The Pursuit Of Marriage (8 page)

She drew a deep breath, pulled her hand from his grasp, and stepped back, as if to put a safe distance between them.

Very good indeed.

“You’re right, my lord, and I accept your kind offer of friendship. Besides, we shall be dealing with one another a great deal through the refurbishment of your house. All will go that much more smoothly if we get on well together.” She favored him with a too bright smile. A smile that struck him as hiding more than it revealed. “Perhaps, when I return, your mother will—”

“I doubt that.” His voice rang a bit too cheerily, and she cast him an odd look. He cleared his throat.

“What I mean to say is while I am confident that she will recover, I do not expect her recovery to be quite so quick as to see her out of bed within the next few days.”

“Do give her my best.” She turned and headed to the foyer, her step brisk, as if she could not wait to depart.

“Of course.”

He skirted around her to reach the foyer a step in front of her and signaled to Higgins to call for her carriage. A middle-aged woman sat on a bench near the door and stood at their appearance. A maid, probably, and no doubt Miss Effington’s chaperone for her appointment here today.

“I shall see you the day after tomorrow then.”

“Good day.” Miss Effington smiled pleasantly, nodded at her maid, who fell in step behind her, and sailed out the door Higgins opened in perfect timing to her pace. Reggie stared thoughtfully after her. Higgins closed the door and glanced at Reggie. “Is there something else, my lord?”

“I’m not entirely sure. And I’m not entirely sure I wish there to be.”

Miss Effington was a confusing contradiction in a most compelling package. She was independent and stubborn when it came to doing precisely as she pleased, as evidenced by this so-called business venture of hers. She didn’t so much as attempt restraint in what she said. She was opinionated and judgmental. Yet in spite of all that, she did not seem to take the rules of society lightly. She did not travel unaccompanied, and he noted a distinct tendency to be a bit sanctimonious and even stuffy. But she was also lovely and amusing, with a sharp wit and an air of intelligence about her. She would be a challenge for any man, and life with her would never be boring. Indeed, Miss Effington would likely be an adventure to well fill the rest of a man’s days.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, sir.”

“Nor do I, Higgins.” Reggie shook his head. “Women in general are a curious lot. I daresay—” He stopped and studied the older man. “Do you think my mother is really ill?”

“I have never known Lady Berkley to feign illness before, my lord.”

“That’s exactly what you said earlier today, and I should have caught it the first time. Because she has never done it before does not mean she is not doing it now.” Reggie shook his head. “You can be an evasive devil, Higgins, but I shan’t press you on this. Divided loyalties and all that. Let me ask you something else then.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Speaking in a strictly hypothetical manner, do you think my mother wishes me to be wed so much that she is willing to pretend to be on her deathbed to put me into close proximity to a lady of good family who would indeed be an excellent match? Is she that devious, do you think?”

“Most certainly, sir, although perhaps devious is too harsh a word.” Higgins’s brow furrowed slightly. Reggie had rarely seen him so expressive. “I have always thought Lady Berkley is far more clever, and far less frivolous, than most people give her credit for.”

Reggie studied him carefully. “Do you know something I should know?”

“I think not, sir.” Higgins paused. “That is, nothing you would be better off knowing, therefore it is accurate to say I know nothing you should know.”

Reggie raised a brow. “Divided loyalties again, Higgins?”

“I have only your best interests at heart, sir.”

“Of course.” Reggie thought for a moment. “Do you think my mother has only my best interests at heart as well?”

“Undoubtedly, sir.”

“Then I suspect I am in for a great deal of trouble.” Reggie blew a resigned breath. “But then I would wager you already knew that.”

“Indeed, sir.” Higgins’s expression was properly neutral, but there was a definite spark in his eyes. “And that too is something you are better off not knowing.”

“I was barely aware of his existence before our meeting after the race yesterday morning, yet I am confident I have never met a man who is quite as annoying as he is.” Cassie prowled the perimeter of her sister’s beautifully appointed parlor. “Or as confusing, which serves to make him all the more annoying.”

“I imagine it is something of a new experience for you,” Delia said mildly. She sat on a settee perfectly proportioned for the room, a cup of tea in her hand and an amused smile on her lips. “I can’t remember any man ever having had the upper hand with you.”

“He doesn’t have the upper hand,” Cassie said sharply. “He has no hand at all. Nor will he. Ever.”

“My apologies. I mistakenly assumed he was winning in this game you play with men.”

Cassie pulled up short and stared at her sister. “I don’t play games with men.”

“Of course not. The fact that you have a few well-practiced phrases that you advise can be used in any number of situations would never be considered part of a game. For example…” Delia adopted a sultry tone. “I fear, my lord, you have me at a disadvantage.” She fluttered her eyelashes and sighed dramatically.

“Oh, that.” Cassie shrugged. “That’s not…” She caught her sister’s amused gaze. “Well, perhaps it is. Perhaps it’s all one enormous, endless game, this pursuit of women by men and men by women with wedded bliss as the ultimate prize.”

“Not always,” Delia murmured.

“Always,” Cassie said firmly. “Why, look at you.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“Nonsense.” Cassie waved away the objection. “You are the very picture of happiness in marriage. Oh, certainly, it was not especially easy to come by, and this is your second try, but well worth it nonetheless. Therefore if this is indeed a game, you are most definitely a victor. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, I suppose so, but we are not talking about me.” Delia set her cup down on the table in front of her in a deliberate manner. “We are talking about you and Lord Berkley and the game you are playing with him.”

“I am not playing a game with him. I have no interest in him whatsoever.” She pushed aside the vaguest twinge of doubt and continued her aimless trek around the room, following a path along the edge of the Aubusson carpet selected specifically as a counter-point to the high, embellished ceiling. “And furthermore, I’ve told him so.”

Delia’s eyes widened. “You told him what, exactly?”

“I told him we would not suit.” Cassie straightened a painting on the wall a mere fraction of an inch. “I told him I had no interest in a man of his infamous reputation.”

“Infamous?” Delia laughed. “And how did he respond to that?”

“He seemed rather pleased to be considered infamous, although I can’t imagine he hasn’t been called that before.” Cassie glanced at her twin over her shoulder. “Furthermore, he agreed. That we will not suit, I mean. And for the life of me, I cannot determine why I find his agreement so blasted annoying.”

Delia studied her sister carefully. “Why do you think you and he would not suit?”

“Because I have no interest in reforming a rake.” Cassie had made the statement so many times that it flowed from her lips without conscious thought.

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Cassie turned toward her sister. “I should think that would be obvious.”

“It’s not, nor has it ever been. Why not, Cassie? You’ve made this declaration over and over again since the very first days of our coming out and I’ve always wondered why you were unyielding on the topic. Indeed, I’ve long considered it one of the contradictions of nature itself that you are so adamant about this, especially as the men who have typically pursued you have been the very kind you have never expressed interest in.”

“Perhaps that’s why.” The light tone in her voice belied the restlessness that gripped her. “Men have always assumed, our brothers included, that I would be the one of us most prone to scandalous behavior. Of course, events have proved they were mistaken.”

“Of course,” Delia muttered.

Delia was never especially pleased when references were made to her past indiscretions, indiscretions that had ended in not one but two marriages, although it was a continued source of satisfaction to Cassie that Delia was the twin who had been the center of scandal. On the other hand, Delia’s life had turned out beautifully, so perhaps scandal was a small price to pay.

“For the most part, the men who have pursued me have rarely done so with marriage in mind—”

“Not that you have given them the opportunity to prove otherwise.”

“I admit that, and I think my course of action has always been both proper and sensible. But,” Cassie met her sister’s gaze, “what if they were right all along?”

“What if who was right about what?” Delia stared in confusion.

“Everyone. Our brothers, men in general, everyone.” Cassie drew a deep breath. “What if they were right about me all along? What if I am the sister most prone to scandal?”

“Most prone is no longer accurate. Equally prone is perhaps more precise.” Delia grinned. “But I shall welcome the company.”

“As well you should, as it is entirely your fault.”

“My fault?”

Cassie nodded. “Your past actions and difficulties have led me to reexamine my own life.”

“I’m glad I could be of help,” Delia said under her breath.

“I am completely serious about this. I too have wondered why I am so set against any kind of involvement with men of a questionable reputation. Everyone seems to agree reformed rakes make excellent husbands. Lord knows, I have no lack of confidence, and surely if anyone can reform such a man, it would be me.”

Delia choked back a laugh.

Cassie ignored her. “I suspect it’s due to the behavior of our brothers. I would certainly pity a woman foolish enough to risk her heart with any one of them. But I think what I really fear isn’t so much being hurt as it is”—she caught her sister’s gaze—“that in many ways I am just like them.”

“Like these women?”

“No.” Cassie dropped into a nearby chair that nicely complimented her sister’s settee. “That I am just like our brothers.”

“I scarcely think—”

“That I am indeed drawn to scandalous behavior.” She leaned forward. “That once I turn down that road to impropriety and scandal and ruin and disaster, I shall never turn back.”

“Cassie—”

Cassie’s voice rose. “I have fought my entire life against this urge to be wild and free in spirit and do precisely what I want and damn the consequences.”

“I have not noticed any particular reticence up until now,” Delia said dryly.

“Oh, certainly, I have always spoken my mind, and yes, there have been a few incidents through the years,” Cassie ignored the skeptical look on her sister’s face, “barely worth mentioning, I might add. And indeed I am currently involved in an enterprise of a business nature that many consider unseemly, even improper, but I have in truth held myself in check.”

“Thank God,” Delia murmured.

“I think, somewhere deep inside, I want to be a rake, a rogue or a scoundrel. Maybe that’s exactly the sort of person I truly am. And Lord help me, in spite of everything I’ve always sworn”—she winced at saying the words aloud—“that is precisely the type of man I want, even though I know in my very bones, such a man would lead me down that ghastly road.”

“To scandal and impropriety?”

“Don’t forget ruin and disaster.”

“I could never forget ruin and disaster.” Delia shook her head. “I had no idea. You’ve never said a word to me about this.”

“Yes, well, you’d never said a word to me about your desire for adventure and excitement until you’d already run off with your first husband and returned home a widow.” Cassie slumped back into the chair.

“Apparently there are some secrets we can never share with even those closest to us.”

“Apparently.” Delia refilled her cup in a slow, deliberate manner, as if she needed the time to choose her next words. “So now that you have had this revelation about yourself, what are you going to do about it?”

“Do?” Cassie shook her head. “Nothing.”

Delia raised a brow. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing at all.” Cassie plucked at an errant thread on the arm of the chair. “I shall continue to live my life exactly as I have thus far. In truth, I see no need to change anything.”

“You don’t?”

“Absolutely not,” Cassie said firmly. “Understanding my nature, accepting it through the very act of confession to you, simply makes it easier to control.”

“I see.”

“Furthermore, I see no need to change my mind about the kind of man I wish to marry.”

“The mythical paragon who can’t possibly exist save in a romantic novel?”

“You needn’t take that—”

“Let me see. What is it you want again? Ah, yes.” Delia thought for a moment, and Cassie steeled herself. “You want a man who is respectable but not too respectable. Exciting but not too exciting. A man neither too strong nor too weak. Neither dull nor dangerous.”

“It sounds rather silly when you say it.” Odd, Cassie had never especially thought of her requirements in a husband as silly before; rather, they’d seemed solid and practical. At this moment, however, her sister’s list of Cassie’s qualifications sounded quite absurd.

“It’s always sounded silly.” Delia studied her sister. “But I suppose it’s a good sign that you at last recognize it as such.” She shook her head. “You’re looking for a man who is nothing short of perfect and, dear heart, such a man cannot possibly exist. And if he did, your Mister Perfect—”

“Lord Perfect, if you please,” Cassie muttered.

“Lord Perfect would bore you to death before your vows were barely said. It’s the imperfect nature of men that makes them endearing. If they were perfect, they’d be unbearable.” She smiled in a confidential manner. “Of course, we can never let them know how imperfect they really are.”

“I think they suspect.”

“Certainly, but they don’t know that we know.” Delia grinned wickedly, and Cassie laughed in spite of herself. “So,” Delia began again. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to refurbish Berkley House for Lord Berkley’s,” Cassie tried not to choke on the words, “future wife.”

Delia’s eyes widened. “I was not aware he was betrothed.”

“He isn’t, but his mother is ill and she would like to see him wed before she dies.” Cassie furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “It’s very odd. He appears to care for her, yet he does not seem overly dismayed at the idea of her death.”

“Perhaps he’s confident of her recovery?”

“Yes, I’m certain that’s it.” Cassie had had the distinct impression that his certainty had grown with every word that had passed between them at his house, but surely she was mistaken. Even so, it was most perplexing. “At any rate, Lady Berkley has the most peculiar notion that a newly refurbished house will help attract a suitable match.”

“How very strange. Although,” Delia grinned, “I would not put it past our own mother to do such a thing.”

“Indeed, Mother encouraged me to take this commission. For the sake of Lady Berkley’s health.”

“Really?” Delia stared at her sister thoughtfully. “I thought she was no more delighted by your work than our brothers are. Her encouragement is somewhat hard to believe.”

“She claims Lady Berkley is a dear friend and that she would consider it a favor if I were to accept her as a client.” Cassie wrinkled her nose. “Except that Lady Berkley is bedridden and I won’t be dealing with her but with her son.”

“Ah, we are back to Lord Berkley then.”

“I suppose you could say that.”

Delia considered her twin for a long, assessing moment. “What is it about the man that annoys you so?”

“The way he seems to see right through me,” Cassie said without thinking, then at once wished she could take the words back. “Did I say that aloud?”

Delia bit back a smile. “Yes, you did.”

“I didn’t mean to. What I meant to say was that I find his arrogance annoying. And his confidence. His too polished manner. His wit. His charm. His laugh—”

“You find his laugh annoying?”

“It’s contagious.” Cassie shook her head. “It makes me want to laugh with him. He makes me want to laugh. And his eyes, Delia, he has the most intriguing gray eyes. They are positively endless. You want to fall headfirst into them.”

“Do you?”

“Indeed you do. It’s most disquieting. And he’s quite nice, really. And kind. To”—she thought for a moment—“small children and domesticated animals.”

“And you know this because…”

“Why, he told me.”

“So you believe him to be honest as well?”

“I believe so. Under most circumstances, that is.”

“It sounds to me,” Delia said, choosing her words with care, “that what you find most annoying about this man is that you like him.”

“Oh dear.” Realization slammed into Cassie, and she slumped deeper into the chair with the shock of it.

“It does sound very much like that, doesn’t it?”

“It sounds like you may well more than like him.”

“Absolutely not.” Cassie sat up straight. “I will not allow anything more than friendship to pass between us. We have already agreed to be friends—”

“Have you?”

“You needn’t smirk like that. It’s completely insignificant.” Cassie waved her sister’s comment away.

“We will be spending a certain amount of time in one another’s company, and it would simply be more pleasant if we were not constantly sniping at each other.”

Delia laughed. “You didn’t tell me he snipes.”

“He doesn’t.” Cassie grimaced. “I do. But I shall watch my tongue around him from this moment forth.”

“Because he’s kind to small children?”

“Yes.” Cassie’s voice rang with a firm note. “And because I have been rather rude to him up to this point.”

“When will you see him again?”

“Tomorrow. I will have some preliminary drawings to show him so we can begin to decide what kind of setting we can provide for the future Viscountess Berkley.”

Delia shook her head and chuckled in a knowing manner at least as annoying as anything Lord Berkley had done.

“Delia, regardless of the fact that I apparently harbor a tiny bit of fondness for Lord Berkley, he is not the match for me. We do not suit as anything more than friends. He is not the kind of man I wish to spend the rest of my life with. He is not my Lord Perfect.”

Cassie leaned toward her sister. “And he never will be.”

“So how is the eccentric Miss Effington?” Marcus handed Reggie a glass of brandy.

“Stubborn, with strong opinions she does not hesitate to express.” Reggie sipped Marcus’s excellent liquor thoughtfully and settled back in the chair he had long ago claimed as his own in the spacious library at Pennington House.

The two friends had discussed all manner of critical and frivolous subjects in this very room through the years, and, even though Marcus was now married, the Pennington library continued to be their sanctuary. Reggie blessed whatever gods of fortune—as well as the helping hand of Marcus’s mother—

that had led Gwendolyn Townsend, now Lady Pennington, to Marcus. The earl could well have ended up wed to a woman who would not be as tolerant of the frequent presence of her husband’s oldest friend.

“In truth, Marcus, I find myself wanting to either throttle her or,” he grinned, “kiss her.”

Marcus raised a brow. “Do you indeed? I thought you and the lovely Miss Effington had decided you would not suit?”

“Miss Effington decided we would not suit before we had so much as had a single conversation. Remember, she does not want a man of my,” he cleared his throat, “disreputable nature. However, I am not entirely sure she feels quite as strongly about that as she once did. Now that we have begun to get to know one another, that is.”

“And how do you feel?”

“If you’re going to remind me that I swore I would not turn my affections toward Miss Effington, you needn’t. I remember exactly what I said.”

“As do I. You said you would not fall heels over head again without encouragement from the lady in question.” Marcus studied him over the rim of his glass. “Has there been such encouragement?”

“No.” Reggie thought for a moment. The mere fact that the woman gazed up at him with the oddest hint of anticipation in her eye and seemed to hold her breath when he so much as took her arm could not really be considered encouragement. “Not that I can see, at any rate. But she has agreed to be friends.”

“Friends?” Marcus’s brow furrowed. “I take it this is a good sign?”

Reggie chuckled. “I don’t know, but it should be very interesting to find out.”

Marcus narrowed his eyes. “What are your intentions, Reggie?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“You’re not—”

“No, no, don’t be absurd.” Reggie waved off his friend’s concern. “At the moment, my only intention is to provide Miss Effington with whatever assistance she needs in the refurbishment of my house. I shall be both polite and pleasant and behave toward her much as I would any woman of my acquaintance with whom I am friendly. Much as I behave toward your wife, I should think.”

“Oh, that should impress her,” Marcus said wryly. “Gwen views you very much as the brother she never had.”

“Does she?” A pleasant sense of delight washed through Reggie. He’d liked the new Lady Pennington, Gwen, since the moment he’d first met her, and to know she returned his friendly affection was gratifying. “I must say I’m really quite flattered and pleased.”