by Jo Beverley
“Not to the exclusion of all others.”
He considered it carefully. “I suppose not, but that’s because I haven’t met all others. Of the women I have met, I think you would suit me best.”
Breathing was becoming more and more difficult. “Why?”
“Begging for compliments?”
She refused to smile. “You know me better than that, Everdon. I am begging for reasons.”
She expected a quick and facile response, but he pondered it, frowning slightly.
“I enjoy being with you, Deirdre,” he said at last. “In silence and in speech, apart or in one another’s arms. Can you think of a better reason for marriage? Looks will change with time, passion cannot last a lifetime, but I believe I will always enjoy your company and your discourse.”
Deirdre stared at him. “Goodness.”
“I don’t know why it should surprise you. Many people like you. I like you. I don’t think Howard Dunstable does.”
Deirdre was thumped back into harsh reality. “That’s a terrible thing to say!”
“It’s the truth. I’d tell you to ask him, but he’d be bound to assure you that he does like you—not from dishonesty, but because anyone would. But look to his actions. He doesn’t behave as if he likes you at all.”
Deirdre turned and started briskly back to the inn. “You don’t know anything about the way he behaves. Just because he’s not always trying to kiss me…”
He kept pace with her, damn him. “That has nothing to do with it. I’m not talking about lust, Deirdre, but liking. When has he ever sought to spend time with you?”
Never! echoed in Deirdre’s head like a tolling bell. She clapped her hands over her ears. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”
Everdon grabbed her and pulled her against his chest. She struggled feebly, both against his hold and against tears. “Oh, Deirdre, I’m sorry. Don’t cry. I won’t say any more.”
Deirdre gritted her teeth to conquer the tears, but nothing could conquer the words he had planted in her head. She pushed, and he let her go. She turned away, rubbing at her eyes. “You’re horribly cruel.”
“I don’t want to see you unhappy.”
“Howard won’t make me unhappy.” It was like a litany, a mindless declaration of faith.
The silence stretched so that it rasped at her nerves. What was he doing? How did he look? She turned. He was very sober and concerned.
He sighed, took her hand, and kissed it. “Just be sure of your happiness, Deirdre, for my sake.”
Then he placed her hand on his arm and they continued their walk, but did not speak again all the way to the inn.
Deirdre desperately wanted to talk to Howard, to investigate all these doubts, and to erase them, but he was still out. Rip and Henry were playing piquet, and she didn’t want their jovial company anyway. Both her mother and Lucetta had retired. She certainly didn’t want to speak to her mother about this, and she suspected Lucetta wanted her to marry Everdon.
She retreated to her own room and prepared for bed, then she dismissed Agatha and sat by an open window to face her problems.
Why on earth was Everdon attacking her like this? In another man, she could suspect the sort of mischief-making that comes of boredom, but she knew Everdon wasn’t that sort of man. She had to suppose that it was simple misunderstanding. He clearly didn’t like Howard, and could not imagine how anyone else could. He truly believed that Howard would make her unhappy, and being of a kindly disposition, he wanted to help. It was ridiculous, but that must be it.
She suspected, however, that Everdon would drag his heels about setting her free until he changed his mind. She would just have to work at convincing him that she and Howard were ideally suited. At Everdon Park, where they would all be living in the same house, that should be possible.
After all, Everdon was basing his doubts on that one disastrous evening at Missinger. That wasn’t the real Howard, as he would see.
However, as Deirdre settled into bed, the traitorous thought crept into her mind that it would be very pleasant if Howard just once waylaid her as Everdon did, seemingly just for the pleasure of her company. Then she fought it away, furious with the earl for planting these corroding notions in her head.
Everdon watched Dierdre flee and wondered whether his actions were fair, or even effective. He’d never been involved in such a case before, and had no notion of how to go on. To him, Deirdre appeared to be intelligent, spirited, and generally wise. Why could she not apply those qualities to her own situation?
Dunstable had been Everdon’s traveling companion for part of the day, and he had come to know him a little. The younger man had been an unexceptionable companion—if one did not care for conversation. Everdon had been determined to draw him out, however.
He had known that a question about mathematics would elicit some response, but he had no particular desire for a lecture, and so he raised the subject of Cambridge.
“You were there, too, my lord?” Dunstable asked.
“Yes. Pembroke.”
“King’s,” said Dunstable, giving the name of his college. “I don’t suppose our times overlapped.”
“No, I left in 1805.”
“Then we didn’t miss by a great deal. I went up in 1807.”
Everdon flicked him a glance. “Are you older than you look?”
“I don’t think so. I went up when I was fifteen.”
Everdon concentrated on steering the curricle at speed around a tricky corner. He wished Dunstable would prove to be a posturing nonentity, but he suspected nothing could be further from the truth. The man was almost certainly brilliant, but he still was no husband for Deirdre, perhaps for any woman.
“And when did you take your degree?”
“I took my first degree in 1811. I could have been speedier, but there were many intriguing sideways. I was not sure at that time what direction would suit me best.”
“But you have now decided on pure mathematics. Is that the correct phrase?”
“It’s as good as anything. I pursue knowledge for its own sake. I am wondering, my lord, if you have thought of being a patron of the sciences.”
Everdon almost laughed. No wonder Dunstable had deigned to converse. Was he incredibly brash? No, just oblivious to any subtle nuance outside of his own narrow vision.
“A patron of the sciences?” Everdon mused. “Of you, sir? But was it not then a little unwise to take me to task over Lady Deirdre?”
Dunstable looked at him blankly. “What has one thing to do with the other?”
“If you have annoyed me,” said Everdon plainly, “then I am unlikely to provide you with financial support.”
“Well,” said Dunstable severely, “if you wish to reduce matters to that petty level, there is no more to be said. I will not grovel.”
“I don’t think I asked for that. And what of Deirdre in all this?”
It seemed as if Dunstable would not reply, but then he said, “It is Deirdre I am thinking of. I am well aware of the difference in our rank and fortune. I would prefer to be able to keep her in a comfortable manner.”
Despite the words, Everdon received the distinct impression that Deirdre had not been in the man’s mind at all until Everdon had raised the subject. Dunstable wanted extra income so as to be able to pursue his work without distraction. Deirdre was more likely a means to comfort, not someone to be made comfortable.
However, Everdon suspected that trying to persuade Dunstable of the selfishness of his actions would be like trying to persuade a fox that it shouldn’t eat chickens.
Everdon then asked some mathematical questions—in his role as potential patron—and eventually decided he was correct in all respects. Dunstable was quite incapable of considering anyone else’s wishes or feelings. He was also brilliant, and very likely to take humanity forward in knowledge.
In fact, thought Everdon that night as he went to bed, he would probably be doing humanity a service by preventing Dunstable from cluttering
up his life with a wife and children.
Deirdre faced the next day with trepidation, but that turned out to be needless. Everdon staged no more assaults, and Howard had so enjoyed his scholarly visit that he was almost jovial. The weather held fine, and they made good speed toward Everdon’s Northamptonshire home.
At the last stage, where they stopped for light refreshments, Rip challenged Everdon to a race.
Everdon raised his brows. “You young creatures. After a day on the road, you’re up for this?”
“Pooh. What’s a few hours’ driving? You’re a notable whip—I know that, Everdon—but I reckon I can beat you.”
Everdon gave a lazy smile. “Indeed? How can I resist? So be it.”
But Howard said, “I have no intention of risking death. I will ride in the coach.”
“You can’t,” protested Rip. “Henry would have to join you to make the weight even, and there’s not enough room.”
“And I’m dashed well not sitting out,” said Henry. “In fact, I want to take a turn with the ribbons.”
“Stubble it, whelp,” said his brother. “Not in a race. Dunstable, you’ll have to come.”
“I’d rather walk,” said Howard simply and irrevocably.
It appeared to be an impasse, and Rip and Henry glowered at Howard in a way that would have shriveled a lesser man.
Everdon looked at Deirdre. “What about you? Are you willing to risk death?”
“Travel in your curricle?” she asked, wide-eyed. Her glance flickered between her mother and Howard, gauging their reaction. Lady Harby frowned slightly, but seemed unwilling to object to anything that threw Everdon and her daughter together. The matter seemed to be passing over Howard’s head entirely.
Deirdre didn’t know what to do. Common sense told her that she should avoid Everdon, and that curricle racing was dangerous. Her soul wanted to do it for the sheer excitement. At least one fear was clearly foolish; Everdon would have no time for flirtation or even innuendo while driving to an inch.
Her instinct told her he would keep her safe.
“Very well,” she said.
There was a bit of further debate about weight differences, but Everdon solved this by having a few bags moved to the boot of his curricle. All was set.
As everyone went out to the vehicles, Howard seemed to finally realize what was toward. He frowned slightly, but all he said was, “You are being remarkably foolish, Deirdre.”
Deirdre waited for more, but he just walked away to take her seat in the carriage. If only he had taken her in his arms and said, “You will do such a foolish thing over my dead body!”
She sighed and took her seat in Everdon’s curricle, prepared to hang on for dear life.
“Don’t worry,” said Everdon, “I’ll let your brother beat us hollow before I endanger you. One learns at some point what is important in life and what is not.”
“And winning isn’t important, my lord? Shame on you. I want us to win.”
His eyes sparkled. “Then we will. But with some precautions.” He called over to Rip, and it was soon arranged that Rip and Henry would leave ten minutes ahead of Everdon. The victory would be based on time.
“This way,” said Everdon, as the brothers disappeared in a swirl of dust, “we at least are not jockeying for position on the road.”
“But how will we know if we’re gaining or not?” Deirdre was almost bouncing with the desire to be off in pursuit.
He had his watch out, and was keeping track of the time. “We won’t. I’ll just drive my damnedest. Calm down, mi corazón, or I’ll think I should harness you up. Do you drive?”
“Yes. Mostly the gig, though I have driven a curricle.”
He passed her the reins. “Walk them, then, while we wait for the time to be up.”
Somewhat nervously, Deirdre guided the horses down the road, then turned them back. It was silly to be nervous of such a routine matter, so she flicked them up to a trot. They were Everdon’s own horses, sent here to await him, as were the pair Rip had. They were fine cattle, and she relished the feeling of power at the end of the reins.
Everdon clicked his watch shut. “Right. Off you go.”
“What?”
“Go.” He took the whip and urged the horses up to moderate speed. Deirdre concentrated on managing them, though in fact, the road presented little challenge just here, being smooth and straight.
“You’re mad!” she cried, but grinning all the same. “We’ll never win with me driving.”
“Yes, we will.” He set the whip back in her hand. “I’ll take over in a while—your arms won’t take this for eight miles—but you’re doing marvelously. Just watch out ahead. There’s a hidden dip.”
Deirdre steadied the team and felt her stomach lurch as they went down, then up. “Criminy! I’ll go odds Rip and Henry almost tipped out there.” She urged the team to speed again.
She spared a glance at her companion, and saw him lounging back in a way that spoke eloquently of confidence in her. She couldn’t imagine who else in the world would trust her with this team, though in fact, years of managing Charlemagne meant she was not nearly as fragile as she appeared.
The wind of their speed was dragging at her bonnet, and the dry road was blossoming dust, but Deirdre didn’t have a care in the world. She let the horses have their heads, and took a gentle corner like a bird in flight.
She let out a whoop of pure delight, then had trouble as the horses tried to flee this howling monster behind them. She regained control, but wasn’t regretful when Everdon said, “Better let me have them now.” She steadied them down to a slow pace, and passed the reins and whip over.
He brought them up to speed again and set to catching the challengers.
He was a marvelous driver. The horses seemed to be an extension of him, and his eye for the road was impeccable. Of course, he must know this road well, but that wouldn’t help him anticipate the branch that had fallen on one side, or the sudden appearance of a trio of runaway piglets.
Deirdre relaxed to enjoying the thrilling speed, straining her eyes ahead for any sign of Rip. “I can’t see them. They’re still ahead!”
“Of course they are. I don’t hope to catch them before the park gates. The driveway is a mile, and very open. I hope we’ll overtake them there. If not, I promise we’ll wipe out most of their lead.”
He was almost exactly correct. In fact, they came up with Rip and Henry just before the gates to Everdon Park, but on that narrow road there was no question of passing. Once through the gate, however, the wide, smooth, gently curving avenue made it a pure test of speed.
Rip, it was clear, had pressed his team too hard. When he asked more of them, it was not there. Everdon, on the other hand, had merely to urge his team on to sweep by and up to the doors of his home.
Deirdre let out another whoop, and this time the team were too tired to object.
Grooms ran forward, and Everdon leapt down. He turned to assist Deirdre. He put his hands at her waist and swung her a full turn before setting her, breathless, on her feet.
As the grooms led both teams off to cool down, Rip and Henry came over, shaking their heads, but grinning. “It was a fine race,” said Rip.
“Indeed. And most enjoyable,” said Everdon.
“And damned fine driving,” said Henry. “You made up the whole ten minutes, Everdon, and with a female squealing alongside.”
“I most certainly did not squeal,” Deirdre protested.
“Yes, you did,” said Everdon. “Once just now when we won, and once when you brought the team up to speed.”
Rip and Henry both gaped.
Henry said, “You let Deirdre drive? In a race?”
“She drives very well.”
Both young men stared at their sister as if she’d grown pink horns.
Rip cleared his throat. “Er, sure you’re right, Everdon. Nothing against Deirdre and all that, but I’d rather this didn’t get out, don’t you know. Beaten by you is one thing. Bea
ten by a chit of a girl…”
Deirdre’s heart was touched by his anguish. She put her hand on his arm. “I only drove for a little way, to warm up the horses, Rip. It was Everdon’s fine handling that did the job.”
Rip laughed in relief. “Bound to be. Know what? You’re a good little thing, Dee. Take my advice. Marry this one.”
Deirdre couldn’t even take offense to that. Rip would urge her to marry any man who could acquit himself well in sporting activities, regardless of any other qualities.
The coach would be some time behind them, and so they all made their way into the house.
Everdon Park House was, as Everdon had once said, quite small. It was a plain three-story cube without wings. As a consequence it had solidity, and Deirdre rather liked that. Moreover, the architect had been skilled, and the lines of the building were very elegant. Without facade or addition, they were unspoiled.
As they mounted the five steps to the front door, she turned to Everdon. “I like your house.”
“Thank you. I’m quite fond of it myself, though it will have to be enlarged. Even a moderate house party such as I have assembled now stretches its capabilities. I hope to do it without destroying its purity.”
They entered a pleasant square hall with tiled floor and paneled walls. In a somewhat strange voice, Everdon said, “I fear its capacity is going to be stretched a little further.”
Deirdre looked around to see a young gentleman emerge from a room. He was tall, thin, and dressed amazingly in yellow. Dull yellow jacket, bright yellow pantaloons, yellow and bronze cravat…As his hair was chick yellow curls, the impression was a little overwhelming.
“Deirdre,” said Everdon, “may I introduce my cousin, Kevin Renfrew, also known as the Daffodil Dandy. Kevin, this is Lady Deirdre Stowe, and her brothers, Lord Ripon and Mr. Henry Stowe.”
The young men all greeted one another with familiarity, so Deirdre had to assume this apparition led a moderately normal social life.
He bowed to her. “Lady Deirdre. Charmed. Came to lend a hand.” His face was too long and thin to be good-looking, but there was an amiable charm in his expression. Deirdre suspected he might be simple.