Wed at Leisure (2 page)

“I do believe this dance is free,” Kate said, tilting her head in silent challenge. “But I am a bit out of breath. Would you settle for a stroll about the room?”

“Your wish is my command.” He steered Kate away from Lindley, oddly happy to have disentangled the two of them.

“I confess, I am astonished to see you in Brighton. I understood you to be a man of habit and these last two years you have decamped home at the end of the London Season.”

“I am flattered that you have noticed my comings and goings.”

Her eyes narrowed and a surge of anticipation filled him at what she would next say.

“It is rather hard not to notice,” she said, pointedly perusing his form. Yes, her favorite form of insult, that of his tailor. Or more his valet, as it was not his tailor’s fault that these two patterns had been matched together. The more Kate noticed, the more determined Peter was to allow his valet his questionable taste. “Such a relief when your sartorial mishaps no longer offend my eyes.”

“Never fear, Miss Mansfield. I am only here for a week at most. I shall have to make the most of these few moments we have together.”

“Don’t make too much of them.”

“You wound me.”

She laughed. “The one thing I never have to worry about from you, Peter, is that anything I say could hurt you. You exist simply to torture me.”

Perhaps it was the use of his Christian name, so rarely said, but for one instant he was reminded clearly of why he was drawn to her again and again, acrimony aside. She was a part of his youth, a part of the green earth and the rolling hills. Yes, she had acquired that town bronze, but she was still the Kate he’d longed to kiss for more years than he could remember.

The thought startled him. But not so surprising really. She was a pretty young woman and he was a normal man who reacted to such beauty with the desire to possess it. Bodily.

“So silent, Your Grace.”

If she knew his thoughts, perhaps she’d be silenced, too.

She stopped walking, and accommodatingly, he stopped, as well. “And how do you do?” she was saying. He looked about. There was nothing there but a column, holding up the ceiling.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, there you are, Your Grace. I mistook this handsome and oh so silent piece of marble for you for a moment.”

He shook his head even as he laughed. “I’ll tell you, Kate. I was thinking of your mouth . . . and how you use it in the most infuriating ways.”

“Y
ou should be nicer to Orland.” It wasn’t the first time her stepmother had said such a thing, but as always, Kate ignored the hissed words. Henrietta had been a Mansfield for nine years now, married barely a year after Kate’s mother died of influenza. At first, Kate had resented the young, beautiful stepmother, but soon, they were best friends. Still, as close as they were, Henrietta couldn’t possibly understand. “After all, he’s a war hero and hardly difficult to look at. And he’s the one duke with whom we have a familial acquaintance. If you truly would never consider him, then surely something could be made of the connection.”

Never consider Peter? She had once upon a time. Girlishly, she had imagined marrying every eligible man in Waterford on Lew, and the future duke, as he had been at the time, above all others. Towering above her, he had always been kind and charming. Even that day by the river.

That had been the last day it was so.

Now they couldn’t stand each other. Peter, because he knew how horrid she truly was, and Kate, because she knew he knew.

Even if Kate were interested in the duchy . . . in Peter, he was certainly not interested in her.

There had been the year that he returned from Waterloo that had proven that. He’d acted as if they were strangers, as if they hadn’t shared two shockingly emotional moments over the years.

“He has terrible taste,” Kate said with a mocking laugh. “Imagine a grown man pairing that waistcoat with those trousers? Say what you will about him, a good valet can change all that. The very fact that he doesn’t object himself is appalling.”

“That is ridiculous.” But Henrietta said nothing else on the subject.

“Perhaps,” Kate agreed, though it was an admission she made only out of deep respect and love for her stepmother. “Nonetheless, I could never consider a man without the least sense of taste.”

“Remember, dearest, how hard you worked to overcome your reputation. Walk softly here.”

At that moment, she spotted Lord Lindley across the assembly rooms. Unlike Peter, Lindley was the epitome of sartorial elegance. The Viscount was charming, handsome, and a perfect dance partner. He was actively seeking a bride and, about to enter her third Season, Kate was finally ready to consider a match.

Despite a handful of proposals over the last two years, one or two brilliant enough to satisfy her competitive spirit, she had never been tempted.

But Lindley did tempt her, because best of all, he seemed to show a preference for Kate.

And, unfortunately, for Camilla Hightower, whom he was leading out to the dance floor.

Kate refused to let her internal grimace reflect on her face. Camilla was everything Kate was not. Tall, blond, voluptuous. Known for her “sweet” disposition. In fact, she uncomfortably reminded Kate of her sister, Bianca. The perfect English beauty. Her mother would have approved.

Just as she had disapproved of Kate, who had inherited from her mother’s side and looked much like the feminine version of her dissolute uncle, the one nobody ever talked about except in hushed tones.

“Miss Hightower looks lovely tonight,” Henrietta observed. “Not as lovely as you, but it is best to be certain there is no comparison. That is, if you want Lord Lindley.”

Her stepmother was always astute, nearly more of a friend than a mother as only seven years separated them in age.

Did
she want Lord Lindley? He was a handsome man. Not overly tall, which made them well matched on the dance floor. He had reddish-brown hair, warm brown eyes, and was solidly built. She had heard other girls speak of racing hearts and trembling skin at the mere nearness of a man and while Lindley had no such effect on her, he was charming and amusing. Time spent with him was always merry.

“I’m not certain. I do want him more than any other man I’ve met.”

Kate caught the sidelong glance Henrietta shot at Peter. Why would she not let that one go? Of course, it grated that she had a single duke as a neighbor and two eligible young girls in her care.

“Mansfield looks its best in August. Plenty of hunting, beautiful weather. I think a house party would be the ideal venue for you to get to know Lord Lindley better.”

“With no Miss Hightower.”

“Naturally.”

It was an inspired idea, but it had one not-so-welcome drawback. A house party required a return to home. Or rather, a return to Hopford Manor, repository of the past, of unwanted memories and consequences she’d rather not face.

At the Hall, she was not the Catherine Mansfield who had charmed London, but instead was the childish Kate, forever caught in the patterns set during the earliest years. With distance, she’d understood this. Yet each time she returned home, the emotions and anger made it impossible to think. Impossible to be any other way. Which was why she came home rarely. Indulged her desire for a sisterly relationship through regular correspondence. After all, with distance she could pretend it was perfect. In person, she was confronted again.

And yet, she could not forestall Bianca’s entrée into society forever, and Kate refused to stand in competition with her blond, beloved sister for society’s affection.

“Will you write to Father?” Kate said finally, adding a bright smile. There was no need to dwell on the negative and forcing a smile always seemed to change her mood, as well.

N
ine days later, Peter was back at the Orland ancestral seat. It had been five months since he’d last been home and there was much to be done: meetings with his land steward and his tenants, a discussion with his younger brother about the mess of gambling debts he’d left in London for Peter to clean up. However, Reggie had done his best to avoid him, to the point that Peter almost wondered why his younger brother had even returned rather than go to his own estate. Of course, opening his estate would require expenditures and Reggie was oddly tightfisted . . . when it came to his own money.

Several days later and Reggie found him, with Lucian Dorlingsley, Viscount Asquith in tow. Peter hadn’t seen Asquith in years and certainly hadn’t known he was in town. After all, he’d be like to stay at Fairview himself, and news of a Viscount in the neighborhood, especially a young unattached one, was practically announced by town crier. Not that Watersham had a town crier.

“I’m staying with the Mansfields,” Asquith said with an odd flush. A suspicious flush.

“The younger Miss Mansfield has captured your attention?” Peter ventured.

“Always astute!” Reggie interjected. “And, as you know, Kate must marry first.”

Actually, Peter had forgotten that detail. It was hardly set in stone. Not part of some will or legal document. It was simply part of the mythos surrounding the “shrewish” Catherine Mansfield.

“I’m certain Mr. Mansfield would not wish to lose the chance of his daughter becoming a future countess.”

Asquith coughed, shifting uncomfortably.

“He doesn’t know who Luc is.”

Peter blinked twice. Started paying attention because Reggie couldn’t have said what he thought he’d said. “But you said you’re staying there,” he addressed Asquith.

“As tutor to Master Thomas. As Lucian Dore.”

“Sit, both of you.”

It took the better part of a quarter of an hour, but eventually he had the whole convoluted story. From Asquith’s case of Love at First Sight (an ailment fortunately not catching) to Reggie’s spontaneous scheme that required Luc to masquerade as a tutor in order to woo Bianca, to the fact that Bianca had actually fallen into some sort of an affair with Asquith.

“You plan to marry her,” Peter confirmed.

“Did I not say as much?” Luc said, looking somewhat incredulous. “I
am
a gentleman.”

“Not that you had a problem deceiving the entire family . . . as a gentleman.”

“I know,” Asquith admitted, “but what is done is done. And now . . .”

“Now, my brother,” Reggie interrupted. “We require your help.”

“No.”

“But you haven’t heard us out.”

“Reggie, I’ve known you for all of your twenty-four years. I refuse to be embroiled in one of your pranks. And now you’ve involved Asquith . . . I only pray this ends happily because I would not blame Mansfield his legitimate anger and request for restitution. In fact, I insist you inform him of this shameful act immediately.”

“Luc’s intentions are honorable. Please, Peter, hear us out.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. He
should
send them away unheard, but he had to admit he was curious. What ridiculous scheme had Reggie concocted now?

“Next week is the Mansfields’ house party.”

Peter nodded. He had known, of course, about the upcoming house party at Hopford Manor. And as neighbors, his family was invited as a matter of course. Naturally, he would attend a selection of the events, to be polite. It was a rare event. He couldn’t remember the last time the Mansfields had hosted such an affair. However, it meant Kate would return. In fact, likely she was the very reason for its occurrence. He could expect the guests to be a selection of eligible, marriage-minded men and a few young ladies less attractive than Kate.

“Kate is coming home. Thus the party.”

Peter nodded.

“We want you to attend.”

Peter nodded again, a small smile playing about his lips. His brother was taking an awfully long time to come to the point.

“This is a terrible idea, Reggie,” Luc said suddenly. “Apologies, Orland, for involving you in this mess.”

“Luc, it will work.”

“He’s right. I should have courted her as myself. But one lie begets another and here we are asking your brother—”

“Asking me to do what?” Peter interrupted finally, tired of the overdramatic little scene.

“To woo Kate,” Reggie said, turning to face Peter. “It’s a smashing plan and we’d likely have to resort to it even if Mansfield knew Luc to be a viscount.”

Woo Kate.

The idea was completely absurd.

“Woo her?” he repeated the phrase in his head. “Certainly she will have no lack of male suitors who will likely achieve the same ends you desire from me. With more chance of ultimate success. If the problem is that Kate must marry before Bianca may, courtship will hardly be enough.”

“Oh, don’t worry, big brother, that I am asking you to sacrifice yourself in such a way for your lifetime. A week will be plenty of time for a distraction and to ensure Kate feels settled enough that she allows Bianca and Luc to become engaged.”

The plan was deeply flawed. That much was obvious to him. In fact, Reggie and Luc’s whole ridiculous charade was half-cocked and destined for not only failure but chaos. An earl pretending to be a tutor? It was like some Canterbury Tale or one of Shakespeare’s comedies. Not the stuff of a happy marriage.

And yet . . .

Woo Kate?

He had watched her in London this past spring, all dark beauty, intense eyes, and quick, often scathing wit. But each time he was presented with the flirtatious, confident woman, he couldn’t shake the memory on which the present was overlaid: that of a young girl, chin quivering with suppressed emotion, vulnerable and desperately lost. He remembered feeling equally lost inside, not knowing how to help her but understanding that that emotion was an attempt to mask the hurt feelings of a rejected child.

He’d recognized those feelings well. After all, his relationship with his late father had not been dissimilar. But she’d lost her mother that same afternoon. Returned home to learn that she had passed, even as she had professed to hate her only an hour earlier. That moment had hit Peter hard because it made him think again about his own complex relationship with his father.