A Rake’s Guide to Seduction (18 page)

But he didn’t follow her down the hill.

Harriet had already instructed the servants to pack the picnic things. Lady Hillenby and Lady Elton were urging people back into the carriages. Rosalind arrived out of breath and out of sorts.

“What did Lord Warfield do?” Harriet looked at her curiously. “You were gone an age.”

“The wind.” Rosalind patted her bonnet. “It carried off my bonnet.”

“Ah.” Her friend was staring at her oddly. “That must explain it. You look upset.”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s about to rain on my lovely picnic. Thank you for seeing to everything. Celia, will you ride back with me?” she called to her daughter, only a short distance away.

“No, Mama,” she replied. “I shall ride with Hannah.”

Rosalind had no choice but to nod and smile. She had hoped to avoid Harriet’s too-curious eyes on the way home. Imagination, she reminded herself.

“Oh, Mama, may we ride with Her Grace, too?” cried Daphne.

“Yes, please?” Kitty added her voice to her sister’s. “Please, Mama?”

Rosalind started toward the carriages as Harriet spoke to her daughters and gave them permission to ride with the duchess. She suspected the girls were more interested in Mr. Beecham, who had driven Hannah’s open carriage. Harriet should be more watchful of her daughters if she didn’t want to find a scandal on her hands involving one of them. Like Rosalind. She walked a little faster. Damn Mr. Hamilton. Damn his uncle. She would be very happy never to see either of them again.

By the time Harriet joined her in the carriage, Rosalind’s temper was at full boil. Only through decades of discipline was she keeping her composure.

“Warfield harangued you, didn’t he,” said Harriet sympathetically.

Rosalind pressed her lips together and said nothing.

“The man looks guilty,” continued Harriet, peering back at the picnic area. “And not a little frightening. Goodness, I admire your fortitude in going off with him.”

“Harriet, please,” commanded Rosalind.

“Just like his nephew.” Harriet clicked her tongue in disapproval. She was so intent on watching Lord Warfield, she was completely ignoring Rosalind and was therefore unaware of her fraying temper. “There’s just something about the two of them. But they’re not related by blood, are they? The younger is more the siren, luring women to him, while the earl is a hunter. Couldn’t you just see him seizing a woman and carrying her off to do heaven knows what to her? Do you know, when he demanded you take him to the ruins, I half expected the man wanted to ravish you! It’s that fierce Scot blood, no doubt—”

“Do be quiet!” Rosalind cried. “He did nothing!”

“Well!” Harriet was taken aback. “I’m sure I didn’t deserve that.”

Rosalind glared at her, and mercifully the Eltons joined them in the carriage soon, putting an end to that conversation, if not to Rosalind’s highly vexing thoughts.

Celia began to regret her decision to ride with Hannah the moment Daphne and Kitty pleaded with their mother for permission to join them. She had hoped to have a quiet ride home but instead realized it would be nonstop nonsensical chatter. The Throckmorton girls had evidently decided Lord William was not as charming as he had been before he had to crawl out of the stable yard to avoid his own rampaging horse, and had transferred their admiration to Mr. Beecham instead. There could be no doubt that his position as Hannah’s driver had spurred the girls’ desire to ride with them. Celia cast a look at her sister-in-law, whose quirked brow eloquently expressed her silent agreement with all Celia’s thoughts.

Simon brought the carriage up as the other carriages departed, and jumped down to help Hannah and Celia into it. Kitty pushed past her sister then, managing to be next, but Daphne was not to be outdone.

“Oh, oh, my parasol!” Daphne cried, clinging to his hand as he helped her up the step. “Mr. Beecham, I’ve forgotten my parasol!”

Simon gave her an odd look, but he obediently helped her back down.

“Do you know where you left it, Daphne?” called Kitty, hanging over the side of the open carriage.

Daphne looked around, then fixed wide, helpless eyes on Simon. “I don’t know. Perhaps we should walk about.”

“I’ll come with you.” Kitty climbed down from the carriage.

“No! There’s no need,” Daphne told her sharply. “We can find it without you.”

“Nonsense. Three pairs of eyes are better than two, are they not, Mr. Beecham?” She batted her eyelashes at Simon.

He shot a nervous look at David, who had ridden back to see what was keeping them. David just raised his eyebrows, and Simon reluctantly agreed with Kitty. A girl on each arm, he started off, apparently the only one of the trio at all interested in Daphne’s missing parasol.

“Poor Simon,” said David mildly, watching them go.

“You did precious little to help him,” said Hannah, grinning. David laughed.

“Oh, he’s safe enough from them. Two silly girls without a sensible thought between them? The boy handles blooded stallions every day.”

“An altogether different species than silly girls.”

David waved one hand. “He’d best learn how to deal with them now. See, he has the matter in hand.” Simon was charging briskly across the grass, towing the Throckmorton girls along behind him.

“You’re wretched to abandon him to them,” Celia told her brother. “They shall chatter until his ears fall off.”

“Oh, and I should let them inflict that on me?”

“They wouldn’t chatter so in your company,” Celia pointed out, unable to think that if Anthony hadn’t ridden on ahead with the other gentlemen, he would have saved Simon from Daphne and Kitty. His presence alone would have terrified them into near-silence, and Celia had seen him use that fact—the more she thought about it, in fact, the more she realized he often used his scandalous reputation to some advantage.

“Really?” David pulled a face. “I doubt anything could stop those two from chattering like magpies.”

Far across the field, Simon had located the parasol. Daphne and Kitty seemed to be doing their best to slow him, each pulling at his arm and attempting to engage his attention. By the time they reached the carriage, all three of their faces were red, Daphne’s and Kitty’s from breathlessness, no doubt, and Simon’s from impatience. But as David had said, even that was not keeping Kitty and Daphne from talking nonstop as they fought for Simon’s attention.

“I believe I shall walk.” Hannah pushed open the carriage door and climbed back down. Without pause, Celia followed.

“But it must be three miles!” cried one of the Throckmorton girls.

“Barely two, across the fields,” Hannah assured her. “I haven’t had a good walk in an age. You go on. Your mother will miss you.”

“Oh, of course.” Daphne looked happily at Simon, who said nothing as he helped her into the carriage.

A groom had ridden back from the main party, no doubt to see what the delay was. David must have had some pity for Simon, for he called to him. “Here, Ben-wick, take the reins and give Mr. Beecham your horse.”

The exchange dampened Daphne and Kitty’s joy. Celia shot her brother a glance, and he grinned. “Can’t have them drive the boy mad,” he murmured to her, watching the carriage set off with Simon riding safely ahead. “I need him.”

“I would have gone utterly mad if forced to listen to those two another moment,” Hannah said.

David grinned. Celia choked on a laugh. “I wasn’t the only one?”

“Goodness, no.” Hannah shuddered. “I cannot think their mother knows how silly they are.”

“Mothers rarely do,” said Celia wistfully. She saw Hannah glance at her, but her understanding sister-in-law said nothing.

“Hannah, are you certain you wish to walk?” David asked. “Shall I ride on and send back another carriage for you?”

She laughed. “No, I really do wish to walk.”

“As do I,” Celia added.

“Shall I walk with you, then?”

“No, no,” Hannah repeated. “We shall be fine. Go see that Mr. Beecham doesn’t keep riding all the way to Essex.”

He laughed and put up his hands. “As you wish. Marcus will call out the militia if you’re not home in good time.”

They just waved, and set off across the fields. For a long while they walked in companionable silence. Hannah at least didn’t feel the need to inquire after her health every hour, or persuade her to buy something, eat something, go here and there. Celia wished her mother could be as sensitive.

“Is something wrong?” asked Hannah.

Celia started. “Why?”

“You sighed very heavily. Are we walking too quickly?”

“No.” Celia sighed again. “I was enjoying the peaceful quiet.”

“I can summon Daphne and Kitty if it grows too quiet for you.” Hannah flashed a wicked grin. “Or are your ears sore enough?” They both laughed.

“Hannah,” said Celia on impulse, “may I ask you…That is…Well, there is something very private I should like to know. About being a widow.” Hannah had been married to Marcus for so long, Celia had almost forgotten that she had been married before. But she had been, for several years to a country vicar. After he had died, David had met her and thrown her together with Marcus.

“Of course. You may ask me anything. We are sisters.”

“I wondered,” began Celia, as they climbed a gentle hill, “how long it takes before you stop comparing everything to your marriage.”

“Hmm.” The taller grass caught at their skirts and muffled their steps. The breeze was still brisk, but the storm clouds remained far off on the horizon. “It depends, I suppose, on what happens to you after the marriage.”

“What if nothing happens to you?” Celia said softly.

Hannah smiled. “Something always happens, even if it doesn’t seem like much at the time. I can only speak from my own experience, but it seems to be the most unexpected things which have the greatest impact.”

“Unexpected” did not begin to describe her relationship with Anthony. He was possibly the last person she would have anticipated falling in love with. She recoiled at once from that word. Once she had dreamed of nothing but falling in love; now she was almost afraid to think of it. Would she make another dreadful decision if she lost her heart and her head over a man again? And yet, was it even something she could control? “Were you afraid to fall in love again?” Her face felt warm as she blurted it out.

Hannah’s expression turned somber. “I wasn’t even thinking of it. My circumstances were not ideal; I needed other things than love. Love was the last thing I expected from Marcus, in fact.”

“But when you realized…Did you fear it? Having been in love and suffered a loss, was it frightening to contemplate it again?”

Hannah stopped and turned to her. “I knew Marcus would never deliberately break my heart,” she said. “I knew he was too honorable for that before I loved him. But yes, it was a bit frightening. It was an awful risk—we were so unsuitable for each other—”

“No!” Celia exclaimed.

Her sister-in-law smiled wryly. “Oh, yes. A common country widow, with no name or fortune, marry a duke? It was absurd, and you know it. I expect it never would have happened without your mother’s prodding and encouragement; without her I should never have even been able to act the part of a duchess, let alone become one. No one would have accepted me if not for her.” She paused. “But despite the risk, it was worth taking. If I had been cowed by his station, I never would have told him I loved him, and then how much would I have missed? Not just you for my sister, but Vivian and David, your mother, and of course there would be no Thomas or Edward.”

“And Marcus,” said Celia, staring at her. “You wouldn’t have Marcus.”

Hannah’s smile deepened. “No,” she agreed in a low, warm voice. “I would have missed him most of all.”

The expression on Hannah’s face made all too clear what she meant. Celia thought again of the previous night, how Anthony had held her and touched her and kissed her, as if she were the most precious thing in the world to him.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I feel for Anthony. I’ve known him for years; there is certainly affection between us. I never feel ill at ease with him, and he always makes me laugh. I know he’s not as wicked as gossips say. But everyone tells me he’s not the sort of man who could be happy with one woman, that he’ll use me and discard me. I don’t know if I can survive that.”

“What does your heart tell you?”

Celia didn’t say anything. Her heart yearned for Anthony to be the constant, faithful man she wanted, not the hardhearted rake everyone named him. She thought he
was
that man. But she wanted to be sure.

“Before I married your brother—when we were only acting at being married—people said he must have married me only because he’d got me with child,” said Hannah, finally breaking the silence. “They said he had no heart, and was cold and arrogant and incapable of love, especially not for a poor country girl. I am quite persuaded those people didn’t know him in the slightest.”

“No,” Celia murmured. “I just—I just wish I knew…”

“There is only one way to discover the truth.” Hannah put her hands on Celia’s shoulders. “We all of us must take the risk, sooner or later. There is never any way to know for certain until you chance it.”

“What do you think of Mr. Hamilton?” Celia gazed anxiously at her sister-in-law.

Hannah smiled and shook her head. “I’ve seen so little of him, I shouldn’t even attempt to give an opinion. It might turn out to be just as wrong as you hope the others’ are. But I know you, and I trust you’ll see the truth yourself, whatever others tell you.”

Celia sighed and they started walking again. Of course she knew it was up to her. It did seem no one else saw Anthony the way she did. But she didn’t trust herself, not after she had been so horribly wrong about Bertie. As much as she didn’t think it was possible for Anthony to be callous and selfish, there were so many stories and rumors that claimed the contrary. Her mother strongly disapproved of him. Celia had always been able to count on her mother’s support and indulgence; perhaps she had been a bit spoiled in that, but now it was all the more daunting to have her mother not just unhappy with her actions but pleading with her to reconsider and to stay away from Anthony. Celia felt as though she were walking into a dark, vast unknown, with her faith in Anthony her only assurance that she would survive.

“Where are the ladies?” Anthony demanded when David Reece rode up at last. He had been lurking near the stables ever since hearing the last carriage had been delayed. The two young Throckmorton ladies had returned a short time ago, sulky and petulant but without the duchess or Celia.

“They chose to walk.” David swung down from his horse and handed it off to a stable boy.

“What, all the way?” He spun around to peer at the sky. The storm clouds that had been threatening all day were moving closer but were still in the distance.

“It’s not above two miles,” said David. “And Celia knows every inch of the property. She grew up here, you know.”

“Of course.” But he kept looking for them anyway.

Behind him David cleared his throat. “Ah…Hamilton. Last night.”

Anthony stiffened. He’d forgotten, for the moment, about that. Bracing himself, he turned warily. “Yes?”

His friend scowled. “I shouldn’t have struck you. My apologies.” Surprised, Anthony jerked his head in a nod of acknowledgment. “My sister is old enough to take care of herself,” David went on. “It was not my place to…interfere.”

“Thank you.” They eyed each other, then Anthony put out his hand. David clasped it a moment later.

“Of course, if you break her heart, I shall break your neck.”

“Understood.”

David went into the house and Anthony took a stroll around the garden, keeping a keen eye out for Celia and the duchess. At last they came into sight, windblown and out of breath, but laughing. The duchess said something to Celia, who put her hand on her stomach and laughed. Anthony smiled in relief just to see her, her color high, her hair falling down, her skirt dirty, and laughing so hard she had to hold her stomach. She was safely back. He didn’t want to intrude on her conversation with the duchess, so he took himself off to think.

Today he had stayed away from her. Even when their eyes met and he felt an almost visceral pull, he kept his distance. He knew his uncle had persuaded her mother to take a stroll—Anthony suspected Warfield meant to give him a chance to speak to Celia—and the duchess returned looking out of sorts. Whatever Warfield had said to her had not pleased her. Despite David’s apology, Anthony knew he was still suspect in her family’s eyes.

Today he had tried to carry on as if last night had been nothing more than a typical brief affair, a trifle that could be forgotten if no one spoke of it.

But tonight…he meant to start persuading her it wasn’t.