THE TREVORS: BOOKS I - IV

by Quinn, Ella

  “Ah, no.” Damon languidly raised his hand, and they were almost immediately joined by Meg, his wife of four months, and the young lady she had in tow.

  Frank pushed himself off the wall. He thought he’d already seen all of the ladies present. How had he missed her? She was beautiful with enough curves to entice a monk. Maybe being in Town wasn’t such a bad idea at that. He ignored the small voice in his head telling him his father would not approve.

  “My love.” Damon held his hand out to Meg. “We must have forgot that Frank doesn’t really know anyone one in Town.”

  “Aren’t you fortunate that I have a remedy?” She gave Frank an innocent grin.

  She was up to something. The former Miss Margaret Featherton was the only female that had ever bested his father. “Miss MacGowan, may I introduce you to my brother-in-law, Lord Francis Trevor. Frank, Miss MacGowan. She has been traveling the Continent and, like you, is not acquainted with many people here.”

  The woman smiled politely, but there was a hard glitter in her blue eyes as she held out her hand. As if she didn’t wish to be here. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  The moment their hands touched Frank caught his breath. He took another look into her eyes and could now see they were the color of a Scottish lake, and not nearly as cold as they had been a moment ago. A hint of lavender and lemon wove its magic, capturing his senses, and his hand warmed where her long slim fingers rested in his palm. Her thick, auburn hair was arranged on top of her head, with tendrils curling down to frame her oval face. He imagined running his fingers through her silky tresses. He didn’t know how long he just stood there, but someone coughed, and he remembered he had to bow and say something polite. Obviously, telling her he wanted to carry her off to his bed wouldn’t do. His sharp desire for her didn’t even sound like him. Other than a liaison or two with a widow in a neighboring town, he had not had much experience with women. Yet, this lady’s mere presence brought all his senses to the fore.

  “It is my pleasure, Miss MacGowan.” He was surprised he could speak at all, nonetheless in a calm voice.

  For a moment, she stared at him, as if she was feeling the same strange sensations that had attacked him. Then she grinned ruefully, a look of consternation on her lovely face. “Dear me, you would think I’d know this by now.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if speaking to herself. “What do I call you?” After a moment, her brow cleared. “Oh, yes. Lord Francis.”

  He had the feeling she had not forgot at all, but was insulting him. The question was why when they had just met. “I actually prefer Lord Frank.” Then, lost as he was by her flaming hair and flawless milky skin, he said the next thing that came into his head, “You do not sound Scottish.”

  She laughed. A lilting sound that made him want to laugh as well. “That is because I am not. I have Scottish antecedents on my father’s side, English on my mother’s side, and a great deal of Dutch mixed in.” Her tone became defensive and challenging at the same time. “I, sir, am an American.”

  American? Frank stilled for a moment. The only American woman he had heard of was . . . “From New York?” Holding her chin high, Miss MacGowan inclined her head slightly. “The one who was in Paris last autumn?”

  “Exactly.” Her tone was as sour as a lemon. “The American heiress.” She leaned in confidingly. “You had better watch yourself. I might whip out my tomahawk and scalp you.”

  The one who had been, from all accounts, exceedingly difficult to please. His sisters kept up with any and all gossip and had regaled him with what they discovered. Even he knew the stories of the English and French peers who had traveled to Paris to seek her hand and her fortune. She was obviously not a particularly happy lady and probably wouldn’t even dance with him. Still, there was something about her that called to him. She seemed as alone as he felt and no more happy to be here than he was. “I see.”

  “Really?” She tilted her head to one side, but her voice was as dry and brittle as an autumn leaf. “What exactly do you see?”

  “Jenny.” A woman a few years older than Miss MacGowan suddenly appeared. “You must not quiz a gentleman you have only just met.” The admonishment was firm but kind.

  Miss MacGowan pressed her lips together for a moment, then laughter filled her expressive eyes. “Thank you, Aunt.” Turning to him, Miss MacGowan said, “I am sorry. I think I must be very homesick to have become so unmannerly, not to mention surly.”

  Frank blinked. He had met spoiled ladies, ill-mannered ladies, and ones who merely simpered, but he had never met a woman who would apologize so quickly and succinctly, with a sense of humor. “Not at all.” He discovered he was still holding her hand, and decided not to return it. “The fault was mine. Will you dance with me, Miss MacGowan?”

  Once again, she gave him a quizzical look. “I shall be delighted to, Lord Frank. However, first”—she glanced at the other woman who had been joined by a gentleman—“Aunt Sarah, may I introduce you to Lord Frank Trevor?” After the introductions to Miss MacGowan’s aunt, Meg, and the gentleman had been made, she smiled. “My aunt and Lord Warwick are to be married next week.”

  The violins had begun the prelude to a waltz, and Frank found that more than anything he wanted Miss MacGowan to himself for a while. “I wish you happy.” Quickly, before they could be drawn into a wedding conversation, he placed Miss MacGowan’s hand on his arm. “We should join the other dancers.”

  She inclined her head. “Certainly.” Once they were a few steps away, she whispered, “Thank you. I love my aunt, but I am sick to death of the wedding preparations.”

  That was an odd thing for a lady to say. At least the ones he knew. Then again, it was becoming clear that she was an unusual lady. One he wanted to know much, much better.

  Taking their places, he bowed and she curtseyed, then he placed his palm on her waist. Fighting the urge to pull her body flush against his, he wished more than ever before that he was free to fall in love. Or knew a way to escape his father.

  Chapter 2

  Jenny stifled a gasp as she sucked in a breath, inhaling Lord Frank’s clean scent along with it. No perfumes for him–simply an herbal soap and the musky scent of male. The palm of his hand burned through her silk gown and petticoats. The short stays she had worn gave no protection at all from his touch. The dance had begun, and he was soon expertly leading her around the floor. She had never felt so weightless or secure in a partner. Which was a very good thing as her knees felt a little like jelly. What a shame he was English. Papa would never approve.

  “What is your idea of a perfect wedding?”

  She gazed into his deep blue eyes. Other than his size, large and broad without a bit of fat, Lord Frank did not look much like his brother, who had dark hair, eyes, and complexion. A lock of golden blond hair fell over his forehead. Some women would want to push it back into place, but she decided it looked good there. “I would want something such as we have in our family, a simple ceremony at home and perhaps a few people to have dinner with afterward. We do not need all the parties you have here. The purpose, after all, is to marry one’s true love. On my wedding day, I would not wish to share him with others.”

  “I understand you. I sometimes think there is more interest in the entertainments than in the ceremony itself.” He seemed to pull her closer to him during the turn. “Are all weddings in America like the one you described?”

  “Not all. Much depends on where a family is from. If their former home country had large parties, they would as well.” He had an almost square jaw with a dimple, and a straight nose that was not overly large for an Englishman. She tried not to look at his mouth, which was wide with perfectly formed lips. “What do you do?”

  “I am in charge of my father’s properties.” His tone was flat, as if he was not pleased with his position.

  Most likely he was another one who did not wish to work at all. How disappointing. Then again, he was an English gentleman. “Do you not like the job?”

  “It’
s not the position. That is extremely gratifying when my advice is taken. It is that my older brother should have the responsibility. He is the one who will inherit from my father, not I who am the second son. My father is in good health. Therefore, the situation leaves me to find something else to do when I am no longer young and Hawksworth is duke.”

  At least he wanted to be occupied. If Lord Frank was being truthful, then his father was making life difficult for not only his heir, but his second born. “I fail to understand your father’s decision. It does not make sense to me.”

  A travesty of a smile twisted his lips. “I doubt anyone understands how the Duke of Somerset thinks, not even my mother.” He was silent for a few moments before he said, “He is not a pleasant topic of conversation. Perhaps we could talk about something else. Have you seen much of London?”

  Despite her aversion to the English, she found herself liking Lord Frank or at least feeling for his position. She wondered if there was some way she could discover more about the duke, which, in turn, would tell her more about his second son. “Other than the shops on Bond and Bruton Streets, I have not seen much at all. Although, I have been promised a great deal if I remain in London. The most I’ve been able to do is to escape in the morning for a walk in the Park.”

  “The Park is pleasant,” Frank replied. “It reminds me of the country. However, I think you would enjoy Green Park as well. It would be my honor to show you the sights. Would you care to accompany me on a carriage ride?”

  She had not been to that particular park, but she had heard about it. “Is that the place that has cows with milkmaids?”

  “Indeed.” He smiled suddenly, and all she could think of was how handsome he was. “You may drink a cup of fresh milk.”

  It had been a long time since she had tasted milk directly from a cow. “I’d love to.”

  “Are you free tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” Jenny could not understand why she was so drawn to Lord Frank. Normally Englishmen did not appeal to her. Even Geoff, although very nice, was not to her taste. Yet, Lord Frank seemed to be different. Well, she would see if he was or not. “I have nothing planned in the morning.”

  “Can you be ready by nine o’clock?”

  A smile hovered on his lips, and she wondered if she was being quizzed. “I was under the impression that gentlemen and ladies did not rise from their beds until after noon.”

  “Ah, but I am not a typical gentleman and will inevitably find myself up much earlier than that.” His brow rose in a definite challenge. “Unless you are not an early riser.”

  “I, sir, am dressed and have broken my fast by seven in the morning.” That should put him in his place. He was probably joking her. Even Geoff, who was the only good Englishman she knew, liked to linger in bed.

  “Seven it is, then.” He twirled them through a turn again.

  She could not believe he had taken her at her word. What she had actually meant was that she was dressed in a day gown that she could put on herself. If only Rosie, her own maid, was here, but she suffered so much from sea sickness that she could not have made the journey. The London maid that had been hired for her was going to be unhappy about having to have Jenny’s clothing ready by that hour. Still, she couldn’t very well turn down a dare. “I shall be waiting.”

  Miss MacGowan’s chin rose, and Frank knew he was being tested. Then again, that was fair. Even though nothing would come of it, wasn’t he assaying her as well? She was beautiful, wealthy, and not likely to take a younger son as a husband. She was probably expecting a title. He should not be wasting her time dancing with her, or asking her if she would like to accompany him to Green Park, or anything else. On the other hand, she had rejected several peers. What did she want? “Are you residing at Lord Warwick’s town house?”

  “No, we are presently visiting Lady Heathcote.” Miss MacGowan said the lady’s name as if it were somehow distasteful. “However, when my aunt and Lord Warwick marry, we shall reside with him.”

  That sounded like another not entirely happy notion. Then he remembered her earlier comment.

  “Although, I have been promised a great deal if I remain in London.”

  Did that mean she did not wish to remain in London? And if so, where would she go? He did not want to consider the possibility that she would depart before the Season was barely underway. Had she not, after all, come to this side of the Atlantic Ocean to find a husband? She gave him a polite smile, yet he had an uneasy feeling she was ready to return to America. And that was not what he wanted. It was time to find out more about Miss MacGowan, and he knew just who to ask.

  When the set ended, he returned her to her aunt, who was still speaking with Meg. If he knew his sister-in-law, she would already be conversant not only with Miss Brodhead’s entire history, but Miss MacGowan’s as well.

  They stood for several moments not saying anything as the others continued to talk, then her aunt turned to Miss MacGowan and said, “We should be getting back to our party. I am sure Lady Heathcote has arranged for several other gentlemen to stand up with you.”

  A militant look appeared in Miss MacGowan’s eyes. “Indeed.” Frank almost shivered at the chill in her voice. “I do not recall giving Lady Heathcote permission to accept engagements for me.”

  She was definitely strong minded. He liked that in a lady. Although, he had a feeling her aunt was none too pleased.

  “Jenny,” Miss Brodhead said in a voice a hint above a whisper. “She is only trying to help.”

  That did not seem to mollify Miss MacGowan at all. She closed her eyes for a second, before replying, “We shall discuss this matter later.” As they moved to leave, she stopped in front of him. “Until tomorrow.”

  He inclined his head. “I shall look forward to it.”

  Her aunt turned back, “Jenny?”

  “I’m coming.” The last was said with such bad grace that he had to hide a grin. Still, he should not laugh at her. She was clearly unhappy, and he intended to discover the reason.

  “Meg.” He sidled closer to his sister-in-law. “What do you know about Miss MacGowan?”

  She pulled a face. “The short version is that she is homesick, does not wish to marry a peer, and detests most of the English.”

  “Homesickness I can understand.” He felt a little that way as well, and he was still in England. He had never heard of a lady who didn’t want a title. “But why does she dislike us?”

  “Well, not all of us. She has particular enmity for Lady Heathcote and the gentlemen who attempted to court her in Paris, as well as English soldiers. Apparently her grandmother died after a troop was billeted with the lady. Quite understandably, Miss MacGowan blames her grandmother’s death on the soldiers. Also, many of her relations fought in both wars, and her father is from a clan that an English king declared outlawed. Other than that”—she shrugged lightly—“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Meg’s forehead creased, and she rubbed a finger between her brows. “I almost forgot. She has no use for idle aristocrats.”

  That was a comprehensive list, and he could not really blame the lady for most of her feelings. He had no use for those who allowed their lands to fall into disrepair or gambled away their holdings. “Yet she came to London?”

  “Against her wishes.” Meg sighed. “Her goal was to find a French husband to take back to New York. The Americans are quite fond of the French, but none of the gentlemen she met were interested in leaving the Continent, and that is the extent of my knowledge. If you had been gone longer, I could have discovered more. Although, it took me long enough to glean that much as Lord Warwick and Miss Brodhead were reluctant to part with even those crumbs.”

  Leave it to Meg to dismiss what she had discovered as crumbs. Frank laughed. “I’d say you did very well considering the handicap you were under. Someday, you’ll be as frightening as Lady Bellamny is said to be.”

  Before Meg and Damon’s marriage, Frank had only known of Lady Bellamny because his father had several times ranted lo
udly about what a meddling besom she was. His mother had finally explained that Lady Bellamny, his brother Damon’s godmother, was a female of definite opinions and had the ability to know almost everything about everyone. She, as well as Meg’s grandmother, the Dowager Viscountess Featherton, and that lady’s longtime friend, the Duchess of Bridgewater, had assisted in Meg and Damon’s courtship.

  “I do hope so.” Meg smiled wickedly. “How dull life would be if one could not help others.”

  Damon choked and snatched two glasses of champagne from a passing footman. “Please do not give her ideas. My life is interesting enough without my wife involving herself in the love affairs of friends and family, not to mention perfect strangers.”

  She took the glass he handed her and focused her attention on Frank. “You seem to be extremely interested in Miss MacGowan.”

  Oh, no! He wasn’t falling for that trap. “I find her unusual. I wonder a bit at the gossip about her.”

  “As you probably know”—Meg raised a brow—“most think she is beyond pleasing.”

  Or, perhaps, no one had yet offered her what she was looking for. She did not appear to be a lady who would settle. “Why did she want a Frenchman to go to America?”

  His sister-in-law’s other brow rose and her eyes widened. “I have no idea. Perhaps you should ask her.”

  He considered Miss MacGowan’s enmity for the English, and discovered he was not as shocked as he should be. Many of his countrymen and women spoke dismissively of the former colonies. That was sure to set her back up. He wondered why she had agreed to go to Green Park with him. Was it merely an excuse to leave Lady Heathcote’s house, or did she think he was different? An Englishman with whom she would like to spend some time? What was she looking for in a husband, and did he truly wish to know?

  He was attracted to her, but if he discovered his feelings were stronger than mere desirability, there were definite problems to overcome. After all, what sane woman would agree to live in the same house as his curmudgeonly father? None he could think of. Especially not a lady such as Miss MacGowan.