Between the Duke and the Deep Blue Sea (17 page)

Barren, indeed. She refused to be saddled with that particular shame her husband assigned to her. Then why could she not stop the flood of doubt raining down on her? She was going to leave anyway and—

Alex’s voice, commanding the driver to make haste to the Mount, cut into her rumination. The door opened and his large frame was crowding her, forcing her to move to accommodate him on the bench again.

“There’s more room on the other side,” she muttered.

“Yes, but then I wouldn’t be next to you.” He knocked on the roof to signal the driver to move on.

“Why would you desire that?” she said, annoyed with the petulant tone she could not keep from her voice. “I’m prone to send a chill down a man, didn’t you hear?”

“Sounds perfect. It’s hotter than Hades during a midsummer’s night in here,” he said, his voice gravelly as he draped an arm about her.

She allowed him to draw her near, but she remained as rigid as Lawrence had suggested.

“I have something for you,” he said quietly.

“I’ll look at the dairy book later.” She stared out the window at the passing scenery.

She was frigid and barren.

She felt rather than saw something slip onto her lap. She looked down to see the twin ovals of her parents. She swallowed hard.

She would never cry again. She was done with regret. Done with mourning. Done with the past. She silently closed the miniatures together and engaged the clasp. “Thank you,” she said softly.

As the miles passed in quiet reverie, she pushed away everything that had been and forced herself to think only of everything that was to be her future. Yet a random reflection emerged from her torrent of thoughts. What she liked most about Alex was that he knew when to be silent. It was a talent few possessed. In fact there was not a soul she knew who possessed it, even her father. As she had the thought, Alex opened his mouth to discredit everything she had just deduced about the man beside her.

He spent the last half hour of the journey chastising her for exiting the carriage at Paxton Hall, and creeping about the estate. He reminded her of all the risks she had taken. He asked if she wanted Paxton to discover she was still alive. He continued the barrage of questions yet never waited for an answer. She intervened when she realized he was doing it on purpose—to stop her rumination of her failure as a wife.

“I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss. It all turned out perfectly well.” She could pretend to be distracted if it made him feel better. She owed him so very much.

“Yes, if you consider a possible investigation for knocking your husband silly ‘perfectly well.’ ”

“He didn’t see you and I’m certain you explained everything in an exemplary fashion to the servants.”

“You could show a bit more appreciation.” He leaned down to her ear and nipped it.

“He might have seen me,” she admitted. “I suppose I should have stayed in the carriage as you suggested.” She waited for his agreement.

“I told the housekeeper that he slipped on the newly waxed floor and required aid. And then I asked her if the earl was a bit touched in the head since he insisted he had seen the ghost of his wife before he fell.”

“Thank you,” she murmured and then turned to look out the window again. “I’ll show him a ghost all right.”

“That’s my girl.” He kissed the top of her head.

A
fter the exertion Roxanne had shown partaking in that evening’s meal, she did not have any more reserves of false calm and good humor to endure another evening of cards, or billiards, or charades with the others, despite Barry’s plea. Instead she slipped out for a quiet stroll to take the cool evening air.

She had not gotten much farther than the short privet hedge near the small cemetery on the grounds when a trio of ladies caught up to her.

The ladies on the Mount had naturally fallen into two groups. Those who were not desperate to marry, and those who were. The three who found her were in the former camp.

Isabelle walked slightly ahead of Candover’s sister, Hope, as well as Lady Mary Haverty.

“You were very quiet tonight,” Isabelle said, catching up to her first. “Is everything all right?”

“Of course,” Roxanne replied, taking care to keep her voice even. “Is not the air particularly fine this evening?”

“Pardon me,” Isabelle said with a smile. “But I do believe that is the first time I’ve ever heard you stoop to talking about the weather.”

Hope and Mary, linked arm in arm, closed in on the pair.

“I’ve always found,” Lady Mary Haverty inserted, “that when a lady speaks of the weather when there are only other ladies present then she is really thinking about a gentleman.”

Hope laughed. “I suppose that means you think I only think of gentlemen. How mortifying, Mary.”

“Oh, not you, dearest,” Mary said, patting her friend’s arm with her gloved hand. “You, I know, do not want to intimidate anyone by admitting that you are thinking of some terrifying mathematical concept that not a soul would comprehend, including your own brother.”

“Pardon me,” Roxanne said, not a little put out by the beautiful lady’s outrageous suggestion regarding her banal comment. “I shall change the subject. Shall we not all discuss geometry, Hope? I’ve always enjoyed theorems and drawing figures.” She, of course, did not add that she had learned to love geometry and the architecture of every mine her father had ever built.

“Please forgive me, Miss Barclay. I’m sorry if I offended you,” Lady Mary continued. “I only tease people with whom I sense I could share a friendship.”

Roxanne felt Isabelle’s hand clasp hers in the growing darkness. She squeezed back. “Of course, we shall become friends.”

“That doesn’t sound very promising,” Mary Haverty replied with a low laugh. “I suppose I’ve gotten off on the wrong foot again.”

“What do you mean ‘again’?”

Hope released her arm from her friend to adjust her shawl as Lady Mary replied. “I’m not very good at befriending ladies. Most do not take to me at all. I’ve never understood it. I used to fawn and flatter, and try to fit in, but I finally gave up a long time ago. Ladies either love me or hate me. There is no gray area, you see.”

“I know why,” Roxanne said, unable to stop herself.

Three pairs of eyes examined her.

“We’re all jealous. Except Hope and Isabelle. They’re too kind to be jealous of anyone.”

“Speak for yourself,” mumbled Isabelle.

“Oh, that is very true,” Hope said louder. “I was terribly jealous when I first encountered Mary. I wondered how God could be so cruel as to give over my portion of beauty to another woman. Then I realized he had also given her my share of wit.”

“Enough of that, Hope,” Mary murmured. “We shall not fall into a match of compliments for you know I shall beat you every time. Your reserves of goodness surpass everyone else’s.”

Roxanne and Isabelle murmured their agreement.

“Well, then,” Mary said with a deep sigh. “Can we all stop complimenting each other and get to the more interesting topic? Who is in the forefront of the race for Kress? He is even more handsome than I had heard. Miss Barclay, what do you think?”

“I told you she was amusing,” Hope said ruefully.

Isabelle squeezed Roxanne’s hand again and then spoke. “I think he is partial to no one, actually.”

Roxanne relaxed.

“Botheration,” Mary Haverty said. “That’s nonsense. I think he likes you, Miss Barclay.”

Roxanne started. “What makes you say such a thing?”

“He thinks no one notices, but he could not keep his eyes from straying toward you during supper. Did not one of the rest of you notice?”

“It’s only because we are cousins,” Roxanne insisted.

“And when did that stop anyone from marrying in this day and age?” Mary came about in front of her, blocking her path. “Are you fond of your cousin, Miss Barclay?”

Isabelle interrupted Roxanne before she could form a reply. “You do not have to answer that, Tatiana.”

“What a lovely name. Tatiana,” Mary Haverty ruminated. “It’s one of my own middle names.”

“Well, I usually go by Harriet,” Roxanne said, grabbing the chance to be contrary.

Hope began to laugh and finally Isabelle joined in.

“Are you laughing at me?” Roxanne looked from side to side.

“Not at all,” Mary said, chuckling. “You see, I just knew we were all going to be friends. And Isabelle? Do you still fancy Candover?”

“Mary, stop,” Hope said, laughing all the harder. “You cannot do this. It’s the reason most ladies cannot form a friendship with you. You cannot be so direct.”

“I don’t see why not. Gentlemen behave in the same way behind our backs. They scratch their, ahem, breeches, and talk of nothing but cards, horses, and”—she paused for effect—“
breeding
. Why can we not do the same? Minus the scratching of course.”

“Of course,” said Hope trying to catch her breath.

Roxanne did not know what to make of this beautiful, outrageously honest creature in front of her. She wanted so much to dislike her and yet she also wanted to be just like her. She looked at Isabelle and shrugged. “Lady Mary—”

“Please, if we are to be intimate friends, let’s dispense with the formalities.”

“All right. Here is a question, Mary. What are your ideas regarding gentlemen and their thoughts concerning the fairer sex?”

“Oh, that is easy. Gentlemen are the simplest creatures on earth. They are ruled by lust, not any finer sensibilities. And they either fall all over themselves spouting ridiculous romantic love poems or they are devastating and silent. Some use their charm and wit to excite. But every type might or might not truly be in love with you. And you will never be sure if they really adore you for yourself or not—especially if you possess beauty or a fortune.”

“We do not feel sorry for you,” Isabelle said dryly.

Mary laughed. “I don’t expect you to, Isabelle. I have tried to tell you many times that I have no interest in James. I don’t know why you choose to disbelieve me.”

Isabelle grumbled, “I only dislike you because he
thinks
he likes you.”

“I’ve never thought he does,” Mary replied. “But you must admit I do nothing to encourage him. Shall I eat raw garlic and breathe on him?”

“Would you?” Isabelle said, hope threading her tone.

“If you would pretend to like me. I’ve found that if you pretend a feeling for a while it sometimes grows into the truth.”

The lady was not only the most beautiful lady on earth, she was also the most accomplished wit Roxanne had ever encountered. It was impossible to find fault with her. “May I ask you something else, Mary?”

“Anything, dearest,” Mary replied. “Did you notice I managed to please you by not mentioning either of your two names?”

“Stop!” Hope giggled.

Roxanne ignored her. She just had to know the answer to this question. “How do you know if or when a gentleman loves you?” This was as close as she could come to asking something so close to her heart.

Mary stopped and gazed toward the stars. “Ah, that is easy. You will know by his actions first. The all-important three words most women long to hear come much later. But the real question is how to know exactly when a man
stops
loving you. I learned this the hard way. In fact, they would rather chew off their own hand than ever admit their ardor had cooled toward a lady they formerly adored. They will just slowly pull away from you. First they will stop calling on you, then they will put in only a late appearance to any entertainment they think you will attend, and finally they might very well retreat to the country. The last blow will be when you hear a house party has been formed without you. Within a fortnight, an engagement will be announced. This will be the same gentleman who professed his undying love for you and asked you to wait for him.” Her voice became a whisper at the end.

It was so silent after Mary’s speech that only summer crickets could be heard on the Mount.

“I’m so sorry,” Isabelle murmured.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mary said. “Perhaps it will serve as a lesson for the rest of you.”

“If any gentleman can part with you, what hope is there for the rest of us?” Candover’s sister bowed her head dejectedly.

“Silly goose,” Mary continued, and relinked her arm with Hope’s. “You are too smart to let anyone fool you with false promises. And besides”—she smiled—“you have a brother who would gladly slay any man who dares to hurt you.”

“I wish I had had a brother,” Roxanne inserted. “Not that I do not appreciate my devoted cousin.”

She could not add that a pretend cousin was not at all like a brother. And worse, he appeared devoted only occasionally. The rest of the time he made it perfectly clear that while he might rarely choose to kiss her, or help her since it amused him, he would never ever lose his heart to anyone.

Why should she care, anyway? Nothing could ever come of it. And Roxanne would be gone within a week or less if everything worked in her favor. He was doing her a great kindness actually by offering comfort, protection, an occasional kiss when she demanded, revenge when she did not, and an emotional wall between them that was as high as the cliffs at Kynance Cove.