Major Lord David (9 page)

“Look here, Billie! You love lobster patties-this fellow
should give you a birthday feast!”

She had never seen a live lobster before. At once the thought
of eating the magnificent, struggling creature made her ill.

Kit must have read the dismay on her face. “I won him off
P.B. Marsh at Boodles this evening,” he added stubbornly.

“Won him?”

“At faro. What’s wrong, Billie? I thought you’d be pleased.”
He brought the poor thing closer. “Don’t be squeamish, now.
You used to like to find crayfish”

“Oh, Kit!” She fought the urge to wring her hands. It did
seem that though everyone about him wished Kit would learn
some sense, Kit himself was most determined to disappoint
them. That he should bring such a thing to her party-and
expect an ecstatic reception! Billie’s gaze rather desperately
sought out Cook’s disapproving face.

“Not that way, Master Caswell,” Cook cautioned as Kit
moved to place the pot and the lobster on the stove. “We must
boil the water first-else it will suffer.”

“Suffer? Why, the thing’s to be eaten!”

Kit was laughingly holding the lobster up to Cook’s grim features when a purposeful clearing of a throat at the kitchen
door made Billie turn. Major Trent, looking every inch the
distinguished military officer, his blue gaze focused in amusement on the scene before him, smartly bowed.

Billie knew she flushed, whether from embarrassment, the
heat in the kitchen, or Lord David’s quick, penetrating glance,
she could not have said. She raised her chin, observing silently
that he had at last managed to tear himself away from Charis
Athington’s charms.

“Your pardon,” David said, apparently speaking most directly to Cook. “I was told I might find Miss Caswell in the
kitchen.” As his keen gaze took in Billie’s pink cheeks, he
seemed to be fighting a smile.

Kit’s high spirits had fled. He again looked resentful.

“Why, Major,” he asked, “d’ya think my sister’s preparing
supper?”

“Certainly not, Mr. Caswell. You would appear to be the one
charged with that chore”

“Oh, the devil!” Kit scornfully tossed the lobster into the
midst of the carefully prepared serving dishes on the table. As
Cook protested, Kit sent Billie a dark look. “One red back’s
as good as another, I s’pose,” he muttered disagreeably, and
he brushed rudely past Lord David, who stepped aside.

Recalling the major’s charge that she “babied” her brother,
Billie held her tongue. She had to concede that Kit had not
acted just then in anything other than rag-mannered fashion.

“He is certainly a fine-looking young man,” David conceded mildly. His gaze seemed to envelop her. “I had not seen
him upright.”

She almost rose to the bait, half compliment though it
was. Instead she turned to Cook and assured herself that her
brother’s unusual and unfortunate gift would be handled appropriately. When she looked again toward the doorway,
David Trent had held his ground. He still observed her closely.
One might have suspected he had traveled all the way from the Continent for the express purpose of frequenting her aunt’s
kitchen.

“How kind of you to come, Major,” she said, as she walked
toward him.

“It is a major event” Despite his smile, despite his impeccable grooming and the dashing scarlet coat, he looked rather
pale and tired. Billie fought her swift rise of concern. When
she’d last seen him, at the New Year, she had released him; his
welfare could be none of her affair.

“Did Lord Hayden convey my message?” she asked.

He smiled and shook his head. “Was it in answer to mine?”

“Yes.”

“And was the answer yes?”

‘No.

“Ah! But the question would now seem irrelevant-and
how else shall I deliver your birthday present?” He did not
step aside as she approached, as he had stepped aside for Kit,
so that of necessity she came very near him. She was breathlessly aware of his height, of the scent of his shaving lotion, of
how dark his pupils looked within the striking blue of his
eyes. “I have missed you, Billie,” he said softly.

“Have you? Is that why you have stayed away so long?”

“Does it seem long to you?”

She shook her head. As she mutely made to push past him,
he at last moved aside and followed her into the dark stairwell.
She could hear the laughter and music of the party in the rooms
just overhead, and she stepped briskly toward the stairs. But a
gentle pull on her arm stayed her at the very first step.

She turned to protest, only to find her face on a level with his.

“You said you wanted time,” he continued softly. “How
could I imagine you would object to more of it? Though I confess,” he muttered, “it seems dreadfully long to me” And he
swiftly kissed her.

For some seconds she forgot herself. Then she drew breath.

“You are too fond of kissing, Major.”

“Perhaps because it is so rare”

“Surely you might determine whether it is rare or not?”

“No, Miss Caswell. You do” Again he smiled. “Though I
fear you might reach the point that you feel you have had
enough of my kisses-and devalue them…

“We shall never reach such a point!”

“I am pleased to hear it.”

“That is not what I meant!” She had to think. His ready
smile fascinated her.

“There must be no more kissing, though,” he explained
lightly, “until you have decided.”

“I assure you, my lord, that is not a deprivation.”

“I speak for myself, Billie.” His gaze held hers. “Have you
any news for me?”

With a strangled breath she managed only, “I shall not tryst
here in the stairwell,” and raced on up the steps.

For all she had been absent a good fifteen minutes, little
about the gathering had changed. Except that May Sanders
and Charis Athington were no longer occupied by dancing or
conversation. Both girls were much too aware of her return
with Major Trent; from across the parlor, they boldly assessed
the major at her side. Billie took the happy group into dazed,
uncomprehending view all at once-because she felt so closely
the presence of her partner. Everyone at this party believed
her engaged to him, yet in all these weeks she had received
not one word from him, not of love or even of liking. They
ought to deny any intention here, now, finally and openly. But
he had kissed her once again….

“Will you not go?” she urged under her breath, sensing
only that she could not manage both the major and the party at
once. “This is not the time to talk. I do not want you here”
She knew instantly that she’d been too sharp. To treat him so
was disgraceful. When she glanced at him, his fine jaw had set
stubbornly. She swallowed. “I mean you-you must of course
stay for some supper. As you have come all this way .. “

“I think not,” he said abruptly. She had never seen him look
quite so stern. He was signaling the butler for his coat and hat.
“As you say, I have indeed come a long way-from the Channel and Dover through the night-and would benefit from
some sleep.” As he shrugged into his high-collared greatcoat,
he drew a small parcel, carefully wrapped in paper and twine,
from one deep pocket. “Happy Birthday, Miss Caswell,” he
said, tendering it to her without a smile. “‘Tis from Brittany.
On seeing it, I thought of you and your brothers” He did not
meet her gaze as he bowed and swiftly exited, letting in a rush
of frigid air at the door.

Only later, when the company had left and the house was
silent, when she could most self-indulgently regret rejecting
his company, did Billie unwrap the perfect Faience pottery
box with its charming depiction of one skirted girl amid a
host of boys.

66We’ve the devil to pay,” Hayden muttered, as David
stood next to him at the following Monday’s musicale. The
angry cries from the street outside were much at variance with
the politely restrained evening in progress indoors. Their
hostess, the mother of pretty May Sanders, could never have
reckoned on the circumstances in town that night.

With the introduction in Parliament of the Corn Importation Law, a bill calculated to keep grain prices high and the
pockets of wealthy landowners full, much of the poorer populace of the countryside appeared to have descended on the
capital to object. Deliberations on the bill in the Commons
had begun only that morning, and tempers both on the floor
and out on the street were running hot.

David reflected that the weekend had certainly not been an
auspicious one on which to return to London. He had left behind a continent at peace, only to confront an armed camp in
the West End.

Since his return, he had scarcely seen his brother, Hayden,
catching only a brief glimpse of him two nights before, at Billie Caswell’s birthday party. And because Grandmere had
wanted David to reside not at Hayden’s rooms in St. James’s
but with her at the town house, there had been little opportunity to speak.

At this evening’s informal recital, they were meant to be
listening to May Sanders play the harp. May Sanders herself had invited him. But David’s attention had been drawn instead
to the back of Billie Caswell’s glossy head. She sat among the
attentive audience, as immovably courteous as most, thoughbecause she sat at the end of the row-he could see the slight
impatient tapping of her gloved fingers against her lap.

To distract himself he whispered to Hayden, “How shall
Father vote on the bill?” The duke usually took Hayden’s recommendation. “That is, if the thing should pass?”

“Oh, it will pass. Nothing more certain than that this rush
to remedy should pass.”

“And then how shall Father vote?”

“Why, as he’s always voted” Hayden eyed him languidly,
then returned his attention to the musicians. “In his own interest!
But if you are asking if the Lords will then approve the billthat is a surety as well.” He sighed. “If I troubled to counsel
anything, ‘twould be delay. ‘Tis all an unseemly hurry to tinker. We might reasonably wait a year or more to see how the
peace suits. But I shan’t trouble.” He straightened a coat
sleeve, as though matters of state were, after all, of trifling import.

“These mobs grow surly,” David observed. “I sailed across
from Calais with Lord Castlereagh’s suite. The folk meeting
us at Dover seemed cheerful enough. But as we came on to
London, the dissent increased. I feared some wished him
physical harm”

“Naturally the discontents must focus their ire on the Foreign Secretary-no matter that he’s been away in Vienna. The
issue is certainly on his plate now.” He looked at David. “Why
did you not stay in France, to go on to Vienna with Wellington? D’you plan to cash out after all? Or were you concerned
about the filly?”

“I wish you would not refer to Miss Caswell so, Myles.”

“Why, ‘twas you yourself likened her to your horse! At the
New Year.”

“I shouldn’t have done so. The color of her hair put me in mind of it, that is all.” David’s gaze drifted again to that dark
chestnut head. “And I like to watch her walk.”

“Walk?”

“Yes. She’s most graceful, yet assured. She has no fear.”

“Even I have some fears, David.”

“And it shows in your walk.”

Myles promptly and surreptitiously elbowed him, a hard jab
that might easily have toppled him. But David held his place.

“In all seriousness, Myles,” he whispered. “I must have a decision from her-if not tonight, then soon. I had no interest in
moving on to Vienna with Wellington; I’ve no taste for diplomacy. Either I rejoin the regiment or sell up and head home”

“You were always one for doin’ and rushin’ about. Perhaps
you ought to stand for this energetic Parliament.” But Hayden
sobered as he listened to May Sanders pluck dutifully upon
her harp. “I’ve mentioned before that Father wants you home.
And nothing would please Grandmere more than if you were
to skip off to Scotland with Miss Billie-and promise her a
great-grandchild.”

“Grandmere would be even more pleased were you to
marry.”

Hayden shook his head. “I am incapable of pleasing her.”

“Au contraire. You are the one most capable of pleasing her.
But you are also the least inclined to do so.”

The Marquis of Hayden had no response. Since David knew
he had simply stated the truth, he did not refine upon it. So
much of what Grandmere had said to him and to his cousin
Chas in the past year had evidenced her frustration over Hayden’s apparent apathy. One did not fret so if one did not care
very much indeed.

May Sanders finished her ordeal. Before the next performer, a young lady whose complexion defiantly challenged
her pink gown, could be prevailed upon to leave the safety of
her seat, Charis Athington was up out of her own-and rather too obviously and playfully importuning Billie Caswell to
seek the stage. Billie was shaking her bright head.

“Egad! We can’t have that, can we?” Hayden observed with
a wince. “Will you not intervene?”

David smiled and declined. With a disgusted sigh, Hayden
moved as though to leave the room.