by Anna Bradley
“A practical reminder,” he replied dryly, and turned back to the disabled carriage. He placed one booted foot on the intact rear wheel and swung easily up to reach the trunks strapped to the top of the coach. He unsnapped the straps, heaved the nearest trunk over his shoulder, and jumped nimbly down from the wheel. Delia stepped back as he lowered the trunk into the cart and returned for the second one.
Oh, my.
That trunk was heavy. She’d stood by yesterday and watched Lily attempt to squeeze yet another pair of slippers into its depths, to no avail.
So, the taut, muscular body she’d seen in such embarrassing detail was not simply decorative, then. No, it was practical. Instead of sending servants to fetch the trunks as a typical nobleman would do, this one tossed them over his shoulder as though they weighed no more than a corset, or a lace shift, or a pair of silk stockings.
Good heavens. Why was she thinking of women’s undergarments at a time like this? Stop it, Delia.
But it was too late. Every salacious image from earlier in the day rushed into her brain in tormenting detail. A fine white linen shirt opened to expose a smooth, hard chest. A low, laughing murmur and an answering sigh. Such a sigh! His teasing hand slipping into the woman’s bodice, the other hand lifting her skirts . . .
Suddenly panicked, Delia rushed toward the front of the cart and scrambled clumsily into her seat before Lord Carlisle could return and offer to hand her up. She couldn’t touch his hand. Not now. Not ever. Not his hand or any other part of him. He had entirely too much . . . too much . . .
He had too much skin.
The cart sagged as Lord Carlisle stepped up and took his seat next to her. Delia felt his quizzical gaze on her face, but she kept her eyes straight ahead. After a moment the cart lurched forward. At last, they were on their way to Bellwood.
They had jostled along for a few miles in silence when a happy thought occurred to Delia. Why, once they arrived and the house party was under way, she’d see little of Lord Carlisle. She sighed with relief. Indeed, it would be the easiest thing in the world to avoid him entirely. She and Lily were far beneath his notice, after all. He wouldn’t spare her another glance, and she could forget all about him and his unbuttoned breeches and his overabundance of flesh.
After another mile or so they crested a hill and all thought fled from Delia’s mind as a burst of blazing light lit up the night sky. Bellwood had appeared through the bare branches of the trees that lined the long road leading up to the estate. The cart had come upon the house from the north side, which was unlit and not noticeable from the road. But the front of the house! Delia caught her breath in pleasure. She’d expected a grand house, but there were plenty of grand, ugly country estates in England.
Bellwood wasn’t one of them. “Oh,” Delia exclaimed. “It’s exquisite.”
She wasn’t aware she’d spoken the words aloud until Lord Carlisle startled her with a reply. “Yes. It is. It’s been in the Sutherland family for centuries.”
It was striking, not least because of the long row of stately ash trees that led to the entrance of the house. The branches of the trees seemed to reach for one another, entwining like slender silver arms to protect the road beneath. It was almost a tunnel of trees, even now, before they’d set all their leaves.
“It must be lovely to walk here in the summer,” Delia whispered. Somehow with the night and the light pouring from the windows and the skeleton of tree branches above, whispering seemed appropriate.
Lord Carlisle turned the cart onto the long gravel drive. They were under the trees, and he and Delia both looked up at the latticework of branches above them. “It is. To ride, as well,” he agreed casually, not bothering to lower his own voice. “The trees have been that way for as long as I can remember.”
“They look like they’ve partnered for a dance,” she murmured.
He glanced at her, darkly amused. “What a whimsical notion, Miss Somerset.” His tone mocked her, but then he added, as if to himself, “They do, rather.”
Delia watched as the house drew closer. It was built of a cream-colored stone that had at one time likely been a pale shade, but it had mellowed over the years to a stately gold. There was a low gate at the end of the drive that separated the massive double front door of the house from the approach. The gate, which looked as though it had been added later, created an enclosed courtyard that ran the entire width of the center wing. It softened the front of the house a bit and lent a more welcome aspect to the entrance, yet the overall impression was of a grand and imposing estate.
They were close enough now Delia could see a white-capped head peeking out through a crack in the huge front doors. The head disappeared and a minute later a stiff-backed butler opened the door. Charlotte and Eleanor Sutherland shot past him like two overeager puppies and tumbled down the steps into the courtyard just as the cart pulled up.
“Delia! Lily! We’ve been waiting for you this age! Whatever happened?” They stopped short when they saw the cart.
“Alec!” Charlotte looked at her brother, aghast. “Where is the carriage? Tell me you didn’t . . . Is that a hay cart? At night, in the cold . . .”
Charlotte was so flabbergasted she was unable to string together a coherent sentence.
Lord Carlisle lifted one bland eyebrow, unmoved by his sister’s sputtering. “The carriage broke an axle about a mile from the Prickly Thistle. William twisted an ankle. I could have left your friends on the side of the road, Charlotte, but I thought they’d prefer a ride in a cart to a night outdoors.”
Charlotte and Eleanor both gasped, the cart forgotten. “Broke an axle? My goodness, are you both all right? You could have been . . .”
You could have been hurt. Or killed.
Delia felt the panic begin to close over her again, but then a warm, gloved hand squeezed her shoulder gently. Lily. Delia closed her eyes and reached up to squeeze Lily’s fingers in return. It’s all right, Lily. After a moment, it was.
But when she opened her eyes again, she found Lord Carlisle’s dark, penetrating gaze on her. “Your friends are no worse off from a ride in a hay cart, Charlotte,” was all he said, however. He jumped down and offered Lily his hand. “I may take you and Ellie for a ride in it, as well. It would do you both good to travel in a cart.”
Charlotte snorted.
“How can you say they’re no worse off, Alec?” Eleanor asked. “Why, the mud alone is . . . Delia! Is that a piece of hay stuck to the front of your dress?”
“No doubt it is,” Delia replied, a little unsteadily.
She looked down at her dress, but she didn’t bother to brush off the hay. It was far, far too late for that. “But we can’t hold the cart responsible for the mud or the hay, I’m afraid,” she continued, thankful her voice sounded normal. “Look at Lily. She looks as fresh as a spring flower still.”
Eleanor and Charlotte rushed forward to embrace Lily as soon as she descended from the cart. “Lily! I’m afraid you’re frozen nearly to death,” Charlotte said, with another reproachful glance in her brother’s direction.
But Lord Carlisle only shrugged and handed Delia down from the cart. Charlotte and Ellie rushed forward and embraced her warmly, as well, though Delia noted with amusement they were careful not to get any mud on their spotless gowns.
“Rylands?” Eleanor said to the butler. “You will see Miss Somerset and Miss Lily’s things are sent to the blue bedrooms, please?”
The butler bowed. “Of course, miss.” His expression was respectfully stoic, despite the mud and the deplorable hay cart.
“My dears, we had thought to have a light supper together this evening,” Charlotte began as she led Lily and Delia into the entrance hall. “But given the late hour and Alec’s disgraceful hay cart—”
Eleanor interrupted her sister. “It’s best if you go straight to your rooms so you can recover from the shock and cold. It would
be too bad if one of you took a chill and became ill. It would spoil all our fun.” Eleanor turned back to the butler. “Rylands, our guests will need baths and trays with a light supper.”
Rylands bowed again. “Yes, miss.”
Alec followed the ladies into the entrance hall. “Where’s Robyn? I would think he’d make an effort to greet his guests.”
Delia turned to him in surprise. Eleanor was surprised by this comment, as well. “Don’t be absurd, Alec. They’re our guests. Robyn is off somewhere.” She waved her hand vaguely.
Lord Carlisle bowed. “Miss Somerset, Miss Lily. I hope you both recover enough from your alarming journey that you are able to enjoy your stay. If you’ll excuse me, I need to send a servant back to the inn with the hay cart, and find someone to tend to William.”
When he straightened from his formal bow, his eyes found Delia’s face and lingered there, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. She couldn’t quite read his expression, but there was something in it that sent a surge of warm color into her cheeks.
He narrowed his eyes on her in surprise, blinked, but said nothing. Then he bowed again and disappeared.
Chapter Four
“It’s just like a cloud.” Lily peeked around the door that connected her room to Delia’s, a dazed expression on her face.
Delia stood motionless by the door that led from her room into the hallway. She hadn’t moved since the maid had shown them up to their rooms. “What is?”
“My room. It’s . . .” Lily paused, gesturing with her hands, as if words failed her. “It’s fluffy. It’s creamy white with the softest blue accents. It’s . . . it’s frothy, Delia. It looks like a cloud. It feels like a cloud. You can’t imagine . . .” Her voice trailed off as she took in Delia’s room. She stepped toward the bed and ran a hesitant finger across the pale blue damask coverlet, closing her eyes in bliss at the feel of the rich fabric.
“I don’t need to imagine it,” Delia said shortly. She still stood stiffly by the door.
Maybe it was the cold, or the ordeal with Lord Carlisle, or the broken axle and the hay cart, but all of a sudden she felt like crying.
Lily opened her eyes. “Delia!” she exclaimed, noting her sister’s stricken expression. “What’s the matter?”
Delia gathered the folds of her ruined cloak in her fists. “I can’t touch anything! I’m afraid to move. I’ll get mud and hay all over this beautiful room!”
“Oh, my dear.” Lily hurried to Delia’s side and began to work on the tangled strings of her sister’s bonnet. She made sympathetic noises in her throat, but Delia was sure she was stifling a smile.
“There. That’s better.” Lily held the ruined bonnet pinched between the tips of her fingers and hesitated, looking for a safe place to set it down. Finally she balanced it on the edge of the washbasin. “The bath will be here soon, and you can . . .” She stopped in the middle of unbuttoning Delia’s cloak. “My goodness, Delia! Is there any mud left in Kent, or is it all on your cloak?”
Delia scowled. “There seems to be plenty for everyone, but Kent could be awash in mud, Lily, and you would still manage to remain spotless.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “Let’s not start with that again. What was your first impression of the estate?” she asked instead, changing to a subject she knew her sister would be unable to resist.
“Exquisite. Most of the ton’s country estates are grand and impressive, of course, but few are as truly lovely as this one is. At least it seemed so from the brief look we had. If the weather holds, perhaps we can walk in the garden tomorrow, or ride around the park.”
“If you wish to see the gardens and park, Delia, I’m certain Mr. Robert Sutherland would be very pleased to escort you.” A provoking little smile lifted the corners of Lily’s mouth.
Lily’s expression was so comical Delia couldn’t prevent a laugh. “Oh, what nonsense, Lily.”
“He did pay you rather marked attention at the Mainwarings’ party the night before he escorted Charlotte and Ellie home.”
“I believe you mean he paid rather marked attention to my cleavage. Had I not been forced to borrow Iris’s yellow gown, I daresay Mr. Sutherland would have completely overlooked me. Perhaps if you had worn a gown a half size too small, Lily?”
The cleavage-baring yellow gown had become a bit of a legend in the Somerset household after the Mainwarings’ party. Delia and Lily had regaled their wide-eyed younger sisters at length with exaggerated stories of the effect the tight yellow gown had had on Robyn Sutherland.
“Your underestimate your own charms, Delia,” Lily said, still giggling.
“Not at all.” Delia forgot all about the mud as she began to warm to her subject. “You overestimate Mr. Sutherland’s attention span. He’s a member of the beau-monde and has doubtless been distracted by another plunging neckline by now. The Mainwarings’ party was nearly two weeks ago! If you didn’t bring Iris’s gown with you, Lily, then perhaps you have a shiny object? For I imagine that will do almost as well.”
“Oh, you are too cruel,” Lily said, wiping her eyes.
“Perhaps I am. Besides, I found Mr. Sutherland quite charming. He’s easy and friendly—not at all what one would expect from a fashionable young man of the ton.”
His brother, on the other hand . . .
But Delia kept that thought private. Lily didn’t need to know about Lord Carlisle’s bare chest and unbuttoned breeches. It would worry her, and Delia was determined to let nothing worry or vex Lily in her current precarious state of health.
After their parents’ deaths, Delia had emerged from her own dark abyss of grief to find her sister hollow-cheeked, with black-shadowed, dull eyes. Nothing seemed to rouse Lily from her lethargy. She grew paler and thinner with each passing day until Delia became frantic with worry.
Then Charlotte and Ellie Sutherland had arrived in Surrey and they’d chased away the worst of the demons with their high spirits and contagious laughter, and Lily had begun to show signs of life again. Nothing less than a hope for her sister’s full recovery could have induced Delia to come to this house party. She much preferred their quiet little corner of Surrey to a fortnight with the ton.
“Robyn is very handsome.” Lily raised one eyebrow suggestively.
“Yes, quite. But, Lily”—Delia took a step closer to Lily and lowered her voice to a whisper—“there’s been some scandal about Mr. Sutherland and the plunging bodices. Gossip has it he’s had his hand in his share of—”
A sharp rap sounded on the door and they jumped guiltily apart. Delia opened it to find a fresh-faced maid in a white cap.
“Good evening, miss.” The maid curtsied. “I’ve come to stir up the fire. Your baths will be up straightaway. I hope you don’t mind, Miss Somerset, but I asked the cook to hold your supper tray. I thought you might wish to bathe first.” She cast an eye over the muddy bonnet on the side of the washbasin.
“Oh, yes.” Delia stood away from the door so the maid could enter. “Very wise of you, um . . .”
“Polly, miss. I’m to help you ladies while you visit.” She crossed the room and poked the fire into a satisfying blaze, then gathered up the muddy cloak and bonnet. “May I take these down for a cleaning?”
“Well, I’d thought I would just throw them away,” Delia confessed. “They look to be beyond redemption.”
Polly ran a practiced eye over the garments. “I may be able to do something with them. Shall I try, miss?”
“By all means. Though I’ll be overjoyed if I never see either of them again,” Delia said to Lily in a low voice as Polly left the room.
Lily giggled. “Don’t give them up for lost yet, Delia. The staff in a grand house like this one must have some laundering secrets far beyond the wildest imaginings of our meager household.”
“I suppose so,” Delia agreed, but she braced herself as another wave of homesickness washed thr
ough her. Perhaps their home was meager compared to this majestic estate, but it was theirs.
“What do you suppose the girls are doing right now?” Lily asked.
Delia smiled. Lily was thinking of home, too. “Oh, I imagine they’re running about in their usual disorganized fashion, pestering Hannah to within an inch of her sanity.”
Hannah was the Somersets’ housekeeper and second mother. She’d been with the family since Delia was in pinafores. None of the girls could imagine their home without her, now more than ever, when they missed their parents so desperately.
“How I would have loved to have Hannah come with us on this trip.” Lily sighed. But it was unthinkable that Iris, Violet, and Hyacinth should be left alone, and there wasn’t anyone else to accompany Delia and Lily to Kent.
“I wouldn’t,” Delia said, trying to lighten the mood. “Then both of you would have scolded me about the mud.”
“Indeed we would. Do you suppose Mr. Downing will continue to pursue Iris while we’re away?”
The Downings were local gentry in the neighborhood. Mr. Edward Downing was the eldest son. Over the past few months he’d begun to show an interest in Iris, who, at not quite eighteen years of age, had blossomed into a notable beauty. “I think if he pursues her too ardently, then Hannah will pursue him, with a broom over her shoulder.”
Hannah was a staunch defender of virtue.
“You did say you left the yellow gown with Iris, didn’t you?” Lily asked. “Perhaps that was unwise, Delia?”
“Not at all. The gown fits her!”
Their peals of laughter were interrupted by another brisk knock on the door. Delia opened it to find two footmen carrying a large tub followed by a line of maids with steaming pitchers of water. Polly hurried in at the end of this impressive parade with a stack of thick, soft towels.
“Here we are, miss. Place the tub by the fire, now, James. Yes, yes, that’ll do.” Polly pulled a chair up next to the tub and placed the towels and a luxurious-looking cake of violet-colored soap on it.