She had no illusions. He lived in a morally bankrupt world, and he had said enough during their late-night conversations to know that he had lived very much in that world. He had gambled and drank and made love with perhaps countless women. And yet ultimately, something that should have been easy for him was impossible. He could not take her, even though he had every right to and she had not come to him unwillingly. He had been extraordinarily circumspect. At that very moment he was packing a small bag to take with him down to the inn, just so he would not compromise her.
What did that signal? It was not fear of entrapment. As the daughter of a gentleman, she could, possibly, entrap him into marriage or a settlement just by virtue of their having been alone and in a compromising situation, but he knew her well enough not to fear that was her aim.
No, he truly had her best interests at heart, and she was deeply grateful to him. And proud of him, for she suspected that this was the first time he had done something motivated solely by another’s interests. Dark angel though he was, there was yet a core of goodness in him of which she suspected he was not even aware. If only that goodness would shine out in the case of Charles’s idiotic wager! Her melancholy thoughts were interrupted by a gabbling sound outside her back door, the sound of angry geese, or quarreling hens.
She went to it and opened it, to find on her back doorstep Mrs. Lovett with young Susan, Miss Peckenham, elderly Mrs. Jones and Sally.
“What—what is going on?” she cried as they flooded past her into the kitchen, filling its peaceful confines with their babble.
“What is she doing here?” Mrs. Lovett said, pointing at a red-faced Sally. “I thought as how she was gone to her ma’s for the night?”
Mrs. Jones, her querulous voice raised, complained that she had been sorely misled, and was turning right around and returning to her fireplace, which she promptly did. Miss Peckenham called after her, “Good riddance, I say. Nosy old woman. Now, Phaedra, dear,” she continued, turning back. “I saw Miss Daintry flying through the village earlier on her pony cart, and I thought she was to stay here for the night, but then I surmised that Sally must have changed her mind about going to her mama’s, and yet I heard from Joe Mudge that no, she was gone to her mama’s, and I realized you were likely all alone with that rakish earl and I said to myself, ‘Delilah, you must go over and lend that poor girl countenance—’”
Into the midst of this gabble Lord Hardcastle came, with his small bag under his arm.
Miss Peckenham, though she had thawed somewhat toward the earl in their last encounter, said coldly, “And what are you doing, my lord?”
“Since Miss Gillian’s chaperone was unable to stay, I was about to retreat to the inn in the village to preserve her stainless and well-deserved reputation.” He bowed to her and smiled his devastating smile, flashing white strong teeth.
Phaedra thought it made him look rather wolf-like, but Miss Peckenham thawed instantly, charmed anew. “Now that, young man, is something your father never would have done. I have oft been heard to say the acorn never falls far from the tree, but in your case I think it was carried some distance by squirrels.”
With sparkling dark eyes, Hardcastle said, “Are you likening me to a nut, Miss Peckenham?”
No one wanted to leave, and so it was decided they would turn it into a party. Sally’s return was accounted for when the girl explained her mother had insisted she return to help out Phaedra, mostly because she wanted Sally to come for her promised day off the next week, instead. And so Sally and Phaedra made ham and cress sandwiches, which they all ate in the garden while the sun descended, casting a mellow golden glow on the stone. Phaedra was astounded by the earl’s ability to blend in with a gathering of women of such disparate character and class. And yet it was a congenial crowd. How different it was from the way she thought she would be spending the evening and night, she thought, blushing as she caught Hardcastle’s eye across the small garden table.
He seemed to be thinking the same thing, for his look was rueful. How much she loved him, she thought, watching as his attention was recalled by Susan, who, at eleven, was just beginning to wonder about London and the great world beyond Ainstoun. His dark head bent to her fair one, he patiently listened to whatever her question was, and answered gravely, as though she were his partner at a great London dinner party. He had proved himself to be so very different from what she had assumed an earl would be. Except for that one point of inflexibility, he had proved to be not only intelligent and articulate, which could be expected, but also good-natured and kind, and ultimately, thoughtful and caring. Did he even know that of himself? Did he even realize that there was an inner core of goodness to him that remained deeply hidden, except in extreme instances?
The evening passed merrily, with Mrs. Lovett and Susan finally heading home after eleven. Hardcastle eventually retired to his bed, while Miss Peckenham and Phaedra shared her father’s bed and Sally retreated to her bed upstairs. All slept soundly.
• • •
Shortly after lunch the next day, Mr. Gillian came home, the stage letting him off near their door. He was surprised but pleased by Miss Peckenham’s thoughtful gesture in protecting his daughter’s reputation, and the two old friends took tea in the parlor, after which the former governess retreated to her own tiny cottage in Ainstoun.
And then the household returned to its usual routine. The earl’s valet had arrived with clothing and a purse of gold coins for his master, but was being put up at the inn for the night. Hardcastle was to stay until the morn, and then leave, making his way to the Fossey estate to settle his wager, and then return to London.
“You will have your room back on the morrow,” Hardcastle said as he looked up from writing a letter at Phaedra’s desk in the corner of the bedchamber. She had come in just to bring fresh linen and to close the window against the damp breeze that foretold a quick spring shower.
“Yes,” she said, pausing and gazing at him. “I hope you have not been too uncomfortable.”
“Not at all. I could not have fared better in the best and most elegant of London hotels. It is the company, I find, that makes the visit. A lesson for one who has been accustomed, for many years, to luxury.”
She smiled and was about to turn away, when he called her back. “Yes?” she said.
“Come here.”
She came and stood in front of him. He spanned her waist with his hands and looked up into her eyes.
“Would you come to me without that damned wager between us? Would you—”
She put her fingers over his mouth. “Do not spoil your magnificent gesture, my lord.”
He kissed her fingers and said, “I’m not, my dear. I just—” He stopped.
She took his face in her hands and gazed into his eyes, then bent and kissed him. “I can’t come to you that way, and we both know it. You were strong enough and wise enough for both of us once, and now it’s my turn. It was wrong, I have come to think, to wager myself like that. It was holding something sacred and profound too cheaply. I would not have done what I did if I did not believe in my heart that I would win. It has shown me why Charles thought he could prevail in a game of chance; I will not be the one to judge him harshly. But I will never compromise myself in that way again. Not even—” She stopped.
“Not even? Not even for what?”
“Not even for you.” She looked sadly into his dark eyes. “Not even for you.” In her mind she added, my dearest love.
• • •
“Sir?”
“Ah, ready to leave now, are you?” Mr. Gillian looked up from his book.
Hardcastle glanced around the stuffy library and hobbled over to pull open the curtains. “You should have more light when you read, sir. It’s better for your eyes, and I think Phaedra worries about your preference for darkness.”
“It is truly not a preference, I just forget about the sun, sometimes.”
Casting a look at the open door behind him, where Phaedra’s off-key humming co
uld be heard, Hardcastle said, “I don’t know how you can forget about it when you have a little piece of it in your household, even on dreary days.” He looked back at the vicar to see his shrewdly assessing eyes squinting at him. He hastily broke back into speech. “Did you and Mr. Proctor sort out your differences? Or will it require more conversation?”
With a regretful look on his saggy face, Mr. Gillian said, “I am afraid my only hope of prevailing in this argument is if I could copy from the original Codex, and that is locked away in London. A Mr. Bertram Conyngton is in charge of it, and though I have written to him, he will not send me a copy, nor will he answer my questions directly.”
Hardcastle found himself smiling and said, “Mr. Bertram Conyngton, eh? I believe I have heard of the gentleman. Mr. Gillian, your kindness to me has been so great, I would like to repay you, but I have not been able to think of a way to do so. Would a trip to London—I can send my coach at any time and you may stay in my London house, you know—would that help in your work?”
His face luminous, Mr. Gillian leaped to his feet, clapped the earl on the shoulder and said, “That would be splendid, my lord! Do you, by any chance, have a maiden aunt or two around, or a widowed female relation?”
“Why, are you looking for a second wife?” Hardcastle asked, startled.
“Good Lord, no! But at the same time, you see, I was thinking that Phaedra has never seen London, and it is such a shame, for every girl should see London once, and she could go to the museums, and to the art exhibits—she would like that, you know. But London rules being so much stricter than country, you know, I was thinking that a maiden aunt or some other spare female would provide adequate chaperonage.”
Hardcastle turned away and stared at the bookcases of elderly tomes. The thought of Phaedra in his London town house made his mouth go dry. How would he bear to know she was under his roof and never approach her? He had thought of leaving as definite, that he would never see her again, and had not foreseen how Mr. Gillian would immediately think of his daughter when offered a trip to London.
“I will be on a trip to my estate in the near future. If I was out of town there would be no need for a chaperone other than yourself, sir.” Master of his expression once more, he turned back to the older man.
Mr. Gillian nodded, but his expression was thoughtful. “That would do.”
“I will be leaving this afternoon, sir.”
“So you will. Get back to your proper life, eh? Got a woman or two waiting for you, I would wager, if I was a betting man. Vino to drink, card games to play, eh?”
“I suppose.” Put baldly like that, his life seemed devoid of meaning or interest. And yet the vicar had accurately summed up the activities that filled his days and nights during the long Season. Perhaps that hasty trip to his estates would be prolonged. Country air had become pleasant to him. He held out his hand to the older man. “It has been a pleasure to know you, sir. I will likely not see you, even if you take advantage of my offer and visit my London house. As I said, I have estate business that I fear I have neglected for far too long. However, my staff will take good care of you and—and Phaedra.”
Mr. Gillian shook his hand heartily and said, “We’ll miss you, young man. I will miss playing chess and talking with you, and Phaedra, I think, will miss taking care of you.”
“I doubt it, sir. I must go and say good-bye to her. Do you happen to know—”
“In the garden, my lord. In the garden.”
Hardcastle gave a golden sovereign to a startled and overwhelmed Sally on his way through the kitchen, then exited through the back door and made his way to the herb garden, where Phaedra was sure to be.
And she was. He stood for a moment watching her. She was not weeding nor digging, she was just standing by the low stone wall gazing at the distant hill that rose on the misty horizon. What was she thinking, he wondered. Was she wondering about the world beyond those hills? Oh, the sights he could show her! She could wander the Greek hills and pick wild basil while her father visited the museums and libraries. Her eyes were the blue of the Aegean, and he could picture her there, pretty dress fluttering around her ankles—
It was too real, and he started forward, awkwardly, and said, “What are you thinking?”
She turned, her blue eyes widening, and smiled. “How handsome you look, my lord, in your proper attire. Though I confess the image of you in carpet slippers . . .” She trailed off.
He tried to smile too, but was not sure how successful he was. What he didn’t say was that those humble carpet slippers were packed in his bag, even though his superior valet had sniffed quite audibly when he insisted on taking them. He looked down at his shining boots and proper breeches, coat and immaculate cravat. “Jean-Marc is the best. He awaits me at the inn with my coach. Pegasus looks marvelous, by the way, if a little too fat. The Simondsons have been handsomely rewarded.”
“You will be the talk of the village.”
He paced toward her and sat on the wall so that their eyes were level. “I will miss you, and will often think about what we did and even more often about what we did not do.”
She put her fingers over his mouth. “Now is not the time to speak of that. It—” Her voice trembled and she stopped and looked away.
“May I kiss you once more? Good-bye?”
• • •
Phaedra felt tears welling up in her eyes and resolutely blinked them away. She would not make his last memory of her one of a watering pot. She moved so she was close enough to put her hands on his shoulders and gazed steadily into his eyes. The spicy scent of his shaving soap and cologne assailed her nostrils, accouterments his valet would have brought, she supposed. Until now he had been using her father’s humble soap, handmade by her and smelling of nothing beyond a faint whiff of borage from her garden.
“Good-bye is such a sad word.” Her voice broke and she took a long breath to steady it. “May we say adieu instead?”
“As long as I can kiss you again. I find your kisses are rather habit-forming, like your delicious bread. I shall be spoilt now for loaves and kisses from any other woman.”
She laughed at his teasing. “My reputation shall be quite ruined, you know, if anyone sees us kissing in the garden.”
“I will claim we have just discovered you are my long-lost cousin and that we were sealing our reunion with a cousinly kiss.” He put his arms around her and pulled her close, nestling her in the V between his thighs.
She closed her eyes and surrendered to the sadness that surrounded her. When his lips met hers she relaxed into his embrace and felt the welling of love in her heart like a physical presence. It took root, grew and blossomed, and then made its way swiftly upward until it flowed out of her and into her kiss. She circled her arms around his neck as he bent his head to kiss her ear and her hair and her neck.
His hands wandered and soon she felt him pull her against him until she could feel the pounding of his powerful heart and the budding arousal in his form-fitting breeches. Heat coursed through her as she lost herself in the sensations he was arousing, the dark desires and longings.
She pulled away and stood apart from him. He swallowed hard and stood too.
“I have to go,” he said.
She shut out of her mind and heart the imprint he had made there. She must think rationally. She must! She had promised herself that once more she would try an appeal to the goodness he had shown on other occasions.
“Are you going to Charles Fossey’s estate?”
“Yes. I must settle this once and for all. It has waited long enough, and my valet says Fossey has sent no message to my London house. Time to put an end to it.”
“My lord—”
“Why do you still call me that, after all this?” he said impatiently, almost savagely. “After what we have been to each other, and what we have almost been to each other? Phaedra, we have almost been lovers; surely you can call me something other than ‘my lord’?”
“What should I call yo
u?”
“Call me Lawrence. Just once.”
“Lawrence,” she said softly, trying it out on her lips. “Lawrence, must you take everything from Charles and Deborah? And from Anna and her mother? It would be an act of great mercy, of charity, if you would leave them their home.”
“I will not toss them from the doorstep. I’ll give them time to make arrangements, I can promise you that. If there’s anything I can do to make their journey easier, I will do that, too.”
“Lawrence, please, is there no compromise? No way to work something out?”
• • •
“I don’t see one,” Hardcastle said. He had to go, because the sound of his name on her lips was doing strange things to his heart, and it would never do. Her mark was set upon his soul, but he could not have her any way other than marriage, and marriage he had long known was out of the question for a man of his tastes and habits. It would not be fair to any woman to saddle her with a rake who drank too much, gambled too much, and had an earned reputation as a heartless scoundrel.
And a woman like Phaedra deserved a man of sterling worth and untarnished reputation, a man of whom she could be proud. “I have to go,” he said. He saw a tear start in her eye before she swiftly turned her face away, and he swallowed hard. If there was a measure of comfort in her pain, if the knowledge that she would miss him, too, gave him a moment of gratification, he pushed away the thought as unworthy. He would have erased himself from her mind if he could, simply to save her anguish of any kind. “Good-bye, my dear. All the promises I made, all the people I swore to help, I will fulfill those promises.”
“I know you will.” She turned back to face him and said, “Good-bye, Lawrence. I have come to care for you, and will miss you.”
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