. But her room . . .

  “And how is your son, Lady Brentwood?” Mama asked. He saw Anne stiffen.

  Lady Brentwood shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I’m afraid he is a great trial.”

  Mama’s brows furrowed. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude—”

  “No, please. I’d like your advice. You’ve managed to raise three sons—and three daughters as well.”

  “Raising children is a great challenge.” Mama smiled gently and then sent Stephen a significant look. “As is dealing with them once they become adults.”

  Stephen took a mouthful of brandy. He should have fled with Nick, but he couldn’t very well desert Anne.

  Could he desert her later? Could he leave her alone with his children for months on end while he was thousands of miles away?

  Damn. He did not like that notion.

  Perhaps his initial plans concerning his marriage did need some revision.

  Lady Brentwood twisted her handkerchief. “Lord Brentwood—Walter—was always a willful child. If only I could have given him brothers and sisters, perhaps—” Her voice caught. “Well, it was not to be, but I often think if he’d had siblings, he’d be less focused on his own pleasures now.”

  Mama leaned forward and touched Lady Brentwood’s knee. “My dear Lady Brentwood, I’ve learned looking backward never helps. I’m sure you did the best you could at the time.”

  “That is exactly what I’ve been trying to tell her,” Clorinda said. “But I suppose since I am a childless spinster, my opinion holds no weight.”

  Lady Brentwood shook her head. “No, Clorinda, I value your words very much.”

  Da grunted. “It’s true you can’t worry over what’s past, but if we were to lay blame, I’d say the lion’s share belongs to your deceased husband, Lady Brentwood. I’m afraid the tales of his debauchery still circulate in the clubs.”

  Da was right. Brentwood’s father had died at least fifteen years ago, yet men continued to talk about the man’s sexual exploits. Just last week Stephen had heard an account of some orgy the old lord had hosted.

  He’d always been very glad Da lived a boring life. As Lady Brentwood had said, Da hardly ever left the Priory. Stephen smiled down at his brandy glass. His father might be lost in a creative haze much of the time, but the man could focus quite sharply if necessary—as Stephen had learned to his regret when he’d got in a bit too much mischief as a boy.

  How could he leave Anne the burden of raising his sons—and daughters—alone? And how could he miss seeing them grow up?

  Perhaps Mama and Da were right; perhaps it was time to give up traveling.

  “But what
am I to do now?” Lady Brentwood blew her nose. “Walter shows no interest in marriage—I cannot get him to consider any one of the suitable young women I suggest. He is past thirty—it is time for him to produce an heir.”

  “Indeed it is,” Mama said, “but I have discovered that once children are grown, we mothers can no longer control their actions.” She sighed. “I have stopped trying to do so.”

  Unfortunately, Stephen was swallowing a mouthful of brandy when his mother made this pronouncement. He managed—barely—to get the liquid down without coughing it out his mouth or sending it into his nose. Mama given up trying to control his actions? This was news to him. He glanced at his father. Da looked more than a bit surprised as well.

  “But how did you persuade your oldest three children to wed? There was no title at stake, and, in any event, your husband is obviously very much alive.”

  Da laughed. “Thank you, Lady Brentwood, for that astute observation.”

  Mama laughed, too. “I must tell you, when he gets lost in creating one of his sonnets, I sometimes wonder whether he is still breathing.”

  “And what about when you are in your studio painting?” Da said.

  Oh, God. Stephen saw the expression in his mother’s eyes. He feared he knew what was coming.

  “You are quite aware that I’m alive, sir. You are usually there with me, are you not?”

  Not only was Da with her, he was usually posing naked—and, much as Stephen shuddered to imagine it, one thing generally led to another. He’d learned very early in life not to disturb his parents when they were together in Mama’s studio.

  He took another swallow of brandy.

  “I must confess, Lady Brentwood, that I had nothing to do with my children’s matrimonial choices,” Mama said, “though it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. Jane was firmly on the shelf in her eighth Season when she settled on Viscount Motton. And John . . . I thought I’d have to convince some young woman to dress up as an exotic flower to catch his attention.”

  Da snorted. “They both managed to get themselves caught up in a scandal—that’s what forced them to the altar.”