by Kimberly Nee
Claudia smiled, her blush fading as she rested her head against Elena’s shoulder. “You won’t die without ever finding out for yourself.” She paused, then plunged on, “What about Cousin Bennett?”
“What about him?”
“You can always try to get him to change his mind. I’ve seen how you look at him, Lena. And I think you would—well, I think you would suit him so well. He doesn’t need some stuffy English girl. He needs someone…different.”
Elena wished it would be as easy as that, but being different was part of the problem. She wasn’t like Rosamund, who cared more for things and titles than she did people. Elena could only hide her feelings so long, could only remain distant from him for so long.
Besides, she was too different. And even if, by some miracle, she could fit into Dunning’s world, he didn’t want a wife, he wanted a broodmare and that made her nose wrinkle on its own. She would care for him, but he would only see her as a vessel to carry his heir.
That would make her miserable in the end.
“No, I won’t do that.” Elena leaned her head against Claudia’s. “I’m going to tell Lady Rosamund that he would like to ask for her hand. After dinner tomorrow night.”
“Why? Why would you do that? You should claim him for yourself.”
“No. I don’t like to pine for something I know I’ll never have. It makes me too sad, to be honest. Once the wedding is over, I’ll go home, and he’ll be here, doing his earl business and making babies”—she fought off a wince at the pang accompanying those words—“and I’ll find someone on St. Phillippe.”
“You won’t if Cousin Bennett is really the one who’s taken your heart. You will be miserable and thousands of miles away, with no reason to come back here. Never mind that he’ll be married to someone else by the time you returned.” Claudia lifted her head to regard Elena with serious dark blue eyes. “And I don’t want to see you that unhappy, because it’s a misery you’ll carry the rest of your days and you’ll never forgive yourself for not trying.”
“And if I do try? What could ever come of it? Claude, he’s made it plain as day that he’ll not marry anyone whom he thinks cares for him even a little bit.”
“But at least you’ll have tried.”
Before Elena could answer, Gabby and Diego came back inside.
She rose from the bench and said, “I’ll have Conn bring Galen here so you can all talk. And please”—she directed this to Diego, who didn’t look overly thrilled at the prospect of chatting with the man who’d deflowered his daughter before they were married—“don’t hit him.”
“I make no promises,” Diego muttered.
“Well, I will.” Gabby glared at her husband. “Someone has to keep a level head here. Why must it always be me?”
Elena knew better than to answer. She smiled at Claudia, excused herself, and fetched her brothers. After she’d sworn them both to nonviolence, they were off to right the mess and get the wedding proceeding as it should.
Feeling as if an enormous weight had been lifted, she left the house to join the ladies in their games. The gray mist was dissipating and the skies had brightened, looking as if they might even allow some sunlight to touch earth. Pall-mall might not be her greatest strength, but at least it would take her mind off Lord Dunning for a bit.
She trudged across the lawns, still damp with dew and mist, and forced a smile to her lips, one she hoped would become genuine. As she crested the hill and the ladies came into view, the sun peeked out from behind a fluffy cloud to splash its beams across the meadow.
Lady Rosamund smiled and set down her mallet. “Good morning, Miss Sebastiano! I was wondering if you were hiding today.”
“No, a late start, I’m afraid.”
“I heard.” Lady Rosamund’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, although her smile widened. “The Marquess of Shelton? You’ve set your cap high, haven’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I bumped into him this morning.” Lady Rosamund lifted her mallet to tighten both hands about the handle as she positioned herself over the dark blue ball. She glanced at the other ladies. “It seems our visitor from the islands has struck a chord with the marquess. Quite the chord, indeed. And I say, well done.”
It took a little more effort for Elena to keep her smile in place. “What are you talking about? I haven’t said but two words to him.”
Lady Rosamund tapped the ball with a dull thwock and it rolled across the lush grass, stopping halfway between her and the iron arch sunk into the lawn several yards away. She scowled briefly. “Well, true as that may be, he’s been asking all about you.”
“The Marquess of Shelton?” Christina let a low whistle slip free. “I’m impressed, Miss Sebastiano. You should only know how many ladies have tried in vain to win his interest.”
“They made the mistake of not being exotic,” Eleanor chided with a girlish giggle. “What washed-out miss could even hope to compare with Miss Sebastiano?”
“Please, I stand out like a sore thumb among you,” Elena replied as drily as she could manage.
“And th-that’s what h-h-he likes about y-y-you.”
Elena glanced from Cordelia to Lady Rosamund. “He said that?”
“He didn’t have to.” Lady Rosamund’s skirts swished as she strode to her ball and set up to take another shot. This time, the ball rolled through the arch. “Game to me! You three need to catch up, this is getting boring.” She picked up the ball to toss it to Eleanor, before adding, “He seemed a bit perturbed when I saw him this morning.”
“Perturbed?” Elena shook her head. “But I didn’t see him at all this morning.”
“I know, but it seems he saw Lord Dunning and was told that you’d gone for a walk this morning and the earl happened upon you. And not a moment too soon, either. You were out there”—Lady Rosamund gestured with her mallet to the dratted meadow that was more swamp than anything—“when you’d gotten yourself caught in the mud and lost a boot. And the earl brought you home.” She rejoined them. “Were you really out there, all alone, with Dunning?”
Although she smiled, a layer of malice veiled Rosamund’s words. Elena had to respond carefully and so paused a moment before saying, “Oh, I was a mess this morning. Got myself lost in the woods and then stuck in that silly mud pit. If it wasn’t for his lordship, I’d probably still be out there, hopelessly lost.” She let out an airy laugh. She’d look simple, but she could live with Lady Rosamund thinking her simple. Far more preferable to having the lady angry with her.
“You shouldn’t be wandering about by yourself,” Christina said, her expression becoming stern. “What if someone had seen you and the earl?”
“I often go for walks alone at home and no one thinks anything of it.” Elena shrugged. Was Christina hoping someone had seen them? “And all anyone would have seen was him helping me with my boot.”
“Still, it would probably be best if you curtailed any more walks in the woods.” Eleanor took the mallet from Lady Rosamund and strode to the ball. “How many strokes this time, Ros?”
“I think ten should suffice.”
“Ten it is.” Eleanor frowned at the ball and shifted her feet until she was satisfied. Then the mallet came back and thwock! The ball sailed up over the crest of the hill and rolled out of sight.
While Eleanor, Rosamund, and Christina walked ahead, Cordelia fell into step beside Elena. “You should take care where his lordship is concerned.” Cordelia spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing each word. “Ros fancies him. Actually, all three of them do, to an extent.”
“But not you?” Elena asked, teasingly nudging Cordelia’s shoulder with her own. “You are every bit as lovely as they are, you know.”
Cordelia blushed. “You’re ve-very kind, but I would ne-never s-s-suit the earl. Christina thinks him handsome, but she has her eye set on another.”
“And the others?”
“Eleanor dreams of being the countess, but if his lordship wishes an heir who
will remain sane, she is not the lady for him.” Cordelia’s voice grew softer. So soft, in fact, Elena had to crane her head until it almost bumped Cordelia’s. “The men in her family tend to go mad at some point or other. Quite sad, really. Some become violent, but most just—go mad, according to my mother.”
Her spirits flagging, Elena hedged, “And Rosamund?”
Cordelia shook her head. “Of those two? Well, I suppose she and the earl would be well suited, I think. Although, there have been whispers that she—”
Whatever Rosamund was—or wasn’t—would remain unexplained as Elena and Cordelia crested the hill and rejoined the group.
As they did, Rosamund came up to slip her arm through Elena’s. “If you like, we’ll help you with Lord Shelton. It would really shake things up if the Marquess of Shelton were to marry you.”
“A Spanish-West Indian marchioness?” Christina burst out laughing. “It would be wonderful to see. Those stuffy old crows in London wouldn’t know what hit them.” She peered over her shoulder at Cordelia, who wasn’t smiling. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“S-s-s-sh-sh—”
“Of course she agrees,” Rosamund interrupted. “And so, we’ll help you get him to ask for your hand.”
The fact that Cordelia remained so dour faced unsettled Elena, but she had time to neither protest nor dwell on it as Rosamund and Christina chattered away about how they would set London society on its ear when Edward Barrington-Smythe, Marquess of Shelton, Earl of Lysdowning, made her his wife.
…
For the remainder of the morning, Elena pretended to learn the ins and outs of pall-mall, but the truth was she didn’t care for the game. It seemed to her more of an excuse for the ladies to laugh and gossip, which was fine with her as a welcome distraction, but she’d rather not be chasing after an annoying boxwood ball in the midst of delicious tidbits regarding the upper crust of London society. She missed most of said gossip due to the fact she spent most of the game running up this hill or down that knoll. Never mind how she had a devil of a time not hitting the ball so hard it sailed off into the hedgerow on more than one occasion. This was what happened when one had four brothers who liked to compete. If one wished to play against them, one learned to compete just as hard, or be left behind. Elena hadn’t been left behind in years.
Until she’d met pall-mall.
She crouched down for the hundredth time and leaned to stretch her arm into the gorse, her fingertips barely brushing the ball’s smooth surface. Behind her, the ladies were chuckling over something, and suddenly Cordelia, who’d been speaking rather smoothly the entire time, stammered, “G-g-g-ood d-d-d-d—”
“Good day, my lord,” Rosamund finished for her. “Have you come looking for Miss Sebastiano?”
“I have indeed.” Elena froze, her face practically impaled by the gorse, her fingers just not quite long enough to curl about the ball, as Edward Barrington-Smythe’s silky-smooth voice teased her ears.
“She’s in the bushes again, I’m afraid,” Christina said with a sigh. “She has difficulty with her ball.”
“Does she?” Elena’s cheeks burned at the humor in Shelton’s voice, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the tips of staid, albeit highly polished, black boots came into her line of vision.
The gorse rustled and his hand closed over hers, swallowing it and the ball at the same time. “Allow me. I’m afraid your hand is a bit small for this ball.”
Oh dios mio! He made it sound so sinful…his voice a caress that brought a rash of chills breaking out over her skin. His hand was warm, the leather of his glove as supple as skin itself, and when he drew it away, she forced her eyes open to find him smiling at her.
His eyes, those piercing eyes as green as the grass beneath their feet, held hers and his smile was full of promise. “Remember, it’s not nearly as fragile as it looks. It can withstand a bit of rough handling.”
“Of course, my lord.” It took every bit of resolve not to roll her eyes and make him blush instead. She had four brothers. Did the marquess think she couldn’t hold her own with him? She winced at the breathiness in her voice. What the devil was wrong with her? Since when did her brain go to mush in the presence of a handsome man?
He straightened, gently drawing her up alongside him, and turned to toss the ball into play once more. It rolled several feet, then came to a stop at Cordelia’s feet. Her pale cheeks mottled purple as she said, “T-thank you, m-m-my l-l-lord.”
He looked mildly annoyed as she stumbled over the simple phrase, but all he said was, “You’re welcome.”
“Enjoying the game?” Lord Dunning strode over from the two horses standing at the meadow’s edge. He no longer looked so angry, and when his gaze fell on Elena, he smiled, to her relief. She never liked to have someone angry at her, and since that someone was their host, she most definitely didn’t want him angry at her.
“Uh…no, actually, I’m not.” She glanced at the ladies and then at Dunning. “I’m not very good at it and spend more time in the bushes than anywhere else.”
Rosamund clucked sympathetically. “That she does. Those poor bushes will never be the same. I’m afraid Garland is going to have his work cut out for him down by the woods.”
“The woods?” Shelton let out a chuckle. “That’s way over there.”
Elena nodded slowly. “I know. I hit the ball with a bit too much enthusiasm at times.”
Everyone else had a good laugh, although she didn’t think it quite so humorous, and then Dunning’s smile faded as he said, “Come now, we’re not being good sports, are we? Perhaps there’s a game you play at home that we might be able to try here.”
She offered up a sly smile of her own. “Have you heard of Aluette?” One by one, each of the ladies and both men shook their heads, which made her smile even wider. “Do you have cards, my lord?”
Dunning nodded. “We do. In the game room. We might even have Aluette cards. But I don’t think ladies should—”
“It will be fine. Claudia’s mother is the one who taught us all how to play.” She tossed down the mallet, and it landed with a thump next to the ball. “Come and see how we do games on St. Phillippe.”
…
The game room practically screamed of masculinity. It was even manlier, if that was possible, than her father’s game room on St. Phillippe.
This room was large and square, and every bit of wall space was taken up either by bookshelves, or by paintings of forest scenes, each darker and more foreboding than the last. The walls were dark green, the wood trim was black walnut, and the shutters all remained tightly closed. For Elena, it was like being buried alive and she didn’t like the feeling. Without troubling to ask, she marched across the room to open windows and throw open the shutters to let in some light.
“I wish you wouldn’t—” Dunning swallowed the rest of his admonishment, and when she glanced over her shoulder, Elena almost smiled. His lordship’s hand was firmly over his mouth, as if restraining himself from scolding her. Well, let him scold. The room needed sunlight. The whole house needed sunlight.
There were several card tables set up about the room, and as Dunning and Shelton moved toward the largest, Elena called over, “No. Unfortunately, only four can play at a time. We should pair up, two teams of two. Who wishes to go first?”
“Well, since you’re the only one who knows how to play,” Christina pointed out with a hint of irritation, “perhaps you should be the one to choose.”
“Right then.” Elena threw open the last set of shutters and turned back with a satisfied smile. The room looked far more inviting now, with the pale sunlight slicing across the green-and-gold carpeting. “Lord Dunning, would you like to partner with…” She paused to give the impression she was pondering the pairings, when really, it was obvious. “Lady Rosamund? Lord Shelton, you and I will pair up, and ladies, you decide who plays the winning team.”
Christina and Eleanor both nodded, but Cordelia shook her head. “T-thank you, b-b-b-ut I th-th-think
I’ll s-s-s-it—”
“This out?” Christina finished for her. “A wonderful idea, if you ask me.”
Cordelia didn’t reply, but nodded as she sank onto the edge of the green leather sofa nearest their card table. Eleanor and Christina sat with her, but while she stared at the cold, dark hearth, the others watched with intensity as Elena launched into the details as to how to play the card game Tia Gabby had taught her as a child.
Shelton sat across from her, and Dunning to her right. Both men stared as she settled into her chair and asked, “I don’t suppose you have a suitable Spanish deck of cards?”
“You’d suppose wrongly, Miss Sebastiano,” Dunning replied with a hint of a smile. “I do.”
That was unexpected, but she caught herself before she revealed her surprise, merely smiling. “Wonderful. If you wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all.” He rose to fetch the cards in question and handed the deck to her before returning to his chair.
“First things first,” she said, dealing out the first four cards face up.
The first pass of cards lay on the table and as she began laying out the second pass, Shelton held up a hand. “What is the point of this?”
“The four highest cards have not been dealt yet and that’s what we do first. Ah, see, here is the Three of Cups”—she lifted her eyes to meet Dunning’s—“which is the madame.”
“So, does that make Dunning the Countess of Dunning?” Shelton asked with a smirk.
“Not exactly.” Elena smiled first at Dunning, then at Shelton. “The madame is the one who deals, so in this game, it’s a good thing.”
“Perhaps, if one knows what he’s doing,” Dunning grumbled.
“You will. I promise.” She dealt out the next three cards. Two were the cards she needed—the Two of Coins (le borgne—or blind man), which went to Shelton, and the Three of Coins (monsieur), which went to Rosamund. Finally, on the third pass, she drew the last card needed to begin playing, the Two of Cups (la vache—or the cow.)
“My lord, if you would shuffle, then let Lord Shelton cut them.”