But it was Lady Thea, the daughter of the Earl of Beacham, who answered with a scowl. “Pompous arse that he is, I doubt he could seat a horse for more than five minutes.”
That caused a gasp and an uncomfortable titter in the room. Emily shifted. She’d tried to place Allington and Thea together on the first night, after hearing they’d known each other in childhood. Who wasn’t swept away by a romance seeded in youth? But she could see now she’d made a tactical error, for Thea clearly despised the earl. Worse, she was making everyone else question him.
She made a note to talk to Cav about the man later and changed the subject. “And Mr. Hayward was telling me some very interesting things about his work on steam engines. He tells me that rail is the future.”
Bridget York, the American, sent a side glance to her mother before she said, “Ah, yet another man who can only speak of steam. I wonder if he can generate it?”
“Bridget!” her mother said in scandalized tones.
But it seemed not to trouble her daughter, because she only laughed as she went to freshen her tea.
Emily bent her head as the ladies changed the subject, and suddenly they were all discussing a book almost everyone had read. She had enjoyed the piece, as well, but she still found herself disappointed. She’d believed so thoroughly in her efforts here, and yet the ladies didn’t seem as engrossed as she had hoped.
She would have to just try again. This was love, after all. She knew full well it was worth fighting for. She would just have to do it harder on their behalves. Her mind darted yet again to Cav’s intense stare in the garden, but managed to push the memory away again.
That wasn’t the same thing as what she was trying to create here for the ladies and gentlemen at her gathering. Cav was something else entirely, and she wasn’t about to go analyzing it and creating a situation where one did not have to exist.
Chapter 5
Four Colly Birds
Why Emily had brought him here when she was just going to repeatedly avoid him was the question on Cav’s mind the next day when the group as a whole stepped into the garden for their next display in her Twelve Days of Christmas tableau. She was standing with a group of the ladies, talking softly, and her aqua gaze lifted to him. She blushed and looked away.
He hated this. Hated that something had shifted between them and made her cower from him. Yet he also found hope in that change. She’d never been so uncomfortable around him, never blushed and darted her gaze to anything but him.
He arched a brow, challenging her, when she dared to peek at him again. Her blush deepened, but then she said something to her guests and moved across the garden in his direction. When she reached him, she smiled.
“I’m very much looking forward to our next reveal,” he said in an attempt to break the discomfort between them, and to remind her that he was her friend. “I’m certain it will be spectacular.”
“I hope so,” she mused, and glanced off with what appeared to be worry. “I was thinking we’d begin by now. But I suppose that allows me to ask you a question that has been plaguing my mind since yesterday.”
He tensed. Was she about to bring up the subject of what had happened between them right in this very garden? “If I can help ease that mind, I’m happy to do so.”
She looked over her shoulder, as if making sure no one else was able to hear her. Then she drew a deep breath and said, “Have you heard anything untoward about the Earl of Allington?”
He cocked his head. “Allington?” he repeated.
She nodded. “It seems Lady Thea is very much not…fond of him.”
“She hates him,” he corrected with a chuckle. “I saw them together the first night and he mentioned it, as well. I have no idea why.”
“Do you think it is because he is…cruel in some way? Or the sort of man I ought not match with any of the ladies in our party?”
His shoulders relaxed. Of course, she was concerned with the well-being of the ladies in attendance. That was who Emily was. It was part of why he adored her.
He shook his head. “Rake though Lord Allington may be, I would never allow you to invite someone who was truly a villain. I’ve never seen him be untoward before and I would have told you if he had a cruel streak. Whatever is between him and Lady Thea is just that—between them. It seems to be a personal matter.”
“You don’t think he might be…privately terrible?” she whispered.
He wrinkled his brow. “I…suppose that is possible. We often don’t know what is in another’s mind or what happens behind closed doors. But I’ve known the man most of my life. I’ve observed him when he might not have known I was there. And he’s never acted in a way that would give me pause, for what it’s worth.”
Emily practically sagged in relief. “I knew that to be true, of course. I can always depend on you. I only worried when she spoke of him in such strenuous terms. But if I keep them apart, I think I shall solve the problem.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes hate is awfully close to love.”
Her eyes widened, but before she could respond to that statement, her butler, Cringle, approached, a look of concern on his face. “I’m sorry to intrude, my lady,” he began, then leaned in and whispered something to Emily.
Cav watched as all the color drained from her face. “Not coming?” she repeated, her voice trembling slightly. “But…but he made the agreement. He took ten pounds for the presentation.”
“I know, my lady. But that is what we’ve been told.”
Emily glanced toward Cav, and her frustration was clear in those beautiful eyes. He reached for her and almost took her hand before he forced himself to grip his fingers at his side instead. “Trouble?”
She nodded. “I hired a local man to come and do a demonstration. He said he has trained ravens to fetch shiny buttons and dance on the air for the promise of cheese. I thought it would be charming, but…but it seems he is a charlatan and is not going to make it after all.”
Cav’s jaw set as her bottom lip began to tremble. Her upset increased, even as she fought to manage it. “Do you have another option for your four colly birds?” he asked gently.
“No. This seemed so jolly and interesting, I never thought about another plan.” She glanced around at the milling crowd. They were already restless. “What will I do? I don’t want to disappoint anyone. They expect colly birds.”
She worked her lower lip with her teeth. An action he’d always found wildly distracting, but today he couldn’t be mesmerized by it. Today it meant her pain and her worry. Those were things he only wished to ease.
He drew in a long breath and smiled at her. “You brought me here to assist you,” he said. “And so I shall.”
She tilted her head, but before she could ask him what his intentions were, before he could talk himself out of them, he strode away and jumped up on a bench beside the garden path.
“On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me four colly birds. And so I present to you Richard Jago’s ‘The Blackbirds.’”
He held Emily’s gaze as he said it and the reaction he expected was the one she gave. After all, this was the poem she had recited over and over after Rutledge’s death. The one he knew by heart because her voice had been the one to say it. And yet it was the way to both assist her with her troubles and allow him to reveal something of himself to her.
The words he was about to recite were also ones that meant the world to him. He could only hope she might catch the meaning of them when he spoke them to her here and now.
* * *
“The Blackbirds” had been a favorite poem of Emily’s all her life. Not only was it passionate and romantic, but it was bitterly sad, since it ended with the mated birds being parted by the reckless shot of a hunter’s rifle. How much she had clung to the bitter heartache after Andrew’s death. How often had she repeated the poem out as Cav looked on, his own expression as broken as hers.
It had become their poem, in a way, something that cel
ebrated what they’d lost. Cav had never been one to exhibit, though. He was not the man who had a few drinks and sang songs or gave speeches. She could see the discomfort in his face and heard it in his voice as he began to recite the lines.
The crowd fell silent, for his voice was passionate and clear, echoing in the quiet of the winter day. Captivating all who heard those words.
“O fairest of the feather’d train! For whom I sing, for whom I burn.” He emphasized that word as his gaze held hers, and she realized in that moment that she was no longer breathing. “Attend with pity to my strain. And grant my love a kind return.”
Her heart was throbbing as he continued, recounting the courtship of the blackbirds to the enraptured crowd that was gathering closer with each word.
“But trust me, love, the raven’s wing. Is not to be compar’d with mine. Nor can the lark so sweetly sing. As I, who strength with sweetness join.”
She was whispering the words out loud with him, her hands clenched before her, unable to tear her eyes away from him.
He looked so big standing on that bench. So broad and strong and in that moment he wasn’t her friend. He was something else. And that terrified her and enraptured her all at once.
“He led her to the nuptial bower. And nestled closely to her side. The fondest bridegroom of that hour. And she the most delighted bride.” His voice was rough now, strong but low and powerful.
And God help her, but a tremble worked through her body. He continued, but as he reached the last four stanzas, where the blackbirds flew into the wrong vale and encounter the gunner who would end their passions, he looked away.
That allowed the strange spell between them to break, and she staggered backward, turning from him as he finished the poem. Her hands shook as the party applauded, their sniffles indicating that all had been moved as she had once been by the tragic poem.
Only today, for the first time in many years, it hadn’t been Andrew she thought of when those words were said. Today the poem had locked her with Cav. Linked her to him as much as the strangeness that had sprung up between them in these last few days.
She pivoted toward him and found he’d come down from the bench. The men were shaking his hand, the ladies all cooing and complimenting him.
“What a fine way to celebrate four colly birds, my lady!” Lord Weatherall said.
She forced a smile. “Indeed. It was kind of Mr. Cavendish to present one of my favorite poems for us this afternoon.” She clapped her hands together trying to gather herself. “So I issue a challenge. Tonight after supper, when we reconvene in the parlor, I hope we will see many more presentations by you, my cherished guests. And the applause will be all the higher if you can incorporate colly birds of any kind in your recitation.”
The crowd seemed excited by the idea, and groups of them moved off together toward the house, chattering about what they could present to outshine Cav’s wonderful performance. She let out her breath in a shaky sigh. She needed to speak to him, of course. To thank him for how he had come to her rescue. To compliment him, as the others had, on his performance.
But he wasn’t waiting for her. He was striding after the group, not looking back. His shoulders seemed tense, though. She knew that tension well after all these years. He was displeased, perhaps. With her?
She moved to follow, but one of the chaperones fell into pace beside her. Mrs. York, the American, mother to Bridget York. The woman had a wide smile as she said, “That truly was a lovely representation of the day’s theme,” she said. “This has been a creative and wonderful party. My daughter and I are so pleased to have been included.”
Emily forced herself to be gracious and smiled at the woman. “And I am pleased to have you. I’ve spoken to Bridget a handful of times since her arrival, and you have much to be proud of.”
Mrs. York’s blush was Emily’s reward, and normally she might have reveled in it or even pressed her companion to find out more about Bridget so she could better match her. But today she was still so distracted. Cav had entered the house now. Where would he go? With the crowd or off on his own?
“Mr. Cavendish is a wonderful orator,” Mrs. York continued. “You and he are friends, I know.”
Emily’s lips suddenly felt dry and she shifted as they entered the house together. “Y-Yes. Mr. Cavendish was a great friend to my late husband and has remained just as faithful to me in the years since Andrew’s death. He is the kindest and best of men.”
“I have heard told he might be thinking of taking a bride when the Season begins in the spring. Would you know anything about that?”
Emily could scarcely hear anything with the blood rushing in her ears. She stared at Mrs. York, her hands trembling at her sides. Over the years, many a mama had sought out Cav for her quarry. A few had come to her and to Andrew, as Mrs. York was now, to obtain insider information about Cav.
But now the idea that he would seek a marriage felt more…raw…to Emily. Was it true? He was of an age, of course. She knew his grandfather believed it was past time for him to make his move and go forward into his destiny. But would Cav finally bow to the pressures at home?
“I-I do not know,” she stammered, for she realized Mrs. York was still waiting for an answer. They had reached the parlor now, where some of the guests were gathered talking. It seemed some had retired to their chambers for an afternoon rest.
Cav was not amongst this group.
“Oh.” Mrs. York looked slightly disappointed. “Well, I suppose all is fair, isn’t it? Are you coming in with the others?”
Emily should have said yes, of course. A polite hostess would not allow her guests to linger on their own without her support. But right now she didn’t give a damn about her duties. She could only think of Cav and this strange drive to get to him. To…see him after that display in the garden.
“I have a obligation to attend to, I’m afraid,” she said. “But please, partake of refreshments and enjoy yourself. I will see you later in the day.”
Mrs. York said something in return, but Emily hardly heard it. She hurried away, up the hall. Cav hadn’t gone to bed, she didn’t think. It wasn’t his nature to rest his head after tea. No…she had a hunch he would go where he very often did when he visited Crossfox.
She was almost running now, racing through the winding halls until she found the room she was seeking. The light came from under the closed door, and she caught her breath before she opened it and entered the library.
He was there. Of course he was. He stood in the middle of the room and had stripped away his jacket, leaving him in a brocaded waistcoat, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows as he paced the room, not looking at the books on the shelves.
When she stepped into the room and shut the door behind herself, he stopped moving and just…stared at her. Just like in the garden the day before, just like in the same place less than a quarter hour earlier, that focused stare stole her breath. It made her feel like it was the first time he was looking at her, rather than the fiftieth, the hundredth, the thousandth time those dark blue eyes had held hers.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
She ignored the admonishment. If she listened to it, if she pulled away now, she might lose the closest friend she’d ever had. No, they just had to push past this. Pretend it away, didn’t they? Act as though it had never happened and then it would disappear like smoke in the wind.
“Thank you,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t shake as she stepped toward him. His eyes came shut and he let out his breath in a long stream. “You saved me today.”
“I would do so any day,” he growled, his tone almost angry. “You know that.”
She stopped moving, because he was as tightly wound as a spring. His jaw flexed, his hands fisted against his thighs, his mouth was a thin line with no hint of his usual playful smile.
“Cav,” she said.
His eyes flew open. “Don’t,” he said again.
“Don’t do what?” she asked.
“You
know what,” he retorted, scrubbing a hand through those curly locks, mussing them and making him all the more rakish and wicked looking. “You know what, even if you want to pretend you don’t.”
She was shaking so hard she thought she might fall over because in that moment the truth became painfully clear: Cav wanted her. He wanted her as he stood here in her library, holding himself back like he was trying to protect her from that feeling. From all the damage that feeling could do.
“We need to just pretend—” she started.
“Pretend,” he repeated on a humorless laugh. “What do you think I’ve been doing, Emily? What do you think every moment I’m in a room with you is?”
Her knees went weak and she staggered closer, even when she knew she should move further away. “You don’t mean that. You can’t feel that. You’re my friend, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he ground out. “I have always been your friend. I shall always be. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t more here, too. That I don’t look at you and want to—”
He cut himself off with a curse that made her cheeks burn.
“We can ignore it,” she suggested. “Ignore these desires.”
His eyes went wide. “We,” he repeated. “We can ignore it. What are you ignoring, Em?”
Her breath caught as she realized her slip. At what it had revealed to him. At what it revealed to her, too. It had been a long time since she felt…desire. And that was what this was. Desire. Hot and heavy, flowing from the deepest part of her. Something she feared she could not stop now that she recognized it, named it, claimed it even just in her own heart.
She desired Cav. What was worse was that the feeling didn’t seem…new.
Her silence must have emboldened him because he eased a step closer to her this time. She looked up into his handsome face and no longer saw her friend. No, she saw something else, someone else, and when she leaned into him, it was because she couldn’t do anything else.
He reached out a hand. It was shaking as he traced her jawline with a feather-light and gentle touch. A sigh escaping her lips because the pleasure of what he was doing was too, too much.
Mismatched Under the Mistletoe Page 5