Lady Fiona's Tall, Dark Folly: Four Weddings and a Frolic, Book 1

by DeLand, Cerise

  If she did share that, she would come within inches of sharing too many of her horrid memories. She had courage for much. Had garnered it alone, bit by tiny bit, to piece together a facade that the world knew as Lady Fiona Chastain. She stared at him, afraid she might not ever be able to tell him all of who she was or why and how.

  "I will not ask it of you," he said with solemnity. "I wait upon your pleasure."

  Her friend Ivy appeared before them. Clearing her throat, her face full of dismay, Ivy sat on the opposite chair. Nervous and wary, she was full of the usual pleasantries that passed time. How cool the day was, how marvelous everyone looked, how delighted Ivy was to be here again this year. She addressed Fifi and Charlton, not at all.

  He took the cue he was not wanted. "May I get you another glass of sherry, Lady Ivy?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  And off he went.

  Ivy frowned. "Esme tells me you and she are to talk."

  "It's true. And about time we settled our little rivalry."

  "So true. Your feud is old and I'm not certain of what it was made."

  Fifi sighed. Remembering the times that her cousin tried to imitate Fifi or make friends with her own, she recalled the piqued little look on her cousin's face. Jealousy. Not greed or avarice. Jealousy borne of desire. "Childishness, I'd say, on both our parts."

  "One problem settled." Ivy leaned closer and spoke in quiet tones, her gaze upon Charlton. "What's he about here?"

  That surprised Fifi. "He's being a gentleman. Having saved me from our ruined coach, he has wrapped my foot."

  "Hmm. Has he not wrapped you around his finger?"

  Fifi pulled back. "Certainly not."

  "Be careful, Fee."

  She stared at her lovely friend, usually so well-meaning. "I am."

  "You don't want gossip spread about you. Him kissing your hand. In public too."

  "He showed me compassion."

  "All day long?"

  "There is no law against it, Ivy!"

  Her friend tsked. "Him carrying you about like a lovesick swain? Fee, of such stories is legend made."

  Fifi had never known Ivy to be a meddler, nor to be jealous of any of their other friends. But she was insulted at Ivy's interference. "Why would you say such things to me?"

  Ivy's emerald eyes captured hers in a dark vise. "I remember how you hated any whiff of scandal as a child. You'd never speak of the cause and I'm not about to ask you for it now. But if you still guard your reputation, Fee, don't let him make such a spectacle of his interest in you."

  * * *

  Dinner next to him was a nightmare.

  Stirred to her old fears about others who might think badly of her, Fifi turned a cool face to his charm.

  Seated in the free manner that the Prince Regent preferred, her aunt's arrangement put Charlton on her left and another gentleman whom she'd met here before to her right. Lord Collingswood was a polite fellow, a widower, with a shock of red gold hair and large eyes that glistened like hard coal. He was well-spoken and attentive, funny too, so Fifi had no pains paying attention to him.

  But by the time the desserts were presented at table, she itched to be alone. Alone she could summon her forces for the days ahead.

  If only she could leave!

  Word went round that her aunt and uncle invited many to the main salon for conversation and those who wished to play cards could adjourn to the yellow salon.

  How she yearned to play! Whenever she felt put-upon or ignored, sad or misunderstood, she had to play. Command of the cards would put her to rights. Thank heavens her old nurse Pinters had taught her well. Outfoxing others meant she could not only win, but dominate her opponents.

  "Will you play?" Collingswood asked her as the footman bent forward with a tray piled high with fragrant apple tarts.

  Her mouth watered. Not only for the tarts...but for the elixir of winning.

  She indicated one tart, please. "I shouldn't. I am quite tired."

  From the corner of her eye, she could tell Charlton listened.

  "I understand you play well," Collingswood pursued the subject.

  Where had he heard that? Someone here, she guessed. Ivy? Grace? Esme? Esme knew best of all how well Fifi won over most challengers at cards.

  "Play well?" she asked with more gaiety than she felt. Another footman appeared between them and presented a tray filled with little choux, her favorite. Fifi licked her lips. "I do."

  "And you win often?" This, from Charlton.

  "Occasionally." He knew how well she played! Years ago, she'd taken two hundred pounds off him.

  "Why not play us, then?" Collingswood leaned forward to invite Charlton. "We'll ask a forth, shall we?"

  "Fine idea," Charlton agreed, the devil in his eyes.

  "I must decline." She'd promised Mary she wouldn't play and succumb to her ability to fleece her aunt's and uncle's guests. She resolved to be firm about excusing herself from Charlton's company. She would refuse! But first, she'd dig into her little desserts and finish them off.

  Collingswood spoke to his dinner partner on his other side and returned to them to say, "Now we have our fourth. Lady Saunderson agrees and suggests whist."

  Fifi shook her head, unable to talk with a mouth-full of crisp sugary dough. She hated that game. Lady Saunderson had been the finest player at school, and had even taught Fifi a few tricks. She swallowed quickly. "I prefer Cabriole."

  "I don't know that one," said Collingswood.

  "I know it," said Charlton.

  Bother! She shouldn't play! "I must not. I'm really quite tired from the day."

  Charlton narrowed his gaze on her, his challenge a mischievous dare.

  Didn't believe her, eh? Well, she'd show him he did not know her well. "Perhaps one round."

  "Wonderful," said Collingswood.

  * * *

  Lady Saunderson leaned back in her chair and flashed her brilliant topaz-colored eyes in a look of success. "Your turn, Lord Collingswood."

  "My lady," he countered with a grin, then laid a card face up that the lady cooed over. "I hesitate to breathe. You ruined me on the last round."

  She chuckled lightly.

  Rory suspected that these two knew each other well. Oh, they addressed each other formally enough, but there was a familiarity in their repartee that said they understood each other on a primal level.

  Rory sighed. He'd had that himself with Fifi until her friend Ivy had spoken with her. What could her friend have said in so short a time that would ruin what Rory would have called the perfect relationship?

  He'd no idea! Yet the woman who taught them the game she called Cabriole, did so with a focus that shocked him. She did not speak. She did not joke. She drank sherry like a gunner who'd lost his cannon. And her lovely blue eyes? Those that could lure him to all manner of risqué dreams? They looked upon the cards, then rose to meet his with the ruthless regard of a City banker.

  He could not identify this creature whose gaze rarely strayed from the table for the past hour. She wore her glasses, unlike that first time they'd played together six years ago. But her spectacles mattered not, for he did recall she'd played then too with a ruthless acuity that had stolen his logic. Like then, tonight she had won a pretty pot. Twenty pounds from Lady Saunderson, her pick of the spring litter from his own pack of fox hounds and half of Collingswood's annual order of Jameson's Irish Whiskey.

  "Come now, Fee," cooed the lady who, it seemed, knew her well. "I brought no more funds with me. You must allow me to win back my pin money."

  "Far from it, Diana," Fifi said with relish and a wink. "I must show you how the student rewards her teacher. With excellence."

  "Play your final card then," the lady demanded. "I must see what you have before I toss my home into the pot."

  Fifi's cavalier demeanor cracked. "You shouldn't bet it and I must never bankrupt you."

  Rory froze.

  Fifi shot back in her chair. "Oh, I am sorry. That was...!"

  C
ollingswood blinked.

  Rory sat in disbelief. The two women clearly knew each other so well that their finances were no secret. Was Fifi so driven to win that she would be so carelessly rude?

  "Oh, Diana." Fifi reached across the table and caught her friend's hand. "I am sorry. Very sorry. I...I don't know what got into me."

  "Please say no more, Fifi. I know you did not mean to insult me."

  "I truly did not."

  "It's my fault, Fee. I should not have sat here with you."

  "I—I lose myself when I play. Forgive me, Diana."

  "Of course, I do. I know the look, the feeling. How heady the delight of the win."

  "Dangerous, too. Oh, Diana."

  "Stop, Fee." The lady pushed back in her chair, her head held high, the tears in her eyes overflowing. "Pardon me, please, gentlemen, Fifi, I must seek my bed."

  Collingswood and Rory got to their feet.

  She whirled away.

  Collingswood was hard on her heels.

  Fifi struggled to stand. "I will retire." She spun—and forgetting her injured ankle, she stepped out on it and yelped.

  Rory cursed. Threw down his cards and went to lift her into his arms.

  "Stop!" She pushed him away.

  Those in the room turned their way.

  "I will walk, my lord. Do see me as I truly am. Capable of many things. But a ghoul when I am at cards. However, that you already knew."

  She limped away.

  He hated every step she took without him. Caring for her so deeply with only hours of acquaintance to identify the reasons for his desire, he did not ridicule her for her foibles. Did he not have flaws himself? He had no fears for her recovery. He'd seen and heard proof of her self-correction when she had apologized to her friend. Now she retired to take time to heal her sorrowed heart. She did not need him for that.

  Chapter 7

  By the time Fifi descended the main staircase for breakfast, she had made three vows to herself. In the wee hours of the night, she had come to terms with who she was, her failings, and who she wished to become. At twenty-four, a spinster, responsible for her ailing mother's welfare, and awaiting their solicitor's discovery of the whereabouts of her father's heir, she had no business frittering away her reputation gambling. She must apply herself to the quiet comportment that would bring serenity to the rest of her days. That meant being proud of herself in all things. Her motto to live like no one need approve was one that had served her well and truly from now on, she must. She would live like no one need approve of her, but herself!

  And so she would take steps henceforth to act with pride.

  First, she would seek out Diana before all the guests set off to the village this morning for the May Day festivities. Another apology would be her first priority. But second, she would give her friend a more precious vow. She would not play cards again. She would not gamble with other people's money or reputation. And in so doing, she would not wager her own. No matter the lure of fortune to be won. No matter her tenuous impoverished state. She would adapt. What was the value of money compared to a fine character?

  Her second decision was to resolve her differences with her cousin Esme. Her motivation was not simply that Fifi had discovered that Charlton, not Northington, was the man she'd fallen for years ago. Her decision was prudent, given that all these years she had unfairly judged Esme, thinking her flighty and opportunistic. This morning, before the village frolic, Fifi hoped she might talk with Esme and change their relationship forever more.

  Fifi limped toward the breakfast room, but paused when she heard male voices. If the men inside were Collingswood and Charlton, she would offer her apologies to them as well. She couldn't remember if she had done that last night, but certainly, they merited her words of regret.

  She rounded the doors and, just as she thought, the two men were at table. At the sight of her, both got to their feet. She extended her hand to indicate they need not rise, but Charlton was at her side, pulling out one chair for her.

  "Please, Lady Fiona, do join us." She would sit next to him and across from Collingswood.

  A footman was in attendance but he quickly resumed his post by the sideboard and picked up a tea pot to serve her.

  Charlton leaned toward her. "Shall I prepare a plate for you, Lady Fiona?"

  "Thank you, no, my lord. I will have tea first and then do that myself." She was used to doing for herself. All her life. Her father had ignored her. Her mother had criticized her at every turn. Fifi had learned to do for herself. Choosing her clothes, her maid, her French tutor, her books and even her finishing school, she prided herself on being herself and making choices that gratified her. Today she was simply perfecting that practice. Live like no one need approve. "I must ask both of you please to pardon my behavior of last night. I was very wrong to make such a statement about Lady Saunderson. She is a friend of many years' standing and I am ashamed to have humiliated her so."

  Collingswood sat with compassion lining his handsome features. "I talked with her afterward. She bears you no ill will. She declares your abilities at cards were skills she taught you. She blames herself."

  "She must not, sir. What I did last night to allow myself to be carried away with ruthless abandon was irresponsible. I will not do it again. In fact, I vow never to play cards again."

  "A bit extreme, don't you think, my dear Fee?"

  She turned to the sound of Diana's voice. "I don't. Last night was not the first time I've acted rashly. I will not chance I'd hurt another."

  "Say no more. Please." Diana came to take the chair the footman offered her. She sat beside Fifi and took her hand. "You have declared your sorrow to me and I accept. I think you are right about playing cards with anyone. And I, like you, will not do it again. Over the years, I've lost money I shouldn't have. I played so ruthlessly that I've lost friends I shouldn't have. So I am at fault too and now I will hear no more of this. We are both resolved to give up our dastardly ways and that makes this a good spring morning to begin anew, don't you think?"

  "I do, indeed."

  Diana's soft brown eyes twinkled. "Wonderful. Now! I am ravenous." She pushed back her chair and went to the sideboard.

  "How is your ankle this morning?" Charlton asked Fifi.

  "A bit better." She sipped her hot tea, satisfied so far with the results of her conversations.

  "You still limp."

  "I do. But the swelling has diminished."

  "A good sign."

  "We thought," said Collingswood, "we'd ask Lord Courtland if we might use his pony cart to take you to the May Day frolic this morning."

  "Kind of you, thank you. I did not plan to go." She'd be a spectacle in that cart and she didn't want extra attention on her infirmity.

  "But in the cart," said Charlton, "you'll be comfortable. I will assist you."

  "Thank you, but there is no need." Indeed, she had to refuse him for that was the substance of her third decision. She had to dissuade Lord Charlton—enchanting Rory—from his attentions to her. Love at first sight was a romantic illusion. She had no right to believe in such fantasies. Her life had always been colored by the harsh glare of reality. A father who abused her mother. That lady's acquiescence. Her own defiance of her father, threatening to his bravado. She was no young woman who should believe in love at first sight or second or eternal. She must send dear Rory on to another lady who could accept him, value him, match him in gaiety and ardor. She had neither equal to his charm. "I will remain here and read a good book."

  Disappointment fell over his face like a shroud.

  Silence grew among the four. Occasionally, Diana and Collingswood carried on, the quiet spells awkward.

  "Shall I meet you in the foyer to walk to the village, Lady Saunderson?" Collingswood asked her when they had finished their breakfasts.

  "I'd like that." She checked the clock on the mantle. "In an hour?"

  He agreed and with a knowing glance at Charlton, he followed Diana to the hall.

&
nbsp; Fifi took the last remaining bites of bacon and egg, in a hurry to leave quickly and write that note to Esme.

  "Finished?" Charlton asked, sounding peevish.

  She glanced at him and he scowled at her.

  Very well. She shot to her feet. She'd end this right here and now. "I am. Good morning to you, sir—"

  He hauled her into his arms and strode toward the hall. "It is not a good morning at all!"

  She sought purchase wrapping her arms around his shoulders and prayed no one was in the hall to witness this. "You must put me down!"

  "Why?" He took the stairs. "So you can run away?"

  His grey eyes bored into hers. She'd not do well to argue with him often. He showed her a wall of integrity that she might never breech—and an anger she might never protect against.

  "I am not running, sir! I will not. I showed you that this morning. I apologized. Diana accepted. Collingswood also. You did too! What is your problem?"

  He set his jaw and fumed.

  Oh, it was the day! Her accident! The pain. This man—and all he awakened within her. Hope, need, want...a yearning for...

  This man who held her so tenderly, who treated her so reverently.

  He took the stairs with speed and precision. Though she held tightly to him, her arms around his neck, she knew this would be the last time he held her. How could he even think of wishing to hold her from now on? She was a flawed creature.

  "Open the door," he told her when they arrived at her rooms.

  She twisted the handle, ready to be deposited to the floor...but he shouldered his way in, kicked shut the door and marched straight past her sitting room and into her bedroom.

  There, he plunked her atop the gold satin counterpane and went to the windows where he crossed his arms, then whirled to confront her.

  "Thank you, you may go," she said as he seemed to search the room, strode to one corner and poured a glass of water from the glass pitcher.

  Then he brought her the glass. "Drink it."

  She opened her mouth to object, then shrugged and did as he bid her.

  He took it and set it to a table, then sat beside her on the edge of the bed. "Tell me about your gambling."