Lessons From a Scarlet Lady (13 page)
Not that it really mattered if she was there or not, Robert thought as he sprawled back comfortably in his chair, legs extended. Whatever interest she’d piqued had been purely because she was attractive in an innocent, doelike way, and maybe he was so used to the practiced sophistication of his usual paramours that her difference struck a chord.
But he’d continued to think about her. Worse, he’d looked for her at the past few parties he’d attended. With her rich sable hair and graceful form she was easy enough to find, and he wondered why he hadn’t paid more attention in the past. The night before, after several brandies no doubt, he had even considered asking her for a dance.
Luckily, the insanity had been temporary, though he was halfway across the ballroom before he had realized what he was doing and came to his senses. The gossip sheets columnists would have had a field day if he’d been seen waltzing with an innocent young lady of unquestionable virtue.
“A small party?” Damien broke into his thoughts. “That suits me better than a large affair. I’m so very out of touch with society at this time. Please tell me there won’t be eligible young ladies in attendance, though I feel rather doomed you are going to. What is a house party without simpering young misses?”
Rebecca would never simper. It was a startling conviction, since Robert really didn’t know her that well. “None I know of,” he was able to say honestly.
If he admitted it to himself, he did wish he’d stolen that kiss from her when he’d been tempted. Maybe then his curiosity would have been satisfied and he would be able to put her out of his mind.
He dismissed the off-limits Miss Marston in favor of another glass of wine.
She agonized—agonized like a ninny—over what to wear. Not just for her arrival, but for every single minute of the stay at Rolthven Manor. That, of course, was after she agonized over whether or not her father would agree to her attendance, though in the end, he had acquiesced. Rebecca wasn’t even sure she should attend, for that matter.
It was a devil’s own dilemma.
“This one, miss?” Her maid held up a silver tissue gown she particularly liked because it was the most daring dress she owned. Not that “daring” meant much in the context of her wardrobe, so carefully selected by her mother, but it was the least conservative.
Why not take it? After all, Brianna had worn that scandalous gown to the opera and reported it drove the Duke to some very unusual behavior. The silver tissue was her best option if she wanted to get noticed. “Yes,” Rebecca said with what she hoped was nonchalance. “And the aquamarine silk, too, please. Slippers to match, and my best shawl since the evenings in the country could be cool.”
“Yes, miss.” Molly carefully folded the silver gown and put it in her trunk.
Five days of being near Robert Northfield. In his childhood home, eating at the same table, exchanging witty banter . . .
Only, Rebecca thought with a twinge, her banter wasn’t the least clever in his presence, and if he followed his usual pattern of behavior, he would simply avoid her like she was a plague-ridden rodent.
Cheery thought, that.
Currently, she was fashionably popular. For a second season. Young men fawned over her, but those were gentlemen seeking suitable wives. Heaven deliver her from politically ambitious fools like Lord Watts who valued not just her person, but her father’s influence.
The all too handsome, disreputable Robert Northfield wasn’t looking for a wife.
But she was going to Essex anyway.
“I’ll have the amber lace, the ivory tulle, and the pink muslin. Two of my best riding habits, and traveling attire for the journey back.” Rebecca fought a twist of nervousness in her stomach. “I’m sure we’ll find Rolthven Manor most formal.”
Sally merely nodded and set to work.
Packing done, Rebecca checked her appearance in the mirror, straightened her hair, and headed downstairs to dinner. It was her father’s custom for them all to meet in the drawing room for a glass of sherry before they dined, and he hated it when she was late. Inevitably that meant a lecture, and though in many ways she adored him, he could be tedious at times.
She entered the drawing room and said cheerily, “I was packing. Am I late?”
“Almost.” In elegant clothing, even for an
en famille
dinner at home, her father was distinguished and imposing. He lifted a small crystal glass and handed it to her with a courtly nod of his head. “Fortunately, that means no. You are just on time, my dear.”
en famille
dinner at home, her father was distinguished and imposing. He lifted a small crystal glass and handed it to her with a courtly nod of his head. “Fortunately, that means no. You are just on time, my dear.”
“Thank you.” She demurely accepted the offering.
“My previous agreement to this outing wasn’t made without reservations.”
Rebecca stifled an inner groan. That was no surprise. He frequently had reservations. “The Dowager Duchess—” she began.
“Is elderly,” he finished. “Though I mean her no disrespect. Your mother and I have decided to accept the invitation to accompany you. It’s rather last minute, but I sent word to the Duchess of Rolthven earlier today. She graciously sent a note back that we would be welcome even at such late notice. The matter is settled.”
Rebecca’s heart sank. Being accompanied by her parents was mortifying. Truly, she was several months older than Brianna, but here she was, coddled like a child, while her friend could throw parties and wear what she wished and . . . oh, it was infuriating in so many ways. Rebecca straightened her spine and sank into an embroidered chair, the chilly formality of the room only emphasizing her role as a virtual prisoner.
At that moment, she had a minor revelation. Or maybe even a major one. All she knew was it shook her deeply because it was knowledge she’d been avoiding for months.
Independence was a precious commodity. She craved it, but the only acceptable way for her to leave her parents was to go to a husband. Time was running out, plain and simple.
She stared at her glass. “So I am not to be trusted on my own, I take it? Bri can blithely throw parties and invite whomever she wishes, yet I myself, without the benefit of a male guiding my every move, am not to be trusted for a moment without my hovering parents.”
“Your friend is no longer an unmarried maiden,” her father said after a brief pause. “Her actions are governed by her husband. You can’t say the same. When you can, rest assured we will step aside.”
“This is punishment because I haven’t married?” She lifted her brows deliberately, the glass of sherry precarious in her hands.
“Your parents’ companionship at a country party is punishment?”
Well, her father was a politician, after all, and a neat turning of the tables was his specialty. But Rebecca was
not
looking forward to trying to conceal her awareness of Robert’s presence, especially in such a small amount of company. Her parents had just made everything more complicated. “No, of course not.”
not
looking forward to trying to conceal her awareness of Robert’s presence, especially in such a small amount of company. Her parents had just made everything more complicated. “No, of course not.”
“Then we are in accord.”
Not precisely how she would describe the situation. She chose not to comment.
“What about Damien Northfield?”
Rebecca froze, her glass halfway to her mouth, arrested by her mother’s statement. “
Damien
Northfield? What do you mean? What about him?”
Damien
Northfield? What do you mean? What about him?”
“He’s returned from Spain.”
She stared, speechless at first.
Her mother looked thoughtful. “I hadn’t really thought about it before, but he is very suitable. For now, he is even Rolthven’s heir—”
The idea was so ludicrous Rebecca cut in, “You must be joking.”
Oh dear, she never interrupted her mother. Even as her father’s brows knit into a fierce frown, she hastily relented, “What I meant is, I don’t know him at all.”
Plus he was Robert’s brother. But she could hardly use
that
as an argument, so she took an unladylike gulp of sherry instead.
that
as an argument, so she took an unladylike gulp of sherry instead.
“I was pointing out this might be a chance to make his acquaintance, and who knows? Maybe the two of you will suit.” Her mother lifted her brows, her eyes taking on a gleam Rebecca recognized. “It has been a while since he was out in society, but if I recall, he has the Northfield good looks, and a more than respectable fortune. Think of how delighted Brianna would be if you developed a penchant for her brother-in-law—and he for you.”
Her penchant was already firmly in place for one of the Northfield brothers whether Rebecca wanted it or not, and if her parents knew about the infatuation, they would never agree to let her go to Rolthven, with or without them. “I’m sure he’s a very pleasant man,” she said neutrally, “but it seems to me he is quite busy as some sort of aide-de-camp for General Wellington, isn’t he? I hardly think he’s in the market for a wife at this time.”
“There’s talk of a knighthood for his service to the Crown,” her father commented, not helping matters one bit.
Rebecca shot him a reproachful look that said “traitor.”
He raised his brows. “Whether or not you like Northfield, I am sure other young men will be there also to dance attendance upon you and pester me to be allowed to escort you to the various entertainments.” His expression changed from slight amusement to a more serious mien. He added, “This might be a nice opportunity for you to get to know some of them better outside the melee of balls and crowded social events.”
His implication was clear: further acquaintance might help her make up her mind. This second season hadn’t pleased him, but he had endured her adamant refusals of every proposal so far. As her twenty-first birthday loomed, she knew he would soon issue an ultimatum.
What would she do if he did? It wasn’t in question: both her parents wanted to see her settled and secure. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said without any inflection at all, not willing to do battle on the point at the moment. When she really needed to fight—like in the case of Lord Watts as a possible future husband—she would, but she had no desire to depart for this trip already at odds with her watchful parents.
Unfortunately, her father was difficult to fool. He said dryly, “I’m always uneasy when you agree with me so readily.”
She summoned an innocent look. “In this case I really do agree. I confess to being tired of all the whirl of London, and this outing sounds like a pleasant break. Just being able to visit with Arabella and Brianna will make it a lovely time, I’m sure.”
“And do not forget the Duke’s younger brother,” her mother said in prim reminder.
As if she could, Rebecca thought with a glimmer of despair, sipping her sherry. She thought all too often about the Duke of Rolthven’s younger brother, but not the one her mother meant.
Rebecca had a feeling this might be a grueling five days.
Chapter Seven
Desire is a game. One can play it with subtle nuance, or flagrant flirtation.
From the chapter entitled: “How to Run and Be Sure You Get Caught”
B
rianna grasped the strap to steady herself as they bumped over a particularly rough patch of road. Across from her, Colton barely shifted on the seat, his long legs extended so his booted feet brushed her skirts, his expression abstracted as he read yet another letter from the stack of correspondence he’d brought with him. A lock of chestnut hair had fallen boyishly over his brow at some time during the journey and he was too distracted to notice it, but there was nothing boyish about the width of his shoulders or the clean masculinity of his features.
rianna grasped the strap to steady herself as they bumped over a particularly rough patch of road. Across from her, Colton barely shifted on the seat, his long legs extended so his booted feet brushed her skirts, his expression abstracted as he read yet another letter from the stack of correspondence he’d brought with him. A lock of chestnut hair had fallen boyishly over his brow at some time during the journey and he was too distracted to notice it, but there was nothing boyish about the width of his shoulders or the clean masculinity of his features.
Finally she yielded to the impulse that had tempted her for the past few miles and leaned across to brush the wayward curl back into place in a familiar gesture.
He glanced up from the piece of vellum in his hand, and then, to her relief, actually set it aside. “I’m ignoring you. My apologies.”
“You did tell me you would still have to take care of your affairs during our time at Rolthven, but I admit the silence is wearing on me.” Brianna didn’t really expect him to understand she was nervous about her first real foray into playing the grand hostess. He was so used to all the pomp and grand affairs she doubted he ever gave them all a second thought. For heaven’s sake, Colton greeted the prince regent by his first name.
“What was your childhood like?” The question seemed appropriate to the moment as they neared the estate where he grew up, and she was curious.
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