Richard stared at Wilfrid grimly, aware of the import of his words. Wilfrid thought himself as safe from public censure as anyone could ever be. Anger churned inside Richard at the thought of the Regent's misplaced favor, but he was not through with Wilfrid, yet.
“You have made your point. But now, I confess I am all agog to hear why you took such great pains to conceal the connection."
“There is not much to tell.” Wilfrid waved a careless hand. But his lips were parted in an avaricious smile, his eyes closed to mere slits, as he said, “Only that William Payley's ancestor, Miss Anne Trevelyan, was the elder sister of my own, very female ancestor."
Feeling, suddenly, as if a piece of gauze had been lifted from before his eyes, Richard nodded slowly. “Of course,” he said in a wondering tone. “That would be the ancestor on whom your claim to my fortune is based."
“Precisely. So—” Wilfrid inclined his head—"you see that without my interference a higher claim could easily have been asserted by those farmers of yours. Is it not fortunate that my branch of the family had the good sense to claim the connection so many years ago? To claim and register it with the Garter? William Payley's family deserves to be punished for such inattention to their own self-interest. But do you know —” Wilfrid's tone suggested that there was a lesson to be learned from this episode—"when I think about the insufferable airs William Payley used to affect, I think the error was due to misplaced pride. Is it any wonder that pride is thought to be a grievous sin?"
Richard allowed his cousin to rattle on, though his hands trembled beneath his desk with the urge to strangle Wilfrid. And this desire came close to overwhelming him when he thought of the miserable life Selina had led.
The work and the pain, the fears about her future and her brother's, the humiliation and the indignity—all, it seemed, could be laid at his weaselly cousin's door.
Richard wanted nothing more than to make Wilfrid grovel in apology at her feet, which he planned to do symbolically, if not in fact. Thoughts of Selina's work-roughened hands, the chores she had been subjected to repeatedly, goaded him now as he stared at his cousin's smirk.
It was with this mixed pair of images before his eyes—Selina's relentless suffering versus Wilfrid's undeserved content—that his cousin's next words penetrated his brain.
“ ... and you will undoubtedly thank me one day, Richard, for preserving you from such an undesirable connection. ‘Pon rep! To think of the Earl of Linton being forced to give the nod to such a set of yokels. Why, the very thought—"
Never in his whole life had Richard felt the fury that surged in him at that moment. The pressure it built was such that he could no longer sit.
His sudden leap to his feet cut Wilfrid's words off short. Richard had the satisfaction of seeing a pale, sickly gray replace the bloom in his cousin's cheeks.
“Since we are being perfectly honest for once—” Richard delivered his words in a scathing tone—"I think you should know that it has been the glaring penance of my life that I should be forced to call such a worthless piece of rubbish as you my heir.” He took a deep, cleansing breath before proceeding. “Which fact makes what I am about to announce to you so exquisitely gratifying."
Even as he spoke, a sense of satisfaction was slowly drowning his ire, much the way a shower of rain extinguishes a tree aflame, giving Richard the ability to enjoy the play of emotions across his cousin's face.
At his first words, Wilfrid had risen indignantly in his chair, only to fall back with a look of foreboding as he absorbed Richard's last syllables. Richard would have delighted in giving him a tongue-lashing in the hope of watching him shrink by several inches, but he knew that what he'd planned instead would strike Wilfrid a coup no mere scolding ever could.
“It gives me the greatest honor to announce to you, Wilfrid, that I soon plan to have a new set of relations who will effectively wipe you out of the running for my succession."
“But—” Wilfrid sputtered in his chair—"I've already told you no evidence exists—"
Richard stopped him with a smile and an upheld hand. “That will no longer be necessary, I fear. Not when I plan on making Selina Payley my wife. And you need not concern yourself over your cousin Augustus, for he will be perfectly happy living with his sister and me as my long lost heir."
“But Prinny—"
Richard quelled him with a scornful eye. “Even Prinny will not be able to refute the evidence of kinship I am certain Miss Payley's uncle will provide, when I inform him of the circumstances of his brother's disgrace. Once he knows of my intention to wed his niece, I am sure he will be able to present some proof or other of his ties to the Trevelyans. After all, as you yourself have pointed out, we are not all so afflicted with the honor and pride of a gentleman like William Payley."
As Richard painted this scenario, he did it merely to torment his cousin, for he had no certainty at all that William's brother would have any proof of their ties. Richard's true plans for an heir fell along entirely different lines, but he would not mention these to Wilfrid. They would far better be discussed with Selina alone.
Eager to do just that, Richard did not wait to see how Wilfrid received his news before heading for the door. Upon making his announcement, desire had welled inside him to see Selina and to hold her in his arms. The relief of being free of Wilfrid, too, had buoyed him, but he feared his confident feelings were likely to desert him before he faced Selina with his apologies. So there was no time to be wasted now.
He paused at the door. “And need I point out that your allowance is hereby permanently revoked as is your permission to visit this house? Now, if you will excuse me, cuz—"
Instead of seeing Wilfrid out, Richard left him sitting there, his mouth hung open in abject horror, as Richard closed the library door.
Chapter Twelve
When Richard returned to Uckfield that evening, he found it had an unusually festive air. Men and women from the country had swelled the ranks of villagers. In spite of the gathering dusk and a strong threat of chill, the younger set collected in doorways to boast or giggle with their friends.
Normally, the unexpected appearance of an elegant traveling coach bearing the coat of arms of the Earl of Linton would have attracted a great deal of attention. But the villagers halted in their visiting only long enough for one good stare at Richard's impressive crest, before taking up where they had left off. His arrival caused no more flurry than a leaf that has drifted onto a pond already rippled by stones.
To say, however, that Mr. and Mrs. Croft at the inn were stunned by their discovery of his identity would be to understate the case. The sight of Richard's intimidating retinue, from his lofty coachman to his haughty, exacting valet, nearly reduced the poor couple to tears. If Richard had not already known them, he would have seen at once that his hosts were not accustomed to entertaining visitors of such an elevated rank.
But Richard would not think of appearing among these people again under any other guise. If Selina chose to disappoint him, he wanted the world to know that she had received a very eligible offer from the Earl of Linton and had refused him.
Mr. Croft seemed particularly anxious to be reassured that he had done nothing during Richard's previous stay to offend. But Richard's calm politeness, and his evident pleasure in being shown to his former room, quickly laid the poor man's fears to rest. Then, Mr. Croft's only lingering regret seemed to be that he could not give his honored guest the full attention he deserved.
“For, your lordship,” Mr. Croft informed Richard proudly, “tonight it falls to me to collect this year's valentines and dole them out by lot."
Richard had been so intent upon his confrontation with Wilfrid that morning, he had overlooked the day's date, and, on the road, his thoughts had been consumed with the problem of how best to approach Selina. Now, he realized with a start that it was indeed Valentine's Eve, and the first glimmer of hope he'd had since leaving London lit a flame inside his chest.
He urged Mr.
Croft to give him the details of the celebration.
“Well, your lordship,” Mr. Croft said, “it goes like this. All the youths and the young maids hereabouts place their names in my basket. Then, it's up to me to see that they're fairly parceled out."
“An ancient custom, I presume.”
“That and it is, your lordship."
Richard knew from the experience of overseeing his own estates that ancient customs were more likely to survive in rural areas. And in Uckfield, where the people were rarely exposed to the changing fashions of London, people would assuredly hold fast to the old ways.
“So the youths of Uckfield must take their chance, must they, on whom their favor falls for the year?"
Mr. Croft surprised him with a cunning wink. “Oh, there's always them what are sharp enough to get around."
“Is that so?” Richard smiled at his host's evident complicity. “Would you care to inform me by what method a man, who happens to be in love with a particular maid, might be assured that his valentine will be received by the proper hands?"
A hint of reluctance tinged Mr. Croft's honest face. “Well, your lordship, if I said that some delivers their own valentines themselves, I wouldn't be telling ye wrong."
“But...” Richard sensed there was a better way ... “you have a different suggestion?"
“Aye, sir, your lordship.” In his enthusiasm, Mr. Croft seemed to shed ten years at least. “There are some what likes to do it in a more—what ye might call—devious way."
At Richard's encouragement, he continued, “It can be arranged with the man in charge, so to speak, that the valentine be given to the proper maid."
“Oh, it can, can it?” Richard chewed upon this bit of information.
As Mr. Croft only gave another wink, Richard asked, “And would a request for you to cater my own wedding feast be sufficient inducement to perform such a service?"
A smile such as Richard had never seen lit up his host's ruddy features. “Sure and it would be, your lordship."
“Then, I must instantly beg of you some paper and ink, with the promise that your service will be available when required."
* * * *
Selina was sitting at her kitchen table with Augustus when he asked if she would go into Uckfield for the Valentine's Eve celebration.
Since returning to The Grange, she had immersed herself in work, refusing to speak about Richard or her trip, except to inform her brother of the failure of her search. His subsequent attempts to convince her of the paleness of his scholarly ambitions had brought a mist to her eyes, but Selina was determined to match his courage. She would not let her own suffering add to his disappointment, and she resolved to spare him an awareness of the hurt Richard had done her.
The fact that she had forgotten about the day's festivities might have stirred his curiosity, since so little occurred to alleviate the boredom of their lives. An outdoor dance with local musicians on the Uckfield green certainly should have claimed her attention.
But Selina had no wish to go. She could not gaze upon happy couples without reliving the pain of Richard's betrayal. That she should, even now, find it so hard to believe him capable of such treachery was a constant source of confusion to her.
Her reluctance to accept the apparent truth seemed inconceivable. Why she should be so unwilling to resign herself to the evidence of his villainy, she did not know. Yet, despite all her resolutions to put Richard firmly out of her mind, she had to confess that she dreamt of him still. At the slightest sound, she would glance up, hoping to find him at her door, and she could not help feeling in her heart of hearts that the connection between them had been real.
Had it been Richard's smile, so warm and bathing whenever it fell upon her, that had tricked her? Or had his extraordinary gentility, which she had found so deeply comforting, robbed her of her common sense?
Now that she knew he had been born into the peerage, other memories of Richard as he'd lived among them had returned to bewilder her. Richard, nearly breaking his back with the work she'd assigned him. Richard, fencing with the pig. Richard, patiently discussing Cicero with Augustus. And, the most painfully lingering memory of all, Richard as tender lover.
“Selina?"
Selina had forgotten that Augustus was waiting for her reply.
“No, love,” she answered him, looking up with a false smile. “I do not think I shall go to the dance. However, do not let me stop you. It should amuse you to watch the people on the green."
“Why won't you go?"
Selina tried to make light of his question. “I simply have no time for such frivolity. The sheets must be mended, and I had particularly intended to stitch a new shirt for you this evening."
“The shirt can wait one more day. Please come."
His importunity preyed upon her sorrow, which Augustus could not possibly know. Selina struggled with ready tears by forcing a laugh. “Very well, if you really must know the reason. I do not go because I refuse to put my name in Mr. Croft's basket."
“Why?"
“Why?” she repeated. “Because I am far too particular to accept just any valentine."
“Is that why you no longer come outside when Romeo comes to check upon Nero?"
His acuity stunned her.
“Yes,” Selina replied evenly. “I suppose that is why.” She started to explain that she must not encourage Romeo to call upon them since she had discovered she had no wish to marry him. But her explanation was cut short by his next exclamation.
“Oh, I forgot,” he said, looking shamefully remiss. “I forgot to tell you what Richard said before he left."
Selina felt the pain of Richard's name as if she'd been stabbed with a knife, which was why she failed to stop Augustus in time to prevent him from saying more.
Augustus recited his words carefully, as if, having failed to mention the message before, he must make sure of getting it right now. “Richard said that you had made him a promise with respect to Romeo Fancible that he expected you to keep.”
“He had the nerve to send me that message?” Yet, even as she spoke, Selina's traitorous heart was bounding with a hope she could not quell. So Richard had cared.
“Yes, but what did he mean?” Augustus asked, with a frown.
“Nothing you should concern yourself with now.” Rising from her chair, Selina tried to hide the jumble of feelings his words had aroused. “You should be going along before you miss the start of the dance. You will not want to be late in coming home for fear of being too tired to milk Clarissa in the morning. And, if you do not come home early enough to suit me, I shall fetch you."
With that gentle threat, Selina bundled up her brother and pushed him out the door before he could think of any other questions with which to torment her. Sometimes his very youth and innocence could do more damage to her wounds than her own conscience, which had refused to cease berating her. Even now it was chastising her for refining too much upon Richard's words. He had gone and not returned, so why should she try so stupidly to give his message some construction that might take away her injury?
That she had made up her own mind not to encourage Romeo Fancible had nothing at all to do with the promise she had made to Richard. She had simply learned how unfair it would be to tie up the heart of a man she could never hope to love. Romeo had been a generous neighbor and friend. She had no right to abuse his affections as Richard had done hers.
After taking herself to task for nursing forlorn hopes, even for an instant, Selina briskly set to work upon the promised shirt, settling herself in a chair beside the fire. Before long, however, the warmth and the luxury of being alone made her succumb to wandering thoughts. Closing her eyes, she gave into the sweet temptation to recall the feel of Richard's arms about her and the memory of those brief, fleeting moments when she had felt herself cherished and loved. With a burning pang in her throat, she acknowledged they would most likely be the only such time in her life. No matter how false those few moments—those wickedly, blis
sfully delicious moments had proven to be—she would always treasure them as such.
Her thoughts were thus engaged, when a knock at the door made her start. With the practice of the past few days, she quickly wiped the moisture from her cheeks and the pain from her eyes before reaching for the latch.
The sight of Mr. Croft on her doorstep startled her. She would have thought him much too busy with his valentines to call upon her at such an hour, which thought gave her a sudden fright.
The ready welcome vanished from her lips. “Is it Augustus? Has he been hurt?"
Mr. Croft gave a surprised chuckle. “Not the Squire, miss.” He gestured behind him with his thumb, and she saw with relief that her brother was there and fine. “He thought he'd come along o’ me to see what I've got in here for you."
Mr. Croft held out the basket he always used to collect the villagers’ valentines. “There's nobbut one left,” he said a bit ruefully, “and I bethought myself of you out here at The Grange."
Selina tried not to show how his thoughtfulness had pricked her. “That is very kind of you, Mr. Croft, but I did not put a valentine into your basket, so it would not be just for me to receive one."
“Go on, miss,” he persisted, practically pushing the basket into her hands. “I've taken care of all the other maids around, and I've still got this one left. You wouldn't have me return it to the gentleman and hurt his feelings, now, would ye?"
Something in Mr. Croft's coy manner struck Selina as suspicious, and a resultant feeling of dread swept through her body. What if Romeo had concocted a ploy to direct his valentine to her? If he had, then she would suffer no more than she deserved for using him so.
A niggling thought that such a high degree of cunning would be far beyond his mental powers made her wince with guilt.
“Go on, Selina.” Augustus stepped up and added his plea to Mr. Croft's, which made Selina anxious to be done with the whole unpleasant business as quickly as possible.
She snatched the remaining valentine from the basket and said stiffly, “Thank you very much, Mr. Croft.” Then, to prove to both witnesses that she had no interest in their game, she tore open the missive at once.
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