Lady Fiasco, A Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt) (29 page)

“Return? Is that wise?” Fiona fanned herself. “You were rather unhappy with me last time we spoke. If I remember correctly, you accused me of nearly causing the collapse of your entire house, not to mention, being responsible for your personal disfigurement.”

“Oh that.” Honore waved through the air as if dispatching a gnat. “A simple case of hives. I was better by the next morning. Your cousin, however, is not at all well. Poor fellow is retching his way across the Bay of Biscay, as we speak.”

“I suppose
that
is the fault of my curse as well.” Fiona fanned herself briskly.

“Fiddlesticks! You know I don’t give a fig about that curse of yours. No such thing as curses, never has been, never will be. It’s all a bunch of hottentot nonsense.”

“But you said—”

“Twaddle! Forget that. It was a ruse. Had to do it. Now, as I said, I want you to move back to Alison Hall, and that’s an end to the matter. Tomorrow, I’ll send Lorraine with the coach.”

Fiona and Honore stood face-to-face, oblivious of what was going on around them
.
Fiona pushed her nose closer to Honore’s. “No, thank you. I don
’
t believe I will
.”

“No? But, I insist
.
This is absurd
.
You can’t stay here. With
her
.” She waved a finger in the vague direction of Lady Hawthorn. “The woman is a thick
-
witted ninny
,
dull as a post. Even your father stays away. Where the devil is he, anyway?”

“You know perfectly well, he’s in Spain on the King’s business. You’re intentionally changing the subject
.
I most certainly can, and will
,
stay here. I don’t care whether she is dull or not.”

“Fiona,
think
what you are saying
.
How can you tolerate
,
day after day, those two peahens pecking away at you? For pity sake, look at the company they keep. Have you ever seen any room in London filled with more humdrum provincials than this?” Honore swung around
to
indicate the entire assembly.

Her arm collided with the midsection of a gentleman wearing a black coat
.
She glanced up at the owner
.
“Ah, Wesmont
.
There you are
.
Tell her. Tell Fiona she must come back to Alison Hall with me. I refuse to let her molder away with these supercilious twits. She belongs with me.”

“No.
”
He squared his shoulders like a captain i
s
suing orders. “She cannot, will not
,
return to Alison Hall. I forbid it
.
”

“
What?” both women asked in unison.

Fiona looked at him
,
astonished
.
It was one thing to be devastatingly handsome, and perhaps the most wonderful person on the face of the earth, but it was quite another, to assume he could run her life without permission
.

“You heard me well enough. I said Fiona will not return to your house.”

Honore spoke in a threateningly low dictatorial tone
.
“I say, she will.”

“No, Lady Alameda
.
She won’t
.
I think you will find that the greater authority res
i
des with me.”

“Impossible
.
This is outside of enough! I’m her aunt, her benefactress, her mentor, the closest thing to a mother she has
.
” Honore folded her arms across her chest
.
“She belongs with me, at Alison Hall.”

“Be that as it may
,
” he responded in clipped tones. “I have spent the entire afternoon and into the evening procuring a special license.” He pulled a folded document from inside his coat
.
“When next F
i
ona moves, it will be into
my
house, not yours.” Tyrell cocked his eyebrow and grinned triumphantly
.
“Checkmate
,
Countess
.
”

Fiona stamped her foot
.
It was a weak sound. Silk slippers simply do not make near enough noise on a wooden floor. It was, however
,
enough. Wesmont and Honore both looked her way. Fiona’s hands hung at her side. Her fan dangled from her wr
i
st
.
Her face was flushed
, and h
er eyes round with hurt. Then, those eyes flashed dark
,
and Tyrell knew the sea had just turned stormy.

“You will both kindly listen to
me
.
I am not a puppet to be moved here or
t
here at your leisure, Lord Wesmont. Nor for your entertainment
,
Lady
A
l
a
meda
.
” Fiona slapped her fan angrily against her skirts and glared at each of them in turn. “How dare you
presume to decide my future without so much as a by-your-leave.
”

“If I was presumptuous, I beg your pardon.
”
He reached for her
hand
,
but she refused him
. “
I thought y
o
u felt as I did.
I
n the absen
c
e of your father—
”
He didn
’
t get to finish his defense because she turned and fled the room.

Tyrell frowned at Honore as if the whole incident were her fault
.

Honore applauded softly and smirked
.
“Well done, Wesmont. That was by far the most botched proposal I’ve ever heard.”

Wesmont growled and strode off after Fiona.
Honore sighed wistfully and headed back to the card room.

Tyrell found Fiona
,
but it was not easy. She had retreated to a small service galley off the din
i
ng room
.
He pushed open a door disguised in the paneling, and
i
n the dim light he found her leaning against the wall
.
A table, laden with silver platters and bowls of food
,
took up one side of the narrow room. Obviously, the small passage served as a convenience for the servants bearing courses up from the kitchen
.

Tyrell walked in quietly, hoping that Fiona would not bolt out of the far door. She glanced over at him and stepped away from the wall, but didn’t run.

“Hear me out,” he said.

Fiona merely tilted her head and considered him
.
She had cooled since running out of the ballroom
.
After all, Tyrell had gone to the trouble of getting a special license, and while it was heavy
-
handed
,
ill-mannered
,
and yes, presumptuous
,
it meant he wanted to marry her. If he truly loved her
. .
.

Fiona tried to clamp a firm hand on the joy and hope dancing inside her.
Be still
,
she told these children of her heart. But they would not obey
.

Tyrell came nearer, struggling to form the right words to woo her with, but they wouldn’t come
.
He approached, groping for elegant phrases, suitable expression of sentiment, but finding none, and stumbling over a morass of emot
i
on
.
He held out open hands, and looked at her, completely lost at sea
.
Feelings were so blasted difficult to sort through
. H
e only knew he wanted her
. His life would dry up into a brittle wisp without her.

He moved closer and stared down into her irresistible eyes, waiting for the words to materialize. When they didn’t come, he started without them. “Fiona, I . . .”

But one doesn’t say,
I want you,
as if another person is a biscuit to be eaten, or a horse to purchase. Tyrell’s mind failed him
.
His mouth froze halfway open. No clever sounds mixed together to become speech
,
so he put the instrument to better use
.
He bent h
i
s head down and kissed her. His lip
s
f
e
ll on her soft mouth
,
and
t
ogether the
y
spoke
a
far more eloquent language than ear
s
can hear.

Fiona and Tyrell were thus communicating when the service door to the dining room cracked open. The crack was
wide enough for an interloper to peer into the dim room. What the trespasser spied enraged her. Emeline’s golden curls shook with frustration. She could barely keep from screeching with envy, but that would not suit her purpose. It was a good thing she had followed Lord Wesmont out of the ballroom. One more minute of this disgusting behavior and the man might propose to her sister. She had to do something quickly.

At that moment, a footman climbed the stairs from the kitchen and entered by the far door
.
Fiona and Tyrell pulled apart and shifted uneasily
.
Tyrell cleared his throat
.

In a broken whisper, Fiona asked him, “You said you wished to speak to me? Well, my lord
,
I am ready to listen.”

Tyrell chuckled.

The footman, a well-trained fellow, did not take notice of anyone in the room. He carefully aver
t
ed his eyes from their direction and walked hastily to the table
.
He picked up a bowl of custard to carry to the dining hall. The preoccupied footman stepped in front of the door concealing Emeline.

It was too perfect
.
Emeline saw it as a sign from God. She shoved the door forward
,
slamming it into the servant
.
It clipped his knee and shoe
.
Indeed
,
the entire toe of his shiny buckled shoe wedged underneath the door.

The startled footman, flopped out of his shoe, and fell backward. The bowl of custard flew over his head. He fumbled. He reached. He stretched to catch it
.
But the custard continued its journey without him. It arced graceful
ly u
p and then, obeying the laws of gravity, began its des
c
en
t w
here it connected with the floor, and bo
u
n
c
ed up again, making a series of smaller spinning somersaults.

Remarkable
,
that an egg custard in a silver dish should bounce so well
.
With each clatter the occupants of the room were showered with plops of yellow custard. The bowl gyrated across the floor and
,
with a whirling metallic clank, came to a stop at Tyrell
’
s feet
.

In the silence that followed
,
a triumphant giggle resonated from Emeline just outside the room.

The footman pried his shoe out from under the door and inspected his marred toe. Then he stood up, looked over the splotched mess, and groaned. “Cook will have my head
.
”

“Not before I catch the culprit who rammed that door open, and hang her by her vicious little thumbs.” Tyrell started after Emeline. He grabbed Fiona’s hand and pulled her with him.

Fiona called back to the footman as Tyrell tugged her through the door. “Tell Cook it was my fault
.
Y
ou know
, blame it on the curse.”

She trailed behind Tyrell as he rushed through the dining room, set on vengeance. In the brightly flickering candlelight, Fiona caught sight of Tyrell’s splattered coat
.

“Wait!” She tugged on his arm. “Tyrell wait! We can’t storm into the ballroom like this.”

He turned around and stared at her
.
Custard dribbled down her forehead
and dappled her cheeks
.
Her blue silk gown was speckled with yellow blobs. Tyrell considered her for a moment
.
She looked deliciously comical
.
A grin burst across his face
.