by Jane Feather
May smiled nastily at him and addressed the butler. “Breedlebane?”
“Yes, miss.”
“I’m leaving.”
At that moment the coachman clucked to the carriage horses and pulled away from the portico. May swore silently as the carriage retreated and Aunt Violet set up a chorus of oh dears.
“Breedlebane?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Show me to the Blue Drawing Room.”
“Yes, miss. And the footman will take the animals to the stables.”
The footman reached for Puck’s collar. Puck growled and curled his lips up to reveal his teeth.
“No he won’t, Breedlebane. My animals will come with me.”
“But, miss, his lordship said—”
“Is the earl the one who’s going to get bit, Breedlebane?”
“No, miss.”
“Then if I were you, I’d make this decision myself.”
Breedlebane looked at Puck. He looked at Echo, who was small but quick, and at Isis, who hissed at him. Then he waved the footman away.
“If you will follow me, miss?”
They entered into a long hall with a floor of gray-and-white Italian marble. To the right and left, a double staircase ascended to the second floor, the white balustrades creating a frame for the whole room. Beyond the hall lay a great saloon, visible through open sliding doors. May glimpsed white plaster decorations, Ionic motifs, fretwork of arabesques and garlands. Walking between the two staircases, Breedlebane ushered them into a lofty drawing room that made up a good portion of the front facade of the house.
When she walked into the drawing room May immediately wished she hadn’t brought her pets. Paneled in silver-blue damask, the entire room was filled with Louis XIV furniture. The decorations on the ceiling, walls, and around the doors were of ornately carved white plaster picked out in silver, and on the walls hung portraits by Raphael, Holbein, Van Dyck, and Reynolds.
“Confound it,” she muttered to herself. “It is a palace.”
Finding a place of the floor that didn’t bear a priceless Aubusson carpet, she ordered Puck and Echo to a down stay. Aunt Violet subsided onto a sofa of slippery blue damask and indulged in a frenzy of handkerchief waving and bottle sniffing.
May sat down in an armchair that looked strong enough to hold her with Isis in her lap. The cat curled into a ball and fell asleep, oblivious to the disaster she’d precipitated. May hadn’t bothered to remove her mantle, knowing she wouldn’t be staying long. It was a good thing, because the room was chilly. Her hands and feet were cold. But her face was still hot.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she spoke to herself silently and firmly. You will not cry. Don’t let him see how hurt you are. It will only make him pity you, and you don’t want to see contempt in those devil’s eyes.
Degradation permeated her like the heat of a sunburn. She closed her eyes and forced the pain deep inside herself, far behind the superficial mask she presented to the world. She stuffed the hurt down so deep that, with luck and perseverance, she might never have to feel it again. Might never have to acknowledge, even to herself, that she’d showed up on a man’s doorstep expecting to be greeted as a precious intended bride and been rejected.
Gradually May felt the heat in her face recede once more. This time it stayed away. All she hoped for was the earl’s speedy return. She would ask him to make arrangements for her to travel home on the next train. May’s eyes popped open.
“Oh, no.”
Aunt Violet stopped flapping her handkerchief. “What?”
“We rented out the house.”
“Yes?”
“Aunt Violet, the house is rented.” She heard the shrillness in her voice and tried to master it. “We’ve nowhere to go.”
“Oh, dear, oh dear oh dear.”
May stroked Isis rapidly while she thought. “We shall take a small cottage in Exbridge.”
“There are no suitable houses in the village. Oh, dear.”
“There’s a cottage,” May said. “Old Mrs. Sibthorp’s cottage.”
“Mélisande Peabody, that place hasn’t been occupied in a dozen years. No, miss, we’re not taking Mrs. Sibthorp’s.”
“Now see here, Aunt. I’m leaving for Exbridge, and we have to stay somewhere.”
Their argument was interrupted when the door opened to admit the earl of Darent. Taking long strides, he approached May without a greeting, thrust a picture frame at her, and pointed to the portrait bearing the name Mélisande.
“There,” he said coldly. “That is Mélisande.” He glanced down at May’s picture. “You, miss, are Madeleine, the Pea.”
May rose and set Isis on the floor. She snatched the picture frame, turned it over, and slid aside the backing to remove the two portraits. Presenting the backs of the daguerreotypes to the earl, she pointed to the names inscribed in ink. Then she turned the pictures over.
“As you can see, my lord, someone has exchanged the pictures so that Madeleine’s portrait was placed in the frame with my name on it.”
Her announcement was met with silence. She thrust the pictures and the frame into the earl’s hands. Picking up Isis, she headed for the door.
“Kindly send for your carriage. I have no wish to remain in your house or near you, sir. Naturally I release you from your promise of marriage, since it was given by mistake. Good day to you.”
CHAPTER THERE
TEMPLE STOOD IN the middle of the Blue Drawing Room with the two daguerreotypes in his hands, his cold, white hands that only now had stopped that cursed trembling. He looked at the frame. When inserted, stiff backing held the portraits against the frame and covered their reverse sides. The exchange must have happened in the Crimea when he was fevered. No doubt Fidkin or a nurse had cleaned the frame and accidentally switched the photographs. And he had blamed Miss Pea body.
But he wouldn’t have been so rude if her animals hadn’t attacked him. The barking, that loud, sudden barrage of noise—damn that cursed fuzzy, insane mongrel. The pain had thrust him into a fury, which he’d loosed on poor Miss Peabody.
Hell! Miss Peabody. She was gone. Temple laid the pictures and frame on a table and hurried into the hall. Miss Peabody and her aunt were standing beside a bust of the god Mercury.
“Miss Peabody, please wait.”
She lifted the veil from her hat as she turned to face him, and he almost missed his stride. She had eyes the color of bourbon and a way of looking at him that was like hearing the enemy order to charge. She might be the size of a pea, but she entered a room the way an admiral came on deck. God help the man who married her; he’d never live a peaceful, quiet life.
“Miss Peabody, there isn’t another train to London today, and in any case, I’m responsible for you until I can contact your father. You’ll remain as my guest until then.”
The glance she gave him had less warmth than the marble statue next to her. “My father is leaving for India, as you well know. He’s quit the house for London now that my sister Marie-Claire has left to be married.”
“And Madeleine?”
“Is married.”
“I see.” His last hope vanished, but he continued. “I must apologize for my mistake, and for my rudeness.”
“I, my lord, have already apologized for my pets.”
Temple noticed the animals at her feet for the first time. “But they are in my house.”
“They are my pets, not farm animals. They have been trained with house manners.”
Aunt Violet interrupted the chilly silence that followed. “Oh, dear, oh dear. We’re most grateful for your hospitality, my lord. You see, the house is rented and Dr. Peabody sails day after tomorrow. I really don’t know what we’re to do.”
“We’re renting a cottage, Aunt.”
Temple noted the implacable tone in May’s voice and the way her animals sat at her feet and stared up at her. Their little heads shifted from Violet to May and back as if watching a contest. He almost smiled, then remembered he
’d lost his Mélisande and gotten a fury in her place. He was so weary of fighting, any fighting. Suddenly exhausted, Temple stiffened his spine.
“Naturally you will stay here,” he said.
Offering his arm to Aunt Violet, he escorted the old lady back to the Blue Drawing Room without looking to see if Miss Peabody was following. He nearly smiled again when he heard the patter of paws behind him.
Miss Peabody stalked into the room and plumped herself down in a chair. “Well?”
He was accustomed to the respect of junior officers and the men under his command. He was growing accustomed to the respect according him as earl. He would never become accustomed to a girl the size of a pea barking demands at him.
“I shall write your father.”
“You’d better hurry.”
“I’ll do it at once, and you, miss, will take your animals to the stables.”
“If they stay in the stables, I will.”
“I won’t stand this, Miss Peabody. You are the most absurd creature, and I’ll not row with you. Ladies stay in the house. Animals stay in the stable.”
May Peabody rose and marched over to him. He heard her aunt whispering frantic oh dears as May stopped in front of him, her fists planted on her hips.
“Now you see here. I’m not some silly little girl to be ordered about the schoolroom. I’m twenty-five years old, and if I want to stay in your stables with my animals, I will. I’ve stayed in the barn at home many a time, and it won’t hurt—oh, the animals.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Miss Peabody seemed to be staring through him.
“What? Oh, nothing. I just remembered something. Tell me, how big are your stables?”
“My stables? I don’t know. They were built by one of my ancestors who had a taste for Thoroughbreds. We don’t use most of the stalls anymore. I suppose there are twenty or so.”
“Hmmm.”
“Miss Peabody, about your animals. Of course there’s enough room for them.”
“And me.”
“Damn it!”
“Oh, my lord.” Aunt Violet pressed her hands to her cheeks.
“I beg your pardon, madam.” Temple pulled himself up to his full height and glared down at Miss Peabody. “There will be no ladies sleeping in my stables.”
He caught his breath as May Peabody suddenly turned on a mischievous grin that reminded him of sweets stolen from glass candy jars and swings that carried one to the treetops. It was the first time in his life that he’d been transfixed by a smile.
“Thank you, my lord.”
His brows drew together as he tried to understand what she was thanking him for. Then Breedlebane knocked and entered to say that the ladies’ things were now in their rooms.
“Excellent,” Miss Peabody said. “Aunt and I would like to rest, if you will show us the way, Breedlebane.”
The butler gave Temple a look of inquiry. Still confused by the effects of Miss Peabody’s smile, he nodded his consent. It wouldn’t have mattered, however, because May was already tripping rapidly out of the drawing room with her animals right behind. She swept into the hall, leaving him to escort Aunt Violet. By the time he got the old lady out of the room, Miss Peabody was halfway upstairs. It was then that he realized that the dogs and the cat were with her.
“I say!”
“Yes, my lord,” said Aunt Violet.
He heard the strained note in the old lady’s voice and bit back his own irritation. Summoning a footman, he sent her upstairs to rest. He was scowling up at the landing when he noticed a fuzzy, curling plume traveling along the balustrade. The dog Echo appeared on the landing and stood facing him. He could have sworn the cursed mongrel smirked at him. Then it uttered one loud, screeching bark that resounded off the walls and marble floors. Temple started, his heart jumping to a gallop.
“Hell!”
Echo wagged her tail happily and trotted back the way she’d come with her tail held high like a banner. Temple swore again and ran up the stairs, but instead of turning to the right and following Echo, he turned left and stalked through the White-and-Gold Room, the Tapestry Room, the Small Dining Room, the Music Room. He crossed two long galleries stuffed with paintings and antiquities. God, he hated grandeur. It was like living in St. Paul’s Cathedral.
At last he reached his own apartments, which had formerly been called the King’s Apartments because Charles II had been a guest in them. “Fidkin, Fidkin, where are you, damn you?” He walked swiftly through his sitting room to the bedchamber.
“Here, m’lord major.”
“Where the hell is the dowager countess? Miss Peabody and her aunt have arrived.” Temple removed his coat and began taking off his shirt.
“She be in her room. Still refuses to meet Miss Peabody.”
“Hell.” Temple flung his shirt on a chair.
“Yes, m’lord.”
“I suppose you’ve heard.”
“Yes, m’lord major.” Fidkin picked up Temple’s shirt and removed a clean one from a chest. “Never heard of such a dustup afore.”
“It’s a catastrophe, Fidkin.”
“Well, at least you found the mistake afore you married. What if you’d have done one of them proxies like you considered? That would have been rum.”
“She’s like a windstorm, Fidkin, and she’s brought a hound from hell. No, two of them, and a sneaking, spitting feline with claws like razors. Hell.”
Temple went to a dresser, where he poured water into a basin. Thrusting his hands into it, he splashed water on his face. He was feeling better now that the effects of the vision had faded. His eye caught a glimpse of a scratch on his bare chest. “Hell.”
There would be no chance of quiet and tranquillity with her and her beasts in the house. She and her creatures would constantly provoke his weakness. If Miss Peabody remained in the house, he would exist in a perpetual state of vulnerability, as though the top layer of his skin had been peeled from his body. God, he couldn’t abide such a woman.
“I’ll write to Dr. Peabody at once and explain the misunderstanding,” he said to himself. In the mirror he noticed Fidkin standing behind him. “What are you staring at?”
“Oh, naught, m’lord.”
“Out with it, Fidkin.”
The sergeant clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “Well, since you ask, m’lord major, you appear to have livened up a sight.”
“What are you babbling about?” Temple sloshed water over his chest, growing more irritated by the moment.
“You been flitting around the hall like a ghost these past few months. I thought you just needed more rest and quiet, but now I don’t know.”
“I don’t need rest,” Temple snapped, “but I do want quiet, and that Miss Peabody is not quiet.”
“You got color in your face for once.”
“From anger.”
“And you got bounce in your step.”
“From being startled near to death by her blasted dog.”
Fidkin came closer, holding a clean shirt. “And there’s life in your eyes, m’lord, where before I was used to seeing something close to death. Seemed like you was looking at all them dead boys back in the Crimea, your friends, the men.”
Temple slipped his arms into the shirtsleeves, taking the opportunity to turn his back to the sergeant. Fidkin was too close to the truth. And the last thing he wanted was to talk about the dead. He could still feel their blood splattering him, dripping down his face as he rode on a charge. Temple closed his eyes. No, he hadn’t been living with his dead friends for company. Fidkin was wrong. It was Miss Peabody’s fault that he’d been thrust into the past again.
No, all he needed was a quiet life here, taking care of his estates. He wanted a life of peace and serenity, not one filled with yapping dogs, spitting cats, and a defiant little whirlwind with bourbon-colored eyes and that interesting smile. She brought chaos, and by her very presence stabbed at old wounds. Temple felt his nightmare threaten, a raveni
ng hyena, snapping at the edges of his composure. All her fault, this whirlwind miss with her defiance, her merry, stubborn character, her smile that seemed to brighten the world.
Temple’s eyes flew open. Thinking of Miss Peabody’s defiance and sunburst smile had quite banished the threat of the waking nightmare. His breathing eased, slowed. Curious how his thoughts had fastened upon her. True, she had certain good qualities. He liked the way she walked, with confidence, with complete lack of awareness of the way her hips set her skirts swaying. Irritated as he had been, the baser part of him had noticed Miss Peabody’s hips, her smile, her curves.
Temple suddenly realized what thinking of Miss Peabody had done to his body. “Hell.”
He couldn’t want her. She irritated him and was a threat to his peace; he didn’t like her. But wanting and liking weren’t the same. He’d learned that long ago.
“Hell.”
MAY HURRIED out of her room shortly after dawn and went through the Cabinet Room, George IV’s Apartments, and the Roman Room. She’d been at Stirling Hall for three days, and had spent most of them trying to have a private word with the earl of Darent. What she hadn’t realized was how easy it was for a man to avoid someone in a house the size of the Houses of Parliament.
Luckily, yesterday she’d stumbled upon the library, an enormous room off one of the galleries. There she met the Stirling Hall librarian, Cuthbert Finch, who told her that the earl was in the habit of riding early in the morning, and that he always stopped at the ruins of Castle Darent in the hills behind the house. She had ordered a horse made ready for her, and was determined to corner Temple Stirling where he couldn’t easily slip away. She had a small request to make of him.
After all, it wasn’t her fault that he’d mistaken her for Madeleine. She couldn’t be responsible for his disremembering the character attached to each name. Madeleine was the quiet, restful one. Both May and Marie-Claire agreed that Maddie was the prettiest of the sisters. May emerged from the Gold Dining Room onto the landing only to meet the dowager countess of Darent and the Stirling estate manager coming in the opposite direction.
May faltered, then stopped as they came toward her.