For the space of a heartbeat, where dreams soared, she considered the possibility that she might be the woman he should marry—if she could give him a child. After all she was dreaming, and in dreams all was possible…
And just as quickly she dismissed the entire notion. Without rank she was nothing. A pauper's daughter who couldn't even read. If those who surrounded her now ever found out, she would be snubbed, issued a cut direct. She would fall out of favor with the Marlborough House Set. She would be worthless.
So she would follow her original plan. Find him a wife.
Who made him smile. Who held his interest. Who looked the best in his arms.
Then, of course, there were all the little qualifications that were of importance to him. Her voice, her intelligence, her kindness. He'd set her an impossible task.
Which made her all the more determined to prove that she could indeed select a good and proper wife for him. Because she did want him to be happy.
She cared about him and for all the characteristics he sought in a mate, she had a list of her own, which he might not agree with, but she would use as well. She had to take her station in life seriously, had to know how to dress in a way that showed her best features, had to be poised, had to know etiquette thoroughly, have an understanding of Debrett's. So many factors she was certain Arch wouldn't think to consider. He was extremely fortunate that she was willing to take on the task of finding him a wife.
As they moved about the floor, he seemed to be sagging as much as she was. It was close to two in the morning. Many couples had already departed, but many had stayed. Some were separating into smaller groups, where they would meet up at another house for a meal.
"You look as tired as I feel," she said, welcoming the support of his arms around her.
"I believe I've worn away the soles of my shoes."
"You cut an incredibly dashing figure this evening. Many a lady kept her eye on you, and I believe some who are already spoken for were wishing they'd not been quite so hasty."
"I've been here for a good part of the Season. What made tonight so different?"
"Tonight I believe you gave the impression of a man on the hunt."
And he had. He had danced, he had charmed, while she'd whispered about that he had indeed decided it was time to take a wife.
"I don't want to discuss the hunt," he said quietly, his gaze holding hers captive. "This is our last dance of the evening, of the Season, perhaps forever. I don't want anyone dancing with us. Not Lady Alice, Anne, or Emily. And certainly no dukes. For this dance, dance as though you were mine."
Oh, he asked so much, too much. Yet she couldn't ignore the plea in his eyes. They had no future, no present. They couldn't risk losing sight of their goals, and yet where was the harm in pretending for only a few moments that no secrets separated them, that she didn't fear the intensity with which he observed the world.
No one here would look at her the same way if they discovered she couldn't read. Illiterate, ignorant, stupid. She would lose their respect… but for a few moments…
She would risk it.
She tightened her hold on him and gave him a smile such as she'd given to no other man that evening—not even the Duke of Kingsbridge. Without a mirror to glance into, she had no way of knowing if her expression truly conveyed what she was feeling: that she was grateful to be with him, sharing this dance, having him near.
His skin was darker than most, and she envisioned him spending a lot of time walking through parks, riding horseback along country roads, although while he'd been in London, he seemed to prefer museums and bookshops. She knew so little about him, but it was safer that way, not to look below the surface.
And it was easily accomplished when the surface was so pleasing to look at. His features might have been hewn from rock, but they'd been polished with a gentle hand that had shaped to perfection the strength of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. Even though she knew how supple his lips could be, there was nothing soft about them as they offered the barest hint of a smile. It was his eyes that she loved most, because they were more honest than any she'd ever seen. Everything he felt swirled through them: disappointment, enjoyment, sadness, anger, happiness, joy.
His range of emotions always startled her, his willingness to reveal them always took her by surprise. He played no games. He hid behind no walls. He was as he appeared, and the fact that he offered no falseness made him an incredibly appealing man.
She'd never truly been in love. Her reasons for marrying the old earl had been apparent to them both: security, rank, and power. She'd never taken a lover, had never sought out the company of a man simply to be with him.
But being with this man offered her a glimpse of what she might have missed. And she sometimes wondered if she might save herself heartache by simply closing her eyes and pretending not to see.
Yet tonight for this last dance, she kept her eyes wide open, enjoying the company of a dangerous man who stirred to life doubts that plagued her. A man who spoke passionately about things she would never experience.
She'd become so lost in his eyes, that she'd hardly noticed that he'd closed the distance between them. They were dancing closer than was proper, but she suddenly didn't care. His thighs brushed against hers, and she felt the sparks ignite like the flame of a match held to kindling. Her heart wanted to expand, her knees wanted to melt.
But he held her upright, just as he had in the park when they'd both worn the silly skates. Something had happened that morning, something that went far beyond wheels carrying her over the ground.
He'd challenged her to trust him—and she had.
She was almost as frightened now as she'd been then. She could see from the heat in his eyes and the gentleness of his smile that he wanted more than a dance. He'd not given this look to any other lady tonight, had apparently reserved it for her.
But this was how he should look at the woman he was to marry, as though there were no one more important, as though he were her prince, and she his queen.
Exactly as he'd told her it would be for him.
She didn't know how she would survive it when she finally did find a woman for him upon whom he would gaze as he now looked at her. It would hurt—unbearably. And she thought a piece of her might die.
She thought if she lived to be a thousand, she'd never again have a moment with such promise—or such regret—as this one.
Something had happened during their final waltz.
As the coach rattled over the streets, Arch wasn't certain what had happened, only that it remained, shimmering between them like the stillness following thunder that caused the ground to rumble.
It had been as though she'd lowered the drawbridge to the castle surrounding her and walked halfway, fearful to continue to solid ground while the moat churned beneath her. He'd been able to tell from staring into her eyes that she'd been giving a lot of thought to some idea, measuring, considering, dismissing…
Yet the entire time her attention had been totally on him. He didn't think she'd been mentally listing the attributes of each lady with whom he'd danced. That would come later.
For now the silence eased between them as they sat opposite each other in the coach. It was a comfortable silence, relaxed, and yet something told him that it shouldn't have been, that it should have been fraught with tension.
Something had shifted and changed during the dance, a realization, a recognition had taken place… and they both seemed equally ready to ignore it.
"I want to go home," he finally said into the quiet of the coach, of the night.
She turned her attention away from the window. "Why, yes, of course, as soon as you've taken me to my residence you're free to go on your way."
"No, I mean I wish to go to Heatherton."
"Heatherton?"
"The village where I grew up. I want to let my family see that I survived my first Season in London."
"A letter would accomplish the same thing, would it not?"
He detected a prick of panic in her voice, and he thought if he were correct, his next statement might send her through the roof of the coach.
"No, it wouldn't. My mother will want to see for herself how I've fared. I'd like you to come with me."
"To Heatherton?"
"Yes."
She looked back out the window, not that facing him would have given him much hint as to what she was thinking. The shadows inside offered her protection, and no doubt solace. He couldn't penetrate them, couldn't discern what she was feeling. He was about to tell her that he'd go alone, when she spoke softly.
"I'd like to go with you. Very much."
He'd hoped for that answer, but he'd never truly dared to expect it.
"I shall have to take my secretary," she said softly. "And my lady's maid."
"Of course. Whomever you wish. Whatever you wish."
"We can discuss your choices for a wife while we're there."
"No."
The word came out more forcefully than he intended. She turned her head toward him, no doubt taken aback by his succinctly delivered sentiment.
"All of this"—he moved his hand in a circle that she probably couldn't see clearly—"has no place there."
"Your rank is not something that you can simply take off like a coat come spring. It is a part of you always. No matter where you are, no matter what you are doing."
"I realize that, but I want our time in Heatherton to be as our last dance was—no mention of the wife hunt. I want to leave it behind for a spell, while we're in Heatherton. We can pick it back up when we get to Sachse Hall."
"All right."
Now it was he who looked out the window, a sense of relief washing through him, even as he wondered if taking her would be a mistake.
* * *
Chapter 9
Camilla did not recall being this nervous when she'd been presented to the queen. She couldn't explain the fluttering in her stomach that grew in intensity as they neared Archie's home. She was grateful for the gloves, which absorbed the dampness on her palms.
I'm being silly, really, she thought for the thousandth time. She would meet Archie's family. Common stock. Except that they did have some aristocratic blood flowing through them. Diluted through the years, of course, but, still, she couldn't claim a single drop.
As the coach had driven through the village of Heatherton, Archie had seemed to become as uncomfortable as she felt. He'd pressed back into the shadows of the conveyance as though he had no wish for anyone to catch sight of him. She found his behavior rather odd. He'd left here a teacher to return as an earl. Every person within the village would give deference to him now.
They'd traveled north of the village until the driver had finally turned onto a narrower lane.
"I've missed the peace of the countryside, " he said quietly, from where he sat across from her.
"Sachse Hall is nothing at all like your London home. I'm sure you'll be comfortable there, although you will, of course, have much greater responsibilities."
He gave her a slight smile. "I can think of no responsibility that is greater than shaping the mind of a child."
"You miss teaching, then?" she asked.
"Very much. My father was headmaster. I thought to step into his shoes someday. In a way, I suppose I have, but not as I expected."
"Archie, how am I to address your family? Did the Crown favor them with courtesy titles?"
"No, and my mother asked that I not seek a warrant for the privilege. They preferred to remain simple people."
"I can't quite fathom the notion of not wanting to be titled."
"Perhaps you'll have a better understanding of things—and me—after you spend some time here."
And she wondered if perhaps the desire for her to understand him had been what had prompted his invitation in the first place.
The carriage began to slow. Camilla gazed out the window and saw the small house. Well, she had to admit that it wasn't quite so small by simple country standards, but in no way was it as grand as the estates that had come to Archie through the death of her husband. She couldn't understand why he didn't seem to embrace his good fortune. To live in the house now visible to them or a manor with seventy-four rooms. The preferred choice was glaringly obvious.
The coach rolled to a stop. The footman opened the door and helped Camilla climb out, just in time for her to see a small white-haired woman rush out of the house. Camilla had hardly been aware of Archie coming out of the coach before he was standing in front of her, wrapping his arms around the woman, lifting her off the ground and twirling her around.
The woman's loud, joyful laughter echoed around her. Camilla had never heard any sound that resonated with such soul-deep gladness.
"Oh, Arch, put me down!" She patted his shoulders as though she knew she had no need to cling to him. His hold on her was firm enough, strong enough, secure enough that he wouldn't drop her.
"I've missed you, Mum!" With a laugh, he spun her around one final time before setting her on the ground.
Taking a step back, she placed her hands on her hips. "Let me have a good look at you, now."
Camilla saw the love and pride reflected in his mother's eyes and felt tears sting her own. Her own mother had looked at her like that once. It hurt the heart to see such motherly devotion.
"You've lost weight, lad," his mother said.
Smiling brightly, Archie nodded. "A little, although I suspect it is the well-tailored clothing that makes me appear so trim. Camilla insists I wear only the best. Speaking of…" He turned to Camilla. His smile warmed, as did his eyes. He held his gloved hand toward her.
As she placed her hand within Archie's, she couldn't miss the speculation in his mother's expression. Archie drew her near.
"Lady Sachse, allow me to introduce my mother."
"Oh!" His mother released two tiny squeaks as she pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh my goodness. You got married!"
"No, no, Mum. Lady Sachse is the previous earl's widow."
His mother's eyes widened. "Oh, then you are the countess! Should I curtsy? Of course I should." And she did just that.
Camilla had always welcomed the fawning and acquiescence that others showed toward her as a result of the rank she'd acquired when she married the old earl, but here, surrounded by the lush countryside, standing before the modest home, and knowing how much this woman obviously loved her son, she felt false and unworthy. "Mrs. Warner, please, you need not curtsy before me. You are the mother of an earl, after all."
Mrs. Warner popped upright. "So I am. And a more handsome one I have never seen. And showing off your wealth, I see. Traveling with two coaches. Whatever will my neighbors think?"
"We had no choice. Lady Sachse travels with her lady's maid and secretary. Then, of course, there is my valet." He shook his head as though he thought it all seemed incredibly pretentious, and she found herself halfway wishing she'd not insisted on bringing their servants.
"I didn't think the extra guests would be a problem," he finally told his mother.
"Oh, no, of course not. They can share accommodations with my servants." She leaned toward Camilla. "I only have two indoors: the cook and the housemaid. I have a gardener and a stableman. Your men may stay with them while your lady servants sleep inside the house, top floor, a bit crowded, but better than the hayloft. Now, come inside, and I'll show you to your rooms."
"I know where my room is, Mum," Archie said.
His mother laughed. "Of course you do, but Lady Sachse doesn't. We'll need to give her the grand tour. I've instructed everyone to be here at seven for dinner."
"Everyone?" Camilla asked.
"My brother and sister," Arch said, as he placed her hand on his arm and led her toward the house.
"I didn't realize—"
"Because you never ask anything about me."
His voice seemed to echo a sadness she couldn't explain.
"Don't be ridiculous. We talk all the time."
He sliced
his gaze over to her. "We talk about the cut of my jacket, Lady Jane Myerson's absence of gloves, and who is best suited for whom. You avoid answering any intimate questions I pose regarding you, and you never ask any of me."
"I respect your privacy."
"Well, don't. Because while we're here, I don't intend to respect yours."
Images of him watching her bathe flashed through her mind. "Whatever do you mean by that? Are you a voyeur?"
"Of course not. I simply meant that I want us to have an opportunity to truly get to know each other while we're here."
She glanced toward the house where his mother was waiting.
"I like your mother," she offered.
He grinned. "I believe you'll like the whole family."
Camilla was appalled and yet strangely fascinated watching Archie's family during dinner. It was rather like coming across an overturned hansom cab and knowing that one's sensibilities would be tested when the injured parties were freed of the conveyance, yet still unable to look away.
Archie's sister Nancy was lovely and pleasant enough; but her husband, Owen, was the homeliest of men. All Camilla had been able to think when introduced to them and their two young daughters was that the Lord was indeed merciful because their children had taken after their mother and been spared the uncomely features of their father.
Archie's brother, Winston, was five years Archie's junior and lacked Archie's polish. Like Archie, he had a mouth that was quick to smile. She had the impression it was equally quick to kiss. He'd winked at her half a dozen times since sitting down to the table—in between shoveling food into his mouth.
He wore neither jacket, vest, nor cravat. His loosely flowing shirt was unbuttoned at his throat, and she could see sprigs of dark hair peeking through and found herself wondering if Archie's chest also sprouted hair. She'd often thought the old Sachse should have been sheared twice a year. Yet she found herself imagining something quite different with Archie's hair. Running her fingers through it…
As an Earl Desires Page 9