My Unfair Lady (32 page)

   "But you thought of it, Father."

   His lip quirked as he turned back to Summer. Her eyes hadn't left his face. She didn't know what amazed her more—the new softness to his features, or that he'd spent his energy creating something that would better the life of a mere critter. The man who sat on a kitchen floor without a neck cloth, his hair uncombed and the sprinkle of a beard across his chin, wasn't the same person who she'd met months ago in London. What had happened to him?

   And even worse, what had happened to her? Summer rocked back on her heels. She couldn't ignore it any longer… She'd fallen in love with him! Not the physical loving that he'd helped her to discover. This was something deeper, something that sang in her soul and made the world brighten with a light that hadn't been there before.

   Summer stared into the pale blue eyes of the duke, at the fall of blond hair across his forehead, the slight dent in the middle of his lower lip, and her pulse raced, and she knew Monte had never caused that reaction in her. But Byron knew who she really was. How could she live with the knowledge that he'd look at her every day, knowing what she'd done? When Monte looked at her he saw a different person, the person who she longed to be.

   She felt so confused.

   Then Summer realized that Byron had been gazing at her as well, that the entire room had fallen silent, as if the others had felt the chemistry between the two of them like it had actual substance.

   Byron spoke to her in the injun way—with his heart in his eyes and his love showing nakedly on his face. He reached out and brushed her hair away from her face, leaving his hand on the back of her neck and pulling her toward him, as if he intended to kiss her right here, right now, in front of his son and Cook and Meg. If she allowed him to do it, it would be a public declaration that they'd been intimate with each other.

   Summer leaned forward, ignoring the little voice in her head that told her she'd be a fool to kiss him, a fool even to consider loving a man whom she'd always feel inferior to. But it was so hard to resist the warmth in his eyes…

   She'd gone loco, flipping back and forth like she didn't have a mind of her own.

   And then she heard the rattle of horses' hooves on cobblestone.

   Byron frowned, as if some important moment had passed, his hand locked behind her head as he turned to raise a questioning brow at Cook.

   The old woman shrugged her shoulders and spun when Bernard popped his head in the door. "Who is it?" she asked her husband. The butler opened his mouth, glanced at Summer and Byron locked in an almost-embrace, and disappeared again.

   Meg left and then returned to the kitchen, her mouth open to announce their visitor, when she was roughly elbowed aside and the lovely face of the Lady Banfour glared down at the two of them with disbelief.

   Summer jumped to her feet, only slightly annoyed that Byron's grip on the back of her head had relaxed enough at the sight of the lady to allow her to move out of his hold. The woman's lavender eyes narrowed at her, and Summer resisted the urge to apologize. Tarnation, the lady should be apologizing to her for barging into her—the duke's—home.

   With a sweep of satin skirts and a cloud of lavender perfume, the Lady Banfour dismissed Summer and advanced on Byron. "Your Grace, my word, when you go to the country you really get into the role, don't you?"

   Byron rubbed a hand across his unshaven chin and rose from the floor, making a slight bow to the woman. Summer frowned at the sudden change in his demeanor, that mask of boredom she'd almost forgotten settling over his features, reminding her of that hard, rude man she'd first met. "Lady Banfour, for what reason do we have the slight pleasure of your company?"

   The lady winced, and Summer rolled her eyes. His nasty tongue had returned as well.

   "Why, Your Grace," stuttered the lady, "I have come with the best of news to share with you… and to fulfill our bargain."

   Byron frowned in confusion. "Our bargain?"

   She giggled and batted a hand at him, brushing his shoulder and making Summer narrow her eyes. At least she'd had the satisfaction of noticing that as soon as Byron had stood, the lady had hunched over, trying to diminish her height when she stood next to him. Summer didn't have to do that… nor would she have, if she'd been taller than the duke. It would be an insult to him.

   "Oh, certainly you can't pretend to have forgotten, after all the trouble I've gone to!" She turned to Summer with a determined look of delight pasted on her lovely features. "My dear, I've managed to get you an invitation to be presented to the Queen. Yes! You should look amazed. But it's true, I assure you."

   Summer looked from her to Byron. What was going on? What was that about a bargain?

   "It… You couldn't have," mumbled the duke.

   "I assure you, sir, I accomplished the feat. And it took all the charm and persuasion that I possess, including using a family connection to the Queen's favorite lady in-waiting, to squash the rumors of Summer's unusual behavior as nothing more than high spirits!"

   Summer couldn't believe it. "I've really been invited to be presented to the Queen?" It had been her goal for so long that to have it actually realized left her slightly stunned. She couldn't help the joyful smile that crossed her face, and felt sorry for it only when she saw Byron scowling at her reaction. "Now you can keep the railroad interest and continue building your son's business."

   "Son," asked the lady, glancing for the first time at the boy crawling across the floor. "Your Grace, you didn't tell me you were ever married."

   "I wasn't."

   "Oh. Oh, well, then, he really isn't your… My, it's terribly hot in here. Isn't there a place more… appropriate for us to talk? Cook, don't tell me you've let the parlor go to ruin as well? It was quite comfort able the last time I was here."

   The old woman huffed. "I do what I can, Lady Banfour, and it's as tidy as you remember, I'm sure. I'd be happy to make the tea, if you'd all like to retire there."

   Summer stood rooted to the spot as the lady grabbed her elbow and tried to steer her out of the kitchen. She'd just realized the full import of what this woman had said to Byron, and couldn't believe she'd heard right. "What bargain?"

   Byron shrugged.

   "He didn't tell you?" interrupted Lady Banfour. "How bad of you, Your Grace. Why, at the Sandringham party, he made it quite clear that he needed my assistance with your introduction into society, and that it would pave the way, well, shall we say, toward an arrangement of our own?"

   Cook coughed and Meg gasped. Lionel continued to ignore all the adults as he checked the bindings to his cat's contraption.

   Summer stared at Byron, and he stared back, his eyes glittering with hostility. Why? Because she'd been happy that her dream of presentation to the Queen had become reality, and he was afraid that she meant to return to Monte? Or because she'd caught him out in his scheme? That he'd been concerned only with their business arrangement, and the money it brought him, after all?

   Summer looked into his eyes. Maybe he'd felt that way in the beginning, but not now. He loved her, and the hurt she saw on his face made her want to refuse Lady Banfour's sponsorship and stay at Cliffs Castle forever. But she couldn't. She couldn't just leave Monte. It wouldn't be fair to him. Nor could she give up her quest to become a lady. It wouldn't be fair to herself. Would Byron even understand?

   "You still want to be someone else, don't you?" he asked her.

   Summer nodded with relief. Maybe he understood, if only a little. She allowed her new sponsor to drag her from the sunny kitchen and into the stuffy parlor.

   "We must leave for London immediately," said Lady Banfour, chatting on as if nothing were amiss. The woman had to be aware of the undercurrents around her, or could it be that she was just so very good at ignoring what she didn't want to see? "We must arrange a gown for you, and the feathers for your hair, and a hundred other little details. It's best if we leave today; can you manage?"

   Summer nodded, collapsing onto the settee that still showed the water stain from the duke's clothes from the night before. She felt like she'd been in a dust devil of a storm, turned this way and that with indecision and emotions. In desperation she latched onto the one thing that she'd intended when she'd come to England, before His Grace had used his charm to confuse her.

   "I'm already packed."

   Byron had followed them into the parlor, with Lionel in tow, but he'd stopped dead at the doorway, when his eyes had followed hers to stare at the bearskin rug. When she uttered those three little words, his face turned into someone she didn't know, someone she'd never consider rolling in fur with.

   "You can't leave!"

   "Lionel," she said to the boy, "I told you about my vow."

   "But Father said he'd fix it. He said that he'd make sure you wouldn't leave after all. That you'd stay here and be my mother—uh—friend. Why don't you let him fix it?"

   Summer glanced up at him. Byron continued to stare at the rug.

   "Children," laughed Lady Banfour, "are so darling, the way they get things confused. I'm sure you misunderstood your father, dear. Now run along and play with that… whatever it is, will you?"

   Lionel looked up at his father, who continued to stare across the room as if he pondered some deep mystery. The boy grunted with frustration. "It's Hunter, my cat, and I'm not confused. I think all of you are!"

   When he ran from the room, Byron finally glanced up. "You were already packed?"

   Summer nodded.

   "Lift up your skirts."

   "What?"

   "I said—"

   Lady Banfour blinked at the both of them, her false smile faltering for just a moment.

   Summer couldn't believe the woman could ignore the conversation between her and Byron this completely. Did she want the man so badly that she'd just pretend nothing was out of the ordinary? Or did a real lady just ignore whatever didn't suit her sensibili ties? With hardly a glance at Byron, her eyes riveted to Lady Banfour's face, Summer pulled up her skirts.

   The lady lifted her eyes to the ceiling, commenting on the sad disrepair of the exposed beams, and Byron snarled.

   "Where's your knife?"

   "Ladies don't carry knives," replied Summer, dropping her skirts and watching the other woman with awe.
So,
she thought,
that's what it's like to be a
real lady.

   "You'd already decided this morning, then."

   "Yes." Summer tried to sound flippant. If he knew how difficult it was for her to leave him, he wouldn't be angry, he'd be loving, and then she'd never be able to resist him.

   "I hope"—he took a deep breath—"that you get what you really want."

   He left the room then, and the light went a little darker, and the air smelled a bit mustier, and the furniture seemed a bit shabbier. Summer noticed that the bearskin rug had mats in the fur, and that one of the glass eyes in the head of it lay half out of the socket.

   She sucked down a sob, and Lady Banfour patted her gently on the knee. "Don't worry, dear. You'll get over him. And it's for the best, you know. You're from a different world and would never quite fit in."

   Summer goggled at the lovely woman who had certainly been aware of everything that had been going on between her and the duke, yet had chosen to ignore and dismiss it. If that's what it took to be a lady, she had a difficult time before her.

   Before Summer knew it, her trunks had been taken to the lady's carriage, her traveling cloak had been wrapped over her shoulders, and she stood in the kitchen saying good-bye to Cook and Bernard.

   Summer started to give Cook a hug when she caught the expression on Lady Banfour's face, and instead nodded with as much haughtiness as she could pretend at the old woman and her husband. "Where's Lionel? I'd like to say good-bye to him as well."

   "I'm sorry, Miss," said Cook. "But he seems to be hiding somewhere. I sent Meg to find him as soon as I heard you were leaving… Are you sure you're doing the right thing, Miss Summer?"

   Lady Banfour sniffed. "It's not your place to inquire, Cook. I know it's rather informal here in this country house, but please try to remember your station."

   Cook lowered her eyes, and Bernard just continued to study a crack in the floor.

   Summer watched the interaction between the two classes of people. Oh, she'd always known it existed, she just hadn't paid much attention to it. Another thing she'd have to watch if she were to become a real lady.

   "I really wanted to see Lionel before I left," said Summer, "but perhaps it's for the best." She wasn't sure if she could bear saying good-bye to the boy and trying to answer his questions. How could she explain something that seemed so simple to him and yet was far more complicated than she could ever have believed?

   Summer bent down and scooped up Chi-chi and Rosey and stuffed them into her pockets, and India obligingly hopped onto her shoulder.