A Gamble on Love (8 page)

“
Under my command!”

Mr. Lanning bowed. “Of course, my lord.” Not
in the least discomposed, he turned to Aurelia. “I have come a long
way, Miss Trevor. I would be delighted if you would be kind enough
to drive out with me, so that I may see the estate your uncle is so
conscientiously guarding for your benefit.”

“
You heard my father. You may leave!”
Twyford declared, rising to his full height, which was still an
inch short of Mr. Lanning’s own.

Thomas looked at Miss Trevor, and most
sincerely hoped he was correctly interpreting what he saw there.
They were supposed to have had time . . .

Time to think . . . adjust . . . Time to
consider all the ramifications . . . the good that could come of
this union. If it did not destroy him.

But there was no time, no time at all. For if
he left, these people would never let him near her again. And the
fate of Aurelia Trevor at the hands of The Terrible Twyford was not
to be contemplated.

Thomas looked Miss Trevor straight in the
eyes, shrugged, and smiled. “I fear we have no choice, my dear,” he
said. “We must be truthful.” With a remarkably well-executed look
of chagrin, he turned to the avid spectators of his little drama.
“We had hoped to keep our secret a trifle longer, but I can see
there’s no help for it, we must tell all. Aurelia—Miss Trevor—and I
are betrothed. In fact, I have the special license in my pocket.”
Mr. Lanning patted the left side of his fine corbeau-colored
tailcoat. “We plan on being married immediately.”

~ * ~

“
Married, is it?” bellowed Lord Hubert.
“And pray tell how you will do that without my consent?”

“
She’s to marry me!” Twyford
blustered.

Mr. Lanning seemed almost apologetic as he
peered at the two men before turning remarkably limpid eyes on Miss
Trevor. “You did say you would reach your majority in the next few
days, did you not, my dear?”

“
Two days.” Aurelia and Gussie spoke in
unison.

“
Well, there you have it,” said Mr.
Lanning with every appearance of a man completely unaware of the
sensation he was causing. “That gives us quite enough time to speak
to the vicar, does it not, Aurelia, my love?”

“
Who is Thomas Lanning, pray tell?”
Lady Hubert demanded, finally finding her voice after the
intruder’s startling announcement. “What manner of man are you? Who
are your parents . . . where is your home? How dare you aspire to
the hand of heiress? Indeed, how could you have met her? Not a word
have I ever heard about a family named Lanning. Except Twineham’s,
of course, and if you had the slightest connection to the dear
duke, I assure you I should have heard of you.”

Mr. Lanning bowed. Politely. “My father would
have been sorry to hear that, ma’am. He was, I believe, rather well
known in the City before his unfortunate demise on a journey to
Dublin.”

“
The
City
!” Lady Hubert clutched her heart. Her
husband and son gave almost identical snorts of derision. Harry
Stanton muttered something beneath his breath.

“
You’re a
Cit
!” Twyford exclaimed. “Good God, man, you
could not come within a mile of wedding a lady.” He rounded on his
cousin. “And, you, my girl, should be ashamed of yourself for
contemplating such a match, even for a moment.”

Miss Trevor, as demure as the most shy young
maiden at her first ball, clasped her hands in front of her and
declared, “But do you not recall that I accompanied mama to
Tunbridge Wells for the waters in the early days of her illness? It
was there I met Thomas, so, you see, we have been acquainted for
some time now and are quite certain of our feelings in this matter.
Naturally, papa had his doubts, but as my majority approached and I
realized I would be free to marry where I would, I went to London
to see . . .” Miss Trevor had the grace to blush before giving her
alleged beloved a tremulous smile. “To see if he were still of the
same mind. He was, and now he is here, and we are to be
married.”

Clever little
minx
. Thomas resisted the temptation to openly applaud
Miss Trevor’s performance, while grimly enjoying how poorly the
news of a long-standing attachment was sitting with Lord Hubert and
his family. Father and son had, in fact, turned an unhealthy shade
of purple, while Lady Hubert looked as if her face had been
showered with rice powder. But the ability to tolerate one’s
adversaries was part and parcel of being a successful man of
business. Making mortal enemies of his betrothed’s closest
relatives was not sensible. And, although a man of great energy and
determination, Thomas Lanning always tried to be
sensible.

His marriage to Miss Aurelia Trevor was
definitely sensible. Yet . . . with each new investment, contract,
or acquisition, he faced the challenge with enthusiasm, certain of
his ability to deal with any problems that might occur. But
marriage to Pevensey Park . . . to farms and fields, cows and
sheep; to a scornful family of arrogant aristocrats was, perhaps,
not the wisest thing he had ever done.

Thomas suddenly realized he was standing
silent, letting epithets fly around him, unheard. Miss Trevor was
beginning to look decidedly anxious.

“
So it is quite settled, you see,”
Thomas declared with what a goodly portion of his audience
considered obnoxious good cheer, “and I believe it is time to begin
as we mean to go on. Aurelia, my dear, it is a fine day for a
drive. You may show me Pevensey Park. while we put the finishing
touches on the plans for our wedding.” With a glint of steel in his
eye, Mr. Lanning held out his arm. “Shall we?”

Miss Trevor, delighted to escape, slipped her
hand through the crook of his elbow while Biddeford, who had had
his ear to a crack in the door, called for Miss Aurelia’s shawl and
bonnet before opening the door wide for the betrothed couple to
exit the drawing room. Mr. Lanning, however, came to a halt just
before passing under the lintel. Turning Miss Trevor and himself
about with easy grace, he said to the dumbfounded occupants of the
drawing room. “We shall, of course, wish you to attend our wedding.
But, after that . . . naturally we would prefer privacy. I am sure
you understand. I doubt we shall take a long wedding journey”—Mr.
Lanning smiled down at his betrothed and patted her hand—“perhaps a
few days at Tunbridge Wells. Lord Hubert, my lady, Mr. Trevor . . .
I trust it will not inconvenience you to remove yourselves from
Pevensey Park while we are gone. Lord Hubert, when we return from
our drive, I will give you the name of my solicitor so we may begin
the business of settling Miss Trevor’s trust.”

After offering a regal nod to his noble, but
gaping, audience, Mr. Lanning gently turned his betrothed back
toward the door. They strolled leisurely across the tiled entry
hall, pausing only long enough to accept Aurelia’s shawl and bonnet
from Biddeford, who looked suspiciously moist about the eyes.

Miss Trevor came to an abrupt halt on the
landing, some twelve stairsteps above the gracefully curved drive
where Mr. Lanning’s postchaise awaited him, the postilions snapping
to attention as they caught sight of their employer. Thomas, ever
polite, paused, raising one dark inquiring brow.

“
I cannot ride with you in
that
!” Miss Trevor proclaimed, eyeing
the yellow postchaise and four lively horses with something akin to
horror.

Thomas Lanning, who had far more experience
with the workings of the male mind than the female, could only
stare in amazement.

“
It is a
closed
carriage,” Aurelia explained. “Ladies do
not ride with gentlemen in closed carriages. Alone,” she added when
he continued to stand there, looking, for all the world, as if she
had suddenly sprouted a second head.

“
We are betrothed,” Thomas declared.
Sweeping his arm around her waist, he started for the
stairs.

Miss Trevor dug in her heels.
“Nonetheless—”

Thomas halted, thrust her from him. “Shall I
send you back then?” he demanded. “They’re in there, waiting, you
know—your precious family connections. Squabbling among themselves,
each blaming the other for whistling your fortune down the wind.
They will, no doubt, welcome you back with open arms.”

Aurelia, unaccustomed to being
manhandled by anyone, most particularly a Cit who did not own his
own carriage, drew herself up to her full five feet three inches,
while searching frantically for a proper rebuttal. How
dare
he?

“
This was your idea, was it not?” Mr.
Lanning persisted, his tone growing more aggrieved with each word.
“You sought a dragonslayer, and now that you have him, you object
because his charger is yellow instead of white?”

Aurelia drew in a sharp breath. “I
object because his charg—because that vehicle is not
proper
!”

Thomas raised his hat. “Good day, Miss
Trevor. Although I regret the waste of my valuable time, I find
myself greatly relieved that my services are no longer needed.” Mr.
Lanning clapped his tall beaver back onto his head, and loped down
the stone steps of Pevensey Park with all the alacrity of a
Frenchman escaping the guillotine.

Aurelia stared after him. A postilion was
opening the bright yellow door, the steps were lowered. Mr. Lanning
was climbing in . . .

Miss Trevor picked up her skirts and
flew down the stairs. She couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—lower herself to calling after him, but
. . .

The door of the postchaise slammed shut. One
postilion was already mounted, the other about to join him. The
horses, sensing the imminent departure, snorted and stamped the
ground.

No-o-o!
Aurelia
reached the carriage, pounded on the door. Then, mortified, she
jumped back, head hanging, tears of humiliation rushing to her
eyes.

The postchaise did not move. The door opened.
A shining pair of boots appeared, biscuit pantaloons, a corbeau
jacket . . . a hand reached out, tilting up her chin. “Was I
harsh?” Thomas said. “I come from several generations of bankers,
you know. Or perhaps you did not. We tend to be more at home with
numbers, ledgers, and other males than with the gentler sex. Tears,
Miss Trevor? I fear I am not at all what you had in mind.”

Miss Trevor was forced to steady her
lower lip before she could reply. “And ’tis plain
you
do not like me. We are a sad
pair, are we not?”

“
Truthfully,” Thomas said, suddenly
dropping his hand as he realized he was still cupping Miss Trevor’s
chin and her spirited, yet vulnerable, countenance tended to
unsettle his customarily steady nerves, “I believe we may be of use
to each other. If I did not, I would not have come. Yet I fear
accommodation between us is unlikely to be smooth. This is your
home, your land. This fantastical husband-hunt was entirely your
idea. Therefore, it is you who must choose, so let us be quite
clear.”

Thomas crossed his arms, turning as stern and
serious as she had yet seen him. “If you marry me, I promise I will
slay your dragons, then return to my own life, allowing you
complete—within reason—” he qualified, “freedom to run Pevensey
Park as you choose. But when we are together, you will give me the
respect due a husband, including riding in any vehicle I should
provide—”

“
But we are not yet
married—”

“
Blast it, woman! Will you get into the
chaise or not?”

A closed carriage. A small closed carriage
with only two seats. He actually expected her to show herself to
her tenants in such an intimate posture? It was as good as a
declaration . . .

Fool!
Was that
not exactly what she wanted? A man of strength and intelligence was
poised to enter the lives of everyone at Pevensey Park. His advent
would affect most of those in the village of Lower Peven as well.
There was no longer a need for secrecy. To escape the rule of her
Trevor relatives, she would marry Thomas Lanning even if he were
the devil himself.

Head erect, her back ramrod straight, Miss
Aurelia Trevor allowed Mr. Lanning to hand her into the postchaise.
He climbed in after her, giving the postboys the office to start.
As the chaise began to move, Aurelia sank bank into the far corner
of the leather squabs, wondering, quite rightly, into what
impossible imbroglio she had just thrown herself. In London, Mr.
Thomas Lanning had been the man with whom she was negotiating a
lifetime contract. Aloof, competent—but unable, or unwilling, to
hide his condescending amusement. Yet he was a man who met all her
requirements and was, astonishingly, pleasing to both eye and ear.
When he visited Pevensey Park, she had thought to have a leisurely
opportunity to advance their acquaintance, discuss the pros and
cons of their proposed alliance.

But now, with no further explorations
of their respective characters, their family backgrounds, or
current problems, they were well and truly betrothed. Miss Aurelia
Trevor of Pevensey Park, bound to a chameleon who changed his coat
to match his audience. A man who slipped from dragonslayer to
conciliatory idiot to . . .
obsequious
Cit; then, from one step to the next,
turned back to knight errant, cutting a broad swath through her
open-mouthed relatives. Yet for herself, he had not a single gentle
word that was not part and parcel of his theatrical performance.
Not even the simple good manners of understanding that she, an
unmarried female of good family could not ride alone with him in a
closed carriage.