WANTON (15 page)

“We’ll see how she’s feeling in a few minutes.”

“She won’t toss me out, will she?”

“No. She was brave enough to marry me, and she realizes that you come with the territory.”

* * * *

“Lucas Drake! What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Miss Ralston. Or should I say Mrs. Talbot?”

Rose swept into the front parlor at Summerfield Manor, surprised to find Lucas seated on the sofa and James nowhere in sight. She’d have to face him without James to act as a barrier, but she imagined she’d have to get used to his sudden appearances at Summerfield.

The two men were closer than brothers could ever be, and if Rose wanted peace in the family, she’d have to welcome Lucas into it.

Earlier in the summer, she’d spent several weeks with Lucas, having accurately pegged him as a lazy, slothful blackguard. Unfortunately, he was her cousin and James’s best friend. She had to learn to like and tolerate him—bad habits and all.

“With my having married James,” she said, “I’ll probably have to allow you to call me Rose.”

“Marvelous.”

“And I’ll have to let you in the door too, whenever you show up.”

“I won’t visit too often.”

“It’s a big house,” she airily said. “You can stay as long and as frequently as you like.”

“You’re being awfully cordial.”

“I’m happy and settled, so I can afford to be magnanimous.”

“I really can call you Rose?”

“Yes, and I guess I’ll have to call you Lucas.”

“About damn time,” he muttered.

Previously, he’d aggravated her so completely that she’d refused to be on familiar terms with him, but she was getting over it. He’d rescued her when she was in dire straits, and for that kind gesture, she could ignore his other sins.

“Where is James?” she asked as she seated herself in the chair across from him.

“Changing his coat—so he looks dashing for you.”

“He doesn’t need a different coat in order to look dashing.”

“He’s trying to impress you. He’s worried you might wake up and realize you made a huge mistake.”

“I didn’t make a mistake.”

She smiled, feeling cocky and smug, a woman who’d wound up with everything she’d ever wanted.

“I’m glad for the two of you,” he stunned her by admitting.

“Thank you. I’m especially glad myself.” She studied him much as his father likely did, in a way that had him squirming.

“I heard the strangest story about you,” she said.

“What was it?”

“I heard that you’re marrying Amelia Hubbard.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re certain? Because she wrote and claimed she’d been betrothed to you.”

“That was the rumor”—he made a waffling motion with his hand—“but I wouldn’t have any bride my father picked. Actually, I wouldn’t have
any
bride. I’m not exactly husbandly material.”

“No, you’re not,” she chuckled. “So she’s not engaged to you?”

“No.”

“Was it a misunderstanding or what?”

“After she met me, she declined to proceed.”

“Smart girl.”

“Yes, very smart.”

“There will be no wedding?”

“No.”

“Praise be,” she mumbled.

At her comment, she was humored to see Lucas visibly fuming. Maybe for once he was wishing he was a fine, honorable fellow. Maybe for once he’d like to tell Rose she was wrong, that he’d be an excellent match for Amelia. But such an assertion would be a bald-faced lie, and they both knew it.

“I have to speak with you about her though,” Lucas said.

“Why? And where is she staying? Is she still at Sidwell? Has your father made plans for her?”

“No, she’s in London.”

“London? How did she end up there?”

“She traveled to town with him.”

“To do what?”

“Nothing good, that’s for sure,” he grouched.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s fallen in with a bad crowd.”

“Amelia has? I can’t imagine it. She’s very level-headed.”

“After we severed the betrothal, my father didn’t feel he had any further responsibility toward her, so he foisted her off on an acquaintance.”

“What acquaintance?”

“A woman named Barbara Middleton. Have you heard of her?”

“No, but I’m just a country schoolteacher. I don’t know any of the illustrious people in town.”

“She’s not illustrious. In fact, she’s extremely notorious.”

“From how you’re glowering, I’m afraid to ask, but in what way is she notorious?”

“As a young bride, she deserted her husband and baby and fled to the Continent with a lover. She returned thirty years later, and now she’s a renowned adulterous who has regular affairs and flaunts her liaisons to the whole city.”

“My goodness!”

“She’s never been able to practice any restraint.”

Rose smirked. “She sounds a lot like you.”

“Very funny.”

“What is it you don’t like about her relationship with Amelia—besides that she’s disreputable?”

“She’s a horrid influence. She’s letting Miss Hubbard run wild with unsavory rakes.”

Rose laughed. “Not
you
, of course, but other unsavory rakes?”

“Yes, and her brother, Chase, is involved in it too. He’s apprised his chums that they’re welcome to seduce Miss Hubbard if they can.”

“Chase Hubbard did that?”

“Yes.”

“The rat!”

“I certainly thought so.”

They were silent as Rose pondered the information.

When she had left Miss Peabody’s school to wed, Amelia had left too, without Rose knowing the identity of Amelia’s fiancé. From the moment Rose had discovered it was Lucas, she’d been sending frantic warning missives to Amelia, but Amelia hadn’t answered any of them.

Now, if Lucas was to be believed, Amelia was in London with her brother—an avowed rogue and gambler—who didn’t provide much of a moral compass. But she was with others too, who might be even worse.

“I should do something about this,” Rose finally said.

“Yes, you should.”

“What would you recommend?”

“I tried to convince her to return to Sidwell Manor, but she wouldn’t. If you could get her to visit Summerfield, it would lure her away from her hideous friends. You could talk some sense into her.”

“Talk
sense
into her? I can’t picture Amelia requiring stern advice. I’ve known her for twenty years, and I’ve never seen her misbehave a single time.”

“Well, you haven’t seen her lately,” he grumbled, and he had the most tormented expression on his face.

It made Rose curious about his actual feelings for Amelia. Were they truly as mismatched as he claimed? Or might romance be blossoming? Perhaps it would be worth it to speak with Amelia so Rose could judge for herself what was occurring. Could Lucas grow up and become the husband he needed to be?

Upon learning of her own betrothal that had been secretly arranged by Miss Peabody, she hadn’t wanted a husband, but with her marrying James, she deemed it a fine conclusion. She wished Amelia could have the same chance at happiness.

Could it happen for Amelia and Lucas? Rose didn’t believe it likely, but after her own bizarre tumble into matrimony, who was she to predict any outcome?

“I was going to invite her to my wedding,” Rose said, “but I wasn’t sure where she was.”

“She’s in London.”

“I could ask her to come earlier, to help me with the preparations.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“If I wrote her a letter, would you deliver it for me? I’ve been writing her for weeks, but I haven’t been able to reach her.”

He nodded vigorously. “Yes, I could take a letter to London for you.”

“That way, I’d be positive she received it.”

“She’ll listen to you more than she’s listened to me. I’ve informed her over and over that she’s on the road to ruin.”

“Have you?” The admission shocked her. She couldn’t imagine him lecturing anyone on any topic. “What was her reply?”

“She told me to mind my own business.”

Rose chuckled. “That sounds like the Amelia I know.”

“She’s very stubborn.”

Rose studied him again, realizing that an odd event was transpiring. Lucas had no gallant tendencies and never assisted others. He was too lazy and self-centered to bother. Yet he was in a dither about Amelia.

Was love blooming? Could it be? If so, what was Rose’s opinion of that possibility?

Rose was exceedingly dubious, but she didn’t suppose
she
should make any decisions for Amelia. Nor did she suppose that Lucas was the answer to any woman’s prayers. She had to bring Amelia to Summerfield, to probe her feelings, then determine what counsel to offer.

“I’ll write to Amelia,” Rose ultimately said, “and beg her to come to Summerfield right away.”

“Wonderful.” Lucas looked vastly relieved.

“If nothing else, I’ll draw her out of London for a bit.”

“Which is exactly what she needs. The girl is on an insane path.”

“Well, you and I will just have to yank her off it.”

“If you can,” he groused. “I haven’t had any luck with her.”

But Rose didn’t think that was true. Rose thought perhaps he’d had much more
luck
than he could ever know.

“If I pen a letter tonight,” she asked, “when could you get it to London?”

“I’ll leave at dawn.”

Rose grinned.

* * * *

“Do you like my dress?”

“What?”

“My dress! Aaron, I hate it when you ignore me.”

“Sorry, sorry. I was woolgathering.”

Aaron smiled wanly, hoping Priscilla deemed it genuine. No doubt she would. She wasn’t the most perceptive individual. When they were together, she babbled constantly, but never mentioned subjects that interested him. He was in the habit of drifting off, but every so often she caught him unawares.

For the prior decade, he’d avoided the matrimonial leg-shackle, but his father had been pressuring him, and Aaron had promised he’d pick a bride by his thirtieth birthday.

However, all the candidates during Priscilla’s debut Season had seemed unpalatable, and when he couldn’t choose, his father had given up waiting and, without notifying Aaron, had entered into negotiations with Claudia. Priscilla’s dowry lands adjoined the Sidwell estate, and when the union was finalized and the property came into the family, it would nearly double the size of Sidwell.

Aaron had always grasped that this was precisely the type of merger his father would contract, but still, when George had informed him it would be Priscilla, Aaron had been sick with dread. She’d been seventeen when the engagement was announced, and she was eighteen now, but she likely hadn’t matured a day since she was ten.

Oh, he was so miserable!

“Did Mother tell you I spoke to Lucas?” Her question yanked him out of his pitiful reverie.

“No. What about?”

“I made him swear he won’t attend our wedding.”

He bit down a crude retort. “You shouldn’t have raised the issue with him, Priscilla. I’m fully capable of dealing with my brother without your assistance.”

“I couldn’t take a chance that he’d slither in at the last second and wreck everything.”

Aaron glared at her, trying to be glad she was so rich, that she was so beautiful, but he couldn’t muster any elation.

“Priscilla, let me be very clear. My relationship with my brother is none of your business and never will be. If he wants to attend my wedding, if he wants to visit my home, if he wants to borrow all my money”—his voice was rising, and he was too furious to tamp it down—“he can have it. Lucas delights me in every way and always has.”

“You’re not serious,” she scoffed.

“I am.”

They were in his father’s town house, a supper party in progress. The meal was over and guests were mingling and chatting in the various parlors. Several people had noted his sharp tone, and they were casting curious glances, eager to figure out if the happy couple was fighting.

Aaron flashed a wide smile so he wouldn’t look angry, but he was aggravated in the extreme.

Aaron had had a lifetime of listening to his father complain about Lucas, had watched and been too cowardly to intervene as Lucas received punishments and whippings, as he’d been locked in his room, forced to go without meals, without companions, without servants, without any aid or kindness from anyone.

Often, his chastisements were due to transgressions Aaron had committed, but Aaron was supposed to be perfect, and they’d been complicit in letting their father assume Lucas was the culprit.

Lucas had lied for Aaron and covered for Aaron, and he’d never once protested the rough, unfair treatment. Aaron had never defended Lucas in return, and they were at a point where they could barely be civil to one another.

Though most observers would be surprised to learn it, Aaron loved and cherished his brother. And if Priscilla knew what was good for her, she’d shut the hell up.

Claudia blustered over, projecting bored indifference as she quietly hissed, “What’s wrong? You’re bickering, and people have noticed.”

“We’re not bickering,” Aaron tightly replied, and at the same moment, Priscilla whined, “Mother, you won’t believe what he just told me.”

“What?” Claudia inquired.

“He said he’d give all his money to Lucas—if Lucas asked for it. Have you ever heard such ridiculous drivel?”

“I’m sure he was jesting.” Claudia laughed as if Aaron had uttered an amusing comment.

“I wasn’t jesting,” Aaron fumed. “Lucas is my favorite person in the world.”

Priscilla continued listing her grievances. “He also said I shouldn’t have talked to Lucas about the wedding, that it was none of my business if Lucas was there or not. Can you imagine? Not my business!”

“Is that all it was?” Claudia spewed her false laugh again. “She didn’t mean it, Aaron. She becomes overwrought. You know how she is.”

Priscilla frowned, glowering as if she’d argue with her mother, but Claudia took Priscilla’s arm and whisked her away saying, “The singer has arrived in the music room. Let’s get a seat in the front row.”

Then they were gone. Aaron stayed where he was, feigning calm, then—once the guests were ignoring him again—he slipped out onto the verandah. He inhaled the cool night air, trying to slow his racing pulse, trying to muster the composure necessary to rejoin the party.