The Kiss (23 page)
"Hmmm," he replied and offered his arm.
"I
always thought you much more at ease with gentlemen. Anthony and Quinn were your favored companions when we were growing up—never saw you with any of the girls in the neighborhood."
"I rather think that was a matter of my station more than anything else. My mother wouldn't allow me to play with the tenants' children, and no one of high birth in the area allowed me to play with their daughters. Luckily, the late marquis rarely cared enough to take note of the whereabouts of his son and nephew."
"To your everlasting detriment. It's a crime what happened to you."
"No, Miles, you're very wrong. It was no one's fault but my own. I was a foolish, headstrong girl determined to retrieve a falcon to give as a gift."
"To Anthony," Miles said. "He always
was
lucky. Well, until he—what I mean to say . . ." Miles blundered along in his usual fashion. "Oh, hang it all. I'm not much good at conversation, Georgiana. I'm sorry."
She smiled. "That makes two of us. I think that's why I've always liked you."
A radiant smile appeared on his face and he barked in laughter. "Come on, Georgie, let's go watch the judging at the stable block. I'll wager you ten quid that my mare will win as best all-around. She's a prime goer."
They walked up the rise, Georgiana praying her knee would not give out on her. "I don't know. Rosamunde's stallion is going to be hard to beat."
"Damn sisters," he muttered.
Georgiana laughed.
The stable was filled to the rafters with every barnyard animal conceivable. Georgiana could have cried for the joy of seeing her father sitting in a place of honor, his thin gray hair wetted and carefully combed into place.
"Georgiana," he called out in his dearly familiar, deep voice, "come sit beside me. Mr. Brown and I are having a difference of opinion on these sheep. He prefers this Cheviot to that Southdown over here. What do you think? We need you to break the tie."
Moments later, her mother bustled her way and suggested she go to the kitchens to see to more lemonade and ale for the thirsty crowds. "Geor-giana, His Grace spoke to your father not a half hour ago—just for a moment, you understand— about locating a cottage for us. He said you had asked for his assistance. What are you thinking? We were all to move into the great house."
"No, Mama. That is what
you
wanted. But I've been thinking that Papa and I—and you, I hope— will be much happier away from all the memories and strain of overseeing Penrose. Look how much Papa has already benefited by the rest Quinn arranged for him. And you've always wanted to live in a cottage overlooking the sea. And . . ." Her words slowed to a stop. She was so surprised her mother hadn't yet interrupted her with an argument.
"You've grown up, Georgiana," her mother said in a tone Georgiana had never heard from her parent. "I'm so glad. I only wanted to remove to the great house to firmly ensure your rights as Anthony's widow. But now that Quinn is here, he's made it obvious he intends to do right by you, not to mention his excessive generosity toward us all. Well, the only thing holding your father and me back from leaving here has been, quite frankly, you."
"Oh, Mama . . ." Georgiana rushed into her mother's arms.
"There, there, child. Come along now, that'll do. That awful Augustine Phelps is demanding champagne, for goodness sakes. Whoever thought to invite her? You remember what she's like. If I don't find the housekeeper and return with a bottle right away, she's sure to begin that screeching again. Sounds just like a peacock in season!"
Georgiana burst out laughing and was grateful to her mother for her silly banter.
She left her mother at the stairs to the cellar and returned to find Augustine Phelps, an embroidered cushion in one hand, in a standoff with Ata, who had Elizabeth on one side of her and Sarah on the other.
"Well," Auggie huffed, her nose in the air. "If I had known this wasn't a true contest, I wouldn't have bothered to enter my beautiful embroidery. The very idea of giving a child the top pri—"
"I've
always
said she wasn't one of us," Ata muttered to Elizabeth.
"Pardon me, madam, did you just sug—"
"Perhaps you don't know the proper way to address a duchess, Baroness?"
Elizabeth was doing a terrible job of keeping a straight face.
"Why, I—" the baroness began.
"I've never liked many baronesses, actually." Ata sniffed and turned to Sarah. "Too far down the peerage's social ladder to be of any importance really, yet ironically, usually too filled with self-importance to be of any use to the gentry."
"I would have you know that my father was a—"
"Madam," Ata interrupted again, "I've always wondered why ladies feel the need to discuss their breeding lines. Makes me always think of horses and dogs for some reason. By the by, is the baron here?" Ata's studied look of innocence caused Georgiana's stomach to ache with repressed laughter.
Elizabeth looked to be in the same condition, if the mirth in her eyes was any indication, while Sarah maintained the same serene expression for which she was universally beloved.
Everyone for miles around knew that Auggie's awful husband was terrified of encountering the Duke of Helston after the baron had behaved abominably toward Rosamunde last year and Luc had promised death and dismemberment, in the reverse order.
Auggie turned her glittering eyes toward Geor-giana. "As hostess, I would think you would try to enforce civility among the guests, Georgiana."
All the widows gathered about her. And Georgiana suddenly realized she had actually gotten her wish for sisters long ago. All the widows hovered, as if some signal had passed among them, to protect her as true sisters would protect one another.
"Well, here comes the
servant
with my champagne. Finally," Auggie said, looking at Georgiana's mother, who had just arrived with a glass and bottle.
"I beg your pardon," a deceptively calm, deep voice said.
All of them, Ata included, had been too shocked to form a retort and none of them had seen Quinn's approach behind them.
"Oh, my lord," Auggie purred. "The champagne has arrived. Do let me send for a glass for you."
Quinn looked at Augustine Phelps. His gaze never wavered as it slowly trailed from the top of her overly ornate hat, dripping with fake birds, all the way down to her tiny pale yellow striped slippers.
All the ladies save Auggie, held their breath.
"Madam, I've asked a footman to bring 'round your carriage."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You have precisely until the count of three to apologize to the marchioness and Mrs. Wilde and find your way out."
It was obvious she struggled to remain in control, her voice shaking. "And if I refuse?" Auggie wore a pout remarkably like Fairleigh's when she was denied a treat.
"I'll set the dogs on you."
As Auggie gasped in outrage, Ata positively beamed in rapture and then sighed. "He's even better than Luc."
"Now, then. One ..."
Auggie shrieked a string of invectives, betraying her shop origins.
"Two ..."
Augustine abruptly closed her mouth and began walking very inelegantly toward the side of the great house.
Ata giggled. "Sorry, I can't resist." The tiny dowager called out, "Three," and pressed two fingers to her lips to whistle like a dockside sailor.
A most satisfying screech came from the side of the house. It was the last anyone saw of Augustine Phelps for the rest of the day.
"And here I thought you a diplomat, Quinn. Forgive me for saying that I do believe you're sorely out of practice." Ata laughed. "And it agrees with you."
"I beg you not to tell your grandson," he replied with a twinkle in his eye. "He might be forced to take a liking to me. And then where would we all be? Cats and dogs living together."
For a moment Quinn glanced directly at Geor-giana, and the light of humor was in his eyes as his mouth relaxed into a smile, making him appear like he had used to in their youth.
Little did she know, it would be a long time before she would see that light again.
Georgiana didn't see Quinn again until the end of the long and exhausting day. All afternoon his daughter had twirled the pearl necklace she won from Grace, and then became ill on Georgiana after judging the honey, preserves, and pies. Georgiana had led the little girl to her chamber and tried to cheer her up by showing her how to make a traditional corn dolly while she rested on the bed.
By the time Georgiana returned to the gardens, the picnic supper and archery contest were nearly at an end. Rosamunde had trounced everyone, including her four brothers, quite soundly.
A plume of happiness bloomed in Georgiana's heart as she glanced at the gathering. Her father was comfortably settled in a chair Quinn had arranged for him, her mother urging him to eat "just a little more." All the many, many dearly familiar tenants, villagers, and gentry from the surrounding countryside sat on blankets, their children making merry and playing games of tag and cricket in the lower meadow. Beyond them the golden rays of late afternoon illuminated the pinkish-gold patchwork of fertile fields filled with hay, rye, and stripped cornstalks all the way to the dark blue sea and the horizon. It was a little slice of heaven here, and it never failed to move Georgiana.
She heard the call of a peregrine falcon and turned to see the raptor swoop to land on Quinn's gloved arm. Oblige pecked at the raw food Quinn had lured him with. Grace stood beside him, while Mr. Brown carried Georgiana's old hunting pouch. Georgiana was supposed to have given the demonstration with Quinn.
But this was how it was meant to be. They were beautiful together—Grace so blonde and so elegant, and Quinn starkly handsome. He wore his refined garments so easily, naturally. Georgiana looked down at her stained gown. It was her Sunday best—something that could never even be the countess's Monday worst.
And suddenly she was mortally tired of playing the plain, practical list maker.
Quinn bowed slightly at the smattering of applause while adjusting the hood on the peregrine falcon, and then handed the bird to John Brown.
He leaned in and whispered in the older man's ear, "Have the small pane of glass next to the door of the lake house repaired as soon as possible, will you, Mr. Brown?"
