Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1) (13 page)

Callista pursed her lips in mock reproof. “I learned to shoot a handgun, not a musket. It is more difficult to hide a musket in one’s reticule.”

“And the rabbits?” he asked.

“I prefer to clean fish,” she said.

“My little colonial,” Thorington said. “So skilled, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a colonial,” Callista retorted. “I am an American.”

She didn’t dispute that she was his, though. That thought hung over his head like a noose. If he let it drop another inch, he’d be caught by it.

“I’m sure your skills are perfectly suited to your old life,” he said smoothly. “But if you wish to have a chance at winning Maidenstone, you must learn to live in this world.”

“Do you have any character references?” she asked.

Thorington snorted. “There isn’t a man alive who would give me one.”

“Then how am I to know whether I should hire you as my governess?” she said.

He laughed. She’d tricked the sound out of him again. “If you aren’t paying me, I do not think it should be considered employment. Not that I’d dirty my hands with work. Consider it a favor.”

“But you aren’t doing it for me, are you?” she asked. “You’re doing it for your dynastic ambitions.”

“Everything is for my ambitions.”

Her eyes held a hint of judgment — the same judgment others may have felt for him in the past, but everyone else was better at feigning respect for a man of his means. “That is a sad reflection, sirrah.”

“First lesson: do not say ‘sirrah’ again unless you wish me to rap your knuckles for it. And my ambitions are not so different than yours.”

“I’m not wholly focused on what I need to get from others,” she said.

“Possibly not. But you accepted this arrangement with as much avarice as I did. Now, if you want to keep what you’re trying so hard to win, you’ll allow me to instruct you on how to behave.”

Her jaw clenched in a decidedly unladylike way. But eventually she nodded. “Teach me whatever you feel you must teach me. But if your brother continues to see me as a pariah rather than a possible partner, I will find someone who will appreciate me as I am.”

“You cannot go back on your word,” he said.

“I never do. But I won’t have to. Your brother isn’t as willing as you led me to believe last night. I will do my best to win him over — it’s in all our best interests. But if I cannot entice him with the prospect of gaining Maidenstone in exchange for giving me my freedom, he may break the deal despite our efforts.”

“I will take care of Anthony. Let me escort you back to the house. You should change into something more appropriate for this morning’s activities.”

She looked down at her blue cotton dress. “What is wrong with my gown?”

“It’s more suited for working in a garden than sitting in a drawing room sparring with your cousins. And that sapphire pendant is wholly inappropriate for daytime. Wear something white — you want to look as pure and unattainable as possible.”

“I don’t have any white day dresses,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“They are difficult for the laundress,” Callista said defensively. “And anyway, I prefer color.”

“Of course you do.” She would look stunning in something jewel-toned — something meant for seduction and sin. Something that matched her necklace, not something designed for a debutante.

He shook his head and regained his focus. “White is required. You are approximately the same height and shape as Lady Portia. She will make a loan of her dresses until we can buy you a better wardrobe.”

Callista frowned. “I don’t want to waste my money on clothing.”

“And I don’t want to waste my time on arguments. I’ll have one of her dresses sent to you within fifteen minutes of our return to the house. Then you must go through her wardrobe and take whatever you need. I sent a messenger to London — a modiste should arrive within the week.”

He’d also asked the messenger to learn what he could of Callista’s shipping endeavors before returning to Maidenstone. Her desire to run the company herself was no concern of his — but she was rather more eager for the task than anyone, man or woman, of their social circle should have been when given the option of living an idle life in the country.

In the past, with his old luck, Thorington wouldn’t have considered the risks. Risks always came out in his favor. But he couldn’t forget that his investment in Callista — in choosing her, training her, and convincing Anthony to accept her — could go as sour as everything else he’d touched recently. Investigating Tiberius Shipping and what it meant to her was prudent. Perhaps the most prudent decision he’d made in an age.

He knew better than to tell her that, though.

“Willful duke,” she muttered.

Thorington smiled. “Only because the world runs more smoothly if I arrange it.”

Callista stood. He stood with her, offering his arm. She knew better than to spurn it, but she couldn’t seem to resist digging into him. “I will learn so fast that I shan’t have to spend more than a few hours in your company.”

“Of course, Lady Anthony.”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked.

“Lady Anthony. Your title after you marry my brother will be Lady Anthony.”

“That wasn’t one of the choices you gave me.”

“It was a test. I couldn’t risk you guessing correctly and not telling me it was a guess.”

“Then if I am Lady Anthony, no one will call me by my own name again, will they?” she asked.

“No. Not unless they are very close companions and you invite them to.”

Callista’s hand tightened on his arm. “This marriage business isn’t very fair, is it?”

Ariana’s claws had dug into his arm like that on many occasions. Then, it had felt like a trap — one he walked into again, and again, in some self-loathing desire to fulfill his vows to the wife he hadn’t wanted.

Now, with Callista, it felt like she was trying to anchor herself to him — trying to find safe harbor in the treacherous seas of the ton.

He shook his head. He was ascribing feelings to her that she likely didn’t have. And he was letting himself imagine things that might only torture him.

“No, it’s not fair. But the ton is like a game of chance. If you learn the rules, you have a better chance of beating the odds.”

They walked around a hedge and onto the lawn, approaching the house from the side, with Callista’s maid still trailing behind them. Maidenstone loomed ahead of them. In the morning light, with a breeze blowing in from the sea, it looked more mystical than it was. The vaults and arches of the mostly abandoned Gothic wing, off to the side but never demolished, were magical, not a looming architectural disaster. The Tudor wing, remade from the abbey, looked ready to house a queen, not a passel of fortune-hunters. The Palladian rooms, built in the 1600s by Inigo Jones, still showed off their grandly symmetrical loggias and porticoes. Light streamed into the modern rooms of the Georgian wing, airing out the haunted corners.

The Briarleys may have spent centuries killing each other, but they couldn’t seem to let go of the rooms their ancestors had built. Any other owner with their wealth would have torn it all down and rebuilt in the latest style. But he had to admit the abbey had a certain charm, even if it made no attempt to blend harmoniously with its surroundings.

“Is your house as magnificent as this?” Callista asked.

“Fairhurst is a manor house. It was all rebuilt in the last decade. It’s more commodious, but less interesting.”

It also had suddenly developed a leaking roof and a bad case of rot in the basements, according to the latest letter from his land steward. But Callista didn’t need to know that.

“It must be nice to have so much history around you,” she said. “I like my house in Baltimore, but it isn’t the same.”

“If you want history, I should take you to Bath. It has been used for its waters since Roman times.”

“I think I shall be quite content exploring Maidenstone for the moment. From my father’s stories, it must hold any number of secrets.”

“Then you will have to learn your lessons well so that you may win it. Unmarried ladies cannot go exploring alone.”

She tilted her face up to him. “What if you went exploring with me?”

A dark moment of tension hung between them, at odds with the brilliant morning sunshine. They were both talking of the future — of a future in which they sought out amusements together — that could never happen.

“You wouldn’t want to go on an adventure with me, Miss Briarley,” he said lightly. “With my luck, we’d find a dragon instead of a treasure.”

“Dragons are more interesting than treasure,” Callista said.

He let himself wonder whether she’d find
him
more interesting. But then she laughed a little, as though she were joking, and he knew it could not be.

He had a week, perhaps two, to teach her everything she needed to know to be a good wife for Anthony. And he had the same time to convince his brother that she was the most delightful woman he would ever meet. Surely once Anthony had spent a few hours with her, he would see how lovely she could be.

Once they were settled, Thorington would return to London and complete the messy business of dealing with his creditors. Better for Anthony and Callista both if they were on their honeymoon — preferably someplace far removed from the City — when that happened.

And better for Thorington if the marriage happened as quickly as possible. The cemetery where he buried all his inconvenient emotions was filling up too fast for comfort.

CHAPTER TEN

“The dress suits you,” Thorington said to her two hours later.

Callie smoothed her gloved hands over the stark white muslin, feeling self-conscious in Portia’s borrowed dress. “This is entirely impractical for a walk along the cliffs.”

“Nonsense,” he said, offering her his arm. “If you fall into the sea, your body will be perfectly dramatic.”

They were setting off on an expedition to explore the cliffs with Rafe and his sisters. If Anthony had been invited, he had refused. No one else would come with them — after the first suitor had expressed an overly-jovial interest in joining them and been skewered by Thorington for it, the rest had kept their distance.

“I am not afraid of heights,” Callie warned. “So if I faint or fall to my death, it will only be because you pushed me.”

“There has not yet been a rumor of me killing a woman. I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“We could have our first lesson in the library,” she pointed out. “It is less likely that either of us would die there.”

He ushered her through the front door instead, out into the brilliant sunshine. “Wouldn’t want the servants to overhear me quizzing you on the titles and estates of everyone in attendance,” he said as soon as they were out of earshot of the footmen. “They would take word to Lucretia, and she would use it against you at the first opportunity.”

Portia had been trailing behind with Rafe and Serena, but she caught up to them before they reached the edge of the lawn. “Hold a moment, Miss Briarley,” she commanded.

“What is it?” Callie asked. “Have I already ruined your dress?”

Portia came around to face Callie, untying the green ribbon on the poke bonnet that she had included in the loan of the dress. “It’s the fashion to tie the bow on the side, not directly under the chin,” Portia said, making a quick adjustment. “Tell your maid to talk to my maid about how to dress your hair. It would be better with a bit of curl.”

The thought of Mrs. Jennings making herself over into Portia’s highly-trained French lady’s maid nearly made Callie laugh. “I will tell her,” Callie said. “And I must thank you again for the loan of the dress, Lady Portia.”

Portia waved a hand. “It’s nothing. Thorington paid for everything I have. If he wants to dispose of it, it’s his right.”

She shot a look at her brother when she said this — a look that Callie thought was sincere. But she felt Thorington’s arm tighten. “It’s a loan, not a disposal. You’ll have everything back and more once you marry.”

Portia sighed. “Let us talk of something more pleasant, please? You can play the autocrat in the drawing room, but I’d prefer to enjoy the fresh air without a lecture.”

Thorington nodded. “You can help educate Miss Briarley about our fellow party-goers, if that pleases you. Or you and Serena can take turns trying to push each other into the ocean.”

Portia’s eyes lit up. “I’ve always thought Serena would make a lovely sacrifice.”

She stopped walking, letting them pass her as she waited for her sister and Rafe. “Are your sisters always so interested in sororicide?” Callie asked Thorington.

“Usually they can be convinced to go after my blood instead. I’m sure only their mutual animosity toward me has kept them from murdering each other these many years.”

He said it lightly. But something about his tone made her wonder. “Lady Portia seems to adore you,” she said.

“Adoration is not a concept with which I am familiar,” Thorington said.

Callie thought back to Portia’s words. She had taken them as a bit of sisterly teasing. But Thorington sounded like he had felt something else — something like guilt, if it was possible for him to feel guilty about anything. “I think your family loves you more than you realize,” she said.

He shrugged. “Love and need are not equivalent, Miss Briarley. I need my estate manager, but I do not love him.”

Callie would have laughed if she had thought he was jesting. Instead, she said, “I thought I felt the same about my father, until he was no longer there. Your feelings may surprise you.”

“They rarely do.”

She had come to recognize the tone he used when he thought a conversation was over. On another day, with another person, it might have angered her.

But today, filled with perfect light and fresh sea air, was made for banter. It was made for a lazy afternoon stroll and sweet, sultry laughter.

He
was made for sweet, sultry laughter. She saw it in his eyes occasionally, on those rare moments when she startled him into amusement — saw the man he might have been, half-starved behind his indifferent mask.