by Candace Camp
“You would not remain unwed. Believe me. There will be any number of men who will fall at your feet.” He moved closer to her, looking down into her face. “Some man will find himself falling into those blue eyes, and all will be lost. He’ll want nothing but to be with you, to whisper into your ear, to kiss your cheek, your brow, your lips… .”
He leaned closer. Mary stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to look away. Unable, indeed, to move or even breathe. His words touched her like a physical caress, and she could feel her body tightening in response.
Abruptly, Royce turned away. “Many men will want to marry you.”
“Just not you.” Mary realized as soon as she spoke how her words sounded, as if she wanted him to marry her. She tried desperately to think of something that would somehow change her words.
But Royce seemed not to notice any awkwardness. “No. Not I. I have no intention of marrying anyone.”
“Ever?”
He shrugged. “I see no reason to. There are those who have to marry. Oliver, for instance. He will doubtless search until he finds the perfect woman to give him heirs and excel as the Countess of Stewkesbury. I have little interest in either heirs or my duty.”
“Some people have an interest in falling in love.” Mary wasn’t sure why his adamant words annoyed her, but she found herself wanting to argue the point.
“Love is for fools.”
Mary stared at him. “How can you say that?”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen enough of those afflicted with it. My mother was very much in love with Oliver’s father. So in love that they had little interest in the rest of us. All that mattered was their grand passion. Of course, there were also the jealous scenes, the tears and the tantrums, the remorse. And before you knew it, they were back in each other’s arms, madly in love.”
“My parents were in love, and they were not like that. They were happy with each other—and with us.”
“Then you are a lucky woman, and your parents were lucky as well. It is not the normal state of things.”
“I am not sure your view is either.” Mary paused, studying him. She could not help but wonder if there was more to his vehement dislike of love. There had been something so bitter in his eyes when he said that love was for fools. However, she felt sure that whatever it was, she would not get it out of him today.
“So …” she said lightly, “I am not the only female you have no wish to marry?”
A half-smile touched his lips. “True. There are any number of females I do not intend to marry.”
“At least I am not alone.”
“What about us? Do you forgive me? Are we friends again?”
“Were we friends before?” Mary asked.
“You wound me. After I have rescued you two—nay, three times? And we are not friends?”
Mary laughed at his mock indignation. “All right. Yes, we are friends.”
The truth was, she wasn’t sure what they were. There was still, she knew, an ache deep in her heart from what he had said the other night. Yet she believed him when he told her he had not meant to hurt her. She enjoyed his company. It would be pointless to try to maintain an icy aloofness with him.
But was it friendship when each time you saw a person, the first thing you thought of was kissing him?
Chapter 11
After Royce left, Mary went in search of her sisters. It did not take long to find them, as they were all roaming the upstairs hall, whistling and calling, “Pirate!”
Mary let out a groan. “What happened? Did you lose him?”
“Mary!” The others brightened when they saw her. “Have you seen him?”
“No. I thought you were bathing him.”
“We were,” Lily told her.
“Though I can tell you he didn’t like it by half,” Camellia confided. “My dress was completely soaked. Lily was supposed to dry him while I put on a different dress.” She looked pointedly at her younger sister. “And she let him go.”
Lily rolled her gray-green eyes. “I didn’t let him go. He escaped. He’s terribly slippery,” she confided to Mary.
“That’s why I told you to hold on to him,” Camellia reminded her.
“All right, all right.” Rose raised her hand wearily. “We have been through this before. It doesn’t matter. Pirate is gone, and we have no idea where he is.”
“Oh, dear.” Mary shuddered at the thought of the damage the small dog could cause in this elegant household. “Well, we must find him quickly. The earl expects us in his study.”
The four young women hunted diligently, but they could find no sign of the small dog. Finally, giving up, they went downstairs. While Mary dreaded what Pirate might do before they found him, she dreaded even more keeping the earl waiting. The door to the earl’s study stood open and he was at his desk, a ledger book open before him. He glanced up as Mary and her sisters stopped in the doorway.
“Cousins.” He stood up and started around the desk. “Please, come in.”
He went around them to close the door as the girls moved forward to stand somewhat uncertainly before his desk, glancing around at the heavy, dark masculine furniture.
“Pirate!” Camellia exclaimed.
Her sisters whirled to glare at her, and Camellia pointed to the small black-and-white dog stretched out on his side on the floor in a square of late-afternoon sunlight streaming through the windowpanes. Pirate opened his eyes and lifted his head at the sound of his name. “He’s here! Look.”
“Yes,” the earl agreed. “He came in some time ago, looking like a fox with the hounds after him.”
“We bathed him,” Camellia explained.
“So I gathered.” The earl glanced over at the dog. “I must say, it hasn’t improved his appearance markedly.” Oliver gestured toward the chairs arranged in a conversational grouping near the windows. “Please, sit down.”
He waited politely for them to be seated, then took the remaining chair. Pirate, who had gotten up and trotted over to greet the girls, now lay down beside the earl, resting his head on the toe of the earl’s boot.
Stewkesbury followed their shocked gazes. “Yes, he seems to have taken an unaccountable liking to me.”
“I-I’m sorry,” Mary told him. “I—is he bothering you? Would you like us to take him away?”
The earl waved his hand negligently. “’Tis no problem. As you will be leaving for the country soon, it won’t last long.”
For a long, awkward moment, the four girls and the man regarded one another silently. Finally, he began, “If I recall correctly, Cousin Charlotte is taking you shopping tomorrow.”
Mary’s heart sank. Was he going to take away their shopping trip because of the scrape they had gotten into today? She didn’t dare look at her sisters. Lily especially would be crushed.
“It occurred to me,” the earl went on, “that you would need pin money. Charlotte, of course, will have the bills sent to me, but there will surely be small things like ribbons and candies and such that you will want to purchase yourselves.”
His words were such a surprise to Mary that she could not speak. Clearly her sisters were equally astonished, for all of them simply sat there, gaping at him. Oliver rose and went to his desk, took out a stack of notes, and handed several to each girl. Mary stared at the money. She was not sure exactly how much a British pound was in comparison to American money, but she rather thought that it was worth more. And five of them—for each sister!—seemed a great deal to spend on ribbons and candy.
“But, sir,” she said at last. “Surely this is too much.”
The earl regarded her with faint surprise. “I wouldn’t think so. Perhaps I should consult Charlotte. I fear I haven’t much experience with outfitting young ladies. But I would expect there are a number of things you might wish to purchase on your own, and it is, after all, for the whole month.”
“The month!” Rose repeated in amazement.
“Yes. I think it should be adequate for that, but if it is not, we ca
n discuss it later.”
“But, sir …” Mary looked at him with some distress. “We cannot accept this.” She ignored Lily’s surreptitious pinch. “I never thought—I didn’t dream—that is, we did not intend to be such a burden to you. I did not realize what it would be like here.”
“I am afraid I don’t understand.”
“We expected to find our grandfather, and it seemed only natural that he would take in his grandchildren. But you are only our cousin. It hardly seems fair to expect you to support us. And I assumed that we would do something for our grandfather in return for our upkeep, not just batten on him.”
“Do something?” he repeated blankly.
“Yes, you know, work . Help clean or cook or tend the garden—something to help earn our keep.” At the earl’s astounded expression, she went on quickly, “I realize now that that is not possible. But I never meant for you to feed us and clothe us and have servants do everything for us.”
“But you are Talbots. What else would I do? Had my grandfather known of your existence, he would have done these things for you. He should, quite frankly, have made provision for you in his will. As he did not, I am duty-bound to provide for you.”
“I understand that. And we are very grateful, believe me. But surely you are not duty-bound to provide for us in so grand a way. I think that we must give this back.”
The earl regarded her for a moment. “My dear cousin, I have a certain reputation to uphold. If my cousins were to go about the city penniless and dressed in rags, I would be subject to public ridicule. I should be labeled miserly, mean—or worse, they would say I could not afford to dress you properly, that I was run off my legs. Surely you do not wish to be the cause of my public humiliation?”
“No, of course not. But—”
“No, no.” He held up his hands. “There are no ‘buts.’ I know London. I would be pilloried by the gossips.”
“Because you did not give us pin money?” Mary asked with some skepticism.
He shrugged. “A title carries a great deal of responsibility.”
Mary had the distinct impression that she was being manipulated by the earl, but she realized that it was rather ludicrous to continue to argue, especially when he obviously considered the amount of money negligible. “If that is what you wish, of course. Thank you. It is very kind of you.”
“As for earning your keep, I believe you will find it sufficient work learning all you need to know to make your debuts next Season,” he went on. “However, if you wish for something more to do, it occurs to me you might want to look through your mother’s things while you are at Willowmere.”
“Really?” Mary glanced at her sisters, then back at the earl. “There are still some of her things there?”
“I imagine so. Such items are usually packed up and stored in the attic. There are items up there from generations ago. Grandfather was hurt and angry, but I do not think he would have gone so far as to toss out all her possessions.”
“Thank you.” Mary beamed at him. “Thank you so much.”
The earl had done a great deal for them, more than she would have ever guessed he would. But this, she thought, this opportunity to get a glimpse of her mother’s early life, was more valuable to her than any amount of clothes or money.
* * *
Not long after breakfast the following day, Cousin Charlotte returned to Stewkesbury House, trailed by a slight middle-aged woman carrying a small bag.
“Hello, cousins,” she called gaily as the butler showed her into the morning room. “I have brought Miss Ransom, the wonderful seamstress I was telling you about. Lady Vivian is going to meet us here, so I thought I would have Miss Ransom measure you while we wait. Then we can go buy the cloth for her to sew up into your new frocks.”
The sisters trooped up to Mary and Rose’s bedroom, where, to their surprise, Miss Ransom made them all strip down to their chemises. Pulling a tape measure, a pad, and a stub of a pencil from her bag, she proceeded to measure them from top to toe, all the while jotting down notes. It was the better part of an hour before she declared that she had ample information and Charlotte sent her on her way.
“Now we shall wait for Vivian,” Charlotte said as they settled again in the morning room downstairs. “With luck, she won’t be terribly late.”
“Is she usually late?” Lily asked.
Charlotte shrugged. “Vivian is never ‘usually’ anything. But she does follow her own sense of time.”
Fitz strolled into the morning room, and after a few minutes the earl joined them, Pirate trotting at his heels. The dog made a grand tour, greeting everyone with a great deal of wriggling and jumping. Then he returned to the earl and plopped down beside him. As seemed to be his habit when he was not tearing about, he stretched out on his side and fell instantly and soundly asleep.
Charlotte, who had eyed Pirate’s entrance and progress about the room with some astonishment, said at last, “Stewkesbury … don’t tell me you have acquired a dog.”
“Not my dog,” he informed her.
“We found him on the street yesterday,” Camellia offered. “So we brought him home with us.”
“Indeed. But how—”
The earl shook his head. “I suspect it’s better not to know. That way when the constable comes knocking on my door, I shan’t have to lie.”
Lily’s protest that there had been nothing illegal about their acquisition of Pirate was interrupted by the butler, who entered and said with great dignity, “Lady Vivian Carlyle, my lord.”
“Vivian!” Charlotte exclaimed with delight, rising to her feet.
“Lord help us,” the earl muttered with a good deal less enthusiasm, also rising.
A woman with deep auburn hair swept into the room on the heels of the butler. She wore a walking dress of emerald green, and a black velvet heart-shaped bonnet framed her face, dipping romantically in the center almost to her forehead and lushly lined with pleated silk. A feather of the same vivid green curled across the middle of the hat from the back. On any other woman, the dramatic bonnet might have stolen the viewer’s eye, but on this woman it served merely as a backdrop to one of the most beautiful faces Mary had ever seen.
Vivian Carlyle’s eyes were large and wide-set in a perfectly proportioned face, and they were of a shade of green as arresting as her dress. There were those who said (though never in public) that Lady Vivian’s mouth was a trifle too large and her jaw a bit too strong for true beauty, but such minor imperfections were not noticeable to Mary and her sisters. Nor were they, as some genteel people were, put off by the woman’s open, candid gaze and air of confidence.
“Hallo, Stewkesbury, don’t look so nervous,” Lady Vivian said, offering her hand to the earl in response to his bow. “I shan’t be here long. We have a day’s worth of shopping ahead of—” She glanced down and saw the dog, which had risen and padded along after the earl and now stood gazing up at Vivian with interest. “Good Lord. Oliver, is that your dog?”
The earl glanced down at Pirate. “I am beginning to think so.”
“Well.” Vivian looked from Oliver to the dog and back again. “Clearly you must have hidden depths.”
The earl cocked a sardonic eyebrow at her. “If they are represented by that dog, I dread to think what they might be.”
Vivian laughed and turned to greet Charlotte and Fitz. Last, she went to Mary and her sisters, holding out her hand and saying, “And you must be the Bascombes. Charlotte has told me so much about you. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Charlotte introduced each of the sisters to Lady Vivian. After a few moments of polite chitchat, the women bade good-bye to Fitz and the earl and left on their mission. Lady Vivian’s smart hunter-green barouche waited in front of the house, drawn by four matched grays, its leather top folded back to allow the ladies to see and be seen. A liveried footman jumped forward to fold down the step and hand the women up into the vehicle. It was a bit of a squeeze, but fortunately the barouche was roomy as
well as luxurious, and the women were slender.
“Now,” Charlotte said as the carriage rolled away from the curb, “you must tell me about this dog and how he came to be following Stewkesbury about.”
“Yes, do,” Lady Vivian urged. “I was never so surprised as I was to see the earl with that, that …” Words apparently failed her, and she had to laugh.
Lily, by consensus the best storyteller, began to relate their experiences with the coachman, the dog, and the Honorable Mr. Pinkley Fanshaw. By the time they reached New Bond Street, Vivian and Charlotte were laughing so hard they cried.
“Oh my.” Charlotte dabbed her handkerchief to her eyes. “What I wouldn’t have given to have seen that man whirling about with the dog hanging on to his coattails!”
“Do you know Fanshaw?” Vivian asked.
“No, do you?”
“A little. If you knew him, you would be even more delighted at the thought of his dance with Pirate. He’s a terrible fop; no absurdity is too outrageous for him.”
“He sounds like Cousin Gordon,” Charlotte commented.
“Worse. At least Gordon Harrington has the excuse of being eighteen years old. Fanshaw is approaching forty and still has the sense of a goose.”
The barouche pulled to a stop, and the footman sprang down from his seat to assist them out. Mary followed the others, glancing around at the busy commercial area. As far as the eye could see, there were shops on either side of the street.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Grafton House first,” Charlotte replied. “One has to get here before eleven or it’s horridly crowded; one can hardly find a shop assistant to help.”
Such was not the case now, Mary saw. Although there were more customers inside than she had ever seen in a store before, a clerk was immediately by their side, bowing and offering his assistance. Mary had the suspicion that even had they come at the height of the day’s business, someone would have rushed forward to help Lady Vivian.
Neither Mary nor her sisters paid any attention to the shop assistant, however, for they were gazing about them in wonder. On every side were row upon row of bolts of cloth, some rolled up and set in large shelves, others standing on cabinets or atop the shelves, the material hanging off them in a luxurious fall of color. Even in Philadelphia, Mary had not seen so large a store devoted almost entirely to fabrics. On wooden counters that ran down either side of the store, clerks rolled out bolts of cloth to show their customers or to measure and cut lengths. Most of the customers strolled about, gazing at the materials, or stood at the counters, but the assistant whisked out stools for Vivian and Charlotte, settling them at one counter and eagerly fetching down whatever cloth they wished to examine.