A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4) (16 page)

“I’m perfectly well. It’s Lord Moray who’s injured.”

Her father shook his head. “But you’re her child and she’s driving us all to distraction fretting over you.”

Graelem nodded. “Lass, you haven’t slept a wink and must be spent. My fever’s broken—”

“As well as your leg,” she said as a reminder that he hadn’t fully mended yet.

“I know, but your uncle is taking excellent care of me and my grandmother has a staff of servants to take care of anything else I can’t do for myself. Go home. Get some rest.”

If they were married, she could have spent the night in bed with him, cuddled against his side. Her thoughts must have been transparent, for Graelem’s eyes suddenly widened in surprise and he cast her an affectionate but gloating smile. Fortunately, she had her back to her uncle and father so neither of them noticed the heat in her gaze. “Lass, go. I’ll see you later.”

He shifted so that he now sat fully upright. “I have Moray matters to attend to anyway. I’ll see you this afternoon. Or tomorrow.” He glanced at his still swollen leg. “I’ll be here. I’m in no condition to go anywhere.”

She let out a squawk as Uncle George playfully ruffled her hair. She supposed her fashionable hairdo had come undone sometime during the long evening and she already looked a fright. “Get some sleep, Laurel. That’s doctor’s orders. I don’t want you falling ill, too.”

Laurel nodded and walked downstairs with her father.

Eloise’s butler, Watling, hurried to open the door. As soon as the door had closed behind them, her father slowed his steps to give them more time to talk during the short trip between the neighboring homes. “I will admit to always wanting a son,” he said with a wistfulness to his voice, “but I accepted my lot in life and didn’t mind that I was graced with five daughters instead. I knew that with five girls, five
dutiful
daughters, my life would be peaceful.”

Laurel grimaced. “Father, I can explain about—”

“What? About almost trampling Lord Moray? About promising to marry him and then doing everything in your power to beg out of it? About Devlin’s drunken behavior? Or the brawl that appears to have almost taken Lord Moray’s life when that idiot Devlin purposely kicked him in his ruptured leg?” He sighed and shook his head. “Despite all, it appears that Lord Moray remains intent on marrying you. Makes one wonder about the man’s sanity,” he muttered.

She supposed this was not a good time to let her father know that she’d fallen in love with Graelem and actually
wanted
to marry him.

No, not a good time.

She’d spent the last few weeks angrily stomping and storming throughout the house, resenting his very existence. She’d probably enrage her father if she now told him that she’d changed her mind and all her fuss and feathers was for naught.

However, the problem remained that Graelem hadn’t said he loved her. He’d only asked her to love him, which wasn’t at all the same thing.

Their butler opened the door to their townhouse as they approached. “Good morning, Miss Laurel.”

“Good morning, Pruitt.” She held his gaze, wondering what he thought of Graelem. Pruitt was known to have excellent judgement, and in retrospect, it was clear by the subtle blink of his eyes whenever Devlin came around that he’d never liked him.

Pruitt must have known by her expression that she was hoping for some hint about his opinion of Graelem, even though Pruitt had only seen him the day his leg was broken and briefly yesterday at the party. “Your mother awaits you in the parlor,” was all he said before disappearing to wherever butlers disappeared to whenever they didn’t want to be seen or silently begged for advice about a gentleman’s character.

Butlers noticed things because many in what was known as
good society
did not think of them as people and allowed their true behavior to show to them. A truly caring and thoughtful person treated servants in that same caring and thoughtful manner. A rude person, no matter how polite and genteel he made sure to behave toward his peers, was always rude to those he considered of inferior standing.

Her father nudged her toward the parlor. “You can pester Pruitt later. As he said, your mother is waiting to talk to you.”

Her mother wasn’t the only one waiting for her. Rose and Julian, Daisy, the twins, Uncle Rupert, and Aunt Hortensia were there to keep her company. Her mother’s concerned gaze shot to her father. “John?”

He nodded. “Everything’s fine, Sophie. Lord Moray is on the mend. Our daughter hasn’t killed him off yet.”

Her sisters giggled.

Her mother looked horrified. “John! What a thing to say!”

“Thank you, Laurel,” Rose teased, a smug grin on her face so that Laurel knew she was not about to receive a compliment.

Laurel rolled her eyes. “And what am I to be thanked for?”

Julian laughed heartily. “For making Rose’s courtship look tame in comparison to yours, of course. I heartily thank you as well. Your father no longer shoots daggers at me whenever I enter your home.”

Daisy grinned and scooted next to their mother, who was seated on the blue silk sofa with her hands tensely folded on her lap. “Don’t you worry, Mother. I’ve paid attention throughout our years of etiquette lessons, dance lessons, and every other lesson imaginable to train us to catch suitable husbands. I’ll have a perfectly dull debut season, accept an offer of marriage from a respectable gentleman with impeccable credentials, and enlist you to plan a traditional wedding that won’t be a rushed, patched-up affair.”

Her mother patted Daisy’s hand. “You’ve always been a good, sweet child.”

Lily and Dillie kept their mouths shut, because although they tried to be good daughters as well, they still had a giant African fertility god sitting in the middle of their room that they’d purloined from the Royal Society. Laurel silently prayed that the Duke of Lotheil would not notice the theft and send his hounds on the scent to track it down before Graelem had a chance to arrange its return.

Julian rose from his chair and bowed to all in the room. “I promised to help Lord Moray with some matters concerning his estate. Since he’s apparently feeling better and Laurel is safely back home now, I’ll go bother him.” He gave Rose a kiss on her lips that lasted a bit too long to be considered polite and evoked
oohs
and giggles from the twins.

Their mother sighed in exasperation at her young sisters. “Daisy, take them upstairs. Obviously
they
haven’t been paying attention to their lessons on decorum and genteel manners.”

Laurel kept silent.

She’d been worse than the twins, always sneaking off to ride Brutus instead of learning to sew a perfect stitch or make a perfect curtsy.

She was left to face her parents, Rose, who she hoped was an ally, Uncle Rupert, and Aunt Hortensia, who must have dropped a bottle of lilac water on herself and not bothered to wash it off. Laurel put a hand to her mouth and coughed lightly, but didn’t have the heart to remark upon it. Neither had the others, even though all of them were struggling not to grin or cough.

“Have you made a decision, Laurel?” her mother asked after a long, awkward silence.

“About Lord Moray?”

Her mother nodded. “Midsummer’s Day is almost upon us. Now that our time and attention are no longer distracted by the party—”

“Which was splendid, Mother. A job well done.” Laurel came to her side and gave her a quick hug before sinking into the seat Daisy had vacated.

“Yes, dear. But your ploy to distract me with praise won’t work.” She tried to stifle a grin but couldn’t. “Despite your brawling barons and Lily’s determination to render us deaf with her untuned harp strings, the party was a success. Don’t you think so, John?”

“Indeed, my love.” Her father gave her mother a private smile.

Laurel gulped. This was exactly the sort of marriage she wanted. Private smiles, just like her parents. Kisses that went on too long to be proper, just like Rose and Julian. Would she ever share that intimacy with Graelem? She had to be sure before she went through with a midsummer wedding. “I think I’m in love with him.”

Oops, didn’t mean to blurt that.

The admission brought the others instantly to attention. Uncle Rupert twirled his big black moustache. “Then congratulations are in order, Laurel dear.”

Hortensia agreed.

Her parents stared blankly at her for the longest time, until her mother finally spoke up. “You’re in love with him, but still reticent. What’s wrong?”

She sighed. “I want a love match. It’s the Farthingale way and I couldn’t be happy with anything less. I love him, but I don’t know that he feels the same about me.”

Hortensia shook her head in disbelief. “How could he not? You’re an angel and he’s fortunate to have found you.” She shook her hand to wave off Laurel’s protests, but the gesture caused the scent of lilac water to waft through the air and further permeate the parlor, if that was possible. “He put up with your reading that hideous poetry to him and never once complained. If that isn’t love, then I don’t know what is.”

No one dared mention that she was a spinster and had rejected almost a dozen suitors in her younger day. In Laurel’s opinion, Hortensia didn’t know anything about love.

“You’re wrong, Laurel,” Rupert said gently, obviously reading her thoughts. “Hortensia rejected the young men who offered for her hand because she knew precisely what she wanted in a marriage and none of those clots would provide it.” He glanced at her parents. “We aren’t all as fortunate as John and Sophie. Sometimes we never find the one mate destined to steal our heart and touch our soul.”

“But shouldn’t that mate feel the same way? What if Lord Moray doesn’t actually want to be burdened with a wife? What if he’s content to leave me behind after he secures his inheritance? No matter how fancy a townhouse he purchases for me, it will still feel like a dungeon if he won’t be there to share it with me.” She turned to her father. “I think I must write a list of my demands. He’ll have to accept them all before I agree to marry him.”

“What if he won’t? Will you turn to Dev?” Rose asked. “Daisy overheard him say that he loved you.”

Laurel shook her head. “No, he doesn’t really. He was comfortable in our friendship but that isn’t at all the same thing. Anyway, I couldn’t. Not after…”
Kissing Graelem.
“After all that’s happened in the last few weeks.”

Her mother took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Do you need help drawing up your list? I do have a little experience about matters of the heart and what’s needed to form a solid foundation for a good marriage.”

“Thank you, but I think I must write it on my own. However, I’ll ask you to look it over when I’m done. I do want to know your thoughts, but not before I unscramble my own.”

“And me, too?” Rose asked. “I want to look over that list. As a newlywed, I’m certain I can offer some helpful advice.”

She nodded. “Yes, I’d appreciate it.”

“I will as well,” Hortensia stated, giving her no chance to decline the offer. “It’s important that you know why I rejected so many suitors.”

Rupert twirled his moustache again. “You’ll need a man’s opinion as well. Someone who can be objective, unlike your father, who loves you more than breath itself.”

Since she wasn’t going to make it from her bedchamber to her father’s study without every Farthingale in residence stealing a look at the list and commenting on it anyway, she agreed to let them all see it.

Secrets did not exist in this family. If she tried to hide the list, the snoopy twins would be the first to steal it. There was no chance it would ever remain confidential.

In any event, she wanted to show it to Daisy, for they’d always been close—not only in age, but in their hopes and dreams and desires. True, Daisy intended to go about reaching her dreams by traditional means. But they still wanted the same thing, desired to be more than a mere appendage on their husband’s arm.

“I’ll write it out this evening.” She yawned and shook her head. “Then you can all make your comments.” There was little harm in indulging the family. Nothing stayed secret for long in the Farthingale family circle… also commonly referred to as the Farthingale family circus.

She also intended to write a letter to Devlin, something she could hand to him if he made too much of a fuss when they next met. He needed to understand that there was no chance of them ever marrying.

A chill ran up her spine.

She shook it off.

Nothing bad was going to happen.

“I THINK
THIS IS
a very good list,” Daisy said as she perused the requirements Laurel had written down. The hour was late, close to midnight. She and Daisy were in the bedroom they shared, dressed in their nightgowns and preparing for bed.

Daisy had only to help Laurel braid her hair.

“I hope so.” Laurel took back the parchment and handed Daisy the hairbrush. “Do you think I’ve missed anything important?”

“The elders can answer better than I ever could. But nothing immediately comes to mind.”

Laurel nibbled her lip in thought as Daisy began to run the brush through her thick waves and gather them in one hand. “Father always tells us that people don’t change. What if Graelem doesn’t love me? Then this list of demands will feel like a prison sentence to him.” She began to read off some of the demands. “Shared bed, no separate quarters for us.”

Daisy nodded. “That’s what Mother and Father do and it’s worked well for them.”

“But they’ve always been in love with each other.” She sighed and read another demand. “Be faithful in the marriage.” She set the list down and glanced at Daisy. “Do you think I need to be more specific? Men can twist the meaning when they desire to stray. Are there degrees of faithfulness?”

“Father or George or Rupert will have an answer to that.”

Laurel read a third demand. “Love and protect our children.” She sighed. “I think this one will be difficult for him.”

Daisy paused in the middle of braiding Laurel’s hair. “Why? He doesn’t seem the sort to abandon his children. Quite the opposite, he appears to be the sort who would risk his own life to keep them from harm.”

“He does have a wonderfully protective quality about him, doesn’t he? But how can I know for certain? You see, his father abandoned him after his mother died.”

“Oh, how awful!”

Laurel nodded. “What if something happens to me and he chooses to do the same? He won’t speak ill of the former Baron Moray, but I think Graelem had a very unhappy childhood.”

“Your children will always be loved,” Daisy assured. “If he were ever so foolish as to abandon them, we’d take them in. Bestowing love is one of the few things we Farthingales manage to do right. Look at little Harry’s situation. If Uncle Harrison truly is… lost to us, would we ever cast out Aunt Julia or Harry? Of course not. Mother and Father have already invited her to move in with us, and our uncles will manage Harrison’s share of the Farthingale business profits so that Julia and Harry never lack for funds.”

Daisy quickly finished off the braid. “Your children will be protected. Even if he didn’t abandon them, we’d still meddle in every aspect of their upbringing. After all, it’s what we Farthingales do best.”

Laurel laughed. “You’ve put my mind at ease.” But she sobered a moment later. “What if he rejects these demands? I don’t think I can marry him then.”

Daisy gave her a quick hug. “He’ll accept every last one. I’m sure he adores you. Stop fretting. Get some sleep.” She left Laurel’s side and climbed into her own bed, letting out a sigh as she slipped under the cream silk counterpane and drew the crisp white sheet up to her neck.

Laurel did the same after dousing the lamp by her night stand. “Daisy,” she whispered in the dark, “what if he doesn’t?”

“That would be a problem.”

* * *

Graelem was eager to see Laurel the next afternoon. He was feeling much better, for the swelling in his leg had subsided considerably. He’d felt fit enough to wash and dress and make his way downstairs to Eloise’s parlor, where he’d spent a pleasant few hours chatting with his grandmother before she’d gone off with Lady Withnall to make their round of calls and terrify the misbehaving elite.

George had returned to the Farthingale townhouse, declaring him fit enough to be left on his own. Graelem had even managed to accomplish a significant amount of work, attending to Moray affairs and those of greater significance to England in its war effort against Napoleon and his army.

He had spent several years fighting in the Peninsular wars, but for the past two years had been working with his cousin Gabriel and the Duke of Edgeware on secret missions in France designed to chart the French military positions and undermine them whenever possible. Julian and a few other noblemen were also involved in these missions, although Julian’s services were primarily used now to combat Napoleon’s spies operating within England. That was part of the pledge their little group had taken. When one of them married, he was no longer assigned the more dangerous excursions into France.

Julian surprised him by stopping by on his way to pick up Rose from the Farthingale townhouse. “I can’t stay long. Just wanted to report that the regimental commander still has no news on Harrison Farthingale’s whereabouts or his condition.”

Graelem nodded. “That’s not good. The longer this goes on, the worse the outcome is likely to be.”

“Ian will let us know the moment he finds out anything. He landed in France only a few days ago. It’ll be another week at the earliest before we hear from him.”

“I should have been the one to go,” Graelem said, not bothering to mask his frustration. He’d made several secret trips to France, but Gabriel had taken his last turn when Baron Moray died, and now the Duke of Edgeware had taken this next assignment because of Graelem’s busted leg. The duke was one of the bravest men he’d ever met, but he and Gabriel had been taking on the most dangerous missions and Graelem didn’t like having to remain behind and not share equally in the risk.

However, he didn’t dwell on his own situation. It was more important that Laurel’s uncle be found as soon as possible and smuggled to a safe house at the first opportunity. Afterward, he would be smuggled back to England and reunited with his family.

He fervently hoped Ian would find him alive.

“Now you know how I feel,” Julian commiserated, “stuck in England while you bachelors get all the good assignments. Although you won’t be a bachelor for long.”

“Assuming Laurel agrees to marry me.”

Julian frowned. “Do you doubt that she will?”

“I won’t breathe easily until the vows are spoken and our marriage is official. Figuring out Napoleon’s tactics is easier than understanding the workings of Laurel’s heart.”

Julian slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t even try. You’ll never succeed. Just let her know that you love her and everything else will fall into place. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Julian turned to leave but paused at the door. “You do love her, don’t you? Because I’ll have to kill you if you don’t.”

Graelem laughed mirthlessly. “You’ll have to wait your turn. Her father and uncles will insist on having that pleasure first.”

Graelem knew Julian wanted a better answer than the one he’d just given, but Watling walked in just then to announce Laurel’s arrival. “Where have you put her, Watling?” Usually, Laurel bounded in unannounced. That she wasn’t already poking Watling aside gave Graelem cause for worry. Was she reluctant to see him? If so, that meant she had bad news to convey about their marriage plans.

Or rather, about his insistence on marrying her by Midsummer’s Day whether or not she wished it.

Julian, knowing Laurel’s temperament as well as he did, emitted a chuckling groan. “Good luck, my friend. You’ll need it,” he said and then strode out.

Graelem heard a brief exchange between Julian and Laurel which included seemingly pleasant laughter, so perhaps Laurel’s reluctance to face him did not bode ill. He rose and slipped his crutches under his arms. That nasty kick Devlin Kirwood had landed against his still broken bones had set him back several days, but he was on the mend now and looking forward to making progress in this marriage business. “Send her in, Watling.”

After a long moment, Laurel entered.

His heart shot into his throat and his blood caught fire as it always did whenever he saw the girl. She’d looked particularly lovely in pink on the night of the Farthingale party, but was just as spectacular this morning in a gown the color of apricots, a rosy yellow confection adorned with only a bit of white lace around the scooped collar that revealed the slight swell of her breasts.

He forced his gaze upward before he began to drool like an old hound.

Yet another mistake, for she looked soft and vulnerable, and all he wanted to do was sweep her up in his arms and hold her against his heart forever. She blushed and nervously patted her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. Her hair was done up in a casual bun, and little curls of gold escaped to fall over her forehead and about her adorable ears.

He wanted to shut the door behind them and spend the rest of the afternoon alone with her, slowly exploring her exquisite body, but he knew by the swirls of turbulent green amid the serene blue of her eyes that she was troubled. “Have a seat, lass. You look overset.” He reined in his lust, for there was no point in delaying what he expected would be bad news for him.

“Not overset, just unsure of myself.” She turned to shut the door, remembered that they weren’t yet married and shouldn’t be alone in the room without a proper chaperone, and left the door slightly ajar before turning back to face him.

Then she shook her head and closed the door firmly behind her.

She fumbled with a letter in her hand, sighed as though needing a moment to firm her resolve, and then walked to his side and settled beside him on the settee. He smiled at her, but said nothing, for she was obviously preoccupied.

“You look quite well, Graelem.” She cast him a shy smile as she placed a hand on his forehead. “No fever. That’s good.”

Her mere touch intensified the flames already roaring within him. Fortunately, she quickly removed her hand from his forehead and once again fumbled with the scrap of paper that was clenched between her fingers, too distracted to notice his mounting discomfort. “I’ve brought a list with me.”

He arched an eyebrow. “What sort of list?”

“I’ll get to that in a moment.” She unfolded and refolded the paper several times. “Daisy read it and thought it was quite thorough. The twins agreed. So did my parents and Uncle Rupert and Aunt Hortensia. Rose and Aunt Julia saw it too.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “It might be faster if you told me who in your family
hasn’t
seen it.”

She grinned and a light blush crept into her cheeks. “Quite so. I’m sure you’re right.” She stuck her hand out and gave him the crumpled sheet. “Please take a moment to read it, but you needn’t rush to give me an answer today. Sleep on it if you must and we can talk tomorrow.”

He took her hand to stop her when she rose to leave. “Laurel, stay. Whatever this is, it seems to be important to you.”

She nodded emphatically. “Very.”

“Then stay by my side while I read it. I might have questions about it that only you can answer.”

She nodded again, wincing as she gazed at him. “Or complaints. I’m sure you will.”

He unfolded the paper that was now a wrinkled mess and perused it. “What is this?” She’d titled this scrap “A List Of Demands”, and there appeared to be at least a dozen of these so-called demands written out in her own neat hand, a page filled with them, all concerning the terms of their marriage arrangement.

Share a bed. Kiss me every day. Love our children. Protect our children. Be faithful. Fall asleep in each other’s arms. Share problems. Did she think he didn’t want those very things?

He ached to have such a marriage, especially with her, only he never thought it possible. “Laurel—”

“You don’t have to say anything just yet. I know there’s a lot to consider and I haven’t done much to recommend myself to you. In truth, I don’t understand why you still want to marry me. You ought to be running from me in fear for your life. It hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that you always get hurt when you’re around me.”

He grinned. “I made it through three years of fighting Napoleon, some of those battles long and bloody, with hardly a scratch on me.”

“Precisely my point. After one day with me, your leg was broken and you almost died.”

“Are you purposely trying to discourage me?”

She glanced up in alarm. “Actually, no. I’m hoping that… that… the problem is, I like you, Graelem. An awful lot. I think I could… I think we could have a happy marriage if you felt as I do.”

He shifted closer, loving the way the pulse at the curve of her throat, that soft spot where her slender neck met her slight shoulder, throbbed whenever he drew near. Her breath came faster as well, he could tell by the quickening rise and fall of her perfect chest. Marvelous invention these scooped collars. Allowed a man a peek at heaven. “Laurel, how do
you
feel about our marriage?”

She lowered her gaze to the floor in a failed attempt to hide the intensifying blush on her cheeks. “That depends.”

“On my acceptance of these demands?” He glanced at the neatly inscribed velum still in his hands. In truth, he didn’t need any time to consider the terms and accept. “What about you? If I’m to be bound by these terms, so should you.”

She glanced up in surprise and he smothered a grin upon noticing the curl of her hands into fists. “Do you doubt that I’d be faithful?”
You ass
, she may as well have added because it was obvious that she was thinking it but too polite to say it.

“No, lass. Never a doubt that you’ll be the perfect wife. You’re honest and loyal.”
And achingly beautiful.
“I also know that you’d love and protect our children till your dying breath. But if we’re talking contractual obligations, then it only seems fair that we’re both bound to the same terms.”

She gazed at him in wonder. “Are you saying that you’d accept these terms?”

He frowned, not liking that she seemed surprised. He hadn’t given her much reason to trust him at first. But several weeks had gone by with them in each other’s constant company, and although there had been a lot of insipid poetry in between, there had also been long moments of conversation. By now, she ought to know him better than any other woman of his acquaintance. “You make no mention of my providing you an allowance or a carriage. Or clothes suitable for a baroness.”