Linnet stared helplessly into her mother’s wistful face. “But what if what you want for me is not what I want for myself? I don’t think I’d want to live in a glittering, cosmopolitan world, or be a great political hostess. I’m an ordinary Yankee girl, and I can’t imagine being anything else.”
“Only because you’ve never thought about it.”
“I don’t have to think about it. I like my life as it is, and I want to marry someone who wants the same things I do.”
“I’m not giving up.” Helen’s green eyes took on a determined, ambitious gleam Linnet knew all too well. “If you’re not married by February, we’re going back to London for another season. Maybe some of the British gentlemen who admired you so much when we were there would seem more attractive to you with a second look. The Duke of Carrington, for example, or Lord Danville, or perhaps Sir Roger Oliphant. Or some new gentleman perhaps. Meanwhile . . .” She gave another nod to the three British men nearby. “There are possibilities right here in Newport.”
“Mother, you are impossible.” Exasperated by her mother’s singular talent for ruining any tender moment between them, Linnet turned her attention to the ballroom floor and strove to find a change of subject that wouldn’t lead to another fight.
“Oh, look,” she said, “there’s Davis MacKay dancing with Cicely Morton. I wonder if he’s at last worked up the nerve to ask for her hand? In her last letter to me, he hadn’t.”
But she was not destined to escape her mother’s machinations so easily. “Never mind Cicely Morton,” Helen whispered. “Featherstone is still watching you.”
“Is he?” Uninterested, she rose on her toes, trying to see over the people in front of her to better watch the dancers.
“Yes, indeed. It’s clear you’ve piqued his interest.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” she muttered without glancing in that direction. “I suspect what he admires most is my pocketbook.”
“I do hate seeing such cynicism from you, and based on what? You condemn Featherstone and every other peer because of one bad experience.”
“I am not doing any such thing. I’m forming a logical conclusion based on facts. Everyone knows the previous Lord Featherstone was a ne’er-do-well who spent Belinda Hamilton’s entire dowry before he died, so the present Lord Featherstone must be in desperate need of cash. I’ve no doubt he’s in America to embark on the same nefarious course his brother pursued, but as we have discussed so many times, I have no intention of rewarding a fortune hunter with my dowry.”
She cast a baleful glance at the subject of their conversation. “Heavens,” she muttered as she returned her attention to the dance floor. “If he intends to pursue an American heiress, he ought to at least be somewhat discreet about it. Why, I might be a pastry in a shop window the way he stares at me. It’s rude.”
“Of course he’s staring at you. Men stare at you everywhere you go. It’s obvious Featherstone appreciates what a beauty you are and what an excellent countess you would make.”
Having already had her romantic illusions shattered by just such a man two seasons ago, and having just departed England and its impoverished nobility in happy relief, Linnet could not imagine a worse fate than being married to that dark, hawklike reprobate across the room. Besides, she wanted to live here and enjoy the sort of the life she’d always had with a man she knew and understood, a man she could be certain cared for her, not her money. A man like Frederick.
She wasn’t in love with him as she’d been as a girl, but when she thought of the warmth in his eyes and the way he’d pulled her close, she knew she could fall for him again if she let it happen. And she knew now that he loved her. He could give her everything she wanted in life.
With that thought, any doubts she had about a rendezvous with him vanished. She would meet him in the pagoda, and she would accept his proposal. Daddy would agree to the match, of course, for unlike her mother, her father was no more eager to hand over hard-earned American cash to some British ne’er-do-well than she was. He’d made that clear ever since Conrath.
Once her father’s permission was obtained, she and Frederick would announce their engagement straightaway, perhaps even right here at this ball. That would put an end at last to her mother’s relentless campaign.
Linnet took another glance at her watch ring. It was five minutes to midnight. If she intended to go through with this, she didn’t have much time. She swallowed the last of her sherry, set the glass on a nearby table, and turned to her mother. “I fear I must withdraw for a few minutes.”
Those words and the meaningful glance she gave her parent were met with immediate understanding. “I’ll accompany you, dear.”
“That’s not necessary.” She heard the sharpness in her voice, and she took care to temper her next words. “I’m twenty-one, Mother,” she said, forcing a laugh. “I think I can manage a trip to the necessary by myself. Besides,” she added before her mother could argue, “if this Lord Featherstone is interested in making my acquaintance, you should remain here and obtain an introduction through Mrs. Dewey so that you can present me to him when I return, don’t you think?”
Helen beamed at her so happily that Linnet almost felt a twinge of guilt at her deception, but as her parent trundled off to find Mrs. Dewey, Lord Featherstone’s dark face caught her attention and banished any guilt about what she was doing.
The man was still watching her, and she turned her back, hoping soon the news of her engagement would stop this embarrassing scrutiny and wipe that cocksure smile off his face.
To meet Frederick, she would have to take a circuitous route, for The Tides, Mr. and Mrs. Prescott Dewey’s Newport house, was an enormous, sprawling structure. A pity she couldn’t exit through one of the French doors that opened onto the terrace, for that would have provided a direct route to the Chinese pagoda, but people were milling about on the terrace, and someone might see her slipping down to the gardens. Besides, she was supposed to be headed for the necessary.
She exited through the main doors, crossed the ballroom’s antechamber, and turned down the corridor that led to the ladies’ withdrawing room and adjoining bath. The corridor was empty, and with a quick glance over her shoulder to be sure no one was following, she sped past the withdrawing room, ducked down another hallway, traversed several more, and was at last able to exit the house by a little-used side door.
The electric lights that shone through the windows enabled Linnet to see as she made her way around the north wing, and as she started along the winding path that led down to the sea, the moon was bright enough to guide her to a little plateau tucked beneath the cliffs. There, just above the high-water mark, stood the pagoda, a dainty structure of lacquer red with a green tile roof. It was Mrs. Dewey’s favorite place to entertain in the afternoon, for the cliffs shielded her guests from the sun, and a wall of windows looked out over the boats the men of Newport loved to sail along the coast. It was the perfect place for a midnight rendezvous, for no one ever came here at night.
She turned the bronze dragon-head handle of the door, and as it swung noiselessly open, she saw Frederick standing at the other end of the long Oriental table, illuminated by the light of an oil lamp he must have brought from the house. He turned as she closed the door, and in the soft light, his boyish face took on an expression of pleasure and relief at the sight of her.
“Linnet.” He held out his hands, and she crossed the room to take them. Through the fabric of their gloves, his fingers felt warm and reassuring as they clasped hers. “You came.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
He gave her a disarming smile. “I wasn’t sure. It’s not as if you wear your heart on your sleeve, my dear.”
“Neither do you. At least . . .” She paused, feeling shy all of a sudden. “You never have before.”
“I know. Even I don’t understand what’s come over me. All I know is that when I saw you come in tonight, I couldn’t wait another hour to tell you how much I love and adore you. I
want to spend my life caring for you and making you happy. Linnet . . .”
He paused, and though she’d known proposing marriage was his intent, she still felt a thrill as he sank to one knee.
“Linnet, dearest Linnet, will you . . .” He paused again, but though the silence was agonizing, she relished it. This wasn’t the only offer of marriage she’d received since Conrath, but it was the first one since then that she wanted to accept.
But the proposal never came. Instead, another male voice spoke, one that was deeply shocked and unmistakably British.
“Oh, I say!”
Even before she turned, Linnet could make a fair guess to whom that drawling, well-bred voice belonged, and when she looked over her shoulder, she found her awful suspicion confirmed by the sight of Lord Featherstone standing in the doorway, his hand still on the handle of the door.
“I’m so sorry.” His dark eyes widened in a pretense of innocence, but his knowing smile made short shrift of both his innocent air and his apology. “Have I interrupted an enchanted moment?”
Chapter 3
“You!” Chagrined and dismayed, Linnet stared into the amused dark eyes of the man in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s such a beautiful night, I decided to take a walk.” Lord Featherstone’s gaze moved to Frederick as the other man rose from his knees. “And a good thing I did, too. Otherwise, who knows what might have happened?”
“Walk, my eye,” she muttered. “You followed me.”
“I did,” he answered without looking at her, “though it wasn’t really necessary to do so. I’ve been staying at The Tides long enough to know this is the ideal place to choose if a man wishes to compromise a lady.”
“That’s enough.” Frederick took a step forward. “This is a private conversation. Leave at once.”
Lord Featherstone propped one shoulder against the door frame. “I don’t believe I will,” he said, folding his arms across his wide chest.
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Linnet burst out. “I am not being compromised.”
“Granted,” he went on in blithe indifference to her denial, “I’m not all that familiar with the nuances of American etiquette, but I’ve been in your country long enough to know that the rules are pretty much the same here as they are on my side of the pond. No gentleman with honorable intentions would ask a young lady to meet him in this clandestine fashion.”
“I said, that’s enough!” Frederick shouted, and Linnet glanced at him in some surprise as he moved to stand beside her. She’d never known Frederick to be so out of temper. Still, given the circumstances, he certainly had cause. It was clear Featherstone was needling him on purpose and taking great delight in doing so.
“What, did I touch a nerve?” the earl asked, smiling. “Or do you intend to claim that luring a young lady out for a midnight assignation is an honorable course?”
Frederick’s lips pressed tight together. His nostrils flared, and his fists clenched at his sides. But when he spoke, his voice was calmer. “You’re sailing very close to the wind, Featherstone.”
“On the contrary, I believe it’s you who’s sailing close to the wind these days, old chap. Tuesday is, what, three days away?”
The flush in Frederick’s cheeks paled to chalky white at those words, and Linnet knew there was more at stake here than notions of honor.
“What does he mean?” she asked, looking from Frederick to Lord Featherstone and back again. “Frederick, what is happening on Tuesday?”
She watched as the man beside her worked to keep his control. His fists opened, and his shoulders relaxed, and when he turned to her, his face had regained its color and bore its usual expression of good-natured forbearance. “I have no idea what he’s talking about, dearest.”
“No?” Featherstone shrugged. “Given that you arranged this little rendezvous with Miss Holland, I thought certain you’d already been informed about Tuesday. My mistake.”
With those light, careless words, Linnet’s temper flared. She didn’t know what he was talking about, but she didn’t care. Accepting a marriage proposal was one of the most important moments of a girl’s life, and for her, that moment was being ruined by this ill-mannered stranger. “You speak of the conduct of gentlemen,” she said, “but as Frederick pointed out, this is a private conversation. Any gentleman who intruded upon such a circumstance would leave the moment he was asked to do so.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded at once. “But despite my title, I fear I have never been much of a gentleman. As a man, however . . .” He paused, returning his attention to Frederick. “As a man, I would never dream of using a woman to gain my own ends.”
“You bastard.” Frederick once again started forward, and Linnet put a hand on his arm to stop him. “No, don’t,” she pleaded. “He’s just needling you. Ignore him.”
Frederick drew a deep breath. “You’re right, of course,” he said, and turned toward her. “Why let him ruin things? After all,” he added, once again grasping her hands in his, “we’re almost there. I’ve already told you my mind, and I believe I know yours as well—”
“Presumes to know your mind, does he?” Featherstone interjected with amusement. “How long before he tells you what thoughts need to be in it?”
Linnet kept her attention on the man before her. “Go on, Frederick,” she urged. “We’ll just pretend he isn’t here.”
He nodded. “I realize this all must seem a bit sudden to you, but—”
“A bit?” the earl echoed. “I should say so. He’s being so impetuous, isn’t he? And it’s so unlike him. Perhaps before you give him an answer, Miss Holland, you should ask him why he’s in such a hurry.”
Even as she tried to tell herself not to listen to the interfering, impudent man in the doorway, Linnet felt a tiny glimmer of uncertainty. This behavior was uncharacteristic of Frederick. And what had Featherstone meant about Tuesday?
“Though perhaps you don’t want to know his reasons,” the earl went on. “American girls are so romantic about marriage, inclined to rush in headlong, thinking it’s all about love, when sometimes, it’s really about—”
“Shut your mouth!” Frederick let go of her hands, turned, and started toward the earl.
“And if I don’t?” Featherstone unfolded his arms, straightened away from the door frame, and took a step forward as the other man approached him. “What will you do?”
Frederick stopped, still a few feet away, and Linnet heard him take a deep, steadying breath. “As much as I’d like to take you down a notch or two, it would be unthinkable to brawl in front of a lady.”
“My, such chivalry.” Featherstone laughed, a low, deep laugh of unmistakable mockery. “Or perhaps it’s just cowardice.”
This taunt proved too much even for Frederick to bear. With a roar of outrage, he took the last few steps and struck out with his fist, but the earl ducked, evading the blow. In the same instant, his own fist came up, catching Frederick hard under the chin, sending him stumbling backward. Two more lightning strikes, one straight beneath his ribs and the other hard to the jaw, and Frederick hit the wall behind him. He sank to the floor beside a lavish Oriental screen.
“Oh, no.” Linnet hurried forward as he slumped sideways to the ground. “Frederick, are you all right?”
He didn’t answer, and when she knelt beside him, he didn’t stir. When she touched his shoulder, he didn’t open his eyes.
The tap of footsteps had her looking up as Featherstone circled around the end of the long dining table. “He’s unconscious.”
The earl didn’t spare more than the briefest glance at the unmoving figure on the floor. “He’ll be all right.”
“You knocked him out!”
“So I did.” Featherstone tugged at his cuffs and straightened his white bow tie. “A most gratifying experience.”
Anger washed over her in a hot flood, and she rose, facing him beside Frederick’s prone body. “You did this on purpose for some despicable reason of y
our own. This wasn’t about protecting a woman’s honor at all. I just provided the excuse for you to make him lose his temper so you could strike him.”
Featherstone didn’t deny it. “Well, he’s such an ass, he makes the temptation irresistible. And it’s so easy to provoke him, too, rather like taking candy from a baby.”
“But far more immoral.”
Something hard glittered behind the amusement in those dark eyes. “I am not the immoral party in this situation, Miss Holland, trust me.”
“Trust you?” Linnet raked an icy glance over him, making no effort to hide her disdain. “I would sooner trust a snake.”
“Poor choice of words given the circumstances, I admit.” He flashed her a grin that only slightly softened the hardness of his gaze. “But nonetheless, let me assure you that Frederick Van Hausen is not worthy of your defense. Or your hand in marriage, for that matter.”
“That was not for you to decide.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Why?” she demanded in baffled fury. “Why would you do this? You don’t even know me.”
“No.” He paused, and his grin vanished as he glanced with obvious contempt at the unconscious man on the floor. “But I know him.”
“Because of a few short weeks’ acquaintance in Newport?”
“It’s a longer acquaintanceship than that, Miss Holland. I first met Mr. Van Hausen almost a year ago.”
At that new information, Linnet felt another glimmer of uneasiness, but she pushed it aside. “And I’ve known Frederick my entire life. I would say I am a far better judge of his character than you are.”
Catch a Falling Heiress: An American Heiress in London Page 4