A Lady Most Lovely (14 page)

Margaret stared at him, unable to believe her ears. He truly expected her to walk through mud and traffic, like some servant on an errand.

Her mutinous glare did not seem to ruffle him at all. He reached out to place her arm once more on his. “Shall we?” he said.

As before, his touch was warm, his grasp gentle but irresistible. Margaret had a sudden, unsettling impression that whatever this man reached for, he got. And so, with a curt murmur of acquiescence, she allowed him to lead her on. If he wanted Margaret to stain his sister’s carpet with mud the way he had done with hers, then she would not be responsible for it.

They walked across the square in the fading light. An afternoon shower had left the shrubs moist and green, and the scent of lilacs hung in the air. The moon had risen early and was already visible through the scattered clouds. It might almost have been romantic—if she were not being led in such an embarrassing fashion to a dinner party she had no desire to attend. She kept her face turned away from the street, hoping no one in the passing carriages would recognize her.

Why was he bringing her to the Somervilles’ tonight? If there was one thing she’d learned over the years, it was that everyone had an ulterior motive for their actions. Especially men. Her uncle, her father, her former fiancé—all had pursued their own selfish aims without the least consideration of what harm they might cause
to others. Whatever Tom’s motive was, it would surely be revealed soon enough. In any case, she would remain vigilant.

With these dark thoughts swirling through her head, she was completely taken aback when Tom said, “Miss Vaughn, I must apologize.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“My sister has been trying to instill some of the finer arts of etiquette into me, but I admit I’m not the best student. Now I see I have committed a gross faux pas.”

“Faux pas?” she repeated, bemused to hear this phrase coming from him.

He gave her a sheepish smile. “It’s French, I think.”

Disarmed, Margaret could only say, “Well, yes. Thank you.”

They began walking again. When they reached a spot where the little path branched, Tom led her to the right instead of taking the more direct route. “This way has drained better and there are no puddles,” he explained. “You will not soil your shoes.”

“How do you know?” Margaret asked in surprise. “Did you inspect all the paths?”

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation.

What an odd contradiction he was. He had not brought a carriage, and yet he had taken the time to examine the pathways between their houses with her in mind. Margaret could not decide whether he was truly daft or had just rendered an unusual act of kindness.

True to his word, he led her expertly along the dry paths to the opposite side of the square. Her shoes and dress were still reasonably unscathed when they reached the Somerville home.

Margaret’s wariness returned as the butler led them to the parlor. She had no idea what to expect from Lady Somerville, a woman who was the illegitimate daughter of the late Sir Herbert Thornborough, and yet now was married to a peer of the realm. The official story was that she’d received a blow to the head that made her think she was her long-lost half sister Victoria. Apparently the resemblance was so strong that everyone else, including the family matriarch, Lady Thornborough, had believed it, too. Then, somehow Lizzie had regained her senses and remembered who she really was. Her husband, Lord Somerville, had been a clergyman in a very poor parish before he had unexpectedly inherited a barony. He had passed up more advantageous marriage connections and chosen Lizzie Poole instead. It was a wildly improbable tale, to be sure, and one that Margaret found nearly impossible to believe. And yet her brother had his own amazing tale, which was irrefutable. Margaret could only conclude that no one in this family did things in an ordinary way.

As they entered the parlor, Margaret saw immediately that the lady was quite beautiful, with pale blond hair and delicate features. She was also—to Margaret’s shock—very pregnant. That would explain why she had made no appearances in society this summer. Her husband, Lord Somerville, stood beside her. He was every bit as handsome as the gossips had said he was. They were indeed a striking couple.

Lady Somerville looked expectantly at her brother and said softly, “You must introduce us, Tom.”

“Forgive me,” Tom said. “I forgot.” He paused. Margaret could almost see him mentally reviewing the rules
of etiquette before he said, “Lord and Lady Somerville, may I present Miss Margaret Vaughn.”

“How do you do,” Margaret said.

Her attempt at formality was lost on Lady Somerville. She took Margaret’s hands into her own and regarded her warmly with eyes that were a very intense shade of blue. Violet, almost. “Thank you so much for coming. How wonderful that we should meet at last!”

Margaret threw a quick glance at Tom to verify that his eyes were deep brown, as she had remembered. Clearly, he and his half sister had inherited their physical traits from their different fathers.

“Won’t you sit down?” Lady Somerville said, motioning to a sofa.

Margaret took a seat, and Lady Somerville gently eased herself into a chair. A tiny sigh of relief escaped her as she did so.

“It is kind of you to host a dinner party in your condition,” Margaret said. “These things can be so complicated and very stressful.” What she really wanted to do was chastise the woman for even contemplating such a thing. Surely it was dangerous to her health.

“This isn’t really a dinner party,” Lady Somerville said. “It’s just the four of us tonight.”

They had invited her to a
family
dinner? The implied intimacy of this gesture was unnerving. Margaret had been expecting a larger party; she would have been more comfortable with the easy, shallow conversations at such events. On the other hand, perhaps it was a good thing no others were present. Her newly broken-off engagement could have subjected her to embarrassing questions from those who were seeking grist for the gossip mill.

“How odd to be living so close to one another and never to have met!” Lord Somerville observed. “Especially since London is the smallest city in the world when it comes to its social circle.” He reached out to give a gentle pat on Tom’s back. “We are fortunate that Tom has made your acquaintance for us.”

It was the kind of polite compliment that Margaret had heard before, but he sounded truly sincere. They were doing all they could to make her feel welcome, and by the time they all went down to dinner Margaret’s qualms about spending the evening here had diminished.

She was impressed by the effortless protocol they followed during dinner, which was served flawlessly by a well-trained staff. Even Tom acquitted himself well, although Margaret noticed he kept a close watch on his sister in order to follow her lead as the various courses were served. He seemed content to let the Somervilles do most of the talking.

Although they discussed mutual acquaintances and recent society events, nobody mentioned Paul or her broken engagement. It was not until they had reconvened in the parlor after dinner that Margaret had a brief moment of discomfort. Lady Somerville said, “Miss Vaughn, Tom has told us something very interesting about you.”

“Has he?” Margaret sent a worried glance at Tom. He had promised he would tell no one about their arrangement—their
business
arrangement, she reminded herself forcefully. Had he broken his word? Tom shook his head, as if to refute her unspoken allegation.

“I understand you rode together in Hyde Park.” Lady Somerville’s eyes sparkled. “He says your horse gave Castor quite a good run.”

“I enjoyed that race very much,” Margaret said, relieved not to be talking about Paul or her debts. “There are not too many gentlemen who are willing to race a lady flat out like that.”

“Happily,” interjected Tom, “I am not a gentleman.”

He said this with a self-deprecating smile that made her regret her earlier harsh words. “But you
are
a gentleman,” she contradicted, drawing a quizzical look from him. “You allowed me to win.”

His smile grew wider, causing his eyes to crinkle around the edges. He did not try to defend himself against the accusation; in fact, his impish grin seemed to slyly admit the truth of it. It also caused her heart to give an odd little jump. Here among his family members, Tom seemed a different man altogether. The agitated scowl he had worn so often on previous occasions had made no appearance tonight. “So tell me,” Margaret said, “are those fantastical stories they tell about you true? Were you really taken in by Aborigines?”

He nodded. “They found me unconscious on the beach, with Castor nuzzling me as though he were trying to wake me. They took me to their camp, where their medicine man performed all sorts of healing incantations. I’m grateful for this, of course, although I suspect it was the fresh water they kept forcing down my throat that finally brought me around.”

“How odd that must have been,” Margaret mused, trying to imagine the scene. “It must have been like waking up in another world.”

“Indeed it was,” Tom agreed.

“So what happened after that? How long did you stay with them?”

“It took me about three weeks to regain enough strength to travel. In the meantime, they treated me very hospitably. I ate their food, met their people, learned a bit of their language. But I set off for Melbourne as soon as I could. I knew Lizzie would be sick with grief, thinking I had died. I had to get word to her that I had survived.”

“Those were hard times,” Lady Somerville acknowledged with a sad sigh.

“For us both, dear sister.” He gave her a tender smile, which she returned, her eyes growing misty.

At times Margaret had wondered how her life might have been different if she’d had siblings. But it was only now, as she saw the affection between Tom and his sister, that she felt the lack so intensely.

“On top of everything else,” Tom continued, “the weather had been oppressively hot. In the summer, those gum trees can ignite faster than dry tinder. I was still some distance from Melbourne when the entire countryside caught fire around me. Tens of thousands of acres were burning, not to mention the lonely outposts of sheep and cattle. It was… well, words cannot describe it.” His hand gripped his teacup so tightly that Margaret feared he might crush it.

Lady Somerville was seated next to Tom on the sofa, and she gently took his cup. “Thank God you survived,” she said softly. “Even after you risked your own life to save others.”

“Oh?” said Margaret, interested to hear more.

But Tom shook his head. For the first time this evening, his face darkened into that familiar scowl. “That is a story for another time,” he said, his voice suddenly gruff.

Clearly his sister had touched a nerve. It was easy to imagine that Tom had no desire to relive such an awful scene, but Margaret wondered if there might be more to it. However, since they had kindly refrained from questioning Margaret about her broken engagement, she would return the favor by not pressing Tom on a subject that distressed him. To shift the conversation, she said, “Why is your horse named Castor? It seems an unusual choice.”

This was the right thing to ask. He relaxed a little, and seemed to shake himself free from the heaviness that had fallen on him. “It’s an interesting story, actually. I took the name from Castor and Pollux, who were twin sons of Zeus.”

“You named your horse for a Greek god?” Margaret looked at him in surprise. “How is it that you went to Greek mythology for inspiration?”

“Oh, heavens, now here’s a story!” Lady Somerville exclaimed. “Prepare for an earful, Miss Vaughn.” But Margaret saw only genuine pleasure in her face. She was no doubt relieved to see her brother at ease again.

Tom said, “Castor and Pollux were among the Argonauts who accompanied Jason on his quest for the Golden Fleece. During the voyage, a terrible storm arose, and Orpheus—he was another of the Argonauts—played on his harp and prayed vigorously to the gods. He was a very talented musician, you see.” Tom gave a flourish to indicate playing a harp. “And so the storm ceased.” He paused, allowing the resulting quiet in the room to illustrate the calm after the storm. “Then, for some reason that I’m not quite sure of, these stars appeared on the heads of Castor and Pollux, and because of that they became the patron deities of seamen and voyagers.”

How on earth could a man with Tom’s poor upbringing know such tales from ancient Greece? Margaret could think of no polite way to ask, so she said simply, “I suppose you were drawn to the story because of the part about the ship in the storm?”

“In a way. I first became curious about Castor and Pollux when I read their names in the New Testament.”

“Really?” Margaret said, truly surprised now. “They are in the Bible?”

Tom nodded. “After Saint Paul and the others survived a terrible shipwreck, they later got on another ship that took them the rest of the way to Rome. The sign, or figurehead, on that ship was Castor and Pollux. So that’s where I got the idea for Castor’s name. It seemed perfect, considering what me and that horse have been through together.”

“So it is,” Margaret agreed, still astounded at the different facets of this man she was seeing tonight.

Lord Somerville had been listening to Tom’s story with an expression of mild amusement. Like his wife, he must have heard it before. He added, “It’s interesting to note that Castor was also famous for taming horses. Often in ancient Greek art the twins are depicted on horses.”

“So Tom has a horse named after a god that tamed horses,” Lady Somerville summed up with a chuckle. “How appropriate, given our family’s love of all things equestrian.”

“Do you also ride?” Margaret asked.

“She’s a natural,” Tom said. “She rides like the wind.”

“Geoffrey is an excellent rider, too,” Lady Somerville said. “Over the years, all of the Somerville men have
been known for their horsemanship.” She sighed. “How I do miss it.” She placed a hand distractedly on her round belly.

“Patience, my love,” Lord Somerville said. “You’ll be riding again by spring.”