And the surprises didn’t stop there. Sedgemere’s kiss intrigued, offering contradictions and complexities, like a business opportunity in a foreign culture. His kiss was confident without being arrogant, gentle without being chaste, ardent but respectful, intimate without presuming.
Anne would be a lifetime analyzing one kiss that for Sedgemere had probably been an unremarkable moment in a life of casual privilege and sophistication. He’d not even smiled at her, but rather, had handed her up into the coach, tipped his hat, and wished her safe journey.
“We’re coming to the gates,” Effie said. “Thank the Almighty, we’re finally coming to the gates.”
“Effie, you’ve never traveled in such comfort as you have the past three days,” Anne said, for once the Duke of Sedgemere’s first team of coaching horses had been put to, the hostlers at subsequent inns had replaced them with further loans of Sedgemere horses. Meals had arrived to Anne’s rooms hotter and faster. Her chambers had been the best the premises had to offer.
The woman who became Sedgemere’s duchess would have a lovely life, in some particulars.
“Traveling is traveling,” Effie harrumphed. “And now we’re to deal with the staff of a duke and duchess. Mark me, miss, they’ll want their vales and be as high in the instep as the duke himself.”
Veramoor’s estate lay in the Lakes, snuggled right up against the Whinlatter forest. Anne had enjoyed the scenery, which was unlike even the sweeping green landscape of the Dales. She did not enjoy the prospect of the next two weeks. Communication with Papa would be difficult, for she’d brought only so many pigeons.
And Veramoor had doubtless invited a number of bachelor earls, for he and his duchess fancied themselves matchmakers.
“My, my, my,” Effie whispered, gawking out the window. “It’s a bloomin’ palace, miss. You’ll need a ball of twine to keep from getting lost between the bedroom and the breakfast parlor.”
The façade was majestic, a massive Baroque structure that put Anne in mind of the Howard family seat in Yorkshire. Two enormous wings projected from a central dome, the whole approached by a long drive that ended in a broad carriageway encircling a fountain.
Thus did dukes live. The grandeur of Veramoor House was a reproach to any banker’s daughter who longed for more kisses from chance-met dukes. Papa could afford such a dwelling, but neither he nor Anne would know what to do with it.
“I was wrong,” Effie said as the carriage drew to a halt. “You’ll need six balls of twine, miss. Promise you won’t leave without me. If I get lost, there’s no chance of anybody finding me in this palace.”
“You’ll be given a map, Effie,” Anne said, as a liveried footman opened the carriage door and flipped down the steps. “And I won’t leave without you.”
Effie might not be the only person Anne knew, but she’d definitely be the only person Anne could trust here.
Inside the house, Anne was greeted by the duchess, a petite, fading redhead with snapping blue eyes. Despite the grandeur of the entrance hall, Her Grace commanded the entire cool, soaring space, ordering footmen this way, porters the other.
“Oh, my dear Miss Faraday,” Her Grace said, taking Anne by both hands. “You are the image of your mama. May I call you Anne? You must not call me Margot, alas, or the other ladies will be scandalized, but your mama called me Margot long ago. She talked me into trying a cigar the year she made her bow, and I—a sensibly married woman at the time—have never been so sick in all my days.”
The duchess’s tone was welcoming, her grasp warm and firm, and yet, she was warning Anne too. Special favor might be shown, but Anne must not presume.
Not that she would, ever. She’d kissed a passing duke by chance and for three days, been plagued by his memory. Missed him even, when she’d yet to spend more than two hours in his company.
“I had not heard this about my mother,” Anne said. “You must tell me more when time allows.”
“Harrison will show you to your rooms,” Her Grace said, “but before the mob descends, you’ll take tea with me, won’t you? I’ll send a footman to collect you in an hour or so, and your maid can sneak in a nice lie-down. Will that suit?”
The Duchess of Veramoor would not have taken three days to deal with matters at Waterloo. She’d have dispatched the Corsican by noon on the first day and been entertaining callers for luncheon thereafter, not a hair out of place.
“Tea would suit wonderfully, Your Grace. My thanks.”
Sedgemere’s teams must have made good time, because Harrison, an underhousekeeper, told Anne she was among the first to arrive. Most of the guests would be along as the day progressed, with more arriving tomorrow.
“And there are always stragglers.” Harrison was a tall blonde who moved at a brisk pace, a set of keys jangling at her waist, a touch of Ireland in her words. “Her Grace never plans much for the first day, but we’ve high hopes for this year’s gathering.”
Anne had high hopes she’d be allowed to snatch a nap before her tea with the duchess. “I’m sure we’ll all have a lovely time.”
Until the gentlemen arrived and started bothering the maids, drinking too much, making inane wagers, and ogling Anne’s bosom.
“Our record is four engagements,” Harrison said, unfastening her keys. “That was three years ago, and one of them doesn’t really count because it was Their Graces’ youngest. Gave us a start, that one did, but she’s wed happily enough and is expecting her second. Do you fancy any particular gentlemen?”
Merciful days. Longing shot through Anne’s weariness, yearning for a quiet, fragrant walled garden, and a duke who was brusque, kind, and a surprisingly adept kisser.
“I beg your pardon?” Anne managed.
“Their Graces pride themselves on knowing when a couple might suit,” Harrison said, thrusting a key into a lock. “They make up the guest list with the young people in mind, if you take my meaning. Her Grace says I talk too much, but you seem like the sensible sort.”
“Thank you, though right now I’m the tired and dusty sort. This is a lovely room.”
Early afternoon light flooded a cozy sitting room, one appointed in blue-and-gilt flocked wallpaper, blue and white carpets, blue velvet upholstered furniture, and bouquets of red and white roses. The impression was restful and elegant, and the blue and white decorating scheme carried into an airy adjoining bedroom.
“Her Grace puts her special guests on this corridor,” Harrison said. “You have the best views and the most quiet. The bell pull is near the privacy screen, and a tray will be sent along shortly. We’ll have a buffet tonight. Guests gather at seven in the blue gallery. Any footman or maid can give you directions.”
No balls of twine, alas. Harrison went bustling on her way, Effie disappeared to locate Anne’s trunks, and for the first time in days, Anne was in the midst of complete silence.
So, of course, memories of Sedgemere’s kiss resonated only more loudly. Of his gloved hand cupping her cheek, his tongue brushing over her bottom lip, his leg insinuated between her thighs.
“If I’m to have only one forbidden kiss in my life, that one will at least linger in memory until I forget my own name,” Anne murmured. She twitched a lacy curtain back and cracked open the window. Her room overlooked the side of Veramoor House that faced the stables, magnificent buildings that might well have been lodging for another titled family.
Carriage houses sat beside the stables, and green paddocks stretched behind them up to the slope of the woods. A woman of artistic talent would gorge herself on views like this, while Anne’s imagination went to the expense of such a facility.
That too had been in Sedgemere’s kiss, a sense of wealth leading back across the centuries, tens of thousands of acres of tradition and stability, not merely a pile of newly minted coins. Sedgemere’s kiss spoke of resources so vast, the man with title to them could dispense with time in any manner he saw fit, even if that meant indulging in a pointless kiss with a woman who should not have presumed on his t
ime, much less his person.
“I’m not sorry I did it,” Anne said. “I hope he’s not sorry either.”
Carriages tooled away from the main drive and over to the carriage houses, and grooms bustled about while porters transferred baggage to carts. Papa would need to know of Anne’s safe arrival, and he’d doubtless send her dispatches requiring immediate replies.
Anne allowed herself one more moment at the window, one more moment to inhale a breeze scented by the nearby forest, the extensive gardens, and the magnificent stables. This was what a duchess’s world smelled like of a summer, and it was lovely.
Another carriage made the trek from driveway to carriage houses, two horsemen riding ahead. The horses under saddle were beautiful animals, but their heads were down, their legs dusty. Both men dismounted, both took off their hats and gloves, both handed horses off to grooms.
Between one flutter of the lacy curtain and the next, Anne’s mind confirmed three things that her abruptly pounding heart already knew.
First, the tall gentleman with the moonlight-blond hair was Sedgemere.
Second, if Anne were prudent, she’d never ever be alone with him again.
Third, if she did happen to find herself private with the duke in the next two weeks, she’d be helpless not to kiss him again—every chance she got.
* * * * *
“I say we should have arrived late,” Hardcastle groused. “We ought to have tarried an extra day at Sedgemere, so you might have gone calling on a pretty neighbor in Yorkshire. But no, you are Sedgemere, so you heed no counsel save your own, and all creation must align itself for your convenience. You finally meet a woman who’s up to your mettle, and instead of bestirring yourself to pique her interest, you lend her the fastest teams in the realm to speed her away from your side.”
Hardcastle was nervous. Next he’d be spouting Latin, for that was how Hardcastle coped with the anxieties a bachelor duke must never exhibit before others.
“I say we needed to arrive early,” Sedgemere replied, because short of Latin, a good argument settled Hardcastle’s nerves. “One wants to scout the territory, befriend the help, study the maps, as it were. Veramoor is all genial bonhomie, but do not turn your back on his duchess.”
“One doesn’t,” Hardcastle retorted, tugging at a cravat that had become dusty hours ago. “Not unless one is abysmally ill-mannered. What are you staring at?”
“Those are my blacks,” Sedgemere said as a team of four coach horses was led around to the carriage bays, where the harness would be removed, polished, and carefully hung. “I know my own cattle, and those are my blacks.”
“You must own two hundred black horses,” Hardcastle said, withdrawing a flask and uncapping it. “One set of equine quarters looks the same as another.”
“The heat has provoked you to blaspheming, and I know that team. I bought them from a Scottish earl not a year past, the first transaction I’ve done with the man. He brews a beautiful, lethal whisky.”
“All whisky is lethal. They are a handsome team.”
They were, in fact, a gorgeous team, for they confirmed that traveling the length of England with Hardcastle had not cost Sedgemere his few remaining wits. The coach from which the horses had been unhitched looked familiar because it was familiar.
When last Sedgemere had seen that coach, his entire being had yet been humming with the pleasure of having kissed the lady he’d just sent on her way at a tidy gallop.
“I do not care for that expression, Sedgemere,” Hardcastle said, using a wrinkled handkerchief to bat the dust from his hat. “That expression is bemused, as if you’re plotting mischief unbecoming of a gentleman. The last time I saw that expression, Headmaster nearly wore out his arm warming our little backsides.”
“It was worth it,” Sedgemere said. “We agreed the birching was worth seeing Lord Postlethwaite shorn of his flowing tresses for the rest of the term. Besides, what boy of eleven is vain about his hair, for God’s sake? Poodlethwaite had it coming.”
The nickname had been Hardcastle’s stroke of genius. Sedgemere had been the one to cut off his slumbering little lordship’s hair.
“Let’s greet our host and hostess, shall we?” Hardcastle said. “I’m for a soaking bath and a nap, and I daresay you could use some freshening as well.”
“Happens you’re right.” For as the handsome blacks were led away for a rubdown and some hours at grass, Sedgemere knew three things.
First, he would not present himself to Miss Faraday in all his dirt, though he would find her, and soon.
Second, he was a gentleman, so he must apologize for having kissed her.
Third, he most definitely would kiss her again, every chance he got.
* * * * *
“Those are children,” Anne said, half of her weariness falling away. “I didn’t realize the house party was to include children.”
“Their Graces have thirty-six grandchildren, though the duchess’s goal is one hundred,” Harrison said. “The children are always welcome at Veramoor House.”
Three little boys came to a halt facing Anne in the corridor. Each had flaming red hair, each carried a small valise.
“Ma’am,” the tallest said, executing a bow. The other two bowed as well, but as a unit. Twins, then, though their looks were not exactly identical.
“Gentlemen,” Anne said, curtseying. “Hello, I’m Miss Anne Faraday.”
The shorter two exchanged a look. The tallest switched his valise from one hand to the other. “You’re not Lady Anne? We only know ladies and servants.”
“That was rude, Ryland,” one of the twins said. “We know some commoner women who aren’t servants. They aren’t as pretty you though, ma’am.”
The footman who’d been herding the boys along the corridor cleared his throat. Harrison twitched at her keys.
“Thank you for the compliment,” Anne said to the shorter boy. “I am a commoner, but I’m also a guest at this house party. I hope you are too?”
The child who’d spoken not a word yet nodded and blushed, and because he was a redhead, his blush was brilliant, right to the tips of his ears.
“We’re to help protect Hardcastle from the mamas and debutantes,” Ryland said. “His Grace of Hardcastle told us so. I’m Alasdair, and this is Ralph and Richard. They’re lords too.”
More bows. Anne would explain proper introductions to them some time when two other adults weren’t looking pained and impatient, and a duchess wasn’t waiting tea on Anne.
“I am very pleased to meet you all,” Anne said. “I hope our paths cross again soon. Will you stay for the full two weeks?”
“Oh, yes,” Richard replied, “and we’re not to get dirty ever, and we’re to stay out of sight all the time, and we’re to behave, or Papa will make us write Latin until Michaelmas. I don’t see how we can help protect Hardcastle if we’re doing all this behaving and staying out of sight.”
The quiet boy, Ralph, spoke up in tones barely above a whisper. “Richard is l-logical. Papa is logical too.”
Alasdair swatted Ralph’s arm. “Ralph is our lexicon, when he talks at all.”
Something quacked in the vicinity of Ralph’s valise. Harrison’s keys fell silent. The footman’s eyebrows climbed nearly to the molding.
“I daresay you’re all three tired and hungry,” Anne said. “Best get up to the nursery soonest.”
“Of course,” the footman said, marching off. “Come along, your lordships.”
“A pleasure to have met you,” Anne said, curtseying as deeply as if they were three little dukes.
Alasdair, who was apparently burdened with a courtesy title already, bowed, followed by his brothers.
“Likewise, ma’am. Have a pleasant stay. Will you help us protect Hardcastle? Papa says friends look out for one another, and Hardcastle is my god-papa.”
“He’s quite fond of us too,” Richard said. “He said so, anyway, and Papa didn’t correct him.”
For small children, these three could
be quite serious, putting Anne in mind of…
Oh, merciful days. Hardcastle was Sedgemere’s friend, and these were Sedgemere’s boys. The blue eyes shaded closer to periwinkle rather than frozen sky, the noses were understated compared to His Grace’s, but the earnestness, the gravity was already there.
“Assisting you to look out for the Duke of Hardcastle will be my special privilege,” Anne said. “Do you see that door there, with the two birds on it? That is my room, and you may seek me there before supper if you have need of me. I’ll know I can find you in the nursery.”
Another quack issued from Ralph’s valise. He clutched his traveling case to his chest, expression panicked. Richard and Alasdair stepped in front of him, the eldest wearing a scowl worthy of a duke.
“Off with you,” Anne said, smiling brilliantly. “The Duchess of Veramoor is expecting me for tea, and I dare not disappoint her. Very pleased to have met you, gentlemen, and I look forward to seeing more of you.”
When the footman nearly dashed up the stairs, the boys bolted after him, while Anne stood listening to indignant quacking that boded wonderful adventures for the next two weeks.
* * * * *
“I ought to see to the boys,” Sedgemere said, though he’d rather accost an underbutler and bribe Miss Faraday’s location out of him.
At Sedgemere’s side, Hardcastle trudged up the stairs. “You ought to take a damned bath. Your fragrance is most un-ducal, Sedgemere. The boys will want a trip to the garden after having been cooped up in the coach all day, and they do not need you spouting lectures about cave quid dicis —well, hello, Miss Faraday.”
Beware what you say. Excellent advice at all times. Even knowing Miss Faraday was a guest at Veramoor House, Sedgemere wasn’t prepared for the sight of her right there on the first landing of the main staircase. He was dusty, disheveled, and, yes, sweaty, while she was comfortably elegant in lavender sprigged muslin.
She was also staring at his mouth and smiling a pleased, naughty smile.
“Your Graces, good afternoon,” she said, dipping a curtsey. “I believe I just had the pleasure of meeting your children, Sedgemere, and what delightful gentlemen they are.”
Once Upon A Dream Page 14