And why was the marquess obsessed with velvet, anyway? He certainly liked to be seen in it. Vanessa would think it was his age making him so unfashionable, except that her uncle of nearly the same age wouldn’t wear such a suit even in the grave. Surely Lord Lisbourne employed a valet who knew better than to dress him so.
Then again, she couldn’t imagine the pompous marquess allowing a mere valet to tell him what to wear.
He caught sight of her in the doorway and shot to his feet. That’s when Vanessa spotted what he held in his hand. Daisies. Oh, dear. This was going to be a problem. He’d brought her a lovely bouquet of daisies and hothouse roses, and he insisted upon handing them to her instead of asking a servant to put them in water.
She held them at arm’s length as if to admire them. “They’re beautiful.” She tried not to breathe in, but it was no use. As always for her with daisies, a fit of sneezing overtook her. “Forgive me . . . achoo! . . . Lord Lis—Achoo achoo! They’re . . . I can’t . . . Achoo!”
Thank goodness her mother rushed over to snatch the flowers from her. “You stop that this instant, young lady! These are lovely.” She sniffed them, then glared at her daughter. “I can’t imagine why you’re being so silly about them.”
That sparked Vanessa’s temper anew. “Mama, you know why.” Her reaction to daisies was so bad that they didn’t even have them in their garden.
“Balderdash.” Her mother looked at Lord Lisbourne, who appeared all at sea. “Pay her no mind, sir. No doubt she’s coming down with a cold is all.”
When he reared back from Vanessa in alarm, she had to stifle a laugh. Perhaps that was the key to ridding herself of Lord Lisbourne. She could just sneeze and cough her way to freedom.
Vanessa pulled out her handkerchief. “I do believe you’re right, Mama.”
Still gripping the bouquet, her mother called for a servant. After asking that they be put in a vase, she told Lord Lisbourne, “Forgive my daughter, sir. She must have picked up a chill at the theater last night.”
To punctuate her mother’s words, Vanessa sat down and markedly blew her nose in her handkerchief.
“Stop that, gir—daughter,” Mama said as she took her own seat. “It’s but the smallest of colds, since you were fine this morning.”
That seemed to soothe his lordship, for he settled back onto the sofa, though he made sure to sit at the opposite end from Vanessa.
An awkward silence ensued. Her mother tried to keep up the conversation by inquiring about Lord Lisbourne’s aged mother, who was nearly ninety. That proved to be a wrong turn, since the marquess went to great lengths to explain how he must stay away from any sick person to keep from giving an illness to his dear mother.
Fortunately, their butler appeared in the parlor doorway. “His Grace, the Duke of Armitage, is here to see Miss Pryde, my lady.”
Her mother glared at the servant. “Tell him we are not at home.”
Vanessa sprang to her feet. “Don’t be rude, Mama. He will see Lord Lisbourne’s phaeton and know we are home. We don’t wish to insult our dearest Grey’s brother.” When the butler stood stoically awaiting a decision, Vanessa added, “Please show His Grace in, if you please.”
Despite looking unhappy about the matter, her mother gave the faintest of nods, the butler hurried off, and Vanessa let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
As he was announced, her mother and Lord Lisbourne joined her in standing. Sheridan looked particularly delicious today, his forest-hued riding coat highlighting the green of his eyes and his buckskin breeches with top boots making him appear rather casual for once.
Vanessa couldn’t help but smile at him. “It was very good of you to come, sir.”
Sheridan, who held both hands behind his back, bowed to her and Lord Lisbourne, then pulled out a dark bottle from behind his back and approached Mama with it. “Lady Eustace, I thought you might enjoy some perry made on my estate from our very own pears.”
A surprised smile crossed her mother’s face as she took it. “For me? Why, that is kind of you, Your Grace. Most kind indeed. I do enjoy a good cider from time to time, but I’ve never had the pear kind.”
“I hope you enjoy it,” Sheridan said politely.
He’d certainly found the quickest way to Mama’s heart. Her mother did love wine and cider.
Then he turned to Vanessa and offered her a posy of lilies. “These are for you.”
Her silly heart jumped. “How did you know lilies are my favorite?”
“Because I have a working nose.” When she cocked her head, unsure of what he meant, he laughed. “Your scent—it’s of lilies.”
“Oh! Why . . . so it is.”
Behind her, Lord Lisbourne snorted. Not that she cared. She couldn’t believe Sheridan knew what her scent was. And bought her flowers of the same kind! How amazing that he’d noticed such a thing. She would never have expected it of Studious Sheridan. Or Saint Sheridan, for that matter. When he bowed his head low enough so that the others couldn’t see, then winked at her, she had to stifle her laugh. She’d begun to notice he had a mischievous streak sometimes.
With a light heart, she went to ask the footman in the hall to put her posy in some water. As she returned, Lord Lisbourne was saying his good-byes. Fortunately, the rules of paying calls were on her side today. Not only were callers not supposed to outstay their welcome, but if a second person came to pay a call when the first one was still there, the first was expected to leave within a few minutes of the second’s arrival.
So she said all the niceties to Lord Lisbourne, barely waiting until he was out of the room before taking her seat on the sofa again. With a little thrill she noticed Sheridan chose to sit rather closer to her than the marquess had. If she had begun sneezing and coughing around him, would he have kept her at arm’s length?
She doubted it. Sheridan didn’t seem the type to worry about colds.
He smiled at Mama. “I was sorry to hear you were too ill to attend my brother’s little party last night. My mother was disappointed, too.”
Vanessa swallowed the urge to laugh at the unlikeliness of that.
“I understand, Lady Eustace,” Sheridan went on, “that you and my mother had your debuts the same year.”
That shocked Vanessa. “Is that true, Mama? Did you really have your debut so late? What were you then? Twenty-seven?”
“Twenty-six, young lady. Only a year older than you.”
“Yes, but I’m not having my debut at this age.”
Her mother arched one eyebrow. “And yet you aren’t married. At least I didn’t squander my youth without finding a husband. I had the good sense to accept the first eligible man to offer for me at my age.”
“Mama!” Vanessa said, as heat rose up her neck to her cheeks. She had to bite her tongue to keep from pointing out that for years her mother had discouraged any suitor who wasn’t Grey. Because if she said what she was thinking, her mother might say something even worse.
“In any case,” Mama said, “you should be able to guess why I had to marry so late. It was on account of your three aunts, my older sisters. Your grandfather wouldn’t pay for a debut for the rest of us until the oldest had wed. So I had to wait until each got married before I could have my own debut.”
“Oh, Mama, I didn’t know.”
With a sniff, her mother settled her skirts about her. “Well, now you do. Families have obligations—parents have obligations. And sometimes they don’t allow much leeway for the children.”
That was another dig at Vanessa, but she knew better than to rise to it. When things became heated with Mama, it was always better to play along than to fight. Her mother was ruthless in a fight, even with her daughter. Or perhaps especially with her daughter.
But her mother’s remarks did make Vanessa wonder if Mama’s own trials with trying to get married were what had made her so rabid about controlling whom Vanessa wed.
Meanwhile, Sheridan was looking from her to her mother, as if trying to a
ssess the relationship. No doubt it was markedly different from his relationship with his own mother. They had seemed very comfortable with each other at the Thorncliff party.
Time to change the subject. “So, Mama, were you and the duchess friends back then?” Vanessa asked, now curious to know.
Her mother straightened in her chair. “Of a sort. We went to the same balls, dinners, and parties, for the most part. But Lydia was fairly quickly wed to Grey’s father. The Fletchers had an arrangement with the man, since Lydia’s mother was secretly his mistress and thought that marrying her daughter to him was a good way to keep him in her—” She caught herself before saying “bed,” clearly remembering a bit late whom she was talking to. “In her sphere, so to speak.”
Sheridan had ice in his eyes now. “Didn’t you tell me last night, Lady Eustace, that you weren’t one to gossip?”
That turned her mother belligerent. “There’s a difference between common knowledge and gossip.”
“So this arrangement was known by many?” Sheridan asked.
“Of course. It was the worst kept secret in London.”
Sheridan’s brow furrowed. “And did this plan of my grandmother’s to keep Grey’s father in her ‘sphere’ work?”
“I suppose. Hard to say, since he only lived long enough to see his heir born.” It finally seemed to occur to Mama that she was being most inappropriate, for she waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, why are we speaking of such dour matters? I would rather talk about your estate, Armitage. It’s in Lincolnshire, correct?”
That seemed to catch him off guard. “It is indeed.” Sheridan glanced at Vanessa, but she just shrugged. She had no idea where her mother was headed with this.
“I’m told that Lincolnshire is a fine place to visit,” Mama said, “especially this time of year, with the harvest going on and the bull running festival approaching.”
His gaze narrowed on her mother. “So you’ve been to my part of Lincolnshire.”
“No. Why would you think such a thing?”
“Because you mentioned the bull running festival in Sanforth, near us. The festival is not well-known. In fact, I believe it’s the only one left in England. A few others used to exist but those ended a couple of decades ago.”
“I’m sure I must have heard about it somewhere.” Once again, her mother flicked his remark away as if it were a bothersome gnat. “Anyway, I’ve never been to Sanforth. That much I do remember.”
“I haven’t either,” Vanessa chimed in, “but I think I remember reading about the festival. It takes place on some saint’s day—”
“St. Brice’s,” Sheridan said.
“Right. And isn’t it just one bull that the populace chase through the town?”
Sheridan nodded, although now he was regarding her oddly. “The practice began over six hundred years ago. I’m told that outsiders keep trying to put an end to it, but the town resists that. I’ve actually never seen it myself.”
“I just figured out where I heard about it!” Vanessa exclaimed. “It was in The Sports and Pastimes of the People of England: Including the Rural and Domestic Recreations, May Games, Mummeries, Shows, Processions, Pageants, and Pompous Spectacles, from the Earliest Period to the Present Time. By Mr. Strutt.”
“Good God, you remember that verbose title?” Sheridan asked.
“Not exactly.” She pointed to the nearby bookshelf. “I merely have very good eyesight and can read the title from here.”
“Ah.” Sheridan smiled at her. “You must have good eyesight indeed. I can only make out a few of the words.”
“Well, I did read the book from cover to cover. So I was bound to recognize the title.”
Her mother shook her head. “Don’t let her fool you. She remembers all sorts of things like that. Makes me dizzy.”
“You’re missing my point, Mama. The reason you remembered about the bull running was because of me. I must have read that part to you. Or told you of it or something.”
“No, indeed. Not sure how I knew about it, but it wasn’t from a book. That much I’m certain.”
Sheridan seemed to find that very interesting, though Vanessa couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. Why did he care whether her mother had ever been to Sanforth? For that matter, why did he care about Mama having had her debut at the same time as his mother? He seemed rather fixed on figuring out Mama.
Vanessa wanted to believe it was because he needed to determine how to get around her mother’s bias against him so he could marry her. But sadly she didn’t think that was the reason. She just didn’t know what it might be.
When the silence stretched out a bit, Mama cleared her throat. “I’m sure the people of Sanforth are glad to have you in control of the Armitage estate. From what I heard, your uncle was a profligate.”
“Mama, please . . .”
“What? It’s true, and he knows it.” Her mother jutted out her chin. “But I’m sure the duke is doing everything in his power to improve his inheritance.”
Vanessa wanted to cry. Mama was about as subtle as the newspaper. She might as well have cried out to the world that she wanted to know if Sheridan needed money.
“I’m doing my best,” Sheridan said noncommittally, though a muscle worked in his jaw.
“Which is why you’re here, is it not?” her mother asked in a tone she obviously thought was coy.
A groan escaped Vanessa. How was she to make this madness stop? Mama never paid her any heed in such matters.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Sheridan said, his tone as duke-ish as she’d ever heard him be. “I’m here to call on you and your daughter. That should be obvious.”
At his cool rebuff, her mother switched tactics. “Of course. And it’s very kind of you. Especially since you have far more important things to do. Like selling off pieces of your estate to my nephew. Or so I heard, anyway.”
That turned Sheridan’s body to stone. “For a woman who claims not to be a gossip, you certainly spread a lot of it.” He leaned forward. “But I should warn you—I don’t like schemers of any kind. Which means I will not let you wheedle the details of my financial situation out of me for your own amusement. And if you’re hoping to shame me in front of your daughter, think again. Vanessa and I are friends, and that friendship isn’t likely to be broken by you.”
His words made her want to cry. Friends? He still saw her as merely a friend? She supposed that was better than being seen as an enemy, but she wanted a bit more from him than that. How was she to change the way he regarded her? Could she change that?
Then the rest of his words sank in. Oh, Lord, if he ever found out that her attempt to make Juncker jealous was really a “scheme” to gain his own hand in marriage, Sheridan would end their “friendship” without a backward glance. But she was in the thick of it now. She could hardly change horses midstream. Nor suitors, either.
The clock rang the hour in the hall, and Sheridan rose. “I do believe I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
Judging from the stiffness of his bearing, not to mention his words, Vanessa knew he was truly insulted.
Still, he managed to show them both common courtesy, for he bowed and said to Mama, “I hope you enjoy the perry, madam.” Then he turned to Vanessa with only the slightest softening in his demeanor and said, “Thank you for the conversation. Good day to you both.”
And he left the room.
Vanessa was not going to let him leave things like that. She headed right after him, ignoring Mama crying out after her, “You come back here this minute, girl! I will not have you running after Armitage like a common trull.”
Fortunately, Vanessa could outrun her mother any day. She caught up to him as the footman was handing him his hat and greatcoat. “Sheridan, please let me apologize for my mother. She—”
“You needn’t apologize for her. I know it was none of your doing.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry.” With a glance at the footman, he pulled her aside and lowered h
is voice. “I will still hold to our bargain concerning Juncker.”
That shocked her so much she could barely stammer the words, “A-All right. Thank you,” before he was out the door and down the steps.
A few moments later, she felt rather than saw her mother come up beside her.
“At least we know one thing now,” Mama said, a hint of self-satisfaction in her voice. “He’s definitely looking to marry a fortune. Otherwise, what I said wouldn’t have struck such a nerve.”
Still infuriated by her mother’s behavior, Vanessa faced her and said, “Fortunately, I have a rather generous dowry. So that won’t be a problem at all.”
“Good. If he means to pay court to you, it can only attract other, wealthier gentlemen. So I suppose I can tolerate his visits to you for a bit.”
“Now we can only hope he can tolerate you in the meantime,” Vanessa snapped.
Then she marched up the stairs, leaving her mother to come up with whatever tale she could to explain Vanessa’s lack of availability to other callers.
But Vanessa had lied to her mother. Although she did have a nice dowry, she didn’t want Sheridan marrying her for her money. She didn’t expect him to wed her for love—she wasn’t even sure she wanted love in her marriage. Having spent half her life trying to gain her mother’s love—or even affection—with no apparent success, she certainly didn’t mean to spend the rest of her life trying to gain a husband’s love. What she wanted was a husband with whom she could share her ideas, find comfort in hard times, live a peaceful existence.
With whom she could enjoy the physical part of marriage and have children. So the last thing she wanted was Sheridan forced into wedding her to save his estate, if her dowry was even enough to accomplish that. She at least wanted him to desire her for herself.
Because if she could only get him to marry her out of duty, what would be the point of it all?
Chapter Nine
Sheridan paced the drawing room at Armitage House with his blood still boiling. He was mostly mad at himself. He should have restrained his anger, found a way of getting Lady Eustace to reveal what he was trying to learn, instead of storming out like some . . . half-cocked lad with a hot temper.
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