The Madcap Masquerade (16 page)

He stared down at her, his face suddenly grim. “Have you nothing to say to me, Meg? Am I the only one whose heart is in jeopardy?”

She closed her eyes, unable to face the hurt she saw in his.

“Is it Richard who stands between us?”

Her eyes popped open. “Richard? Why do you ask that?”

“Anyone can see the man is hopelessly in love with you.”

She’d told him so many lies that had seemed necessary at the time. The least she could do was tell him the truth about her friendship with the vicar. “Richard is hopelessly in love all right,” she agreed, “but not with me. We are friends who confide in each other. Nothing more.”

The relief she saw on Theo’s handsome face made her feel more guilty than ever. Why hadn’t she realized that in telling him that one truth, she’d merely given more strength to all the other lies on which he was building his hopes for the future.

Three more days, she reminded herself. Then the fortnight she’d pledged her father was over, and with it, her hateful masquerade. In three more days, she could collect her money, pay Lily’s debts and go back to living her own life.

But not before she’d told Theo the truth. Not before she’d disillusioned him so thoroughly, he would feel nothing but relief that he need never see her again. Not before she’d set him free to find a truly courageous, compassionate and honest woman with whom to share his life.

She owed him that much for falling in love with her—something she’d thought no man would ever do….and for a dozen other reasons she wasn’t sure she could define.

But most of all, she owed him the truth because she’d just this moment realized that fool that she was, she’d fallen in love with him as well.

There were three more days in May. Three days until the date he’d originally chosen as his wedding day. Theo rode slowly back to Ravenswood, deep in thought. Meg’s accident had made him realize how deeply he cared for her and how desperate he was to make her his own in every way possible.

He would, he decided, put everything else aside and devote every waking minute of the next three days to his courtship. He’d be so tender, so considerate, so charming, he just might convince her that June 15 would be as acceptable a date for their wedding as July 1.

She might not yet realize she loved him. She’d kept disappointingly silent on that subject when he’d declared himself to her. But she desired him every bit as much as he desired her. Her response to his kisses had told him that, as had the way her body had melded to his when he’d lain above her on that grassy mound, or held her before him on his saddle when they rode to Barrington Hall.

He just hoped he could convince her of that truth in the next few days. He needed to get this courting business behind him and establish Meg as his loving wife and the new mistress of Ravenswood. He was neglecting important work that must be finished before another winter was upon him.

All of his tenants’ houses needed repairs, and there were fences to be built for the cattle he’d ordered the day he and the squire signed the marriage agreement. They’d be delivered soon and he’d been warned they couldn’t graze the same pastures as the Ravenswood sheep.

The west wing of the manor house needed a new roof. It had leaked badly last winter. Another such winter and all the priceless furnishings that section of the house contained would be nothing more than moldy rags.

All of these things could be accomplished now that Meg’s dowry was added to the depleted Ravenswood coffers. He felt a twinge of guilt over that, but only a twinge. She would benefit as much as he from every cent he spent once she was his wife.

Stepford, the newly appointed butler, greeted him at the door when he arrived at Ravenswood. “A note arrived for you from the village this morning, my lord,” he said in his usual aloof manner. He held out a small silver tray on which reposed a piece of folded paper, and Theo spied the words “His Earlship” in a childish scrawl he knew all too well.

With sinking spirits, he carried the note up to his chamber to read in private. So much had transpired since last he’d seen her, he’d almost forgotten about Sophie. Like the countess, she was a part of his past he must put in place before he could look to his future.

The note was short and in Sophie’s usual semi-literate style.

Dear Theo

I have thot about what you sed and no you are rite. Our tim together is over. I am moving to Wembley in Middlesex and hop to open a dressmaker shop if you can see yur way to lone me the blunt. Two hundred pounds will do me nicely.

Yur frend Sophie

Theo breathed a sigh of relief. One more problem solved. If two hundred pounds was all it took to rid him of the guilt he felt over his part in aiding Sophie’s fall from grace, it was money well spent. He made a mental note to instruct his man-of-affairs to deliver the sum to her that very afternoon along with his best wishes for her success in her new venture.

Grinning from ear to ear, he tore Sophie’s note into minute pieces and dropped them into the cold ashes in the fireplace. So that was that. Sophie’s practical nature had won out over her romantic fantasies after all. He was not surprised. Every woman he’d ever known had been practical to the core when push came to shove.

The countess—he would never again think of her as his mother—was the epitome of practicality; she’d stopped at nothing to protect her role as Mistress of Ravenswood. Even Rosa had managed to negotiate herself a lifetime sinecure along with the legal status she’d sought for her illegitimate child.

The possible exception was his bride-to-be. As far as he could determine, Meg Barrington hadn’t a practical bone in her body. Neither title nor money meant a thing to her—which was undoubtedly why his pressing need for her large dowry gave her such a distrust of him.

Somehow he must find a way to gain her trust and win her heart. The task wouldn’t be an easy one. The only thing he had in his favor at the moment was the passion he stirred in her each time he touched her.

His smile broadened. Then passion it was, and there was no time like the present to begin seducing the fascinating lady he intended to make the next Countess of Lynley.

Theo’s note addressed to Meg was delivered shortly before noon. It informed her that he would call on her at one o’clock to take her for a drive into the countryside. A postscript added that he would have his cook prepare a picnic lunch.

Maeve read the note a second time and decided it sounded more like a summons than an invitation. What had made her think the Earl of Lynley was anything but arrogant? Still she could almost forgive him since the proposed outing sounded most appealing—far more appealing than either the formal ball or the lavish dinner she’d attended at Ravenswood.

The truth was, she had never before been on a picnic. Lily had considered partaking of a meal anywhere but at a properly appointed dining table positively barbaric. Maeve, on the other hand, had always secretly thought dining
alfresco
would be great fun.

The idea of doing so with Theo sounded especially intriguing at the moment. She’d given her situation some serious thought since returning from her disastrous early morning ride, and had come to the conclusion she should put aside her feelings of guilt and enjoy every minute of the last three days she would spend with him.

Her reasoning was both simple and logical. Foolish though it might be, she had given her heart to a man she would probably never see again once she returned to London—a man who would thoroughly despise her once he knew the truth about her. Since there was little she could do in a mere three days to make him despise her even more, she might as well store up memories for the long, lonely years ahead.

She was waiting, parasol in hand, when he arrived promptly at one o’clock in a shiny black tilbury drawn by a powerful-looking bay. “What did your cook prepare for our picnic,” she asked, eyeing the intriguing cloth-covered basket on the seat of the carriage.

Theo grinned. “Who knows? Whatever took her fancy.”

She grinned back. “A surprise. I love surprises.”

Meg was a surprise herself this afternoon, Theo decided, flicking the reins to set the bay in motion. There was a brightness in her eyes, an eagerness in her voice he hadn’t heard before.

“Where will we eat our picnic lunch?” she asked, peering at him from beneath her flower-trimmed bonnet. “Will it be by a lake? Oh, I do hope it will be by a lake.”

“Of course it will. Picnics should always be by lakes,” Theo assured her, congratulating himself on his brilliant selection of a way to amuse her. Picnicking must be one of her favorite pastimes. She looked almost childlike in her excitement.

They drove for a good half hour, chatting companionably, and still hadn’t reached their destination. Theo could have shortened the trip by half had he wanted to. He’d decided instead to take the longest possible route to the spot he’d chosen, simply because he was enjoying himself so much seeing the familiar countryside through Meg’s eyes. She had the same look of wonder as on their last drive. One would think she’d never before seen the countryside, from the way she exclaimed over every tree and flower, every grazing lamb and waddling duck. Even a field of common daisies drew gasps of pleasure from her.

They passed a spindly wild rose growing by the side of the lane and reverently, she touched the pale pink blooms with the tips of her slender fingers. He watched, aching to feel those fingers touching him.

Finally, when the sight of an apple tree in full blossom brought tears to her eyes, he could stand it no longer. He pulled the carriage to the side of the lane, took her in his arms and kissed her. It was not a kiss of passion as the others he’d shared with her had been, but rather a profoundly tender kiss, celebrating the pure, undiluted joy of life that this moment, this place, this woman generated in him.

Maeve slowly opened her eyes when he finally raised his head. “All your kisses have been lovely, but this one was the loveliest of all,” she pronounced solemnly. “I shall remember it forever.”

“There are plenty more where that came from,” Theo said, and to his surprise, watched her happy smile fade to but a pale version of its former brilliance.

Instinctively, he picked up the reins, his mind anywhere but on what he was doing. He found himself wondering what he could have said to cause the mysterious sadness he’d glimpsed in her eyes. She was obviously a woman given to quixotic changes of mood.

He quickly dismissed that fact as irrelevant. With all he found to like in her, he could learn to live with an occasional mood. A moment later, she was once again chattering blithely, and he found himself so caught up in the pleasure of her company, he all but forgot her brief, inexplicable lapse into melancholy.

The lake, when they finally reached it, was a perfect oval sapphire glistening in the bright May sunshine. Clumps of wild violets and sweet clover dotted the grassy slope that led to the water’s edge. A gentle breeze, fragrant with the scent of wild thyme from the meadow across the lane, stirred tiny ripples on the water’s surface.

“It’s called Jewel Lake,” Theo said. There are three other small lakes on Ravenswood property, but this is my favorite. He spread the carriage robe beneath a huge old oak, set the basket on one corner of it and smiled at Meg. “Now you can see what cook considers proper picnic fare.”

She dropped to her knees beside the basket and began rummaging through the contents. “Let me see, we have a bottle of wine two small roasted chickens, fresh scones with strawberry preserves and I do believe—yes they are—cucumber sandwiches,” she said, laying each serviette-draped plate on the carriage robe as she took it from the basket.

“A veritable feast,” Theo declared, dropping down beside her as she uncovered the last dish. It contained two perfect golden peaches.

She beamed with delight. “What a treat. But where would your cook find peaches so early in the season?”

“They’re from the Ravenswood orangery. One of my grandfather’s better ideas. Because of it, we have fresh fruits and vegetables all year round, no matter how foul the weather.”

He frowned. “But shouldn’t we lay the cloth before we unpack the basket?”

“Oh!” A flush stained her cheeks. “How stupid of me. Of course we should.”

While Theo watched, she painstakingly returned all the food to the basket, then removed the snowy cloth which was folded into one corner. She sat with it in her hands, a puzzled look on her face. “Are we supposed to lay it atop the carriage robe or beside it?”

Theo chuckled. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she’d never been on a picnic before—at least not one where she was expected to sit on the ground. “As I recall, my nanny used to spread the cloth beside the robe,” he said, “probably because it left more room to sit down that way.”

“That makes sense,” she declared and promptly spread the cloth adjacent to the robe. “You picnicked with your nanny?”

“Almost every day in the summer. In this very spot, in fact.” Theo sat down, his back against the tree trunk while she once again removed the food from the basket and arranged it on the cloth with careful precision. “Some of my happiest childhood memories are of reading my books beneath this old oak or sculling about on the lake under Nanny Thistle’s watchful eye.”

He accepted the plate, serviette and utensils she handed him and watched her seat herself rather gingerly on the edge of the robe. “I apologize for the lack of formality. It’s what I’m used to because this is how Nanny Thistle and I always picnicked. Are you accustomed to a more formal type of picnic?”