Fred had been frantic with worry over her apparent disappearance. He’d almost wept with relief to know she was safe and well.
‘Fred is most welcome. He knows just how I like things done, and, since there is nothing for him to do in Town with Milly being here, he has agreed to stay and resume his role as my valet for the time being.’
‘Fred?’ She looked up at him with a puzzled frown.
He was almost as puzzled himself. He couldn’t think how he’d ended up talking about his former batman when what he wanted to say was so important. He supposed it must have come from her asking about his inability to sleep….
But before he could wrest the conversation back into line, they were interrupted.
‘Now, now—cannot have you monopolising Lady Jayne all day,’ boomed the voice of Lord Lavenham.
He looked up with a flash of irritation to see his grandfather striding towards him, a brace of spaniels frolicking at his heels.
‘Must mingle, my boy. Duty of a host to mingle. And numbers down in the billiard room are uneven. Get yourself down there and even them up, what? I shall show her ladyship the family portraits.’
‘As you wish,’ he said flatly, bowing and turning on his heel. He had not been making much headway with Lady Jayne anyway. He had started off well enough. But then she’d started chewing her lower lip. And the ability to think about anything except kissing her had abruptly deserted him.
Time for yet another tactical withdrawal.
Lady Jayne noted the stiff set of his shoulders as he walked away and felt a surge of anger on his behalf. How could the old man treat him like an errant schoolboy? Demean him like that in front of witnesses?
Lord Lavenham held out his arm with one of his genial smiles which, now she was on the receiving end of it, she beheld to be totally false.
She was not in the most receptive of moods to begin with, and over the course of the next half-hour, during which he not very subtly interrogated her upon her suitability to become the next Countess of Lavenham, she grew increasingly annoyed with him. But at least her irritation with his intrusive questions, coupled with the way he would keep running his eyes over her as though she was a brood mare, kept her from succumbing to the dreadful temptation to sit down, bury her head in her hands and burst into tears.
Lord Ledbury had decided to abandon his cold-blooded search for a titled, accomplished woman to marry. He was going to follow his heart instead. That was why he’d kissed her that morning. He’d had some kind of…epiphany. And it was all her doing. By bringing Milly down here she had in fact accomplished exactly what she’d set out to do. That was what he had been trying to say just now. Awkwardly, because he had been a soldier and was not used to talking about feelings of a romantic nature.
And when he’d said he was glad he’d met her it had not been because he found anything about her in the least bit appealing. Nobody could possibly just be glad to know her for herself. Had not the last few weeks seared that knowledge into her consciousness?
But she had shown Lord Ledbury that there was more to life than honour and duty. That was why he was glad he’d met her. She’d persuaded him that being in love with the woman he was going to marry was more important than any other consideration.
At the very moment she’d discovered she was in love with him herself, she was going to have to watch him casting everything aside in order to be with another woman.
She didn’t know how she was going to bear it.
* * *
That evening Lord Ledbury went to his grandfather’s study, where he knew he would find him taking one last drink before turning in for the night.
‘Ah, Richard, my boy, take a seat.’ He waved to the chair opposite the fireplace, where he was ensconced with a large glass of brandy. ‘Come to discuss the girls, have you, now I’ve had a chance to look ’em all over?’
‘Not exactly.’ Not in the least. For he did not give a damn what his grandfather thought. He sat down, crossed his legs, and leaned back before saying, ‘I just thought it would be polite to let you know that I’ve made up my mind regarding whom I intend to marry.’
‘So soon? Well, whichever one it is, I must say I admire the way you’ve gone about the task I set you. No shilly-shallying.’
Well, that was hardly to his credit. He hadn’t cared much who he might end up married to when he’d first accepted that his duty was clear. It had only been after Lady Jayne burst into his life like… Well, as he’d told her, just like one of Congreve’s rockets, that he’d discovered there was only one woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life.
‘Miss Beresford, is it?’ Lord Lavenham leaned back in his own seat and twirled his brandy round in its glass. ‘Out of all the girls you’ve brought down here she is the one I can see making you the most comfortable sort of wife. You get on well with the brother, at least. Can be devilishly uncomfortable if you don’t get on with the extended family.’
‘No, not Miss Beresford. I intend to ask Lady Jayne to be my wife.’
Lord Lavenham looked up at him sharply.
‘Lady Jayne Chilcott?’ He shook his head. ‘Richard, I can quite see why you considered her, given the qualities I urged you to look for in a bride. Highly born, and with a substantial fortune to bring to the table. And a good seat. Yes, I liked the way she handled Mischief this morning, and that’s a fact. But you must have noticed how cold she can be?’
‘Her manner may be cool, sometimes, but she is not cold at heart.’
‘I have noticed that there is a distinct thaw in her attitude towards you. But I have to tell you, after spending half an hour in her company this afternoon I had to come in here and call for Watkins to light the fire.’
He shivered.
‘Only met one person before with the capacity to freeze the blood in m’veins with one look, and that was her father. He was a cold-hearted blackguard, was the Marquis of Tunstall. Could be downright nasty if you got on the wrong side of him. Before your time, so you wouldn’t know, so it’s my duty to warn you, boy, to think very carefully before getting yourself hitched to any child of his.’
Richard sat forward, his hands clasped between his knees.
‘I think I know what you mean, sir. I have watched her retreat within herself when she is upset or offended. But I find her dignified withdrawal far preferable to the behaviour of girls who lash out in anger when they are crossed. Or make spiteful remarks behind an unsuspecting victim’s back.’
‘Like Lady Susan.’ His grandfather nodded. ‘I am inclined to agree with you there.’
Well, that was something.
‘If I can persuade Lady Jayne to accept me, I am confident that she will do her best to make me happy.’
Lord Lavenham frowned.
‘So long as you have no sentimental expectations regarding a match with one of the Chilcotts, I suppose it might answer. And you don’t strike me as being the sentimental sort, so… No, I suppose I cannot raise any objections.’
Expectations? No, he had no expectations. Expecting a woman to love him was not the same as hoping that one day she might feel something stronger than fondness towards him.
‘When I set out to find a wife, you must know, sir, that sentimentality had nothing to do with it.’
‘Indeed,’ said the earl thoughtfully. Then he sighed. ‘Well, whomever you marry, I cannot believe you could do worse than your own father, or either of your brothers.’ His expression soured. ‘They al
l disappointed me. Whereas you—’ he looked at him squarely from beneath his beetling brows ‘—you never have. I have followed your career with great interest.’
‘You have?’ Why was this the first he’d heard of it? As far as he knew, his grandfather was only interested in his horses and his hounds.
‘Yes. Upon several occasions your gallantry has brought distinction upon the name of Cathcart. Been proud of the way you earned your promotions. In short, I am not at all sorry that you will be the one to take up the reins when I am gone.’
At one time Richard would have given anything to know that one of his family was watching his military career. His father had acted as though he’d done him an immense favour by purchasing him a commission for his sixteenth birthday, but he’d always assumed the fact that it was in a regiment serving overseas had been a deliberate attempt to deal with the problem of the middle son for whom he could feel neither love nor hate. And he’d never, not once in his life, received a letter from his own mother—not once he’d left home. And he wasn’t talking about his military service. She’d washed her hands of him the moment he’d gone away to school.
But his grandfather had followed his career? How he wished he had known that when it might have meant something. Now it was…not something that affected him as much as he would have expected.
When he’d vowed to do his duty by his family, in resigning his commission and marrying a woman worthy of raising the next generation of Cathcarts, he realized he’d done it because it was in his nature to do his best—not to win anyone’s approval.
‘Now, tomorrow,’ said Lord Lavenham, ‘I thought it would be a good idea to take ’em all out to The Workings.’
‘A good idea,’ replied Richard, relieved that his grandfather was moving the conversation away from the personal to the practical.
‘Chaperones in carriages. The rest of you on horseback. A pretty spot, some nice views, and you young things can all picnic. Play cricket in the afternoon if it is fine. Parlour games if not.’
Richard nodded. The Workings was an ideal location for an afternoon’s entertainment during unsettled weather. Some twenty-five years previously his grandfather, this crusty old man who had such trouble talking about emotion of any sort, had built his own wife a substantial pavilion on the brow of a hill from which she could watch the progress of the canal which was being cut along one of the farthest-flung borders of the estate. It had been his way, Richard supposed, of showing her that he loved the woman his own parents had arranged for him to marry, since she’d become inexplicably fascinated with everything to do with the workings in the valley.
He’d even had the estate carpenter make her ladyship a working model of a lock staircase, though there was not one along this stretch of the canal. As a boy, Richard had loved going down to The Workings with a jug of water and navigating twigs, leaves or anything he could find that floated, through the series of locks. If the contraption still worked, it was just the sort of thing to keep all his guests amused for ages.
He left his grandfather’s study wondering how, amidst all the bustle of the proposed activities, he would be able to draw Milly to one side and put a stop to her mischief-making.
Or, better yet, get Lady Jayne in some secluded spot where he might be able to coax her into letting him kiss her again.
Only this time it wasn’t going to be a brief touch of lips. No, this time he was going to make sure she knew she’d been well and truly kissed. He was going to make such a thorough job of it that she wouldn’t even be able to remember Lieutenant Kendell’s name, never mind what he looked like.
* * *
He might have known she wouldn’t make it easy for him. In fact, the day which he’d hoped would accomplish so much had been one of unmitigated torture.
Surrounded by chaperones, grooms, footmen with tables and chairs and boxes of other sundry equipment, maids with hampers of food, not to mention the other house guests all intent on getting a piece of him, Lady Jayne had had no trouble whatsoever avoiding him completely. To round things off nicely, now, when he’d rung for Fred, it had been Mortimer’s valet who had answered his summons, with the intelligence that, so far as anyone knew, Fred had ‘absconded to the nearest hostelry, in search of liquid refreshment.’
In one way, that news had come as no surprise. Fred had seemed ill at ease, if not downright morose, when he’d shaved him that morning.
For a moment he felt half inclined to go after him, so that they could drown their sorrows together.
Instead he dismissed Jenkins, deciding he would rather put himself to bed than endure his mealy mouthed ministrations.
But he got no further than pulling off his evening shoes, stockings and neckcloth before he sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.
Deciding to marry Lady Jayne was one thing. Telling his grandfather he was going to propose to her, no matter what he thought, was another. But actually saying the words to her…when like as not she would reject him…was turning out to be a great deal harder than he could possibly have imagined. How the hell did a man persuade a woman who was still recovering from a broken heart to look favourably on him? Last night it had sounded easy. Just kiss her and tell her he loved her. Or tell her he loved her, then kiss her and…
And that was the thing. He couldn’t get the image of her struggling with Kendell, when he’d forced a kiss on her, out of his head. And she had loved him enough to agree to a secret assignation with him.
This kind of courting was damned complicated. He’d never been all that bothered about how the women he’d taken a fancy to might feel about him. A soldier took his pleasure where he could find it. But if he made one wrong move where Lady Jayne was concerned, and destroyed what goodwill she did appear to have for him, he did not know how he would bear it.
He shot to his feet, wrenching his shirt from his waistband and tearing open the neck, though the action gave him scant outlet for his frustration. He could not risk taking any course of action that might alienate her altogether. But if he sat about doing nothing she might still slip right through his fingers. He was going to have to—
What was that? He’d heard a most peculiar noise—a kind of rattling as of hailstones against the window, though there was not a cloud in the sky. It made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end, just as they always did when he scented danger.
Another, sharper sound, as of a bullet striking the masonry, had him flinging himself to the floor in a move so instinctive he was face to face with his chamber pot before he rightly knew what he was doing.
Who the devil could be taking potshots at him through a first-floor window, of all things? He swarmed on elbows and knees to his dresser, reached up and pulled his pistol from the top drawer, whilst wondering what kind of enemy would have waited until now to fire upon him, when he had been strolling about the park all day, a much easier target—especially when he had stood on the brow of the hill….
Well, he was not going to make it easy for him to put a period to his existence. He loaded his weapon, crawled to the window, sat up next to it and took a cautious peek over the edge of the sill.
* * *
Lady Jayne had been growing more and more miserable all day, waiting for Richard to propose to Milly.
But Milly still seemed to be under the impression he was angry with her, and had been keeping well out of his way.
Just as assiduously as she’d been avoiding Milly.
She should have gone st
raight to Milly yesterday and told her what Richard planned. But every time she braced herself to go through with it, and formed the words in her head, other words came welling up from deep, deep within. Not you. He loves her, not you.
And after the pain had come the shame that, instead of wanting Milly to be able to find happiness with Richard, she was all twisted up with jealousy inside. It was a rotten thing to do—fall in love with a man your friend wanted to marry.
It was no use telling herself she hadn’t meant to do it. She had done it. And it made her feel like a traitor.
All day long everyone concerned had been utterly miserable.
She sighed.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, if Richard had not managed it himself, she would tell Milly what she knew, and at least the two of them could be happy.
Only…
It sounded as though Milly was as unable to sleep as she, for some time now, had heard her moving about the room as though she was pacing up and down in agitation. In the end, though part of her wanted to pull the covers up over her ears and blot everything out, she pushed her own selfish desires aside, along with the bedcovers, got out of her bed, crossed the sitting room and tapped gently on Milly’s bedroom door.
And stopped still on the threshold.
Clothes were strewn everywhere, as if somebody had got in and ransacked the room. But it must have been Milly who’d made all the mess. For she was standing amidst the wreckage, a small valise clutched in one hand, a bonnet in the other, and a mulish expression on her mouth.
And she was wearing a coat.
‘Milly…’
Lady Jayne had been about to ask her what she was doing, but it was so obvious she intended to leave she would have felt foolish voicing the question.
‘Milly,’ she began again. ‘Please don’t leave. Not now, just when Richard—’
‘This has nothing to do with him!’ Milly’s face hardened. She tossed the valise onto the bed and placed the bonnet on her head.
An Escapade and an Engagement Page 17