She hadn’t run away, taking all her guests with her?
“Oh, and she says thank you for being a hero and holding up the tent and that she’ll be certain all the ladies know how brave and strong you are,” Hugh finished triumphantly. “Although I think any of us could have held a tent pole.”
How did the damned woman do it? She had air for brains if she thought he was a hero or she was the impetus for catastrophe, but she still miraculously held the damned tea party in her dainty hands. He was almost ready to believe in magic.
Theo ruffled the boy’s hair. “Go try it and see what happens when the next storm blows through.”
“Maybe next year.” He ran off toward the merchants closing up their food carts.
A hero. The lady thought he, the socially inept bookworm, was a hero.
Or a sapskull who would believe her flattery—the lady did tend to embroider the truth upon occasion.
In either case, he knew his duty. If she’d gathered the party, he had to attend and do his damndest to choose a wife.
Africa was looking more promising. What would the stars look like down there?
Eighteen
Standing in the refurbished drawing room, surrounded by elegant guests waiting for their host, Aster felt her smile falter at the introduction of still another Ives gentleman—who wasn’t Theo—into the party. This gentleman brought two small children.
Apparently Iveston had few footmen guarding the doors because the household welcomed anyone at any time. She refrained from rolling her eyes at this insight.
Her female guests eagerly assessed the handsome older Ives standing in the entrance—they were there because they were interested in marriage, after all. And admittedly, the curly-haired tots were adorable.
Uninterested in acquiring a husband, Aster more pragmatically checked for a wife, a nanny, or a nursemaid to handle the children clinging to the newcomer’s boots—but of course, there was none. Ives simply did not keep women about. She was starting to accept their peculiarity.
Distinguished, with just a touch of silver threading his black hair, the uninvited guest smiled deprecatingly as Aster broke free from her guests to greet him.
“My apologies for interrupting Theo’s tea party, but the nanny quit, and I’ve an important appointment in Brighton on the day after tomorrow. I was hoping there would be a maid who could look after the twins for a few days.”
Aster opened her mouth but words failed to emerge. After the muddy fete fiasco, she’d just spent the last hour frantically preventing her guests from fleeing to the city. She had instructed maids and housekeepers in the fine art of cleaning silks, drying shawls, and scrubbing slippers so her guests could converse in comfort. And now he wanted a nanny?
She didn’t even know who he was!
As if summoned by her distress, Jacques materialized at her side. “Pascoe! Come to look over the bride selection? Lady Azenor here has provided some prime choices. I might even consider the wedded state, if they weren’t all smarter than me.”
Aster didn’t believe in having vapors, but she thought she might acquire the talent if she must deal with Ives impropriety for much longer. It seemed far simpler than instructing the heathens on basic etiquette.
Rather than introduce herself, she crouched down to take small hats from the silent, wide-eyed children. “Do you like biscuits?” she asked.
At their eager nods, she summoned one of her new footmen to lead them to the kitchen. Theo’s younger brother Erran sauntered up to smack the newcomer on the back in male greeting. More elegantly dressed than any of the other brothers she’d met, Erran had an odd habit of not speaking. He stayed true to form now.
Having caught her breath and recovered some of her equilibrium, she rose to the occasion. With the men looking on her in bemusement, she held out her hand to the stranger. In her haughtiest teacher tones, she announced, “I am Lady Azenor Dougall, daughter of the earl of Lochmas. Lord Theophilus asked me to hostess this party for him. And you are?” she prompted when no one seemed inclined to do more than gawk.
“Our Uncle Pascoe Ives,” Jacques hurried to explain. “He exports and does something official in government.”
Ah, another one of the illegitimate branches. She recognized the name.
Mr. Ives bowed over her hand. “My pleasure, my lady. I’ve heard much about you. I don’t suppose you produce nannies by magic?”
Sigh, another reference to her witchy ancestry. What was it with these rude men?
Thankfully, Lord Theo finally descended the front stairs—at a dangerously masculine clip—before she had time to compose a retort. Theo’s hair was still damp, but he’d apparently located his valet. His brown muffler was precisely tucked into his chocolate brown coat, which fit impeccably to emphasize his naturally broad shoulders and slim hips.
Aster thought her eyes would roll back in her head at sight of the tight-fitting buff trousers accentuated by his high-waisted frock coat and gold waistcoat. She had to forcibly drag her gaze down to inspect his polished black pumps, complete with small spurs. He was appropriately dressed for an informal country afternoon in a manner that would make any red-blooded woman swoon.
While she wondered if one could recommend valets for medals, the men were tossing greetings over her head. And the ladies in the drawing room had quit any pretense of sipping tea and were riveted by the spectacle of so many Ives males gathered in one place.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Aster led the gentlemen into the salon, offering tea and introductions. Dr. Joseph was already there, along with one or two other gentlemen whom Theo had suggested. Congratulating herself on averting the disaster the storm had almost wreaked, Aster separated Theo from the herd so he might meet his prospective brides. She simply wouldn’t think about nannies. That wasn’t part of the task at hand. She must stay away from children at all cost.
“There was a stout female wearing something green,” Theo whispered. “She petted the cows and didn’t run screaming. Which one is she?”
“Besides my Aunt Nessie?” she asked in exasperation, gesturing at her aunt, garbed in green stripes, sitting beside the fire, gossiping with the other companions.
“Half a dozen guests are wearing green, including me, and I don’t recognize stout.” Probably because she herself wasn’t of the graceful slenderness of women like her cousin Emilia. Once upon a time she had fretted over her looks, but now that she knew she wasn’t destined to marry, her shape seemed no longer relevant.
Aster gestured at a woman casting them interested glances. “Elizabeth might be cow-witted enough to pet a rampaging wild animal.”
“Cows are placid beasts, not wild animals. And she seemed to be calming them down, which seemed like a better reaction than screaming.” He shot her a pointed look.
Aster shrugged off his disapproval. “I scream when people are stampeded or I am in jeopardy of being buried alive in a collapsing tent. If Hugh did not tell you, you are my hero for averting that disaster.” She led him toward Elizabeth, a lovely young woman with big eyes and a gorgeous complexion, if not a stylishly skinny figure. “I am not accustomed to rustic pursuits.”
“I’d rather not be,” he said grimly. “Cows are Dunc’s interest, not mine.”
He smiled and bowed as Aster introduced him. “Miss Warrington’s home is near Oxford,” she continued after the introductions. “She is an animal lover who has provided me with some of my lovely kitties.”
Aster discovered she was gritting her teeth and tried to smile as if she were actually pleased that Lord Theo had finally expressed an interest in a more suitable candidate.
“The cowth were motht lovely, milord,” Miss Warrington simpered, batting her lashes. “My father raitheth pigth.”
It was at that disastrous moment, as Theo struggled to suppress his horror, that Aster recognized the error of their ways. Lord Theo might claim he’d marry any Friday-faced female who could help him with his duties, but the intellectual scientist had failed to men
tion that he really did not wish to spend his life discussing farm animals. And she had learned that despite his social unease, he enjoyed articulate conversation, which even she must admit, was not easy with Miss Warrington, whose affected lisp intensified with nervousness.
What he needed and what he wanted were of opposing qualities.
Daunted by the discovery, Aster searched the room for someone who might better suit his conflicting needs. Her cousin Emilia had arrived a little while ago and was now talking animatedly to Theo’s impoverished—mute—lawyer brother. Emilia was an excellent conversationalist—when she wasn’t buried in her studies. But she had even less interest in cows and tenants than Aster.
Deirdre was already affianced. Briana . . . was simply too young and effervescent. Theo and his burdens would crush her happy nature. Surely they must have older guests who were articulate. Desperately, Aster began counting through them for the most suitable . . . .
Until she saw Aunt Nessie petting her kitten by the fire. Theo’s aging basset had taken its favorite place on the hearth, and Aster’s lungs quit functioning. She held a hand to her chest and tried to catch her breath and not panic.
Always on the alert for catastrophe, she recognized the potential straightaway. She had foolishly involved too many of her family in this occasion and allowed them too close to her. What on earth had she been thinking?
She couldn’t leave. She had to send her family away before the roof caved in. Surely, Bree and Dee would understand. They had been willing to stay away from the fete. Emilia . . . would have to decide for herself. Her cousin really did need a husband.
First, she must deal with the imminent disaster of Nessie and the kitten. Leaving Theo looking lost and harassed, she hurried across the enormous medieval hall . . .
But not in time. A squeal of toddler excitement echoed through the door of the dining room on the east side where the buffet was set up.
Boyish laughter and puppy yips resounded from the corridor through the north door.
By the fire, the kitten tensed in Nessie’s lap. The hound looked up warily.
Aster couldn’t divide herself into three pieces and rush three different directions.
In their slightly damp and bedraggled silks and laces, her guests appeared oblivious to impending pandemonium. They were chattering with handsome, eligible gentlemen, and sipping excellent tea. They were enjoying the feast produced by a happy cook—who had been assured his meal would inspire a new mistress to organize the household. Even the servants were praying for Theo to find a wife and return stability to a home that had been upended by the marquess’s tragedy.
And the whole charade was about to descend into the usual Ives anarchy that would drive their elegant guests screaming from the Hall, never to return. It only needed goats.
Aster swallowed her panic and acted quickly. She snatched the anxious kitten from Nessie’s lap just as two pairs of twins raced in two separate doors, hands full of food, chasing after escaping spaniels and puppies—and a tiny goat. At least, Aster thought it was a goat as she clutched the terrified kitten and froze in horror with utterly no idea how to halt a herd of rampaging creatures.
The aging basset howled a protest at the intrusion on his private domain and trampled the frilly hem of Aster’s gown.
Locating this new source of amusement, the other dogs instantly raced toward the fire and the basset . . . .
And Aster. And the kitten.
***
Theo watched in abject dismay as the polite party exploded with the force of a celestial supernova—playing out his worst nightmare. Hysterical ladies screamed, dodged, and spilled their tea onto their fancy gowns as the dogs and brats—and damned kid—crashed past them. William, of course, was nowhere in sight to rein in his pack of howling hounds. And Pascoe was on the wrong side of the room to stop his giggling tots from chasing the puppies straight toward Lady Azenor . . . and the fire.
Theo dropped his cup and dashed across the new carpet, shoving aside his guests as Hog howled and leapt from the hearth—knocking over his hostess with the kitten. At the same time, the baby goat leaped for her arms and apparent safety from the dogs.
Assailed on both sides from dog and goat, Lady Azenor toppled, wailing as she hit the floor. The kitten leapt free and ran for the new draperies, followed by the pack of puppies and spaniels. The goat lingered to nibble a bit of lace. Theo feared the lady had skipped hysterics and gone directly to fainting when she did not immediately arise.
Appalled at the sight of embers from the fire igniting Azenor’s frilly hem, he leapt over Hog and a spaniel in his effort to reach the far side of the room, while her aunt screeched and stamped her feet futilely from the chair.
Horrified, all the adults froze in place. Or so it seemed to Theo as animals and children raced past him in the wrong direction.
Apparently conscious but dazed, Azenor rose up on her elbows, as yet unaware of the expanding fire. Dodging the goat, Theo shouted a warning as she grabbed the arm of a chair to pull herself upright . . . and her frilly blue skirt swirled, feeding the fire.
Spinning around to see what he shouted about, she shrieked. All the ladies around her shrieked. Her aunt dumped the dregs of her tea on the flames. Azenor attempted to rip off her hem, succeeding only in setting her aunt’s knee robe on fire. The flames inched toward her stout aunt, who shoved back her armchair to escape the encroaching conflagration.
Reaching the hearth, Theo caught Azenor’s waist and held her still while he ruined his new pumps and fancy trousers stomping flames. More ladies rushed to dump their tea on the last embers.
Aware that Pascoe and his brothers had grabbed crying toddlers and shouting twins, Theo angrily dismissed the lot of them once he had the flames out. Let the whole damned house come down on their heads. Let Duncan crawl out of his cave to find out if they were being massacred. Theo had what he wanted—shivering and shaking—in his arms, and he didn’t intend to let go this time.
He’d even take the hysterics. He was done with hunting a bride.
Azenor pounded his shoulders as he carried her and her scorched skirts away from the fray and up the stairs. She wasn’t screaming anymore, he noted with satisfaction. She was swearing and trying to beat him into pulp. He could handle that better than weeping and vapors.
Let his damned brothers manage the guests and the dogs and their own damned brats. He was learning that handling responsibility was all about priorities, and right now, the lady was his.
She’d told him once that he was a man who acted first and thought later. Theo was damned fine with that. He carried her into the upper salon at the top of the stairs, slammed, and locked the door.
Then, while she struggled in his arms, he held her tight in relief that she was safe—and with a desire that he no longer meant to control. He kissed her beautiful soft lips until she quit beating him up, grabbed his neck, and kissed him back—as if she really needed him as much as he did her.
Theo closed his eyes and absorbed the heavenly bliss of lush curves and passionate lips. She smelled like apple pie and spice, and he wanted to eat her up in lewd ways that would undoubtedly send her shrieking into the sunset. But for just this one moment, he lost himself in pleasure and let the thunderous chaos of his home fade away.
The beautiful, wondrous lady clung to his neck, making him feel necessary, a notion he’d never encountered. In joy and relief, he dropped her feet to the floor so he could crush closer. She let him press her back against the door and explore her silky skin with his kisses. And when he finally cupped the perfect curve of her breast, she moaned and eagerly pushed into him, until his trouser placket threatened to pop its buttons.
He had her burnt skirts rucked half way up her delightful leg, revealing dainty lace garters and muddy stockings, when heavy fists resounded against the door.
“What the devil is going on down there?” the marquess roared.
That blind, lame Ashford had deigned to totter out of his suite and traverse the enti
re corridor shocked both of them into parting.
The din of barking dogs, crying children, and shrill female voices clamored in the distance. But it was the man pounding the door who demanded their full attention.
Azenor’s big blue eyes were shining with pleasure—and dimming with growing awareness. “How did he know where we are?” she whispered.
“It’s the only door not too warped to slam,” Theo said with regret. He hadn’t realized it would finally drag Duncan out of his lair.
Theo wouldn’t let the lady shoulder any of the blame for his appalling behavior. He caught her waist, and holding her possessively at his side, opened the door.
Both of their stunned families and half the guests streamed up the stairs, summoned by Duncan’s bellows.
Theo’s heart sank to his gut—until he remembered the rest of his useless company was probably rushing for the front door and safety. Theo glared at the slender female in purple shooting him with accusation, then at his brothers and Pascoe, who appeared intrigued now that they knew the marquess wasn’t in any danger.
“I am choosing a wife,” Theo told them with as much dignity as he could summon considering his current disheveled and aroused state. “The lot of you can go hang yourselves.” He slammed the door and locked it again.
This wasn’t how he’d planned marriage, but after today, word of Ives anarchy would spread through half the kingdom. He’d tried the socially acceptable method of choosing a wife. Now he’d try it his way.
Azenor yanked from his hold and hurried to put the length of the salon between them. Not precisely the best start for his proposal.
She held her elbows as if she were about to fly to pieces. “I cannot be your wife,” she asserted angrily. “That is inviting disaster. Has this day taught you nothing? I thought an Ives would be safe enough from me, but . . .”
“But you care too much, correct?” Theo asked in triumph. “You only harm people you care about, you said.” He swung his arm to indicate the cacophony of barking dogs, shouting men, and crying children. “And this is how I live. This is not disaster, it’s my life.”
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