"I promise to look into Presson's prospects, Mother. And now, I have come to ask Mrs. Steele if she would care to accompany me for a drive?"
"Me?” But what about his fiancée? Why wasn't he out with her?
Serenity looked down at her hands. What she really needed was some exercise. Such a strange, restless afternoon. “How about a walk? I've energy to burn."
She flushed. Why did she say that?
Nicholas grinned. “A walk it is. Shall we?” He offered his arm and as she took it, she braced herself for another episode of synesthesia.
* * * *
Nicholas walked up Oxford Street, certain no noxious fumes disturbed the elegant Mayfair district. It was a beautiful day for a stroll. The sun shared its warmth with him and his companion—neither he nor Serenity Steele felt the need to indulge in idle chatter. In fact, she had a dreamy cast to her features.
"What are you thinking, my dear?” he inquired.
She started at his question, and disengaged her arm from his. “Oh, nothing important.” Unnecessarily adjusting her straw bonnet, she kept her hands at her sides, her rapt expression gone.
If he wanted conversation, he would have to initiate it himself. “You might be interested to know I saw the colonel this morning."
There was no need to identify which one. Serenity tripped on her gown, and he held her arm to prevent a misstep from happening again.
With her head lowered, she asked softly, “Wh-What did he say?"
"Actually, I did most of the talking. Told him that if he ever came near you again, he would have to answer to me and his commanding general. Jenkins agreed a reassignment was in his best interests. A sensible fellow, if not an honorable one."
Serenity stopped at the curb and took his hand. “Thank you for getting rid of him for me. I guess I should explain about him. You see, I just found out Jenkins behaved cruelly to my maid several years ago. After learning what he had done, I couldn't bear his company anymore, so I snubbed him. That's why he was after me the other night."
She looked at Nicholas so intently, he had an urge to kiss her. He involuntarily bent toward her to accomplish this. A noisy phaeton passed by, and he halted.
He collected himself. Damn fool thing to do—kiss a girl outside with all London watching. What had he been thinking? He roughly guided her across the crowded street.
Serenity straightened her bonnet again. “This thing's so cumbersome. The brim blocks my vision. I'll never get used to these fashions.” She sighed deeply as if regretting something. But what?
"Oh, I'm dying to find out what happened between you and Sir Rodney.” She gazed up at him. “When you entered the drawing room, I expected fireworks, at the very least."
Nicholas frowned. Why was it every time he was near this woman, he wanted to assume a horizontal position with her? Damn and blast. He thought about it even when she was not near.
Brusquely, he replied, “You tasked me to smooth the troubled waters concerning Presson and Zeena. Remember?"
Serenity looked at Nicholas blankly. He elaborated, “At Zeena's soirée. And devil take it, if Presson did not decide to rusticate in Lincolnshire—after our, er, altercation."
"Oh! So that's why you were gone.” She bit her lip as if ashamed to admit she noticed his absence.
That thought cheered him. “Of course. What did you think?"
She stopped to peruse a milliner shop window. “Well, your father thought...."
Nicholas sensed something important here. He leaned against the glass and prompted, “Yes?"
"Your father thought you went to offer for someone."
Her last words were barely audible against the roar of carriages barreling down Oxford Street.
But Nicholas had heard. He disguised his amusement by coughing. Had Serenity been jealous? Perhaps he should introduce the information Quigley yielded.
"Did he, by Gad? Downy fellow, m'father. Did he mention Sarah Flanders, by chance?” Nicholas seemingly studied a street vender on the corner, but poured all his concentration into watching Serenity's reaction.
She paled. Pulling on her left ear lobe, she said airily, “So it's true then. When are congratulations in order?"
Again he coughed. Serenity wasn't Mrs. Gerald Steele; of that much he was certain.
But, who the blazes was she? And why the charade? “Felicitations are a bit, er, premature, at this point. Sarah is a beautiful woman, to be sure. However, there are a few discrepancies in her background. I need to research matters further. Have you any advice for me?"
"Advice?” Serenity stiffened her posture, and turned away from the shop to continue the stroll. Over her shoulder, she said, “Naturally, I advise caution. It wouldn't do to marry beneath your station, of course. Mustn't defy endogamy, you know."
Endogamy, what the devil was that? She sounded so cold. Blast and damn! Why had he mentioned Sarah Flanders Steele's name in that fashion? An error—a tactical error.
He lengthened his stride to keep up with Serenity. “Serenity, wait. I must apologize. I did not mean—"
"Nothing to apologize for, my lord. I assure you, your wedded state is no concern of mine. I think we should return now."
She crossed the street and he followed. Some expert with the ladies he was! He had to recover ground. “Let me drive you home."
"No need. Harry's coming ‘round to pick me up at five.” Her step was brisk and business-like.
She was calling him “my lord” yet Osborne was “Harry.” This would not do. Not at all.
"Serenity!” He abruptly guided her into an alleyway. “Serenity, I have made a mull of this, I know. Listen, we need to talk about what happened between us last week."
Her passionate response to his powerful need for her had excited, but also worried him. Whatever her true name was, Serenity was not a woman to take lightly. She could easily become part of his life. Indeed, she could become his life.
"Nothing happened between us last week. I was just grateful, that's all."
"No.” He pinned her against a stone wall—a prisoner between his arms. With his hand, he caressed her soft cheek. For the first time since he had known her, she remained unmoved.
"Yes. I'm still grateful for your help.” She smiled but it did not reach her eyes. “Shall we continue our walk?"
Ruffling his hair, he sighed and released her. Could it be possible that her kisses had been of appreciation? Can desire be as counterfeit as a falsely minted guinea? He was never as confused as he was right now.
He led her back to the street. “As it happens, Serenity, the government has a crisis on its hands. I came over to tell you that I have been called to serve. I will not be able to participate in the rest of the season."
"How sad for you. What's happened?” She did not look at him, kept her gaze straight ahead.
She was being sarcastic. And why not? He deserved it. “The prime minister was shot. Happened yesterday. Some damn fanatic killed him—over a trivial matter. Spencer Perceval was a cold bast—, er, man, but to die that way."
He paused. “The Foreign Office tells me I must leave London tonight. I will be away for some time."
Away—a word conjuring up despair. He would be away from Serenity. And he would miss her. Yes, he would miss her. But how would she feel about his departure?
They entered Grosvenor Square and headed toward number Thirty-three. Nicholas’ time was short. He could not leave with Serenity angry—or worse—indifferent to him.
At the mansion's front steps, he stopped. “Where are you spending the summer?"
"At Bedford Street, of course.” She avoided his gaze.
He held her hands. They were small and dainty in his. “London is a hothouse in July and August. You cannot stay here, Serenity. I am sure my mother will invite you to the Rotterham estate, Reveley Hall, in Norfolk."
Serenity pulled free. “Thank you, but no. I've no intention of imposing on your parents."
"Serenity—"
She ran up a few steps
and then turned. “I am sorry about the prime minister. Good-bye, Lord Brockton."
He watched her enter Rotterham Mansion. Blast it. He mishandled her. No doubt about that. But worse, she was detached toward him. As if that kiss had meant nothing to her.
Pounding his hand on the iron railing, Nicholas made some plans. Before leaving London, he would have a word with his father. Nicholas would make sure Serenity was a houseguest at Reveley Hall for the summer. He would be able to see her then, and hopefully make amends. Miss Serenity Steele and he were not done with each other. Not by half.
He glanced up at his parents’ mansion and smiled, remembering something Serenity said. Imagine, the old man talking about his son tying the nuptial knot. Impossible!
Chapter Twenty
As Nicholas had predicted, Sylvia Wycliffe extended an invitation to visit Reveley Hall, but Serenity declined. She had her own place and plenty of research to do, so why tempt fate and reside at his parents’ home, where he could be counted on to show his face? It had taken every drop of her resolve to turn away from him that day in May. Here it was, the thirteenth of July, and if given the choice, she would still gladly run into his arms regardless of the consequences.
And there were consequences galore. He was a rake; she was on assignment; he was getting married....
For goodness sake, they were from different centuries!
As Serenity sat in her small yard, a hot breeze caressed her face, doing little to ease her discomfort. Nicholas had been right—of course. During the summer, London was a hothouse. Unbearably so.
Worse, the fetid, dirty air hung like a shroud over the city enveloping everything with its filth. She had heard that the famed Beau Brummell took no chances with the sooty air. He sent his laundry to the country—to Hampstead—for cleaning.
She could believe it. She'd just taken a bath and already felt a layer of grime dust her skin.
Sighing, she sipped some tepid punch. Had Nicholas announced his betrothal yet? It was odd that Zeena's letters from Revelry Hall hadn't mentioned that newsworthy event. Maybe the family objected to Sarah Flanders. But then again, maybe Nicholas had moved on to someone else.
Imagine him asking advice about his love interest! All the while playing suitor to Serenity. Or whatever part he'd been playing. Probably played the rake—the part he knew best.
A rake. For all her bravado back in Axel Rhinehart's office, saying she wasn't enamored of the Regency period, she went ahead and fell in love with a rake.
She laughed; the harsh sound disturbed a nearby bird's rest and it flew away.
Love. What did she know about love? Only that every minute away from Nicholas Wycliffe seemed like an eternity. All colors faded; all sounds dimmed.
Was that love? Who knew? But love didn't make any difference anyway. In less than seven months, she'd be back at her old desk, finishing up her monograph. Planning her next trip to western Africa and dreaming of a rake.
She set down her drink. Too bad she had decided to remain in London. She missed the Wycliffes, she missed the excitement, she missed....
No. She wouldn't think of him anymore.
Standing, she lifted her muslin gown up to her knees. Oh, to have a pair of summer shorts, or a swimming pool, or blessed air conditioning! Hot and sticky, the only thing she looked forward to was a cool bath, her second of the day. Usually easy-going, Maggie had even grumbled about the increase in work.
Serenity couldn't blame Maggie. It was the heat. Heat made everyone cranky.
At Beasley's cough, Serenity dropped her skirt and turned around.
"The Marquess of Rotterham,” the butler pronounced.
"The Marquess of Rotterham?” she repeated. “The Marquess is here?” Her voice must've risen an octave.
She ran into the house and almost pulled him into the drawing room. “I am so glad to see you, sir! How's everyone? How's Zeena? How's—” She stopped.
Edward Wycliffe stood, surveying the mismatched furniture. His eyebrow rose, indicating his disbelief. He looked just like Nicholas.
"Please, have a seat, my lord.” Serenity sat on the Egyptian couch and folded her hands to contain her enthusiasm. It was so good to see a Wycliffe again. They were almost like family.
The Marquess chose a sturdy wing armchair. “Things a bit tedious here, Serry?"
She'd been obvious, hadn't she? “Uh, yes. A trifle.” She shared a laugh with him.
Lord Rotterham raised his manicured hand. “No matter. I am here to bring you to Reveley Hall. Pack your bags. Zeena, you must know, badgers me daily to fetch you. For my sanity, you must return with me."
Serenity fingered her ear lobe. “That's kind of you, sir, but I have a perfectly good house here. I don't need to impose upon your generosity."
He ran his hand through his hair—another mannerism of Nicholas's. “Perfectly good house?” He glanced around the room. “Serry, you disappoint me."
She laughed again. “You know what I mean. Thank you kindly, but I'm afraid I have to say no."
To change the subject, she added, “Tell me, how's Zeena getting on? Does she have any, um, visitors?"
"You mean Presson? Yes, the fellow haunts us constantly. Sylvia was opposed at first. She is resigned now. Some nonsense in her head about Zeena being a duchess."
The Marquess jumped up and walked over to the window. On such a hot day, most movements, by necessity, were sluggish, but he didn't seem affected. Drawing aside the sash, he stared out at Bedford Street.
"That is your final answer?” he questioned.
His profile was so like his son's. She sighed. “That's right."
Lord Rotterham turned around to face her. “Well then, perhaps you are unaware of the penalty that befalls intruders foolhardy enough to gain entry into a gentleman's club."
Serenity gasped.
"Newgate Prison is not pleasant,” he continued. “You leave me no choice, my dear. Ugly as it is, I shall have to resort to blackmail to gain my ends."
Serenity leaned back on the sofa. She had to think this out. “But.... So Brockton told you,” she blurted. “He told you about the Beefsteak Club."
"He mentioned your escapade."
"I didn't take him for a blabbermouth. You really wouldn't tell—"
The Marquess chuckled, and an unholy gleam lit his dark eyes. “True, it would be an ungentlemanly thing to do, however.... “He shrugged his shoulders.
This can't be happening.
But it was. She studied his determined chin. He wouldn't lose on this. One way or another he'd leave with her if he had to carry her out the door. Nicholas and Zeena got their stubbornness from him.
"I don't understand why you'd go through all this trouble. I mean, it can hardly make any difference to you where I spend the summer."
Lord Rotterham's smile seemed to display hidden knowledge. What was going on here? “As I said, my dear, I value my peace and quiet—my serenity, you might say."
Then he winked.
"Bad pun, sir.” Standing, Serenity admitted defeat. “All right, I'll get my things."
She left to inform her staff. Maybe her departure was for the best. After all, she'd been wishing for it just minutes ago.
* * * *
A fly lazily buzzed around Serenity's head. She swatted at it and missed. Too tired to pursue it, she allowed it to perch on her hair.
Damn it all. She hated colds or the flu or whatever she had that dragged her down. She'd been sick two weeks. Two weeks! And still she felt like the living dead.
Looking out the bedroom window, she watched the August wind gently stir the willow tree's feather-like leaves. Even the wind didn't have enough energy to cause a proper shake. Everything seemed as languid as she felt.
The scenery, however, was beautiful. Reveley Hall dazzled her. She'd been here one month and the place still dazzled her. Amazing that one family could en masse enough wealth to own such a treasure. In the twenty-first century, the Hall probably had been turned into a museum. Had to have
been. With staggering taxes and tremendous upkeep, how else could the owners manage the property?
Serenity brushed the hair away from her face and let her hand drop. All she wanted to do was sleep. She stood, and the unread book in her lap thudded to the floor.
Walking to the bed, she thought, Why not? No crime in taking an afternoon nap. After easing down on the bed, Serenity closed her eyes and welcomed the comforting arms of Morpheus.
* * * *
Someone was shaking her. Serenity grumbled and buried her face in the pillow.
"Wake up! Wake up, Serry. I just have to tell you. Do wake up!"
Serenity wasn't ready to rejoin the world. Who was in her bedroom? The voice sounded familiar. Was it...?
"Tracy? Is that you? Tracy?” Sitting up, Serenity almost bumped into Zeena, who hovered above her.
"Tracy? Who is she, Serry? You must have been dreaming—your face is still befuddled.” Zeena laughed. “Do wake up, Serry. If I do not tell you this second, I shall burst."
Zeena's cool hands patted Serenity's cheeks. “Oh Serry, you will never guess!"
Blinking rapidly, Serenity tried to switch gears—or centuries. The feeling that Tracy had visited the room had been so strong.
But Zeena's excitement was hard to ignore. Serenity smiled at her friend. “I might be able to hazard a guess."
The girl jumped up and danced around the room, her blonde hair trailing after her. “Rodney has just asked Papa for my hand!"
Serenity leaned against the pillows, trying to follow the bouncing sprite. “Did he? What about the rest of you?” She had to chuckle. “Always wanted to make that comment."
Zeena stopped her fluttering for a moment. “Oh Serry, you ninny!” She resumed her frenzied waltz. “Papa gave his approval. Rodney and I are to be married at the end of this month—the thirtieth of August."
Serenity gave her congratulations. “Now please, sit down now. You're making me dizzy and you'll wear yourself out. But why are you setting the date so soon?"
Zeena's blue eyes twinkled. “What better reason? We can't wait!"
That was a good enough reason, to be sure.
Hopping over to give Serenity a kiss, Zeena pivoted and headed out the door. “Have to tell Amaryllis now."
Regency Society Revisited Page 20