His Heart's Delight (22 page)

“No.”

The single word could have been firmer.

Her second no was much more firm. “He is a
second son and gains no financial benefit from it, my lord. His
attachment to me is of the purest and most noble.”

He wanted to laugh, but restrained himself,
with effort.

“I can see that you do not believe me. And,
in all honesty, I am not as convinced of it as I once was.”

“Really?” Now that did surprise him, which
surely showed that her naïveté was contagious.

“If he was as passionately devoted to me as I
would like then he never would have left for Portugal so soon. He
would have come for at least part of the Season. Then perhaps we
could have become engaged and letters between us would have been
possible.”

“A young man with a commission is not
entirely at his own command. He must respond to his orders.”
Good, Morgan,
he thought.
Defend the man. Remind yourself
that she has interests elsewhere.

She sighed and on the next indrawn breath
claimed a bit more Town bronze. “At first I thought I would miss
him unbearably, far more than he would miss me. But now I am not so
sure. There are days that go by when I neglect to write in the
journal that I plan to share with him. I do check the papers daily
but there has been little fighting since Douro in mid-May. There
are whole hours that go by when I do not give his hardships a
thought.”

“London is a city built to entertain and
distract.”

He took a step closer, and reached out to
raise her chin so he could see her face. There was self-reproach in
her eyes and he wondered if he should feel guilty. “London can even
undermine our most cherished beliefs.” He let his hand fall and
took a step back. “That is something I must remind myself
daily.”

Christiana gave the globe one last spin
before she turned toward the windows. “I now realize that it was an
incredible conceit on my part to think that I would be immune from
those temptations.”

Was he the temptation? Best not to pursue
that
at this particular moment. They were alone, the
conversation intimate, but the mood was all wrong. He stepped
behind the large desk that stood in the middle of the room. “So you
have given up some innocence and gained some wisdom.”

“Wisdom? I am not so sure, my lord. Perhaps
self-knowledge is a more realistic phrase?”

Perhaps it was best that she lost some little
bit of her innocence. At seventeen it was charming, a way to
retrieve his own youth, but at thirty would it be so appealing? He
doubted it.

Not that he would be around to see.

“Yes, self-knowledge is a better term. In
truth, I have always thought wisdom could only come from pain.”

She turned back to him and smiled. “And this
Season has been a hundred different things, but not one of them is
painful.”

“I will accept that you have gained
self-knowledge or, perhaps understanding”—he bowed to her—“and hope
that it does not inhibit your laughter or still your longing to
dance.”

She smiled into his eyes for a long moment
and then sobered suddenly. “Do you think perhaps, my lord, we
should return to the duchess?”

He offered her his arm. She was right; it
would be best to return to the subject at hand, though he doubted
that his grandmama needed their help as much as Christiana
insisted. She had invited them today so she could see how they were
getting on. Had she learned as much as he had?

As if to reinforce her suggestion, a footman
scratched at the door and announced that tea was awaiting them.
With his letter sanded, sealed, and slipped into his pocket, Morgan
bowed Christiana ahead of him and escorted her down the hall.

“My lord, who are you going to ask to deliver
the letter?” There was doubt more than question in her voice.

“You know, that could present a problem.”

He settled her arm through his as they walked
down the hall to the stairs and down them. “Time is a factor, but
if I ask someone from Braedon House and he is found out, it could
cost the man his job. And if someone from Hale House is sent,
Mariel’s invitation would not be a secret for more than a day.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, she
stopped their progress and stood facing him. “I have an idea, my
lord. You could hire someone to go, someone with no connection to
either family.”

“And that would be?” Her question was
tentative but surely she had someone in mind.

“Sergeant Tidwell?”

“An excellent notion! I even have his
direction.” The man was at Monksford’s, working in the stable, not
more than six blocks away. Surely Monksford would agree to the
errand and Tidwell could be on his way before dark.

Christiana tucked her hand back into his arm
as they moved along the hall to the back of the house. She walked
very close to him, more closely than necessary when you considered
they were walking down a hallway where frayed carpet was the only
possible hazard.

He was not going to complain. He could only
feel her head close to his shoulder, her lithe young body soft
against his arm. No one could see them but the footman and if their
promenade generated gossip below stairs it would be nothing that
had not been reported a dozen times before.

This moment was too precious to sabotage with
the
ton’s
notion of appropriate. It was a rare day that he
was regarded as both hero and confidante, though he was not
entirely sure he liked either role. He would have preferred lover,
but since that was denied him, hero would do.

“W
as I awful?” Emily
Perry’s question showed a rare insecurity. The amateur segment of
the musicale had gone quite well, but Christiana understood that
there was always a need for assurance.

“Your piece was quite lovely.” Christiana
reached out to still the fan Emily was waving frantically. “You
have a light touch and you chose a piece that was familiar but not
overplayed.”

Emily relaxed and began to recount each note
of her performance. Christiana listened patiently, all the while
praying that Joanna would rescue her, but the room was filled with
guests and Joanna was nowhere in sight.

After a time Emily’s beau approached and
Christiana left the two discussing the manifold merits of her
performance. Christiana nodded to several others, but moved
purposefully to the knot of people gathered around the harp. Mariel
Whitlow stood beside the instrument, as though she felt the need to
share praise with it.

Morgan’s older sister had the look of a
Braedon, but kind eyes and a mouth made for smiling softened the
strong jaw and high cheekbones. She wore her hair in the latest
style and her dress was au courant. Despite the latest fashion,
there was something about her that set her apart from this social
milieu, as though she felt she was no longer part of the
ton
and not unhappy with that distance.

“It was kind of my grandmother to plan it so
that I was the only harpist.”

How sweet, thought Christiana. As if that was
the reason she had sounded so extraordinary.

“Mariel, she could get no one else to play!”
There was general laughter. “Too many remember your skill. It was
only a few years ago.”

An older woman added waspishly, “You would
have to have more ego than sense to play the harp when Mrs. Whitlow
is on the program.”

Harshly said but true. The notes of the piece
still echoed in her head. Mariel played with a rare talent and she
played with heart. The harp, which usually looked so awkward,
seemed like an extension of the musician, or maybe she was an
extension of it.

“But no encore, Mariel.” The man who
chastised her spoke with a coy reproach that was surely meant as
flirtation. Christiana watched the response with interest.

“No, my lord, the applause was very
gratifying but it is, after all, the Delacortes’ evening.” She
nodded to the corner of the room, where the professional musicians
were talking with a group of admirers. “Do please excuse me, I have
only a day or two in Town and want to spend as much time as
possible with my family.”

Oh, nicely done,
thought Christians.
She managed to make his comment part of the whole and rid herself
of the lot of them.

Instead of moving to where the dowager
duchess stood surrounded by a small group of friends, Mariel came
to her.

“Miss Lambert”—she nodded slightly and
smiled—“do you know where Morgan has got to?” She scanned the room
while adding in a lower voice, “Actually, you are the one I would
like to speak with.”

Since it was exactly what Christiana was
hoping for, she answered with a total lie that would give them both
an escape. “I think he went to the yellow salon to find the shawl
your grandmother left there.”

“Excellent. Come with me, will you, while I
find him?”

It took a few more brief conversations before
they were out of the room, but Morgan did accommodate them by
remaining wherever else he was.

It was cooler in the salon. The room was
painted wood with yellow highlights, very much in the decor of the
last century, but it had aged well. Chairs lined the wall in the
old style, but neither of them wanted to sit. Instead they walked
closer to the fire.

“Grandmama is full of praise for you and
tells me that you are exactly what Morgan needs.”

Christiana blushed and tried to return the
compliment. “He is a charming escort.” Oh no, that was all wrong.
Oh, heavens, it was one thing to fool the
ton,
but lying to
Morgan’s family was not at all appealing.

Mariel looked down, pausing for thought, and
tried again. “Miss Lambert. I am talking about more than dancing
and the theater.”

Did she know how much she sounded like her
older brother James: very Braedon, very in charge? Unsure how to
answer, Christiana remained silent.

“If I seem rude, Miss Lambert, I apologize.”
She spoke without the slightest hint of apology in her voice. “I
have so little time and the happiness of my family is important to
me.”

Now there was a hint of anger in the way
Mariel fisted her palms at her sides. “I thank God daily that
Morgan is not”—she paused, her mouth a tight line as she searched
for the right word—“that Morgan is not constrained by Papa’s
dictates.”

“Mrs. Whitlow, I enjoy Lord Morgan’s
company.” Christiana took a step closer to her. “I am not sure what
Her Grace has told you, or indeed what she may hope for, but a
match between us is not possible.”

“Then what game is Morgan playing? It looks
very like a courtship.”

“We are friends.” Christiana spoke with as
much firmness as she could summon. “I know the idea of friendship
between a man and woman is unusual, strange even. But it is what we
both want.”

“And Morgan agreed to it?” She stopped and
shook her head. “Even friendship is more than he has had these last
few years. That is why Grandmama had begun to hope. He has allowed
so few people close to him.”

“Oh, exactly, ma’am. That is the heart of the
matter, is it not? He so rarely speaks of family and when he does
there is such regret in his voice.”

They heard the babble of voices increase as
the ballroom doors were opened and the small crowd of people
proceeded down the hall to the dining room, where refreshments were
waiting. Neither Christiana nor Mariel moved to join them.

“Morgan refuses to accept that there is no
hope of a reconciliation. He and Grandmama can command, ask, and
beg and Papa will not give in.”

Christiana had only some little knowledge of
this, but she nodded in sympathy.

Mariel looked at her in a considering way.
“You know, Miss Lambert, that I am happy and content, but I will
tell you that marrying without my father’s approval was the most
difficult decision I have ever made.”

Mariel reached over and took her hand. “I
know that you say there can be no match between you and my brother,
but I feel that I must tell you, because of my own experience, that
if you should decide to accept his suit, despite your parents’
disapproval, you will have my support.”

Their joined hands and her pledge of support
made Mariel’s words more a caution than a warning, but her
reasoning was so misguided that Christiana stammered, “Is that what
Morgan told you?”

“Oh no, he never discusses his personal life
with anyone. It is only what I have surmised.” Mariel let go of her
hand with one last pat. “What else could keep you from the match?
He has such a reputation as a gamester that I can understand any
parents’ hesitation. He has so perfected the facade that sometimes
I think he believes it.”

“A facade? It is?”

“His gambling is only a means to an end.”
Mariel walked closer to the fire. Christiana followed a few steps
and then stopped. Finally Mariel turned back to her. “Morgan
inherited property from our mother when he turned twenty-five. Papa
never told him about it before that. Not that Morgan would ever
have saved as much as a farthing, mind you, but still it was so
managing of our father. So like him.”

Mariel shook her head slightly. “Now that
Morgan has control of the property, he is trying to raise enough
money to make it self-sustaining. And the only way he can do that
is by gaming. Even Papa and James do not realize why he is so
devoted to faro.”

“Oh dear.” Christiana put her hands to her
cheeks. “His tenants were depending on him and all the while he was
dancing attendance on me at Almack’s!”

“Then it must be love, Miss Lambert. Almack’s
is a dead bore.”

Christiana forced a laugh. “I trust you mean
that as a joke, for I assure you our appearance of courtship is as
much a game that we both are playing as any played at a table.”

“You think to fool all of society, up to and
including our grandmother? To what end, Miss Lambert? How will
either one of you benefit?” There was an edge of suspicion that
made Christiana cringe.