Authors: A Perilous Journey
Gail Eastwood (21 page)
“Stuff and nonsense!” exploded Pembermore. “Pay no heed, Grassington. She is suffering badly from maidenly nerves.”
“Is she?” the old earl said, suddenly choosing to sit down again. He looked thoughtfully from one to the other of them.
“Gillian, I warned you,” hissed the baron.
“Yes, you did, Uncle William. You have threatened and cajoled and misled me! You said that Lord Grassington would bring suit and ruin us, but I don’t happen to believe you. I believe Lord Grassington is an honorable man. You said you would drug me if necessary, but I’m telling you that I will continue to refuse to cooperate as long as there is still breath in my body.”
“That is stating things plainly, Miss Kentwell,” said Grassington rather faintly. The expression on his face reminded Gillian of someone who had bitten a lemon by mistake. “What makes you believe I am so honorable, when your own uncle has apparently played you so falsely?”
“By chance I have become acquainted with your nephew. He has staunchly defended your part in this scheme and insists that you believed I was willing to be your wife. As it happens,” she added softly, “I believe him.”
If what Brinton had told her was not true, she had just gambled her freedom and lost. She had believed him enough to walk into the lion’s den. If she had misplaced her trust, then she would no longer care what happened. She loved him that much.
“My nephew, eh?” The look in the old earl’s eyes changed to one Gillian could not read.
She decided to sit down. She suddenly felt rather shaky.
“What have you to say, Pembermore?” Grassington looked now at her uncle. “Perhaps I was a fool not to have guessed from the start that you would try to cheat me.”
The baron was distractedly swinging his quizzing glass by the cord. Instead of sitting, he began to pace with a stiff, agitated stride. “I had no idea she would be so disobedient and willful. I did not expect her to object to the match.”
Gillian interrupted. “I do not understand why either of you wished it in the first place! Why?”
Before either man could answer, they were all startled by a commotion coming from the central stairway down the hall. Angry voices and rapid footsteps approached as their eyes turned uncertainly toward the door. A moment later it flew open and Brinton barged into the room. He was followed by a cowering footman, Lady Culcarron, and Gilbey.
Brinton did not pause until he reached a spot in the middle of the three original occupants of the room.
“Gillian, are you all right?” he asked first, turning a fiercely sharp eye upon her.
She had never seen him like this. He was like an enraged animal, magnificent and dangerous. An aura of violence charged the very air around him. She was too astonished to speak, so she nodded.
She had no sooner done so than Brinton took a step toward her uncle. “You vile pig,” he growled and slammed his fist right into the baron’s midriff.
“Rafferty!” Gillian jumped to her feet in alarm.
Pembermore folded in half just like a letter opener. He staggered backward and landed fortuitously in a chair that was directly behind him. He stared at Brinton, gasping for breath.
“You are too low to even be challenged to grass,” Brinton said. “If we did meet there, you would be cut down like a weed in a farmer’s field and mourned as much.”
Gillian reached his side and put her small hands over the clenched fist he still held at the ready. Cradling his hand against her cheek, she looked up into his face. “Rafferty, no,” she said in a soothing voice she might have used on a child. “I do not think you fully understand the situation.”
“I understand it,” he said through his teeth, his anger just barely contained. “They are the ones who do not understand.” He tore his eyes from Pembermore to frown at his own uncle. “There is to be no wedding. The lady does not wish it, and I am here to enforce her wish.”
“Rafferty,” Gillian repeated, reaching up to touch his face.
Finally, he looked down at her, his fierceness softening. In that moment she loved him even more than she had thought possible. Her eyes must have betrayed some hint of this, for the earl put his arms around her and hugged her to him, apparently quite oblivious now to the other five people still in the room.
“You called me Rafferty,” he said in a voice filled with wonder.
“I do not see Lord Brinton anywhere,” she said bravely. “He would never show such passion or lack of control.” She stared up into his eyes, knowing she could be lost in them forever. “I love you.”
“Gillian.” He sighed and hugged her even tighter. “I love you so much it is making me insane.”
“If this is insanity, I think I like it,” she answered. Then she suddenly pushed back from him. “Oh, dear. I think I have done it again.”
“What?”
“Broken the rules. Is not the man supposed to declare himself first?”
“And couples should not be hugging or kissing if they are not at least betrothed,” he added. He lowered his head and brazenly claimed a kiss from the lips she had opened to form a reply. “I can remedy that, love. Will you marry me?”
“I had better say yes, hadn’t I?”
“You won’t have the free life you hoped to have. As Countess of Brinton you will have duties and obligations.”
“I’ll try my best. Will you mind if your Lady Brinton is not as polished as other ladies?”
He did not need words to reassure her.
Lord Grassington cleared his throat, reclaiming their attention. “So it seems there is to be a wedding, after all.”
Gillian and Brinton broke apart then. The young earl turned to the old earl and grinned. “I guess you are right, uncle. She seems to have accepted me in your place. You would never have suited, at any rate. She is a hellion with no sense of propriety, and far too willful for her own good.”
“I must bestow my blessing,” Grassington observed. “If you would accept it, I would like to offer you the ring that I had hoped to use.” As the young couple expressed their gratitude, the old earl smiled at Lady Culcarron and Gilbey. “This is a happy moment to be shared among friends. I recognize young Cranford, but I do not believe this charming lady and I are acquainted.”
The introductions were made, and the new arrivals finally seated. As Brinton settled on a sofa beside Gillian, he fixed his grin upon her and said, “Can you ever forgive me for wagering? I have lost my best black stallion now, you know. If there was any doubt over the outcome of my wager with Archie, I have certainly fixed it now! But I can bear losing Tristan,” he added softly, “because I have found you.”
Gillian tried to look at him severely, but the corners of her mouth would not stay down. “I can forgive you—this time. You must promise not to make such wagers! You must also promise not to strike my uncle anymore,” she added sternly. “He has been very bad, but it was my own decision to come here.”
“But why did you not wait until all of us could have come with you? You would have been safer.”
“I did not think of that,” she admitted. “I thought if I could just speak with your uncle, he would see reason. You had told me he was honorable, so I gambled that I could trust him.”
Brinton took her hand. “I was upset to discover you were not at home when I arrived there. I went mad when I learned you had gone with Pembermore. I had not dreamed that my uncle was in town, and I was afraid that we would not find you.”
“Pembermore sent word to me that you were in London, Miss Kentwell, and suggested that I come,” Grassington explained. “He assured me that you had recovered from the nervousness that had sent you off to Scotland.”
“It seems Uncle William was not exactly straightforward even with his own solicitor,” put in Gilbey. “When you communicated with Mr. Worsley in view of the pending nuptials, he decided to come to town with you, because he was worried about all the complications he saw developing.”
The young viscount paused to look around the room, his gaze stopping at his defeated uncle. “Aunt Elizabeth and I met with Mr. Worsley this morning. He had discovered that Uncle William had been cheating us, draining money from our trust funds.”
“But why?” Gillian also turned to her uncle. “Why did you have to steal from our trust funds? And why did you want me to marry Lord Grassington? I still do not understand.”
“Your uncle, like many, has a weakness for the gaming tables,” Grassington said with a note of regret in his voice. “When he is in Devon, he finds a substitute for the more exciting stakes of London’s clubs in a small group of players to which I belong. Over time, I have come to hold the majority of his vowels, including some notes he originally owed to others. Whenever I demanded payment in the past, he always came up with the ready. I had no idea he was so strapped. He told me this last time, however, that he could not pay. He offered something worth far more to me than the amount of his debts.”
He stopped and looked pointedly at Gillian and Brinton. “Since my designated heir was showing no inclination whatsoever toward matrimony, I had begun to despair that he ever intended to do his duty to continue our lines—his own or mine. I admit to being a foolish, vain old man, but when Pembermore suggested he could provide me with a young, willing bride, I was quite willing to cancel his notes. It seemed the perfect solution. I might get a new heir, or Rafferty might suddenly feel pushed to do something. Either way, I would have pleasant companionship.”
Brinton groaned. “What is the total amount of his debt?”
“Thirty thousand pounds.” The answer came from Pembermore, who was sitting erect now, his face ashen but his eyes defiant.
Both Brinton and Gilbey whistled.
Gillian stared in shock. “He sold me for that!”
“Uncle William, why did you not come to us for help?” Gilbey asked. “Surely we could have worked out some reasonable repayment plan. I would have helped you. I am still willing to help you, on one condition. You must give your blessing and permission for Gillian and Brinton to marry.”
“You would be wise to do so, Lord Pembermore,” Lady Culcarron spoke up. “If you do not, I will see your name dragged through the mud. You have certainly abused your position as the twins’ guardian. I would not hesitate to challenge it and publish the reasons.”
“What do you intend to do about Pembermore’s vowels now?” Brinton asked.
“I would cancel them if he agreed to give up gambling.”
It was Pembermore’s turn to groan. “What would I do with my time?” he asked helplessly.
“Perhaps you would spend less of it manipulating and cheating other people,” Brinton said acidly. “Travel on the Continent is popular once again.”
“Perhaps he could discover that he is part of a family,” Gillian suggested. Her happiness seemed too great not to be shared. She had found a tiny scrap of gratitude in her soft heart for her uncle’s part in bringing Brinton into her life. “He might learn something about love and trust.” She looked shyly at her husband-to-be. “I know I have,” she whispered.
“Have you?” came his soft reply. “What did you learn?”
“That sometimes love and trust are found where and when you least expect them.”
“I’ve learned that, too,” he said huskily, putting an arm around her and drawing her close. “Our grandchildren will never believe our stories of how we met.”
“Speaking of meetings,” said Gilbey suddenly, “you were carrying this package, Brinton, and left it behind in the carriage.”
Brinton’s face lit. “That is for Gillian! I quite forgot. We will have to send you to Oxford, Cranford, since you are so smart. Open it now, love. It is very fitting.”
With trembling fingers Gillian pulled at the strings and undid the brown paper. Four small volumes bound in brown leather spilled into her lap. “Oh, Rafferty,” she said, barely breathing with delight. “Ramsay’s
Tea-Table Miscellany
!”
“You will have to learn some new old songs, I fear. I could not find copies of the ones you had before, at least this time,” Brinton told her. “But we can go hunting and can work together to rebuild your collection.”
“Perhaps you can find some when you come to see me in Scotland,” said Lady Culcarron.
“We will be free to travel, sometimes, with five aunts for our children to visit. Do you think my mother and sisters will overwhelm you, love?”
She shook her head, smiling. The idea of a big, wonderful family greatly appealed to her, with Brinton at its center.
With a heart full of love, she reached up to cradle his cheek with her hand. “We are bound to want their help, sometimes. After all, there are still a few roads left in England we have yet to travel down!” Fully aware of the rules to be broken and the family members already around them, she pulled his head down so she could reach his lips. This time it was Gillian who initiated their kiss.
• • •
Keep reading for a special excerpt from another Regency Romance
by Gail Eastwood
THE UNLIKELY HERO
Available July 2012 from InterMix and Signet Regency Romance
If only the earth could have opened and swallowed him, his books, and his broken portmanteau, Gilbey would have been eternally grateful. Unfortunately, the stone floor beneath him remained as solid as ever. When he felt the blood rush to his face he mentally cursed for the thousandth time the nearly alabaster skin he had been born with. He groaned and turned to Nicholas, who was laughing rather unhelpfully beside him.
“Confounded baggage! Forgive me, Nicholas. What a scene! You see? I told you—”
The duke’s son stopped laughing long enough to draw a breath and punched the young viscount playfully on the shoulder. “I should have known I couldn’t separate you from your books for two weeks, Gilbey.” Turning to the room at large, he added in a larger voice, “What a splendid joke on me, my friends, don’t you agree? You have to admire Lord Cranford’s originality.”
Quite naturally, no guest would risk being so rude as to disagree with the son of their host. Gilbey watched the others transform their various negative reactions into artful titters of laughter. While most did not appear entirely convinced that they should go so far as to admire Gilbey, at least he would now be spared their immediate scorn. He thought Nicholas was the one who should be admired—he could turn a situation around so easily!
The poor footman who had been carrying the ill-fated portmanteau was still apologizing profusely, obviously afraid that he would be held to blame for the accident. Gilbey hastened to reassure the man, and Nicholas ordered the servants to start gathering together the collection of books.
“We’ll find something else to put them in,” he said with a chuckle still lurking behind his words.
Gilbey stooped to pick up a volume that had landed by his feet. As he inspected it for creased pages or a cracked spine he happened to glance up and saw a vision he thought he must have dreamed. Two young women, more lovely than any he had ever seen, had entered the room and were walking toward him. They had to be Nicholas’s sisters, for although they had dressed their glorious, guinea-gold hair in somewhat different styles, they seemed in every other respect identical. They had the same graceful, slender figures, the same flawless, creamy skin, and the same delicate facial features. They wore matching gowns of apricot muslin. As he watched, transfixed, one of them bent gracefully to retrieve a book from the floor and held it out at arm’s length.
“You never told me,” Gilbey said accusingly to Nicholas under his breath.
“What?”
“That they were so exquisite!”
His friend shrugged, as if the omission did not signify. Gilbey reflected that perhaps it did not, for certainly he had heard others say that the St. Aldwyn twins were beautiful. Somehow the report had never impressed him, and perhaps the truth from Nicholas would not have made any difference. But a man would have to be made of stone not to feel an attraction to such goddesses, and Gilbey felt more certain than ever that the two weeks looming ahead of him would be miserably difficult. Immune? Ha! How could he have believed that his desire to remain unattached and uninvolved would render him both numb and blind? How could Nicholas have thought so, too? They had only taken into consideration the attitudes of the others at the party, never Gilbey’s own feelings.
“
A Defense of Ancient Architecture
, by Morris,” read the twin who had picked up Gilbey’s book. She quirked an elegantly arched eyebrow in a manner so like her brother’s that Gilbey was forced to smile, releasing his momentary paralysis. She was a first few steps ahead of her sister and reached the young men first.
“Really, Nicholas, what a unique arrival. We seem to have more underfoot than a mere houseful of guests.” She gave Nicholas a sisterly hug stepped back to inspect Gilbey with a frankly appraising stare.
“Hullo, Nicholas. Welcome home.” The second twin hugged her brother as well and then moved next to her sister to await the introductions. She glanced at Gilbey curiously, but the look was fleeting and demure.
“Allow me to present my good friend Lord Cranford,” Nicholas said, bowing to his sisters quite formally. He winked as he turned toward Gilbey. “My sisters, Lady Venetia and Lady Vivian St. Aldwyn.”
They held out their gloved hands to him in turn, and he dutifully kissed them. He tried very hard to keep his own hand steady.
Around them the servants had retrieved most of the errant books and collected them into a pile under the watchful eye of Blaine, who is apparently in charge. Someone magically appeared with a trunk in which to pack them.
“If I’m not mistaken, this volume belongs to you, Lord Cranford.” The twin who had greeted Nicholas first, Lady Venetia, also addressed Gilbey first. She held out his book. “I must say, most people do not feel the need to bring such things to a house party.” She treated him to a heart-melting smile that revealed an enchanting pair of dimples in her cheeks. “Did you fear that we would not keep you amply entertained?”
For a moment Gilbey felt as tongue-tied as the greenest schoolboy. Nicholas’s sister was flirting with him and trying to provoke him at the same time, he knew. She had uttered the last sentence in a most suggestive tone, and when he looked into her eyes—her gorgeous violet-blue eyes—he saw the devil dancing there as surely as he had often seen it in his own sister’s eyes. How was he supposed to answer? She clearly knew the effect she had on a man.
“Netia—,” Nicholas began in a warning tone, but Gilbey was not about to let his friend fight all of his battles. He forced a cool smile onto his face and accepted the book from Venetia’s hand with what he hoped would pass for indifference.
“Thank you, Lady Venetia. As your brother knows, I find it difficult to be parted from my studies for long. My eccentricity is no reflection on your family’s hospitality, I assure you.”
That was the role he would play, he decided—the eccentric scholar, too devoted to his books to be of interest to anyone. How could he possibly keep his feelings under control if Nicholas’s sisters paid any attention to him at all?
“You are far more polite than my sister deserves,” Lady Vivian said with a reproving glance toward her twin. “Welcome to Rivington, Lord Cranford. We are pleased to make you acquaintance.” Gilbey caught only a sweet smile and a quick flash of her violet eyes before she added, “If you are a friend of Nicholas’s, you must be quite an exceptional fellow. I hope you will enjoy your stay with us. Please, will you excuse us while we greet our other newly arrived guests?”
Gilbey nodded and could not help watching in admiration as the twins moved away. Beside him Nicholas chuckled. “Your ‘eccentricity’? I must say, friend, you slipped out of that one quite handily. I do apologize for Venetia’s behavior. She has gotten away with it for so long now I fear she cannot change. I trust you do not need me to tell you now which one of my sisters is the ‘lioness’ and which one ‘the lamb’?”
“They are both utterly enchanting, Nicholas. I can see that coming here was an even bigger mistake than I thought.”
Nicholas took him by the arm and began to walk. “Oh, nonsense. You’re not in love. Every man is bowled over the first time he meets them—why should you be different? Trust me, you’ll soon get caught up in the swim of things. There will be a good deal going on to hold your interest.”
Gilbey was not altogether pleased with the casual way Nicholas dismissed the reaction, but perhaps his friend was right. Why indeed should he consider himself different? Perhaps as he became a bit more accustomed to the twins, he would find their effect on him less powerful.
“You definitely had an improving effect upon Vivian, I must say,” Nicholas added. “She seldom has so much to say to anyone she has just met.”
The speculative gaze he turned on Gilbey made the young viscount distinctly uncomfortable. Before Gilbey could reply, however, Nicholas abruptly changed the subject. “Here, let me introduce you to these other guests while we are still here in the hall. There will be many more unfamiliar faces for you when we gather for dinner, and I must greet these people, anyway.”
He glanced about once again, as he had done just before the accident with the books. “My father does not condescend to greet guests upon their arrival, but I am surprised that my Aunt Alice is not here to supervise the ritual. She has served as hostess for my father ever since my mother’s death. I can’t remember her ever arriving later than I have, for anything!”
He led Gilbey toward Lord Munslow, casting back a grin. “Not to worry, old fellow. Refreshments will be served on the terrace outside the salon very shortly whether Aunt Alice is here or not. Tradition is tradition, after all.”
***
The twins watched the last footmen stagger out of the hall carrying several pieces of Lady Marchthorpe’s baggage. As they followed him into the grand salon behind the hall, Venetia sighed.
“I hope that is the last of the guests for a while,” she said, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her skirt. “I have quite completely lost track of who has arrived and who has not, except for Aunt Alice, of course.”
“We’ve nearly everyone, I think,” Vivian replied. “Lord Amberton, the Upcotts, Lord Munslow, Lord Lindell, the Whitgreaves—”
“Oh, do stop!” exclaimed her sister, laughing. “You are making my head spin. We had best prepare to feed them all for the first of countless times ahead of us.”
She paused and looked at Vivian with concern. “Are you quite certain that you are up to this? We have dinner and the entire evening still to get through. Perhaps you should rest. I can pour tea and make your excuses, if you like.”
Vivian shook her head. “I am fine. Besides, what kind of an impression would it make if I am absent so soon? I’ll be all right.”
Venetia shrugged and opened one of the French windows that gave access to the terrace outside. “I am just concerned that if you don’t rest until after you are already tired, you will have a more difficult time for these two weeks, Vivi. Please promise me that you will take some time to rest each day.”
“I promise. I am certain that some of our guests will wish to do the same.”
Venetia gave an unladylike snort. “Undoubtedly! Father will want every minute to be filled activity.” She sighed again. “If only he would accept that you—”
“Never mind about Father right now,” Vivian interrupted her voice firm. “I shall be fine, and we will get through this. Where shall we have them put the table?” She gestured toward a pair of approaching servants who bore between them a long table already adorned with a snowy linen cover that fluttered in the breeze.
“Under the tree, there, in the shade,” Venetia directed, pointing to the ancient beech at one corner of the terrace and shading her eyes from the afternoon sun. Turning back to her sister, she added, “Will you want your parasol? Shall I send someone to fetch it?”
Vivian rolled her eyes heavenward in obvious annoyance, sending a clear message to her sister even before she replied. “Do stop fussing, Netia! I am not a bit tired, I shall sit in the shade under the tree, and if I want my parasol I can certainly send for it myself!”
Venetia knew that she would have to bury her concern for the time being. In the space of an instant she gave her twin a sheepish smile that begged forgiveness and received an answering one that absolved her. As a steady procession of servants began to supply silver platters filled with cakes, fruit, and cold meats to the table along with brightly polished serving trays, steaming pots of tea, and vast quantities of porcelain teacups and plates, the two young women arranged themselves beside the table ready to do the honors for their guests.
“Let me see your smile, Netia,” teased Vivian.
“Let me see yours, Vivi.”
They made faces at each other and burst into laughter, quite unaware that one of their guests had arrived to join them. Only when Venetia looked up did she notice a thin, somewhat elderly gentleman standing quite still in the doorway.
“Sh-h! Lord Amberton!” Laughter still lurked in her voice as she nudged her sister.
The man came forward with a bow. “Ladies, with all candor I must tell you what a delightful picture you present, with your innocent laughter and beauty and surrounded by such a sumptuous feast. I suspect it might be almost too much for a weaker man’s sensibilities.”
Venetia avoided her sister’s eye, afraid that any exchange between them would free the laughter she suppressed at the man’s fulsome flattery. “Quite clearly you are not overwhelmed, Lord Amberton,” she replied with perhaps a touch too much sweetness. “I’m so glad.”
He reached for Venetia’s hand and raised it to his lips. “As am I, my dearest, as am I.” She thought she detected a glint of challenge in his eyes and snatched her hand back quickly. A wary glance about her reassured her that there were plenty of servants about and that several stood in position near the table, ready to serve the food to any who wished it. Even so, she felt the absence of her father, brother, or aunt quite acutely.
Her father, she knew, would remain in his study until close to dinnertime. Only then would the duke emerge to preside over their guests. But where was Nicholas? Where was Aunt Alice? Would they leave her and Vivian so unsupervised for the entire two-week party? Surely her family could not hope that one of the invited suitors would trap her or Vivian into a compromising situation and solve the marriage problem once and for all.
“Some tea, sir?” She did not wish him to see that he discomposed her even slightly. “As you can see, you are the first to descend and join us.”
“I did not want to wait,” he said in a low, smooth voice that gave his words a suggestive tone.
Venetia managed to pour his tea with a steady hand and to pass him the cup without flinching, even though he very deliberately pressed his gloved fingers over hers as he took the cup from her. What if all the unattached gentlemen behaved this boorishly? How could she and Vivian stand two weeks of it?
“I hope you found your accommodations acceptable, Lord Amberton,” Vivian said politely. Twin to the rescue! Venetia shot her a look of gratitude for her obvious attempt to distract the man.
“Indeed, Lady Vivian, I am quite comfortable. I find I have almost everything a man could possibly wish for, thank you.”