The Bride Wore Pearls (30 page)

Damn it, she was tired of presumptuous men.

But Lucan was still staring at her. “Nish, please forgive me. I . . . I am sorry.”

Anisha snatched her shawl from the bed. “No, Luc, you are naïve, and without the sense to know it,” she retorted. “Now go get into your coat. We’ve a wedding to attend.”

L
ord and Lady Bessett’s wedding was a garden affair at a massive old house in Wellclose Square, a neighborhood far to the east of Mayfair. The bride, attired in a boldly colored gown of red and white silk, glowed with happiness.

For his part, Geoff looked inordinately pleased. He kissed Anaïs de Rohan lingeringly on the lips amidst a skirling shower of apple blossoms as the Reverend Mr. Sutherland, proudly beaming, pronounced them man and wife.

And as Anisha watched, smiling in all the right places, she thought about Lucan’s accusation.

Had
she been too passive? Had she not fought for what she wanted?

It felt to Anisha as if she’d been fighting the whole of her life. But fighting what? Her father? Her husband? Or just conformity, and the subservient role English society had cast her into?

Certainly she was not the bold and dashing Anaïs de Rohan. No, “
serene
” and “
proper
” had been Janet’s words. And in hindsight, they sounded so frightfully dull.

Perhaps—just perhaps—there was something in between proper and dashing? Some middle ground the formerly serene might occupy while they looked about for what they truly wanted out of life? Or perhaps Lucan was right. Perhaps it was simply better to gird one’s loins and
fight
. Today, somehow, that notion suited her.

Afterward, as the crowd melted from the gardens back into the house for a wedding breakfast, Geoff caught up with Anisha and companionably caught her arm in his. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for coming, Nish. This day would not have been as special without you here to celebrate with us.”

“It was my great—” Her voice hitched as Rance passed by, his face expressionless.

Geoff stopped and turned to face her. “Nish?”

She forced a smile. “It was my great pleasure,” she said, but the words came out a little husky. “Thank you for having us.”

Geoff cut a dark look at Rance’s back as he vanished into the shadows of the house. “Nish, what now?” he demanded. “Do I need to call the old boy out after all?”

She slid her hand around his arm. “Go on in, Geoff,” she managed. “I’m fine. Truly. I need to keep an eye on Lucan and Miss Rutledge.”

Geoff said nothing to that, but his eyes darkened. He was still watching her intently.

“You cannot read me, Geoff,” she said, dropping her voice. “You can no more see into my world than I into yours. Is that not the one precious gift we shared? That drew us close? Go to your beautiful bride, and be happy.”

He looked down at her through a sweep of dark lashes, his gaze suspicious. “But when do you get to be happy, Anisha?” he murmured. “Tell me that, and my happiness shall increase tenfold.”

She managed to laugh. “Just this morning Janet reminded me somewhat testily that I am a rich, beautiful widow with a family that loves me,” she said. “I have all the happiness I require. Go inside, and let us all toast your happiness, for we wish it so sincerely.”

With a chary glance, he patted her hand, gave a curt nod, and slipped away. Anisha let out a sigh of relief. She lingered another moment, until Miss Rutledge went in on her father’s arm, Luc following some twenty paces behind.

It was a wise distance, she judged. Mr. Rutledge was a handsome, athletic-looking man who carried himself with a sort of lethal grace and looked nothing like the rural squire he was purported to be. As with Rance, the gentleman appeared outwardly affable, but his smile was edged with something a little less benign than good humor if one looked closely.

Anisha wondered just what his wife had told him. A tempered version of the truth, perhaps. But it had been enough to put a steely glint in Lucy’s father’s eye.

When all the others had gone in, Mr. Sutherland gently took Anisha’s hand and laid it on his arm. “Come, my girl,” he said. “We are bringing up the rear, I’m afraid.”

Anisha leaned near and lightly kissed his cheek. “I was waiting for you.”

The Preost laughed, and together they went in. Anisha made her way around the room on his arm, grateful for his company. She had always been one of Sutherland’s favorites, she knew, and until recently she’d spent a good deal of time in the St. James Society’s reading rooms, which Sutherland oversaw.

In time, the health and happiness of the bride and groom was toasted, and a fine repast laid out in the dining room. Lucan filled Anisha’s plate, then seated her at an empty table for six in the withdrawing room. Almost at once, Rance came in with Frederica Rutledge.

He looked at Anisha a little uncomfortably, then, left with no alternative, approached to put Mrs. Rutledge’s plate down.

“Lady Anisha,” he said, drawing out a chair for Mrs. Rutledge. “May we join you?”

“Why, nothing would please me more,” she said.

He excused himself with a slight bow and returned to the dining room.

“Lord Lazonby is very kind, isn’t he?” said Mrs. Rutledge, watching him over her shoulder.

Anisha’s gaze left the bull’s-eye she had mentally painted between Rance’s shoulder blades. “Quite, yes,” she agreed.

“Lucy, however, was rather cowed by him,” Mrs. Rutledge confessed, dropping her voice. “I trust you received my note this morning?”

“I did, thank you.” Anisha cast a glance at Mr. Rutledge, who was seated with the bride’s cousins. “But your husband has a rather strained look about his eyes. Is all well?”

“Not remotely.” Her smile was wan. “Though he would never ruin Anaïs’s special day, Bentley is wildly angry. Lucy has survived his wrath, but only just.”

“I wonder he doesn’t blame my brother,” she remarked, her gaze falling to the linen napkin in her lap. “He would have every right to do so.”

“Of course he does, a little,” Mrs. Rutledge acknowledged. “But mostly he just blames himself.”

“
Himself
?” Anisha jerked her chin up. “I cannot imagine why, particularly when he wasn’t even present.”

Mrs. Rutledge cast her husband a fond but faintly exasperated look. “I’m afraid my husband enjoyed a terribly misspent youth,” she said. “His indiscretions were legendary, and his family nearly torn apart. He fears the twins take after him.” Here, she stopped and heaved a sigh. “Which, honestly, they do. We’ve had years of nonstop roguery out of that pair.”

Not for the first time, Anisha let her eyes drift over Frederica Rutledge’s remarkably beautiful eyes and dark hair. “You must have married frightfully young.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Rutledge’s cheeks turned faintly pink. “I’m afraid I was one of my husband’s indiscretions. The
last
one.”

Lightly, Anisha’s fingertips touched her mouth. “I do beg your pardon,” she said. “I am not usually so gauche. Your age—or your husband’s past—is none of my business.”

At that, Mrs. Rutledge laughed. “Well, let us just say I am a few years older than you.”

“Not many,” Anisha remarked in a low undertone.

“Not
too
many, perhaps.” Mrs. Rutledge’s eyes danced with good humor. “As to Lucy, I have left her father to deal with her indiscretion.”

Anisha’s heart sunk. “What will he do to her?”

“Nothing she does not deserve,” said Mrs. Rutledge grimly. “Lucy is going into service.”

“Into
service—
?” Anisha was appalled.

“In a manner of speaking,” Mrs. Rutledge clarified. “She’s to be a companion to a distant but dear cousin who is presently short of funds. She’ll also serve as a sort of governess, too. Lucy will not be ill-treated for an instant. Isolated, yes. Underpaid, terribly. But it will all do her good, I daresay. If Lucy were to remain in Town—or even Gloucestershire—she would simply insist on kicking up her heels until she took a serious tumble.”

“Oh,” said Anisha, her face falling. “Oh, dear.”

Mrs. Rutledge reached across the table and laid her hand over Anisha’s. “Lucy needs a purpose in her life, and this will give her one,” she said reassuringly. “Yes, Lady Anisha, I was married very young. Much younger than Lucy is, for this is her second Season and still she will not settle down. And yes, my marriage turned out brilliantly. But honestly, what were the chances, when circumstance, not choice, threw us together?”

“Not good,” Anisha conceded.

“No, not good,” the lady returned. “I will not try my luck again. And I
will not
have
my
family torn apart, either.”

For the first time Anisha saw the grim, nearly ruthless determination in Frederica Rutledge’s eyes. Here was a mother who guarded her cubs like a lioness, and the realization ratcheted the lady up about six notches in Anisha’s estimation. And she realized, too, that Mr. Rutledge’s reactions had likely been tempered by his wife’s resolve. She might not have worn the trousers in the family, but Anisha rather doubted he would have dared gainsay her wishes.

Just then, Rance returned with a plate but half full and a wineglass filled with something a good deal darker than wine ought to be. Mr. Sutherland followed on his heels, smiling all around the table as he drew up his chair. As always, his calm presence softened the tension, and the four of them nibbled and talked politely of weather and politics until eventually Frederica Rutledge excused herself to attend the bride, who meant to change from her wedding gown.

Sutherland murmured something about having left his prayer book in the parlor and vanished on Mrs. Rutledge’s heels. Anisha watched Rance from across the table, taking a perverse satisfaction in the bleak look about his eyes. The lines about his mouth, too, had deepened, and on the whole there was a worn, almost dissolute air about him today.

She had half expected him to make his excuses and follow the Preost out. But a scoundrel though he might have been, no one had ever called Rance a coward. He watched Sutherland go, then set his now-empty glass down with a determined thud.

“You received my letter?” he murmured without directly looking at her.

“How could I not when your footman brought it straight to my door?” she said in a grim undertone. “Brought it, mind you, before your scent was off my bedsheets. No, Rance, it did not get lost between the hall and my sitting room. Was that what you had hoped?”

He lifted his broad shoulders, as if his formal morning coat felt too tight, and for once he did indeed look to have been poured into it. “It was not, perhaps, the most diplomatic thing I’d ever written,” he acknowledged.

“But was it heartfelt?” she asked bitterly. “That, you know, is the only thing that matters.”

He looked across the table at her blankly.

She laid her fork down with a sharp
chink
! “In other words, when you used the phrase ‘
a terrible mistake,
’ ” she clarified, “was that indeed what you meant?”

“Anisha.” He looked at her darkly. “That’s precisely what it was. Yes. A mistake.”

“And when you said I should ‘
look elsewhere in my romantic pursuits,
’ ” she whispered, “that was, indeed, what you wished?”

“I believe we have covered this ground before,” Rance said, his voice dangerously soft. “In fact, we have nearly worn ruts in it.”

“But that was before you took me to bed.”

“Which was a mistake,” he answered firmly.

“So we are back where we were a week ago, then,” she murmured. “Is that it?”

He looked away, refusing to hold her gaze. “We cannot go back,” he said quietly. “That’s why it
was
such a devilish mistake. I have . . . tainted things between us, Nish. I have suggested something that was—”

Here, his words broke, and he shook his head.

“Suggested something that was never your intent?” she supplied a little tartly. “So there will be no marriage proposal forthcoming, then. Having lured you into my bed, I still can have no expectation of being the next Countess of Lazonby. Oh, dear. And I was already stitching the new monogram on my pillowslips.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched dangerously. “I need another whisky,” he said, jerking from his chair.

“No, you need to come out into the garden with me,” she replied, tossing down her napkin. “What I have to say to you cannot be said in here.”

“Why stop now?” he said grimly. “Half the room is watching us.”

But he led the way through the house, almost slamming the back door open with the flat of his hand. With one last glance to ensure no one followed, Anisha matched his long, purposeful strides out into the brilliant sunshine, into the depths of Miss de Rohan’s garden, all the way back to the apple tree where only minutes earlier love had reigned and eternal vows had been spoken.

Rance set his back to the trunk and leaned against it, as if he expected to be a while. “Go on then,” he said quietly, rolling his shoulders again. “You once said that I would do nothing but disappoint, Nish. And you were right. So have at it. But it won’t change a thing.”