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Authors: Lord Greyfalcon’s Reward

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“His lordship be in the garden, Miss Sylvia. Shall I send one of the lads to fetch him in?”

“No, that will be quite all right,” Sylvia said hastily when her ladyship opened her mouth to answer in the affirmative. “Where in the gardens, Thomas?”

“Down near the little temple, miss, by the rose garden. Shall I accompany you?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sylvia said, forestalling her ladyship once again. And when the footman had gone and the countess looked ready to remonstrate with her, she added, “Truly, ma’am, I should much prefer to speak to his lordship alone, and the garden is practically the only place where that can be accomplished with any propriety.”

“Very well, my dear,” agreed the countess. “I am persuaded that you will manage to put Francis into a better frame of mind if anyone can do so.”

Sylvia nodded, hoping that the countess was right.

6

L
EAVING THE HOUSE BY
way of a side door, Sylvia made her way quickly to the sweeping lawn that covered the hillside all the way to the river, creating a vista that seemed even greater than it was. The beech wood to her left was in fact a deer park, separated from the magnificent lawn by a nearly invisible ha-ha. No fences could be seen from where she stood. Indeed, the only thing to break the view was the flower garden designed by the famous poet-gardener William Mason and the little marble Temple of Aeolus that it surrounded.

The gardens at Greyfalcon Park, Sylvia knew, had been designed by Capability Brown during the last four years of his life. Brown, known for three particular characteristics—his sweeping lawns, his belts of trees, and his lakes—had had a great deal of help here from Mother Nature, who had provided the Thames at the doorstep and the magnificent beeches surrounding the house. The sweeping lawn, Sylvia knew, had once covered the hillside all the way up to the front steps, until a prominent visitor—no less a personage than Mr. Horace Wapole himself—had complained of stepping down from his carriage into wet grass.

As she approached the flower garden with its neat boxwood hedges, she saw that there was already a great deal of color there, though the famous roses would not begin to bloom for some weeks yet. The temple in the center of the garden was no more than a circle of columns upon a marble platform, supporting an arched dome topped by a golden ball. A breeze was blowing, and she could hear the melodic humming of the Aeolian harp that hung within, cleverly angled so as to catch the slightest whisper of wind drifting between the columns. She did not see Greyfalcon until she had walked into the garden and followed the curving path around to the front of the structure, for the earl was sitting on the topmost of the four curved marble steps that led up to the entrance, gazing down at the river, apparently in a brown study. He did not notice her approach until she cleared her throat.

At first when he looked up and saw her, she thought she surprised a gleam of welcome in his eyes, but a moment later he was frowning, and she decided she had been mistaken. “I am sorry to disturb you, sir,” she said quietly.

“There is no need to apologize,” he said in the same quiet tone as he got to his feet.

She grimaced wryly. “I wish that were so, my lord, but it is not. It is for the purpose of apologizing to you that I have come in search of you this morning.”

“Then you have accomplished your purpose,” he said gently.

“You know I have not.” She looked up at him, trying to see if he was teasing her, but the indigo eyes were half-shut, their lids and thick lashes hiding his expression. Funny, she thought, that she had never noticed before what thick, dark lashes he had. Why were ladies never so blessed? He came down a step, his movement breaking her brief flight of fancy and bringing a flush of color to her cheeks. Flustered, she said the first thing that came into her head. “Why did you not tell Papa about my visit to Brooks’s?”

“Did you wish me to do so?”

“Odious man.” She grinned at him, surprised that he did indeed seem to wish to tease her, but not displeased by the fact. “No doubt you feared I would reciprocate, for you must know you used me abominably in London.”

“I did no such thing. ’Twas to prevent your being used abominably that I gave you into my housekeeper’s care.”

“You might have accomplished the same purpose by returning me to Reston House,” she pointed out.

“Indeed, I might, your host and hostess having already shown how very competently they were able to look after you.” His eyes were open now, and their expression challenged her.

“You had no right, sir.”

“Is this your apology, Miss Jensen-Graham?”

The color in her cheeks deepened, and she said defensively, “Must you tower over a person like that, Greyfalcon? It is most distracting.”

The amusement in his eyes was unmistakable now. “Would you like to trade places? Then, perhaps, you might look down upon me while you offer your apology, if indeed you truly mean to offer one.”

She regarded him doubtfully, knowing he was still baiting her, yet thinking at the same time that she would need to stand on the top step at least before she might look down at him. Life could be most unfair. She gathered her dignity. “You choose to jest with me, my lord, but I assure you this is most difficult for me.”

“I am sure of it,” he murmured.

“Damn your eyes, Greyfalcon, you are no gentleman.”

“Oh, but I am, Miss Jensen-Graham, or I should very likely have told your father all about your visit to Brooks’s. And may I take leave to point out that your language is vastly unbecoming? Not at all what one expects to hear from a lady.”

She could scarcely debate that fact with him. He was right. Suddenly she wanted no more to do with this conversation. She wanted only to get away from him, to go somewhere where she could be all by herself, where no one would find her, ever. Her cheeks were in flames. She could feel the heat in them. And her dignity was in shreds again. It would have been better had he roared at her, had he at least shown some of his earlier temper. This steady teasing, refusing to take her seriously—this was much more difficult to deal with. In fact, she couldn’t deal with it at all.

She had turned, taken a step away from him, but his hand on her arm prevented her going any farther. It was not, fortunately, the same arm he had grabbed two days before. That one still showed bruises. His touch was gentle now.

“I must be the one to apologize now,” he said in a low voice, standing quite close to her. “I have behaved very badly, and indeed I never meant to. Just as I never meant to expose your misdeeds to your father.”

She looked directly up at him then, her eyes wide. “You told him the minute you clapped eyes upon him.”

“I know. I was angry. I had meant to deal with you myself. I had pretty well decided, you know, before ever I mentioned the letter to Lord Arthur, that you had been responsible for the whole business, start to finish. I had a long time along the road yesterday to think about the matter, and there were a number of things that didn’t make sense. There was no reason, you see, for him to have sent those letters with you to London. The post would have done, just as it did for his earlier—”

He broke off, looking at her, for she had gasped guiltily and turned away from him again at his last words. There was a heavy silence, lasting a full half-minute, before he turned her back again. “Look at me, Sylvia.”

She faced his broad chest, but she could not meet the stern look in his eyes.

“You sent the first letter as well, didn’t you?”

She nodded, then waited for the explosion.

“You must have wanted me home very badly.”

She looked up at him then. “Your mother … She wasn’t well. She—”

“She was driving you to distraction. You needn’t mince words with me. I won’t take offense. I know my mother, have known her all my life. She fancies herself put upon by every least little setback in life. She wishes to be toadied to and sheltered from everything, and she does not wish to be imposed upon by anyone else’s needs.”

“You are too harsh, sir. Lady Greyfalcon is merely bored, I think, and depressed. Why, your very presence here has cheered her enormously. Moreover, I did not mean to give you the impression that I dislike her, for indeed I do not. She has always been very kind to me.”

“Kind? Is that why you nearly ruined yourself to find me, child?”

“I am not a child, Greyfalcon, and I wish you would not call me so.”

“No, young Sylvia, you are not a child. You were one when I left this place, and in my mind’s eye you are one still, but when I look upon you with the wind blowing your hair like a golden cloud, and the sunlight making silver highlights in your lovely eyes, I can see quite clearly that, though you are still mighty small, you are not a child any longer.”

Shaken, she stepped away from him, and the look he gave her then was cynical. “Do my words distress you? I speak no more than the truth.”

“Please, sir, I came only to apologize to you for the letters and for interfering where I had no right. It was very wrong of me to behave as I did, and you were right to be angry with me. I hope that with the passage of time you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“Very pretty. Did you learn that off by heart?”

“Greyfalcon—”

“Damn my eyes again, and I’ll teach you better manners, my girl. No, enough.” He laughed then and held up his hand in the signal men made to acknowledge a hit in dueling. “Don’t you wish to know if your efforts have been successful?”

More than anything she wished she could tell him she didn’t care a whisker, but she could not. Not only did she care very much but curiosity was her besetting sin. “You are needed here, sir, and not just by your mother,” she said quietly. “I hope you mean to stay.”

“You know,” he said, “you need not have gone to such great pains to achieve your purpose. All you had to do was to tell me your father had no intention of keeping a tight rein.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s all? I feared you would not believe me.”

“Perhaps not at first, but I would have looked into it. He tells me he has no wish to be saddled with my cares, that he’d just as soon leave all in my hands entirely.”

“But what of your other trustees?”

“You didn’t pay them much heed before. No,” he added when she looked defensive, “you had no need. I can handle my Uncle Yardley and Mama without any trouble. My father knew that, which is why he named Lord Arthur as primary trustee. I never really knew your father, just assumed that he would be the sort my father expected him to be. Had you informed me that he was not, I should have been down here in a flash.”

“But I could scarcely write such a letter as that to you,” she protested, adding demurely, “for surely you could not expect me to write to any man saying that my father didn’t wish to be saddled with his affairs.”

Greyfalcon laughed aloud then. “What I expect, my girl, is that you will prove to be a rare handful to any man foolish enough to marry you. Why on earth, though, has no man done so?” When she flushed again and turned away, he said remorsefully, “I should never have said such a thing. Forgive me.” And then before she could question his meaning or the remorse in his deep voice, he had taken her elbow and was urging her toward the house. “You will catch cold standing in the wind like this. Let me escort you back to my mother.”

“I-I really must get back home,” she said then, allowing him to guide her from the garden onto the lawn. Spring was not yet so far advanced that the grass had begun to grow shaggy from neglect, but there were already dandelions, daisies, and blue speedwell blossoms blooming among the greening blades of grass. “You will need to set men to scything soon,” she said after a moment’s silence.

He said, “I’ll see to it, along with a number of other things. I have already spoken with MacMusker.”

“Then you truly do mean to stay.”

“For a time,” he replied. His tone was expressionless, even perhaps a little aloof, the tone she was accustomed to hearing from him. The note of laughter was gone, and she was sorry. She had wanted to ask him what he had meant earlier, why for the first time he had sounded as though he had truly meant his apology, but now she felt as she nearly always felt in his presence, young and rather as though she had done something wrong.

He escorted her around to the front entrance of the great stone house, where the stableboy waited, and it was Greyfalcon who sent the lad scurrying to fetch Sunshine. While they waited, their conversation was desultory, the topics such comfortable ones as the day’s unseasonable warmth, the beauty of Capability Brown’s vista, and Greyfalcon’s decision to grant one of his mother’s latest whims.

“She wants some marble urns to mark the ha-ha,” he said. “My father would never have allowed her to do such a thing, of course, but I can see no harm, and she insists that some poor unsuspecting visitor is like to fall into the thing, though no one ever has that I know about.”

“I thought the point of a ha-ha was to separate parkland from gardens without the necessity of breaking the view with a fence,” Sylvia said, looking up at him. “Won’t the urns—”

“Be a blot upon the landscape?” he finished for her. “Of course they will, but if I can give into her on something trivial like this, perhaps I can hold my own in more important battles. She has likewise taken it into her head that the tenants’ cottages are uninteresting—‘such dull little rows,’ she says, ‘not picturesque at all.’ Now, I ask you—”

Sylvia chuckled. “I can remember when she made that same suggestion to your father. He roared. Told her the tenants should be grateful to have sound roofs over their heads. But she has seen pictures of Milton Abbey and Blaise Hamlet, you see, and she imagines that something similar might be arranged here.”

“I daresay she does, but if she thinks I’ll waste my blunt on such nonsense, she’s another thing coming.”

“Now you sound just like your papa,” Sylvia told him.

He glared at her, but whatever he might have been going to say in reply he swallowed, for the stableboy came around the side of the house just then with Sunshine. Greyfalcon tossed her into the saddle and watched while she settled her skirts and gathered her reins.

BOOK: Amanda Scott
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