A Gamble on Love (24 page)

“
Oh, was he not quite splendid!” Livvy
cried, clapping her hands.

“
Olivia,” said Gussie Aldershot, as
Relia was still sitting, looking down at her hands, seemingly
oblivious to all around her, “why did you never tell us you were a
member of
that
Lanning
family?”

“
But I thought you knew. Until I saw
the look on Relia’s face when Mr. Blacklock mentioned the
Prince.

“
Perhaps you might tell us how this all
came about.”

“
It is quite simple really,” Miss
Lanning said, confining herself to only one sly look at her
sister-in-law. “My grandfather was a younger son who did not wish
to enter the military or clergy. ’Tis said he was a brilliant
student, gifted in mathematics, so he searched for a bride in the
world of banking and found an only child who was heiress to an
entire banking empire. My father did well enough following in his
footsteps, but everyone says ’tis Thomas who is most like our
grandfather—truly gifted in commerce. He has enhanced the fortunes
of all who have listened to his advice. And his personal fortune is
immense. It is just that . . . well, he has never had time for
anything else. I was astounded when he wrote to say he was married,
for I could not understand where he had found time to court a
wife—”

“
Captain Alan Fortescue,” Biddeford
intoned, exercising his butler’s discretion to interrupt Miss
Lanning’s waterfall of words.

Ruthlessly, Relia gathered her wandering
thoughts and invited the captain to be seated. In spite of a
pronounced limp, Captain Fortescue was a fine figure of a man.
Tall, but still too thin from his long days of illness, with honey
brown hair and fine blue eyes with the vulnerable look of a man who
has seen more of the world than he might have wished.

“
I have come to see Mr. Lanning,” the
captain said, “but I asked Biddeford to show me in here first, as I
wished to express my thanks for the delightful party last evening.
My first in many months, Mrs. Lanning, and I truly enjoyed
myself.”

“
You are very kind, Captain,
considering . . .” Relia paused, suddenly at a loss for
words.

Captain Fortescue proffered a gentle smile.
“I daresay the evening did not end as either of us anticipated,
Mrs. Lanning. My father quite seized the bit and ran with it. But I
am here to set matters straight. You need not fear that I mean to
run in the election. After three years on the Peninsula, I wish
only to retire to my own small manor and lead a quiet life. London
is not for me. And the thought of standing up in Parliament and
making a speech quite sets my knees to quaking. Better to face a
whole regiment of Bony’s men, don’t you know?”

“
Nonsense. You would make a fine MP,”
Relia protested, even as she was swept by a wave of relief. How
very odd. She was actually glad the captain was not going to oppose
her husband. Which could only mean she wanted Thomas to
win.

Which would be perfectly dreadful. Not at all
the life she wished to lead!

Should she not, then, be wishing to share the
captain’s quiet life—thinking, yet again, what a shame it was that
she had not waited for him to come home? But here she sat,
rejoicing that the captain was bowing out, leaving the way clear
for Thomas. Who wanted political power so much he had been willing
to marry a stranger.

My husband, the
MP
. How utterly mortifying to recognize that sinful
pride was tempting her astray!

You are an insidious worm, Thomas Lanning.
Burrowing your way into my privacy, forcing me to change . . . grow
. . . move, most painfully, into a world I never wished to
know.

By some miracle wrought by strict training in
good manners, Relia upheld her portion of the conversation with
Captain Fortescue. She smiled, wished him well in his continuing
recovery. And sighed with relief when he took his leave and was led
off toward the bookroom.

There, Thomas Lanning awaited him with
considerable curiosity. And, there, the two men drank Madeira and
came to a surprising meeting of the minds. Long after the captain
took his departure, Mr. Lanning sat at his desk, lips curled into
the thin calculating look his colleagues had come to recognize as
the sign of intense action to come. There were difficult weeks
ahead, but the biggest challenge had just taken himself out of the
race. For who else could the Tories find to run?

Who else, indeed?

Relia tripped lightly down the stairs, then
followed the various twists and turns of the flagstoned corridor
that led to the estate room. Although she carried several sheets of
paper in her hand, her mind was far from the gloomy underground
hallway. Here, in the late afternoon, were the first precious
moments she had had alone since her remarkable interview with her
husband the night before. Even though she had no love for entering
figures in the household accounts, she welcomed this opportunity to
shut herself away from the bustle above stairs and contemplate what
had happened in the wee hours of the morning.

She was, of course, furious with him. He had
hurt her beyond redemption. And yet . . . her feet slowed, her
heartbeat quickened as she recalled the feel of Thomas’s fingers on
her shoulders. Truly, she who had never fainted had almost done so.
Only the Trevor pride had kept her from swooning at his Cit feet.
Who would have thought that being alone with a man could be so . .
. overwhelming?

That was certainly not the way she felt when
Twyford had held her. And this morning it was as if she had seen
Alan Fortescue through a glass darkly. He was everything she had
ever wanted in a husband, the epitome of her girlhood dreams. As
recently as over the holidays, she had castigated herself for not
waiting for him to return. But this morning she had felt only the
pleasure of renewing an old acquaintance. She had even been . . .
disappointed. Yes, it was true. The great hero of the Peninsula had
feet of clay. He wished to run away from life, whereas Thomas was
ready to stand and fight—

Unkind. Each man must fight in his own way.
Alan Fortescue on the field of battle, Thomas Lanning in the House
of Commons.

And while she was being perfectly honest . .
. She, Aurelia Trevor Lanning, was a fool. She had searched
frantically for a port in her personal storm; yet when safe harbor
was found, she had changed tack, turning her back. If anyone had
sent her life spinning topsy-turvy, it was she herself. There was
no one else to blame.

Relia opened the estate room door and
charged inside on a wave of self-disgust. Skidding to an abrupt
halt, she demanded, “What are
you
doing here?”

Thomas raised his dark head from the ledgers
spread out in front of him. “Checking the accounts?” he
ventured.

“
Should you not be making plans for
your campaign?” Relia bristled.

Thomas leaned back in
her
chair and answered with a slow
smile. “I have a veritable army to do that for me. And it is the
end of the year. I felt it my responsibility to be certain that all
was right and tight.” One dark brow arced in query. “Can it be I am
encroaching again?”

Relia could feel her pale complexion turning
some horrid shade of puce. “I—I—” She glanced down at the sheaf of
papers in her hand. “I have not yet entered the servants’ Boxing
Day gifts,” she murmured. “The party . . . the confusion. I am so
sorry . . . I fear the household accounts are not—”

“
Good God, child!” Thomas crossed the
room in a few strides, swept his wife into the leather armchair he
had just vacated, then stood looking down at her, frowning
mightily. “I have no interest in the household accounts, Aurelia.
Before the new steward arrives, I wished to make sure that all was
in order in Pevensey’s agricultural accounts. I am well aware it
has not been easy for you—”

“
You did it on purpose! All these weeks
without a steward. You wished to punish me for daring to want to
manage Pevensey Park myself.”

Thomas drew a deep breath, shoved aside a
large leather bound ledger, and eased himself onto the mahogany
desk top. “Good stewards are not easy to find, Aurelia.
Particularly one responsible enough to oversee all the enterprises
at Pevensey Park.”

“
You are the great Thomas Lanning, are
you not? Livvy, Mr. Saunders, Mr. Blacklock—all believe you walk on
water. “You could have had someone here long since, but you wished
to demonstrate I was nothing but a foolish female
incapable—”

“
Nonsense!” Thomas roared, smashing his
palm hard against the mahogany. Relia gasped. “Beg pardon,” her
husband muttered. “But how you can so wilfully misunderstand—” He
broke off, closed his eyes for a moment, sternly reminding himself
that he was on the verge of losing what little gain might have been
made last night.

“
Firstly,” he pronounced with
exaggerated clarity, “good stewards—of the quality you wish for
Pevensey Park—must be found, then enticed away from their present
employer. After that, at least a month’s notice to said employer is
required. That is only common courtesy. It is, therefore, nothing
short of a miracle that we have found a man we believe will do. He
is expected here within the next few days.”

His wife’s glare was lethal. “You have hired
someone without my meeting him. Without my approval?”

“
Devil it, Relia! If you do not like
the man, you have only to send him away. Turn him off without a
character. Let his wife and children starve, after he gave up a
most satisfactory position in Yorkshire so he might come to
Pevensey Park.”

“
You are impossible,” Relia fumed. “No
matter what I say or do, I am wrong!” She went very still as
fingers brushed her cheek.

“
How very odd, my dear. I feel exactly
the same. We make a sad pair, do we not? Do you suppose all
marriages have these struggles?”

“
Probably not,” Relia conceded. After a
pause, she added grudgingly, “I suspect most wives are not quite so
determined to have their own way.”

A burning log sputtered in the grate. Wind
whistled along the windows high above. “Strange,” Thomas said at
last, “but I find I cannot now imagine being married to a woman who
defers to my every wish. I should, in fact, probably wish to
strangle her from sheer boredom.” He tilted up his wife’s chin,
studying her with a long, thoughtful look. “Do you think we might
declare a truce, Aurelia, at least for the duration of the
By-Election? I need your help, my dear. Your support.”

“
But if Captain Fortescue is not
running, surely it will be an easy victory.” Limpid blue-gray eyes
stared directly into his own. But Mr. Lanning was becoming better
acquainted with his wife’s tricks, else he might have been
diverted.

“
Relia!” Thomas’s fingers tightened on
her chin. “Do you never stop arguing?” She ducked her head, leaving
his hand dangling in the air. “Well? I want an answer, wife. We
will not leave the matter thus.”

Aurelia Trevor Lanning raised her head,
stiffened her shoulders. “It will be as my dragonslayer wishes,”
she declared. “For the duration of the By-Election.”

Thomas held out one large hand. To Relia, it
seemed the size of her face. With ill grace, she grasped it.
Suddenly, her imprisoned fingers were moving toward his mouth, lips
touched her knuckles, lingered . . . and then her hand was back on
the desk and Thomas Lanning was striding toward the door, leaving
her in a welter of account books. The Cit, who could read them as
easily as Livvy read a novel, was abandoning her to the role she
had insisted on assuming.

With a new steward bearing down on Pevensey
Park . . . and her personal life at sixes and sevens . . .

Thomas had kissed her hand.

And declared the gorgeous, sophisticated
Eleanor Ebersley a thing of past.

He had declared a truce. And, truth to tell,
it seemed about time.

I have a veritable army to
do that
. Thomas’s words seemed to echo through the
basement room. A noisy, conniving political army was descending on
Pevensey Park. Along with a new steward and a tutor who caused Miss
Olivia Lanning to lose, on the instant, all interest in Harry
Stanton and Twyford Trevor.

A truce
. If she
bottled up her emotions over these various invasions of her
privacy, Relia very much feared she would explode, rather like an
inexpertly bottled jug of wine.

But they had shaken hands on it. And . . .
well, other things—silent, private things—had passed between them
at that moment. Like her marriage, they had just made a
bargain.

~ * ~

“
Thomas, Thomas!” Charles Saunders
cried, charging past the astonished Biddeford to burst into the
bookroom. “You will not credit it. I have just come from the
village. Gravenham was so incensed over the captain’s refusal, he
has chosen the first alternate in sight.” Mr. Saunders paused,
waiting expectantly for his friend’s perspicacious mind to leap to
the correct conclusion.

“
He would not be such a fool,” Thomas
enunciated slowly. “Never!”

“
Ah, but he is,” Charles told him.
“Gravenham roared so loudly his entire household could hear him,
and the village is talking of nothing else. In the midst of railing
at his son, the earl clamped his mouth shut, turned to Trevor and
barked, ‘You! You’ll do. My son may run off and hide, but I
will
control the borough! My name,
combined with yours, boy, is all you need to win the
seat.”