Someone to Love

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Someone to Love Page 9

by Cheryl Holt


  She grinned up at Luke. “I can’t deny it, Luke. I am spoiled rotten, but it’s Father’s fault. He permits me to behave however I like.”

  As she stared at him, he was taken aback. For an instant, she’d looked just like Libby. The slant of her eyes and the curve of her lips resembled Libby exactly. The sight was odd and unnerving, and he didn’t suppose he had any business pondering Libby and Penny in the same breath.

  In any assessment, Penny would come up short.

  Penny was pretty, but Libby was gorgeous. Penny was plump, but Libby was curvaceous. Penny was friendly, but Libby was magnetic. Penny was ordinary, but Libby was extraordinary.

  The carriage rolled to a stop, and people were craning their necks, curious as to who would emerge. What sort of person gadded about in a pink carriage? Luke wasn’t the only one who deemed it peculiar.

  A footman marched over and opened the door, saying, “Welcome to Roland.”

  A blond man leapt out first—with the grace and flair of an acrobat. Luke couldn’t see his face, but he was flamboyantly dressed in flowing silk trousers, a white shirt, with an embroidered vest over top. He was exotic and foreign, as if he was a circus barker or maybe a servant in a sultan’s harem.

  His hair was a striking gold color, worn long and curling over his shoulders. He had rings on his fingers and an earring in his ear, which wasn’t that strange to Luke. As a sailor, he’d encountered many men—generally natives—who had piercings, but it wasn’t an adornment often witnessed in rural England.

  Luke was incredibly intrigued, and when the man finally spun toward him, Luke was totally bewildered. It seemed to be Libby’s cousin, Simon Falcon, but that wasn’t possible. Why would Falcon be standing in Charles’s driveway?

  To his great astonishment, Miss Fishburn climbed out next. He scowled, his mind frantically trying to figure out why she would be there too. As with Mr. Falcon, there was no discernible reason for her to be present.

  Then Falcon reached into the carriage and guided Libby out. If an angel from Heaven had suddenly flown down to join them, he couldn’t have been more stunned. He was being pelted by numerous emotions: shock, amazement, aggravation, confusion, joy, alarm.

  Why was she at Roland? She was supposed to be in London, performing at the theater and impatiently waiting for him to return from the country.

  Was she an invited guest? Was she staying for the whole two weeks? If she was, how would he explain that the party was being held for him because he was contemplating marriage to Penny Pendleton?

  He felt as if he was wading in a bog, and there were a thousand huge pits in front of him. He couldn’t walk in any direction without falling into one of them.

  Clearly, when Millicent had sent a note, asking if he’d like to review the guest list, he should have paid more attention. He’d simply sent a note back claiming that Penny’s choices were fine with him. It had never occurred to him that Libby might be a Pendleton acquaintance.

  This was a disaster!

  She was attired like the vixen she was, wearing a vibrant pink gown that was the same shade as her carriage. Her outfit was embellished with matching shawl, slippers, parasol, and fan. Her hair was intricately styled, with pink feathers woven in the strands.

  She was glamorous and magnificent, like a goddess eager to tempt mortal men. The other males were shifting in their shoes, anxious to get a better look at her.

  Mr. Falcon whipped off his cap and made a sweeping gesture with it as he announced, “Ladies and gentleman, Miss Libby Carstairs, Mystery Girl of the Caribbean!”

  There were gasps of surprise and wild applause from the spectators.

  “Penny! You scamp,” one girl murmured. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  Another added, “How could you keep it a secret? You must have been dying with anticipation.”

  Libby gave an imperious toss of her blond curls, her lazy, dynamic gaze roaming over the crowd. It passed over Luke, landing on him like a hard jolt of lightning, but she furnished no sign that she recognized him.

  Appearing majestic and grand, she sauntered over to Charles, and he was mesmerized by her. She should have been introduced to him, but he took the lead, seeming overwhelmed as a green boy.

  “Miss Carstairs!” he gushed. “How lovely to have you grace our humble home. I am Charles Pendleton, Lord Roland.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Lord Roland.” Her voice was husky, sensual, and it floated out and caressed all of them. “And it is I who am honored to have been invited.”

  She executed the merest curtsy to Charles, then she motioned to her companions. “May I present my cousin, Simon Falcon? And this is my devoted advisor, Miss Fishburn.”

  Charles’s jaw dropped, and he actually blanched. “Fish? Is it really you?”

  “Yes, hello, Charles. I’m delighted to learn that you remember me.”

  With Fish blatantly using Charles’s Christian name, everyone was a tad startled. Agitated utterances raced by. Apparently, Libby would deliver a ton of intrigue and drama. Millicent didn’t care for the notion though. She frowned defensively, and she sidled a little closer to Charles—as if he was hers and she wasn’t sharing.

  Libby’s regal focus slid to Fish. “You know Lord Roland, Fish? You didn’t tell me. Shame on you.”

  “I did tell you. Have you forgotten? The Earl and I are old friends.”

  Fish imbued the word old with such innuendo that it induced numerous snickers, but they were hastily tamped down.

  Charles’s cheeks reddened, but he didn’t elaborate on his connection to Fish. He turned to Millicent and introduced her. “This is my sister-in-law and cousin, Miss Millicent Pendleton. She runs my home and manages my family for me.”

  Libby nodded distractedly, as if Millicent was beneath her notice. “Hello, Miss Pendleton.”

  “Miss Carstairs.” Millicent nodded too, briskly, indicating that there would be no love lost between them.

  Charles continued. “This is my daughter, Lady Penelope. We call her Penny. It’s her party. I’m just the father who’s paying for it.”

  “I’m sure she’s lucky to have you.” Libby studied Penny, her expression cool and unreadable.

  “Thank you for coming, Miss Carstairs!” Penny said. “After I was notified that my cousin had asked you, I was quite giddy with excitement.”

  “I’m thrilled to hear it,” Libby replied. “We were included at the last minute. You must allay my worries and swear we haven’t inconvenienced you.”

  “Not at all, and might I request—while you’re here—that you entertain us with some of your stories and ballads? I’ve been hoping you’d agree!”

  “I would be happy to perform for you,” Libby said. “I’m enormously flattered that you’d like me to.”

  Luke was next in line, and he couldn’t deduce how she might greet him. He didn’t think she’d offer a humiliating remark, but it would likely depend on how he was described.

  He might have seized the initiative and blundered forward on his own, but he couldn’t shake off his perplexity at observing her precisely where she never should have been. But he was also completely puzzled by how much she and Penny resembled each other.

  When he’d first arrived at Roland, he’d thought Penny looked a bit like Libby, but with their being side by side, the similarities were disconcerting.

  With their blond hair and blue eyes, their comparable height and facial features, they were enough alike to be sisters, with one of them glamorous and chic and the other more common and provincial. It was like contrasting a queen and a dairymaid.

  Libby looked like Charles too—the same nose, the same blue eyes, the same tilt of her head. Charles had once had blond hair, but with his being forty-six, it had faded to silver. He was thin and dapper, was handsome and distinguished, and he could have been related to her.

  Was Luke
the only one who’d perceived it? He could hardly survey the crowd to ask if anyone shared his opinion, but was it possible Libby had a Pendleton in her family tree?

  Penny yanked him out of his tormented reverie. “Miss Carstairs, may I present my dear friend and neighbor, Lucas Watson, Lord Barrett?”

  “Your dear friend?” Libby inquired. “Are you betrothed and I wasn’t informed? Is this an engagement party? Are congratulations in order?”

  “Well . . . ah . . . ah . . .”

  Penny was caught off guard by Libby’s query. His arrangement with Penny wasn’t official yet, so there was no appropriate answer, and Libby realized it. She didn’t push for a response. Instead, she spun toward Luke in a slow motion that was nearly terrifying.

  She cast a bored gaze over his person. “Haven’t we met, Lord Barrett? I believe we might have crossed paths in London.”

  Her comment goaded him into a reply. “You’re correct. I’m an ardent admirer. We met at the theater, after one of your shows.”

  “How nice.”

  There was a hint of disdain in her tone so the assembled group would suspect she hadn’t been impressed.

  An awkward pause ensued, and Millicent smoothed it over by stepping into the breach. “How about if we get you inside, Miss Carstairs? How about if we get everyone in? We’ve been loitering in the driveway, and the servants are irked that we haven’t let them tend all of you.”

  Millicent started shooing people in. Libby was in the center of the crowd and whisked along. Penny strolled with her, agog and in awe as she babbled platitudes in a manner Libby probably hated. Libby was polite and attentive though, and she smiled and nodded to all those who talked to her.

  Charles and Luke were bringing up the rear, and he frowned at Luke and whispered, “My goodness, but isn’t she something?”

  “She definitely is.”

  “When Penny told me she was coming, I wasn’t sure what to think, but she’s stunning. You’ve seen her on the stage?”

  “Yes. She’s indescribable.”

  “I imagine so.” Charles chuckled. “She reminds me of someone, but I can’t place who it is. Did she look familiar to you?”

  Luke didn’t dare voice his opinion: that she looked like Charles and Penny.

  “No,” he fibbed. “She’s so magnetic though. She practically sucks the air out of the sky.”

  “Doesn’t she just?” Charles smirked. “This bloody party just got quite a bit more interesting.”

  He sauntered off, not aware that Luke hadn’t accompanied him. The servants and guests went in too, all of them enchanted by Libby. He didn’t know how she pulled it off, but she simply exuded an aura that made others yearn to linger by her side.

  That aura had certainly enveloped him with no difficulty at all. From the minute he’d first laid eyes on her, he’d been completely ensnared.

  He stood alone on the gravel, watching as Libby’s driver maneuvered her carriage to the barn.

  “A pink carriage?” he muttered to no one in particular because there was no one left to hear.

  The color offended him, which was stupid. Who cared what color she’d painted her carriage?

  The woman was striking and absurd and totally fascinating, and now, she was at Roland and being led into the manor. She’d be given the fanciest bedchamber and would settle in as a prized visitor.

  Though he hadn’t been named as Penny’s fiancé, Libby would discover the truth very soon. How would she react? No doubt she’d never speak to him again.

  In London, he’d accused her of being loose with her favors, but he was an excellent judge of character, and he was beginning to suppose that she didn’t have low morals.

  She wouldn’t pursue an affair with a man who was about to become engaged. Not only was the engagement imminent, but if he broke down and proposed to Penny, the wedding would be held in September.

  Whatever scheme he’d hoped to implement with Libby, whatever torrid fling he’d envisioned, it would never transpire. The next fourteen days stretched ahead like the road to Hades. Every time he entered a parlor, she’d be standing there, taunting him with what he couldn’t have. How would he survive the torture she’d inflict?

  He couldn’t see her without wanting her, and his blatant attraction couldn’t be concealed. If Penny didn’t notice it herself, cruel gossip traveled fast, so she would quickly have it pointed out to her. What if she accosted him and demanded an explanation? What could he say that wouldn’t sound hideous?

  He could have followed Libby’s adoring mob into the manor, but he didn’t. He turned instead and proceeded to the park behind the house. If he took a long, slow walk, perhaps he’d calm down enough to figure out how to stagger through the debacle.

  For just that moment, he hadn’t a clue as to how he’d manage.

  “How do you know Lord Roland?”

  “How do you suppose? He and I had a torrid affair.”

  Libby glared at Fish and said, “You might have warned me.”

  “Why would I warn you? It’s not as if it happened yesterday. It’s ancient history and has no bearing on anything.”

  “This entire party will be awkward enough. I don’t need to have you stirring extra drama.”

  “Why would I stir drama?” Fish looked innocent as a nun. “He and I have both lived a thousand lifetimes since then.”

  “He’s still a handsome devil.”

  “I agree. He’s definitely aging well.”

  “How old is he?”

  “I believe he’s forty-six.”

  “And you’re forty.”

  “Yes, so? If you’re worried our romance will heat up again, you’re mad. I’m not interested in a quick fling, and his type likes his paramours to be quite a bit younger than me.”

  “His type?”

  “He’s an aristocrat, and there is always a line of women out the door, hoping to snag one of them. They grow prettier, younger, and more debauched every year.”

  “Where do you fit in that scenario?”

  “I was desperately in love with him, but he would never have married me. I walked away so it wouldn’t become horrid. I left him before he could leave me.”

  “So you hooked your wagon to Uncle Harry instead?”

  “Harry and I had a satisfying decade together. With him, what you saw was what you got. I never deceived myself into thinking I could have a happy ending with him. I had no misconceptions about what was possible.”

  “Please don’t seduce Lord Roland.”

  “I doubt there’s any chance of it,” Fish said. “That shrew, Millicent Pendleton, seems to have dug her claws into him, but why would you care if he sets his sights on me?”

  “We shouldn’t stay here, so I don’t want you to start any mischief that would delay our departure.”

  They were in the bedchamber provided to Libby, and she’d been hiding so it was evening already, supper over and the festivities beginning in earnest.

  Hers was a charming suite, with bright yellow wallpaper and big windows that offered a view of the park. It came complete with a sitting room, bedroom, and dressing room behind. She was being treated like a princess, but so far, the visit had been much more stressful than she’d anticipated.

  She’d presumed she could arrive with her usual aplomb, but the whole episode was extremely taxing. She hadn’t thought she’d meet Lord Roland immediately, and she’d expected to have more time to prepare for the encounter. Nor had she realized she and his daughter would look so much alike. The discovery was disturbing in a myriad of ways she hadn’t considered before deciding to attend.

  Now that she was ensconced in a bedchamber, she was kicking herself for her lack of planning, and she was trying to figure out how she could slip away without it being noticed. But that probably wasn’t feasible. She’d deliberately shown up in grand style, so people w
ere watching her every move.

  “Why wouldn’t we stay?” Fish asked. “And why are you so despondent? Is it that bounder, Lord Barrett? Don’t permit him to chase us away.”

  “He’s about to betroth himself to Lady Penny!”

  “So? He’s thirty. Of course he’s about to become engaged. I can’t fathom why he hasn’t been wed for years.”

  “Last week in London, he was begging me to be his mistress! He’s a cad and a cheat, and I’m so disappointed.”

  “Why are you surprised to learn this about him? You’ve frittered away plenty of hours where rich scoundrels doted on you. You’re aware of what they’re like. Don’t pretend to be shocked.”

  “I liked him. I thought he liked me too.”

  “I’m sure he’s wild for you, but you can’t be so naïve that you assumed it mattered. Don’t tell me you were silly about him. I’m the woman who taught you about men and their motives, so I know you were repeatedly cautioned.”

  “He claimed he had problems to deal with at his estate, but he conveniently neglected to mention that he would actually be at Roland, getting himself engaged.”

  Fish shrugged. “Why would he have admitted it to you? He wouldn’t deem it to be any of your business. Besides, aren’t you over him? Haven’t we fled London because of him? You gave up your booking at the theater so you wouldn’t be there when he returned to town.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t intend to run into him in Lord Roland’s driveway!” Libby threw up her hands in frustration. “This is a disaster!”

  “Only if you let it be. I think it will be harder on him than on you. He is the one who’s about to marry. He’s the one who’s in an awkward situation. Not you. If I were you—”

  “Well, you’re not me,” Libby caustically interrupted.

  Fish ignored her. “—I’d flaunt myself every second. I’d wear my most stunning gowns, and I’d preen and flirt with all the gentlemen to make him jealous. By the time we depart, his calm façade will be totally shattered.”

  “I just craved a quiet sojourn in the country.”

 

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