The Princess & the Pea (18 page)

"When my father was a young man ownership of property was all one needed to ensure life would be prosperous." His eyes narrowed. "Things are very different today."

"But couldn't your idea to produce and sell automobiles return that prosperity?"

"Perhaps someday." He shook his head. "But I no longer have the luxury of time."

At once she understood his need to marry a wealthy wife went far beyond mere monetary benefits to the survival of a tradition of life tied to the very foundations of this venerable country itself. He carried a commitment to this land and the people who lived here that had been forged long before his birth. Her stern attitude toward men who married for money did not fade, but for this man she could make an exception.

She walked beside him silently, pondering how to help him achieve his dreams and live up to his obligations at the same time.

"I still don't see why you insist on keeping your involvement with the motorcars a secret. Quentin doesn't."

"Quentin makes his own rules," Jared laughed. "He uses his claim of being half-American to excuse every outrageous thing he's ever done. I am the silent partner in our venture." He paused thoughtfully. "Actually, it was James's idea to keep my work on the automobile quiet."

"Really?" Surprise coursed through her.

"Indeed." Jared nodded. "I frankly did not care one way or the other, but it was James's opinion that my activity would cast a bad light on the family name—a Grayson working with his hands and all that, you know."

"God forbid," she said sarcastically.

He pointedly ignored her comment. "At any rate, James was the head of the family and I had always trusted his advice. He was clever and competent. James never lacked for confidence either. He always seemed to know the correct thing to do, the right path to take."

"You miss him, don't you?"

Jared sighed. "I miss his counsel and his guidance. I can't help but think, if he were still alive, he would not have to resort to marriage to solve the family's woes. Although," he threw her a mischievous grin. "I can't help but be grateful it has come to this."

He glanced at her and she tried not to smile. It wouldn't do to let him know she shared his gratitude. Not yet.

"There is a race at the end of the month," he said in an ofthand manner. "Outside London to Bath and back, a mere two hundred miles. A trifling compared to the Paris-Bordeaux race. Still, even if we can match the pace set there, and that will be difficult at best, the contest should take at least a day."

Cece stopped short and stared in astonished delight. "Don't tell me you'll drive in the race?"

He shook his head. "I am the silent partner, remember?" Jared smiled ruefully. "I'll be there to cheer Quentin on, nothing more."

She narrowed her eyes in annoyed disbelief. "I don't understand you at all. Doesn't it bother you to let someone else take credit for your work?"

He studied her for a long moment. "I know what I've accomplished." he said quietly and shrugged. "I daresay that's all that really matters in life."

He turned and strode down the path. For a moment she stared motionless at his tall, retreating figure. With each new day she learned more and more about this man. And nearly each new facet of his personality, every unsuspected nuance of his character, only served to endear him to her. Even his reasons for marriage were quickly paling beside the nobler aspects of his nature.

Still, there was that bothersome attitude of his about teaching her to drive. Cece grinned abruptly and dashed to catch up with him. That was one character flaw she would neither forgive nor forget. She was more than willing to pit her determination against his. The more she thought about it. the more delightful the prospect. Jared might well have kept her far removed from his automobile today, but Cece would drive the motorcar, sooner or later, with or without his help.

"What do you think of Graystone Castle?"

Cece hadn't even noticed the turn in the lane that brought the castle into view. The massive structure loomed in the distance, a benevolent stone giant guarding over the green fields, hills and valleys. The building was not exactly what she'd pictured in her mind. She'd imagined the kind of fantasy creation that graced the pages of children's fairy tales, all turrets and spires, white marble walls and blue tile roofs. No, Jared's seemed a very practical sort of castle.

With a fair amount of concentration, one could dimly identify the original building, constructed in the 1300s, according to Lady Olivia. Succeeding generations, in the name of progress and modernization and remodeling, had added addition upon addition, wing upon wing, until the castle seemed more a title of endearment than a definition. Nonetheless, every new builder must have cared about the old place. Each annex matched in material if not necessarily in style. Today, the castle squatted comfortably like an ancient wise woman, with her own secrets and knowledge, in silent observation of the world around her.

"I like it," she said decisively. "It's very much a home and not at all what I expected. I find it quite charming."

"Oh?" He raised a skeptical brow. "I thought surely you would dislike it. It's so—what is that phrase?—oh yes. 'cold, ugly and out-of-date.'"

"Jared, if we are to get along together now and in the future, you must remember one thing about me." She leveled him her best no-nonsense look. "I simply hate it when people throw my own words back in my face."

A smile quirked the corners of his lips. "Even when you're wrong?"

She lifted her chin and cast him a pleasant smile of her own. "Especially when I'm wrong."

"An interesting assortment of people you've collected here, Olivia," Millicent said.

"Do you think so?" Olivia murmured.

Millicent studied the assembly gathered in the grand parlor to await the announcement for dinner. Henry and Phoebe chatted near the fireplace with Jared and Sir Humphrey Cresswell, a rotund, aging widower with an inflated opinion of his effect on the fairer sex. His daughter, Sofia, a somewhat overblown blond creature with a penchant for the type of seductive flirtation that would no doubt lead her to trouble one day, perched on the edge of a sofa perilously close to an obviously flattered Quentin. Emily stood beside the couple with a polite, strained smile on her lovely face.

Millicent narrowed her eyes in consideration.

Could Emily be at all interested in Quentin? What a charming idea. She would have to pursue that thought at a later time.

In another corner of the room, Cece appeared to be in an animated discussion with Lady Linnea DeToulane and Lord Nigel Radcliffe. The red-haired beauty, now in her third widowhood, was notorious for choosing husbands extremely old, extremely wealthy and preferably infirm. Between marriages, in spite of all efforts toward discretion, she was as well known for her enthusiastic pursuit of pleasure as for her discriminating choice in spouses.

Nigel Radcliffe was rumored to be her latest paramour. A bit older than Quentin, the charming rogue was considered one of the most eligible bachelors in England, and one of the most evasive. He appeared not in the least bit close to settling down, to the chagrin of his family and the disappointment of hopeful young misses everywhere.

Millicent shook her head. "What is going on here, Olivia?"

"A simple gathering of houseguests, nothing more." Olivia said innocently.

"A simple gathering?" Millicent stared in disbelief. "This is anything but simple." She cast Olivia an assessing glance. "You do know about Nigel and that woman, don't you?"

Olivia shrugged. "Gossip, nothing more."

Millicent snorted in a most unladylike manner. "You know as well as I do, even the
Times
is not always as accurate as London gossip. As for your other guests ..." She gestured toward the blonde cooing at her nephew. "Have you watched the way that offspring of Cresswell's is attempting to sink her fang into Quentin? And I've seen her casting the same sort of hungry looks toward Jared."

Olivia shook her head in reproach. "She's simply an extremely friendly and outgoing young lady."

"Friendly and outgoing?" Millicent could scarce believe her ears. "She is well on her way to becoming a genuine tart, if she's not one already."

"Millicent!" Olivia stared, eyes wide with apparent shock. "I cannot believe you would say such a thing about that charming child."

"I can say that and more." Millicent said sharply. "Although I must admit she comes by her manner naturally. That old goat of a father of hers has cast carnal glances at every feminine ankle here, including yours and mine."

"Isn't it nice to know we can still turn a head or two?" Olivia said lightly.

"Olivia!" Why on earth was the woman so obtuse tonight? "I would not trust him around any of us, especially the girls."

Olivia patted her gently on the arm. "You really must keep your voice down."

Millicent fairly sputtered with indignation.

"Did I remember to thank you for encouraging Quentin to stay here with the other guests?" Olivia said. "I thought it would be best, with so many activities scheduled. Why, there is a hunt first thing in the morning, and I've planned a formal dinner for tomorrow night with a few additional guests from the neighborhood expected. It should be lovely. Tonight, of course, we are dining somewhat casually. By the way, do you think a room in the west wing would suit Quentin?"

"Whatever." Millicent said absently. She still could not figure out exactly what Olivia was up to. It gnawed at her mind like a rat with a crust of bread.

"With the exception of the Whites, I've put the other guests in the west wing as well." Olivia said casually.

Millicent barely noted her words, her thoughts too full trying to determine Olivia's plan. She'd known her friend far too many years not to recognize that she did very little without an ulterior purpose. But this odd mix of guests made no appreciable sense whatsoever. "Yes, yes. I'm sure whatever quarters you've arranged will be fine."

"With just the barest luck." Olivia said quietly, signaling her butler to announce dinner, "it should be very fine indeed."

"You do see, don't you, my dear, how marriage can ultimately ensure a woman's independence?" Linnea DeToulane said.

Cece leaned forward with interest. "But I thought for a woman to be truly independent she had to throw off the shackles of marriage and face life on her own two feet."

"Her sister says she reads a lot," Jared said confidentially from his position at the head of the table. Cece sat to his right, Lady DeToulane to his left.

"Well, she is quite obviously reading the wrong thing." Linnea said firmly. "And believe me, I know what I'm talking about."

Jared leaned toward Cece. "Linnea has recently killed off her third husband."

"My, that is impressive," Cece murmured, not quite sure whether to believe him or not.

"Who's killed off whom?" Sir Humphrey said from Cece's other side.

"Jared," Linnea chided. "you will give the poor child a completely erroneous impression of me. I adored each and every one of my husbands. How many did you say?"

"Three." Quentin said with a grin, seated between Linnea and that obnoxious Cresswell girl.

"Are you certain?" Linnea's brows pulled together in a pondering expression. "Let me think, there was ..." She fell silent, obviously preoccupied with the count of dead husbands. This woman no doubt lived her life perched precariously close to the edge of scandal. Cece stared with rapt fascination.

Linnea's expression brightened. "Three. He's right, it was three."

"I hope you do not plan on counting deceased husbands one day." Jared growled the words near Cece's ear. A tremor of delight shivered through her at the nearness of his lips.

"I don't know, Jared," she said lightly. "I have always believed anything worth doing was worth doing to the best of one's ability. And I can count ever so much higher than three."

His eyes sparkled with amusement, his voice weighing heavy with his threat or his promise. "I plan on living a full and very long life."

"I shall count on it." Her words were little more than a whisper. His gaze captured hers. For a moment it was as if there was no one else in the room, in the world, but the two of them. Cece longed to lean forward, cup his chin in her hand and pull his lips to hers. She yearned to lose herself in his taste, his scent, his strength.

"See that you do." His eyes reflected her own desire. She wanted nothing more than to be in his arms again. She wanted what she'd sampled, ever so briefly, in Paris. She wanted the excitement of love and the sheer exhilaration of unabashed passion. And she had no doubt that, in that kind of lesson. Jared would be anything but a reluctant teacher.

Shrill laughter shattered the moment between them, and Cece started abruptly, as if she and Jared had been caught in a scandalous embrace. A knowing smile touched his lips and he glanced away, down the long table. She followed his gaze to the Cresswell girl, fluttering her eyelashes at Quentin. who appeared much more amused than aroused.

"Your mother certainly has selected an interesting array of guests." Cece said under her breath.

"Indeed." Jared narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and studied his mother at the far end of the table. "One wonders what she is planning."

"Planning?" Curiosity jabbed Cece. "Whatever do you mean? Surely this is no more than a cordial gathering?"

"I wonder ..." Jared paused and continued to watch his mother. Olivia caught his eye and nodded pleasantly. "My mother never does anything without a great deal of forethought. And this assembly is not what I would have expected of her."

"What do you mean?"

"Just a suspicion ..." Jared pulled his gaze from Olivia and back to Cece. "Cresswell and his daughter are not among my mother's most intimate friends. I would have thought them far too brash for her. And discretion is not a term one would apply to Sir Humphrey. They are acquaintances, nothing more. Nigel is an old friend of mine and, as such, his presence here is not unusual. But Linnea ... while I have always been fond of her, I would never have imagined my mother felt the same. Linnea is rather—"