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

“She almost killed me.”

Her father arched an eyebrow, and the hint of a grin appeared on his lips. “All the more reason to avoid her at all costs. Surely, you can’t be serious. Until this morning, you’d never set eyes upon my Laurel. And now you want her as your wife? I’m a great admirer of Lady Dayne,” he said, referring to Graelem’s grandmother, “and am somewhat relieved that she vouches for your good character, but I cannot permit this wedding to happen.”

“I hope to convince you otherwise. Have a seat, Mr. Farthingale,” Graelem said, motioning to the stool by his bedside, which seemed inadequate for a man of his prominence. “Or shall I ring for a footman to bring you a chair?”

“I’m fine standing.” Laurel’s father crossed his arms over his chest and tossed him a look of anger mingled with impatience, his momentary humor now faded as they moved on to the more serious discussion.

Graelem noticed a resemblance between father and daughter, especially in their scowls. “I’ll ring for that chair, Mr. Farthingale. While I will not relent on the marriage to your daughter, I hope to address some of your concerns in that regard. I would also like to discuss your plans for Brutus. Laurel loves that horse, you know. It would break her heart to lose him. Perhaps we can agree on a solution to that.”

The comment obviously surprised Laurel’s father. “The beast almost cut short your life. Why do you care what happens to him?”

Graelem ran a hand roughly through his rumpled hair. “I don’t, but your daughter does. So that makes it my problem. She doesn’t like me much right now. In truth, she probably detests me. I don’t know if I’ll ever change her opinion of me, but I’ll do my best. I’m not very proud of myself either. Despite what she thinks of me, I’m not an ogre. I want to make her happy and saving that horse is a first step in the right direction.”

Laurel’s father dropped his hands to his sides. “I think I will have a chair after all.”

Within moments, one of Eloise’s footmen had delivered a suitably elegant, red silk cushioned chair and set it by Graelem’s bedside. Eloise’s butler delivered a tray of tea and cakes, as though John Farthingale had been invited for a social call and was expected to remain a while.

Obviously, this was his grandmother’s meddlesome way of encouraging conversation between the two men. “Help yourself, Mr. Farthingale. I’m afraid I can’t join in. The laudanum’s still working its way through my system and I don’t trust what it will do to me if I attempt to eat.” Graelem’s gaze darted to his night stand and the medicine bottle and spoon still set atop it.
Must find that keg of gunpowder.
“Can’t stand the vile substance. I prefer to wrestle with the pain.”

“I’ll pass on the tea and cakes as well. Don’t have much of an appetite at the moment. Having five strong-minded daughters will do that to a man.” He leaned forward and studied Graelem. “You don’t appear deranged, so will you kindly explain to me why you are determined to marry my Laurel?”

LAUREL SAT
IN
the Farthingale parlor on the blue silk settee beside her mother while assorted aunts, uncles, and sisters sat on the sofa and chairs opposite them waiting for her father to return from his meeting with the man who had just taken control of her life. Laurel tried to remain calm, but the task was impossible and she couldn’t help but fidget in her seat. “What’s taking them so long? Father’s been there for over an hour.”

“I should think it’s a good sign,” Uncle Rupert said, giving her an encouraging smile that peeked out from under his enormous black moustache.

“Father is brilliant,” Dillie added rather hopefully. “He’ll convince Lord Moray that he’s made a terrible mistake.”

“Your father is brilliant,” their mother agreed, brushing back a lock of her dark hair that was beginning to show traces of gray, “but as to fixing Lord Moray’s
mistake
, I’m not certain it will be so easy. Laurel, if one overlooks your impulsive behavior of this morning, you have much to recommend you to a man. Beauty, wealth, good manners… usually.”

The tall windows opened onto the garden, allowing the gentle scent of budding roses to waft into the room on the warm afternoon breeze. Oh, if only her life were as gentle and easy as this soft breeze! “Farthingales marry for love,” Laurel insisted. “I won’t break with our family tradition.”

“Then you’d better fall in love with Lord Moray,” Lily pointed out with a logical sensibility that only she possessed. At the moment, it was not appreciated.

Laurel rolled her eyes. “In less than thirty days? I hardly think so.”

The parlor was Laurel’s favorite room in the house and had a lovely fireplace that was lit on colder days but was presently clean and hidden behind a fire screen decorated in blue roses. The sofa, chairs, drapes, and oriental carpets were in compatible shades of blue silk and damask that blended warmly with the polished mahogany decorative tables that adorned the room. Gleaming silver candelabra and assorted delicate vases and figurines filled the cozy room.

Unfortunately, the room was also presently filled with Farthingales who were now staring at her as though actually considering Lily’s ridiculous observation. “I will not fall in love with Eloise’s grandson,” she said between clenched teeth.

Aunt Julia moved to her side. “Why not? I hear he’s rather handsome.”

In a big, oafish way.
It was of no moment that the sight of his naked body still sent bolts of heat into her cheeks and other parts of her body that could not be mentioned.

“At least give him a chance,” Uncle Rupert muttered. “You owe him that much. I’d expect no less if someone tried to kill me.”

Laurel curled her hands into fists. “I wasn’t trying to kill the lout.”

“Why are you calling him a lout?” Dillie cast her a speculative glance. “You did say he was handsome. Lily and I heard you.”

“So what?” She shifted uncomfortably on the settee. “He’s still a lout.”

“Where’s Daisy?” her mother asked, suddenly noticing that her middle daughter was absent and momentarily distracting everyone’s attention.

Lily opened her mouth to speak. “She’s—”

“—meeting a friend in the park,” Laurel chimed in before the snoopy twin slipped and revealed that Daisy had gone to Hyde Park to deliver a note to Devlin. Since Devlin was almost as much a friend to Daisy as he was to her, it wasn’t really a lie. “A quick visit. I’m sure she’ll return at any moment.”

“Amos escorted her,” Dillie chimed in, referring to Amos Mayhew, the amiable young footman who’d been in service to the Farthingale family for five years now. He was the son of their long-time cook, Mrs. Mayhew, and nephew to their coachman, Abner Mayhew. Amos also helped out with the horses whenever Abner, who was getting on in years, wasn’t up to the task.

Laurel had considered asking Amos to put in a good word for Brutus because he’d always gotten along with the beast. But Amos had scrambled out of the house, all too eager to be kept out of the family unpleasantness. He was a wise young man, apparently much wiser than she.

Laurel’s keen ears picked up the sound of their front door opening. She shot off the settee. “It must be Father!”

Dillie gave her a supportive smile. “I hope he has good news for you.”

Unfortunately, the frown on her father’s face as he strode into the parlor had Laurel’s heart sinking. “He’s refused to see reason, hasn’t he? See Dillie, I told you he was a lout.”

Her father crossed the room to stand beside her mother. “He’s an unusual man, Sophie. I’m not certain what to make of him yet.”

“Oh, dear. What else can we do, John?” Laurel’s mother began to nibble her lower lip. “Your daughter simply can’t marry this stranger.”

“No, she can’t,” he seemed to agree.

Laurel let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Papa! You’re the—”

Her father held up a hand to stop her in mid-sentence. “Hear me out, Laurel. Lord Moray has persuaded me not to have Brutus destroyed. But neither will you be permitted to keep him. I’m selling that beast to Lord Moray.”

“What? Why, that wretch! Has he agreed to do the dirty work for you?” She marched to the fireplace and picked up one of the heavy irons. “I’ll show him. If he thinks to harm a hair on Brutus’ mane, I’ll shove this thing so far up his—”

“Laurel! That will be quite enough.” Her father grabbed the fireplace implement out of her hand. “Sit down and behave. Have all these years of etiquette lessons been a waste?”

“He plans to kill my horse! Am I to smile sweetly and allow it?” She let out an indignant huff. “I think not!”

Her father set his hands on her shoulders and gently but firmly nudged her back into her seat beside her mother. “Think again, child. He has no intention of destroying Brutus. He plans to take the beast back to Scotland as soon as he’s fit to travel and will give him the run of the Moray pasture lands. In exchange for that favor to you—”

“Ha! Do you expect me to trust his motives?” She shot to her feet again because one could not be properly indignant while seated.

Her father nudged her down again. “That isn’t my concern. Trust him or don’t trust him, that’s up to you. But the rest is up to me, so after due deliberation with the family elders…” He turned to glance at her mother and the assorted aunts and uncles gathered in the suddenly stuffy parlor, and received approving nods from all of them. “After due deliberation with the elders and with Lord Moray, here’s what is to become of you for the next month.”

Laurel opened her mouth to protest, but her father’s warning frown silenced her.

“You are not permitted any social engagements until such time as Lord Moray’s leg is sufficiently healed to enable him to accept similar invitations.”

Her eyes rounded in dismay. “But that could take the entire month!”

“So be it. He’s young and strong. Hopefully he’ll recover sooner.”

“And until he does, am I to be kept a prisoner in my own home?” She wasn’t going to stand for that. Nor would Devlin. She’d send him another note and invite him over so they could work out a plan. The situation was impossible. Devlin needed her. Lord Moray would easily forget her.

“Not quite. You’ll be permitted out every afternoon to visit Lord Moray. Properly chaperoned, of course. It is my hope that you’ll get to know him. If in three weeks’ time you still wish to be disentangled from your betrothal, I’ll appeal to Lord Moray again.”

Her mouth gaped open. “Do you mean to say that you haven’t outright refused him?”

“No, not yet.” He strode to the small desk in the corner and lifted a decanter off a silver tray. He poured himself a glass of sherry and unceremoniously gulped the whole thing down.

She had never in her life seen her father do such a thing. He was obviously rattled, and it was all her fault. Still, it seemed a harsh punishment for a simple accident. “Oh, and another thing,” he said, turning back to her and pinning her with his sternest glare. “You are not to have any visitors in that time. No young lady friends or gentleman callers will step foot in this house for the next three weeks.”

“Crumpets,” Dillie said in a whisper.

“With sugar on top,” Lily added with a nod. “This is worse than the punishment I received when I brought explosives into the house.”

* * *

By noon the following day, Laurel couldn’t wait to be allowed out of the house, even if it was to walk next door and sit with Eloise’s oafish grandson for the remainder of the afternoon. The morning rain, little more than a light shower, had passed quickly and the sun now shone brightly amid white tufted clouds. She hated to be trapped indoors on what was turning into a fine day, but Lord Moray was trapped as well.

Perhaps they could settle by the window in his room, open it wide to at least gaze out on the beautiful day.

Perhaps I could shove him out of that window.

“Be nice to him,” her mother had suggested over breakfast this morning, catching her in the guilty thought and muttering some nonsense about flies and honey. Or was it bees and honey? No matter. She had tried being nice and wound up with an unwanted betrothal because of it. She was not going to encourage the man. She wanted him to rue the day he’d ever set eyes upon her.

However, she had no choice but to be nice to him today because he truly had saved Brutus. She would restrain her murderous thoughts. Tomorrow was an altogether different matter.

Tomorrow, her delicate lace gloves would come off.

She had already written a note to Devlin about her ridiculously unfair confinement and hidden it in her chest of drawers. Daisy had agreed to secretly hand it to him the next time she rode in Hyde Park, which was something she often did with their cousin William and Aunt Julia when weather permitted, so no one would think anything of it.

The task was easy enough, and Daisy was a loyal sister, eager to help out in any way she could. Laurel hated to involve her, but there was little risk of her getting caught. William always ogled the young ladies on their fine horses. His attention would be cast everywhere but on his cousin. Julia always enjoyed the latest
on dit
with friends she encountered while out riding. The pair could be counted on to ignore her sister.

Still, Laurel suffered a pang of guilt as she entered the bedchamber she now shared with Daisy to retrieve her shawl and the already penned letter. “Daisy, you don’t have to do this for me. I’d feel awful if you got into trouble over helping me.”

Daisy spared a final glance in the mirror and smoothed out the skirt of her elegant black riding habit that was a shade darker than her hair. “I want to help out. You’ve helped me so many times I’ve lost count.” She rolled her big blue eyes. “It’s the least I can do for you.”

“But—”

She put a gentle hand on Laurel’s shoulder. “We sisters are determined to marry for love. Since you love Devlin, I’ll do all I can to help you to that end. There’s nothing more to be said.”

“Thank you.” But Laurel hesitated another moment before handing over the note. This was her battle and it somehow felt underhanded to involve Daisy, of all her sisters. Daisy was the good daughter, the perfect middle child who was always obedient and sought to please the family. “I won’t be angry or upset if you change your mind.”

Daisy slipped the note up the sleeve of her jacket. “I have no intention of changing my mind. I know you all think I’m a paragon of virtue… well, I do love the family and I’m much less adventurous than you, Rose, or the twins. But I’m no coward. And I certainly won’t stand by and do nothing while one of my sisters is in trouble.”

She gave Laurel a quick hug. “Don’t be late for your visit with Lord Moray. You must tell me everything that happens between you. As you know, this paragon,” she teased, referring to herself, “loves gossip.”

Laurel laughed and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I love you, Daisy. Do be careful.”

They walked downstairs together, and Laurel waited for her sister to ride out with the others before heading over to Eloise’s home to visit her grandson. Eloise had agreed to act as chaperone for the next few days, but Laurel wasn’t pleased with the prospect. She adored the kindly older woman and knew the feeling was reciprocated. But since Eloise adored her, she was no ally in this campaign. Eloise wanted her to make a match with her grandson.

Eloise also knew her very well, which could pose a problem. Although Laurel planned on being nice to Lord Moray today, she meant to be petty and insufferable the next day and the next. Eloise would know it wasn’t her true nature and might assure her grandson that it was only a pretense. She didn’t want the kindly dowager undermining her efforts to end the betrothal.

She stood on the front steps of Eloise’s home and tipped her face up to the sun for she would enjoy little of it in the coming month and had no desire to rush inside. All too soon, the front door swung open. “Good afternoon, Watling.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Laurel.” Eloise’s butler stepped aside to allow her in. She briefly wondered what he thought of this impossible situation, but the man’s face was as set as a thousand-year-old rock and he revealed nothing in his expression. “Lady Dayne is in the library.”

She followed Watling, although she knew the house very well and often made her way in on her own, for Eloise had become quite good friends with the Farthingales. She and her sisters thought of her as the grandmother they’d never known. Similarly, Eloise thought of them as the granddaughters she’d never had. Eloise had two sons and they in turn had only sired sons. Not a single female offspring in the lot.

“Ah, Laurel. You’re right on time.” Eloise beamed at her. “I’ll order refreshments to be brought up to Graelem’s quarters. In the meantime, choose a book from my library. I think he’ll enjoy Shakespeare’s
Henry V
or perhaps—”

“Poetry. He seems just the sort of gentleman to adore poems. Long ones. That seem endless.” She trailed a finger along the spine of several tomes until settling on Walter Scott’s
Marmion
. She’d never read it, but knew it had been quite popular a few years ago. “Let’s give this a try.”