The Wedding Affair (23 page)

Since he’d been hoping to do exactly that, Simon was particularly annoyed that Daphne had hit the nail precisely on its proverbial head. He hadn’t bothered to deny his plans because a protest would only have given her more reason for suspicion. Instead, he’d contented himself with staying on the opposite side of the group from his sister and hurrying the riders along as best he could, while he daydreamed about what he’d wanted to be doing instead.

Taking Olivia out to her garden for tea—along with more creative forms of refreshment.

But a cottage garden in Steadham village in the middle of the afternoon was hardly a private enough spot for the sort of tryst Simon had in mind. To be honest, it had barely been secluded enough at midnight, considering the enthusiastic response of his lady.

Definitely his attention would be better spent in concocting a smoother scheme for their next rendezvous. Doing his planning in private might be wise, too, since even thinking about making love to Olivia again was enough to stir his blood.

“Chadwick arrived this afternoon,” Andrew said. “Warren and Ponsonby should be in the village by evening, and the rest of the group are on their way. You did say you’d hired the entire inn to house your friends until the wedding? You’ll need it—but with three more single gentlemen on hand, tomorrow should go more easily no matter what Daphne has planned.”

“An archery contest, I believe.”

“Twelve young ladies loose on the range with bows and arrows in hand?” Andrew shook his head. “I believe I’ll stay in my room with a head cold. Charles can take my place—it’s his turn. Where did he disappear to today, anyway?”

“He rode over to Stoneyford.”

“I suppose he found something in disarray, since he has not yet returned.”

“More surprising if he
didn’t
find something in disarray.”

“Perhaps his lady wished to closely inspect the property.”

Simon paused, and the gelding stamped and snorted in halfhearted protest. “Did he take Lady Townsend along? He didn’t mention it.”

“You didn’t notice she disappeared at the same time he did? What’s the matter with you, Simon? You must have had other things on your mind today.” He added slyly, “Lady Reyne could knock the sense out of most men with no more than a look.”

Simon felt a sudden urge to wipe the smirk off his friend’s face. Suddenly the stable was even more uncomfortable than facing the bridesmaids. He turned the currycomb over to a groom to complete the job and walked over to the house. Andrew ignored the cold shoulder Simon was attempting to give him and strolled along.

The butler greeted them in the front hall. “Your Grace, the duchess has requested you to call upon her in her private sitting room as soon as possible.”

“As soon as possible?” Andrew gave a soundless whistle. “He’s up to his neck in trouble this time—eh, Greeley?”

The butler said stolidly, “I have no opinion on the matter, Mr. Carlisle.”

The hell he didn’t, Simon thought. Greeley was just too diplomatic to express his thoughts.

Simon considered letting his mother wait while he washed up and changed his clothes, but in the end, he went directly upstairs to the duchess’s rooms—the ones she had chosen for herself after the death of her husband, when she had left the principal suite for Simon to occupy. Choosing her own view, she had often said, was one of the few privileges of being the dowager rather than the duchess.

When his mother’s maid admitted him, the duchess was sitting in her favorite chair in the bay window overlooking the gardens with a glass of ratafia in her hand. Kate Blakely perched on the edge of the nearest sofa.

The duchess looked up at Simon. “The ruins of the abbey must be cleared at once.”

He was absurdly relieved to discover the source of her concern. “Sir Jasper Folsom owns the property. I can discuss the matter with him, but I cannot compel him to take action.”

“Don’t be foolish, Simon. Of course he will do as you like, for you’re the duke, and he’s a mere baronet.”

“The remains of the abbey have stood there for two hundred years. This is the first collapse I’ve heard about—and I’ve wandered through those ruins for the past two decades. Would it not be more sensible to simply forbid future expeditions? In any case, after this week Daphne will be in Oxfordshire, and no one else at Halstead is apt to organize such a party.”

“After an accident such as this, we cannot take chances again.”

Miss Blakely cleared her throat. “Ma’am, Miss Emily was climbing on the wall when it collapsed. If not for her own actions, she would have been perfectly safe.”

The duchess’s eyes widened. “Climbing on the wall? Who dared to accuse her of such a thing?”

“Lady Daphne did.” Kate Blakely’s voice was wry. “Miss Emily and Miss Horatia seem to have been attempting to peer over the barrier to check whether the duke was within range.”

“Indeed. One must wonder why they bothered, when he has been so very disobliging to all the girls. Thank you, Miss Blakely.”

The phrase was a dismissal, and obediently Miss Blakely stood and curtseyed.

The duchess said sharply, “What is the stain on your skirt?”

“Moss, Your Grace. From kneeling on the stone floors of the abbey. I should have changed before coming to report to you, I know, but…”

Simon moved a little closer. “But knowing how anxious you must have been to hear all the news, Miss Blakely did not delay for even an instant to change her clothes.”

“Well, your habit is quite ruined,” the duchess said. “You must have a new one.”

Kate Blakely’s jaw was set, but her voice was level and calm. “At the moment, Your Grace, I have neither time nor inclination for sewing and no funds for materials.”

“Nonsense. The dressmakers I brought down from London to see to the bridesmaids’ gowns have nothing to do. Send the modiste to me immediately, and I shall set her staff to work. I’m certain she can find something left over in the cupboards that will be suitable for you.”

Miss Blakely bobbed another curtsey. She had turned pale, but she was still in control of her temper as she left the room. Simon thought it had been a close-run thing.

“Very generous of you,” Simon said dryly when Miss Blakely was gone.

“Generous? What, giving the girl a dress or two? It’s simply common sense. She can’t look like a ragamuffin while she’s chaperoning the young ladies.”

“Perhaps you could afford new materials, at least.”

“There’s no time to order from London. I suppose she’ll need a simple ball gown too, come to think of it, and something to wear for the wedding… But that isn’t why I wanted to talk to you, Simon. Daphne has been telling me that you were paying particular attention to Lady Reyne on this outing today.”

His sister hadn’t taken long to make her report. Simon should have expected that Daphne would rush straight to their mother.
Once a talebearer, always a talebearer.

The duchess studied him over the rim of her wineglass. “I was not aware that Lady Reyne had even been invited on the excursion to the abbey.”

“What a surprise, Mama. I thought you knew everything.” Simon sat down in the chair matching his mother’s.

“Is it true?”

“That I was paying particular attention to Lady Reyne? Quite true.”

The duchess sniffed scornfully and her expression changed. “Do I detect an aroma of horse on you, Simon?”

“You did say you wanted to see me as soon as possible.”

“Well, I
didn’t
want to smell you straight from the stables. Is this how your new—acquaintance—has affected your manners?”

“Mama, cut line. I know what you’re plotting. With marriage in the air, you’d be quite content if my eye lighted on one of Daphne’s friends.”

“Simon, whatever makes you think I’m trying to marry you off? Though as long as you’ve brought the matter up yourself—”

Simon snorted.

“You’re getting close to thirty, and it’s time to see to the succession. Any one of those girls would be quite an acceptable match for the Duke of Somervale.”

“I’m still closer to twenty-five than I am to thirty, and you know perfectly well my taste runs to ladies who are more mature than Daphne’s friends.”

“Yes, yes. But not to
marry
, Simon.”

And my taste doesn’t run to marriage—but there’s no sense in admitting that just now.
“Why not? Lady Reyne is hardly past her prime. She must be twenty-three at most.” He paused, but when the duchess did not comment, Simon said deliberately, “She’s also a proven breeder—you must appreciate that fact.”

“A
girl
,” the duchess said.

Simon tried to hide his smile. “My intentions toward Lady Reyne are of the most serious. I suggest you adjust yourself to the idea.”

He settled back and waited for the explosion. Watching his mother sputter and stammer and argue was going to be fun.

But he soon realized that Iris Somervale hadn’t been thirty years a duchess for nothing. “Very well. If I am to welcome Lady Reyne as a potential bride for my son, then welcome her I shall. Wait, please, while I write a note.”

“A note?” Simon asked warily.

The duchess smiled, showing more teeth than amusement. “Inviting her to dinner tonight, of course. Since all the servants are quite busy, perhaps you’ll take it down to Greeley to be sent to the village. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to deliver it to Lady Reyne yourself?”

***

The duke had been as good as his word, for when Olivia entered the cottage the first thing she saw was Maggie, feather duster in hand. The maid looked very much like a whirlwind as she shook the duster around the sitting room.

Or perhaps, Olivia thought as she took a closer look,
thundercloud
would be a better description. “Do be careful, Maggie. This cottage contains little enough of value, but I must warn that breaking things will not end in you being released to go back to Halstead. The duke himself arranged for you to be here.”

“Duke indeed,” Maggie muttered. “Why is he concerning himself with the likes of me instead of taking care of his own affairs? That’s what I’d like to know!” She gave the duster a final flourish, leaving a dainty vase that had belonged to Olivia’s mother rocking on the corner shelf.

Unwilling to encourage that line of reasoning, Olivia went upstairs to change her riding habit for a day dress. She arrived in the kitchen a few minutes later to find a dozen jars of grape jelly neatly lined up on the table; her pride prickled at accepting the gift, but at least Mrs. Greeley had shown restraint and not sent over a cartload. Nurse was placidly shelling beans at the table, while Charlotte dashed around the room holding a long stick between her knees.

“Why is my daughter wielding a branch in the kitchen?” Olivia asked.

“I should think you’d recognize a horse when you see one, Miss Olivia. A dead limb from a tree, a bit of paper to draw a head, a yard or so of yarn to make mane and tail, and a ribbon to serve as reins, and she’s been content for more than an hour. You used to do the same thing yourself.”

Olivia walked around the makeshift horse and took her apron down from the hook by the door. “Did Mrs. Greeley send the beans as well? They can’t be from our garden.”

“No, for that would require magic. Somehow the last hills of our beans have been cut off right at the ground. Sir Jasper Folsom’s man dropped these off this afternoon.”

Olivia’s fingers tightened on the apron’s ties for a moment. She doubted Sir Jasper had intended the gift as a neighborly good deed or even charity, but instead as a reminder.

The day when her rent would once more be due was drawing closer. But despite the bargain she had made with the Duke of Somervale, Olivia was in no better financial condition than before. The promise of an annuity was all very well, but collecting might be another matter. If she only knew what to expect, what she could rely on… What had she been thinking last night, not to insist on having a definite understanding with the duke?

But doing so—demanding a cold and practical discussion of financial terms—would have made it impossible to pretend their arrangement was anything but business. Trading her virtue for money carried an ugly name, and one she didn’t want to think about, but as long as there was no direct payment…

Don’t be foolish
, she told herself.
Just because you’d prefer not to admit the facts doesn’t mean there’s anything romantic about this bargain!

She checked the hidden fold of her skirt where she had fastened the duke’s sapphire stickpin. She had carried it with her since he had pressed it into her hand the afternoon before. Perhaps keeping it on her person was risky, since there was a chance of losing it—but she could hardly leave it anywhere in the house. If Maggie were to see it as she dusted, or if Charlotte spotted the bauble and decided it would be the perfect decoration for her horse’s mane, there would be more questions than Olivia could answer. So the sapphire rested under the edge of her apron, even though it seemed to weigh her down.