Slightly Dangerous

by Mary Balogh

  Alleyne and Rachel, Lord and Lady Alleyne Bedwyn, and Morgan and Gervase, the Countess and Earl of Rosthorn, arrived on the same day, the former couple with their twin girls, Laura and Beatrice, now a year and a half old, and with Baron Weston, Rachel’s uncle, who had made a good recovery from the heart problems he had suffered last summer, and Morgan and Gervase with their sons—Jacques, who was almost two, and Jules, who was two months old. Rachel was apparently increasing again, though her condition was not noticeable yet.

  Rannulf and Judith, Lord and Lady Rannulf Bedwyn, came the following day with their son, William, now almost three, and Miranda, one year old. Not many hours passed after their arrival before William demanded to be like his younger cousin and ride his father’s shoulders all about the house. The good-natured way in which Rannulf complied with this imperious demand spoke volumes about the sternness of his paternal rule over his household. And Jacques was not to be outdone, though he asked his papa more politely by tugging at the tassel on one of his Hessian boots until he was noticed and then stretching both arms over his head.

  Stampeding human steeds and their squealing riders became a common sight and sound in the hallways and on the staircases of Lindsey Hall. Occasionally one of the latter was a twin girl, though Wulfric was having difficulty telling them apart.

  Aidan and Eve, Lord and Lady Aidan Bedwyn, came with Mrs. Pritchard, Eve’s aunt, and their three children—Davy, aged ten, Becky, aged eight, and Hannah, almost one. Davy and Becky were actually their foster children, but neither Eve nor Aidan would tolerate hearing them referred to as such. Davy called them Aunt and Uncle, while Becky called them Mama and Papa. But as far as Eve and Aidan were concerned, both children were theirs as surely as Hannah was.

  Davy became the new favorite with the boys, who callously abandoned their fathers for the marvel of an elder cousin who actually slid down banisters when no adult was looking. And Becky was adored by all, though it was mostly the girls who clustered about her like chicks with their mother.

  It was all a little bewildering, not to say trying, for Wulfric. And the chatter among his siblings and their spouses only grew louder and more animated with each new arrival. He retreated to his library, his own personal domain, as much as he had done when they all lived there. He went to his private retreat in the park too, though only once.

  Last to arrive of his own family were his uncle and aunt, the Marquess and Marchioness of Rochester. His aunt was a Bedwyn by birth and as formidable as any of them. She brought with her—somehow it seemed unlikely that the marquess had had any hand in the bringing—a niece of Rochester’s, who had been languishing somewhere in the north country until at the age of twenty-three she had been brought to the attention of her relatives in London and Aunt Rochester had decided to take the girl under her wing and introduce her to both the queen and polite society during the upcoming Season.

  Aunt Rochester also made no secret of the fact that she intended to promote a match between Miss Amy Hutchinson and her eldest nephew.

  “We will attach a husband for Amy before the Season is over,” she announced quite frankly to the whole table at dinner the evening of their arrival. “Or perhaps even before it begins. Twenty-three is too old for a girl to be unmarried.”

  “I was twenty-five, Aunt,” Freyja reminded her.

  Aunt Rochester picked up her jeweled lorgnette from beside her plate and waved it in Freyja’s direction.

  “You waited dangerously long, Freyja,” she said before changing the direction of the lorgnette to indicate Joshua. “If that boy had not come along to tame you and charm you out of your stubbornness, you would have ended up a spinster. That is no desirable fate for a girl even if her brother is a duke.”

  Joshua waggled his eyebrows at Freyja, and she glared haughtily back at him as if it were he who had just claimed superior charm and accused her of wildness and stubbornness.

  Less than five minutes later Aunt Rochester broke into the general conversation with another observation.

  “And it is high time you married, Bewcastle,” she said. “Thirty-five is both the perfect age and the dangerous age for a man. It is the perfect age to marry and a dangerous age at which to procrastinate. A man does not want to be crippled by gout before his son and heir is even in the nursery.”

  Five pairs of Bedwyn eyes—not to mention all the non-Bedwyn ones—focused upon Wulfric with unholy glee.

  “She has you there, Wulf,” Alleyne said. “You are thirty-five now. You cannot afford another moment’s delay—it might prove fatal.”

  “Take my word for it, Wulf,” Rannulf added, “gouty papas make inferior horses and sons will not appreciate them.”

  “Thank you, Aunt,” Wulfric said, well aware that her implications concerning himself and Miss Hutchinson were as obvious to everyone else at the table as they were to him. “I do not begin to feel any symptoms of gout yet. And if and when I should select a bride to be my duchess, my family will certainly be informed of my choice and my intentions.”

  The Bedwyns collectively grinned at him—joined by Joshua and Gervase. Eve smiled kindly. So did Rachel. Judith spoke up.

  “Do you plan any special activities for the holiday, Wulfric?” she asked in an obvious attempt to turn a subject that was merely annoying to him but was probably quite distressing for Miss Hutchinson, who, though she was a pretty and elegantly turned- out young lady, was also shy and clearly in awe of the company in which she found herself. “May we organize some? There will be church over Easter itself, of course. But may we plan some sort of party for later? A concert, perhaps? Amateur theatrics? A picnic if the weather will cooperate? Even a ball?”

  “Which of those questions would you like Wulf to answer first, my love?” Rannulf asked her.

  “Amateur theatrics.” She laughed. “May we arrange some?”

  “If we do,” Freyja said, eyeing her sister-in-law askance, “I am going to be quite out of sorts, Judith. You will out-act us all and make us look very amateurish indeed.”

  “We must plan an entertainment at which Judith can act and you can warble a duet with me, then, sweetheart,” Joshua said. “None of us would willingly put you out of sorts.”

  “I do not see any need for organized entertainment,” Morgan said. “We never failed to entertain ourselves without any organization, did we? I have my painting things with me and look forward to taking my easel outside. I was never allowed to paint the park here as I wished—Miss Cowper was forever hovering over my shoulder with suggestions of how I ought to paint. I do believe she feared Wulf would be angry with her if she did not teach me properly and would hang her in chains in the dungeons. Until the day she left here, I am convinced she believed there really were dungeons beneath Lindsey Hall.”

  “There are not, Morg?” Alleyne asked, all shocked surprise. “You mean Ralf and I lied when we told her about the secret stairway leading down to them? Dear me.”

  “The children will certainly be happy to play in this lovely park,” Mrs. Pritchard said in her thick Welsh accent. “And they all have so many cousins to play with.”

  “But may we organize something special, Wulfric?” Judith asked.

  “I am expecting more houseguests,” he said.

  He instantly had everyone’s attention. Although he had always done his share of entertaining, as courtesy dictated, he had never been one for inviting guests to stay at the house.

  “I have invited Mowbury to come down from London with the viscountess, his mother,” he said. “And his brother and his sisters will be coming too—Justin Magnus, Lady Renable with the baron and their children, and Lady Wiseman with Sir Lewis. And Elrick, Mowbury’s cousin, with the viscountess and their widowed sister-in-law, Mrs. Derrick.”

  “Mowbury?” Aidan said. “Is he as bookish and absentminded as ever, Wulf? And his whole family? I did not realize you were so particularly acquainted with them.”

  “And they are all coming here?” Rannulf added. “Why on earth, Wulf?”

&nb
sp; Wulfric’s fingers curled about the handle of his quizzing glass as he set down his dessert spoon.

  “I am unaware,” he said, “that I need to account to my brothers and sisters for the guests I choose to invite to my home.”

  “Be fair, Wulf,” Freyja said haughtily. “Morgan and I did not utter a word. But is not Mrs. Derrick the woman you fished out of the Serpentine and took home dripping on your horse?”

  “No!” Alleyne laughed heartily and then continued to grin. “Wulf did that? I say! Do tell more, Free.”

  So much for slipping her name unobtrusively into the list of guests he was expecting, Wulfric thought as Freyja, helped along by Joshua and Gervase, proceeded to give a more or less accurate but decidedly lurid account of what had happened that day in Hyde Park.

  “I’ll wager,” Rannulf said after they had all stopped laughing, “you were not amused, Wulf. And now you have felt obliged to invite the lady here with the rest of her family. Hard luck, old chap! But never fear—we will all protect you from her.”

  “We will make a wall of bristling Bedwyns,” Alleyne promised, chuckling again. “She will never get past us, Wulf. You may recover your dignity at your leisure.”

  Wulfric raised his quizzing glass halfway to his eye.

  “All my guests,” he said, “will be treated with the proper courtesy. But to answer your question, Judith, there is to be a ball here. My secretary has already sent out the invitations and is seeing to the other arrangements. Doubtless other activities will suggest themselves as the days go by.”

  He dropped his quizzing glass, picked up his spoon again, and addressed his attention to his custard.

  What on earth had possessed him?

  Give me a chance, he had begged her. A chance for what? To prove he was something he was not? And he never begged. He never needed to.

  Nothing can change, she had told him. And, of course, she was right. How could he change his very nature? Did he even want to? She was perfectly right. There was nothing that could draw them together into a happily ever after.

  I would be consumed by you, she had said. You would sap all the energy and all the joy from me. You would put out all the fire of my vitality.

  He did not know what joy was. He did not know much about vitality either—at least, not the sort of vitality that gave her that inner glow he could never quite describe in words.

  Did he have anything to offer her that she might want? And—to look at the other side of the coin—was there anything in her that could make her suitable to be his duchess? Not just his woman or his wife, but his duchess?

  He set down his spoon, ascertained that everyone else had finished eating, and looked at his aunt with slightly raised eyebrows. She took her cue immediately and rose to lead the ladies from the dining room.

  IT WAS A cold and windy day even though it was almost April. Gray clouds hung low over the land and occasionally drizzled rain down onto a bleak world below. But fortunately the heavens held back the bulk of their load, and the highway remained passable throughout the long journey.

  Christine almost wished for a prolonged deluge of rain that would strand them at a country inn somewhere until the holiday was over. But it was far too late for that now. They must be nearing Lindsey Hall. In fact, even as she thought it the carriage slowed and turned between two towering gateposts onto a straight driveway lined with elm trees.

  “Gracious!” Melanie exclaimed, waking with a start from a lengthy doze and pulling her hands from beneath her lap robe in order to adjust her bonnet. “Are we here? Bertie, do wake up. I have suffered your snores for long enough. How anyone can fall asleep in a carriage I do not know. I am shaken and bounced to shreds. Are you not, Christine?”

  “I have found the journey quite comfortable,” Christine said.

  When she set her head closer to the window beside her, she could see a vast mansion up ahead. It was not medieval or Elizabethan or Georgian or Palladian, though it seemed to have elements of them all. It was magnificent. It was awe-inspiring.

  She had never noticed before that she suffered from motion sickness. But her stomach was feeling decidedly queasy. It was a good thing their journey was at its end. But that thought caused her stomach to turn a complete somersault inside her.

  The carriage turned and she could see that it was moving about a huge circular garden, bright with tulips and late-blooming daffodils, with a great stone fountain at its center, shooting water at least thirty feet into the air. It made for a magnificent approach to the house, she decided.

  She could also see that once the carriage had made the half-circle about it, they would be on the terrace before the great front doors. She watched them both swing open before the carriage made its final turn and cut off her view of the house.

  Melanie had been chattering away ever since she awoke, but Christine had heard scarcely a word. If only she could go back, she thought, and say no instead of yes in Hyde Park—so simple really! She could be quiet and content at home now, this day like any other, looking forward to Easter with her family.

  But she had not said no, and so here she was. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as the carriage door was opened by a servant wearing gorgeous livery and the steps were set down. There was no going back now.

  She despised her nervousness. She absolutely despised it. She had told him that all this was pointless, that nothing was going to change, that nothing could change. She had told him they would both be doomed to a miserable holiday if he insisted that she come here.

  He had insisted anyway and she had come.

  So why be nervous? What was there to be nervous about? And why should she expect misery and therefore draw it down upon herself? Why not simply enjoy herself? She could sit in a corner again and laugh at the foibles of humanity, could she not? It was a tactic that had not worked particularly well at Schofield, but that was no reason for it not to work here.

  Only servants met them outside the house, though a butler she might have mistaken for the duke himself if she had not already known that gentleman bowed to them with dignified formality and invited them to follow him inside, where his grace awaited them.

  Melanie and Bertie followed him decently inside.

  Christine did not.

  The carriage bearing Melanie’s children and their nurse had drawn up behind the baron’s, and it was instantly apparent that all was not well inside it. Pamela, aged six, had probably been sick again, as she had been almost from the moment of their departure, and had therefore taken all of the nurse’s time and attention and patience. The sound of her scolding voice—clearly at the end of its tether or perhaps even a little beyond the end—emerged into the outdoors as soon as the carriage door was opened. Phillip, aged eight, was laughing in the sort of jeering, hyena-like way that little boys have when they wish to be particularly obnoxious to their elders, and Pauline, aged three, was alternately bawling and screeching complaints against her brother. It did not take a genius to understand that he had been teasing her—always a favorite sport with big brothers. It was also apparent to Christine that the nurse was going to be quite unable to cope with the situation unless someone came to her assistance quickly.

  Christine strode off in the direction of the second carriage.

  “Phillip,” she said, smiling brightly at him and preparing to lie through her teeth, “the funniest thing just happened! Do you see that very grand butler?” She pointed at his retreating back. “He asked me who the elegant gentleman in this carriage was. I suppose he mistook you for an adult. How do you like that!”

  Phillip seemed to like it very well indeed. He stepped down onto the terrace with all the airs of a jaded town dandy, and Christine leaned into the carriage and swept Pauline up into her arms.

  “We have arrived, my pet,” she said, flashing a grin at the nurse, who was cuddling a green-faced Pamela on her lap and looking harried and grateful. “And very soon now you are going to have a whole new nursery to explore. Will that not be exciting? I am almost
certain there are going to be other children there too—new friends for you.”

  Melanie and Bertie and the butler, she noticed with an inward grimace, had disappeared inside the house. But someone else had appeared from the opposite direction—a woman of bustling middle age who was obviously coming to take the children and their nurse inside by another door. Phillip inclined his head regally to her and informed her that the older of his two sisters was travel-sick and the younger was tired and their nurse would be obliged for her assistance.

  “What a perfect gentleman you are,” the woman said with an approving smile. “And so concerned for your sisters too.”

  Christine almost expected a halo to sprout out about his head.

  “I’ll take her, ma’am,” the woman said, reaching out her arms for Pauline while the children’s nurse descended slowly from the carriage with Pamela.

  But Pauline would not go. She clung tightly to Christine’s neck, pushing her bonnet slightly askew, buried her face in the hollow of Christine’s shoulder, and showed distinct signs of gathering up her flagging energies for a full-blown tantrum.

  “She is tired and feeling very strange,” Christine said. “I’ll bring her up to the nursery myself in a short while.”

  And she turned and hurried back to the front doors, which she half expected to find already shut and bolted against her. They were not. But as she stepped inside, she felt suddenly and horribly conspicuous and disheveled.

  She only half noticed her surroundings, but even half her attention was sufficient to make her aware that the entrance hall was vast and magnificent and medieval. There was a huge fireplace opposite the front doors, and in front of it and stretching almost the whole length of the hall was a great oak table surrounded by chairs. The ceiling was oak-beamed. The walls were whitewashed and hung with banners and coats of arms and weapons. To one side was an intricately carved wooden screen with a minstrel gallery above. At the other end was a wide staircase leading upward.