Chapter Eight
He did not want this. The afternoon had been a near disaster, with the girls cheating heavily just to be near him. Thank goodness archery had been in the morning before everyone’s blood was up. Sutton couldn’t imagine what might have happened with arrows available. Something drastic had to be done before the party disintegrated into anarchy.
Sutton paced the pale rose length of his mother’s private sitting room. He had to take control of the situation or it would take control of him. When he’d envisioned a house party, he’d pictured a placid series of teas and picnics and boating parties on the lake. Now, he worried someone might drown on the lake if things kept going in their current direction. Cheating at croquet was just the tip of the iceberg.
His mother entered the room, a wry twist on her lips as she shut the door behind her. ‘Lord Bradley has just offered me fifty pounds to have Isabelle seated beside you at dinner. I dare say we may have underestimated the determination of our guests to win a rich husband.’ She sank into a chair by the window, looking unusually fatigued. ‘And it’s only day two. I’m sure the price will go up as the party progresses.’
‘That’s precisely why we need to talk.’ Sutton absently fingered a crystal paperweight on the desk, his thoughts coalescing around an idea, a rather radical idea. ‘There are too many girls for me to meet on my own, no mattered how artfully the entertainments are arranged.’
His mother sighed. ‘I’ve got them this far, but I am out of ideas, Sutton.’
‘Well, I’m not. The ladies have made this into a competition, by refusing to wait their turn as demonstrated by their antics today, so I intend to further that theme. I propose to use our planned activities—the upcoming picnic, the boaters’ luncheon, all of that—as a chance to focus on specific girls. Every evening, the girls who will spend time with me the next day will receive a bouquet and a note in their rooms.’ The plan had come to him after his rather direct talk with Chiara in the woods. I find it saves time. And so this plan would, too. He could focus on finding a woman he could live with instead of finding himself besieged on all sides.
His mother hedged. ‘I don’t know, Sutton, it seems so calculated.’ She waved an airy hand.
‘This seems calculated? The whole party is a calculation and everyone knows it.’ Sutton wasn’t going to tolerate hesitation. ‘Mother, I have guards at my bedroom door. How can I be expected to concentrate on finding a wife when I have to spend every moment alert to how I might protect myself from compromising shenanigans? That’s not hyperbole. You’ve already turned away frauds attempting to infiltrate the party. People are willing to do anything.’
She nodded her assent and Sutton smiled. ‘I will make the announcement at dinner tonight. The first bouquets will be delivered to bedrooms during the service of the evening tea cart. Now, please excuse me, I have notes I need to write.’
* * *
In the cool, dark-wood quiet of the study, with the door securely locked, Sutton sat behind the wide mahogany desk with a sense of relief at reasserting some control. His new plan didn’t change the future that awaited him, but it did make it more manageable. It was imperative to all involved that he make a good decision when it came to choosing a wife. Not because the fortune demanded it, or because pushy mamas demanded it, but because his code of ethics demanded it.
Now, who might he put on the list? Who did he genuinely want to spend time with? Who might be compatible with him? If this was about his horses, he’d have straightforward bloodlines to help guide that decision. It would be helpful to have a neutral insider to coach him on the subject. That meant his mother was out of the running. She had her agenda and preferences, starting with Imogen Bettancourt. Sutton smiled, another name coming to him. Someone who had no interest in the proceedings other than being an observer. Would she do it?
Sutton opened the desk drawer and drew out a clean sheet of paper, smoothing it on the surface of the desk. He reached for the fountain pen. At the top of the list he wrote the name Chiara Balare di Fossano.
* * *
She did not want this. Nothing was going as planned. Elidh stared at the note in her hand while her father and Rosie exclaimed over the bouquet of summer daisies left on her vanity. Well, Rosie exclaimed over the pretty bouquet. Her father exclaimed over what it meant.
‘I knew we could do it! It must have been all that time you spent combing the woods today with him for his croquet ball, and last night in the gallery.’ He elbowed her with a laugh. ‘My manoeuvre at croquet was inspired today, was it not? I managed to get you into the forest alone with him. Genius!’
‘You practically threw me at him,’ Elidh scolded. ‘It couldn’t have been more obvious.’ Being obvious was the last thing she needed or wanted. She’d not wanted to be alone in the woods with Sutton. It had been too tempting. He’d wanted to kiss her. She’d seen it in his eyes and for a moment she’d wanted that, too. It was hard to remember that whatever he thought he wanted with her, it was because he thought she was a princess. He’d not wanted to kiss Elidh Easton. He wanted to kiss a woman who didn’t exist. And now this—Sutton’s attempt to organise the girls into some semblance of order had landed her right in the centre of it. He officially wanted to see her again, which meant nothing was going as she planned. The harder she tried to push Sutton away, the more attracted he seemed to be. It was hardly the effect she’d been trying to cultivate.
‘What does the note say?’ Rosie peered over her shoulder after her father left, still crowing with delight and off to celebrate with the other fathers. Elidh didn’t mind Rosie’s intrusion. Rosie couldn’t read. Her parts on stage had hardly ever come with lines.
‘He wonders if I have a favourite book, and that he enjoys reading when he can’t sleep.’
Rosie, always very literal, looked perplexed and began laying out her night things. ‘I suppose it’s good to know a little something personal about the man.’
‘Yes.’ Elidh folded the note. It was more than a piece of information. It was an invitation. Sutton wanted to meet her in the library after the house settled. Had he invited others? If she refused, would he not send a bouquet tomorrow? Knowing her luck, a refusal would bring him to her door in the middle of the night and that was hardly what she wanted. And yet well-bred girls didn’t traipse through houses after midnight holding secret assignations with men.
Rosie helped her out of her evening gown and into an exquisite peignoir set of fine linen and silk. Her mother had worn it in its initial incarnation when she’d played Titania in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Rosie had transformed it into an elegant silk nightdress that flowed easily beneath a dreamy morning robe of linen that fell loosely from her shoulders.
‘I want to go to the library and get a book before I go to bed. Just in case Mr Keynes asks me what I’ve been reading tomorrow.’ But she was certain she’d find more than a book in the library. Part of her was excited by that, no matter how many warnings she gave herself. His touch in the woods today had sent a ripple of awareness through her—a new awareness of herself, an awareness of him. His words were thoughtful and, when he was alone with her, he was sincere in a manner that was not conveyed in a crowd. He was, in fact, very much himself, very much a temptation she was finding it hard to resist. Maybe she didn’t have to resist him.
Elidh sat still as Rosie plaited her hair into a long, silky braid. They would be gone in two weeks whether they secured a patron or not. She’d told Sutton she had no intentions of pursuing the matrimony game, but did that mean she couldn’t indulge in her own flirtation? If he wanted to steal a kiss, with the understanding it could lead nowhere, perhaps she should let him. There would be no harm to him or to her under those rules as long as she was careful not to let things get out of control. She could rationalise it as only a slight deviation from her original plan.
* * *
Her hair plaited, Elidh made her way to the library just after one.
The house was quiet in the hallways. But she was not fooled. There would be the drama of celebrations and disappointments behind these doors tonight. All the world’s a stage, she thought absently. Shakespeare had the right of it. The library was empty when she arrived. Good. It made coming here feel less like an assignation. She might truly look for a book. She’d need to bring one back to her room or Rosie would be suspicious.
Elidh ran her hand over the spines, taking in the gold lettering, the expensive leather covers. What luxury it was to have a library like this. She’d heard of folks who had a monthly shipment of books sent to them. She couldn’t begin to imagine having money for something like that. She knew she was lucky she could read. Her mother had taught her and her father had shared his love of books with her. They had a small library of ten books that travelled everywhere with them and the books looked it. They were worn, the spines cracked, some pages stained. Virgil, Homer, Aesop, Shakespeare, Aeschylus, Aristophanes, Socrates. ‘All the classics,’ her father liked to say.
At the great estates where they’d performed, there were occasional opportunities to borrow a book or two and there were always chances to acquire some unique skill that had created for her a rather incoherent but diverse education. She’d had fencing lessons, a variety of music lessons, vocal lessons, dancing lessons, all of which could be employed in various roles on stage. Before this ruse was done, she would need all those skills.
The door opened behind her and Elidh startled at the intrusion. She’d been further lost in thought than she realised. ‘I thought I might find you here.’ Sutton’s voice was low.
‘You invited me.’ She turned from the bookshelf. ‘I was just choosing a book to take back with me, if you don’t mind.’ Sutton was dressed for the night as well, a banyan in forest green thrown over his evening trousers and shirt. Gone were his jacket and waistcoat, his shirt open at the neck where his stock would have been, exposing a patch of tanned, bare skin, suggesting time in the outdoors, dressed casually. One’s neck didn’t tan covered up with a stock. How interesting. What had he done? What had he worn or not worn to acquire that piece of skin?
‘Thank you for coming.’ Sutton went to a console that held crystal decanters and poured a drink. ‘Would you like anything?’
‘No, thank you.’
Sutton motioned to the pair of chairs by the cold hearth. In the winter, it would be cosy to sit there beside the fire, reading and warm. There would be no draughts to contend with, no leaking roof. This room was full of luxuries: books, warmth, comfortable chairs that wanted to swallow you up for a day of reading. ‘Since you prefer directness, I’ll get right to it. I have a proposition I want to discuss with you, Chiara. I need your help.’
‘I imagine so, after that announcement tonight.’ What could she possibly help him with?
‘I need someone who is neutral, someone I can confide in, someone who might advise me in turn.’
‘You want me to help you pick your bride?’ She was glad she hadn’t anything to drink. She would have choked on it. The power such a position gave her was unfathomable. Her father would be in alt. She could see her father already plotting to get rid of the best options so that Sutton would all but beg her to marry him. That would not do.
Elidh narrowed her gaze. If he expected her to accept instantly, he would be disappointed. ‘Why would you entrust such a task to me? You hardly know me. Two days ago, we’d never met. You would let a stranger pick your wife?’
Sutton chuckled. ‘I said “advise me”, not choose for me. I will do the picking.’ She felt his gaze drift over her face. ‘For the record, I don’t feel we are strangers, Chiara. It is easy to be with you.’
‘You know nothing about me other than I am a reckless croquet player.’
‘I know more than that. You’d be surprised.’ Sutton set aside his glass and leaned forward, hands on his knees, and her breath caught as all his attention fixed on her. ‘I know you’re loyal and honest. You played croquet without artifice. You played to win, not to advance an agenda with me. You knocked me into the woods, by Jove. No one else there had the guts to do it, not even when it was obviously the best choice for their team.’ He paused, touching her with his eyes and it made her insides warm like melted chocolate she’d tasted once in Venice: delicious, silky and entirely becalmed. When he looked at her like that, the world faded. There were no troubles, no roles to perform, no deceptions to perpetrate. It was just the two of them, like it had been last night in the gallery.
‘That’s a lot to assume based on a single game.’ Elidh had to look away for fear she’d betray the ruse. She used to be those things: honest, loyal, kind. The moment she’d put on the costumes and taken on this role, she could not claim those attributes any longer. She supposed she was still all those things where her father was concerned. It was loyalty that had driven her to this and honesty. She was genuinely frightened about what would happen to her and her father if they didn’t succeed here. But succeeding meant she couldn’t be those things for Sutton Keynes. He could not have her honestly and, because of that, he could not have her at all. She was just starting to see the implications.
He reached for her hand, bringing her eyes back to his with his touch. He pleated his fingers through hers. ‘Certainly, to conclude so much on a single observation is poor science, poor reasoning. There’s more. You forget. When you had the chance to kiss me in the woods today, you were very careful with your decision because I think you knew it wasn’t right for us, no matter how much we might have wanted to.’ His thumb caressed her hand and her breath hitched. ‘I admire that in a person, Chiara—someone who can see beyond themselves. That’s what I am counting on. It’s why I am asking you for this favour. Stay for the duration of the party. Be my advisor. Be my eyes and ears. I want to know which girls here have hopes elsewhere. I would not steal those hopes from them by claiming them in marriage. Which girls might have a true interest in me as a person and which are here for the money alone. Who might I make happy if given the chance? Marriage needn’t be a legalised form of slavery for them.’
Elidh blew out a breath. ‘Only for you? I think you are generous to consider the other party.’
‘Marriage is only part of the shackle for me. My fetters come from familial attachment. So, will you help me sort through them?’ Sutton smiled, intimately handsome in his banyan, his offer tempting. Perhaps this was a forerunner of what married life would look like—Sutton consulting his bride on household matters. The two of them making decisions together, sitting together late into the night, talking softly. Would it be with the lovely Virginia Peckworth? The brassy Isabelle Bradley with her glossy chestnut hair? Fenworth’s sister? Who should she help him pick?
‘Will you help me, Chiara?’ Sutton prompted.
‘Of course, I’d be delighted and honoured.’ It was the right thing a friend would say. It overrode the little sliver of jealousy that had stabbed at her last night when she’d seen him walking with Lady Imogen after so recently having strolled the gallery with her. But that sliver stabbed again now. Harder this time and for no reason. She should not be jealous of these girls. She was not playing the game. She could not play the game. She was, as Sutton said, neutral. She had no choice. She was just starting to see that. It was not only a matter of protecting Sutton. It was a matter of protecting herself from him. The Principessa had to disappear in twelve days. No matter what. Ruses weren’t made to last for ever and this one was no different.
Chapter Nine
By the fourth day, the house party was bristling with an unsuppressed tension, thanks to Sutton’s bouquet brigade, as the guests began to call the footmen who delivered the evening arrangements and invitations. The routine of meeting with the girls was becoming more manageable even if it more fully called out the competitive aspects of the house party. Last night guards had caught a guest sneaking into his bedchamber.
Sutton had higher hopes for today’s boating act
ivities on the lake. The sky was blue, the weather perfect and he’d get to spend the entire day out of doors. If he couldn’t be down at his dairy, this would have to do.
He’d opted to walk to the lake and, as a result, many of his guests had, too, including Isabelle Bradley, who’d claimed his right arm and not let go the entire mile. He smiled and tried to pay attention to her retelling of a boating incident gone wrong. Apparently, she thought her story of a capsizing would be humorous in advance of the outing. ‘No one drowned, of course.’ She shrugged with a smile to justify the inappropriate tale. ‘So, that is why I prefer oars to sails,’ Isabelle concluded with a light laugh. Those walking with them laughed along with her.
Sutton didn’t see the humour. To be perverse, he said, ‘I prefer sails. I like the science behind them and the challenge of matching my abilities to the wind.’ Up ahead, he caught sight of Chiara’s straw hat with the bright blue ribbon, walking with Virginia Peckworth’s brother, Michael. Sutton wagered Peckworth wasn’t telling stories of capsizing sailboats. Too bad. He didn’t want her to find Peckworth too entertaining.
‘I am sure you’re a strong swimmer, too, Mr Keynes. That helps with one’s confidence.’ One of the Bissell twins—Leah, he thought—chimed in with a crooning compliment. He could never tell the twins apart and they insisted on dressing alike in identical gowns. ‘It’s easier to dare the elements when one feels in control.’ She waved her parasol. ‘I would positively drown if there was no one around to rescue me.’
Tempted By His Secret Cinderella (Allied At The Altar Book 3) Page 8