The Convenient Arrangement

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  A flash of lightning stilled her answer. One of the horses whinnied nervously, and the stableboys hurried to take them to their stalls and brush them down. When the thunder came slowly, Valeria let Lorenzo draw her hand within his arm and take her to the closest door.

  “Lorenzo,” she began as soon as they were inside the house and the storm was banished by the thick stone walls.

  “Why don’t you change and meet me in the library? We can speak there.”

  “I’m sorry about—”

  He looked down at his ruined clothes. “Accidents happen. I am assuming this was an accident.”

  “Of course!” At least as accidental as meeting Sir Tilden on the moors. She could not say that. Not when, beneath the scratchy blanket, her clothes clung to her like an icy caress.

  As if he could read her thoughts, and she prayed that he could not, his gaze swept over her. All of a moment, she was aware of how her wet clothes outlined her shamelessly. She wanted to raise her hands to cover her breasts, but she could not move as his gaze rose to her face again. When he brushed her wet hair back from her face, she closed her eyes delighting in the simple touch.

  “Go and change and meet me for a glass of something warm to ease the cold,” he murmured.

  Cold? She was no longer cold. She had needed only his touch to ease the cold.

  “I would,” he continued, “appreciate your opinions of Sir Tilden and his sister.”

  The iciness returned doublefold as she put her foot on the first riser. “You really have taken it upon yourself to look for a husband for me, haven’t you?”

  “That’s one of a guardian’s responsibilities, you know.”

  That he did not demur added to her dismay. She did not want to marry Sir Tilden. Once she had agreed to marry a man she barely knew. Albert had been a good husband, but they had been strangers for too long at the beginning of their marriage. She did not want to spend months living in forced intimacy again while she tried to learn about the man whose name and life she shared.

  “You aren’t my guardian,” she said as she clutched the banister.

  He looked up her, which was peculiar, for she was accustomed to his eyes being above hers. “I believe you said I had a guardian’s responsibility for you when you first presented yourself at my door.”

  “At your uncle’s door.”

  “’Tis one and the same.”

  She shook her head. “It is nothing the same.”

  “No?” He drew off his muddy coat and folded it over his arm. “I believe you are dependent on me for the roof over your head.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And the food you and the boy eat.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And that those responsibilities will be mine until you are married once more.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Therefore, I—”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she said, interrupting him as he had her. “I know you have a guardian’s responsibilities for me, but I am a grown woman. I will not be shunted off on the first man you meet.”

  “That was not my intention.”

  “No? Then why did you ask me to ride with you? Are you saying that it was a mere coincidence that we encountered Sir Tilden and his sister today?”

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t you find it odd that we should chance to meet an eligible bachelor the only time you have deigned to ask me to ride with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?” His easy agreement astounded her.

  “Yes, I believe it is odd, for I have been riding about for days without meeting anyone I would consider proper to call upon you. Today, when you are along, one pops nearly out of the hedgerow, but, I assure you, ’tis no more than coincidence. With luck, a happy coincidence for you.”

  “And for you.”

  “For me?”

  She put her hands on her hips and frowned. “Yes, for you. Miss Oates seems to be an intelligent, albeit shy woman. She would make a good and proper wife for you.”

  He draped his coat over the banister and tried to shake mud from its sleeves. “I have no interest in a wife at the moment.”

  “You have an obligation to provide an heir.” Valeria almost laughed when color flew up his face, but there was nothing amusing about the whole of this. “Lorenzo, I do hope that you won’t continue to blush as red as my hair when you next speak with Miss Oates. She might take it for your customary shade and wonder if you are hale.”

  “I did not—”

  She leaned over the railing and tapped his cheek. “Turn about and look in the glass if you don’t believe me, Lorenzo. You are the same shade you were when she dared to inquire if you would be calling soon.”

  “If we would be calling soon.”

  “She cares little if I call. She was thinking about charming you so that she might obtain the title of Lady Moorsea for herself.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Is it? Then why are you flushing like a schoolgirl at her coming-out?”

  She thought he would give her a sharp back-answer and tell her the matter was none of her bread-and-butter, which would be correct. He was playing the rôle of her guardian, not the other way about. But, again, she realized how different Lorenzo was from the men she had met in London, who would never give voice to any suggestion of being less than perfect.

  “Mayhap you are correct, Valeria,” he said with the quiet dignity that she had come to discover meant he was giving the matter serious thought. “My experience with ladies is somewhat less than my cousin, who, despite his time serving in the king’s army, seemed to garner the attention of the fairer sex wherever he went.”

  “And you were in his shadow?” She arched her brows as she came back down the stairs. She could not rush off when Lorenzo was being so gut-wrenchingly honest with her. “Then you and Miss Oates have something in common. She is outshone by her brother as you were by your cousin. It gives you a starting point to chat about.”

  “I have no interest in wasting my time in the pursuit of conversations that are meaningless.” He reached for his coat. “Like this one.”

  “Because it unsettles you?”

  “Yes.”

  There again was that honesty that was so rare in anyone else. When she looked both ways along the corridor and up the stairs, she saw nobody. She did not want anyone overhearing the course of this conversation because she knew how quickly it would be repeated through the servants’ hall.

  “Because you are shy around women?” she asked softly.

  “A fault I cannot rid myself of, as you should have seen, so why are you making that a question?”

  “Because you aren’t shy around me.” She smiled. “You speak your mind openly and berate me when you think my opinions are skimble-skamble.”

  “As I have said before, Valeria, you are not like other women.”

  “And you don’t consider me a potential wife.”

  He swallowed roughly, then an ironic smile spread across his face. “Forgive me if I say this wrong, Valeria, but I would be out of my mind to marry you. Not only do you want a hectic life while I seek a quiet one, but you have the responsibility for that lad who seems even more determined than you to make sure I never have a moment of tranquillity in this house.” As if on cue, something crashed upstairs, and David’s laugh drifted down the staircase. “I trust you see what I mean and take no offense.”

  “I see what you mean.”

  When she did not add anything else, he asked, “And take no offense?”

  “How can I when you are being honest with me for my own good as well as yours?” She was pleased that her words were as honest as his, because she had to own that he was correct. She and Albert had learned to have a happy marriage primarily because they shared a love of entertaining and being entertained by their mutual friends. The only thing she and Lorenzo had in common was his uncle, and it appeared, with every passing day, that they truly knew nothing of the late Lord Moorsea.

  When he
folded his coat over his arm and started to turn, she said, “But you know you must marry, Lorenzo. You have no nephew to leave this house to.”

  “That is true, but it is a matter I do not have to consider today.”

  “I think you are wrong.”

  “Valeria, I am soaked to the skin and want to change and enjoy a nice glass of brandy. Can’t this conversation wait?”

  “No.”

  He scowled at her. “You are the most unreasonable, irrational woman I have ever met.”

  “So I believe you have intimated before.” She put her hand on his arm. “Lorenzo, we all must start somewhere, you know. As you are trying in your misguided way to help me by trying to leg-shackle me to the first eligible man we meet, the least I can do is return the favor.”

  “I think not.”

  “Why? What frightens you?”

  “I have not—that is, I—”

  She laughed. “A woman is not made of glass or of old clay like those pots you like to examine.”

  “I never suspected that you would shatter easily.”

  “I have tried to prove you right.” She put her hand on his other arm. “This one goes around a woman’s shoulders when you ask her to stand up with you as the orchestra plays a romantic waltz.” She looked down and grabbed at the blanket to keep it from falling off her shoulders. “Of course, it may be difficult to imagine that now.”

  He shook his head and stepped back. “This feels all wrong.”

  “Of course it does. It only feels right when you are with a person you could fall in love with.”

  “That’s exactly what Corey has long told me.”

  “And your cousin is correct, but you are going to have to find yourself a wife.” She smiled. “Unless you want me to take over that task for you.”

  “No, it is one I can handle myself.” He put his hands on her shoulders and brushed her cheek with his lips. “There.”

  “There what?” She looked up at him, hoping her smile hid the flush of warmth that surged through her with his unexpected kiss. “If you were to offer that kiss to a woman you are considering as a potential bride, it would make you the laughingstock of the ton.”

  “I would think so. That was a thank-you for proffering to help, but I would rather that you be my friend who leaves such matters in my hands.” He pushed back his hair as more water dripped down his face. “I bid you au revoir while I change into something a little less damp. I suggest you do the same.” The gentle smile returned as he grazed her cheek with another swift kiss. “And thank you, Valeria. You are, although I would not have believed it a fortnight ago, a good friend.”

  “Yes,” she said rather faintly as he strode away, calling for his man Kirby to order a bath for him and one for Valeria. Her breath caught as she imagined relaxing in a steaming bath while his intriguing fingers swept soap through her hair and down her back and … She shivered as powerful heat surged through her. Was she mad? Half the time she did not even like Lorenzo Wolfe, who seemed to take pride in annoying her. And hadn’t he just said that they were to be friends?

  She gripped the newel post. Friends. She wondered if that were still possible when, at his most casual touch, heat ricocheted within her, settling in the most secret crevices of her heart.

  She must be mad … or falling in love with him.

  Nine

  Valeria strode across the meadow and almost into a wall before she brought herself to a stop. She slapped her hand against the stones, scowling. The day had begun so well. The sun had been shining, David had been chattering about his plans to spend the day with Gil down by the beach, and even Lorenzo had put aside his newspaper.

  Then Miss Urquhart had invited her to share some tea on the terrace near the overgrown water garden. Valeria told herself she should have known the old woman was looking for more than company when Miss Urquhart had poured half of the tea into another cup and reached for a small bottle at the far corner of the tray.

  “Was the tea too strong?” Valeria had asked.

  The old woman laughed. “My dear, you are so sweet, but the truth is the tea isn’t strong enough.” Tilting the bottle over her cup, she smiled. “A bit of brandy always adds just the right flavor to a cup of scan-mag.” Without a pause, she added, “And I hear the poker-talk is going to be about you.”

  “Don’t assume that rumors have any basis in truth.”

  “I don’t.” She smiled. “That’s why I asked you to join me for a cup of tea. I wanted to hear from your lips the truth. Are you quite taken with Sir Tilden Oates?”

  “I have met the man only once.”

  “Love at first sight happens. I know. It happened for me.”

  “With the late lord?”

  Miss Urquhart added another dash of brandy to her cup. “We are talking about the gossip about you, my dear, not me. I have heard—”

  “Whatever it is, it is not true,” she had argued. “I have met the baronet but once.”

  But once.

  Valeria slowed her pace. She could not out-walk her vexation. By the heavens, she had spoken with the man on a single occasion and already the shire was ready to listen to the banns announced in the church in Winlock-on-Sea. She strode up the hill, following the contortions of the stone wall that was as tall as her shoulder. Behind it, hedgerows blocked any view. That was no problem, because she did not want to see anything—or especially anyone—now.

  Her problems kept pace with her. The problem of Miss Urquhart was easily dismissed. The old woman simply loved to enjoy some gossip. Sir Tilden was no more bothersome, although she would have to make it obvious to him, as she had to the late earl’s mistress, that she had no intention of considering marriage to him on such short acquaintance.

  “Or at any time,” she said to the rich pink flowers pointing tall and straight out of the brush.

  How easily she could expel those concerns from her mind! What was not simple was banishing thoughts of Lorenzo. She found her thoughts in that direction so uncomfortable that she wanted to be done with them, but it had been to no avail. Could she be developing a tendre for this aggravating man? Impossible! She was simply grateful for his kindness in giving her and David a home. Nothing more.

  Hearing a bark, Valeria looked down the hill. Then she realized the noise had come from her left where a cottage was hidden amid a clump of trees clinging to the wind-sculpted hillside. She walked faster. Another bark sounded, and she gathered up her skirt, raising it above her high-lows, and pushed her pace nearly to a run.

  A yellow dog bounded out from the trees, cutting her off. She cringed as the dog rushed to her and leapt up. Turning her back on it, she was not quick enough. It jumped again, this time lapping her face. Her eyes widened. It did not wish to bite her, merely to show affection. At this moment, she could use some affection.

  She reached down to the pat its head, but froze when she heard another deeper bark. A black dog came darting from the trees straight toward her. It did not lunge, because its girth was too great. When she took a step backward, it shoved its head under her hand.

  With a nervous laugh, she realized both dogs were vying for a pat on the head. “Good afternoon,” she said with a smile.

  The yellow dog lapped her hand, and both looked up at her expectantly.

  “I’m walking this way.” She pointed along an almost invisible path leading up to the higher reaches of the moor. “You are welcome to join me.”

  She laughed when they took off up the path, then paused and looked back to see if she was following. They crashed through the bushes and splashed into a rivulet coursing along the hill as she continued along the path that was growing steeper with every step.

  By the time she entered a copse near the crest of the hill, her breath was banging against her side. The back of her left leg was aching, and the back of her right was on fire as the path grew more vertical. She glanced back, but could see nothing through the trees. Just a wee bit farther, then she would turn around. Every step was a challenge which kept
her from thinking of that blastedly irritating man and his plans to marry her off with lightning speed and of her own uncertainty about him.

  “Why can’t things ever be simple?” she asked, and the black dog bounced back, dripping and covered with pieces of leaves, to stare up at her with an offer to pet him again. She did and smiled. “I envy your witless enjoyment of this day.”

  With a bark, the dog ran to catch up with the yellow one that was scampering up a bank that was even steeper than the path.

  Valeria shook her head, laughing tersely, because she had no breath for more. Picking up a long branch, she broke off the twigs attached to its sides. She used it as a walking staff to help propel her up the hill.

  A flash caught her eyes as she walked among the trees. Looking to her left, she saw a pool of water gathered on a shelf of earth. It was surrounded by trees and more than fifty feet away. She wondered if she could toss a stone into it.

  A proper lady would never do such a thing.

  She ignored that irritating thought. What would a proper lady do? Mayhap she would allow the rumors whirling about Exmoor to betroth her to another man she did not know. She had trusted her guardian to arrange her first marriage, but she was a woman grown now. She must depend on her own instincts to decide whom to marry and when.

  With a laugh, she picked up a pebble from the path and tossed it through the trees. It struck one tree, then another before crashing to the ground. Gathering up a second, she let it fly. This one became entangled in the branches and dropped only a few feet in front of her. As she reached for another stone, the black dog whined. She smiled. They thought they were part of this game. Patting the dog on the head, she drew back her hand to throw the rock. The dog put its mouth over her hand and looked up at her with eager eyes.

  “No, no,” she said with a laugh. “This is my stone.”

  He moved aside and sniffed the ground.

  She tossed the rock and laughed when she heard the surprisingly deep, definitely satisfying plop of the stone in the pond. When she wiped dirt from her hands and turned to continue up the hill, she laughed again. The black dog had a stone, twice the size of the ones she had been tossing, in its mouth. It was carrying it as proudly as if it had caught a rabbit in the hedgerow.