“Nevertheless, tomorrow morning would be an excellent time for such a pleasant excursion,” the countess continued. “Then you can return here in time for luncheon, after which Garth and Carolyn can help you practice the country dances you’ve learned. For I’ve the most splendid news. Lady Jersey sent your voucher for Almack’s around this afternoon, so it is time you tried your wings, so to speak.”
Maddy felt a twinge of anger. She was tired of having her time arranged for her, even by someone as well-meaning as Lady Ursula. “That sounds like a lovely idea, my lady, and I am certain I would enjoy it immensely, but unfortunately I have made other plans.”
“Other plans?” three incredulous voices asked in unison.
“Yes, I find I grow weary of the city,” Maddy improvised. “The noise and dirt, you know,” she added, warming to her subject. “I long for a brief sojourn in the country, where the air is clean and pure and the only sound is the occasional bleating of a sheep.” She smiled beatifically at the three other occupants of the small salon. “I have decided to ask my father to lease a cottage for a month or two in some rural area.”
“You plan to leave London at the height of the Season?” Lady Ursula looked positively horrified. “But, my dear, it simply isn’t done. What will Lady Jersey think if you fail to use the voucher she has so kindly provided you?”
Another twinge of anger assailed Maddy. She had met the renowned Lady Jersey on one of her rides in Hyde Park with the earl, and the woman had spent the entire ten minutes looking down her nose at her. “I neither know nor care, my lady. The truth is, my spirit is badly in need of renewing and the source of that renewal is only to be found in the country.”
“Then perhaps in lieu of some rented cottage, you would care to visit my country estate, Winterhaven,” the earl suggested. “I would be most happy to escort you, and your father there if you so desire. It is but a two-hour drive from the city.”
Maddy could scarcely believe her luck. The earl had taken her bait as easily as a mouse lured into a trap by a piece of cheese. “I cannot imagine anything I would enjoy more, my lord,” she declared, favoring him with a radiant smile.
“But you can’t go to Winterhaven!” Lady Carolyn’s voice held a note of panic.
“Why ever not? I think Garth has come up with a brilliant suggestion.” Lady Ursula frowned at her daughter. “I can’t imagine why I failed to realize that returning to Winterhaven is just what he needs to spur him on to…to make certain the workmen are provided with whatever it takes to complete the necessary renovations.”
“But Tris is doing that,” Lady Carolyn said, “and you know how ill-tempered he can get if he’s interrupted when he’s working.”
The countess looked positively flabbergasted. “I know no such thing—and furthermore I’ll not hear another word against the dear boy.”
“But surely you must realize how inconvenient it will be if we all traipse down there when the house is still crawling with carpenters.” Lady Carolyn laid her hand on her brother’s arm and looked pleadingly into his eyes. “Please, Garth, don’t do it. Please believe me, it is not a good idea.”
“Cut line, Caro,” the earl said somewhat impatiently. “What are you thinking of? The renovations are finished, except for the south wing, and there is plenty of room to put up our guests without using that part of the house.”
Maddy held her breath, hoping the earl would not let his sister convince him to change his plans about opening Winterhaven. It was her only hope of seeing Tristan away from London and the prying eyes of the ton. Surely in the peace and seclusion of the English countryside, she could bring him around to making the offer she so fervently desired.
She couldn’t imagine why Lady Carolyn was so opposed to the idea of the house party, but she felt like throttling her for interfering. As it turned out, Lady Ursula did some verbal throttling of her own. “Carolyn, go up to my chamber and fetch my paisley shawl. I feel a chill coming on,” she said in a voice that brooked no refusal.
“But Mama…”
“My shawl, Carolyn. Now.”
With a last pleading look at her brother, Carolyn burst into tears and ran from the room. Maddy could hear her sobs long after she disappeared from sight.
Lady Ursula stared after her daughter, a puzzled look on her face. “I do believe Carolyn must be sickening with something. For no apparent reason, she has turned into a complete watering pot these past few days. Now this display of emotion. She is not at all herself.”
“She is eighteen, Mama,” the earl said dryly.
“Perhaps you are right.” With a shrug, the countess returned to the business at hand. “So, it is all settled then, my dears. We’ll leave for Winterhaven in…shall we say three days’ time?”
“Three days will be acceptable, my lady.” Maddy would have preferred to leave on the morrow, but she made herself curb her impatience. It would never do to let Garth and Lady Ursula know her real reason for wanting to adjourn to the country.
“Then I’ll pen a brief note of invitation for you to carry to your father,” the countess said, and crossing to the small escritoire standing beneath the window, proceeded to do so.
Half an hour later the earl handed Maddy and her elderly dresser into her father’s town coach. She settled back against the squabs, a smile on her face, and Lady Ursula’s note in her reticule, and the worthy lady’s parting words ringing in her ears.
“Won’t our darling Tristan be surprised to see us! The dear boy must be desperately lonely off there all by himself.
Chapter Twelve
Tristan was indeed surprised by the unannounced arrival of Garth and his houseguests at Winterhaven—in much the same manner that Napoleon was surprised by the outcome of the battle of Trafalgar.
He was supervising the repair to the stone exedra circling the south terrace at the time and literally could not believe his eyes when he saw the caravan of travel carriages and baggage vans approaching up the long tree-line drive.
Carolyn was the first to reach him. She leapt from the lead carriage before the groom had a chance to hand her down, sprinted up the shallow stairs, and crossed the terrace to stand breathlessly before him. “I tried to stop them, Tris. I really did. But Mama would not be deterred. She has this idea that seeing the renovations at Winterhaven will give Garth the impetus to make his offer, you see. Mr. Harcourt has been grumbling about how long it’s taking him to get around to it.”
“I understand,” Tristan said, numbly acknowledging he could scarcely blame the powerful cit for being impatient. The man had already invested a fortune in his plan to make his daughter a countess; he must be champing at the bit to place the announcement of her engagement in the London Times.
In truth, Tristan was nearly as impatient as Harcourt to get the deed over and done with. He had almost convinced himself that once the commitment was made, he would find it easier to resign himself to losing her.
Until she stepped from the carriage and looked his way.
Her joyful smile was like a knife plunged in his heart; the sound of her voice calling his name a cruel twist of the blade. She approached him with outstretched hands. “Oh, Tristan, it is good to see you again. It has been so long!”
The touch of her gloved fingers on his sent such a jolt of desire coursing through him, he felt as if his knees must surely buckle beneath him. “Maddy,” he said, and for one brief bittersweet moment, the joy of seeing her and touching her swept every other thought from his mind. Their gazes locked, her beautiful ambers eyes devouring him with the same ravenous hunger that had been gnawing at his soul this past three weeks away from her.
“Here’s Mama, Tris. And Garth. And Mr. Harcourt.” Caro’s voice, sharp and anxious, penetrated his hazy euphoria, and instantly he dropped Maddy’s hands as if their touch scorched his flesh.
“My lady!” he said, and collecting his scattered wits clasped Lady Ursula in his arms. Tenderly, he kissed her first on one cheek, and then the other in the fashion he’d bec
ome accustomed to in France.
He had scarcely released her when Caro demanded her share of hugs. Then Garth started pumping his hand as if it had been years, not days, since he’d seen him, and Harcourt began issuing orders to the footmen to unload the baggage vans, as if Winterhaven were his estate not Garth’s. Then suddenly everyone was laughing and talking at once, one voice louder than the next.
Everyone except Maddy, who stood silent and alone, watching with her heart in her eyes.
It had been a long afternoon and a busy one for Maddy—most of it spent on a tour of Winterhaven conducted solely for her benefit by the earl. She could not imagine why he had singled her out for this honor; she would have thought he would want to share it with her father as well.
But, whatever his reason, there was no disputing he had miraculously come to life as soon as he began showing her his beloved home. Once or twice he had looked positively animated while recounting in boring detail every change that had ever been made to the sprawling building by each of his long line of ancestors.
“So, Miss Harcourt, now you have seen Winterhaven, the principal residence of the Earls of Rand for almost two centuries,” he said when, with tour finished, they stood together on the sunny north terrace.
“Indeed I have, my lord—from one end to the other, and a lovely structure it is, as is the park surrounding it.”
“Thank you, Miss Harcourt.” The earl surveyed the rolling meadows and graceful stands of the trees stretched out before them with obvious pride. “The park was designed by the Third Earl. Luckily, the formalized naturalism for which Mr. Brown was famous requires little care, since the gardening staff has been somewhat reduced in the last few years.”
He turned his head and smiled at her, the first genuine smile she had seen on his face in all the weeks she had known him. “As you have probably already surmised, my home means more to me than anything on earth—except my family, of course.”
“Home and family are very important, my lord. My heart still aches whenever I think of my grandfather and my home in Lyon.”
“Then you will understand why I am compelled to do whatever is necessary to see that the house of Rand survives. The family holdings include five lesser estates, for which I am also responsible, two of which are unentailed.” He hesitated. “I have promised the estate in Suffolk to my half-brother, Tristan and would very much like to keep that promise, unless there are serious objections to the idea.”
“I can’t imagine why anyone would object, my lord. A promise is a sacred pledge of honor, after all, and I know how important honor is to the members of your family.” So Tristan was to have his sheep farm after all. It was probably a good thing. Even an international diplomat needed a place to call home.
Vaguely, she wondered to what remote part of the estate said future international diplomat had disappeared. Not once on the entire tour had she caught a glimpse of him, though she’d constantly been on the lookout for his tall figure. Not that she needed to see Tristan in person to maintain the happy glow that had sustained her during the tedious afternoon. She could survive for days on the memory of the passionate look the two of them had exchanged during the few moments they’d been together.
“I believe it is time to dress for dinner now, Miss Harcourt. We keep country hours at Winterhaven.” The earl’s pleasant voice jolted her back to reality. Accepting his proffered arm, she walked with him through the bay of French windows lining the terrace and thence into the house.
At the foot of the staircase leading to the upper floors, he made a graceful bow and once again smiled at her. “I am heartened by our discussion, Miss Harcourt,” he said gravely. “I do believe we are of like enough minds that we may manage to rub along together quite satisfactorily.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Maddy said automatically, although she hadn’t the slightest notion why it would be necessary that the earl and she “rub along together.” Unless—her heart leapt in her breast—he knew Tristan meant to offer for her and wanted to make certain she fit into their closely knit family.
Maddy was still puzzled by the earl’s odd statement when, more than an hour later, she seated herself at the dressing table in her chamber while her maid brushed her wayward curls into some semblance of order. But with a shrug, she finally abandoned her fruitless pondering, deciding it was not worth worrying about.
She stood up and surveyed herself critically in the cheval glass which stood next to the armoire. Not normally given to fussing unduly about her attire, tonight she had chosen and discarded one gown after another, until she found the one she felt certain would most appeal to Tristan. A pale primrose creped silk, simple of line but trimmed in a lustrous satin of an equally pale green, it could not have been more perfect a costume for a warm spring evening.
Even her cap of curls, which Lady Carolyn had assured her was all the vogue in London at the moment, seemed an appropriate coiffure du printemps. Turning this way and that to gain a better view, she decided that, for once, she was entirely pleased with her appearance.
Her pulse quickened at the thought that it was not inconceivable that Tristan and she might manage to slip away from the others long enough for her to collect another of the two kisses he still owed her. She might not even have to squander one of her precious hoard if the hunger she’d seen in his eyes had been a portent of things to come. She smiled to herself. The long, lonely month without him had been worthwhile after all; he had obviously missed her every bit as much as she’d missed him.
But with so many people in residence, where could they rendezvous with the assurance of privacy? The orangery, she decided as she dismissed her maid and prepared to join the others for dinner. What a romantic spot that would be with its lush foliage, and with the April moon shining through the glass dome overhead.
She felt a flush heat her cheeks, remembering how she’d listened with half an ear while the earl held forth on the virtues of raising one’s own fruits and vegetables under glass in the winter months—and all the while picturing herself in Tristan’s arms, with Tristan’s lips pressed to hers.
A young red-haired footman in full livery waited at the foot of the stairs when she descended. “I’ve been instructed to show you to the salon adjoining the dining room, Miss Harcourt,” he said in a lilting accent that proclaimed him a native of Ireland.
Maddy thanked him politely and moments later stepped through the door he opened and gazed about her at one of the few rooms she had missed on her tour. To her surprise, the earl was the only other person in the small salon.
Once again, his formal attire was blue satin, but a paler blue than what he had worn the night they’d attended the theater. It was, in fact, the exact shade of the delicate wallpaper covering the wall of the salon, and his gold waistcoat perfectly matched the gleaming metallic stripe in the dark blue draperies at the window.
Maddy chuckled to herself. What a funny, vain little man this brother of Tristan’s was. She found herself wondering if he’d dressed to match the salon or had the salon decorated to match his attire.
Surreptitiously, she studied his somber face. Something was definitely troubling him. The animation that had brightened his countenance earlier in the day had disappeared; in its place was a deathly pallor, and the hand in which he held a glass of sherry shook noticeably. “Ah, so here you are, Miss Harcourt,” he said, clearing his throat self-consciously. Maddy instantly glanced over her shoulder, thinking he must have expected someone else.
He cleared his throat again. “Your father has graciously given me permission to speak to you.” His voice cracked and the sherry sloshed over the edge of the glass and splashed onto the blue and gold Axminster carpet on which they stood.
“He has?” Maddy surveyed the little earl with a puzzled frown, wondering if her bombastic father had somehow intimidated him. “But why should you feel you need his permission to talk to a guest in your own home—especially a person to whom you’ve been chattering all afternoon?”
Like dro
ps of blood on a parchment, two bright dots of color flamed in the earl’s pale cheeks. “But the ‘chatter,’ as you put it, was not of the personal nature I have in mind at this moment.”
Personal nature? Maddy felt a frisson of uneasiness.
“We have been acquainted just under one month,” he continued, “but in that time, I have come to sincerely admire and respect you.”
“Why thank you, my lord. What a nice thing to say. I like you too.” Maddy beamed at the kindly little fellow with genuine affection. “In fact, I do believe I should like you even if you were not Tristan’s brother.”
“I am gratified to hear that. I had hoped to find favor in your eyes, but one can never be certain, can one?” The earl fixed his gaze on a spot just above Maddy’s head, his brow knitted like that of a schoolboy trying to recall the text he’d memorized to recite to his tutor. He swallowed hard. “Will you do me the honor, Miss Harcourt”—he swallowed again—“of consenting to become my wife and the next Countess of Rand?”
“Will I what?” Maddy gaped at him as if he had gone mad, as indeed she felt certain he must have.
“Will you marry me, Miss Harcourt?”
“No, my lord, I most certainly will not,” she said emphatically. “Though you do me great honor in asking, I have to believe you are as aware as I that we would not suit at all.”
“But Miss Harcourt,” he stammered. “You…you cannot refuse me. What will your father say?”
“I neither know nor care. It is my life, not my father’s, we are discussing her.” She peered at the earl through narrowed eyes. “Is this proposal something my father has pressured you into doing?”
“He…he has expressed a hope that…that is to say, he did go so far as to…”
“Ha! Just as I thought!” Maddy frowned. “It is most certainly not your own idea. For heaven’s sake, just look at you, my lord. I have never seen a fellow more down in the mouth. Hardly the demeanor one would expect in a man who had found the woman with whom he wished to spend the rest of his life.”
The Misguided Matchmaker Page 19