A Lady Never Tells

by Candace Camp

  Mary nodded, accepting the truth of that. There was still nothing to show that their stepfather was involved. Surely there was no harm in not telling the earl and Sir Royce about him.

  Charlotte was already beginning to come around when both bandages and smelling salts arrived, but Vivian waved the vial under her friend’s nose anyway, as Mary efficiently bound the groom’s upper arm tightly against his body, then fashioned a sling for him. When she finished, Mary turned to find the others watching her. Charlotte had regained her feet and was standing with Lady Vivian’s arm around her waist for support.

  “How did you know what to do?” Charlotte asked in amazement.

  Mary shrugged. “Where we lived, there wasn’t always a doctor around. You learn to deal with the smaller things.”

  “Smaller,” Charlotte repeated in a choked voice.

  Lady Vivian looked at Mary and her sisters, smiling, her vivid green eyes glinting in the sun. “I am really very glad you girls moved to England.”

  Stewkesbury let out an inelegant snort. “Of course you are.” He turned to the Bascombes. “Ladies, there will be no riding until this madman is caught. Royce. Fitz.” He jerked his head toward the house.

  The other two men nodded and followed him inside.

  “Where are they going?” Rose asked as the women trailed after them into the house.

  “Setting up search parties, I imagine,” Charlotte said, leading them into the drawing room and ringing for tea. “Oliver is furious.”

  “Really?” Mary asked in amazement. “How can you tell?”

  Vivian laughed. “If he expressed it, he wouldn’t be Oliver—or, I suppose I should say, he wouldn’t be the earl.”

  “He’ll have them scouring the countryside,” Charlotte promised.

  “I wouldn’t have thought he would care that much. I mean, he barely knows us,” Camellia commented.

  Charlotte glanced at her in surprise. “You don’t know Oliver. It isn’t affection—not that he dislikes you,” she added hastily. “And I am sure that he will come to hold you in great regard as he gets to know you better.” At the girls’ disbelieving looks, she went on, “At any rate, it doesn’t matter. The fact is, you are Talbots, and he is responsible for you.”

  “It’s an insult to him that someone attacked us,” Camellia said.

  “Yes,” Vivian agreed. “But more than that, it makes him absolutely determined to keep you safe. You are under his protection. You are his family, however little you know each other.”

  “And no one threatens his family,” Charlotte added.

  Mary nodded. “I understand. I just would not have thought it of him.”

  “Don’t underestimate Stewkesbury,” Vivian told her. “That is always a mistake. After all, he had the good sense to turn down Sabrina.”

  “What?” Mary turned to her, eyes rounded.

  “I am sorry. I forget that you are fond of her. I should not expose you to my bias about the woman. No doubt I should say nothing about Lady Sabrina. Or I should preface my remarks by saying that my opinion is prejudiced by the fact that she took the place of my very dear and delightful aunt, who had been in her grave only three months when Sabrina started her pursuit of my poor, befuddled, grief-stricken uncle.”

  “Yes, that is a most unbiased statement,” Charlotte agreed with mock gravity.

  Lady Vivian shrugged. “I cannot pretend to like the woman. And while in theory it is all very well to say that one must say nothing rather than something ill of anyone, I cannot help but think ’tis better to warn those who do not know her that the coin of Sabrina’s friendship is—well, perhaps not false, for she does truly like to have people about to admire her—but it certainly first and foremost is for the benefit of Sabrina.”

  “I told you I didn’t like her,” Camellia put in triumphantly.

  “Do not turn away from her on my say-so,” Lady Vivian said. “As I said, I am not impartial where Sabrina is concerned. But give your friendship to her with care.”

  She broke off as a footman brought in the tea tray, and they spent the next few minutes in the ritual of pouring and distributing tea and cakes. All the while, however, Mary’s head was buzzing with what she had just heard. As soon as the servant left, Mary turned to Vivian.

  “But it was Royce, not Lord Stewkesbury, was it not?” Mary asked. “I mean, Sabrina told me that she and Sir Royce were in love.”

  “She had his heart in her hand, that much is true,” Charlotte agreed.

  “But she tried to interest Stewkesbury first,” Vivian said. “He was the heir, obviously, and he is a handsome man. Always was. As I remember, I had something of a tendre for him myself.” She let out an amused chuckle.

  “You did?” Charlotte set her cup in its saucer with a rattle. “I never knew that!”

  “Well, I could hardly confide in you, could I? You were his cousin. I mean, I thought he was a terrible prig, of course, but I think one reason I played so many tricks on him was simply that I wished he would notice me.” She laughed again. “Anyway, Oliver would have nothing to do with Sabrina. She told me so herself.” Vivian took a sip of her tea, then sighed. “Obviously, I must expose my own youthful idiocies. I was still a gawky girl at sixteen, all legs and teeth and hair that looked as if someone had started a fire on my head. I was terribly flattered when Sabrina made overtures of friendship to me.”

  “I remember. I was jealous about all the time you spent with her,” Charlotte agreed.

  “I was a fool,” Vivian replied dispassionately. “I didn’t see how unlikely it was that a girl three years older than I and already out, the beauty of the surrounding countryside, would want to be friends with me. Nor had I learned the valuable lesson that a duke’s daughter is prey to all sorts of people eager to be one’s ‘friend.’ Only in this instance, it was my uncle, not my father, who interested Sabrina. My aunt had died not long before, and Sabrina saw an opportunity in Uncle Humphrey. Through me, she would have a way into his house, his confidence. She could offer a sympathetic and soft white shoulder to cry on. Then, of course, she could offer other things to soothe his heart and make him forget his sorrow. Within weeks, she dropped Sir Royce and married my uncle.”

  Vivian sighed, then shook her head. “There, now, I have run on far too much, I fear. You girls will think me a spiteful old hag.”

  They began to talk of other things, but Mary did not say much. Her mind was too busy going over their encounters with Lady Sabrina, seeing them in a new light. Had all of Sabrina’s concerned statements actually been subtle attempts to create the fear and intimidation and inadequacy that she had been telling them not to feel? It seemed bizarre, but Mary had to admit that the woman’s comments had always reminded them that they were not dressed properly or that their manners were not acceptable or that they did not know enough. Had she taken them that day to visit the vicar’s wife in the hope that Mrs. Martin would dislike the Bascombes? Camellia had suggested as much the other day. Mary found herself reluctant to believe it, but she was honest enough to admit that her reluctance sprang primarily from the fact that it hurt to think that Sabrina had only been manipulating them.

  Clearly, Vivian’s view of Sabrina matched the description of her that Royce had painted. If they were right, then Sabrina had lied to Mary about marrying Lord Humphrey because her parents demanded it; it had been Sabrina’s own desire for wealth and status that had made her jilt Royce. But whatever Sabrina’s motives in breaking it off with Royce, the result had been the same: Royce’s heart had been broken, and he had decided never again to trust or to love. The letter Mary had read this afternoon had only emphasized that fact.

  A few minutes later, when Vivian said her good-byes and rose to leave, Mary jumped up and walked with her to the front door. “Lady Vivian … might I have a word with you?”

  Vivian turned to look at her, her vivid green eyes curious, but her polite tone revealed neither curiosity nor surprise. “Of course. Shall we sit down on one of the benches in front?”
/>
  Mary smiled gratefully, and they walked out the front door and down the steps to the small expanse of lawn before the driveway. Lady Vivian’s carriage stood waiting, the footman ready to open the door, but Vivian showed no sign of impatience. She made a brief gesture to the footman before she walked over to one of the stone benches that stood a few feet beyond the front door. When she and Mary were seated, she turned to Mary, politely waiting.

  Mary felt suddenly awkward. “I’m sorry. I—no doubt I am being too forward. Miss Dalrymple usually says that I am.”

  “Miss Dalrymple. Pffft.” Vivian made a dismissive gesture. “A small-minded woman; I cannot imagine what possessed Stewkesbury to hire her. Just tell me what you wish to say. If I find it too forward, I don’t have to respond.”

  “That’s true.” Mary smiled. “The thing is … I am not accustomed to British gentlemen. I don’t know how to judge their words. Their actions.”

  “Are we talking about Sir Royce?” Vivian asked.

  “How did you know?” Mary’s eyes rounded in amazement. “Is it that obvious?” Her hands flew up to her cheeks, which were suddenly burning.

  Vivian chuckled. “No, don’t worry. I would like to say I have a special eye for these things, but, well, it’s pretty clear that if you are having man trouble and two of the men here are your cousins, it is the one who is not who is probably the fellow in question.”

  Mary laughed. “I suppose it is. Well, subtlety aside then … you know Sir Royce far better than I. And you know all about him and Lady Sabrina. Do you think—do you think that he could ever forget her?”

  Vivian raised her brows a trifle. “Is he still pining for her? I would not have thought it.”

  “He says he does not love her. And, indeed, I don’t think he yearns for her. It’s more … the opposite of that. He avoids her, and his words about her and what she did are harsh.”

  “Mary, I know that you like Sabrina, but—”

  “No, it’s not that I think he should not be angry at her. I see, I think, what she has been doing.”

  Vivian looked at her, head tilted to the side. “Then why is it a problem that Royce dislikes her intensely? If you care for him, I would think you would be glad.”

  “Because it is such a strong feeling. It is not love, but the opposite coin of love. It fills him up. It occupies his emotions. She remains the most important woman in the world to him, even if his feelings toward her are rancorous.”

  “Ah, I see what you mean. You worry that he is obsessed with her, that he cannot love you as long as he remains full of feelings about Sabrina, even anger and dislike.”

  “Yes.” Mary smiled with relief. “Exactly. He has asked me to marry him.”

  “He has? That seems a strong indication that he is over Sabrina.”

  “One would think. But he was careful to let me know that he would never love me or any woman. Our marriage would be one of mutual advantage. That is all.”

  “I see.” Vivian was silent for a moment. “That is the sort of marriage many people I know have. My own parents married for that reason.”

  “Were they happy?”

  Vivian shrugged. “I don’t know. My mother died when I was a baby. My older brothers and my father don’t talk of such things. But from the gossip I have heard … no, I don’t think they were very happy.”

  “My parents were. They loved each other a great deal. That is what I would like to have. But Royce keeps asking me to marry him, and it tempts me even though I know he does it only because he is a gentleman.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes.” Mary blushed, realizing that Vivian would guess at least in part what must have happened between her and Royce. “He is doing it because of my reputation, which is most kind of him, but I—I don’t want a marriage like that.”

  “Let me be forward now.” Vivian took Mary’s hand and looked into her eyes. “Do you love Sir Royce?”

  Mary’s blush flamed even brighter. She wished she could lie to Vivian, but there was something about the other woman’s penetrating green gaze that made it very difficult to do so.

  “I don’t know!” Mary’s words came out in an anguished rush. “I sometimes fear that I do! He is witty and yet quite kind really, and while, yes, he called me a hoyden, he doesn’t really seem to mind it. At least, he never appears to be embarrassed. Perhaps it would be different in public.”

  “I think he is the sort of man who is the same at home as he is in public.”

  “He likes my sisters. And he didn’t tell the earl the full circumstances of how we came upon Pirate. He would have kept the whole episode a secret, actually, but the dog …”

  “It would be difficult to keep that dog a secret.”

  “And, well, when Royce walks into a room, it’s as though I light up inside.”

  “Ah.” Vivian nodded wisely.

  “Have you ever felt like that?”

  “A time or two. At least to some extent.”

  “Is that love?”

  “I’m not sure I am the best person to ask. I have always wondered a little about the feeling myself. There are those who would tell you that I am quite cold.”

  “You?” Mary’s face mirrored her shock. “No, I cannot believe that.”

  “One has many disappointed suitors when one is the daughter of a duke. But I don’t think that I have ever felt the kind of love your parents had. Would I defy my family and run away across the ocean and live without servants and position and wealth? I haven’t found the man yet whom I would do that for.” She paused. “Would you do that for Royce?”

  “Yes.” Mary was surprised at her own answer. “I mean, well, if he loved me and that was the only way we could be together, then, yes, I think I would. Does that mean I love him?”

  Vivian shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Of course, I am quite accustomed to living that way.” Mary grinned. “So it would not be a great sacrifice.” She paused. “I don’t want to love him.”

  “It would be difficult to be married to someone you loved and to know he did not love you back.”

  “Yes. It seems worse to me than going into a marriage knowing neither of you loved the other. If I love Royce and he will never feel the same, I would be condemning myself to a life of unhappiness.”

  “You say that he ‘keeps’ asking you to marry him,” Lady Vivian said.

  Mary nodded. “He has asked me twice, and even though I refused him flatly, he said he would continue. But then he told me he did not wish to bully me into marrying him. I thought he meant he would stop, but he said that he was … simply going to try other ways.” Mary’s blush spoke volumes about what she thought the “other ways” might be.

  “I cannot speak for Sir Royce. But in my experience with English gentlemen, if one asks a woman to marry him only out of a sense of duty or honor, a single proposal is considered sufficient. I don’t think it is honor that propels a man to subject his pride to refusal after refusal—or to trying ‘other ways.’” Vivian’s eyes twinkled as she stood up. “I’m not sure if I have relieved your mind …”

  “No, you have been a great help to me.” Impulsively Mary reached out and gave the other woman a quick hug. “Thank you.”

  She watched Lady Vivian walk down to her carriage, her thoughts humming. Could it really be, as Lady Vivian suggested, that Royce cared more for her than he would admit? That it was not simply out of honor that he asked her to marry him?

  With a sigh, she went back in to join her sisters.

  Supper was late that evening, as the men had been out scouring the countryside until it grew too dark to see.

  “But we will find him,” the earl promised grimly. “Tomorrow we will ride out again. In the meantime, you girls must stay close to the house.”

  “No!” the girls cried, almost in unison.

  “We want to help search,” Mary told him.

  The earl stared at her. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “We’re not. Surely it would help to hav
e more people looking?”

  “And give this fellow another opportunity to seize you? I think not.”

  “It’s only Rose he wants,” Camellia pointed out.

  “So you think you’ll leave me behind?” Rose asked indignantly. “Just you try!”

  “We don’t know that it’s only Rose he wants,” Royce pointed out reasonably. “He could have meant to take all of you. Or perhaps whichever one he could lay his hands on first.”

  “It doesn’t matter because he won’t get any of us,” Mary told him. “We aren’t suggesting that we ride out by ourselves, unarmed. I presume that there are several people searching. We will carry pistols and make part of a party.”

  “I’m a darn sight better shot than that fellow Geoff,” Camellia pointed out.

  “And she kept a cooler head,” Mary added.

  Oliver looked chagrined. “I will admit that my grooms are not accustomed to being fired upon. However, after today, they will be prepared for it.”

  “Good. Then they will offer even more protection,” Mary replied. “And with you three along—I presume you are adequate shots?”

  The earl’s brows shot up at this provocation, and Royce smothered a chuckle.

  “Yes, I believe we are adequate shots,” Stewkesbury replied with a visible effort to remain calm. “Fitz, in fact, is considered something of a marksman.”

  “Good. He and Camellia should go in separate groups, since she is the best shot among us. I presume you are going to split up into more than one party?”

  Oliver regarded Mary for a moment, then turned to cast a look at Sir Royce.

  “Don’t look at me,” Royce told him somewhat smugly. “I have been dealing with this for the past three weeks. It’s your problem now.”

  Oliver swiveled his head back to regard Mary, but before he could say anything, she went on, “Surely you don’t think that with you three accompanying us, not to mention the grooms, this man would dare attack us. If he did—do you not think you could prevent him from carrying us off ?”

  Fitz let out a crack of laughter. “She’s got you now, Ol.”