by Jo Beverley
“Convenience again. I’m just a suitable…a suitable broodmare.”
“Deirdre!” But Deirdre could see her mother was rather amused. Lady Harby considered her. “We had an agreement, Deirdre.”
Deirdre flushed. “But that was different.”
“What was different was that you thought you held all the cards. You had Howard in your pocket, you didn’t think you could attract a suitable man, and you thought Everdon would behave badly enough to shock me. Now you find you’ve lost an ace. That doesn’t mean you can welch on the bet.”
Deirdre gasped. “Mother, this is my life. You can’t make me marry a man I don’t…”
“Don’t like?”
Deirdre met her mother’s shrewd eyes. “A man I don’t want to marry.”
Lady Harby nodded. “Probably not. But I’m not going to let you jilt him either. Not yet at least. Fair’s fair. At last the man has a chance.”
“Chance!” Deirdre wanted to indulge in a fit of the vapors. She remembered Eunice, when thwarted of something, lying on her back and drumming her heels on the floor. She finally saw the appeal. “He’s still mourning his first wife, Mama! I came upon him grieving over her picture. And according to her mother, he drove her away with his cruelty. And he as good as admitted it! I want to leave here tomorrow, and never see Lord Everdon again.”
“No,” Lady Harby said flatly, and would not be moved.
Deirdre thought again of a tantrum, but remembered that when Eunice had behaved in that way, Lady Harby had thrown a jug of cold water over her. She retreated back to her room to seek some other way of sorting out her life.
Everdon stood in the middle of the wide staircase, stunned by the blank misery on Deirdre’s face, by the cold way she had looked through him. God, how had his simple plan come to this moment? How had he hurt her so?
He went toward his bedroom with a good mind to get thoroughly drunk, but instead he went to report to Lucetta.
“Your instructions have been followed, Dunstable has bowed out, and Deirdre’s heart is broken. What now?”
Lucetta eyed him. “It is not entirely my fault, Marco, so I hope some of that snarling is for yourself. And for Dunstable, if it comes to that.” He made a sharp movement, and she added, “If you start smashing my valuables, too, I will be very annoyed.”
He beat a fist against a white wall. “I feel extremely destructive.”
“It’s your Spanish side, dearest. My mother kept a lot of cheap earthenware for just such occasions.”
“I have never been of a violent temperament. I didn’t smash anything when Genie left.”
“By then, you didn’t love Genie.”
He turned sharply. “Are you saying I love Deirdre?”
Lucetta put down her needlework. “Mother of God, Marco. Surely you realize that!”
He collapsed into a chair. “No…no, I don’t think…How can I love her? She hates me.”
“I doubt that, dearest. And the two points have nothing to do with each other.”
He slid back with a sigh. “Very well. You’re the one with all the answers. What do I do now?”
“What did you do about Dunstable?”
“Bought him off.” He explained what had happened.
Lucetta nodded. “Well done. It still would have been possible for him to have married Deirdre and lived tolerably if he’d wished to. A strange young man, and dedicated to his muse. It would never have done.”
“Tell Deirdre that. She looked at me as if her heart was broken, and I was responsible. What do I do now?”
Lucetta considered him. “I don’t know, but I want a promise from you, Marco.”
He straightened. “That I’ll make her happy? I’ll do my best, though my record in that regard is not promising. Perhaps I can only cope with women on a flimsy basis.”
“Don’t grow maudlin on me. I want your promise that you’ll tell her, and convince her, that you love her before you marry her.”
He stared at her. “Why?”
“I am not a believer in the magic of words, but in this case, I think that is essential. Your word?”
He steepled his hands and rested his brow on them. “What on earth is love?”
“Ah, Marco, what is the sky? Love is when another person is essential. If you could wave Deirdre good-bye, even with regret, and in a few months choose another and be content, then you do not love her, and should let her go.”
He looked up. “If I let her go, she’ll probably never marry.”
“Dios! You are certainly not to marry her out of pity. No wonder she wants nothing to do with you!”
He erupted to his feet. “I don’t know what I feel, damn it!”
“Then go and find out,” she snapped back. “And find something to smash at the same time!”
He stormed out and slammed the door. Huddled in her room, Deirdre heard the raised voice and the slam, and wished desperately that she were safe at home.
Everdon prowled his home restlessly, wondering what to do, what he wanted. It dawned on him that the place was unnaturally quiet, and when he saw a maid glimpse him and whip out of sight, he knew the servants, at least, were avoiding him.
He stopped and laughed bitterly. He was the kindest and most indulgent of employers. Were they now frightened of him?
He stalked to his room and rang fiercely for Joseph.
In a few minutes the man came in. “Yes, milord?”
“What the devil’s the matter with everyone?”
“The matter, milord?”
“The house is like a tomb.”
“The young gentlemen, I understand, are at their pugilistic match. And Mr. Dunstable has left.”
“What of the servants?”
Joseph looked at him with quiet confusion. “What of them, milord?”
“They are not there, damn it! I just saw one hide from me.”
“They generally do, milord. It is considered proper behavior.”
Everdon realized that Joseph was correct. Except when engaged in a specific duty, the servants did keep out of the way of the family and guests. He was going mad.
He ran his hands through his hair. “I suppose that is true.” He glanced in a mirror and saw that he looked a state. His clothes were rumpled and his hair was standing on end. Perhaps Deirdre’s painful look had not been heartbreak and reproach but mere shock at his appearance.
He stripped off his coat. He was not a man to shirk necessary steps; he had to talk to Deirdre. “Fix me up, Joseph. I need to go a-wooing.”
“Yes, milord,” said Joseph fervently. “It will be a pleasure.
Once more a picture of sartorial elegance, and resisting a disturbing tendency to wreck it all by running his hands through his hair again, Everdon went first to Lady Harby’s room.
He found her indulging in Walter Scott and bonbons.
Her look, however, was direct and disapproving. “Ah, Everdon. Glad you came to see me. You have upset my daughter.”
Everdon knew he was flushing like a boy. “How have I done that, pray?”
“Don’t play me for a fool, my lord. I’ll say no more, but I have a question.”
“Yes?”
“Are you still mourning your first wife?”
“No.” He looked keenly at her. “Does Deirdre think I am?”
“How should I know what Deirdre thinks?”
Everdon found he was pacing the room. “Lady Harby, I wish with all my heart to win Lady Deirdre’s affections. I believe I can make her happy.”
“I believe it, too, Everdon, but I tell you honestly, if you can’t convince her, then the match will be off. I’ll not force the girl to the altar. Nor can we stay here many days if you can’t bring her around.”
Beyond that, however, she would not be drawn on the matter. Everdon left with the small assurance that Lady Harby would not drag Deirdre away the next day, but all too aware that his time was finite. Once Deirdre left Everdon Park, his chances of winning her would be slim.
He stood in the hall, finger tapping against the glossy oak banister, considering his predicament. Was his motive pity?
There was an element of compassion in his feelings. If Deirdre did not marry him, she might never marry at all. That would be a shame, but not a tragedy. She was a woman capable of living a full life without a husband. He knew, however, that she had qualities that would die if not tended, and that he was one of the few to see and cherish them. It did seem a pity that she go through life thinking herself unappealing to men.
He knew, too, that he was partly driven by convenience. He had little taste for starting a new search for a wife.
He imagined the scenario his mother had placed before him. How would he feel if he had to wave farewell to Deirdre, and woo elsewhere?
His hand tightened on the banister, driven by a surge of primitive possessiveness. Never. Bring another woman to be mistress here? See Deirdre, perhaps, wed to another man?
Never.
He loved Deirdre Stowe!
He took a moment to relish the full recognition, as he would relish the first taste of a magnificent Tokay wine, knowing that there was a pipe of it in his cellars.
Then he raced up the stairs two at a time and dashed to her door. He pulled himself to a halt, heart pounding, hands rather unsteady. This would not do. He was Don Juan. He could please any woman. Pray God, he could please the one who mattered.
He knocked. When there was no answer, he walked in.
Deirdre had been sitting miserably by the empty hearth. She turned, shocked that someone would invade her privacy. At the sight of Everdon, she felt the blood drain from her head.
“For God’s sake, don’t faint on me.”
His harsh voice snapped back her wits a little. “Please go away, my lord. There is nothing to be said.”
“Is there not, indeed? Why all this coldness? Of what am I accused? Do I not deserve to hear the charges?”
Deirdre rose to her feet, almost afraid of him in this mood. “I have no charges, my lord. It is just that everything is over.”
“On the contrary. We are engaged to be married.”
“A mere stratagem…”
“Nonsense. I told you earlier, Deirdre. I want to marry you.”
“No!” She found she had retreated behind her chair as if she expected him to attack her.
“Why the devil not?”
“Stop shouting at me!”
They stood facing each other, breathing heavily with their anger.
She saw him take a deep breath. “I love you, Deirdre.”
“Oh, very pretty, my lord. Am I to be twisted around your fingers by three easy words?”
“Easy! Damn it, Deirdre—”
“And stop swearing at me.”
“Why the devil should I? You’re enough to drive a man to drink. I love you. I love you. You are essential to my happiness. What else do you want to hear?”
“Good-bye?” Deirdre heard the cruel word escape her lips, and winced. But, oh, she wanted him to be gone. Surely without him in front of her, this pain would lessen: the pain of cutting free of a man she loved, but who did not love her.
“Why?” he asked quietly, all anger leashed.
His gentleness weakened her. Deirdre turned away. “I can’t marry you, my lord, not least because you don’t really want to marry me. You don’t love me, though you are courteous enough to pretend. It’s just that I’m quiet and won’t be any trouble. And I’m here, which is easier than finding someone else…”
“Deirdre, for heaven’s sake—”
“And I suppose that you were right. You proved that Howard didn’t really love me, and so now you feel an obligation…” She made herself turn back. “I am grateful, truly I am. You saved me from a disaster, and now you’re trying to mend my hurts. It is not necessary, though. I will mend well enough on my own.”
“Will I?”
Deirdre shook her head. “Please stop trying to be noble, my lord. I know what I am, and I am not the sort of woman that men suffer for.”
“You are a complete fool.”
Deirdre flinched under his sharp tone, but she would not fall to brangling again. She went to her jewelry box and took out the diamond ring—the ring that she had only worn for a few brief hours. She held it out to him. “Please take this, my lord. I find we would not suit.”
He took it thoughtfully. “It surely isn’t so easy. What of your mother?”
“She will understand…” But Deirdre could not make it convincing. She wasn’t sure what her mother would do.
“Will she? The suitor she does not favor has left. But the suitor she does favor is still committed.”
“Oh, but surely…”
“But surely,” he said. “If you truly wish to be free of this engagement, Lady Deirdre, I think we will have to go through with our original plan.”
“You will arrange to be found with a woman?”
The thought of catching Everdon entangled with another woman, even a maid, made Deirdre almost sick with misery. But it would serve to free him of his obligation, as well as to allow her to go home. She nodded bravely. “Very well. What must I do?”
“I will put it all in hand. Just come where and when I summon you. Promise? I don’t want to go through this for nothing.” There was even some humor in his tone.
“I promise.”
“Just remember, Deirdre. I am doing this for you.”
She felt like Joan of Arc on the pyre. “I will not blame you in my heart, my lord.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
With that he left, and she could be miserable in peace. How right she had been. Just a little token protest and he had agreed to set her free. Don Juan clearly felt nothing particular for her, and soon would be delightfully happy with a pretty bride.
“‘If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly.’” Everdon found himself muttering the line from Macbeth and really began to fear for his sanity. What was he supposed to do with a little fool who wouldn’t believe she was loved? Couldn’t believe she was desired.
Within a few hours her brothers would be home. He felt no surety that she wouldn’t persuade her mother to leave on the morrow. Once out of sight, she could be snapped up by some other man.
Had she forgotten that kiss they had shared? How could she discount that passion?
Clearly she could, so he must try some other measures. Risky ones.
Everdon gave some careful instructions to his staff: when they should keep out of sight, and when a couple of them should appear. Then he wrote three notes to be sent to the three ladies of the house.
That done, he went to the garden room. To set the scene, he stripped off his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat. On such a hot summer’s day, it was a dashed good idea anyway.
He did not feel comfortable, though. He felt like a green lad engaged in his first assignation. What if she did not react as he expected? What if he had misjudged her feelings? Well, at least he would find out before they were committed beyond redemption.
When he sat on the sofa his restless fingers found a threadbare spot where the stuffing would soon work through. He looked around with new eyes. He hadn’t realized quite how shabby some parts of his house had become. There was a damp stain above the glass doors and a hazardous hole in the faded carpet. His affairs had been in order for some years and it was clearly time he paid attention to his home. One of his wife’s first duties, he decided, would be to help him refurbish his home.
One of Deirdre’s first duties…
Deirdre crept tentatively in. Seeing him alone, she stopped, reddening with embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry…I must be too early…”
He stood, praying for all his skill. “No. I want to talk to you first.”
“What about?”
He held out a hand and was much heartened when she trustingly placed hers in it. He thought perhaps it was going to be all right.
He drew her just a little closer. “When you are free, Deirdre
, I am hoping you will look for a husband more to your taste. I think you will be better able to choose a husband if you know more about kissing. Now, while we are still betrothed, it wouldn’t be entirely improper for me to show you.”
“But we did…” She was deliciously pink and flustered, and he could feel the strain of keeping the situation light.
“Alas. I was upset. It was hardly my most skillful effort. Let me show you properly.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” But she did not retreat, and the longing in her eyes betrayed her.
He drew her into his arms, gently, slowly, giving her every chance to escape. “Please, mi corazón.”
With a visible sigh of surrender, she nodded. “Very well, then.”
He took a deep breath of relief and backed to the sofa to collapse there, with her in his lap.
She balked a little at that. “My lord! Don! What of your…? What if she…?”
“She won’t.” He raised her small hands between them and kissed them with reverent care, concentrating on their pleasuring.
It was the kind of thing a woman liked, the kind of thing he’d done a hundred, a thousand times before, but now it was so hard. He did not want to use his skilled seducer’s steps. He wanted to embrace her with all the passion of this morning, to kiss her, to lose himself in her forever…
Deirdre looked down at his glossy hair, felt his lips tease her palms, and knew she was a fool. What pain she was creating here. The memories of this moment would be thorns in her heart forever, but she wanted them all the same.
How could kisses on the hand be so wonderful? Now his tongue was on her fingertips…
“Oh my…” She had whispered it aloud.
He looked up, and his dark eyes seemed darker and frighteningly intense. His arms encompassed her, and his lips wandered over her face—her cheeks, her chin, her temples, her eyelids—so that she felt she was drowning in kisses.
“Don…” It was intended as a protest, but Deirdre could hear the longing in it.
Now his hand was wandering over her body. It was not bold enough to summon a protest, except that she thought perhaps she should protest. Except that she did not want to. At least he wasn’t inside her clothing…