by Pamela Aares
If the man hadn’t been a threat to Serena’s happiness and if he weren’t the epitome of the arrogant and calculated self-seekers that ailed the heart of society, she might have taken pleasure in the fact that he was an excellent study for a villain in one of her novels. Except that he was too one-sided. No reader would believe a villain who acted like that. But perhaps he possessed some favorable quality that hadn’t yet been displayed or that she’d failed to perceive, a redeeming feature besides his remarkable appearance and command of himself. But it would be of no consequence, for the imperious tone of his behavior toward Serena was more than enough to condemn him. Why Serena’s father didn’t see his boorish attitude was a mystery. Or maybe it wasn’t. It was all too easy to fall for fixed notions of the world, to see only what we wish and refuse to see anything that didn’t fit. Jane tapped her pen against the desk. Serena’s mother was no better than her husband; she’d long ago become blinded by her social ambitions. Jane saw little hope there.
Serena knocked softly at the door, then skulked into the room and threw herself across the bed.
“I hope you have a very, very good plan, Jane, because after Lord Rendin’s performance at dinner tonight, I’m perilously close to running off and joining a convent. Either that or a travelling theatre.”
“I do in fact,” Jane said as she tucked her notes into the drawer of the small writing desk. “Competitions should do it—archery, cards—all manner of games. Activities that will force Lord Rendin to compete shoulder to shoulder with your father and his friends. His temperament is such that I’m certain he’ll inadvertently reveal his nasty character.” She swiveled in her chair and smiled at Serena. “I think you’ll find you won’t have to seek out drama any farther than Anderley.”
“Oh, you are a fiend!” Serena laughed as she leapt up and hugged Jane. “Father is such a stickler for gentlemanly competition. Surely he’ll see the odious side of Lord Rendin.” She squeezed Jane’s hand. “You are absolutely the best friend anyone might wish for. I don’t deserve you, you must know.”
“I rather think it is I who doesn’t deserve you, dear Serena.”
“You are impossible, Jane! You of all people deserve joy, if only you would allow it.” A glint of delight lit her eyes. “I shall take you up as my next great cause.”
Jane almost wished that she could.
***
The following morning a letter came by messenger for Lord Rendin. To Serena’s delight and her father’s strident disappointment, Lord Rendin left immediately for London, promising to return within the week. Serena felt buoyed in her mission and spent the next few days with Jane planning how to entice Serena’s father to arrange the competitions.
When Jane suggested that perhaps now was the time for Serena to tell her father the news about Darcy, Serena prodded her for more information, but Jane remained secretive about her source. And neither was sure how to present the vague plan in a way that would best sway Serena’s parents. Serena decided to say it was a rumor heard from an officer. And though Jane didn’t like the partial truth, Serena pressed ahead.
At the end of the week, Serena sought out her father in his library. He sat at his desk perusing the guest list for the house party.
“Lord and Lady Bridges will be among the guests joining us this afternoon,” he said without looking up from his list. “I hope we find sufficient entertainment for him; he’s a peripatetic man if ever I knew one.”
Serena smiled. Her father had provided the perfect segue.
“The weather is so very fine,” she said with a lilt. “Perhaps an archery competition would be just the thing. You know Lord Bridges loves any sort of challenge.”
Her father glanced up, a look of surprise crossing his face. “Capital idea, Serena! I wish I’d thought of it myself.” He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers on his chest, a posture Serena had first seen as a child running though this very room. “And you shall be our mistress of the game—games, for I think we should have a full round of them.” He turned back to his list and then set the papers aside. “Your mother is all aflutter that Lord and Lady Layton are coming.”
“Then perhaps we might also have a whist tournament in the evenings?” Serena suggested. “Lady Layton is absolutely wild about whist.”
“Whist! Well, I suppose ... But what we must have is a carriage race.” He strode to the window overlooking Anderley Park. “From here to Godalming and back. It will be the perfect opportunity to give a run to my new greys. I’d put them up against any of Bridges’s high steppers.”
She hadn’t seen her father stir with such pleasure since they’d left London. A carriage race was his idea of real living. A top whip in his youth, he’d allowed neither age nor obligations to thwart his passion for racing. Serena’s mother, however, hated races of any kind, for she was sure he’d be thrown to his death and she’d be left a mere dowager. Viscount Landley, Serena’s eldest brother and the heir, was married to a woman who would waste little time in turning Lady Baringdon out of Anderley and taking her place as mistress of the manor. Her mother wasn’t ready for that and never would be.
Her father walked back to Serena and dropped his hand to her shoulder. “Good to see you finally coming back to life, my dear.” He attempted a smile, but only one corner of his mouth edged up. He patted Serena a couple of times while he said, “This will be an excellent lead up to your engagement dinner at the end of the week.”
Serena stiffened, preparing for battle. But this was not the occasion to protest. She had a plan, and she trusted Jane’s intuition and her savvy. If Lord Rendin was the man Serena was sure he was, there’d be no need for her protest—the man would skewer himself. But she did need to plant the seed that Darcy might return. Now was certainly the time for that.
“Papa,” she began, feeling hesitant now that she’d begun. She stepped back from him. “Jane has heard news of Darcy—”
“Not more of that!” Her father stalked back to the window, where he pivoted and crossed his arms in his resolute stance. “Serena, I insist that you drop this vigil.” His face softened a bit. “I know you wish it otherwise, but this obsession isn’t good for you. If Lord Hathloss were to be found, his father would have found him. He made a thorough search; the man told me so himself. I must hear no more of this from you, I insist.” He sat at his desk and poured himself a drink. “You will come to appreciate Lord Rendin, I have no doubt of that.” He picked up his papers, dismissing her from his thoughts and his presence.
Before she said words she’d regret, Serena turned and walked from the room.
But her father’s words speared in her mind as she stepped into the sunshine to seek out Jane. She found her just past the formal gardens, sitting under a spreading elm. Surrounded by the cheery faces of blowsy peonies and blooming lilies, Jane’s face showed little joy in comparison.
“Such a long face!” Serena chided as she sat beside her. “It’s been merely two weeks. Surely we’ll have word before long.”
“I’ve spent so many hours convincing myself of that very thing,” Jane said, “that I fear there is good reason to consider I may be wrong. Perhaps I allowed myself to be carried away by my hopes and—”
“You? Carried away? Really, Jane! You’re the most sensible person I know. If you have any hope that Mr. Grace’s relations will succeed, then I have every reason to hope.”
Seeing Jane’s half-hearted smile she added, “You must not fret; you told me yourself it rarely does any good.”
She tipped Jane’s face to hers, studying it. “Or is this more than merely the lack of news? You’ve been highly reticent about the details.” Serena immediately knew a way to get a response out of Jane. She nosed her face close to Jane’s and whispered, “I begin to believe that you fancy our mysterious Mr. Grace.”
Jane’s gaze slipped to the hands clasped in her lap.
“Do you?”
“Goodness no,” Jane protested weakly. “At least I should think not, not at my age ... ”
Serena laughed. “Just because your heart has awakened, that doesn’t make any of this less plausible. Or less hopeful. And I can tell you—hearts care as little for time as they do for convention. In fact, I know from experience that they have missions and timekeeping all to their own.” Wrapping her hands around Jane’s folded fingers, she added, “At the very least, even if Darcy is not restored to me, when our plan succeeds, I shall be rid of Lord Rendin.”
Serena stood and tugged at Jane’s hands. “Take a stroll with me about the gardens. No matter the outcome, Jane, you have done me the greatest kindness.” Happy for Jane, she smiled and said, “And, regarding Mr. Grace, if he’s a fine enough man to have captured your interest, then he’s a fine enough man to be true to his word.”
As they strolled in the dappled sunlight, the clatter of coaches announced arriving guests.
Carriages poured into Anderley throughout the afternoon. Servants darted about, escorting the guests to their chambers, carting their baggage, lugging kettles of heated water and pressing wrinkled garments so the new arrivals could dress stylishly for dinner.
To Serena’s surprise—and disappointment—Lord Rendin was not among the guests readying for the meal.
Chapter Six
The next day was warm with only a slight breeze, perfect for the archery contest. True to his word, Lord Baringdon had the gamekeeper set up the targets and had gathered the gentlemen. He’d chosen the manicured field bordering Anderley Park and had the footmen lay out a refreshment table nearby. Laden with decanters of wine for the men and rattafia and lemonade for the ladies, it glittered in the sun. Lady Baringdon had supplied parasols for her guests and held court at the head of the table. The Dowager Duchess, Lady Morland, sat to her immediate right and watched the unfolding activities with a keen eye. She and her brother, Lord Ellery, had both won Jane’s immediate admiration, for they spoke their minds with wisdom and genteel humor.
Serena led Jane past the table to a bench beneath a grand oak. Jane sat, thankful for the cool shade, but Serena paced before her, fidgeting.
“What if Rendin doesn’t return in time for the competitions?” Serena whispered. “After weeks of wishing him away, I cannot believe I’m wishing for his presence.”
Before Jane could reply, a fast-moving curricle appeared on the lane.
“If I’m not mistaken,” Jane said, nodding toward the lane, “our plans shall not be spoilt.”
Serena dropped onto the bench beside Jane. “Though I imagined these proceedings each night before I slept, now that they are to unfold ... ” She took in a shaky breath. “Oh, Jane, I can only hope we’re accurate in our estimations!”
Lord Rendin drove the carriage directly up to the field and dismounted with a flourish.
“Perfect timing,” Lord Baringdon called out as he crossed the field toward Lord Rendin in long strides. “Thought you might miss the competitions.”
“Took it in turns,” Lord Rendin replied, bowing to Serena’s father. “Though the inns along the way left much to be desired.” He brushed a speck of dust from his caped riding coat, apparently unconcerned for the cloud of dust he’d stirred on his arrival.
Just far enough away, Jane and Serena shared tight smiles.
“I thought it prudent to bring my own horses,” Rendin added with a smug twitch of his lips.
“And you shall need them,” Lord Baringdon replied heartily. He was polite, but Jane had seen him bristle at Lord Rendin’s slight to the region’s accommodations. “We are to have a curricle race.” When Lord Rendin frowned, he quickly added, “Of course we’ll postpone it for two days. Give your horses a chance to rest up.”
“No need to change your plans on my account,” Lord Rendin said readily. “With my rig, I could best any one of you, rested mounts or no.”
“I should think,” Lord Ellery said flatly as he huffed up to join them, “that concern for your beasts would give you cause to appreciate such accommodation.” He glared at Lord Rendin.
Serena grasped Jane’s hand, but Jane didn’t turn away. She was enjoying Rendin’s foolish boasts and their effect on the other men.
“But of course,” Lord Ellery added, “carriage racing of any sort is far too rich for my blood.”
“Sport is best left to those who prefer it.” Lord Rendin smiled, not quite hiding his disdain for the older man’s apparent timidity.
Lord Rendin then turned to the ladies clustered around the refreshment table and with perfectly executed bows acknowledged each in turn. Seeing Serena sitting with Jane under the shade of the oak, he strode toward them.
Jane leaned close to Serena. “Though your father shows resistance to disillusionment,” she whispered, “it appears we shall not have to provoke your suitor to display the less than amiable aspects of his character. He’s quite able to do that well enough on his own.” Serena squeezed her hand, and Jane watched as she turned a perfectly placid face to Lord Rendin.
“Lady Serena, Miss Austen.” Lord Rendin accompanied his bow with a smooth smile. “I shall race my chariot in honor of my lady.”
“I rather think you’d do better to turn your attentions to the archery tournament at hand.” Serena said coolly as she nodded toward the field. “That is, if the journey hasn’t fatigued you.”
Lord Rendin studied Lord Baringdon and his friends for only a moment before snapping his gaze back to Serena.
“It would take more than the trials of a journey to keep me from competing as your champion, my dear.” He glanced again at the gathered men. “If you’ll excuse me, it appears that the competition requires my presence.”
“We would never consider keeping you,” Serena said.
As he strutted away, Serena let out a low moan. “My own manners may never recover from the bad humors that man evokes in me.”
They watched as the men stepped to the firing line.
“Allston, the gamekeeper, has given Lord Rendin the worst bow,” Serena said quietly, but not hiding her glee. “None of my brothers would ever use it. It’s flashy but not true. Evidently, I’m not the only one less than charmed by our guest.”
Rendin stroked the length of the bow as the other men made similar preparations.
“Oh no.” Serena’s gleeful look transformed into dismay when Lord Baringdon exchanged bows with Lord Rendin, insisting that his guest use his personal bow. At this show, Lord Ellery looked toward the ladies and shot his sister, Lady Morland, a speaking glance, complete with raised eyebrow. Then he took his place at the line.
Not waiting in proper turn, Lord Rendin took the first shot. It landed out of the gold circle at the target’s center, quite off mark. Lord Ellery stared at him, for as the eldest and highest-ranking gentleman, it was his right and privilege to shoot first. With faultless composure, he walked slowly to the target and removed the offending arrow, then paced the distance back to Lord Rendin and held it out to him.
“Excellent practice shot,” Lord Ellery said without expression. He then adeptly nocked his own arrow, took his mark and let the arrow fly. It hit the center without wavering.
“Prince’s gold!” Lord Baringdon exclaimed. “Fine shot, Ellery, fine shot.”
“Sport,” Lord Ellery said acidly, aiming his remark to Lord Rendin, “should be left to those who have the passion and respect for it.”
He then put down his bow and joined his sister at the refreshment table.
Jane observed that although Lady Morland had been intently watching the proceedings, Lady Baringdon had been caught up in sharing the latest on dits with her guests at the table and had missed the entire drama.
“You never cease to inspire my admiration, Ellery.” Lady Morland smiled at her brother. “Were I to wager, I would say that no man here could best your shot, my dear.”
“I shall wager,” Lady Layton said with the delight of a seasoned gambler. “Who will spot my wager?” To her disappointment, no one at the table would bet against Lord Ellery.
Jane and Serena rose and joined the othe
r ladies. As they watched the remaining gentlemen prepare to take their shots, a rumbling announced the approach of a carriage. Jane turned to see it stop first in front of the house and then, perhaps at the butler’s direction, turn and approach the field.
The carriage was one of the finest Jane had ever seen. Lustrous wood and elegant, gilded carvings adorned the sides. Four high-stepping, perfectly matched horses drew it, the white of their coats flashing in bright contrast to the dark carriage. The footmen’s livery echoed the burgundy of the hammer cloth gracing the driver’s seat. The carriage rolled to a gentle halt a short distance away, the driver careful not to stir any dust to disturb the party. One of the footmen leapt down and lowered the steps, and a tall, dark-haired man exited. Another man, not as tall, but of definite grace and stature, exited behind him.
Serena gasped in a harsh breath.
“It’s Darcy!” Serena dropped the glass she’d been holding. The glass shattered against the table, but Serena didn’t notice. She’d grasped Jane’s hand and was tugging her toward the carriage. Just then, another man stepped out of it. Unless her senses were deluding her, it was Mr. Grace. But her mail carrier was attired as a gentleman in a fitted coat of midnight blue and a flawlessly tied cravat. Even a quick glance as they approached told her that the buff trousers hugging his muscled legs would cost much more than a year’s pin money.
When they reached the men, breathless, the tall man swept a deep, graceful bow. Jane felt the power emanating from him even though she stood several steps away. The second man did indeed look to be Darcy, although he was much thinner than when she’d last seen him. From the puzzled look he gave Serena, Jane saw that there was something terribly amiss. Her gaze darted to Mr. Grace. He shared a wry smile that did nothing to dissolve her astonishment.
“I hope you’ll pardon our intrusion, Miss Austen,” the tall man said in greeting. His voice was soothing, almost entrancing. “I am Lord Gabriel.” He swept another perfectly executed bow. “And I believe you’re acquainted with Lord Hathloss and Mr. Grace.”