Elisabeth Kidd (24 page)

For a moment, she was too startled to protest, and then, as Lyle’s arms tightened around her, too delighted to care.

“My lord!” she exclaimed at last, coming out of his embrace with eyes wide and a light smile hovering on her lips. “What does this mean?”

He smiled back. “If you don’t know that, perhaps I am not too late after all.” He drew her to him again, but this time she pushed him away.

“I thought you had gone back to Long Hill—Cedric was going to take me there to break the news to you tomorrow. How did you hear it?”

“Need you ask? Sylvie de Lamartine, of course!’’

“Of course. She must have got it out of Aunt Prudence. We haven’t told anyone else, my lord, I assure you!’’

“Sydney, whatever possessed you to do this? My God, what possessed Cedric?’

“I suppose I did.”

“That I can well believe!”

“I mean, I—I took advantage of him. I don’t think he intended to offer for me, but I’ll be sure he doesn’t ever regret it. He’s a good, kind, dear man, and—”

‘‘—and not nearly good enough for you.’’

“Considering the low opinion you have frequently expressed of me, my lord, that is saying very little for poor Cedric!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, stop calling me ‘my lord’! Sydney, I can well imagine how you cajoled Cedric into offering for you, but why did you do it?”

“Because—well, you weren’t there to say I couldn’t!’’

He laughed at that. “Contrary to the last! Why do you suppose I refused all those other offers for you, idiot? Most of them were generated by Prue’s absurd notion to boast of your then nonexistent fortune, incidentally. But did you expect to be happy in a marriage entered into for no better reason than pique? That is as foolish as Prue’s idea of your attractions.”

She set her chin stubbornly. “Cedric will be happy—I’ll see to that. As for myself, I shan’t be unhappy. In any case, if I am, it will be my own doing, and none of yours!’’

She looked up at him defiantly, but the look quickly faltered, and her long lashes fell over the deep blue eyes. “Please don’t look at me like that, my—Drew. I shall marry Cedric and you need never see me or be troubled with me again. That is what you want, isn’t it?”

“I’ve changed my mind. Stop being concerned with what you imagine everyone else wants, my love, and tell me what
you
want.”

She was silent for a moment, as she stared pensively at his cravat, and poked a fold back into place with her finger. Then she looked up at him cautiously. “Will you really give me what I want, as well as what is best for me?”

He tried to look grave. “Naturally, I must assume they are one and the same thing.’’

“Well, then,” she said, very softly, “I think you would be very good for me, my lord guardian—and very much what I want!”

It was just as well that the Marquess had chosen a secluded spot to set his ward to rights, for neither of them now gave any thought to where they were, and a passing stranger—had the spot been less secluded—might well have wondered at the things they whispered to each other, and particularly at the silences between the words. Lyle had up to now been the only person of Sydney’s acquaintance whom she had not at some time impulsively hugged or clung to for comfort, but his imagination being superior to hers on this matter at least, he knew precisely how it would be—and saw to it that Sydney was not disappointed either.

It was well over Lyle’s stipulated half-hour later before they returned to Grosvenor Square to find Cedric had given up being anxious out of sheer boredom with it, and was contentedly playing four-handed whist with himself on the parlour table. When Lyle and Sydney came into the room, he only glanced up and said, “Oh, hullo.’’

Sydney immediately knelt down beside his chair. “Cedric, dear—”

“Yes, I know, sweetheart—our engagement is at an end and you apologize.’’

“How do you know anything of the kind?” she asked, indignantly.

Cedric put down his cards and stood up, drawing her up after him. “I only knew it was too good to last,’’ he said.

“Oh, Cedric!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Oh, no!” he protested, untangling himself quickly. “That’s what got us into this fix in the first place! Go and practice your wiles on Lyle—judging from that idiot’s grin on his face, he’ll be far more appreciative of them than I am—at least he can tell when you mean what you say, and when you are acting, which Lord knows is more than I can do!”

“That reminds me,” Lyle said, frowning ominously at his beloved. “Would you care, my love, to explain about this business at Richmond Park? I seem to be the only person in London not to have been privileged to witness your glorious debut—it was you, wasn’t it, cavorting about in boy’s clothing and blue paint?”

“It certainly wasn’t Mr. Kean!’’ Cedric said.

Sydney stamped her foot. “Cedric, have you no discretion?”

“Well, he’ll be bound to hear the whole story eventually, won’t he? Or did you think you could keep it quiet until after the wedding? I can see D’Arcy now, dashing up the aisle just as Carl is asking if anyone knows any impediment, to drag you off to Hampton Court or someplace to act all three witches in Macbeth, or Hamlet’s father’s ghost, or—”

“Do be still, Cedric,” Lyle adjured him. “Well, my love?”

Now that it came to explaining how it had all come about, the magic of the occasion seemed to recede even further from Sydney’s memory, which made her a little sad. It was no comfort either, that Cedric continued to interject his low opinions of such goings-on, and of the characters of actors in general.

“You liked it well enough at the time, Cedric—don’t deny it.”

“Well, what was I to do? Jump into the middle of it and drag you away? A fine show that would have made! Bad enough that you’d been leading D’Arcy on in front of everyone without them finding out you was doing it on stage as well.”

“I never!”

“Well, you never exactly discouraged him either, my girl—secret meetings in Green Park, indeed! I tell you what it is, Sydney—you’re far too trusting altogether!”

“That’s better than going around assuming the worst of everyone!”

“Not for a female, it ain’t! Who’s going to stop you letting a thief into the house, just because he looks hungry, or some such folly?”

At this point, Lyle, who had been leaning against the mantelpiece listening to this exchange with growing amusement, felt called upon to remind them of his presence. “You forget, Cedric—or have I neglected to mention it? I believe I have—that Sydney is now betrothed to me, and I have no intention of letting her answer her own door, much less have anything more to do with thieves and footpads and play-actors.”

Sydney eyed her lord. “Perhaps, sir, we had best draw up our order of battle before we go any further with this war. What precisely
will
I be allowed to do?”

Lyle grinned. “Precisely what you want, I expect, but do leave me at least the illusion of being master in my own house. And if Cedric will now beat a tactful retreat, I shall be happy to tell you precisely how you may do that.’’

“Eh? Oh, by all means!” Cedric bolted for the door, but then remembered to shake Lyle’s hand and wish him happy. “Well, I don’t know about happy, exactly—but you won’t be bored!”

When he had gone, Lyle stepped forward to embrace his newly betrothed once again. “Well, my love, have you any more confessions you should make, or secrets to reveal? You had best do so now, so that we may live tediously ever after.’’

“Well, there are one or two little things,” Sydney admitted.

“Out with it! Have you joined the acting company at Drury Lane?”

“Not quite as bad as that—I don’t think. I have—I have written a novel, and sent it to Mr. Murray. It is called
A London Season, or the Diary of a Young Lady Entering Society
. I based it on my journal, you see. I had thought of calling it
My Lord Guardian
, but I daresay that would have given it away from the start.”

“And I suppose Murray is going to be fool enough to publish this libel?”

“Yes, but—well, it will appear anonymously, you know, with all the names changed, and indeed I said nothing
bad
about anyone—although perhaps I was not quite nice about Mrs. de Lamartine, and I thought it best to leave Lady Romney out of it altogether—but
you
appear in a very favourable light, I promise!”

“Never mind how I appear. As you must have guessed by now, that is no longer of any concern to me. Is it a
good
novel, Sydney?”

“Mr. Murray seems to think so.”

“And who am I to dispute his judgment! What else?”

“Well—”

“Come, my love, no more secrets.”

“It’s about my father.” Sydney looked up again, but Lyle took this opening bravely. “He wrote home quite often, you know, and last year my aunt gave me his old letters to read. You are mentioned in them frequently—no, more than that. He was very fond of you and admired you very much. From his description—well, when we first met, I kept the letters by me and read them over constantly, convinced my father must have been mistaken in you, but—”

She searched his face again, and then smiled, and finally Lyle saw what he had been looking for—the same joy in life and unfailing generosity to friends and loved ones that Owen Archer had had, but transformed now into a single, very feminine, completely bewitching look of love.

“I’m glad I haven’t disappointed you after all,” he said.

“Oh, no! I fell in love with you when I read those letters—I suppose they were why I was reluctant to go to Long Hill, for fear you could not live up to them. But I’ve never really stopped being in love with you.’’

A few minutes later, Prue Whitlatch, humming lightly to herself as she began her day, opened the parlour door and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the Marquess of Lyle’s dark head bent very close to Sydney Archer’s even darker one—her hair unaccountably loosened from its pins—as they sat together on the crimson sofa. Prue stared at them for a full minute, but neither head moved. She went out again, unnoticed.

Copyright © 1982 by Elisabeth Kidd

Originally published by Walker (ISBN 0802707009)

Electronically published in 2013 by Belgrave House/Regency

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.