Buried Secrets (14 page)

Having donned her night rail, she brushed her hair and blew out her candle. Climbing into bed, she composed herself for sleep, banishing with some effort the image of a laughing green gaze that seemed to stare down from the canopy above her.

The next day, Gillian was able to go about her usual routine with reasonable calm. She spent the morning in the kitchen garden. The chickens’ recent behavior had resulted in the near-destruction of the entire patch. Luckily, it was still early enough in the year to replant the garden and, shortly before luncheon she rose to stand with arms akimbo, viewing the rows of newly sown vegetables with satisfaction.

“ ‘Through verdant vales, doth Ceres’ golden reign ...’“

Gillian whirled at the sound of the deep voice behind her, her hard-won serenity shattered in an instant. From somewhere she produced an insouciant laugh. “Well, as you see, the wheat, rye, barley and oats are somewhat farther afield, but behold ...” She concluded her reference to Cord’s quote with a sweeping gesture toward the corner of the garden neatly labeled
PEAS
.

“Ah, you are familiar with the works of Herrick.”

Gillian searched Cord’s face, but could find no hint of a searing kiss remembered or an instant treasured. “Robert Herrick,” she responded prosaically, “born in Cheapside in 1591, died in 1674. Yet another Trinity graduate. Allow me to admit that my knowledge of his work is purely by incidental absorption, as I do not believe I’ve ever read the fellow’s works. One does not live with Uncle Henry without becoming knowledgeable about every Restoration poet who ever set quill to paper.

She halted, but Cord showed no inclination to move past her into the house.

“You are early today,” she blurted unthinkingly. “That is, I did not mean— You are welcome any time, of course, but . . .” She trailed off, inwardly cursing her absurd perturbation.

To her vast relief, Aunt Louisa appeared from the kitchen door at that moment, hailing Cord with delight.

“Of course, it is not too early to be paying a visit,” she assured him, in response to the question he posed merely for Gillian’s discomfiture, she was sure. “We are happy to see you any time. You will lunch with us, will you not?”

“Actually, ma’am, I came to return the diary volumes to Magdalene, as per my promise to the master. I shall, of course, procure two more, so I hope Sir Henry will be amenable.”

“Of course,” replied Aunt Louisa and Gillian in unison. “Indeed,” continued Aunt Louisa, “Henry was saying just this morning that he thought you might be by today to collect the volumes. He is looking forward to working again on the second two. But, do come in,” she concluded, gesturing the others inside.

She led them directly to the parlor, where she left them to apprise Sir Henry of Cord’s arrival. Gillian had scarcely launched a rather frantic line of polite small talk when her aunt entered the room again, this time with Sir Henry in tow, a leather-bound volume in each hand.

“Good morrow, my boy!” exclaimed the academic. “Just in time for luncheon. I was thinking we might have something served in the study, for I want to talk to you about an idea that came to mind this morning as I was looking at February sixteenth,” he said, referring to one of the diary entries.

“Actually,” responded Cord smoothly, accepting the volumes from the older gentleman, “I must be off, for I have a few other errands to accomplish while I am in town. However,” he added, turning to Gillian, “I was wondering if Miss Tate would accompany me on my journey.” He gestured toward the curricle standing in the stable yard. “I could use some feminine advice on a gift I must choose for my cousin Susan’s birthday. I thought perhaps we could dine in town as well. If memory serves, the Pelican provides an excellent spread.”

“No!” exclaimed Gillian involuntarily. Her aunt turned to look at her in some surprise.

“But, Gillian, dearest, it sounds like a delightful outing.” Aunt Louisa accompanied her words with a significant look, and Gillian realized suddenly that for some days now, in Cord’s presence, her aunt had practically hurled many such glances at her. It was borne upon Gillian that Aunt Louisa saw Cord as a possible suitor for her hand. Good Heavens! How could the poor woman have conceived such a maggot in her brain? Of course, Aunt Louisa knew nothing of Cord’s all but certified proposal to Miss Corisande whatever-her-name-was. Still, how could she think Cord would seriously consider an obscure spinster of low birth and no expectations as his bride? The Earl of Cordray could look as high as he might for a mate. His family, even if they had not already decided on the Viscount Rantray’s daughter, would insist that he ally himself with a female of birth and breeding and substance.

Glancing at Cord, she observed that he had intercepted Aunt Louisa’s look. His sea-colored eyes sparkled with mischief, and she felt a tide of heat rise to her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she all but gasped. “That will not be possible. I have things to do this afternoon. I cannot possibly go jauntering off for—”

“Nonsense,” interposed her aunt briskly. “We have nothing of any importance on our calendar for the day. Old Mrs. Frederick will undoubtedly stop by, but I can regale her with gossip as well as you, and as for the Fotheringay children, I shall just tell them to come by another day for their excursion into the woods.”

“There, you see?” remarked Cord, his eyes now sparkling like sunlight on a fountain spray. “All your tasks are taken care of, and you are free to plunder the delights of metropolitan Cambridge.”

“Yes, dear,” said Aunt Louisa, even as Gillian opened her mouth to protest this cavalier disposition of her day. “Do run upstairs and change.”

Sir Henry, who had contributed nothing to this exchange, reached for one of the volumes in Cord’s hand. “That’s all well and good. In the meantime, come with me, Cord, and let me show you what I have in mind.”

“Yes,” said Aunt Louisa, “I shall help Gillian, and she will be down again in just a few moments.”

Feeling unpleasantly helpless, Gillian allowed herself to be swept along. In her bedchamber, Aunt Louisa hurried to the wardrobe and pulled out several gowns suitable for a spring outing in a gentleman’s curricle.

“Which shall it be, dearest, the apricot sarcenet or the rose silk twill? I think the rose, don’t you? It is such a becoming color for you, and the Pamela bonnet you always wear with it suits you admirably.”

“Aunt.” Gillian spoke the word austerely. “I am merely going into town for lunch. I am not planning an appointment with the Prince Regent.”

“Oh, but Gillian, this is much more important!” replied her aunt in shocked tones. “It is easy to see his lordship is taken with you. Why, who knows what this might lead to?”

“Indeed,” declared Gillian tartly. “It might well lead to an offer of carte blanche.”

“No! How can you say such a thing, dearest? Why, the earl is a gentleman, and you are a lady.”

“Only in the most general sense. Aunt. Men of Cordray’s stamp seek only one thing from females of my social standing, and it is not marriage.”

Aunt Louisa’s chins quivered in distress. “Oh, you are mistaken, my love. You are not some common woman of the streets, after all. You are gently bred. You are so lovely and so dear, and you have received so many offers. There is no reason his lordship should not be as smitten as was Mr. Willoughby last spring—or Squire Pendenning all last year. They would still be paying calls if you had not turned them off so coldly. And there’s Mr. Cadwallader. He hasn’t given up yet, even if—”

“Even if I haven’t made it as clear as I’m able that I have no interest in marrying. Aunt, there are a great many foolish men in this world, but I do not believe Lord Cordray is among them. If he finds me attractive— well, that’s very flattering, but I hope I am more than seven and can take his Spanish coin for what it is worth.”

Gillian was aware she was counseling herself as severely as she was her aunt, and she went on. “I find the earl an amusing companion, and that is the only reason I let you persuade me to pelter off with him to Cambridge today. Now, please do not read any more into the expedition than that.”

Aunt Louisa sighed. “Very well, dearest. I think you are very wrong, but I shall say no more.”

The old woman, however, had much more to say. As she assisted Gillian in donning the rose ensemble, she unburdened herself of several pithy comments on the foolishness of females of a marriageable age who discarded earls as though they were a piece of bad fruit in the apple basket.

At last, Gillian pronounced herself ready. Adjusting her skirt and settling the Pamela bonnet on a casual arrangement of her sable curls, she planted a loving kiss on Aunt Louisa’s cheek.

“Please do not worry about me, best of all my aunts. I wish you would believe that I am happy with my single state. I’ll be pleased to continue my, ah, association with the earl—so long as he does not become importunate. I know you value his friendship—as does Uncle Henry, even more so. And I do, too,” she added in some surprise. She had not considered the earl in those terms, though now that she thought about it, she had come to enjoy the banter that sparkled between them like froth on tossing waves.

“But it’s such a waste!” her aunt wailed. “You should be married to a fine young man by now, with babes in your nursery.”

“You know how I feel about all that, Aunt, and now,” said Gillian, surveying herself in the mirror one last time, “his lordship awaits.” Picking up her reticule, she dropped another light kiss on her aunt’s cheek and ushered her from the chamber, treading lightly right behind her.

She felt awkward in the extreme as Cord handed her into the curricle. The presence of a diminutive tiger perched on the back of the dashing vehicle precluded private conversation, for which Gillian was heartily grateful. She maintained a light flow of chatter until shortly after they emerged from the gates of Wildehaven, at which point Cord drew the curricle into a roadside spinney and pulled the horses to a halt.

Turning to Gillian, he said in a low voice. “I must speak to you.”

She lifted a hand in protest, but Cord had already descended from the carriage and given the tiger instructions to walk the horses.

“I don’t think—” began Gillian as he came round to assist her to the ground. Cord, however, smiled rather tightly, and tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow, led her a little way into the trees.

“I do not plan to bend your ear for any length of time, but it is apparent that I owe you an apology.”

Gillian merely stared at him.

“My behavior last night was inexcusable,” he began with what Gillian could only describe as a marked discomfort—astonishing in one of the earl’s usual urbanity. “I ... I don’t know what happened—I can only blame it on the lateness of the hour—and being alone with you, and—confound it, Gillian, you’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

Gillian started. “My lo— Cord, it is not my intention to make you feel guilty. As you say, you were merely taking advantage of a convenient situation. One would expect nothing else from your sort. No, no,” she added hastily as Cord flushed a deep red. “I did not mean that. That is, I no longer believe you to be the degenerate sort of rake who takes advantage of every unprotected female in his path. I simply think you a normal member of that class who seeks his dalliance where he may find it, and I do not blame you for it— at least, not wholly.” She smiled stiffly. “And, in all fairness, I must say that I did not find the encounter entirely unpleasant.” She felt the smile broaden and relax. “I beg to assure you that I have not formed a
tendre
for you, but you are very good at your art, my lord. While I do not believe I was ready to succumb altogether, I do not wish a repetition of the occurrence.”

Cord breathed a long sigh and took Gillian’s hands in his.

“Now, there we are in agreement, Miss Tate. I thank you for taking a tolerant view of my behavior and I promise you most sincerely it will not happen again. On the other hand”— he tightened his grasp on her fingers as she began to withdraw them in startlement—”I have grown to value your friendship, and for that reason, I hope you will allow me to continue my visits to Rose Cottage without any awkwardness between us.”

Gillian could not have been more surprised had he suggested they dance a quadrille in the middle of the Trumpington Road. Of all the conversations she had envisioned following last night’s heated encounter, this was the last thing in the world she’d expected of him. Friendship! She had concluded that this was all she wished from the earl, as well, but to hear him voice the same desire—a man like the Earl of Cordray—was quite unbelievable.

She eyed him narrowly. Was this merely a ploy to induce her to lower her defenses? He stood before her, his mien open and his gaze sincere. His customary poise seemed to have deserted him completely, for he shuffled uneasily, and the flush that had risen to his cheeks at his declaration showed no sign of diminution. In short, he looked like a schoolboy who had just said something he feared was going to get him in a good deal of trouble, but was hopeful of a satisfactory outcome.

Gillian found within her an appallingly strong desire to continue seeing him. She already had friends, she told herself. She had been supremely content before he galloped onto the scene, she told herself. In addition, she admonished herself further, the man might well be up to no good. On the other hand, he would not be in the area for very long, and one could not have too many friends—particularly friends who seemed to understand one so well, friends with whom one could laugh at an unspoken joke or who seemed to sense one’s mood without being told.

Gillian capitulated. “Very well,” she said shyly. “We shall forget the incident ever happened—and I look forward to your brangles with Uncle Henry and John Smith.”

“To say nothing of our lively conversations over dinner,” Cord added modestly.

“That, too,” agreed Gillian gravely. She was aware that he had not yet released her fingers, but now he slid his away to raise his hand in a gesture to his tiger. A few moments later, they had remounted the curricle and were on their way to Cambridge.