by Darcy Burke
Her gaze darted to her lap. Seeing the cottage would have been lovely, though she didn’t think her impulse to stay there was purely for sentimental reasons. It would have been so much more private than the Hound and Hen or Worston. “I don’t want to be a bother, and of course I would be if he were made to open the cottage just for us. Worston is a fearsome place. Have you been?”
Con cast her a commiserating look. “I grew up next door, so yes, I do know what a monstrosity it is. I wondered, though, if it is the thought of staying on with Trestin himself that has brought on your obvious regret. I don’t know him as well as you might think, seeing as how we grew up neighbors, but I can say that he isn’t the easiest man to talk to. I never felt slighted in the least to know that he preferred Montborne to me, though Trestin and I are of an age. Antony and Bart have always had their secret language, and Darius and I were conveniently paired. Montborne was welcome to him.”
She frowned. “I like Lord Trestin very much. He can seem cold, but he is kind to me.” It hadn’t always been that way, but she didn’t see the benefit in confirming his poor opinion of Trestin.
“I suppose he must have a quixotic bone in his body. I’m still flabbergasted that he married—” Con winced. “Er, your friend.”
She smiled though his honesty scared her. He meant that Celeste hadn’t been worthy of Lord Trestin. It was only the truth. Still, thinking of him marrying Celeste in spite of her past gave Elizabeth a kernel of hope. Maybe she exaggerated the impossibility of Con’s ever marrying her.
“They suit each other very well,” she said, careful not to force too much hope into her words. “He is a steady, dependable sort who is faithful to his family and friends. But,” she allowed, “he doesn’t have many of those.”
Con’s nostrils flared. Why? Because he wasn’t known for steadfastness?
Or was he jealous?
He forced a smile to his lips. “Then you shall have to reintroduce me.” It sounded, just the teeniest bit, like a warning.
Her belly fluttered.
The carriage began the steep ascent to Worston. Oliver slept against Mrs. Dalton’s breast. Elizabeth smoothed his hair. She’d cherish these last few minutes before pleasantries were required of her. That would have been a benefit of staying at the cottage: it offered a retreat to collect her thoughts after a day of being subjected to Celeste’s eagle eye.
She caught Con’s gaze. Another benefit? Privacy.
The carriage rocked forward and stopped. Elizabeth lightly touched the back of Oliver’s fist as she waited for the stairs to be set down. Did Worston have a nursery? It must. All great houses must be prepared for the eventual arrival of the heir.
The carriage door opened, letting in a blast of sea air, and she allowed Con to help her down. Lord Trestin was already outside and standing before the formidable white granite steps that spilled from the front door to the impeccably manicured lawn. He waited for Con to escort her, but she saw the question in his amber-colored eyes even from ten paces. What were they doing here?
“Welcome, Lady Elizabeth,” he said, taking her hand, and though she might have expected him to use the name she’d been raised with, it still startled her. Beside her Con stiffened, as he had when he’d seemed jealous earlier. Though why Lord Trestin using her formal name should disturb him, she had no idea.
“Thank you.” She withdrew her hand from the reassuring grip of the man who had taken care of her when her own brother, a man of God, had never so much as sent her a letter. “You’re most kind to invite us here. We would have been comfortable enough in the cottage, I should say.” She smiled to take the edge from her admonishment.
“I wouldn’t hear of it. Not when there are so many empty rooms here.” His amber eyes darkened, perhaps at the thought of his sisters, who had filled Worston’s bright hallways with friendly bickering and the occasional tantrum, until they’d set out on their own after the last London Season ended.
The butler appeared at the top of the stairs. He took one look at Mrs. Dalton and the baby and scrambled down in an agile display at odds with his years. Before Elizabeth could exchange a word with Mrs. Dalton, the young nurse was whisked away. Two footmen materialized and began unloading the trunks and hatboxes.
It seemed Elizabeth really did have no choice in the matter. They would benefit from Lord Trestin’s hospitality, whether they wanted it or not.
After giving her one last questioning look, Trestin turned his attention to Con. They touched the brims of their beaver hats and sized each other up. Celeste would have laughed at their bluster, but Elizabeth had always preferred to observe without drawing attention to herself. Con’s earlier description of the viscount and their childhood left her curious.
“I trust you arrived without issue?” Trestin asked.
Con nodded. “Brixcombe seems exactly the way I left it. Time stands still here, doesn’t it?”
A twinkle came into Trestin’s eye but he didn’t smile. “It did.” Then he caught Elizabeth’s smile and cleared his throat, perhaps moments away from returning her chuckle—nothing he would want to do too soon in front of a virtual stranger. “Lady Trestin is resting,” he said, “but will be down for dinner soon.” His tone turned scolding. “I know that last leg from London stretches interminably, but you’re late. Nordstrom will set you up in your rooms, but I fear there is little time for ablutions before you will need to join me in my drawing room.”
Elizabeth tugged Con’s arm. “Heavens, if things are that dire, please see me in now. I won’t be down to dinner in this dusty gown and by God, I won’t keep Lord Trestin from his schedule.”
Trestin smiled his first real smile since they’d arrived. “Your consideration is appreciated.” He had very little room in his world for exceptions, but he did know how to laugh at himself.
Elizabeth bit back a rejoinder lest Con think she was flirting. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. She hadn’t warmed to Trestin as quickly as Celeste had, but once she’d learned to recognize his wit she’d found she could banter with him endlessly. That was before he’d married Celeste, and before Elizabeth had concerned herself in any way with rules of propriety. Flirting with one’s best friend’s husband showed poor form. She cared about that now.
They followed Trestin up Worston’s granite steps and into a foyer. It opened to an entryway lit by windows built into the supporting structure of a massive onion dome ceiling. Con’s childhood memories likely didn’t extend to an appreciation of Byzantine architecture. He must be seeing it all as if for the first time. He didn’t make any murmurs of appreciation or gasps of surprise, though, as she had when she’d first entered Worston, but he did tip his head back to examine the fresco painted on the inside of the dome and scuffed his boot along the black and white tile floor.
The next quarter hour was a blur of fabric and ribbons as Elizabeth doffed her traveling gown and tidied up her simple chignon with the help of Mrs. Dalton’s agile hands. Belatedly she realized Oliver would have to be fed. She then spent another quarter hour giving him milk and bread and rocking him to sleep—and feeling horribly derelict for her lapse. It wasn’t that the nurse couldn’t handle Oliver’s meal, but the fact that Elizabeth had forgotten. One night with a man and she was already slipping back to her selfish ways? It couldn’t be borne.
After turning him over to Mrs. Dalton, Elizabeth fairly flew down the steps and arrived in the doorway of the drawing room at one minute past. Conspicuously, Lord Constantine was absent. Where could he be? He didn’t have a baby to feed.
“You’re late,” Lord Trestin said, rising and giving her a stately bow.
Celeste, too, rose. She laughed at her husband. “At least I’m not the only one.” Then she crossed the room and reached for Elizabeth’s hands. “Dearest, it’s wonderful to see you again.”
Elizabeth stepped back to see her friend better. “Marriage looks well on you.” She took in Celeste’s modest evening finery and artfully styled yet simple curls. It seemed Celeste had truly left be
hind her common origins. If they hadn’t been best friends for ages, she might have been wary of the beautiful lady before her. “How is country life?”
Celeste smiled demurely. “Perfectly bland.” She arched a lascivious eyebrow at her handsome husband. “Sometimes.”
Perhaps the courtesan wasn’t entirely suppressed.
Lord Trestin cleared his throat. “She means we’re busy from dawn until dusk, as she’s taken it into her head to redecorate every room in the house and I can’t seem to receive immunity from the list of tasks required to please her.”
“I exhaust him,” Celeste drawled. “That is what he means.” She looked sidelong at him as if expecting a certain reply.
He was blushing. Elizabeth almost chuckled aloud. But then he drew himself up and, with a great show of fortitude, drawled, “There is only one way to get an heir,” in a velvety voice that sent shivers down her spine.
Her heart melted at that. Where was Con? This was her version of Trestin. Proper, yes, but indulgent with his wife. Provincial to Elizabeth’s tastes, but a caring man who desired to please Celeste above all else.
In that moment, Elizabeth knew that she and Nicholas had been doomed from the start.
Watching Trestin gaze tenderly at Celeste also made Elizabeth’s burgeoning feelings for Con sticky-sweet. Celeste’s marriage seemed like a fairy-tale ending and something rather ordinary. Two friends who were joined in holy matrimony. Not a momentary flare of passion, but a trusting intimacy that would stand the test of time. Was such a thing possible for her?
Celeste moved to stand next to Trestin. A sinking feeling came into Elizabeth’s belly. The polite banter had, evidently, ended.
Where was Con?
“Do tell us,” Celeste asked, though she didn’t lose her sultry smile, “what has brought you back to Devon? I thought you were done with the doldrums we rustics appreciate so much.”
Trestin squeezed her side as though he agreed they were rustics inundated with doldrums…and it suited him very much.
“I like the cottage well enough,” Elizabeth replied, not wanting to miss an opportunity to point out that she would rather have stayed there, even if she did like seeing her friend so happy.
Celeste clasped her hands together. “I know you don’t give a fig about propriety, but I must. It’s perfectly normal to host an impromptu house party at Worston, but I’m sure you can infer the inappropriateness of closeting you two together at the cottage without the least bit of chaperonage.”
Elizabeth chose a Louis XVII chair and seated herself with as much grace as she could muster considering she was being called on the carpet. “I was counting on it.”
Celeste pressed her lips together briefly. She’d always tried to be Elizabeth’s conscience, perhaps because she was the older by almost eight years. It could be fatiguing at times. “Does he mean to marry you?”
Sometimes, it could be brutal.
Of course he wasn’t going to marry her. She could almost shout it, for the pain it caused her. No man had ever wanted to marry her. No man had even looked at her with one tenth the fervency with which Trestin guarded Celeste.
That wasn’t entirely true. Constantine did look at her that way…when he thought no one was watching. That was the cruel truth: he didn’t want to want her.
He certainly wasn’t going to marry her.
She bit her lip before any of that could escape her. She’d never admit her loneliness, or her foolish hope. Especially not to the two people she least wanted to judge her.
“There is no plan to marry,” she replied breezily, as if it didn’t matter.
“He can’t afford a wife,” Lord Trestin said bluntly. He glanced at Celeste, perhaps remembering their mismatched fortunes, then looked at Elizabeth again. “But I don’t suppose money is an issue for you.”
Elizabeth smirked. She refused to let him know how deeply his dismissal of her cut. “I may not have had the best choice in men, but I’m more than average when it comes to turning a profit, my lord. You could say one has necessitated the other.”
Con chose that moment to enter the room. “I think I should be offended.”
Had he heard everything, or only just the last? Elizabeth’s face heated. And she never blushed.
“My lord,” Celeste said, “I don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Celeste, Lady Trestin.”
He inclined his head, then took her hand and bowed over it. “Lord Constantine Alexander, at your service. I believe you’re great friends with my brother Montborne.”
Angry color heightened Celeste’s pale cheeks. Montborne had vehemently objected to Celeste’s pursuit of Lord Trestin and ultimately caused the demise of his friendship with her. To Elizabeth’s knowledge, there had been no apology made in the months since. Didn’t Con remember her telling him of their fallout?
Celeste returned to her seat on the couch. When she looked up again, her color had abated. “How is Roman? We don’t see him in Devon, and I fear we missed him in Town.”
Ever the consummate actress. But her pretending was lost on Con. He was evaluating the seating arrangement carefully. It was all very proper, with chairs and couches set apart so that no guest must be made to sit too close to another. Without a word, he dragged a second small Louis XVII chair from its position on the outskirts to within a few inches of Elizabeth’s.
Heat crept across her cheeks again. She glanced at her friends. Their wide-eyed expressions of incredulity wiped her blush away. Her face seemed to drain of blood, in fact, and her ears rang until she could barely hear what was happening around her.
She didn’t need them to say it aloud, for their expressions said it all.
It was possible.
He might be made to marry her.
“My brother?” Con eased into the narrow chair, evidently oblivious to the exchange taking place before him. “The last time I saw him, he was lecturing me on one thing or another. I wasn’t able to get a word in edgewise to ask him how he fares. But before that, he was blue-deviled most of the summer. So, there’s that.”
Trestin’s eyes narrowed. “Lecturing? Why?”
He was faster to ask that than Elizabeth was to inquire as to why Roman was blue-deviled. His was the better question, however. Roman hadn’t been the lecturing type until Celeste had set her sights on Trestin. Why was he hectoring Con now?
She blanched again. It was obvious. Because of her.
She blinked and looked at Celeste, this time frantically. If Roman had it in his head that she was trying to sink her claws into Con and not merely entertaining a dalliance, there was no telling how much of an obstacle he might become.
Con crossed his long legs at the ankles. “Because I’m not the best choice in men, nor average when it comes to turning a profit. Montborne feels I have room to grow.”
Her hopes were dashed. Montborne must know about their bargain. He’d been very, very close to heading off Celeste and Trestin’s marriage. What sort of threat did he pose to Elizabeth’s happiness?
“I’ve never been one for prolonging awkwardness,” Trestin said, “so I’ll have out with it. Lady Trestin and I are aware of your contract with Lady Elizabeth.” He paused when Con sat up straighter and simultaneously shot Elizabeth a look of horror. “I can’t say it’s my preference, but I was willing to do the same for her for much less in return. I can’t fault you.” He didn’t pause when Con obviously wanted to ask what he meant by that. “Now, while I had thought Montborne recovered from his sudden onset of scruples, if he’s hunting you down to give you a tongue-lashing, then I suspect he’s still suffering his pangs of conscience. Which brings me to my next question. What do you intend to do about it?”
Con opened his mouth. Then he clamped his jaw closed and settled back into his chair, all while giving Trestin a look that would have struck down a lesser man.
Trestin rose and moved to the sideboard. He returned with a decanter and two snifters. “Brandy has always been my preferred method of dealing with Montborne.”
He handed a snifter to Lord Constantine, then filled it.
Surely Con couldn’t argue with that approach. Brothers they may be, Roman could be pure obstinacy when he made up his mind to disapprove.
Con tossed back his drink. “He used to be so forgiving,” he said with a touch of irony.
Trestin settled onto the couch beside Celeste. “If by that you mean he was oblivious to the world around him, then I have to agree.”
Elizabeth relaxed a fraction. At least these two men wouldn’t come to blows.
Lord Trestin continued, “The unfortunate fact is that I fear he might be right to be concerned.”
Con sat forward abruptly. “I can handle myself—”
“You’ve managed to bring it this far. You’ve done better than I had supposed. But the gossip hasn’t waned. In point of fact, I have heard it. These things usually have their time and then they die. Why hasn’t it?”
Elizabeth’s mouth went dry. Her belly turned leaden. Trestin was right. The rumors ought to have stopped by now. She’d been counting on it. Was her father aware? If even Trestin knew what was being said…
But what more could she do?
The longer Con remained silent, the more her fear magnified. She caught Celeste’s eye. What she saw there made her feel like a helpless child. Pity. For poor Elizabeth had once again dug herself a hole impossible to escape.
They were all saved by the call to dinner. They filed into a massive dining room dominated by heavy oil paintings and dark blue walls. They were seated together at one end, with Trestin at the head and Lord Constantine to Celeste’s left. Elizabeth took her chair beside Trestin and folded her hands in her lap. Then she glanced about the room as if lightning were about to strike her. This was the first time she’d sat at a respectable table as a grown woman. She’d been barely out of the schoolroom when she’d fled her parents’ house with Captain Moore, and lived as an outcast after that. Even now she was nothing more than Con’s mistress, welcome only because Trestin had laughed in the face of propriety by marrying his.