When faced with his only child's mortality the Duke was forced to take a more liberal view. But he would not concede the point; rather he avoided it. “Everett is precisely the reason I am here."
"I thought as much.” Rhionne poured a generous dollop of brandy into the Duke's glass. In his father's day, the tales told of the elder Duke and the former Lord was legend. The stories were still whispered in clubs and drawing rooms and many a gray-haired matron sighed with the pleasing picture her mind recreated, recalling her debutante days and the hope of attracting the dashing titled gentlemen's attention.
His Grace continued. “Ah, Rhionne! Your father would be proud of you. You married and have two fine sons’ to show for it. Your wife, God rest her soul, was of fine blood and it shows in your offspring. God willing, I will live long enough to see Everett make such a fine niche for himself in life. It is unthinkable for him to achieve less. Therefore, when I see him moping around like a lovesick puppy—quite pathetic really—chafing after a servant girl, I must bring him to heel."
"Everett has a mild crush. He will outgrow it.” Rhionne smiled indulgently.
"A crush? I hope for such, as I have no intention of the family fortune falling to a bit of fluff, no matter how fine a filly! I will not allow him to throw himself away on a whim. You can see my position."
Rhionne shook his head. “You have nothing to fear. They have scarce been in contact."
"They have been seen riding in an open carriage! In my day that was tantamount to an offer about to be made!"
"Ah, but this is a different generation. Whether we agree with it or not, they are freer to do as they will.” It amused Rhionne, that he should be the one to offer levelheaded sensibility to a man of the Duke's experience.
"It is so, ‘tis true. But Everett vows to have this girl for his own. I've witnessed his light affairs and he did not carry on like this. Not with any of them! He is obsessed with marrying her. Why, it's as preposterous as you marrying her yourself!"
Rhionne chuckled. “Nay, I shall not marry again."
"It is only to point out the absurdity, that I use you as an example. Why in the blazes can't he be happy with a mistress? I don't suppose she...?” His Grace looked questioningly to Rhionne.
"Egad, man! As if I would hire such a woman to look after my sons!” Rhionne looked to the Duke as if he'd taken leave of his senses.
"Of course. Sorry to imply you would ... or she would ... Of course your judgment is impeccable. If only she had some connections, some lineage. Obviously, it wouldn't be enough to qualify her for my son, but it could be arranged for her to make a match. Perhaps a vicar at a vicarage nearby. She could then continue teaching your boys. My Everett would never tarry with a vicar's wife."
"Have you seen our Torie?"
"Torie?” The Duke looked perplexed.
Rhionne seemed a trifle embarrassed at the informality. “It's what the boys call her. Her given name is Victoria."
"Ah, well, though I haven't seen her, I have had experience with women of all countries—the royal beauties and mistresses alike. I gather she fits somewhere in between."
"Aye. She is a pretty package.” His lordship stated matter-of-factly as he rang a bell at his elbow. Instantly, a manservant appeared. “Fetch Miss Torie, Piers. At once!"
Torie at the time had her hands full lecturing Brodie on the overuse of the word, ‘why'? It seemed a phase the boy was going through but that everything Torie said was questioned with, ‘why'? It was a simple matter really, but quite irritating. Torie made sure Brodie's ears were sharp. It wouldn't do to chastise the boy over an impairment he could not help.
But no, there was no loss of hearing—simply an inquisitive nature. Torie wanted to be sure Brodie would not over-question his father. She was sure Rhionne McLairdin would look on it as a failing on her part if she could not curb Brodie's tongue.
When the servant Piers appeared and summoned Torie below stairs, Torie was unaware of what awaited her. She could not fathom what she had done to deserve another interview with Lord Lairdscroft. Preoccupied, she dismissed Brodie to play outside before carefully smoothing the skirts of her white lawn gown, with it's fitted green velvet over-bodice, that matched her eyes. It was one of the prettiest dresses of the lot; with it's mother-of-pearl buttons and eight layers of flounce that made Torie feel she was gliding on air. Had she known who her regal audience was to be, she would have taken the time to place a few more pins in her errant tresses. The cool chignon she had attempted that morning was now a mass of curls, hither and thither. All together she made a charming figure as she halted in the doorway of the study, surprised to hear voices within.
His lordship was in the process of offering the Duke a fragrant cigar when he detected movement in the doorway from the corner of his eye. “Ah, come in Miss Beauclaire, so I may present you to His Grace, the Duke of Gaunlin. Not the pretender, his son, but the actual title bearer."
Simultaneously, as Torie came through the door, the Duke raised his monocle meaning to give the gel a haughty look, thereby putting her in her place. Making eyes at his heir, indeed! But as he would have bestowed this acrimonious eye, his monocle dropped and had to be retrieved. He returned it for an out-and-out, stem to stern scrutiny. “Good, Gad! Have you had your eyes checked McLairdin? Pretty package indeed!"
Shrugging this aside Rhionne made proper introductions. Torie blushed under the Duke's frank appraisal, but managed a graceful curtsy. “I am honored to meet you. Your son holds you in the most estimable light. He sings laudable praises of you, till I thought you were a myth rather than a man."
His Grace beamed and raised her hand to his lips. He held it a brief moment too long. “Everett is not the fool I took him for."
Rhionne frowned, clearing his throat. “That will be all, Torie.” He tried to retrieve the slip ... “Miss Beauclaire."
The Duke regretfully released her hand. Torie looked perplexed. She had been summoned simply to meet the Duke, then dismissed. What was it about? It was a beautiful, sunny day. Torie decided to ponder the matter in the gardens.
After Torie's departure the Duke shook his head. “There is nothing for it, I must send Everett abroad till he cools down. And you Rhionne, have your work cut out for you."
Rhionne's brows drew together in contemplation. “I? I don't see..."
"Egad, man! Procure a glass and take a long look! I, a veteran of female campaigns, am half in love with her myself after only one meeting. Every coxcomb in the country will come calling when word gets out. And you are her protector, like it or not. I don't envy you the position! But, on the other hand...” He shook his head regretfully. “Bah, I am old enough to be her grandfather! Let us drink up and conclude; I must be on my way."
* * * *
Torie wandered along the garden paths. She was no closer to understanding why Rhionne McLairdin did as he did now, than when she had first taken up the post of governess. Meeting the stately Duke was just one more piece of the puzzle.
Torie needed a friend. Someone open and cheerful, who wanted nothing from her, only conversation. She scarce knew where her feet were taking her till she came to the maze. There was no mistaking the brawny worker with shaggy hair who carefully trimmed errant greenery into uniformed growth. “Jacques!” Torie called, not bothering to hide her joy.
"Mademoiselle Beauclaire. You are more lovely than the roses I have trimmed this day."
"Thank you. Call me Torie, please."
"Oui'. I can deny you nothing."
Torie smiled as she sat on the stone bench.
"That is better. You are troubled, no?” Jacques glanced furtively about before taking a seat next to Torie.
"Yes. I mean no. It is nothing."
"It is everything. Is it a person? I would take revenge on any who would bring sorrow to such a beautiful work of nature."
"You are too kind. I had meant to bring a book for you from the library. I thought maybe each week that we could trade. His lordship will not care, I dare say
.” She sighed wistfully.
"Ah, I see. I, Jacques would appreciate the kindness behind the gesture. But I see more. You have feelings for his lordship, no?"
Torie's eyes widened. “No! Absolutely not!"
"I see what I see. I hear what I hear. Your voice rises when you protest. Alas, my heart is broken."
"You speak nonsense! But, that is neither here nor there, as I forgot the book. Next week, I will not be so careless."
"It is enough you thought of me.” Jacques smiled, teasingly. Without guile he reached up to brush a strand of hair from Torie's eyes.
* * * *
After the Duke had taken his departure, Rhionne was restive. He mulled over the Duke's observation of Torie as he paced about the bottom floor of the house. He was her protector of sorts. He would acknowledge that much. But as for it being such a headache ... well, what more trouble could Torie get into here at Lairdscroft? Of course there was Everett. But the young Duke had been a fluke and that was nipped in the bud now that the elder Duke had taken control. Nay, all would continue well and fine.
He passed by the French windows, leading out onto the veranda and out into the gardens. He caught sight of two figures sitting just outside the maze, heads close together in conversation. The male participant raised a hand to tenderly touch his feminine counterpart. His lordship halted in mid-step. There was no mistaking the woman. It was Torie. His Torie! Well, not his Torie, but Torie nonetheless without a chaperone alone with a man. A commoner by the looks of him. A strapping, raw-boned lad. It looked not to be a chance meeting, as they were obviously acquainted to be sitting so. A tryst? It would appear so. The Duke's words came back to haunt him. 'Every coxcomb will come calling'. We'll see about this!
He was about to throw open the French doors when Torie rose and started towards the house. Not wanting to be caught so gauche as to be spying, Rhionne hurriedly stepped back into the shadowed recess of the house. There was no use confronting the chit. His attempts to curb her behavior in the past had met with no success. No, he must consider the only option feasible. The girl must be married off ... and soon. There was a simple solution. It would be practical for all concerned. The Parson Pickwick was enamoured of the girl. It was obvious. And of course the parsonage was only a carriage ride away. The boys could still be taught, but Torie would be out of his house and no longer under his protection. She would become her husband's responsibility. Yes, he could see it quite clearly! A solution was at hand. The girl was an itch he could not scratch. Well, let her be someone else's bane!
Quite pleased with himself, Rhionne whistled a happy tune. The scene he had just witnessed was forgotten as he made plans to ensure his own quiet future.
Chapter Eight
On Saturday the boys were fractious, eager for new adventure. Their father was gone for the day, thus depriving them of a brisk ride through the woods. Justin, never one to accept defeat, lit on a new idea. Perhaps, Torie would like to accompany them?
Torie protested. She was no equestrian! Truthfully, she was timid around horses. They were so big and she was uncertain on their back. It was a shame she'd never been taught to ride. It was due to her parent's reticence to let their only child cavort about on a whimsical, unpredictable beast. Nay, too perilous!
But Justin objected and Brodie looked so put out at her refusal that she relented, albeit on the condition she be allowed to ride the most docile creature in the stables. This proved to be a neat bay mare, stocky on account of her being part pony, and the propensity to overstuff herself with hay. Justin rode a fine animal, while Brodie rode a shaggy pony, born and bred on the moors. Both boys, in their breeches and natty red jackets, sat the saddle well and Torie felt downright clumsy beside them, even though the brown split skirt and white ruffled blouse she wore with its camlet jacket made her look elegantly jaunty. As though she could feel Torie's inferiority, the mare rode along at a plodding pace, while the boys whooped and hollered, galloping ahead.
As the trio cleared a copse of trees and headed across a grassy meadow, Torie spotted a lone rider coming towards them. He waved to the boys as he rode by, slowing pace to match his tall blue roan's strides with Torie's sedately walking mare.
"Your young Grace.” Torie bowed her head in greeting.
"Everett, remember?” The young Duke reached for one of Torie's gloved hands and Torie had little choice but to offer it. He placed what should have been a perfunctory kiss upon its velvety kid backing.
His lips lingered far too long and Torie blushed, pulling it away. “You flatter me, your Grace, but I thought we agreed on friendship. It is the prudently wise choice."
Everett Gaunlin's face was flushed with emotion. His impeccably cut gray frock coat and bottle green fitted breeches spoke of his elevated station, but with sudden vehemence he doffed his gray, beaver top hat and blurted, “Friendship be damned! I want more! You are a heavenly creature and I cannot go away without you!"
Torie looked bewildered. “Go away? Where?"
"My father insists I travel the continent. Bah, I have seen it. The beauties’ of Europe and Greece are nothing compared to you! I have seen the Sistine Chapel and the Parthenon. They are merely old ruins, while you are a living, breathing beauty! Miss Beauclaire, Torie ... come away with me! As my companion ... my wife. Anything you desire will be yours!"
Torie looked about frantically. The boys were too far ahead to hear. Alarmed by the passionate outbursts and the Duke's glittering eyes, they looked as if they burned with fever. She answered slowly, trying to appeal to reason. “Everett, you paint a tempting picture. But as you quite well know, I am not the choice your father would have and I would never force such a breech between the two of you."
"My father will accept you if he has seen with his own eyes what a vision you are! Your background can be overlooked, even embellished upon for society sake. My family has great influence! Torie, say yes! You cannot deny it is an offer that will not be bettered. Come away with me and I will treat you as a duchess ... Nay, a queen!” He had maneuvered his roan close to her mare. His hand reached out and seized her bridle.
Torie tried to remain calm as he began to lead the mare across the meadow, away from the boys. “Everett! Please! While what you say may be true, I cannot go with you ... I cannot!” she repeated forcefully with conviction.
Something in her tone made him look into her face. What he saw there was enough to give cause to halt his horse. “Why? Torie, give me one good reason!"
"I don't love you.” She met his eyes coolly.
The gleam in his gray eyes withered to a dull paleness. He sought her face for some sign she might reconsider and love would blossom later. But the words, simply said, were solemnly true. She did not love him and not all his monies and possessions would buy her affections. With a sigh that could have been construed as a moan of anguish, he loosened his grip from her bridle just as the sound of hoof beats on turf reached their ears.
Their heads turned in synchronized motion as Rhionne McLairdin rode up, forcing his sleek gray between Torie's mare and the Duke's mount. He seemed out of breath to Torie's way of thinking, as if he had felt the need for haste. Perhaps he had returned home to find his sons missing and doubtless upon learning from a servant of their inexperienced escort, felt uneasy. But his eyes were not on the boys, now galloping back into view. Rather they were on Torie's rosily flushed face. She felt gauche, as if she'd been caught in a forbidden tryst. Surely Rhionne could not think she had prearranged to meet Everett here?
The Duke looked vexed for a moment but hid the frown within seconds, bowing his head in greeting. Rhionne's tight smile belied his words; “Everett! It was so considerate of you to escort my sons and Miss Beauclaire on their brief sojourn. Especially with your time so precious, now that you are to go abroad."
"It is nothing. A beautiful woman should never be left unescorted."
"Ah, yes. One never knows what kind of vermin one will happen upon, even on private lands. Why, a gypsy encampment might kidnap and m
ake off with our comely governess."
His Grace blushed painfully and Torie could not fathom this strange verbal exchange.
Rhionne continued; “I am here now to take over chaperon duty so I will bid you adieu and a pleasant journey to the continent, Everett. May you return with mature insight and an understanding of familial duty."
His Grace dared not dispute this well-wishing and could only accept the sage advice with a grain of salt. He ignored Rhionne and maneuvered his horse so he could take in Torie's countenance. He stared, as if memorizing every feature and strand of errant hair. “Miss Beauclaire, I take with me a picture in my mind that cannot be erased. I bid you farewell, but not good-bye!” He wheeled the roan and shot off into the trees, as if the devil himself were at his heels.
Rhionne McLairdin snorted indelicately. “The young scamp!"
Torie did not understand the vehement exclamation. But she was glad Rhionne had arrived to bring Everett Gaunlin to his senses. Moreover, he had sent him packing! Torie breathed a sigh of relief.
His lordship took this for a sign of fatigue. “We should be returning as you are unaccustomed to the saddle.” Placing his fingers to his lips he whistled shrilly for the boys.
Torie felt some show of gratitude on her part was only fitting. “I wish to thank you for coming to my aide. Everett was not himself today."
"My dear, Everett was very much himself! You have simply deceived yourself into thinking he is some paragon knight. I must insist you not see him again before he leaves for the continent."
Torie could scarce believe her ears. A stubborn frown creased her smooth face. “You? You give yourself much license with my time. I will not be censored from seeing a respectable gentleman!"
His lordship sneered. “That particular respectable gentleman was about to abduct you and win your hand by compromise."
The Perfect Rose Page 10