The Wedding Affair

by Leigh Michaels

  “A spot which might prove useful for a gazetted flirt like yourself to know about,” Kate agreed. “However, I have no intention of telling you.”

  “Why not? Because it’s so convenient for eavesdropping? Or because you’d rather show me?”

  Kate’s fingers twitched on her riding crop.

  Andrew eyed her. “None of that, mind. Far too much comment would ensue if you slashed at me with your whip.”

  Kate smiled at him and turned to survey her charges. Things had come to a pretty pass when she looked forward to the bridesmaids’ antics to take her mind off Andrew Carlisle…

  “What a shame Lady Stone chose not to accompany us this morning,” Andrew said. “She’d have had a grand time betting on which of the bridesmaids will fall off her horse first.”

  Despite Kate’s best efforts, a bubble of laughter escaped her.

  Andrew’s gaze had slid back to the duke. “So Lady Reyne is available, is she? I must find out what sort of game Simon is playing.” He touched his heel to the roan and trotted off, clearly intending to catch up with the duke and Olivia.

  Suddenly Kate didn’t feel like laughing any more.

  Eight

  When one of the grooms rushed up to help Lady Reyne into her saddle, Simon had to restrain himself from slapping the man’s hand away. He settled for stepping between them, and when the groom looked puzzled, Simon held out the note he’d written at Olivia’s kitchen table. “Take this message back to Mrs. Greeley at Halstead.”

  The groom touched his hat and rode off. Simon took his time in helping Olivia into her saddle and was rewarded with the smallest glimpse of a smooth stocking and the curve of her calf. Once he had all the straps right, he took hold of her heel and guided her boot into the stirrup.

  She surveyed him quizzically. “Are you quite satisfied my foot is in the right spot, Your Grace?”

  The boot was warm from her heat, tempting him to explore. Simon wanted to run his hand further up under the draped folds of her habit. He was standing between her and the rest of the group, and surely the breadth of his shoulders would keep anyone from seeing…

  But a fleeting touch would not satisfy, so he gave the worn leather a last pat and stepped away.

  “You have not told me what you wrote in your message,” Olivia said as he swung up into his own saddle.

  “Your maid will be back at the cottage by the time you return.”

  She frowned, and for a moment suspicion flickered in the corners of Simon’s mind. Had she expected him to offer something else? Something more?

  “I’m not convinced Maggie will appreciate the change of duties, sir. She was looking forward to the possibility of vails when your guests left.”

  “I shall make up the loss of income to her. I also requested Mrs. Greeley to provide you with enough grape jelly to satisfy your household for an entire year. I hope you have ample pantry space to store it.”

  She laughed, and Simon felt his distrust fade away.

  Lady Daphne kneed her horse up beside him. “How very strange that you seem on such good terms with Lady Reyne, Simon, when we’ve heard nothing of her before.”

  “You shouldn’t be surprised, Daphne. I’m far more discreet than you credit me for being. Lady Reyne and I danced together years ago at a London ball. And of course you’ve heard of her—you must have, because you invited her to your wedding.”

  Daphne gave a little snort and pushed her horse into a trot, startling the riders around her. “Come along, everyone. We’re heading for the abbey ruins.”

  “I thought I taught her to ride better than that,” Simon muttered.

  “She looks beautiful in the saddle,” Olivia said.

  “Not the same thing at all. A true beauty wouldn’t risk injury to the horses or to other riders. Take you, for instance…”

  “Are you paying me lavish compliments, Your Grace? And here I thought you prided yourself on being discreet. So discreet, in fact, that even I did not notice this first meeting of ours. It was years ago, you said?”

  “Don’t be foolish, my dear. Of course you remember a country dance during your first Season.”

  “My only Season. And if you’re going to invent stories about a romantic encounter at a ball, cannot you at least make it a waltz we shared?”

  “If we had waltzed, I never would have let you go. Pray, my lady, do not break my heart by claiming you cannot remember our first dance. Or at least, please don’t tell my mother or sister you can’t recall it.”

  “I would not have…” She broke off, her face going slightly pink.

  “Were you about to say you could not have forgotten dancing with me?” Simon was charmed. Olivia Reyne was full of surprises. He wondered how long he would take to discover them all. Perhaps he shouldn’t have put a time limit on their affair.

  But in fact, he realized, he hadn’t. He’d said he wanted to pretend to court her until the wedding was over, that was true. But after the vows were said, while Daphne and her marquess honeymooned, the guests would scatter across the country once more and the duchess would go off to visit friends. There would be nothing to prevent him from lingering on at Halstead. He could arrange trysts and rides and outings…

  As the first riders wound into a small grove outside the village where they could ride only in single file, he dropped back far enough to admire Olivia’s form and the lush curves of her bottom in the worn wool habit. Desire stirred, and he tried to remember the abbey ruins. Was there a private corner somewhere to be found? And just how difficult would it be to lure Olivia there, if only for a kiss?

  Not that a kiss would satisfy him. But he could wait for the rest.

  ***

  Wherever the earl was going, Penelope realized he knew the way. After crossing the little stream and threading through the underbrush beyond, she dawdled at the edge of an open field to watch while he crossed it and then hurried to follow. She had to push the mare to keep up with the gelding’s steady trot, and every time the horse and rider vanished for a moment, her heart went to her throat. What if she lost sight of him entirely? She wasn’t enough of a countrywoman to know the necessary tricks to retrace her route.

  She’d been so absorbed in following his path—while trying not to be seen herself—that she’d paid little attention to the direction, other than to realize they were not headed back toward Halstead but across country. They were riding south, she thought, though it was close enough to midday that even checking the position of the sun didn’t help much.

  She stopped to look around for landmarks and realized she had lost sight of him again. Ahead of her, the narrow path twisted. Perhaps, just around that bend, she could catch a glimpse again and reassure herself. She leaned forward, urging the mare to greater speed…

  And came around the corner to find her husband waiting for her, his horse drawn up at the side of the road.

  She opened her mouth to explain and realized nothing she could say was adequate, so she closed it again.

  “Very wise,” the earl said. “As a hunter, you lack finesse.”

  Penelope bit her lip. “How long have you known I was following you?”

  “A while.”

  “Not all that long,” she argued, “or you would have stopped and sent me back.”

  “I’d have taken you back. However, I had no wish to call attention to the fact that I had left the group.”

  “You told the duke you were going. I saw you.”

  “Only so he could prevent consternation if I was found to be missing.”

  “That’s all right, then. If anyone misses me, they won’t be in the least concerned.”

  “I imagine they will be highly amused at the notion that we rode off together—the newlyweds wishing to be alone.”

  “Of course,” Penelope said drearily. “So tell me where we’re going.”

  The earl clucked to his horse and set off down the road. “No.”

  “Since I don’t seem to be welcome, I think I’ll go back.”


  “Suit yourself,” he said over his shoulder, “though the notion of being an uninvited guest does not seem to have disturbed you when you chose to come along on this expedition.”

  Penelope’s bravado faded as quickly as it had flared up. She had no notion where she was or how to get back to Halstead. She caught up with him before the next turn of the road. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she said miserably.

  He was silent for a while. “Perhaps you should see this.”

  They rode for another mile or so—Penelope was no judge of distance in the country—before he drew up his horse at the crest of a hill and looked out over the narrow valley beyond. At the far end, perched on the long slope, was a manor house dating from Queen Elizabeth’s time, a massive, wonderful pile of brown brick. Towers on each corner wore Tudor caps—at least they should have done, Penelope thought. A closer look revealed that two of the four were missing, and in one wing, boards had been nailed where windows should have gleamed.

  “Stoneyford,” he said quietly. “My family’s estate, going to ruin. I can’t sell it, for it’s entailed—and I wouldn’t sell even if I could, for it is my heritage and my responsibility. Every penny that comes in from the land must be reinvested there to keep the place going, which means small hope of ever again making enough profit to repair the house.”

  She had known there must be an estate, for an earl always had a manor house and land somewhere. But Penelope couldn’t recall giving the matter any further thought, and he had never mentioned the country. “What happened to it?”

  “What usually happens to landed estates. My grandfather was a gambler. He sold off all of the unentailed property to pay for his fondness for cards and dice. My father was unwilling to admit the reality, so he continued to spend as though the estate was in fine form. By the time I inherited the title, the house was very much as you see it now. I sold the contents before they could deteriorate further and used the proceeds to board the place up.”

  And then you thought to mend matters by marrying a fortune, only to find you could not bear the woman who came along with the money…

  “This is what you wanted from my father,” she said slowly. “This is what you asked for, in the letter you wrote him.”

  “I hoped he would assist me to improve the land so the estate can once more stand on its own. But he refused.”

  My terms are clear, Ivan Weiss had said. He had meant he would not help to fund his son-in-law’s estate unless there was a child to inherit.

  “I can’t even lease the house to bring in a little cash,” he went on, “for as you see, it is falling down.”

  The walls were still straight, and the roof appeared solid. But even Penelope’s inexperienced eye could see the task of restoring the manor would not be easy or inexpensive.

  “I’d like to see it.” She didn’t wait for an answer, in case he tried to discourage her, but nudged her horse down the slope.

  The day was beautiful, and the vista as they rode across the valley tugged at Penelope’s senses. The land looked like a quilt pieced from an infinite variety of greens—crops and grasslands, trees and meadows, threaded together by the thin blue glint of a narrow river running lazily, half-concealed by tall marsh grasses. Not far from the house the river widened and shallowed, rippling over half-exposed rocks—the stony ford that must have given the house its name.

  What should have been the front lawn of Stoneyford had become a hay field instead, and a half-dozen men were forking the dried grass onto a cart as Penelope and the earl rode up. One of the men stood straight and saluted; the others bowed their heads and tugged at their hats. “Welcome home, sir,” the leader said. “It’s past time you brought your lady to see Stoneyford.”

  The earl only nodded in answer. As one of the men took the horses, the earl pulled out a big key and unlocked the front door.

  All through the house was the scent of stale air and dust and neglect. In a few rooms, wallpaper had peeled because of the damp air and now trailed in ribbons across the floor. Dust lay thick on the few remaining pieces of furniture, most of which must have been too old and threadbare to sell, and dimmed the windows. The floors were bare of rugs, and darker patches here and there on the walls showed where paintings must once have hung.

  Only a huge fireplace and a few mismatched bits of armor remained in the great hall, but the carved paneling was intact and looked to still be in fair condition. The dining room held nothing at all, but the kitchen showed signs of occupation.

  “There’s a caretaker,” the earl said when Penelope cast a questioning look at him. “An old fellow, one of the tenants who can’t work the land anymore. He tries to keep an eye on things, but housekeeping is hardly his strong suit. Mainly he’s here to discourage anyone from poking around and getting hurt.”

  After that, Penelope was more careful to watch where she stepped.

  The staircase would have greatly benefitted from wax and elbow grease, she thought. Still, the newel post and banister were huge and heavy, and the stairs felt solid beneath her feet.

  Though the house was not as large as Halstead, she lost count of bedchambers and almost lost herself in a warren of rooms at the back of the house—servants’ quarters and box rooms and storerooms and twisting little staircases that led up to attics and garrets and down to stillrooms and pantries.

  Finally she returned to the front of the house, where the grandest suite of rooms looked out over the hay field. At least, these had once been the grandest, with silk hangings and hand-painted wall coverings, so the house’s change of fortune showed up most arrestingly here.

  She stood in a doorway and looked thoughtfully at the largest bed she had ever seen. The hangings were so faded she couldn’t tell what color they had been. “I’m surprised this is still here.”

  “It was too large to remove. My grandfather had it built right inside the room.”

  “Well, at least he left you something.” Penelope turned her back on the devastation and went downstairs, letting her glove trail lightly along the banister as she descended. The leather would never be the same, she thought, looking at the dust she’d picked up.

  And yet…

  The earl stopped to talk to the men who were finishing up the haying. Penelope stood by the sagging front steps and studied the front facade of the house while she waited for him.

  It was not an elegant house nor—strictly speaking—a beautiful one, especially in its present condition. It must have always been more utilitarian than graceful.

  But Stoneyford spoke to her in a way the imposing new townhouse in London never had. Stoneyford must have once been the sort of home where dogs could flop down on the hearth rug and drool without anyone getting upset, and where children could play hide-and-seek or wheedle sweets from the cook or hold pretend jousting meets in the great hall on rainy days…

  She caught herself in midsigh.

  “You’ve been very patient,” the earl said as he boosted her back into the saddle. “I’m used to seeing the house in ruins, of course, or at least I thought I was, until… At any rate, I’m surprised you didn’t scream and run.”

  “Tell me about it,” Penelope said. “Tell me about Stoneyford.”

  ***

  The group of riders crossed fields and trailed along lanes so narrow that they had to ride single file. Kate had dropped to the back of the line so she could more easily keep count of her charges—and stay well away from Andrew. But as she approached the top of the last hill, she realized Andrew had been quietly sitting on his horse in the shadow of a huge old oak tree right at the crest. Her heartbeat speeded up at the thought that he had waited for her, but she told herself it was foolish to read hidden meanings into casual actions.

  He nudged his gelding toward her, and they climbed to the top of the hill together. “Did you discover the duke’s secret plan?” Kate kept her voice light.

  “No. He just told me to go away.”

  He sounded quite calm, but Kate wondered if he would have preferred to hov
er about Olivia. Not that she cared.

  She paused at the crest of the hill to look down across the ruined abbey. From this vantage point, the half-fallen walls formed an almost geometric labyrinth, a pattern of long roofless corridors flanked by multitudes of small rooms.

  Kate drew a long breath. “Oh, dear. They’ll be able to get lost in that tangle of hallways with no effort at all.”

  “It’s beautiful. Look at the way the light falls across the stones, and the pattern of sunshine and shadow.”

  Kate looked again. Andrew was right; caught up in her responsibilities, she had seen only the risks presented by the ruin, not the beauty of sun-warmed stone heaped against rich green grass, or the sparkle of light on the river beyond. She let her gaze wander across the vista and felt her heart warm.

  “There is a serenity about England,” he said softly, “that feeds the soul in a way more exotic landscapes cannot.”

  She turned slowly to look at him. “So you have traveled and seen exotic places.”

  “As well as many that are neither exotic nor beautiful.”

  “But you told the bridesmaids you’re an ordinary tutor.”

  Andrew’s smile flashed. “On the contrary, Kate. I told them I didn’t know enough Latin to teach it. You know quite well I’m telling the truth there.”

  She did indeed. Latin was only one of the subjects in which Andrew had been faltering during that long-ago summer he had spent at Halstead. But it seemed to be the one he and the vicar spent the most time reviewing. Each day, the vicar would release Simon from servitude and keep Andrew behind for a bit more practice.

  And each day, Kate would manage to be nearby when his lessons were finally finished. Sometimes they shared only a word or a smile. Sometimes he lingered to talk with her about her book or her work. Sometimes he walked her to a parishioner’s cottage.

  Once… just once… in the garden behind the vicarage, he had kissed her.

  And after that, as if that kiss had frightened him, he had made certain never to be alone with her again. For a while, she had continued to haunt the vicar’s study at the end of the day—until Lady Daphne had gleefully told her how silly she looked and what a foolish girl Andrew thought she was…