Mischief by Moonlight (2 page)

“Really, Josie,” Edwina scolded, “you must stop calling him ‘old Ivorwood.' He's an earl, and he's not even old.”

“But Colin's such a dear old friend, and I think of that first about him. And he was such a friend to Papa, when no one else was.”

In truth, Josie had come to see Colin in recent months as a very close friend. The frequent walks they shared in the garden, often discussing various aspects of history—he was writing a book about the kings of England, and she loved the weird details he found through his research—were an escape from a house that often resounded with her mother's megrims.

Things were not exactly stagnant at Jasmine House; helping see to the household kept Josie engaged, and the daily pandemonium created by her younger brothers provided exasperation and amusement in equal measure. But a visit from Colin had become her favorite diversion.

Colin was different, with his reserved ways, and comfortable, like a favorite stuffed chair. He always had intelligent things to say, and he was as solidly reliable as a boulder. Also, because he was Nicholas's best friend, being with him was in a small way like being with her fiancé—and ever more, lately, she'd needed any reminder of Nicholas she could find.

She pushed away the anxiousness that thoughts of her fiancé had brought and focused her mind on the evening before them and, most importantly, the good it might do her sister.

“But you're right,” Josie said as she watched the earl skirt around the bench lying across the garden path, “he's not any older than Nicholas—it's just that he seems older. Perhaps it's because he's reserved.”

“He's such a handsome man,” Edwina said. “All that glossy black hair, and he's tall and always immaculately dressed. It's a shame he's so unforthcoming, though. I can't imagine him courting anyone. Although maybe he behaves differently with the ladies in London. Not that we would know since we are never to be there.”

“Edwina,” their mother said from the divan, taking a healthy swallow of her elixir, “you know that London is far away, and not a safe place to visit. Never mind the expense.”

Josie watched Colin approach. True, he was handsome—she just never thought about it, perhaps because she'd always known him. From the time she was twelve or thirteen, she could remember him coming to call on their father; they'd held discussions about books and history that often lasted hours. But she'd been too young then to be noticing gentlemen as men.

And then he'd gone away for years, and when he'd returned she'd thought,
Well, look at that, Ivorwood is quite smart
. But she'd met Nicholas and thought no more about it.

She was planning to talk to Colin tonight about Edwina. Josie was worried about her sister's prospects, and she meant to ask him for help. Because if Edwina didn't find a husband soon, Josie didn't see how she could marry Nicholas without feeling she was abandoning her sister to a spinster's existence.

She and Edwina might joke about how Mama never left her divan, but spending a lifetime attending to a woman who refused to do for herself would be suffocating. Of course no one expected Will, Matthew, or Lawrence—twelve, fourteen, and fifteen—to dance attendance on their mother. They were sons, and it would never be their lot in life.

“Ivorwood, here you are,” Josie said as he approached the door.

He looked quite fine, but then he was always well dressed, as if he'd turned his formidable intellect to the consideration of what he ought to wear. His coat was a sharp green satin that made his sage eyes look more vivid. He had no quizzing glass, no large family rings or gaudy buttons; the quality of his clothing was the only thing about his appearance that suggested he was a very wealthy man.

Which wasn't to say he didn't have quite a bit of presence; he was tall and rangy, and his black hair and general lack of lightheartedness gave him a dark, aloof quality that seemed pronounced tonight. Then there was his nose—hawkish, jutting, it gave a hint to ancestors who'd doubtless done all manner of rough things to secure power.

“You've changed your hair,” he said, coming inside. “I quite liked it long. But this new style suits you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Come take a turn around the room with me while we wait for the guests. You don't count as a guest, of course.”

“Well, thank you very much.”

She laughed and slipped her arm over the bend of his elbow and tugged him toward the edge of the room. She lived in a house full of boisterous and argumentative people, and space, things, and even sometimes the best bits of food were constantly in contention; Colin, in a way, was something that belonged especially to
her
.

“Of course you're not a guest—we know you too well. You're as good as part of the family.”

He merely grunted in reply. His arm felt stiff against her, and she pressed him encouragingly, to draw him out of his shell.

***

Colin had no idea what Josie was saying because he was so distracted by the feel of her arm against his. He alternately wished she would not touch him and lived for those moments when she did. They were always accompanied by bitter scolding from his conscience reminding him she was Nick's fiancée, as if he could forget.

She seemed to be waiting for a reply.

“I'm sorry, what did you say?” he said.

She laughed. “I said that you look especially brooding tonight. No doubt your thoughts are caught on some historical old man. King Canute? Edward the Confessor?”

He wished his thoughts were on old men, as idiotic as that sounded. Instead, he was trying not to notice the way her new short coiffure played up the light in her eyes, and directing his arm to stop sending him excited little missives about the delicate curves of her arm.

He made himself think of Nick, off fighting a war while Colin lived a soft earl's existence. How he wished he might change places with him. Nick should be here with Josie, and Colin ought to be out there being shot at. He deserved to be shot for wanting Josie. His fascination with her was wrong for so many reasons, and if there was a way to cut out the part of him that wouldn't stop thinking of her, he wished he might know it.

She squeezed his arm again as if to encourage him. She had no idea.

Lately he'd felt like a powder keg whenever he was around her, ready to explode with the slightest touch. He'd been thinking of a trip to conduct research for the history he was writing, and he knew he'd been putting it off, but he was weak, and he wanted to be with her. He told himself he was only doing as Nick had asked him to do, but that was a lie.

He shouldn't have come tonight.

The door to the salon opened just then, admitting Sally to announce the Biddles: Vicar, his wife, and his brother. Colin hoped they would distract him from Josie, though he had to acknowledge that was not likely to happen.

Josie knew she shouldn't pin too much hope on Mr. John Biddle, but he seemed quite likable. He was a pleasant-looking blond man with a serious expression, and he'd all but gasped when he'd taken in the beauteous sight of Edwina.

Within twenty minutes of his arrival, however, Josie's hopes for him as a suitor for her sister were already slipping. Edwina, with that tense look she tended to get around strangers, had begun by telling him about her latest sewing project. She was an accomplished seamstress, and the one who made over their dresses when Mama declined to buy new fabric. But details of fitting and hemming were hardly of general interest.

Seeming at last to remember that she must engage him, Edwina had asked to know his favorite book, then dismissed his response as “a trivial volume.”

Edwina was usually serious on the subject of books, and Josie realized now that it had been a mistake to encourage her to discuss them. Edwina and Colin sometimes had spirited debates about a book they'd both read, but Colin would have taken her sharp dismissal of a favorite volume as an opening for conversation, while Mr. Biddle clearly would not.

Now Edwina was on to lists. “I don't like coffee, mutton, apples, or toast,” she said tartly. “No syllabub. Also, I detest cheap cotton.”

Josie all but groaned. John Biddle might be pleasant, but he was certainly not a nabob, and she didn't think Edwina was trying very hard.

Mr. Biddle's gaze moved toward Colin, and shortly he excused himself to take up a point of history with the earl.

Edwina turned toward Josie with a tight look on her face. “See? I told you there was no point. I could tell he didn't like me.”

“And so you made no effort to change his mind.”

Edwina waved her arm dismissively. “He'd rather talk to Ivorwood, and I don't blame him. He's the most interesting person in the room.”

Ivorwood…

It was at that moment that Josie got an idea which, strangely, she'd never considered before, probably because
they'd
never considered it before.

Why shouldn't
Colin
be a suitor for Edwina?

He was the best man they knew, and even though this wasn't saying much, considering how few gentlemen they knew, he really was a prince, and worth a hundred of any old nabob. Smart, handsome, considerate—why, just last week he'd helped her family avert disaster when Matt had been caught trying to steal a kiss from a farmer's daughter. Whatever Colin had said to her brother after settling things with the farmer must have been compelling, because Matt had been as meek as a lamb ever since.

Even better, Edwina and Colin had something important in common: they were each of an inward disposition and loved quiet pursuits like reading.

She entertained a vision of the two of them sitting cozily in the sunny morning room at Greenbrier, their noses buried in books from which they periodically stopped to read each other entertaining tidbits. They would doubtless both love it.

Actually, that sounded like bliss to Josie as well. It wasn't that she didn't like to read; she did. It was just that she also loved to go for punishing horseback rides, and run across a sunny meadow just because, and get Cook to teach her to make things. She loved to be
doing
, and she loved to try new things.

Her mother often said to her,
Can't you keep still, girl?
But Josie was not at all good at tatting or needlepoint, and she had no patience for the piano. She knew how to plant roses, though, and where the best walking paths were, and she could make a fabulous custard à la française. She hoped one day to learn how to do pottery.

One of the things Josie had liked best about Nicholas, and which she thought would suit her perfectly, was that he was always in motion.

But Colin courting Edwina: the only problem she saw with this was that the two of them had known each other for years and never shown a bit of interest in one another. Yet wasn't this likely because of their tendencies toward being self-contained? What if someone gave them a little push, opened their eyes to what was right in front of them?

What if she tried getting them together in a roundabout way—say, if Colin thought he was helping Edwina? Josie had planned to ask him to do so that night anyway. What if, in ostensibly getting him to help Edwina, she could get them to spend extra time together, so that they might naturally come to focus on each other?

Surely then Colin would come to more deeply appreciate the quiet virtues buried under Edwina's prickly exterior, and Edwina would come to welcome Colin's subtle attentions.

***

Colin had just extricated himself from a long discussion with Mr. Biddle and was wondering if it was too early to slip away politely when Josie came and linked her arm through his again.

“Not thinking of leaving yet, I hope?” she said. “I know how fond you are of your own company and how little you like chat. What were you and Biddle talking of, anyway?”

“He read my book on Henry VIII and wanted to probe the motives of Sir Thomas More.”

Colin moved close to a small table and picked up a volume lying there, an excuse to withdraw his arm from hers. He really ought to leave, because he was only spending every moment trying to keep his eyes from the pretty curve of her lips.

“How is work going on your new book?” she said. “What's it called again—
Kings
and
Their
Notions
?”

His lips twitched. “
The
Decisions
of
a
King
, as you know. It's coming along.” He was writing as fast as he could, as often as he could—it was the only thing that took his mind off her a little.

“And when can I read it?”

“Ha,” he said. “I think it will be some time before anyone will be allowed to see it. In fact, though,” he said, “I think I shall be taking a trip shortly, to do some research.”

Her face fell and she moved closer, so that her scent reached him, touching him deep, where lived the cherished memories of all the conversations and laughter and friendship they'd shared over the last year, memories that wanted him to believe they were meant to be together.

He turned away from them with long-established ease. Self-discipline had been something he'd demanded of himself since childhood, when he'd come to understand that his out-of-control parents had none.

“Listen, Colin, you won't go away just yet, will you? I'm worried about Edwina.”

He glanced across the room at Edwina, who was standing stiffly with Mrs. Biddle. He could only just hear her sharp tone as she told Mrs. Biddle not to buy some new sort of fabric from the shop in town because it was of inferior quality.

“Is something amiss?” he said. “She seems quite as usual to me. And very lovely she is tonight, in her green gown. It sets off her black hair remarkably well.”

His words seemed to cheer Josie in some way, because she smiled. Her smiles had such a ridiculous effect on him, and there it was, the little lift they always gave him.

“She
is
fine. But you know how our mother has not much helped her in finding a husband. I'm certain she wants Edwina to stay at Jasmine House forever and take care of her, even though Mama is perfectly able to get off the divan and start really living if she would only choose to.”

“She does seem to spend a lot of time on the divan,” Colin said.

Josie gave him an exasperated look. “You know that she only gets up to go to bed. She even has her meals on the divan! Aside from the fact that we have so few friends in the neighborhood, it's one of the reasons we never have anyone but you to dinner.”

“Yes, a bit difficult to dine like that.”

“And you know how Papa refused to have governesses for us because he didn't want us to become worldly. Never mind that he chased away every man who ever tried to court Edwina or me because he was going to marry us to nabobs.”

His eyes lingered on hers, and he felt a smile tugging at his mouth. He really tried not to smile too much in her presence—it made him too happy, which resulted in a sort of hangover once he'd gone back to the enormous, quiet rooms of Greenbrier, where he would have been content in his solitude were it not for what Josie Cardworthy did to him.

“And yet you seem to have managed very well. And Edwina shall do, too, doubtless. Why should you be worried about her?”

“Really, Colin, I can only wonder if all that time alone thinking about the ancient kings of England hasn't entirely dulled your brain to the life around you. But then,
you
don't see anything wrong about people not marrying—you like to be alone all the time.”

“Not true,” he said quietly. She had an idea of him that was not, in some respects, the way he really was. Oh, she knew him through the connection of the true friendship they shared. Their conversation was genuine and effortless, their shared silences companionable. They respected and sought each other's opinions and enjoyed disputing with each other.

But she was young and innocently unaware of the ways of men. She'd certainly be shocked to know how much he wanted to think about her body and the effort he spent making sure he never did.

She thought he spent his days sitting soberly writing at his desk for hours, and he could only imagine how startled she'd be to see him as he usually was at home: in bed shirtless and unshaven with his books splayed out around him, their pages both his main pleasure and his distraction from the woman of whom he must not think.

And she couldn't know that he'd given up on other women when he'd fallen under her spell. He'd never been fond of casual dalliances, nor much interested in widows and courtesans beyond the occasional liaison. But in the last year, he'd stopped finding other women appealing at all.

She had no idea that he planned his occasional short research trips to avoid spending too much time in her tempting company. In her mind, he was a sort of dear, sexless older brother, and he had to let her keep this skewed idea, because it put the distance between them that had to be there.

“Well,
I'm
worried about her being alone always,” she said in a low, vehement voice. “Edwina is a wonderful person, but it would take someone special to appreciate her.”

This was certainly true. Edwina Cardworthy was beautiful and difficult, and while he had a great deal of brotherly affection for her, he could easily see why she'd not yet made a match. He inclined his head noncommittally.

Josie was getting impassioned, and her blue eyes glimmered. They often did when she was caught up in some excitement, as she had been last month when she'd insisted Colin take her to an execrable traveling actors' production of
Romeo
and
Juliet
set up in the market square.

Though he never would have gone to such a thing of his own choice, he couldn't resist her enthusiasm, and he'd agreed. She'd made him wear a large, disguising hat and plain clothes, and they'd sat in the back murmuring wry comments to each other the whole time. He'd never enjoyed a play more.

Now she said, “You know how delightful Edwina is in her unique way. But with the lack of eligible bachelors and the general ill feeling toward my family in Upperton, she has no chance of making a match here.”

Colin raised an eyebrow at her. “Come, Josie, you are exaggerating.”

“You know I'm not. And even if the neighbors could forgive us for all those years of keeping to ourselves, Edwina always speaks her mind.”

True, and she was also prone to complaint.

“And what do you wish me to do about this supposed problem?”

Josie bit her pretty pink lip, which he wished she wouldn't do; it made him imagine teasing and pleasurable torments.

“You could hold a dinner party and introduce her to some of your eligible friends,” she said.

He lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes, I know you
avoid
holding dinner parties, but I know you are capable of it, and I think people like your parties better than anyone's.”

“You've seen through me. I only hold a few gatherings so people will feel deprived, and thereby be more appreciative if I do ever invite them.”

“Oh, be serious! We're talking about Edwina and how, earl that you are, you might make a difference for her. Like, by taking her on a stroll through town so everyone can see her with you.”

“But if she appears with me, won't that discourage other gentlemen?”

She slid him a sidelong glance. “You might take her to London for the Season.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “What, me? A single gentleman, escort a single lady to London?”

“I'm sure something could be arranged in the way of a chaperone.”

He crossed his arms. “Your mother doesn't like London.”

“Mama doesn't like any place that isn't our sitting room,” she said. “But Edwina deserves a
chance
. She ought to have the opportunity to be seen and appreciated in a much wider circle than Upperton. Couldn't you get your aunt to sponsor her, the one who lives in London?”

Colin frowned slightly. This was getting complicated. He was a solitude-loving bachelor, and having been the only child of a bitterly unhappy marriage, he had nothing helpful to offer anyone wishing to marry. Much less did he see himself as the appropriate person to get embroiled in such complicated female affairs as the launching of young ladies into society.

On the other hand, he was an earl, and as such burdened with all manner of responsibilities. Though he did try to keep others' expectations to a minimum.

But this was Josie's sister and his old friend Cardworthy's daughter. Josie was right that the neighbors thought the family odd and unsociable, and he doubted any of the local mamas would consider the haughty Edwina Cardworthy for their sons. Perhaps he could set something helpful in motion and step away.