The Wedding Affair (34 page)

He looked a fright, she thought. His hair was wildly mussed; there was a shadow of beard on his jaw; and he had picked up the same shirt he’d worn yesterday instead of searching the wardrobe for a clean one. This was a far cry from the cool and elegant man with whom she had shared a London townhouse for three months.

“There’s no need for you to rush around to escape,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to make another scene.”

He didn’t look at her as he pulled buckskins from the wardrobe. “I’m only going for a ride. Long and hard—and alone.”

Only going for a ride?
In London—and here at Halstead, before today—he would not have set foot outside his bedroom in such a state, no matter what activity he had planned. Though Penelope had not needed such a clear demonstration to understand his state of mind, there was no denying the evidence. She had sought to change her husband, and what a transformation she had wrought!

“I was just trying to make things better,” she said, and he shot a twisted smile at her and opened the door.

Etta was outside, and the earl stepped back with a courtly air to admit her. A moment later he was gone, and the latch clicked with an awful finality.

Etta stood just inside the room with her mouth hanging open, staring at Penelope. The tray she carried took on an ominous slant, the china chocolate pot sliding unheeded. “My lady!”

“Oh, do stop going on about my hair, Etta,” Penelope said impatiently. “I don’t know why you even try to control it overnight, anyway. It’s a wasted effort to braid when it starts coming down the minute you finish.” She tried to brush the wiry mass—even bushier than usual—back from her face. Perhaps her hair helped explain why the earl had been eager to leave the room rather than look at her any longer.

But she understood the urge he felt to get out into the fresh air, to be active—and to avoid other humans. Horses didn’t ask questions.

Penelope reached up to push the bed curtains out of the way. As she moved, she felt the rush of cold air against her skin and realized Etta hadn’t been looking at her hair after all. The maid was staring at the indecent display where Penelope’s torn nightgown gaped open all the way down her chest and beyond.

“My lady, I am horrified.
Horrified!
”

“It’s only a nightgown, Etta. I must own two dozen so this one will hardly be missed.” Irritated, Penelope pushed the blankets back. She couldn’t bear to stay in bed any longer and think about the previous night. The earl was planning to clear his mind with a furious ride; perhaps she would go for a long, long walk.

“It’s not the loss of a nightgown, my lady. It’s the… the wantonness.”

“Wantonness? What on earth do you mean?”

Etta stuck her jaw out. “Only a common trollop would cavort around in a nightgown that’s torn from top to bottom. I knew no good would come from this scheme of sharing a room.”

“
Cavort?
”

“Making
you
into a lady is impossible—as I told your father when he hired me.”

Penelope kept a thoughtful silence as Etta helped her dress, with the maid muttering all the while. When the last button was fastened and the final hairpin in place, and Etta began to pick up the debris, Penelope rose from the dressing table. “You were quite right about the difficulty of making me into a lady, Etta, and there’s no need for you to ruin your reputation by continuing to serve a hopeless cause. Pack your things. I’m sure the coach to London stops at Steadham village. You can wait at the coaching inn.”

***

Charlotte’s riding lesson had just ended when Olivia reached the lawn at the back of the house. The pony ambled off toward the stables with a groom in charge, while Charlotte’s nurse led her toward the house. When Charlotte saw her mother, she broke free from Nurse’s hand and came running across the lawn. Not far behind her, the duke strolled toward them, looking indecently pleased with himself.

Olivia wanted to kick him, but instead she listened to Charlotte’s triumphant recital with all the patience she could muster. When the peals of childish glee came to an end, Olivia sent her daughter off to the nursery, waiting with lips pursed until the child and Nurse were out of earshot. Only then did she turn to face Simon, and the first thing her gaze fell on was the sapphire stickpin gleaming brazenly in his neckcloth.

As though it was a trophy, she thought, and rage rose in her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “Giving my daughter pony rides as if this is some sort of village fair—”

The duke pulled back as if she’d slapped him. “It wasn’t just a pony ride—it was a lesson in managing a horse. What’s wrong with that?”

“You didn’t have to take charge yourself.
That’s
what’s wrong!”

He frowned. “You would prefer me assigning the task to the head groom?”

“And you didn’t have to carry out this performance on the lawn!”

“The lawn is softer. If Charlotte was to take a fall—which I made certain she wouldn’t, of course—this would be far safer for her than the stable yard, and here the pony couldn’t possibly be distracted or spooked by another horse.”

The fact that all his arguments were sensible ones only made Olivia more furious. “But you would never have thought of giving her a riding lesson if you hadn’t been showing off for the duchess, would you?”

“Of course I would. As soon as I saw that ridiculous stick horse of hers, I thought,
There’s a child who needs a pony.
”

“So you used my daughter as a tool. A device to convince your mother that you’re—”
Seriously thinking of marrying me.
The words were so ridiculous Olivia couldn’t even bring herself to say them. “You were showing your mother how much you enjoy being a family man.”

“Speaking of my mother,” the duke said, “perhaps we should take this discussion somewhere else so she cannot observe us from her window.”

“Then you admit you chose this location because she would be likely to see!”

“Nothing of the sort.” He offered his arm, and Olivia reluctantly let him guide her into the garden. “I must remind you that you agreed to take part in this performance.”

“For myself, yes. But I never agreed to let my daughter play a part in your hoax. She’s only a baby. She doesn’t understand that what you do and say means nothing.”

“Olivia, it’s not as if I’ve hurt her in any way. Charlotte’s already told you how much fun she had. She even asked if she could ride again tomorrow.”

“But she can’t,” Olivia said, “because tomorrow is the wedding, and you—along with everyone else on the estate—will be far too busy for riding lessons. By the day after, we will be at home in the cottage once more, with no ponies and no indulgent dukes to walk alongside.”

She saw the very instant he understood why she was objecting, for his jaw tightened.
Of course
, she thought.
His Arrogance doesn’t like to have anyone point out the error of his ways!

She went on a little more gently, “When the excitement is over, Charlotte will not understand why her great friend the duke doesn’t come around any more. Please don’t pay such attentions to her. Don’t make things harder for her.”

“Do you want me to ignore her altogether or just stop being polite to her?”

“I want you to stop petting and spoiling her and treating her like a princess! And stop encouraging your mother to do so. She’s already ordered the dressmakers to create an entire wardrobe for Charlotte.”

“That was none of my doing,” the duke protested.

“Not directly, perhaps, but the duchess would never have done such a thing if she hadn’t believed your intention is to make Charlotte a part of the family.”

“That’s good news. The fact she’s convinced, I mean.”

Olivia gave a furious little shriek.

“All right,” the duke said. “No more riding lessons.”

“An easy enough promise, since there will be no time for them.” She considered. “No more visits to the nursery, either. And no seeking Charlotte out if she happens to be playing within sight of the duchess. In fact, don’t seek her out at all.”

“Are you finished?”

She didn’t trust his mild tone of voice. “If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”

They walked on in silence, approaching the arched footbridge over the brook just as an arrow zinged from a bridesmaid’s bow, ricocheted off the edge of the target, and sent Viscount Chadwick scurrying for cover.

The duke let out a low whistle. “I thought Chadwick had more sense.”

“One more thing,” Olivia said suddenly. “No gifts sent upstairs in your name—in fact, no gifts at all.”

“No
more
gifts,” the duke agreed.

Olivia stopped walking. “What have you done?”

“Nothing big, just a riding crop that isn’t even new. I found it in the tack room, a small one that probably belonged to Daphne. I sent it up to the nursery so Charlotte can use it on the hobbyhorse for practice.”

Olivia shook her head. “How will I ever explain to my daughter, as she’s living in a cottage, why she has such strong memories of an enormous house and a nursery with servants and a duke teaching her to ride a pony?”

His voice grew suddenly stern. “You’ll tell her she was a guest at a house party, Lady Reyne. No more, no less. As are you, in case you need the reminder.”

Fifteen

Olivia stared at him as if he’d stolen the last rays of sunshine from the world, and suddenly Simon realized how very much she and her daughter looked alike. The perfect oval of the face, the soft curve of eyebrow, the slender neck and well-shaped head—all were identical.

And as for the look of reproach in the huge hazel eyes speckled with gold, Charlotte had looked at him in precisely the same way when he had told her it was time for her lesson to end.

Olivia’s voice was low and sweet. “How kind of Your Grace to make my position clear, in case I had forgotten myself.”

“Olivia. I didn’t mean—”

“A moment ago you called me by my title. I suggest you remember it in future. Thank you for your escort, sir.” As they reached the end of the arched footbridge, she released his arm and, without a backward glance, went to join Kate Blakely and Andrew Carlisle as they stood watching the archery match.

Simon paused at the end of the footbridge, feeling foolish and very much at loose ends. Suddenly becoming aware that Lady Stone was watching him from her absurdly fancy chair on the little knoll, he tried not to catch her eye, but to no avail. She raised a hand to summon him, and he smothered a curse and joined her and the tedious colonel.

“Nice stickpin, Somervale,” Lady Stone said. “I have always had a weakness for gentlemen who can wear jewels without looking like fops.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Her gaze drifted off to rest on Olivia. “Of course, you should take better care of your playthings. You seem to be growing careless.”

What in the world was the harridan talking about? The stickpin, perhaps; had she seen it drop in the drawing room? Or was she—somehow—referring to Olivia?

Guilt lent a sharp edge to Simon’s voice. “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“Oh, no—of course you don’t.” Lady Stone gave a little cackle. “You told your mama you met Lady Reyne in London and danced at a ball with her.”

“What of it, ma’am?”

“Lady Reyne’s only Season was four years ago… the same winter you spent in Greece, as I recall.”

There was no way out except through, Simon told himself. “Make of it what you wish.”

“Oh, I shall. I wonder whether it will be more amusing to tell the duchess or not to tell her. Perhaps you will advise me on that question, Somervale.” She shifted in her chair. “Colonel, a guinea says the next three shots all miss the center circle.”

“Only a guinea? What a miser you are, Lucinda.”

“I’ll take your bet, Lady Stone,” Simon said suddenly. “I say at least one will hit the mark. Only let’s make it more interesting. Ten guineas?”

Lady Stone looked down her nose at him. “Twenty, and I’m in.”

“Done.” After all, Simon thought, what was a little genteel blackmail between friends?

The colonel shook his head sadly, but he didn’t comment.

Neither of the next two shots hit the center of the target—exactly as Simon had expected. One of them stuck feebly off to the side; the other struck at an angle and slid down the surface into the grass.

However, the next archer to pick up a bow was his sister, and as Daphne pulled her bowstring taut, Simon began to have second thoughts. Deliberately losing a bet was one thing—a far more tactful way to buy silence than simply handing over a bribe. But if Daphne loosed an arrow straight into the target and Lady Stone ended up owing him twenty guineas instead of pocketing a payment as he’d intended…

Slowly and carefully, Daphne sighted along her arrow. Just as she released her grip, one of the bridesmaids let out a squeal and pointed at something behind Simon.