The Wedding Challenge (15 page)

“The verge of what?” Callie asked, confused.

“The verge of committing an act such as I just did, for one thing,” he replied. “Of showing to the world just how ungentlemanly are the feelings I have for you, for another.”

She stared at him, then caught the meaning of his words and blushed vividly. “Lord Bromwell!”

“You see? I lose even the art of making genteel conversation with you.”

“I see. So you are saying that if you are ‘ungentlemanly,’ it is my fault?” Callie raised her brows at him.

“I can see no other explanation for my mad behavior other than that you drive me to it,” he agreed lightly, a faint smile playing about his lips. “But surely you must know that. I think you must be in the habit of driving men mad.”

“Nay, I do believe that you are the first,” she retorted dryly.

“I cannot imagine that. It seems to me that everything about you is designed to do just that.” He looked at her, his steps slowing as he went on, “Your hair. Your eyes. The way your lips curve when you smile, so that all I can think of is touching those lips with mine.”

Callie’s color heightened, her breath coming more rapidly. “Brom…”

He stopped, and so did she, turning toward him. For a moment the very air between them seemed to vibrate with heat and hunger. Then, with an effort of will, Callie turned away.

“I fear you are not helping us—” she told him somewhat shakily, “—in our attempt to appear normal when we rejoin our friends.”

“You are right.” He took a breath and released it in a sigh. He started walking forward again, saying lightly, “So…Lady Calandra…’tis a lovely winter day for a ride, is it not?”

She let out a little laugh and fell into step beside him. So, talking of nothing, they walked back to the others, and by the time they reached their party, outwardly they seemed as always, only a little windblown from their ride.

Inside, however, was an entirely different matter. Inside, Callie did not think she would ever be quite the same.

T
HE WOMEN OF THE PARTY
were seated upon a blanket on the ground, the men still standing as they waited. Francesca and Lady Daphne, Callie noticed, were seated as far apart as they could get and still remain on the blanket, and there was a faint flush to Francesca’s cheeks, telling Callie that she was not in the best of humors. Miss Swanson and Irene were seated between them, the latter looking determinedly inexpressive and the former seeming blissfully unaware.

“Ah, Lady Calandra! And Bromwell. You naughty children, to have escaped like that,” Lady Daphne said brightly, and pointed a mockingly admonishing finger. “You will set tongues wagging with that sort of behavior.”

“Not unless someone sets out to spread such rumors, Lady Swithington,” Francesca commented sharply, sending the other woman an icy look.

“Well, of course, none of us would remark on such a thing,” Lady Daphne replied, looking wounded. “We all know what it is to be young and lively, do we not?” She smiled archly at the men.

“I think you will find that you need not be concerned about Lady Calandra’s reputation, Lady Swithington,” Irene interjected calmly. “Everyone knows that Callie’s character is above reproach.”

“Of course it is,” Bromwell agreed as he strode over to sit down beside his sister. Callie took a seat next to Francesca.

Francesca turned to her with a smile. “It is an excellent day for a ride. Did you enjoy your run?”

“Oh, yes.” Callie followed Francesca’s welcome change of subject. “Lord Bromwell’s horse is such a lovely creature. He is clearly a superior judge of horseflesh.”

“Yes, he is,” his sister agreed proudly. “Brom has always taken care of such matters for me…and for my dear late husband, as well.”

The conversation predictably veered off into a discussion of horses, and Callie sat back, letting the words flow around her, now and then tossing in a comment. She did not let herself think about what had happened between her and Bromwell earlier. That would come later tonight, when she was back in her room alone and could hug the knowledge to herself, letting the memories wash over her again.

After a cold luncheon, Callie and Francesca went for a walk, accompanied by Archie and Miss Swanson, while the others stayed behind to rest and chat. Later, after a rambling ride through the park, they turned back toward the road to London, pleasantly tired.

“Such a delightful outing,” Lady Daphne declared.

She was joined in her raptures about the day by Miss Swanson, who vowed that it was the most pleasant time she had had in London yet, and Mr. Swanson chimed in with his opinion that it had all been “capital.”

“We must have another outing,” Lady Daphne went on, smiling. “Now, what would be amusing? I know! The perfect thing—Vauxhall Garden.”

Miss Swanson clapped her hands in agreement, and Mr. Swanson and Mr. Tilford both agreed that it sounded excellent. Francesca smiled stiffly and made a vague murmur.

“Tuesday next?” Lady Daphne pressed. “Do say yes, Lady Calandra.”

Callie cast a glance at Francesca, who she suspected had no desire to go anywhere with Lady Daphne, given the tenseness of her posture.

“I am not sure,” Francesca temporized. “I believe that I may have a previous engagement.”

“But Lady Calandra can come, surely,” the other woman countered, looking not in the least displeased by the prospect of Francesca’s absence. “There will be a large party of us, after all. That should be ample chaperonage for these youngsters. Lord and Lady Radbourne will be there, will you not?” She looked appealingly at Irene and Gideon.

Irene glanced from Lady Daphne to Francesca and Callie. “Why, yes, I daresay.”

“There, you see.” Lady Daphne smiled triumphantly.

“Of course Lady Calandra is free to do as she wishes,” Francesca told her stiffly.

Callie turned to Francesca, torn. She wanted to go, but she felt a little guilty about it, as if she were deserting Francesca. “I—that is, I should go with Lady Haughston to, um…”

“Nonsense.” Francesca smiled and reached over to pat Callie on the arm. “There is no need for you to sacrifice yourself. I recall now that it is simply a visit with an old friend. You go on and have fun.”

“Then it is settled. What fun it will be.” Bromwell’s sister smiled brilliantly, and she and Miss Swanson settled into a discussion about dominoes and masks to wear to the event.

Callie fell back to ride beside Francesca and Irene. She said in a low voice, “Francesca, I can send Lady Swithington a note saying I cannot come.”

Francesca smiled at her. “No, I should feel quite terrible if I made you forego your pleasure just because I cannot bear to be in that woman’s company a few more hours. I would not countenance Lady Swithington as a chaperone, heaven knows, but if Irene and Gideon are there, it will be perfectly proper. And I know you want to go.”

“I will make sure that decorum is maintained,” Irene agreed, leaning forward to speak across Francesca.

It was common knowledge that a good deal of overly free behavior took place at Vauxhall Gardens. But as long as there were gentlemen in one’s party to discourage the bold young men who liked to stroll along the boxes, ogling unattached women, and a married lady to lend countenance to the whole affair, it was an enjoyable evening’s entertainment.

Callie had been there before in the company of her brother, and it had always seemed to her a magical sort of place, with its paths and fountains and false ruins, all bathed in the warm glow of lanterns strung along the walkways and in the surrounding trees. If that were not enough, there were the orchestra in the pavilion, dancing, wandering singers, and sometimes even acrobats who might juggle or walk along a tightrope strung over their heads.

She looked forward to the prospect of seeing it when she was not under the watchful eye of her brother, and the idea of strolling along the paths in the company of Lord Bromwell appealed to her even more.

Callie smiled over at Irene. “Thank you.” She looked at Francesca again. “If you are sure.”

“Yes, I am sure.” Francesca smiled. “I do not think even your grandmother would question your going there with a large party that included Irene and Gideon. And if you do not go without me, then I shall be forced to endure an evening in that woman’s company, which I vowed an hour ago I would not do.”

Callie cast a questioning glance at Irene, who merely shrugged and raised her eyebrows slightly.

“All right,” Callie agreed, then smiled affectionately at Francesca. “Thank you.”

“Do not be foolish. There is no reason why you should be deprived of your pleasures just because I allow that woman to overset my nerves.” She smiled at Callie. “And now I think I shall go for a little run myself and see if I can clear out my poor temper.”

She urged her horse into a trot, and soon left them and the rest of the party behind her. Callie watched Francesca ride past the others and settle into a slower pace in front of everyone else.

Callie turned to Irene. “Do you know why she was upset with Lady Swithington?”

“I’m not sure, other than the fact that Lady Swithington can be a bit of a trial. However, I have seen Francesca smile and get along with far worse, my sister-in-law included.”

Callie, who was acquainted with Lady Wyngate, the wife of Irene’s brother Humphrey, smothered a smile.

“I understand that Lady Swithington’s reputation left something to be desired,” Irene went on. “But that was years ago. I do not even remember her. And as she has been away in Wales or some such place since then, she cannot have aroused much scandal there. Or, at least, none we heard of. She is a flirt, that much is clear.” Irene seemed placidly unconcerned by the fact, given that her husband had been the object of the other woman’s flirtation. “But I cannot see why that would have bothered Francesca. I was the one who wanted to slap her.”

“You did?” Callie asked in surprise.

Irene laughed. “Well, I would have, except that Gideon kept sending me such piteous looks, hoping for rescue, that I could not help but be a trifle amused by it all.”

A smile curved the other’s woman’s mouth, and for a moment there was such a slumbrous sensual light in Irene’s eyes that Callie had to glance away, feeling that she had seen something far too private. Then the look fell away, and Irene shrugged.

“I think Francesca may have been upset by the fact that Lady Swithington kept talking about you. It was hardly the sort of thing that one could object to—how lovely you were, what delicate manners you have, how well you sit a horse. Lady Daphne was hoping to further her brother’s suit, I suppose, but it might have been wiser not to say anything, as it only reminded everyone that you were not there, but were with her brother. In other company, or if you had been some other, less well-known, young woman, it might have led to gossip.”

Callie felt her cheeks warm. “Was there talk? I did not realize we were gone so long. I—it was just so enjoyable to ride.” She looked off to the side, unwilling to face Irene’s clear golden-brown gaze.

“No. Of course not. Your reputation is such that it would take behavior far worse than that to shake it. And in any case, you were soon in sight again.” Irene paused. “Lady Swithington mentioned your connection to the duke more than once, as well. Francesca probably thought she was being encroaching.”

Callie nodded. She was still of the opinion that there must be something more than little things such as Irene had mentioned to make the usually equable Francesca so dislike Lady Swithington. But Callie was not one to gossip about her suspicions, even to Irene.

The ride home was uneventful. Lord Bromwell did not single Callie out again. She knew that his action was wise; it would not do for him to show so strong a preference for her company after having ridden all the way over to the park by her side. Still, she could not deny the fact that she missed his presence, or that she would have liked more memories to store up and go over in her mind that night as she lay in bed.

He said goodbye to her in a formal way, only the warmth that tinted his eyes revealing any special feeling for her, then remounted and left with his sister and friends. Irene and Gideon also took their leave, refusing Francesca’s offer to stay and partake of a late tea with them.

Francesca and Callie, after a look at each other, agreed that they wanted to do nothing but rest and clean up, partake of a light supper and go early to bed. Callie was glad for the time alone. Fond as she was of Francesca’s company, right now she wanted only to be alone with her thoughts. She soaked in the tub, her maid appearing periodically to warm up the water from a kettle. Then, wrapped in her dressing gown, she sat on a low stool in front of the fire, brushing out her hair and letting it dry.

She hugged her memories of this afternoon to herself, remembering each word and gesture, lingering over the kisses they had shared, recalling the look in Brom’s gray eyes when he gazed down into her face. It made her blush when she thought about what they had done and the way she had reacted to him. Even thinking about it, her blood heated once more. She had never felt this way before, and it was both delightful and alarming.

She had no idea what was going to happen or even what she wanted to happen. She knew only that she was enjoying her life more than she ever had before, that she awoke each morning with a sense of eagerness and excitement.

It would have to end. She knew that. And she also knew how little likelihood there was that it would end well. Sinclair would be bound to return to London sooner or later—or some busybody would take it upon herself to write to Callie’s brother and grandmother and let them know that the Earl of Bromwell was busily paying court to Lady Calandra. Callie had no idea what her brother would do when he found out she had been defying his direct orders not to see Bromwell, but she was not eager to find out.

She dreaded the thought of an argument with her brother, and she had no idea what she would do if he ordered her back to Marcastle for the rest of the Season. She would not allow him to dictate her life to her, but on the other hand, she could not bear the thought of a rift between them. What would she do if it came down to that? If she had to choose between Sinclair and Bromwell?

That, of course, led to the larger question of exactly what she would be choosing if she chose Bromwell. He was showing her marked attentions, but where were they leading? Indeed, where did she want them to lead?

She was not sure what Bromwell felt for her. He appeared to be smitten with her; all the signs were there. But she could not dismiss a certain uneasiness caused by Sinclair’s warning against the man. Sinclair was not unreasonable, nor was he someone who was easily upset. If he felt so strongly that she should not see Bromwell, she could not help but wonder if there was something wrong with the man, something she could not see, could not tell. Was Bromwell not serious in his pursuit? Was he playing some sort of game?

He had said nothing about his intentions, but it was still too early for that. Why, she did not even know what her own intentions were. If Bromwell were to ask for her hand tomorrow, she had no idea what she would say.

She felt about him as she had never felt about a man before. His touch made her shiver; the thought of seeing him again made her almost giddy. And when he kissed her, she ached in an utterly new and wonderful way. Any day when she did not see him seemed far emptier than her days had been in the past, and whenever he entered the room, it was as if a light had gone on inside her. Was that love?