Lady Fiasco, A Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt) (11 page)

Fiona blinked at her aunt. Honestly, the woman was a complete bedlamite sometimes.

“Good. You are beginning to collect yourself.” She patted Fiona’s cheek and stepped back. “We’ll return to the ballroom and all will be well. Marcus will partner you for the next set.”

“I will not.” Marcus cast Honore a wounded look. “How quick you are to toss me on the sacrificial alter. Has it escaped your notice? The chit is lethal.”

Honore pursed her lips and glared at Marcus. “You can’t be afraid of dancing with a girl?”

He smirked and cocked an eyebrow defiantly. “Hardly. But you might give some consideration to my reputa—”

A man standing in the doorway cleared his throat. “I would be pleased to accompany Miss Hawthorn for the next set.”

Fiona moaned. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse,
he
would walk in.

Honore raised her quizzing glass to inspect the interloper. “Hmm. Lord Wesmont, isn’t it?”

“Make him go away,” Fiona muttered.

Her aunt chuckled. “What’s that dearest? You don’t know what to say.” Honore let her quizzing glass drop down and swing on a velvet cord pinned to her bosom as she extended her hand to Tyrell. “My niece is speechless. I accept your offer on her behalf.”

Honore clasped Fiona’s shoulders and yanked her to her feet. “There, my dear, you look almost normal again. That pout is quite fetching. Although, you might contrive to look slightly less willful, and a trifle more penitent. Come, take Lord Wesmont’s arm.”

Fiona scowled at her aunt. “I cannot go back. My eyes will still be puffy and red.”

“Nonsense. A little red becomes you.” Honore tugged her forward, took Fiona’s hand and set it firmly onto Tyrell’s sleeve. “Now go. You really must do this Fiona. I insist upon it. No protégée of mine is allowed to behave like a timid doe afraid to return to the watering hole. Show some spine, dear. Pride. Yes, that’s it.”

Fiona looked Tyrell squarely in the face, holding her chin in the air in an effort to retain the last shred of her dignity. “You needn’t do this, my lord.”

“Of course, he must.” Honore prodded them toward the door.

“I want to do it. Aside from that, your aunt is right. It’s much better if you face the situation here and now.” Tyrell’s voice held a soothing quality that she’d not heard from him since they were children.

“You see, Fiona?” Honore chirped. “Such a sensible fellow.”

“I told you yesterday, I’ve absolved you of your obligation. I’m no longer your responsibility, my lord.”

“
Absolved
?” Honore clucked her tongue. “Fiona, really! You mustn’t talk as if you’re the Pope. Let the man alone.” She guided them through the ballroom doors.

Tyrell covered Fiona’s hand with his own and held it there. “I’m your neighbor, and your friend. Do you recall the time I pulled you out of the hedgerow after your pony threw you?”

“Not a pony, a mare. That was a very long time ago, my lord. I was only ten at the time. But yes, I do vaguely remember.”
Vaguely. Ha! She remembered that day with exquisite clarity. She’d cherished that particular memory the way other girls pressed roses in their prayer books.

“Ah, but you didn’t expect me to leave you tangled in the briars, did you?”

“I hardly think this is the same.”
Although, she most certainly was in the briars again.

“Did I not pluck thorns and burrs from your hair and clothing?”

Fiona winced remembering. “Yes, and the whole time you rang a peal over my head for attempting to jump a hedge my mare was not up to.”

Tyrell half chuckled. “Well, she was a
smallish
mare. Come now. I wasn’t as severe as all that.”

“No?” She chanced a wary smile at him. “As I recall, you punished me by making me hold out my skirt out so you could fill it with raspberries?”

“Ah that. Who could have known you would land in such a ripe patch of berries. In another day, the birds would have devoured the entire lot.”

“Yes, but I was covered with scratches and bruises from my fall. Hardly ideal circumstances for berry picking”

“You feasted on those berries as eagerly as I did. In fact, I remember you went home happy and with a bright red stain around your lovely lips.” He looked at her lips and a telltale redness crawled up his neck into his cheeks.

Warmth flooded her own face in answer. She looked away and realized that her aunt had maneuvered them to the far end of the ballroom, near the musicians, right beside where the Prince Regent stood directing the band with highly exaggerated movements. The lively Prussian galop ended, and he turned around to take a bow for conducting the music.

The dancers were so winded they could scarcely clap, but Lady Alameda made a great racket with her applause.

Prinny smiled. “Ah, Lady Alameda! You and your delightful niece have returned. Good! Now, I think, we shall have a nice sedate minuet.” Belying his promise of tranquility, in a booming voice he ordered, “Dance! Everyone dance!” Although one couple usually performs the minuet alone, everyone danced.

Tyrell led Fiona to the floor and held her hand up as he circled around her. She felt anything but tranquil as they played out the restrained flirtation of the minuet. As Tyrell circled her, looking intently into her eyes, her heart rapped wildly against her chest. Her breath came in shallow bursts, which she could hardly attribute to the exertions of the minuet, since the dance required little more than a walk on her part.

He was not unaffected, either. At one point, his hand trembled, and he let go of hers prematurely. When they stood face-to-face, he exhaled sharply and looked away. The telltale heat that warmed her cheeks also climbed up his neck. During her turn to circle him, she curtsied and tried to school her response to his nearness. She slowly dipped under his arm and let her arm trail across his shoulders to return and face him again. He bowed, but as he raised his head, she saw a look in his eyes that startled her, a look of desperate confusion. Knowing he suffered from the same turmoil she felt, only served to endear him to her all the more.

Blinking like a dazed child, she placed her hand on his forearm and relied on him to guide her as they crossed the circle and changed positions with another couple. She glanced up and caught sight of the strong handsome lines of his profile. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she were drowning.

If only he
was
an ogre. If only she hadn’t loved him since she was five years old. If only he loved her. But he didn’t. She
was
drowning, and the only way to save herself was to get out of the water and get away from him.

Chapter 11
Does Running Away Ever Solve Anything?

“D
amned unsettling that’s what it is. She twists me up inside. Muddles my thinking. Turns me into a mindless sop.” Tyrell muttered to himself as he tromped through the dark streets of Brighton on his way back to the Ship Inn. He’d chosen to walk rather than hail a hackney in the hope that a brisk walk would cool, what he surmised, must be brain fever.

But it didn’t help. He stopped at the door to The Ship and rubbed his temples with both hands. Something had to be done.

He yanked open the door and rattled the bell for the proprietor. When the man didn’t appear at once, he rang the bell louder. The host stumbled to the desk with his nightcap askew and a candle in his hand.

“Tally my bill, sir. I’m leaving this place.”

“But my lord, you took the room for the entire week. I’ve turned away several—”

“I’ll pay you for the week.”

“But, my lord, it’s three-thirty in the morn. Surely, you can’t mean to—”

“I most certainly do. I mean to leave as soon as I can rouse my blasted valet and get packed.”

“Won’t
he
be delighted,” muttered the host. “I’ll gladly send an accounting to your estate, my lord, if you—”

“No. I’m going to London. I plan to find some small corner of the world uncluttered by memories of raspberry-stained lips or troublesome imps with long eyelashes. You’d best settle with me now. I intend to find a gutter somewhere and crawl into it. Moreover, I may never crawl out.”

The innkeeper rolled his eyes and minced away, mumbling, “A suitable abode for his lordship, I’m sure.”

Tyrell glowered for a moment at the innkeeper’s back, before climbing the stairs to awaken his valet. He should wait for morning, but he knew that if he stayed he would be in eminent danger. The exact nature of that danger eluded him. The image of Fiona’s blushes threatened something fragile inside him. He had to protect himself. She had him out-gunned. A simple touch of her fingers on his sleeve had the power to unnerve him.

He nodded to himself, while climbing the stairs.
Facts are facts
. She had all the heavy artillery lined up on her side of the field. A hasty retreat was sometimes the best battle plan. Particularly, if the foe threatens to shatter one’s unreliable stone heart. The sooner he got away from here—away from
her
—the better.

* * *

The following afternoon Fiona sat in a wicker chair staring vacantly at the pages of a book. Honore came into the sitting room and flopped into the chair next to her. “I grow weary of Brighton. What say you, we remove to London?”

Fiona nodded without enthusiasm. “Any plan that suits you, Aunt, suits me.”

Honore snorted indignantly. “What banality. You aren’t still upset about that silly episode last evening are you? Everyone thought it a great lark. Prinny’s friends are not so hen-witted as those rustics in your part of the country. No one here believes you are cursed, or jinxed, or anything of that folderol. On the contrary, it was the greatest fun they’ve had in days. Prinny spinning through the air like an acrobat truly was...”

Fiona did not want to think about last night. So she ignored her aunt and stuck her nose back in her book.

Honore crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Whatever are you reading?”

Fiona glanced up, “Miss Hannah More’s latest sermon. I had hoped it might improve my mind.”

“Is that the reason for this humbug attitude of yours?” she bristled. “Throw that Methodist drivel into the fire. I won’t have her turning you into a mope.”

“It’s August. There isn’t a fire anywhere in sight.” Fiona looked about the room pretending to search for the missing blaze.

Honore squinted. “Hand it to me then, I’ll throw it out the window.”

Fiona closed the book and held it in her lap. “I’m well aware of your propensity for tossing things out of windows. But you mustn’t blame Miss More for my bad temper.”

“Humph.”

“You may be pleased to know, Miss More would dislike a milk and water miss as much as you do. She writes against having a care-for-nothing attitude. She finds fault with rote religiosity and insists that God wants genuine love from his people. Moreover, she applauds passion—”

Honore waved Fiona’s lecture aside. “Enough! If I want a sermon, I’ll go to church. If that book isn’t bedeviling you, then what?”

“I can’t say.” Fiona lifted the volume and inspected the binding. “Perhaps, I, too, would like to leave Brighton.”

Lord Alameda stepped through the open drawing room doors. “What’s this Honore? Planning your retreat?”

Both women looked up at him with a start. “Folderol! I retreat from nothing.” Honore snapped her fingers at him.

Fiona lifted her chin. “Neither, do I.”

“Oh. Begging your pardons.” Marcus bowed. “I thought I overheard—”

“Eavesdropping is a shabby practice, Marcus. Beneath your dignity.”

“Come down from your high horse, Honore. As I stepped into the room I merely heard you say you wished to leave Brighton.”

“I do. We both do.” She rose and slapped her hands to her sides. “It’s time to go home to Alison Hall. We shall leave in two days’ time.” She stood, brisk and business-like, a general issuing orders to her troops.

“Two days? I had hoped I might accompany you back to London. But, two days is such short notice.”

“You are welcome to travel with us, Marcus. However, now that you mention it”—she tapped her finger against her cheek—“two days seems excessively long. We leave on the morrow.
Early
.”

Marcus grumbled, but inclined his head in reluctant acceptance.

“Good.” She turned and walked out of the drawing room, shouting for Lorraine to begin packing.

They embarked on their travels too early the next morning to agree with most aristocratic temperaments. Marcus staggered into the coach as if he had not slept at all that night. At least the early hour assured them of little traffic on the roads. The miles rolled rapidly by, with only brief stops at hostelries to change the cattle. Marcus drowsed and made irritated noises on the seat across from Fiona. Honore, on the other hand, sat jubilant as a small child on her first journey. She was going home.

“A delightful day to travel, is it not?” She rapped Fiona on the thigh. “You’ll love Alison Hall, my dear. It is unlike any other house in the world. Wait till you see your rooms. I redecorated them for you in yellow and green, all the colors of summer. I’m certain you’ll enjoy it.”

“You redecorated rooms for me? You did this before you even knew I would agree to visit?” Fiona looked at her aunt in amazement.

“Of course.” Honore pinched her brows together. “Don’t be absurd. I planned for you to become my protégé. So, naturally, here you are.” Honore folded her hands in her lap.

“But Aunt, you couldn’t have known for certain that I would decide to come home with you.”

“Fiddle-faddle. Last Season, I noticed you when you were in town with that tiresome female your father married. I knew right away that you belonged with me. I’m childless. You have no mother. What could be simpler?”

Marcus twitched uncomfortably in his seat.

Honore grinned and patted Fiona again. “Consider the stir we’ll make, Fiona. We will storm London together! Like Cosmas and Damian.”

Obviously perturbed, Marcus exhaled loudly and sat up. “You do know that Cosmas and Damian were beheaded?”