Duel of Hearts

by Farr, Diane

  All Sir Horace said was, “How do you do, my dear? I missed you.” He patted her hand and dropped the lightest of kisses on her upturned cheek, then let her go. Eugenia replied composedly, and Sir Horace took his place at the table. That was all that passed between them, but Lilah felt she had glimpsed something tender and private. It was unsettling to see one’s father in the throes of strong affection for a woman other than one’s mother…but under the circumstances, Lilah’s predominant emotion was relief. Since Papa would marry, she could only thank God that he was going to the altar with love in his heart—and that, miracle of miracles, his chosen bride plainly returned his regard.

  Two of the Peabodys’ staff entered and flew unobtrusively about, setting additional places and carrying full serving dishes in and empty ones out, while Drake and Lilah meekly seated themselves. Aunt Polly was still fixing them with what was, for her, a gimlet glare. When the last footman had departed, she pointed her spoon at Drake.

  “Adam Arthur Beresford Harleston,” she said sternly, “what were you thinking?”

  Drake looked sheepish. “To tell the truth, Aunt, I don’t believe I was thinking. In fact, I cannot recall having a genuine, unrattled, reasoned thought since I met Miss Chadwick.” He glanced uneasily at Eugenia. “I daresay I owe you an apology, Jenny.”

  Eugenia choked back a laugh. “What, for jilting me? Or for bullying me into that absurd betrothal in the first place?”

  His eyes gleamed with sardonic appreciation. “For underestimating you.”

  She smiled. “Ah. For that, my friend, you may apologize.”

  Miss Pickens set down her fork and looked around the table in bewilderment. “Forgive me, but I do not perfectly understand. Is Miss Mayhew correct that Lilah and Lord Drakesley have formed an attachment?”

  “Miss Mayhew is indeed correct,” said Drake, managing to bow while still seated.

  “Then—is Miss Mayhew betrothed to Sir Horace rather than to you, my lord?”

  “Yes, she is,” said Sir Horace firmly.

  Miss Pickens brightened. “Why, this is delightful. For I have been meaning to tell you, Lilah my love, that I have formed a high opinion of Miss Mayhew. She seems to be a very clever young woman, and excessively poised for a girl of her age. I would have been sorry to lose her to Lord Drakesley, for I believe she will make Chadwick Hall an excellent mistress after all.”

  “Of course she will,” said Sir Horace firmly.

  “And is our Lilah to marry Lord Drakesley, then?” Miss Pickens clasped her hands before her in an attitude of rapture. “So romantic! I think it’s perfectly lovely.”

  “Well, well, that remains to be seen,” said Sir Horace hastily. “Lilah is of age now, and I’m sure I don’t wish to stand in her way, but—”

  “What!” exclaimed Nat. “Is there any question, my dear Horace? Great heavens! I should think it an excellent match. Excellent.”

  Sir Horace was turning a dull red. “Oh, well, no offense, Nat. No offense meant. It’s just—my own little girl, you know! Can’t marry her off in a great, tearing hurry.”

  “Pooh!” Lilah sat very straight in her chair. “And what of your own marriage, pray? If I had not rushed down here, you would have wed Eugenia without so much as introducing her to me. Or showing her her future home, for that matter! I call that a great, tearing hurry.”

  Drake nudged her. “Address your father with a little respect, sweeting, or we’ll be forced to elope after all.”

  Lilah would doubtless have ignored this excellent advice, but Eugenia’s soft voice intervened. “I own, I am a little surprised to learn that you object to the match, Horace. Pray, what are your reasons?”

  Sir Horace’s complexion reddened further. “Tut! I do not like to appear unreasonable, my love. But you must understand that I know little of the man. You cannot expect me to view with enthusiasm my daughter’s alliance with—” He broke off abruptly.

  Drake assisted him to finish his awkward sentence. “With a chap who tried to steal your bride from you. Perfectly understandable. Sir Horace does not like to say it in so many words, but he has no wish to encourage me to hang about—in the bosom of his family, no less! Who knows whether I may make another attempt to steal Eugenia? Or to make off with some other lady? To him, I seem dangerously loose in the haft.”

  “Yes, but you are not,” said Lilah staunchly.

  Eugenia smiled. “Lilah is not an impartial observer. But I have known Drake all my life, Horace, and do not hesitate to assure you—if assurance you require—that he is a man of intelligence and principle. His ways may be eccentric, but his heart is sound.”

  Sir Horace looked doubtful. “I am inclined to rely upon your judgement, Eugenia, but—”

  “And,” she continued smoothly, “From what I have seen, he loves Lilah ardently, as she loves him. Often these violent attachments burn themselves out, but I believe that Drake and Lilah may prove to have formed a lasting passion. They seem exceptionally well suited.”

  “She’s quite right, Horace,” stated Polly, peering kindly at him through her spectacles. “I understand your hesitation, naturally. Drake has behaved like a perfect ass, and you have every reason to think he would make Lilah a dreadful husband. But you must bow to his family’s superior knowledge of him—and Eugenia’s ability to judge character, which I believe is quite remarkable. Only look at how unerringly she ascertained that you were the man to make her happy.”

  Nat winked. “And just wait till you see Drakesley! It’s in all the guidebooks, but pictures don’t do it justice. Overlooks Lake Windermere, you know. Scenic beauty and all that. Quite a place, quite a place. Your Lilah will live like a queen.”

  Sir Horace chuckled. “She’d like that,” he admitted. “Wouldn’t you, kitten?”

  But Drake was staring very hard at Eugenia. “Hold on. If you knew all along that I had formed a lasting passion for Lilah, why the deuce did you let me make such a cake of myself? You could have saved us all a lot of grief, Jenny, had you simply turned me down flat.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “You have conveniently forgotten that I did turn you down flat. My initial refusal had no effect on you whatsoever,” she pointed out. “I was forced to accept you—for if I had not, I would never have heard the end of it. I know you, Drake. You are tenacious as a bulldog. The only way I could induce you to let go of the bone was to let you have it. As soon as I gave you what you thought you wanted…” She shrugged delicately.

  Respect dawned in Drake’s eyes. “Egad. You’re right. I had a sinking feeling the instant you said yes.”

  Lilah covered her mouth with her hand to hide her laughter. “What a fellow I am marrying! I thank you, Eugenia, for this valuable example of how to handle Drake.”

  Eugenia chuckled. “I warn you, it only works when Drake is chasing after something from pure stubbornness—which won’t happen as often as your experience of him might lead you to believe.”

  Drake bowed ironically. “I thank you,” he said dryly. “I hope Miss Pickens and Sir Horace can provide me with a few tips on handling Lilah, to level the playing field.”

  “I am being outmaneuvered,” complained Sir Horace. “Everyone speaks of Lord Drakesley’s marriage to my daughter as a sure thing.”

  “So it is,” said Nat happily. “Give over, Horace! I don’t mind saying, now that things seem to be ending happily, that I was worried, there, for a bit—thinking Eugenia was turning short about, jilting you and all. Polly told me I should have faith in Eugenia’s good sense and, by Jove, she was right. Come along, old chap—let Lilah marry Drake. Can’t have them running off again, you know. It would cause the very devil of a scandal.”

  Sir Horace’s lips twitched. “Oh, very well,” he said grudgingly. “I suppose Nat has the right of it.”

  Pandemonium ensued. Lilah gave a little shriek of joy and flew to embrace her father, then Drake, then everyone at the table in turn. Drake shook hands all around, grinning, the coddled eggs were forgotten, and a cacophony of chatter brok
e out. Eventually it was decided that Sir Horace would draft the notice for the papers, and the task of writing the announcement letters that must be sent to various dignitaries and family members was parceled out among the remaining parties.

  At last the group scattered, and Drake pulled Lilah into the music room for a few moments alone. Quiet settled around them as the door closed, and she sighed blissfully as he took her into his arms.

  “Tired, sweeting?” he murmured.

  “Very! But I’m too excited to feel sleepy.” She pulled back against the circle of his arms and looked up at him, the better to watch his expression. “Did it feel strange to you,” she asked him softly, “to see Eugenia so happy with my father?”

  “Not as strange as it doubtless felt to you, to see your father so happy with Eugenia.” He pulled a strand of her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear, studying her gravely. “You don’t really mind it, do you?”

  “Oh! No,” she said quickly. “It was wrong of us to meddle. Now that I feel certain Papa has made a good choice—an excellent choice—it would be even more wrong to begrudge them their joy.” She paused, looking a little doubtful. “They did look happy, didn’t they, Drake?”

  “That’s as happy as Eugenia gets,” he explained. “She is not an effusive person.”

  “Papa isn’t, either.” She bit her lip. “Drake?”

  “Yes, my heart?”

  “If you and I are ever separated for any considerable length of time, don’t you dare greet me with a kiss on the cheek.”

  Drake emitted a low, growling laugh and tightened his arms around her. “I don’t think I could. So if I ever do, don’t you dare look happy about it.”

  She chuckled, but a tiny, niggling doubt gnawed at the edges of her delight. Her smile faded, and she lifted her hands to gently frame his face. His eyes darkened at her touch. Her heart raced at this evidence of his desire for her, but she forced herself to keep her distance. This was important.

  “Drake,” she whispered, troubled. “We will be happy together, too. Won’t we?”

  Something gleamed in his eyes. He turned his head and planted a kiss on her palm. The touch of his mouth to her skin was electric. She snatched her hand away. “I don’t mean that,” she said breathlessly.

  He reached up and caught her wrists. “I know you don’t.” He brought her hands down and cradled them at his chest, looking soberly into her face. “If you’re asking me whether we’ll share the kind of happiness your father will enjoy with Eugenia…I doubt that we will.” Sly heat flicked at the back of his eyes. “Doubtless you’ll always be a brat.”

  As always, his provoking remarks sparked answering heat in her. She tilted her chin at him. “And you’ll always be a brute,” she said tartly.

  His teeth flashed in a swift grin. “The thing is—you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

  A smile tugged at her unwilling mouth. “No,” she admitted at last. “You must be exactly who you are. Even if it drives me mad.”

  There was no sense in fighting it. This was simply the way it was with them. Fascination and friction. Admiration and exasperation mixed in a strange, irresistible potion. Their relationship wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea…but now that they had tasted it, neither Drake nor Lilah wanted to live without it.

  His fingers played softly in her hair. “Our life together may be one row after another,” he said softly. “We may never know a moment’s peace. But I tell you honestly, Lilah, I don’t care. You are the most exciting woman I have ever met, and I will pay any price to keep you at my side.”

  “We’ll never be bored,” she offered, in a tiny voice. “That’s something.”

  “Hell, yes.” His hands stilled. “Do you think we’re shallow, that that is so important to us?”

  “No. I’ve known a number of unhappy marriages where the partners were bored. Simply bored. It’s a sad state of affairs because it’s almost impossible to mend.”

  “So I think. That fate, at least, will never befall us.” His expression softened, and his hands dropped to her shoulders. “Lilah. Sweetheart. Whatever the future holds for us, we’ll be stronger for having each other. I love everything about you from your head to your toes. Even your willful, crazy, stubborn little brain.” He saw the warning in her face and grinned. “Especially your brain.”

  Her lips twitched. “Our servants will quake with fear whenever we disagree, you know.”

  “Yes. The butler will probably hide all the weapons in the house. Even the crossed swords over the mantel in the great hall.”

  She looked a bit gloomy. “And no one will understand us. They’ll bless themselves and shake their heads and marvel that two people can be so much in love and yet quarrel so constantly.”

  “A fig for that,” scoffed Drake. “I don’t care a rap what anyone says or thinks. Do you? They can hang themselves for all I care. We understand each other, and that’s what matters.”

  “Yes.” Her arms snaked up around his neck. “It won’t be a conventional marriage. But it will be perfect for us.”

  “That’s right.” His voice was husky with emotion. “If I’d wanted a conventional marriage, I would have married one of those pretty ninnyhammers you meet at Almack’s. I’ve trotted any number of them around the dance floor, Lilah, and I must tell you—they all left me cold. Until you.”

  Lilah blushed. “And I must admit,” she said shyly, “that of all the men I have kissed—”

  “All four of them?”

  “—yours is the only kiss that ever preyed on my mind. Afterward.”

  “Heaven help me,” groaned Drake, crushing her against his body. “Marry me soon, Lilah. A man can only take so much.”

  She smiled against his waistcoat. “It’s not easy for me to wait, either,” she murmured provocatively. “So I hope you will be very, very pleasant to Papa—and not argue overmuch about settlements and things.”

  “I’ll give him whatever he wants,” Drake said fervently. “If he will give me what I want. You. And the sooner, the better.”

  She laughed. “I’ll tell him to ask for a great deal. Properties for each of our children, however many we have. A house in London, one in Bath, and an enormous income for me—”

  “In the event I predecease you.”

  “Oh, no! Pin money. I shall require several thousand per annum.”

  “Done, madam. Done.” He bent, seeking her mouth, but she pushed him laughingly away.

  “What, all of it? You can’t be as rich as that.”

  “I certainly can.” He paused and looked at her, his eyes gleaming. “Seems to me I warned you, once upon a time.”

  She blinked at him. “That you were as rich as Croesus?”

  “That’s right, love. Kiss me.”

  Lilah felt a little faint. She held him off a moment, searching his face for clues, but in spite of the teasing light in his eyes he appeared to be speaking the truth. “Good heavens. I was only joking you.”

  “I know you were. But I wasn’t. Kiss me.”

  “Drake! I am not interested in your money.”

  “Good. Since we’re on the subject, I may as well tell you I’m not interested in your money, either.”

  She squirmed in his arms. “I haven’t any. Or, at least, not enough to tempt a—Drake! This is important!”

  He held her firmly at arm’s length. “I’m afraid I must correct you on that point, my love. You may take it from one who knows: money is utterly unimportant.” Heat flashed and simmered in his eyes. “I’ll show you what’s important.”

  He pulled her back into his arms. Every thought she had immediately flew out of her head and she relaxed against him, mindlessly returning his kiss. Oh, he was right. This was all that mattered. This connection between them, strong and joyous.

  Eventually he lifted his head and she snuggled against him, sighing. He held her, placing his cheek against the top of her head. “You really don’t care about my blasted money, do you, Lilah?” he asked. His tone wa
s more tender than she had ever heard it. “And my rank means nothing to you, either.”

  “No. For I do love you, Drake,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I just love you. And always will.”

  BONUS EXCERPT: Dashing Through the Snow, a Regency Christmas Story

  It was a nasty dinner, consisting largely of overdone mutton and underdone potatoes. But at least he had not been forced to wolf it down in four minutes as the unfortunate passengers on the Royal Mail were obliged to do.

  Fred Bates clicked his tongue sympathetically as the young couple with the whining toddler were harried mercilessly back onto the coach. “Should have eaten in London,” he murmured. Experienced travelers set aside their normal mealtimes and consumed a substantial repast prior to the mail’s departure, even if that meant dining at the unholy hour of six or seven o’clock. The London mail would, at all costs, arrive promptly in Bath. If the weather hindered its progress, the time must be made up by shortening the stops along the way. And the weather tonight was ferocious.

  Mr. Bates, seated comfortably before the fire in the tap room at the Coach and Horses, stretched his long legs out before him and congratulated himself on his independence. Driving a gig through weather like this would be a miserable experience, no doubt. But he was young and strong, and not the sort of chuff who quailed at a bit of cold and damp. Better by far to set one’s own hours, and not be subject to a coachman’s brutal timetable. He could eat his nasty dinner at his leisure, he reflected, grinning. And travel in daylight. Not for him the uneasy doze that was the best one could achieve in a jolting carriage. No matter how bad the beds at the Coach and Horses might prove to be, they would, at the very least, be stationary. All in all, driving oneself had much to recommend it.

  The mail had not been gone three minutes when a slight commotion, as of someone struggling with the heavy door and finally banging it shut, sounded in the entrance hall. Fred could see a portion of the hall from his vantage point, and saw a huddled figure in a wet cloak, covered with snow, stumble into view. The girl was shivering and out of breath. She gasped gratefully as the comparative warmth of the inn’s interior smote her icy cheeks.