0062412949 (R) (25 page)

“It’s a start.” He managed to choke the words out. “Would you . . . Would that be possible?”

“Anything is possible, my lord. You are here, aren’t you? Although for what reason, I still do not know. If you are to do any good whatsoever, I suggest you locate your tongue.”

She rang for Godfrey and gave him orders to summon Piety. Trevor paced while they waited, and the marchioness watched him, making an open study of his face, his travel clothes, and his fidgety progress around the room. He felt like an insect, but he let her look. Her stare was preferable to her interrogation.

He wondered again about the proceedings in the dining room. He had not known what to expect when he arrived, but he would tell them to all go to the devil and dare them try to insult Piety in his presence if so inclined. But the situation did not seem to lend itself, particularly, to his immediate interference. She appeared to be standing her own, and he would not want to overplay his hand the moment he walked in. The American brothers, he noticed, appeared just as smug and opportunist as they had in London; their regard for Piety seemed to simmer somewhere between stare or scowl. It would be an extreme pleasure to hand them their hats, he thought, when the time came. He glanced at Lady Frinfrock. She wished to know why he was here. Well, he could hardly tell her that.

Suddenly, the doorknob rattled, and something in his chest gave a hitch. He turned and trained his eyes on the door, unable to hide his eagerness.

It was Piety, slipping into the room with less bustle and breathlessness than ever he had seen. Her eyes sought his and then lowered. She dipped into a bow. “My lord,” she said quietly.

Trevor blinked. He had dreamed of her nearly every night since she left, but his dreams did nothing to prepare him for the flesh-and-blood sight of her. She was as soft and beautiful as always, and yet, her expression was closed. There was no telltale smile. He had never seen her quite so resigned. He didn’t like it.

But they were waiting for some greeting. He forced himself to bow in her direction. “Miss Grey,” he said.

The marchioness pointed to a chair. “Miss Grey, please sit. I will not lose my lunch because of your forced pleasantries, the pair of you. How obvious it is that you are more than casually acquainted. Let us not forget that I watched you make eyes at each other over the chessboard for more than a week. You may sit, too, Falcondale, before you wear a path in the rug.

“If you’ll permit it,” said Trevor, “I’d rather stand, my lady.” He remained by the window, his eyes fixed on Piety.

Her dress was new; something he’d never seen before. Yellow. Fluttery. It would make a hundred women appear sallow or ill, or, at the very least, silly. On her, it was fresh and light and it would put him in a better mood, he knew, if he were not so damned anxious about her reception of him. Even now, she looked at him for only a moment before she fixed her gaze resolutely at her knees. If he could not see her smile, he reasoned, at least her dress was an echo of her former cheerfulness. It was rationalization, he thought, and a bloody weak one at that. And now it would appear he would be forced to speak, because she would not.

“Look,” he began, shoving his hands into his pockets, “you wish to know why I’ve come. I had the misfortune of meeting Miss Grey’s relatives earlier in the week. They arrived in Henrietta Place, made improper advances on her maid, and got into a row with my boy Joseph. I was compelled to evict them from the premises.”

Piety’s gaze shot up. “Marissa?”

“The servants have recovered, I assume,” said the marchioness.

Trevor waved the topic away. “You have to be quite a fighter to get the best of Joseph. And the girl is fine, as well. However, to say that I was not impressed with their behavior is an understatement. How accurate you have been, Miss Grey. They are an abomination. You were right to come here. And, your generosity to Miss Grey is remarkable, my lady. Garnettgate is a gem, by the way.”

“Nearly forgotten the loveliness of your home country, had you, Falcondale? I have no doubt that your own country estate in Staffordshire could be made twice as lovely.”

He looked away. “Indeed.”

“So, what are we meant to take from your revelations, my lord?” asked the marchioness. “You’ve come all this way to tell us Miss Grey’s family is repugnant? If so, you’re a month late. Miss Grey and Miss Baker have been saying as much since they arrived in London.”

“I came to be another hand on deck, so to speak,” he said, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Piety’s head rise.

“Another hand,” said the marchioness. “Aha. How lucky for us. Let me guess. You will design an ancient Greek structure in which to corral the ghastly Americans? Something with fluted columns? A great many steps?”

“Clever, my lady,” he said. Unable to keep the distance between himself and Piety, he ambled behind her. He could just smell the sweet notes of her perfume, see the curls that escaped her chignon. “If everyone in England was like you,” he said, “I may never have left.”

“Better that you did,” she said. “Few people can tolerate either of us. But returning to the topic of your so-called ‘handiness.’ What can you possibly contribute to the situation?”

Trevor stared at her. “You mean specifically?”

The marchioness narrowed her eyes. “Miss Grey is comporting herself quite admirably. Her mother has no dearth of insults, painful ones, too, invoking the name of her dead father, calling her names. The whole lot of them are tenacious as wolfhounds, and they work well together in a pack. Intimidating—even to this one. Look at her.” She nodded toward Piety.

Trevor looked. He’d ridden for two days with thought of little else.

The marchioness sighed. “They may eventually wear us all down. Additional help could not hurt.”

“I have no doubt Miss Grey could put them firmly in place.” He found himself unprepared to go on. Perhaps he had not thought this through. He could not predict that the marchioness would make him put such a fine point on the reason that he’d come. How could he? He had not wanted to acknowledge what it meant to be here himself.

Beside him, Piety stared at her hands. He wondered if she was curious about it. Did she wish him away? Whatever she wanted, whatever she felt,
why not bloody look up and say it?

Bollocks,
he thought, circumventing her chair and standing in front of her. I’ll
say it.

“I thought perhaps Miss Grey might find it useful if someone else, another man, pressed his suit,” he said in a rush. “To . . . to . . . scare the Americans away.”

The room was silent after this admission, and he paced a line to the window and back. “There,” he continued. “I’ve said it. This is why I am in Berkshire.” He looked back at Piety. She stared at her hands. No reaction whatsoever. Not even a glance.

“If Miss Grey is amenable to it, of course. Her attachment to another respectable man might ground her to England, show that she has opportunities.”

“And
you
,” asked the marchioness, “are to be this respectable Englishman, I presume?”

“I’m hardly a member of the court, but I am a bloody earl, or so they tell me.”

“So all of this is to say that you have turned up here to
court
Miss Grey?”

He held out a hand. “Wait. Let me be clear. I have come here to
pretend
to court Miss Grey.”

“That is ridiculous.” She thumped her cane. “That won’t even get you lunch, Falcondale.”

“You couldn’t know this, madam,” he said, exasperated, “but I have been very clear with Miss Grey from the start, as she has been with me. There was no other protocol than honesty on this score when a beautiful and spirited young woman moves next door to a bachelor of my situation. We were both unattached, as it were, and we got on quite well. I saw fit to be very clear. I have absolutely no wish to marry. Anyone. I intimated this to Miss Grey almost immediately upon her arrival. It made everything simpler.”

“What a lucky girl.” The marchioness harrumphed.

“Considering this, it would be unfair to court Miss Grey in earnest. Furthermore, as I understand it, Miss Grey has similarly low aspirations toward matrimony.

“However,” he pressed on, “there is no reason the Americans need know this. For all they shall see, I will be wholly devoted to her, earnestly trying to woo her. I will be besotted.”

Piety’s head slowly rose from her lap. She blinked at him. He stared back, locking eyes.

“I understand what the Americans are meant to think.” The marchioness sighed. “What I do not understand is what
you
think. Why? Why on earth would you bother to enact such a subterfuge?”

Because I’ve gone mad.

Because I could not seem
not
to do it.

Because I would not have them touch her.

Because it would mean a few more days.

“I want to help,” was all he said.

“Because you care so very much about Miss Grey? The girl you will never consent to marry?”

“No,” he said, but then he reversed to, “Yes.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “It’s not . . . Let us just say I would do it, because I can. And why not?”

He looked at them. They looked back.

“Shall I say it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Lady Frinfrock. “Shall you? I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’ve scarcely made sense in the half hour you’ve been in my company.”

“Right,” he said with steady calm. “Do I care what happens to Miss Grey? Yes. Yes, I suppose
that
is the reason that I would help her. If you must know it.”

“You mean
pretend
to help her,” the marchioness corrected. She looked at Piety. “Miss Grey? What say you? The earl suggests that some measure of this may be comprehendible to you.”

Nervously, his mouth dry, Trevor watched Piety. Before she spoke, she began to nod, and he felt himself draw breath.

Next, in a small, foreign voice, she said, “Yes, my lady. I do understand. The earl wishes to pretend to court me so that the Limpetts will be dissuaded. The courtship is meant to be a sham. He maintains his bachelorhood, and I proceed with my motivating priority, which was to escape a marriage, not find it.”

She smiled sadly at Trevor. It felt like a punch in the gut. He welcomed it. At least she had not sent him away.

“Although Lord Falcondale and I would never suit in a romantic sense, we were friends, and I know this gesture comes with deep personal sacrifice. It’s very generous, really.”

“My house in London has not yet sold,” he explained, watching her. “My plan was to eventually sail for Syria, but I have latitude with the departure. There is idle time while I await a buyer. I might as well spend it here as elsewhere.” He waited for her to affirm this, trying to see some trace of the unrelenting Piety he knew.

Her silence continued, and he felt himself flounder—a rare feeling, indeed, and he turned away. She knew what he offered. He’d blurted it out plainly enough.

Behind him, he heard her rise.

“I should like to accept his lordship’s offer, my lady,” she finally said. “If you do not take issue with it. It never hurts to have reinforcements. And I shan’t be so agonized if they insult Falcondale. Not as I am when they insult you.”

A surge of relief coursed through him, and he felt himself draw a ragged breath. Of all that he had not expected about his flight to Berkshire, Piety’s strange, sad silence had been the most disturbing surprise. How foolish of him to assume she would be unchanged in the face of this onslaught from her family. How foolish of him to assume that her sunny, effusive regard for him was guaranteed.

Had he assumed this, he wondered? More like, he had not thought of it at all. Suddenly, it seemed he could think of little else.

“Do not fret on my behalf, girl.” The marchioness scooted from her chair. “Although I do see how Falcondale would be convenient to insult. Very well. He may stay.”

She was hobbling to the door, but she turned and lashed Trevor with a hard look. “I assume you do know how to properly court a young woman? Or
pretend
to court her, I should say?”

“Likely, I do not.”

“Expected. I shall have to take you on, too.” She opened the door. “Very well. I am sending Miss Breedlowe in straight away, with orders to be far more vigilant than she has obviously been. There is a familiarity between the two of you that is not borne of passing in the street like neighbors. I don’t care what promises you’ve made to each other about an unattached future. I dare not ask what’s been going on in that house of yours, Miss Grey, but it shall not go on here.”

“Yes, my lady,” said Trevor, while at the same time Piety muttered, “Of course, Lady Frinfrock.”

“Very well. I shall return to the dining room and announce . . . ” She turned. “Well, whatever should I tell them? They deserve no explanations, but if our goal is to make a show of the courtship, we might as well talk it up.”

Piety nodded, and Trevor shrugged. The marchioness harrumphed. “I’ll tell them that Falcondale was overcome with lovesickness after Miss Grey’s departure and has ridden for Berkshire with the goal of winning her heart.”

Piety chuckled, and he smiled, in spite of himself. He caught Piety’s gaze and held it. The muscles in his chest clenched again. “That just about sums it up, I suppose,” he said.

“You’re playing with fire, the both of you. I hope you know it.”

“It is better than playing with the Limpetts,” Piety said. “There will be nothing to worry about, my lady. You’ll see. A farce, simple as that. We are grown adults. We know the story and how it should go. Thank you for allowing the earl to be included. Thank you for everything.”

The marchioness rolled her eyes and left them, slamming the door in her wake.

Trevor looked up.

Piety smiled at him, not her usual smile, but much closer to it. He took a halting step toward her, fighting the urge to reach down and snatch her up. She had accepted his help, but he didn’t know how she truly felt about his presence here.

“You needn’t worry about my illusions of grandeur,” she said. “I wasn’t lying when I assured the marchioness. I understand this is a charade. And I thank you. It might actually do some good. My mother’s primary strategy seems to be calling into question the shamefulness of my unattached state. It can only help to suggest I might actually wed. Someday. Not you, of course. But someone.”