Rhonda Woodward (11 page)

“I have never seen a high-perch phaeton in Parsley Hay, are they really so dangerous?”

“Only if one does not know how to handle them well,” he replied with a shrug.

“I take it you defied your grandfather again. I can’t imagine anyone defying a duke.” Except this man, a certified rakehell who was destined to be a duke himself.

Grudgingly, she owned that she admired his attitude and was impressed with how he had chosen to live his life. She knew that she shouldn’t be—it wasn’t ladylike to be impressed with a rakehell—but there it was. Looking at him now, she could imagine that he would be successful at anything he decided to undertake.

“Of course. Purchased it without a second thought. In due course, I received a letter from one of the Duke’s solicitors, explaining in detail how I had been completely cut off. I laughed it off at first, until there were no tradesmen in London, or anywhere else who would extend me credit.”

“Oh my, that must have been disconcerting since you seem inordinately fond of having your way.”

“How perceptive of you, Miss Buckleigh. I am.” His warm gaze swept down her body, then back to her face in a blatant flirt that had her laughing and scandalized in the same moment.

“So what did you do?” Curiosity trumped propriety.

“To my chagrin, I was forced to rusticate for a while. Then I took a small inheritance from an aunt on my mother’s side and shocked all the relatives by going into business. It took nearly two years, but my ship, literally in this case, came in. I have been reinvesting the profits from my ventures since. To my grandfather’s frustration and outrage.”

“Does he really not speak to you?” It made her a bit sad to think so, since she was so close to her own small family.

His shrug was offhand but his gaze felt strangely assessing, as if he gauged her reaction. “Not a word. He, too, is inordinately fond of getting his way. So you see why I admire Mrs. Birtwistle; we have both defied conventional expectations. You need not worry that your friend will feel any derision from me.”

“No, I never thought so from you. But it is good to know that you think as well of her as we do. Frankly, your approval gives her consequence.”

She could see by his expression that he was about to say something droll, when they were interrupted by Henry Willingham, calling as he approached, “You must allow me to interrupt your conversation with Miss Buckleigh, my lord. She is so knowledgeable of the area, we need her expertise.”

“By all means, Mr. Willingham.” The amusement in his eyes made her feel as if they shared some secret. It gave her the oddest feeling as she walked between the two men to join the others.

Over the next hour, Marina witnessed several unexpected and interesting events. First, to her surprise, Lord Cortland immediately approached a near-dumbstruck Lydia Hollings and engaged her in the conversation for well over five minutes. Marina knew it had to be over the designated time because Deirdre finally looked up from her reticule and nodded at Lydia with a big smile, and still Lord Cortland continued to converse with her for several more minutes.

Phoebe Tundale watched this scene with a look of such complete dejection that Marina fully expected her to go off in a fit of tears.

Lady Darley then suggested they should all remove to the picnic area, set up between two bonfires, and enjoy their repast. As the group migrated to the blankest and chairs, with footmen nearby ready to serve everyone, Lord Cortland asked Phoebe if she enjoyed a good fire.

Marina almost choked with laughter at the girl’s near-astounded expression and stumbling reply. Deirdre, with her plate on her knees, struggled to discreetly attend her watch and nearly ten minutes later, the Marquis bowed and took himself off to his aunt and cousin.

While watching this diverting little drama, Henry and Sefton had maneuvered themselves to sit, one on each side of her, on the heavy blanket. Henry offered to fetch her punch and Sefton, with his beautiful smile, offered to bring her another fur from the barouche in case she was too cold.

A little taken aback, she thanked them both, allowing them to carry out these services for she did not know what else to do. To keep them busy seemed the wisest course.

For the rest of the outing, Sefton and Henry kept up a consistent conversation with her, each in a not-too-subtle way trying to gain her attention over the other.

Marina wondered why she did not feel as flattered as she had always assumed she would under such circumstances. After all, what young lady wouldn’t feel gratified to be so sought after?

However, as the alfresco meal continued, neither Sefton nor Henry left her side and she began to feel a little bored, even stifled by their overweening attention.

The afternoon air grew more chilled, and finally, to Marina’s great relief, Lady Darley suggested that they depart the delightful site.

She didn’t know how he managed it, but despite Sefton and George never leaving her side for the last hour, it was Lord Cortland who handed her into the barouche when it was finally time to depart.

Smiling down at him a little shyly, she thanked him.

A lazy smile spread across his lips and a warm gleam entered his eyes. “I wonder, Miss Buckleigh, if Sefton and Willingham wagered their favorite bonnets?”

Chapter Eleven

A few days after the visit to the ruin, the ladies of Buck Hill whiled away a cold afternoon in the front drawing room.

Sitting by the fireplace, Marina set aside her book and fought the urge to pace. She had grown restless in the last few days, to the point that she became frustrated with herself. Before, she had always been in command of her emotions, but that skill seemed to have left her of late.

She was about to excuse herself to take a walk around the park when Mama looked up from her letters and looked out to the drive. “It appears we have visitors. I believe a carriage has turned down the drive.”

Marina’s heart gave a jolt then began to flutter. She longed for company, any company, but secretly hoped the carriage came from Ridgeton Abbey.

Deirdre left off her tatting, jumped up and ran to the window. “It is Lady Darley, Lady Meredith and the pouty Miss Brandon. Pooh, they must be bored, they hardly give us a chance to call upon Ridgeton Abbey. I like to go visiting, too, and then we might see Lord Cortland.”

Marina did not reply, only stood and smoothed her skirts. Thank goodness Lord Cortland was not numbered amongst the visitors, she was confused enough about him without having to deal with his unsettling presence.

In short order, the three ladies were ushered into the room, whereupon Lady Darley in a gray and salmon ensemble with a high-crowned bonnet said without preamble, “We were just in the village and decided we could not return to the Abbey until we called upon you, Lady Buckleigh. Mr. and Mrs. Langford send their regrets, for Mrs. Langford has been a trifle indisposed. Nothing serious, I assure you. How do you and the dear Misses Buckleigh fare today?”

In the bustle of the greeting and the seating, Marina found herself next to Miss Brandon on the settee. The blond girls sat stiffly looking straight ahead, until Mama rang for tea. Standing abruptly, hands still in her sable muff, she sent Marina a significant look with her bright blue eyes.

“Lady Buckleigh, would you mind if Miss Buckleigh showed me your lovely park? I have been so dull today and would appreciate some fresh air and exercise.”

Feeling a little startled by Miss Brandon’s request, Marina caught Lady Meredith’s hesitant look of concern, and exchanged a quick baffled look with her sister.

Mama waved an obliging hand. “Yes, go enjoy the day while it still looks fine, for those distant clouds look like rain.”

Marina led Miss Brandon out of the room and when they reached the foyer, Marina said, “Excuse me a moment while I get my things.”

On her way up the stairs, she directed Holmes to retrieve Miss Brandon’s cloak. Once in her bedchamber, Dora, with efficient haste, helped Marina into a redingote of dark blue-gray wool and harmonizing bonnet. With a strange mix of curiosity and faint dread, she grabbed her muff of mulberry velvet and hurried back downstairs.

They left the house and a feeble sun shone down upon them, and indeed, clouds were building to the south and moving in, but even so, Marina was always glad to be out of doors.

They walked the ornamental paths in near silence, dead grass crunching underfoot and bonnet ribbons stirring in the light breeze. Soon, by the tension in her shoulders and the rapidity of her gait, Marina sensed that the other girl was working under some sort of strain.

They left the formal grounds, moving to a more wild area, then after traversing a slight slope, they ended in a pretty copse of trees with a bench and a fair prospect of the countryside.

“You can just see the church spire from here.” She pointed in the distance.

Miss Brandon barely looked at the view before sitting on the bench, gazing up at Marina with large, distressed eyes.

“Miss Buckleigh,” she finally began in a breathless voice, “I wish to speak to you about something in particular, but I scarce know how to begin.”

Having dealt with Deirdre’s drama’s all of her life, Marina recognized Miss Brandon’s manner instantly. “Does this have something to do with Mr. Sefton?”

Miss Brandon’s eyes grew even wider, and now flashed with anger. “Oh, oh, I knew it! When we first met, you did not seem like the kind of young lady who would pinch another young lady’s beau, but I see I was mistaken!”

Marina stared for a moment. “Pinch another—what on earth are you speaking of?”

“Please do not bother to be coy, I know exactly what you are about, but I warn you, it shall not work.”

Feeling as if she had stumbled into the middle of a strange fairytale where she was cast as the evil witch, Marina said sharply, “Miss Brandon, let me understand you. You are claiming a relationship with Mr. Sefton, and you are accusing me of attempting to steal him from you?”

Miss Brandon shook her head vehemently, the curled feathers on her bonnet quivering in echo of her strong emotions. “I do not claim. Nigel and I have an understanding. We are engaged.”

It flashed across Marina’s mind that perhaps Miss Brandon was not quite right, and suffered from some kind of delusion. After all, separate from the marked attention he paid to Marina, Sefton had not danced with Miss Brandon at the ball, nor even seemed to look in her direction at the picnic. However, Marina dismissed the thought just as quickly, and decided that it was more likely that Miss Brandon had mistaken Mr. Sefton’s no-more-than-friendly regard for something more.

“If it is as you say, why is it not known? Mr. Sefton has made no mention to me or anyone else since he has been in Parsley Hay that he is engaged, nor has anyone else in residence at Ridgeton Abbey. You must admit, Miss Brandon, the two of you have certainly not behaved as if there is an understanding between you.”

Some of the huff went out of Miss Brandon at this calmly stated argument, and she looked away, biting her lip. “I am forced to share my intimate affairs with you, Miss Buckleigh.”

Sensing this could only make matters worse, Marina said quickly, “Truly there is no need, Miss Brandon.”

“Oh but I must, so that you will understand and quit casting your lures for him.”

“I? Casting lures! Really, that is the outside of enough. I shall not stay another moment and listen to these insults.”

She made a move to march off, but Miss Brandon begged her back. Marina relented, conceding that her curiosity was powerful enough to keep her there for a few more minutes.

“I am sorry,” Miss Brandon said, her tone now plaintive. “It’s just that I have been dreadfully upset. Oh, if only Fitzhugh had not come, everything would have turned out perfectly.”

“Who is Fitzhugh?”

“My cousin, Lord Cortland, of course.”

“And what does he have to do with this understanding you have with Mr. Sefton?”

“I have to go further back to explain.”

Marina inclined her head.

“When I made my come-out last spring, I met Nigel again at Lady Cowper’s ball. There is a family connection, but I had not seen him in years. I thought him the most handsome, most wonderful gentleman I’ve ever met. We fell deeply in love almost instantly. These things are fated, I believe. Don’t you?”

Marina did not know what she believed about fate, especially at this moment, so much had Miss Brandon’s words stunned her. “My thoughts on the matter are of no importance.”

Miss Brandon’s blue eyes narrowed. “Quite so. You see, I am a very great heiress, for my mother is the daughter of the Duke of Hawksmoor. Grandfather has settled forty thousand pounds on me. Nigel is only the younger son of Earl Sefton, and Papa and Grandpa do not think he is good enough for me. They do not believe he really loves me and say that he only wants me for my dowry.”

Marina could certainly understand why her family had concerns, although she did not believe for a moment that Mr. Sefton was so corrupt. It was more likely that Miss Brandon had set her sights on a man who had only expressed a mild interest in her, and she was now frustrated by his inattention.

“Nigel and I were both invited to Mr. Penhurst’s house party, and we immediately knew this was our chance.”

“Chance for what?”

“Nigel said a love like ours should not be denied. We would meet here and then leave for Gretna Green.”

“Oh my,” Marina said faintly, for if true this would be a shocking scandal, indeed. An elopement to Gretna Green made her private waltz with Mr. Sefton seem like innocent child’s play. “Gretna Green is days and days away.”

“What of it, if we are to be married?” Miss Brandon countered, her pout more prominent. “Nigel believes that my family will eventually relent once they see how happily married we are. But then Fitzhugh showed up ahead of me—I do believe my mama delayed our departure, though how she suspected our plans, I have no idea—and he somehow threatened Nigel! Now Nigel says we must be careful and delay our plans to marry. That is why we didn’t dance at the ball or speak at the picnic. We did not want to raise Fitzhugh’s suspicion.”

She sent Marina a beseeching look before continuing. “I see the way you look at him, but now that you understand that he really loves me, you will leave him alone, will you not?”

Marina hardly knew what to think, nonetheless what to say. She stood before the wide-eyed blond girl, trying to make sense of her tale. Marina reviewed her few encounters with Mr. Sefton.

What did she know of him? He was more than handsome to be sure, and every look, every action had indicated sincerity. Could he truly be as dastardly and false as Miss Brandon’s words suggested?

A sickening conviction began to grow.

Gazing upon Miss Brandon’s now tearful face, Marina could not doubt the desperate sincerity in her tone and every gesture. The story must be true, and what a trite and tawdry story it was.

A searing anger began to replace her doubt and confusion.

Mr. Sefton, who appeared so sincere, romantic and kind, must be the worst kind of cad and scoundrel. There was no way around it. She could hardly conceive that such a creature lived outside the gothics Deirdre occasionally lent her to read.

The whole scheme unfolded clearly before her. Lord Cortland had come to Parsley Hay to prevent his cousin’s elopement. Mr. Sefton, thwarted from his goal—Miss Brandon’s forty thousand pounds, Marina concluded with new cynicism—had switched his attentions to her. How easily he could conjure up flattery and soulful gazes! Her lips twisted with disgust, more for herself than for anyone else.

She had accepted Mr. Sefton’s attentions without the least bit of caution, and with an eager willingness to be flattered. Never had she suspected that she was capable of such foolishness. In her own way, she thought bitterly, her behavior had been as ridiculous as Lydia Hollings and Phoebe Tundale’s. She felt like such a fool!

In a sickening flash, a far worse realization washed over her—Lord Cortland had known the truth the whole time!

Her angry flush turned to mortification as she reviewed her encounters with Lord Cortland in light of this new information. How he must have been laughing up his sleeve at her, how much entertainment she had afforded him! Every comment, every tease he’d made now held a contemptuous sting she had been blind to before.

How she hated him! Cortland was much worse than Sefton. He was a bored, dissolute rakehell, without a gentlemanly bone in his body. She prayed the rumor proved true about his dueling and that he would be exiled!

Miss Brandon’s tremulous sob and anguished expression broke through Marina’s mortification. Because of her own foolishness over Mr. Sefton, Marina felt a wave of compassion rise up to wash away her anger at Miss Brandon’s accusations.

“Has it once occurred to you that your family has your best interests at heart?” She kept her voice gentle.

“They do not understand! I love him. They do not think love matters.”

“Oh, Miss Brandon, it is not my intention to cause you more pain, but I must tell you that Mr. Sefton has behaved toward me in a way no truly engaged man would ever behave. He has taken every opportunity to speak . . . er, warmly to me and also sent me a posy with a card complimenting my eyes.”

And how she had taken to heart his every look, his every word. Bitterly, she considered how she had never questioned his sincerity, just as Miss Brandon had not. But the consequences for Miss Brandon were much worse.

“That is only because you flirted and flattered him and you are so beautiful.” The conviction faded from Miss Brandon’s voice and her shoulders began to slump.

“No, Miss Brandon, he flattered me. Did I reject his attentions? No, I am sad to say that I did not. I swear to you that if he’d even hinted that his heart was engaged elsewhere—now look at me—I would have sent him away at once. My father would have barred him from our house if he had known of his plans to take you away from all those who love you.”

“You mustn’t tell your father! No one else must know!”

“No, of course not. I only tell you that to stress how serious I consider this situation. Think, Miss Brandon! You spoke of fate a moment ago. Could it not be fate that has given you this opportunity to see him as he is? Do you not see that at the first obstacle—Lord Cortland coming here—Sefton proved himself weak and faithless?”

“No,” she whimpered, her lip quivering. “You do not know him as I do.”

“You have had a narrow escape, if you could but see it. We both have.”

At this, Miss Brandon burst into full, wracking sobs, burying her face in her muff.

Marina stepped forward, reaching a hand out to comfort her, then thought better of it. Better to let her face the painful truth and cry it out.

The sharp wind kicked up again, stirring the dead leaves around them. Miss Brandon’s cries grew, until she bent over, her head in her lap. Marina’s heart ached for the distraught young woman, and she began to feel helpless. Never had she seen anyone cry in such a heartrending fashion.

Oh, when she saw Mr. Sefton again, she would make sure he knew her opinion, and she would not mince her words!

So much for trying to convince herself to be in love with him, came the sudden thought. Marina could not help a bitter laugh for she certainly did not intend to cry her heart out over him. She felt this even as she fought back angry tears for herself, mixed with sympathy for the crumpled young lady.