One never forgot how to climb a tree. Before Elizabeth had exchanged trailing behind heedless boy cousins for the reliable companionship of books, she’d climbed hundreds of trees and got stuck in a few.
She put her booted foot into Haverford’s hands, and grabbed a sturdy branch as he hoisted her upward. The oak was huge—no sign of dry rot, lightning strikes, or disease anywhere—and Elizabeth was soon twelve feet above the ground, her back braced against the enormous trunk.
“I have met your cousins,” Haverford said, making the branches shake as he found a perch several feet away. “I cannot imagine either Lord Westhaven or Lord Valentine climbing a tree.”
“Because you were never one of five brothers,” Elizabeth said, closing her eyes and enjoying the peace of a leafy hideaway. “The oldest boy, Devlin—Rosecroft now—would climb anything, and then pride demanded that the younger boys and I clamber after. Devlin’s mischief was good for us and still is. I could not keep up with the boys, but for years, I did try.”
More tree branches shook. “I want to kiss you again.”
“Must you sound so disenchanted with that prospect? I won’t tolerate advances from a man who resents an attraction to me.” Five years ago, five days ago, Elizabeth would have been less blunt—and less sure of herself.
The rustling from His Grace’s vicinity stopped. “I do not resent an attraction to you.”
“Be still my heart.” Elizabeth managed a bored tone, while inwardly she rejoiced. His Grace was attracted to her, and she doubted he’d invited any other woman to climb a tree with him, ever.
“Miss Windham…Elizabeth, last night you took me by surprise. I haven’t been surprised for many a year.”
She opened her eyes to behold a man in the grip of bewilderment. “Neither have I. The last time I was surprised, it was to find myself being hurried from a ballroom by Lord Allermain.”
Haverford studied her, the entire tree seeming to go still with him, save for a soft rustling many feet above them.
“That presuming bounder frightened you.”
“Worse than I realized. The fear steals over me when I think how differently that night might have turned out, and then I need to find a very good book in which to bury my imagination. I had no inkling a man with whom I’d waltzed would serve me so ill.”
Haverford stretched up to grab the branch over his head. “He frightened you, and your confidence was kidnapped, even if your person came to no harm. Kissing you abducts my…makes off with all the tidy, sensible, dignified plans I’d made for myself, and I had made many. A prudent duke is a creature of forethought.”
While an unmarried woman was a creature of frustration. “Isn’t that what kisses should do? Make the rest of the world fade to insignificance and imbue a few moments with sheer wonder? I’m not an expert on the subject, but that’s how your kisses made me feel.”
What an odd, lovely conversation. The river rippled by beneath the tree, and the castle grounds spread out in green, summer abundance in every direction. The breeze held a whiff of clover, a soft counterpoint to the gleaming stone of the castle against the perfect clouds in the perfect sky.
“Parts one doesn’t mention before a lady are growing uncomfortable,” Haverford said. “Do you prefer to precede me from the tree, or shall I go first and catch you?”
“I prefer to finish this discussion.” Elizabeth would also like to climb higher into the tree, to gain more distance from the troubles awaiting her on the ground. “I’ll not trap you into matrimony, Your Grace. If your papa contracted a match for you when you were eight years old, and the lady is only now coming of age, you needn’t explain. You betrayed no one with that kiss.”
He plucked a green leaf and sent it twirling to the water babbling by below. “I told you that I would not be offering for anybody as a result of this house party. The reality is, I cannot take a wife, not now. I need heirs, as much as or more than any other titled man, but my circumstances are sorely embarrassed. My father and grandfather both spent profligately on books, maps, manuscripts, and the like. Matrimony will have to wait, possibly for some time.”
Sorely embarrassed. Not merely embarrassed or a trifle constrained for the nonce.
When a man and woman of consequence became engaged, negotiation of the marriage settlements ensued. The groom’s family was expected to contribute to the funds established, for much of that money could be inherited by the couple’s children, or by the groom himself.
No wonder His Grace hadn’t any affection for his library, if funds that might have gone to marriage settlements had instead gone to Chaucer and Boccaccio.
His Grace of Haverford was up a tree, so to speak.
“You might be surprised to learn that the Windham fortunes have not always enjoyed robust health, Your Grace, and I do not seek a marriage proposal from you.” That pronouncement sounded convincingly assured, though a corner of Elizabeth’s heart lamented. Haverford was a good man and a wonderful kisser. “I might need assistance getting to the ground.”
Haverford dropped nimbly from the tree and turned, arms extended upward. “Down you go.”
Getting out of the oak was awkward. Elizabeth hung suspended from the lower branch, and Haverford caught her about the hips, then let her slide down the length of his body. When her feet touched solid earth, he continued to hold her.
Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him. “If you could marry, would you take a bride?”
“Of course. A duke without his duchess is a lonely fellow.”
Young men are lonely, Elizabeth. Aunt Arabella’s words rang in memory. Young men might be lonely—young women certainly were—but they didn’t admit it. Haverford was no longer young, and Elizabeth liked that about him.
“I am in want of friends,” she said, stepping back. “For the duration of this gathering, you could remedy that lack.”
Haverford gathered up Elizabeth’s haversack and looped it over his shoulder, his movements putting Elizabeth in mind of Griffin.
“I still want to kiss you, Elizabeth. Rather a lot.”
“That sentiment is mutual,” she said, setting off at a brisk pace. “But where is it written that friends can never kiss, or otherwise express their attraction to each other?”
“It ought to be written somewhere,” Haverford said, “in great bold copperplate. Kissing leads to—”
“I know where it leads, Your Grace, in the general case. The destination has been sadly unimpressive on past visits. I’d like to explore where kissing leads with you.”
“You are—”
“I am lonely too.” And doubtless bound for marriage to some charming, boring viscount with clammy hands and a tiny library.
“—quite fierce about this friendship business.” His gaze was on the castle, and Elizabeth suspected he was trying not to smile.
“I’m quite fierce about everything.” And only now coming to admit it.
“We shall be fierce friends, then, for the duration of a house party. One shudders to think what mischief—what the devil is he doing here?”
A coach and four was rattling up the drive a quarter of a mile away. The horses were all white, exactly matched for gait and height, and pulling a black coach with red wheels. A single trunk was affixed to the back, though no crest adorned the door.
“It appears you’ve a late-arriving guest.” Or a bad fairy calling on the party, based on Haverford’s expression.
“Not a guest, a problem. A most unwelcome problem.”
* * *
Radnor was nearly knocked on his arse by Lady Glenys as she stormed forth from the east tower’s servants’ stairs.
“My lady, good morning.”
“It is not a good morning, Radnor. Was it your idea to take Haverford out riding?”
Radnor fell in step beside her, which put him in mind of escorting a tempest. “If I say yes, you’ll berate me for seeing to it that His Grace got some fresh air. If I say no, then you’ll be wroth with your brother, which makes me a poor friend to him. Your arch
ery contest came off flawlessly, so what has you in a pet today?”
“You are dodging my question.”
Not nimbly enough. “Haverford will be back soon, but he came upon a guest out walking and did what a polite host ought to do, else he would have returned with me.”
They came to a door all but hidden by the wallpaper and wainscoting. Radnor opened it, and Glenys swept through.
“I ought not to be using these staircases with you, Radnor.”
“We’ve been using the stairways and passages since we were old enough to elude our governesses and tutors. What have you planned for today?”
“A boat race. The weather is fine, the guests have had a day to rest from their travels, and no self-respecting hostess puts on a summer house party without a boat race. The gentlemen can show off their athletic skills, and the ladies can wager on their favorites.”
She barreled across the landing, then tripped and would have gone sprawling down the steps had Radnor not caught her about the waist.
“Steady, Glennie. You’ll make a very fine picture at the table with two black eyes and a chipped tooth.”
Had she lost weight? Glenys was a substantial woman, but she hung against Radnor for an instant, and he gained an impression of frailty and nervous exhaustion.
“I’m fine,” she said, straightening. “Which guest did Haverford come upon walking at such an early hour?”
Radnor put her hand on his arm and set a decorous pace down the steps. “Miss Elizabeth Windham. She looked to be enjoying a constitutional along the river. I suspect she was up early enough to enjoy the sunrise.”
Glenys unwound herself from his arm on the next landing and peered out a window that had probably begun life as an arrow slit.
“Griffin likes to walk along the river. That must be Haverford and Miss Windham in the park.”
Two figures, a man and woman, were cutting across the grass toward the castle. Radnor studied them from immediately behind Glenys, though mostly, he was sneaking a chance to inhale her perfume.
“Why do you always smell good, milady?”
She brushed a finger over the glass, getting a smudged fingertip for her efforts. “Because it perplexes you.”
“As good a reason as any, but that’s not what I meant. Other women wear perfume, and it’s pleasant enough at the start of the evening, but by the supper waltz, the scent has faded to resemble a clove compress or some other medicinal. You smell as good in the evening as you do in the morning.”
“I wear simple fragrances for that reason. They hold up. Haverford is walking rather close to Miss Windham.”
Not as close as Radnor was standing to Glenys. “He’s being a proper escort. They’re in plain view of the castle, I don’t think his virtue is at risk.” Being a loyal friend to the duke, Radnor hoped those words were in error, meaning no disrespect to the lady.
Glenys turned, arms folded. “I have a theory. You will please tell me it’s a ridiculous theory.”
What was ridiculous was the urge to kiss a woman who’d slap him for his presumption. Why, oh why, had he ever called her a pestilential plague of a pint-sized female?
“I have to hear this theory before I can discredit it.”
“I am concerned that Haverford has remained unmarried because he knows his duchess will depose me as lady of the house. He’s unwilling to see me become the spinster auntie, and thus, he hesitates, and hopes some bachelor will come along and take me off his hands.”
Glenys tried for a smile, and broke Radnor’s heart.
“This is not ridiculous,” he said, drawing her into his embrace. She kept her arms crossed for a moment, then relented and pressed her forehead to his shoulder.
“I knew it, Cedric. This entire house party, this enormous, inexcusable expense—”
“Your theory so far surpasses the bounds of ridiculousness, I must conclude the fairies have invaded your dreams. Haverford would never, ever put his duty to the succession in second place behind anything so insubstantial as fraternal regard for you. If he hasn’t married, he simply hasn’t found the right duchess.”
Radnor stroked Glenys’s hair, and for a moment, she allowed the comfort. He’d never held her like this before, never let himself pay attention to the brush of her breasts against his chest, or the fit of her contours to his body. She wasn’t as tall or as substantial as she seemed.
“This should feel awkward,” Glenys said, making no move to step back. “You’re Radnor, and I’m about to be late for breakfast.”
He stole another caress to her hair. “You wear simple fragrances because you can make them here at Haverford rather than put your brother to the expense of buying them in London.”
“That feels good. Are you seducing me, Cedric?”
No, actually, he wasn’t. “Should I be?”
Glenys moved away, down the stairs. “Julian would kill you.”
“Does that prospect please you?”
Radnor bickered with her all the way to the breakfast parlor, which seemed to restore her spirits as much as it ruined his. Nonetheless, as he seated Glenys at the head of the table, and took a place across from Lady Pembroke, some of his natural optimism reasserted itself.
He and Lady Glenys had had a moment. Not a passionate moment, not even an amorous moment, but a moment.
A precious moment, and that was progress in the very direction he longed to travel with her.
* * *
Offering to walk with Elizabeth Windham had been folly, for she was radiant in the morning. Then she’d called Julian’s bluff and climbed the oak, compelling him to do likewise. Ensconced against the sturdy trunk, she’d looked entirely comfortable and entirely too kissable.
The path across the park was visible from two sides of the castle, and worse, from the drive where Lucas Sherbourne was now sauntering forth from his coach. He’d taken that conveyance as payment for a debt from an impecunious baron and showed it off at every opportunity. Cursory examination revealed the barely painted-over crest on both doors and the boot.
“You should greet your guest,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps he hasn’t realized you have a house party in progress.”
She was so naturally poised—and such a passionate kisser.
Sherbourne always behaved himself around the ladies, but Julian didn’t want his neighbor within four counties of Elizabeth Windham.
“He brought luggage with him,” Julian said, as two footmen lowered a large black trunk from the boot. “And yet, I can assure you, he was sent no invitation.”
“Perhaps Lady Glenys extended the invitation in person, if he dwells close by.”
That was…possible. Sherbourne attended Sunday services and greeted both Julian and Glenys with unfailing cordiality in the churchyard. Glenys wasn’t privy to the details of Julian’s dealings with Sherbourne and offered him polite replies on every occasion.
“Glenys labors under the misperception that a duke’s sister is to be gracious at all times,” Julian said. “She might have invited him and neglected to tell me. The vicar will join us for dinner some evening, as will most of the dames and squires in the neighborhood. Glenys has spared me a recitation of that list, and she might have consigned Sherbourne to the same category.”
Neighbors at the table meant more expense. More inane socializing when there was work to be done.
“You should greet him civilly. Haverford is known for its hospitality.”
Julian’s own words thrown back at him, as Elizabeth marched him smartly in the direction of the drive.
Sherbourne actually patted his coach, then stood beside it, smacking his pristine gloves against his exquisitely tailored breeches. The breakfast parlor was at the back of the castle, directly over the kitchens. This display—for Sherbourne did nothing without premeditation—was likely without much audience other than servants.
“You’re right, I should goddamned greet him civilly.”
Elizabeth wound her arm through Julian’s and smiled sweetly. “You can g
oddamned introduce us too.”
Her foul language was offered in such friendly, polite tones, she provoked Julian to smiling. “Yes, ma’am. At once.”
For no reason Julian could bear to examine, having Elizabeth at his side fortified him for the ordeal of welcoming Sherbourne. He did not hate Sherbourne, any more than he hated adders. Adders behaved according to the laws of nature. Those laws dictated that Griffin might be bitten while out rambling some evening and made very ill as a result.
When fevered, Griffin tended to seizures, and seizures could be fatal. Julian might kill an adder frequenting paths Griffin favored, but he would not hate the adder for being true to its nature.
“Sherbourne, good day,” Julian said, “and welcome to Haverford Castle.” To what do we owe the pleasure of this invasion?
“Your Grace, good morning,” Sherbourne replied, bowing nominally. “May I congratulate you on holding a house party when the weather is so fine? Won’t you introduce me to your companion?”
Julian put his hands behind his back when he wanted to slip an arm around Elizabeth’s waist. “Miss Elizabeth Windham, may I make known to you my neighbor, Mr. Lucas Sherbourne. Sherbourne, Miss Windham is a friend of the family, and our guest for the duration of the gathering.”
She dipped a graceful curtsy while Sherbourne took her bare hand in his.
“Mr. Sherbourne, a pleasure,” she said. “You will be desolated to learn that you’ve missed yesterday’s archery tournament, where my sister Charlotte quite distinguished herself.”
“Perhaps you’ll introduce me to your sister at breakfast? I am something of a marksman with my bow, and would have enjoyed the tournament.”
Sherbourne was a predator, and his arrow of choice was a bank draft, aimed where it would buy him the most influence and create the most misery. Even he should have known that introductions were the province of the host and hostess, though.
“Oh, my gracious,” Elizabeth called to the footmen wrestling the trunk. “You fellows can’t mean to haul that right through the front door, can you?”
They set the trunk down and shot Sherbourne an uncertain look.
No Other Duke Will Do (Windham Brides) Page 11