England's Perfect Hero (6 page)

"Georgiana," Lucinda said, hurrying downstairs to greet her friend, "am I being an idiot? I thought we were going shopping tomorrow."

"We are, and you're not," the viscountess returned, taking her proffered hands. "This is not a social call."

Georgie didn't look alarmed at anything, but Lucinda couldn't help recalling the rather abrupt ending to her conversation with Robert yesterday.
Wonderful
. All she needed was for her dearest friend to yell at her for verbally abusing her invalid brother-in-law. "What can I do for you, then?" she asked as she led the way into the morning room.

"Well, this is going to sound a little odd, but please bear with me, Luce."

"Of course."

Georgiana cleared her throat. "Tristan's been trying to find something for Bit—Robert—to do that will help him… find a little peace. I know it sounds strange, but—"

"No, it doesn't," Lucinda interrupted, concealing her jump at the mention of Robert's name. "Go on."

"Thank you. Last night Bit mentioned that he would like to grow roses. I—"

Lucinda blinked, an abrupt suspicion tickling at her. "Roses?"

"Yes. I don't know where the idea came from, but he wouldn't have mentioned it for no reason. I wanted to offer to help him get started, but I think that might make him back away." Lady Dare scowled, twining and untwining her fingers. "I shouldn't be talking about him to anyone, but I consider you my family, Luce."

"And I, you." Lucinda sat forward, pushing back her own reservations at becoming entangled in what looked to be a very complicated enterprise. Georgie needed her help—and perhaps so did Robert. That fact intrigued her more than she cared to admit. "I can make some cuttings, and I have a few books on growing roses. Perhaps I'll just drop by with them and ambush Mr. Carroway."

" 'Ambush?'" Georgiana repeated. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"It'll make it more difficult for him to refuse," Lucinda returned, smiling. "Or to change his mind about this project of his."

"I… All right. I'll risk making him angry with me. I… I want him to get better. I want to hear him laugh."

With a small smile, Lucinda moved over to the couch and hugged her friend. "Being shot—what, five times—at Waterloo and seeing all of the horror there, Georgie. How could it not affect him?"

Georgiana's expression faltered, then recovered again. "Of course," she said, averting her face from Lucinda's curious gaze. "I will appreciate anything you can provide that might help him."

Her friend's reaction to her comment had been interesting. Now, though, wasn't the time to hesitate. She could try to figure out what Georgie wasn't telling her later. "I'll be by before luncheon."

Only a moment after Georgiana left, the general entered the morning room. "It seems your idea may save my Salamanca chapter, my dear," he said, pocketing a letter. "Lord Geoffrey writes that he would be delighted to go over my journal with me and see what we can reconstruct."

"That's splendid."

"He'll be coming to call after luncheon. I would appreciate if you could be here to take notes."

At least some things were working as they should be. "I'd be happy to help." She stood, kissing him on the cheek as she passed by. "I should be home by then."

"Where are you off to?"

"I'm going to take some rose cuttings to Robert Carroway. He wants to start a garden."

The general clamped firm fingers over her shoulder, drawing her to a surprised halt. "Robert Carroway? He's not a suitor, is he?"

"No. Just a friend." She frowned at the serious expression in his eyes. "Why?"

"He's not my sort of soldier. Or my sort of man."

"Papa, y—"

"I know he's your Georgie's brother-in-law now, but keep as much distance as you can. Don't be too much of a 'friend'—his reputation will reflect on you. And on me."

"What reputation? He's barely been seen in public for three years, and he was shot at Waterloo. He's a hero."

Her father kept silent for a short moment. "So some say. Others were wounded there, however, and you don't see them hiding from their own shadows. Lord Geoffrey, for instance. Carroway's damaged goods, Luce. Keep that in mind, and keep your distance."

She really didn't think either request would be much of a problem, but she nodded anyway. "I'll be cautious."

"Thank you. You'll help an old man rest easier."

Lucinda grinned, tucking her hands around his arm. "Which old man would that be? You'll have to introduce me."

The Carroway family rarely breakfasted together. They all had their own schedules, meetings, planned excursions, and in Edward's case, lessons. Robert had none of those things, and a definite appreciation of solitude. At half past nine, when he entered the breakfast room, it didn't surprise him that he was alone but for a pair of footmen. He'd planned it that way.

He liked mornings; the rising of the sun had come to seem like a daily miracle. A freshly ironed copy of
The London Times
lay beside the place setting at the head of the table waiting for Tristan, but he ignored it. He didn't care what happened in the rest of the world—or in London. At the sideboard he shoveled ham and toast onto his plate, then sat at the far end of the table. He sliced a piece of ham and brought it to his mouth just as the butler stepped into the breakfast room.

"Master Robert, you have a caller," Dawkins said, looking uncomfortable. None of the servants liked to talk to him, though most of the time he made sure they didn't have a reason to do so.

Ignoring the thud of his heart, Robert finished his bite. "I'm not here."

The butler nodded. "Very good, sir."

As Dawkins left, Robert went back to eating. No one called on him any longer; it must have been a miscommunication, someone looking for Shaw. The butler would straighten it out.

Dawkins leaned into the breakfast room again. "Sir, Miss Barrett wishes to know whether she should leave the box here, or return with it later."

Miss Barrett
? "What box?"

"I don't know, sir. Shall I inq—"

Robert pushed to his feet. "I'll see to it."

Lucinda Barrett stood in the foyer, a small wooden crate at her feet. He lifted his gaze from it to her, taking in the fashionable yellow bonnet over her auburn hair and a green and yellow gown to match. Unless he was very much mistaken, the expression in her hazel eyes was amused.

Robert shook himself. Invited or not, she was the guest, so he was supposed to say something first. "What are you doing here?"

She flipped him a pair of heavy work gloves, which he caught by reflex. "Pick that up," she said, gesturing at the box, "and follow me."

He almost did it, catching himself just as he started to stoop. "No," he returned, straightening.

Miss Barrett folded her arms across her pert bosom. "Were you, or were you not, rude to me yesterday?"

"Your point being?"

"I'm getting my revenge on you." With an easy, confident smile, she toed the box. "So come along. It's just a few feet, and I promise there's nothing in there that'll bite." Her brow furrowed. "Not as long as you're careful, that is."

Dawkins had returned to the hallway, the two breakfast room footmen at his heels. At least one maid lurked up on the balcony, eavesdropping, while he could hear Edward upstairs arguing with his tutor about Madagascar, of all things. Shrugging, he tossed the gloves onto the lid and then bent down and hefted the box.

Lucinda pulled open the front door before Dawkins could reach it. Rather than motioning for Robert to precede her, she marched down the front steps and turned right along the drive.

Well, this was odd, but at least it got him away from the curious eyes inside. Robert followed while she traipsed toward the stable, lifting her skirts above the damp grass as she left the carriage drive.

"This looks good," she said, stopping to turn a circle at the near side of the stable. "Plenty of sun, but with shelter from the worst of the weather." She faced him again, pulling on her own heavy pair of gloves. "Well, put it down."

Robert stood where he was, eyeing her. Once he saw her with the gardening gloves, everything began to make sense. For a brief moment he contemplated hunting down Georgiana and favoring her with a few choice words. Whatever she'd told Lucinda, though, Miss Barrett was the one who'd agreed to it.

Carefully he put the box down and took a step back. "Good luck with your endeavors," he said, "but next time use a footman to cart your luggage. Good morning."

"Mister Carroway," she said to his back, "generally when someone gives someone else a gift of some rather rare and valuable rose cuttings, they are thanked for their efforts."

He stopped. "I didn't ask you for anything."

"Hence my use of the word 'gift.' There are also several books on rose cultivation in there. So you don't kill anything out of ignorance, I thought I might give you a brief introduction and some general instructions."

Robert strode back to her. "I don't want your roses, your instruction, or your damned charity," he snarled.

She blinked, and he realized he'd more than likely frightened her.
Well, good
. He didn't much like surprises, either.

"You came to see
me
yesterday," she said slowly, her gaze holding his. "When I saw Georgie this morning and she mentioned roses, I thought perhaps you'd meant to ask me for some clippings. So I don't consider this charity. I consider it my affirmative answer to a question you hadn't quite asked."

God, what was she thinking, to be willing to put up with such idiocy from him? And when he walked away, he would have no reason or cause ever to visit or talk with her again—about anything.

At the same time, her "gift," as she chose to call it, left him on very marshy ground. He needed a better tactical position if he ever wanted her to see him as anything other than a cripple, just the fact that that concerned him was startling. "I actually thought I would suggest a trade," he lied, rushing his mind through several possible scenarios.

" 'A trade,'" she repeated, skepticism skimming across her face. "What sort of trade?"

Robert took a deep breath. This was what he'd meant to say yesterday. He'd blamed his leaving on hearing her father approach, but even as he'd escaped he'd known General Barrett was only an excuse. He hadn't spoken because he hadn't been certain he could carry through with what he wanted to propose.

Now or never
, he told himself. If he meant to limp back into Society, he couldn't do it with his family as a crutch. No one would believe it, including himself. But Lucinda—she gave him something to focus on other than dread. And she still seemed to labor under the misconception that he was human.

"I thought if you would help me begin a rose garden," he said, encouraged that his voice sounded steady, "I would help you with Lord Geoffrey Newcombe."

"Lord Geoff… How would you help me with him?"

Damn. Now he needed an actual plan. "Whether you mean to teach him a lesson or… something more, in my company any of your meetings would seem more coincidental."

"You know Georgie and Lady St. Aubyn can't be of as much help now that they're married. As a single gentleman, I also have insight into Geoffrey which you might find gives you a certain advantage."

Miss Barrett tilted her head, regarding him. "So you would avail me of your advice, and where necessary be my escort on drives or excursions, when my true purpose would be to encounter Lord Geoffrey."

"Yes." Until it killed him, anyway.

Slowly Lucinda walked to the crate and Sifted the second pair of gloves off the lid. "Let's get started then," she said, handing them back to him, "shall we?"

Tristan couldn't find his wife. She'd gone out early on a brief errand, and he knew she'd returned, but she wasn't in their bedchamber, or her upstairs sitting room, or the aunties' frilly morning room, or the breakfast room.

Damnation
. She was nearly eight months pregnant, and if she didn't begin to take things a little more slowly he was going to drag her off to Dare Park in Devon whether she wanted to go or not. "Georgiana!"