As was usually the case, there was no room for discussion, not even for Lady Eleanor.
Giving in to the inevitable, Bromwell dutifully started to stand while the earl hoisted himself to his feet. “On second thought, if I want it done properly, I had better attend to it myself. We wouldn’t want my coach to tip.”
Bromwell did not point out to his father that he had had no part in causing the accident, either through the improper storage of baggage or the mail, or by driving. Nor had he damaged the axel, put out the rock, or sent the dog running across the road.
“But I don’t…have a maid,” Lady Eleanor finished in a murmur as the Earl of Granshire marched out of the taproom like a soldier bound on an errand vital to the government of the realm.
Bromwell let out his breath in a sigh. “As you may have noticed, my father is the sort of fellow who won’t take no for an answer. If you don’t give in, he’s liable to demand why not and attempt to persuade you for the better part of the day.”
Lady Eleanor clasped her hands in her lap, looking pretty and vulnerable and uncertain all at once. “Since my godfather is gone from Bath, I’m grateful for his offer and gratefully accept.”
She flushed. “I hope you don’t think me a sinful wanton because of…because I…When you were leaving the room this morning, I thought we’d never see each other again.”
“Of course I excuse you,” he said. After all, how could he not, without condemning himself, too? “Just as I hope you don’t consider me a rakish cad.”
“No, and I’m sorry I said those things to you. Sadly, there are too many bad men in the world, and I was afraid to trust you.”
“And now?”
“And now, I believe I can.”
Feeling as if he was back on solid ground after being suspended and twisting in the wind, Bromwell smiled with relief. “Then let us assume our unusual behavior was due to the accident and begin anew.”
When she smiled in return, his body’s immediate and powerful response made a mockery of his determination to maintain his emotional distance. But he must, so he would, no matter how stimulated he was by her presence.
Her smile drifted away and a vertical line of worry creased her brow. “Unfortunately, there is one other problem, my lord. I don’t have a maid, or even proper clothes. Perhaps I should explain my circumstances to your father.”
“I think not,” Bromwell firmly replied even as he wondered what it would be like to try to kiss away that little wrinkle. “My father would no doubt say it’s your duty to obey your parents and write to your father at once. And as it happens, a friend of mine faced a similar situation not long ago, when the lack of a maid could have led to awkward questions and explanations. We shall tell my father that your maid has run off and taken most of your clothes with her.”
“You’d lie to your father?”
“In this instance, yes.” For your sake.
She didn’t seem quite convinced. “Won’t your father expect the authorities to be summoned if he thinks there’s been a robbery?”
“Not if I offer to take charge of the investigation. Even if he doubts my competence, he’ll be happy not to be bothered with such matters.”
She stared at him with wide-eyed surprise. “Surely he can’t doubt your competence after all you’ve done, the places you’ve been, the dangers you’ve faced and survived?”
He was pleased that she was so surprised and thought so highly of him; even so, he answered honestly. “As you heard, he can and he does. However, the important thing is that you’ll be safe at Granshire until your godfather returns.”
Her green eyes sparkling like emeralds, Lady Eleanor finally acquiesced. “Very well, my lord. I shall accept your father’s generous invitation and—woe is me!—my abigail has run off with my clothes!”
Riding in the earl’s fine coach should have been enjoyable, for the weather was fine, the vistas lovely, the coach well sprung and the seats upholstered in thick silk damask and cushioned with horsehair. Nell had a whole side to herself and, with Lord Bromwell across from her, the journey could even have been quite entertaining. She’d always liked to read histories of Britain, and she was sure a learned man like Lord Bromwell could tell her even more about this part of the country, and the Roman settlement and spa so close to Stonehenge.
Unfortunately, Lord Bromwell’s father was also in the coach. Worse, he apparently felt silence in a coach some kind of sin, so he talked the whole way while they were forced to listen, trapped like flies in a web. He complained about the sorry state of the roads, the exorbitant cost of building supplies, the inefficiency of the mail, the generally terrible government and the difficulty in finding good servants.
Once she caught Lord Bromwell’s eye and gave her companion-in-captivity a sympathetic smile, but that proved to be something of a mistake, for his eyes brightened and his full lips began to lift, instantly reminding her that he was a very attractive man who kissed with passionate, consummate skill.
Blushing yet again, ashamed yet again of her wayward, lascivious thoughts, she turned her attention back to the boastful earl, who had now moved on to the subject of the renovations to his estate and his hall.
“The very finest situation in the county since I’ve rebuilt the house,” the voluble earl noted, as if he’d personally laid every brick. “The gardens were designed by Humphrey Repton. Cost a fortune, but worth every penny, I think you’ll agree.
“Nothing but the best for the earls of Granshire and their heirs, my lady. Yes, it’ll be a lucky young woman who marries my son, provided he can be persuaded to stop gallivanting all over the world after those insects.”
“As I’ve explained to you before, Father,” Lord Bromwell said with an air of long-suffering patience, “spiders are not insects.”
“All right, spiders,” the earl said. “Disagreeable things they are, too.”
Lord Bromwell opened his mouth, then closed it again and gazed silently out the window.
“While they can be a little unnerving up close,” Nell said, coming to their defence for his sake, “I understand most of them are harmless—and I’d rather come upon a spider than a wasp.”
She had her reward when Lord Bromwell looked at her as if she’d just announced she was Mother Nature and going to provide him with a sample of every spider in existence.
His father’s expression was only slightly less impressed. “So, you like spiders, my lady?”
While she was happy to help Lord Bromwell, or at least defend his interest, there was a significance in his father’s look and manner that was all too easy to understand, and that ought to be nipped in the bud.
“I can’t say I like them as much as your son,” she admitted with a bland smile, “but I suppose most people don’t like them as much as your son.”
“No, they do not,” the earl replied, as if Lord Bromwell wasn’t there. “He’d spend hours staring at them spinning webs in the stable or outbuildings when he was a boy. His mother and I thought he’d ruin his eyes.”
“Obviously he didn’t,” she said.
“And then he just about gets himself killed sailing off around the world looking for bu…spiders.”
“As I’ve also explained, Father,” Lord Bromwell said, and it was clear his patience was wearing thin, “there are things to be learned from nature and I want—”
His father waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not saying discovery isn’t all well and good, but leave it to those better suited to such deprivations, I say.”
Lord Bromwell’s ears turned red. “Perhaps we can discuss this later, Father. In private.”
The earl once more addressed Nell rather than his son. “He’s no doubt going to try to convince me to give him more money for his next expedition. We’ll just have to try to persuade him to stay in England, though, won’t we, my dear?”
As if she could, she thought.
And now, having met his father, she could more easily understand why Lord Bromwell might want to sail to t
he far ends of the earth.
“Father, why don’t you tell Lady Eleanor about the grotto?” Lord Bromwell suggested.
“Ah, yes, the grotto!” the earl exclaimed. “The latest thing, you see. Very charming and rustic. I’ve got a hermit, too. You’ll have to go and see him. Plays the pipes. Infernal noise, really, but very picturesque.”
Nell glanced at Lord Bromwell, who was looking out the window the way a prisoner in a dank cell might gaze at the sky through the bars, longing for freedom.
“I suppose, Lord Bromwell, that spiders like the grotto?”
With the suggestion of a smile on his face, he turned to address her. “As a matter of fact—”
“Spare us another lecture, my son,” the earl said as the coach turned off the main road and down a long, sweeping drive. “We aren’t the Royal Society—and soon you shall see something worth talking about, my lady.”
Lord Bromwell wasn’t the only occupant of the coach whose patience was wearing thin. “Many people are talking about your son’s book, my lord.”
Instead of looking proud or pleased, Lord Granshire frowned darkly. “Some parts of it anyway. Have you read it?”
“I’m sorry to say I have not.”
“Nor should you. Why Bromwell put in that nonsense about those savages—”
“Those savages are in some ways more civilized and humane than many a supposed gentleman I could name,” Lord Bromwell snapped, his tone so brusque and sharp, it was like a slap—something he seemed to realize at once. “Forgive me, my lady, but I fear too many ig—too many people have made similar comments, and I feel I must speak up for the maligned native peoples. Granted some of their customs may be difficult to understand, but many of ours are equally baffling to them. The handkerchief, for instance. They don’t understand why one would wish to collect—”
“Bromwell, have the goodness not to discuss bodily functions in mixed company!” his father ordered.
“I only wished to point out that—”
“Never mind that now,” his father dismissed. He gestured grandly toward his left and beamed at Nell. “Here is Granshire Hall.”
Nell looked out the window to see the drive curve in front of an imposing mansion of gray stone. It was indeed built in the latest style, with several tall windows and three stories. It had, she guessed, at least thirty bedchambers and who could say how many rooms on the main floor. There was also likely an army of servants to clean and maintain it.
“What do you think of it, my lady?” the earl asked proudly.
She wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but instead answered his question. “It’s very lovely. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more splendid home.”
The earl fairly purred with satisfaction as the coach rolled to a stop and a footman jumped down to open the door. Lord Bromwell got out first and extended his hand to help her.
The earl got down beside her, then, brushing aside his son, took her arm and led her into the magnificent country house. She managed a quick glance over her shoulder, to see the viscount speaking to the coachman as if he wasn’t a bit disturbed by his father’s behavior.
He was, she supposed, used to such treatment.
Inside the hall, she discovered more evidence that the earl’s boasts had not been empty bragging. The builders had used beautiful materials—Italian marble on the floors, and mahogany inlaid with lighter oak in the grand entrance hall and staircase. Ornate plasterwork on the ceiling surrounded an elaborate painting of a classical scene that quite took her breath away. She’d never seen so many half naked, fighting men depicted anywhere.
“The Battle of Thermopylae,” Lord Bromwell explained as he came up behind her. “My father admires the Spartans, although you’d never know it from his hall.”
“Fallingbrook!” the earl bellowed just as a stout man who had to be the butler came to stand almost at his elbow.
“Welcome home, my lord,” the butler said, after nodding a greeting at Lord Bromwell and giving him a grin that disappeared the instant the earl turned to him.
“See to my son’s baggage, Fallingbrook, and that of our guest, Lady Eleanor Springford, the daughter of the Duke of Wymerton. Tell Mrs. Fallingbrook her ladyship will be staying and requires the services of a maid, her own having absconded with most of her baggage.”
The middle-aged butler’s sandy brows rose. “Indeed, my lord?”
“Indeed. Servants are going to the dogs in this country, just like the government.” Lord Granshire turned to Nell and was just as suddenly all sweetness and light. “Fallingbrook will show you to your room.”
He turned back to the butler. “The green room for Lady Eleanor. Where’s the countess?”
“In her sitting room, my lord. She asked that Lord Bromwell come up as soon as possible.”
The younger man nodded and bowed to Nell and his father before trotting up the staircase and disappearing from view.
Nell tried not to feel abandoned, or afraid. After all, thanks to her education, she need have no fear she wouldn’t know how to conduct herself in a stately home or among the nobility.
“If her ladyship will follow me,” the butler said, “I’ll take you to the green room.”
“She’ll need clothes, Fallingbrook,” the earl called out as he hurried up the stairs ahead of her. “Tell your wife to find her something in my wife’s dressing room. The countess has scads of gowns she never wears.”
“As you wish, my lord. Please, follow me, my lady.”
“Justinian, my boy!” the Countess of Granshire cried, holding out her arms as her son entered her sitting room.
It was a small chamber, well-appointed and comfortable, beside her bedroom on the main floor that opened onto the terrace and formal garden—or as Bromwell always thought of it, nature made unnatural.
As he’d expected, his mother was reclining on the chaise longue, with a gilt pedestal table close at hand bearing a lamp and what was clearly pages of correspondence.
Bromwell knew enough of medicine to realize his mother wasn’t seriously ill. He’d tried to tell her so many times, until he realized that his mother used poor health as a means to get and keep his father’s attention, as well as his own.
He embraced her and sat on a delicate harp-back chair beside the chaise. “You’re looking rather better, Mother,” he said, as he always did.
“A bit, perhaps. Dr. Heathfield has given me some marvelous new medicine.”
“Oh? What is it?”
She waved her hand feebly. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But it doesn’t taste bad.”
Bromwell clenched his jaw and said no more about her medicine, although he would try to find out what it was as soon as possible. Dr. Heathfield wasn’t a quack, but he wasn’t the most learned man of medicine either, and his mother might be better off without his latest potion.
“It’s so good to see you,” his mother said with a sorrowful smile. “I was so worried when we got the message about the accident.”
“Didn’t Father tell you that I was quite all right? I said so in my note.”
“Oh, yes, of course, but a mother always worries, even when her son’s in the same county.”
He understood exactly what she was not saying—that she worried even more when he was at sea. However, since she hadn’t raised the subject of his next voyage directly, neither would he.
His father burst into the room and came to a halt, feet planted, arms akimbo, as if he were a military man, which he was not and never had been.
“So, has he told you?” he demanded of his wife. “He’s been travelling with a woman.”
Chapter Six
In nature’s kingdom, nurturing is primarily the responsibility of the female of the species. The male may possess the finer plumage or coloring and may be the larger, heavier and more muscular sex, but over and over again I saw that it was the mothers who were the fiercest when their offspring were threatened. At such times, the fine plumage, size and weight of the males counted f
or very little against the determination of the protective females.
—from The Spider’s Web, by Lord Bromwell
His father made it sound as if his association with Lady Eleanor was illicit, not merely coincidental, and the earl wasn’t so much scandalized as shocked and, beneath that, proud.
Bromwell wasn’t overly surprised by his father’s reaction. He suspected his father was even rather relieved to think his son had a mistress. It was no secret to Bromwell that his father had doubted his inclinations when it came to his sexual proclivities. Certain passages in his book should have reassured him in that regard, if his father had ever read it.
He doubted his father had done more than glance at the title page.
“She’s Lady Eleanor Springford, the daughter of the Duke of Wymerton,” he clarified, “and we aren’t travelling together as you imply. We happened to be in the same coach, that’s all. We are mere acquaintances.”
The earl’s eyes narrowed. “Mere acquaintances, eh?”
“Yes, Father, mere acquaintances,” he confirmed, even if she was an acquaintance he’d kissed more than once, that activity arousing such a primal passion in him, he could still hardly believe it.
“What’s a duke’s daughter doing travelling in a mail coach?”
“I was in a mail coach.”
“Because you sold your carriage. Her father has at least two coaches and twice as many carriages.”
Trust his father to remember a detail like that about another nobleman. “Perhaps she prefers to travel with people of another class. One can have some very interesting discussions with people of different backgrounds.”
His father looked at him as if he had just announced that he believed himself the king of Tahiti, while his mother murmured something about contagious diseases.
“Mail coaches are faster than a post chaise,” he truthfully added, hoping his father would find that simple statement of fact enough of an explanation.
The Viscount's Kiss Page 6