A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series) (2 page)

Chapter Two

~~

As the library door clicked shut, Allie Pendleton dispelled a long breath of relief, bent to pick up the fallen goblet and sniffed back her tears before cautiously exiting the sitting room.

Looking both ways, to be sure she wasn't seen, she sped back up the stairs and flew down the hall to her chamber. Once inside, she collapsed on the bed, her sobs no longer muffled.

Lord Rothburn didn't even like her! Thought she was a child! Called her a silly chit! Oh, the mortification! How
dare
he? As Allie recalled what she'd overheard, her dreams of becoming the Countess of Rothburn went up in flames of anger and pain.

Vacillating between anguish and fury, she played their conversation over in her mind until her head spun. And she had
not
begged him to fill her dance card!
He
had approached
her
for the dances.

If she had any spirit at all, she would have rushed into the room and called him a liar the moment she heard that! Fear of giving away her true feelings had restrained her, however. That, and not wanting to cause her brother difficulty—lest he return her to the country and put a period to her London Season.

It had been difficult enough to get here, what with mother so ill and father unwilling to travel. If Aunt Alana hadn't agreed to sponsor her, she would have been left in the country to become a dried up old maid. This would be her one chance to find a husband and find one she would. She considered that she might have more than one Season, but she didn't want to be presented again and again. It would be so humiliating to have to return year after year.

Enamored of The Earl of Rothburn these last two years, she had at first been determined to bring him up to scratch during her venture into London Society. Now all of that had changed! She would not have him on a silver platter. Not if he begged her! Realizing that there was little chance of that, she hiccupped on a sob and fresh tears crowded her throat.

Well, Allie my girl, you simply must find someone else to build your dreams on. He will not do
, she chided herself.

Hadn't she just heard her brother as much as say the earl was unsuitable for her? What he had really meant was that she was an untitled miss, and
she
was not suitable for the earl. Realizing that—in her heart of hearts—she'd known all along this was the case, Allie still found it devastating to face this sorrowful fact.

Sighing at love lost, she rose from her bed and called for Tillie. She needed to refresh her toilet before the supper hour. She would have no trace of tears or consternation on her visage for the world to see when she appeared at table. Never would anyone know she had once lost her heart to a man who thought so little of her that he would call her a silly chit!

* * * * *

Two hours later, Allie gazed into her mirror, critiquing every component of her appearance. Her Empire gown of cream muslin, laced below the bosom with a chocolate satin ribbon, fell gracefully to small feet shod in butter-soft leather slippers. A silk ribbon of the same chocolate color adorned her amber curls, woven through the upswept mass in an intricate display, doing justice to Tillie's expertise as a lady's maid.

Tillie had spent an hour applying cucumber compresses to the girl's swollen, blotchy face. The effort had paid off. Not a trace remained of the tantrum she had indulged in with such gusto. Allie's blue eyes were serene and—if a bit puffy—gave no other indication of her tears. Satisfied with her looks and her gown, she lifted her chin and exited her room.

Allie descended the stairs with head held at a regal height. She moved with what she'd often been told was a natural grace that added maturity to her eighteen years.

Lowering her gaze upon entering the drawing room, she suddenly felt shy and feared to look at her brother or his guest, lest they see in her eyes her guilty secret—spying not being a ladylike pastime. She burned inwardly at the thought of being caught out in her deceit and a warm blush rose in her face accordingly. Making a small curtsey to the earl, she nodded in Sir Gordon's direction then went to sit next to her Aunt Alana.

"There you are, child. I thought you'd gotten lost—or gone to sleep!" Her aunt did not help matters by referring to Allie as a child. Clearly oblivious to her niece's irritation, Lady Alana smiled sweetly and patted her knee in a fashion one might use with an adolescent.

Though only a few years her senior, Lady Alana viewed Allie as much younger. Allie had not seen much of her Aunt over the years, therefore she ceded the image was difficult to dismiss. Accustomed to Lady Alana's overbearing treatment, Allie studied the woman, as she was wont to do when in company with her beautiful relative.

Whenever possible, Allie strove to emulate her aunt's graceful bearing and well-modulated speech. Allie also aspired to replicate Lady Alana's mannerisms—gentle, yet with a hint of haughtiness.

Lady Alana Fisk was the youngest child of The Earl of Champlay which made her the half-sister of Nigel Pendleton—Allie and Sir Gordon's father. Upon the death of her first husband, Percival Pendleton, Lady Grace had promptly married into the aristocracy and despite being over thirty, birthed three more children.

As such, Alana was just two years younger than Gordon and eight years the elder of Allie herself.

Originally, Lady Grace, had been approached to sponsor Allie's come out. In truth, Allie had begged her father not to have Lady Grace and had suggested her aunt as an alternative. It had been touch and go for some time, her grandmother being inclined to 'do her duty by the girl' as she'd put it to Gordon.

Only by the grace of divine intervention did Allie escape being chaperoned by that harridan. A bout of indigestion—followed by a severe cold—had kept the elder to her estate in Hampshire. Not that Allie wished illness on anyone, of course, but she couldn't help a small feeling of guilt-laden relief upon hearing the news.

Lady Alana had been all too happy to step into the breach, fond as she was of London Society. Considered a spinster at the ripe old age of six and twenty, she declared quite frankly she'd long since given up the notion of making a match and was eager to see her niece established properly.

Lady Alana was not displeasing to look at. On the contrary, she resembled her mother closely and had a flair for fashion that quite set her apart from the ordinary. She'd also inherited her mother's quick intellect, which had put off her suitors—men being inclined to want a wife that at least appeared slow-witted even if she were not.

What she hadn't inherited from Lady Grace was the cruel streak and total self-interest that had given the family a dread of the older woman. Lady Alana, though a bit tenacious, was wont to care for others. She did, however, dislike having anyone know of her sentimental side—lest she be called upon to demonstrate such at inconvenient times.

Though Allie—prone to romanticisms—thought her aunt secretly mourned the loss of the married state and had longed for children of her own, one would never know it by the lady's behavior. A close-mouthed, private woman, Lady Alana would by no means reveal her innermost feelings to the world, but Allie was a great studier of persons and fancied she'd a talent for reading people's inner thoughts.

To Allie, an admission of decrying her unmarried state would be appalling at the very least, and so she thought her aunt must feel the same.

* * * * *

Across the room, Rothburn and Sir Gordon stood together sipping their brandy. As Rothburn's eyes roamed the area they eventually fell upon the graceful figure of Lady Alana and there they stayed. "Your aunt is certainly an attractive woman—wonder she hasn't been snatched up by some besotted peer before now. Why haven't I met her before last night? Been to your country home twice this last year. Never saw her once."

Rothburn's gaze, having darted to Sir Gordon's face,  returned to the lady in question, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown as he puzzled over her unmarried state. "Does she have a deformity, perhaps, that is not readily apparent?"

"Not that I am aware of." Sir Gordon gave a short laugh, "But, if you were to spend a few moments in her company you might find out that her flaw is not a physical one—"

His voice trailed off as Rothburn gave him an irritated—almost angry look. He continued on a more serious note, puzzled by his friend's reaction, "Lady Alana has spent a deal of time traveling these last few years. Hates to be home, so much conflict with Grandmamma, you know."

"Hard to think of her as your aunt," Rothburn murmured, still gazing at the beauty. "She and her momma disagree, you say?"

"Those two women are worlds apart and yet so similar. Uncanny it is. You wouldn't believe the quarrels they have. Alana is very strong-minded. Likes her own way, but then again so does Grandmamma.

"Gives Champlay a devil of a headache once Alana's been home a few days—all the snipping at one another the pair indulge in. Pity the man who marries her! Of course, some men prefer a woman who—ah, knows her own mind. Alana is rather independent. Quite set in her ways—"

"She's a bluestocking?" Rothburn's question was fraught with disbelief. How could such a lovely, feminine creature be such a thing? It was not to be borne. He shuddered to think he had actually sought her company at the ball last night, only to have her elude  him. While it was true that he had approached Miss Allie for one dance, the second time he had approached, he'd meant to dance with Lady Alana. She had neatly sidestepped his advance and maneuvered him into a second dance with her niece, however, and he had been quite put out.

He was somewhat relieved at Sir Gordon's next words.

"Not exactly a bluestocking, Old Fellow. Though she
is
an intellectual and her interests are sought accordingly. She's quite quick-minded actually. But as I said, very independent. Has money from her grandmother, the dowager Countess of Champlay. Could probably buy or sell either of us."

"You exaggerate! Why, you alone are one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom. She might buy me, but never you." Rothburn reckoned that it would take a vast fortune to outgun the wealth of the Pendleton family.

It was a wonder they hadn't been offered a peerage before now. He knew they had done more for the economy of Britain than most merchant families over the last two centuries. They had never been close to the throne, however, and Rothburn knew that advancement into the peerage was more a matter of politics than merit.

Returning to the topic at hand, he queried his friend about the lady once more. "If she's so well setup, it's a wonder she's still single. What of her parents? Why have they not arranged a marriage for her?"

"My grandmother has tried, but Alana puts them off. There has been a devil of a row in our family because of it, actually. Between her and grandmother, that is. They hardly speak to one another. Grandmamma does not like to be thwarted, and Alana is just like her. Between them they have managed to keep us all upset these last five years.

"My father was enlisted to get her married off a few years ago. Naturally, his plans failed and now Grandmamma hardly speaks to him either. Glad to see her married, would eliminate our suffering immensely! Are you interested in bearding the lioness in her den, perhaps?"

"Never say so! I've been dodging the matrimonial plotting of my own mother for so long, you should know I'm not up to it."

He looked at Sir Gordon with an innocent air. "Not interested—just curious. She is quite lovely, you know. One has to be curious when such an eligible female remains on the shelf."

Rothburn was lying to himself, but he ignored it. Intrigued with the mysterious Lady Alana Fisk, already half in love with her, he continued to stare in her direction while Sir Gordon noted the fact with a wry grin.

"Well, should you change your mind, you may apply directly to Grandmamma. I'll not get involved in the plotting—as you put it—for all the tea in China!" He then leaned closer whispering, "Don't forget, Old Fellow, you are practically betrothed to another."

The comment earned him a dark look. "I need not be reminded of my mother's manipulations in regard to my future wedded state."

 * * * * *