“I see two tits! Long-tailed ones,” Georgie exclaimed.
Nina, sitting next to James, groaned and slumped against the squabs. “I’m too mortified to glance about. I’m sure we are drawing looks from those riding in their open carriages.”
Georgie’s brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Can’t you call them titmice?” Nina asked, shielding her face with the brim of her bonnet.
Georgie folded his arms in front of his chest. “Same thing.”
“Yes, Georgie, but for your sister’s peace of mind call them titmice. Now, you’re up by two,” James replied, ignoring Nina’s glower. “Ah, I see a dunnock.”
“Fiddlesticks.” Georgie’s gaze swung to where James pointed at the chirping bird.
Without warning, Nina’s elbow rammed into James’s ribs. He stifled a wicked curse.
“Isn’t that Miss Armoire in the approaching open carriage?” She lifted her hand and waved. “Miss Arm—”
“Lawrence,” James said, cutting her off, realizing his sister still didn’t know the truth. During the dinner party Grandmother hosted, Nina had been banished to her room.
His sister stared at him. “What?”
“Her name is Lawrence, not Armoire.”
Georgie twisted around in the seat. “She told me I could call her Caroline.”
“No matter, Georgie. You will address her as Miss Lawrence,” James instructed.
“I don’t understand,” Nina said.
“I’ll explain later. When you greet her, it’s also important you do not mention you met her in Essex. Do I make myself clear?”
Both his siblings nodded.
The carriage slowed. Georgie slung his leg over the side as if to climb out.
“Georgie,” Nina squealed. “You must wait till they pull alongside us to converse. James, you need to teach him to behave with more decorum or we shall be thought of as no better than country bumpkins.”
He was already perceived of as something worse. Surely, Nina comprehended that rumors swirled about him. And C. M. Smith’s article had exacerbated the situation.
“George,” James said sternly.
With shoulders slumped, his youngest brother returned to his seat and folded his hands as primly as Nina was doing.
The carriage drew closer. Caroline looked lovely. Her cheeks were high in color. The equipage pulled beside theirs.
“Lord Huntington,” Caroline said before studying her lap as if dreadfully uncomfortable. Was she worried Nina or George would say something that might give her away? She should know better. He’d told her he would never let anyone harm her. Did she think her refusal to marry him severed his vow? It didn’t.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” Mrs. Wallace said, fiddling with the brim of the ridiculous bonnet she wore.
He tipped his top hat. “Miss Lawrence, Mrs. Wallace. Are you finding pleasure in this most seasonable day?”
Hesitantly, Caroline lifted her face. “We are.”
James motioned to his siblings. “Might I introduce you both to my sister, Lady Nina, and the youngest member of our family, George?”
She held his gaze for a long moment before her green eyes shifted to his siblings. “Nice to meet you, Lady Nina, Master George. Are you enjoying London?”
“Yes,” Georgie exclaimed. “Today, James and I are counting animals.”
Caroline’s head tipped slightly to the side.
“We are seeing who can spot the most wildlife within the park. A game of sorts,” James explained.
She smiled. “Who is winning?”
“I am,” his young brother responded, puffing out his narrow chest.
“We just came from the British Museum,” Nina added.
“Did you see the Rosetta Stone?” Mrs. Wallace asked.
Nina gave a less than enthusiastic nod. “Yes, but I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.”
“Unlike my sister, do you hold an interest in Egyptian antiquities, Miss Lawrence?” James asked.
“I am no great scholar with regard to them. Though I do enjoy visiting the museum.”
Nina sighed. “I would have preferred going to Kensington Museum to see the cast of Michelangelo’s David and his fig leaf.”
James took a deep breath. It was beyond his grasp how Nina scoffed at Georgie’s behavior when she uttered such comments.
Caroline smiled, but said not a word.
It seemed incomprehensible only a few years separated his sister and her. “Well, we shall let you get on with your ride.”
“Thank you, my lord. And thank you for introducing me to your siblings. It was a pleasure meeting you both.”
He nodded and called to his coachman to move on.
* * *
Don’t turn around. The words whispered in Caroline’s head, yet the ability to dissuade herself drifted away in the slight breeze. She twisted about and watched James’s carriage pulling away. There was a shift in his body, then he, too, turned and peered at her.
The air in her lungs froze as if time stood still. Impossible. Her heart beat too fast.
Turn back. Don’t gawk like an infatuated schoolgirl. Yet, once again, her sensible mind held little control over her actions.
“Why didn’t you accept him?” Anne asked.
With difficulty, Caroline forced herself to face forward in her seat. There were two main reasons: her rash article, which if he knew she’d penned it he’d despise her, and his confession he didn’t wish to marry again. She averted her face and stared at the shimmering surface of the Serpentine, then, lifting one shoulder, she gave a slight shrug.
“I have not questioned you about what transpired in that room at the Burrows’ ball,” Anne continued. “I thought it best left forgotten, but tell me what you feel for Lord Huntington.”
What did she feel? She wasn’t sure. It was too new. Too foreign to grasp. Though one thing she did know, she thought of him often. “I like him. We have become friends.”
Anne snorted. “Friends do not sneak off together and . . . disrobe. It must be more. You have never acted reckless with any man. You hardly offer most gentlemen anything more than cordial conversation.”
Most men didn’t really converse with her. Few asked her opinion. They spoke around her as if she wasn’t there, and when she did offer an opinion, if Father was about, his sharp and quelling looks stifled her words.
Huntington’s inquiry echoed in her mind. Do you hold an interest in Egyptian antiquities, Miss Lawrence? He was the only man who seemed truly interested in her thoughts.
“The Ice Princess,” Anne said, drawing Caroline from her thoughts.
Caroline’s back stiffened. “What?”
“That’s what Charles says they call you.”
She raised her chin. “Do you expect me to feel insulted, Anne? If you are trying to hurt me, that title does not do so.” She worked hard at staying aloof, at deterring men who might call on her. “You should be pleased, Cousin. The longer it takes me to find a suitor, the longer you shall stay in London, and return here every year for the season.” She heard the derision in her own voice, and this time it was Anne who briefly averted her eyes.
“I do enjoy coming to London. Most of all, getting away from Charles’s horrid mother, but”—Anne clasped Caroline’s hand—“I want you to be content, as well.”
She knew that. For all Anne’s self-centered comments, her cousin did care for her. “I know you do, Anne.”
“In truth, I can understand your attraction to Lord Huntington. He is handsome. Wealthy. A marquess. And as I said, before he married, the ton considered him the ultimate catch. Every mama wished him to notice their daughter. But the gossip about his late wife’s demise is most unsettling. I thought it wise when you told him he didn’t have to marry you. Obviously, you don’t believe what is whispered. So why didn’t you accept his offer?”
“I want a man to marry me because he cares for me. Lord Huntington acted chivalrous, nothing else.”
“Was that all it was? Somehow, I think there was more to it. For him and you.”
Was Anne right? Futile to dwell on it. It made no difference, not after she’d betrayed James with her writing, leaving her unable to confide in him. What type of marriage could they have without honesty? Yet, she couldn’t deny the unmistakable yearning—this need to be part of something that grew stronger each time she met James.
She’d never had siblings, but seeing Huntington interact with his sister and young brother made her long for something she’d never thought she wanted. A family.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she suppressed the urge to run after the Trent family’s carriage, ask if she might ride with them, and join in the game they played.
Chapter Twenty
At Julian Caruthers’s gathering, Caroline lifted herself on her toes and peered around the ballroom, glowing under the row of ornate chandeliers. Was James in attendance tonight? Difficult to know when they were packed shoulder to shoulder.
Anne motioned to a balcony above them. “Look, Caro, your cousin Lord Thorton is here.”
Not surprising. Edward and their hosts were friends, and Lord Caruthers’s morals were rumored to be as bruised as her cousin’s.
Father wouldn’t approve of her attending this ball, which clearly included members of the demimonde, but Anne had squealed with glee upon opening the invitation.
The blonde next to Edward, the same woman he’d been with in Lady Randall’s garden, scandalously slipped her hand under his formal coat, as if she couldn’t wait to peel the garment off his broad shoulders.
Edward leaned down to nuzzle the woman’s neck.
“How wicked.” Anne fluttered her fan before her face.
Someone standing behind Caroline jostled her. Dash it all, did the blackguard just pinch her bum? With narrowed eyes, she turned.
Lord Hamby. The old letch.
She stifled the urge to crack her open palm across his round, florid face. Father would never forgive her for striking one of his political cronies.
“Ah, Miss Lawrence, how are you?” he asked, flashing his yellowed teeth.
She would be better if he weren’t standing so close to her, his moist, foul-smelling breath dampening her face. “I’m well, Lord Hamby.”
“Is your father still in Paris?” he inquired, running a hand over his thinning hair and primping like an overstuffed popinjay.
“Yes, though I expect his return shortly. If you’ll excuse me, my lord.”
He clasped her hand with his pudgy fingers. “I’ve been thinking I might call on him when he returns.”
Bile traveled up her throat. Was the man hinting he wished to ask her father for her hand? Heavens, he must be three times her age. The image of him pawing at her at night made her skin crawl. Father wouldn’t accept Hamby’s suit, would he?
Unable to form any cordial words, she nodded and glanced at Anne, who paid little attention while gossiping with her husband. Someone set a warm hand on Caroline’s back. Her breath caught in her throat.
“What are you doing here?” a deep voice asked, its tone chastising.
She swung about. Edward’s glower shifted from her to Hamby. The noise her cousin made sounded feral, like a bear protecting its cub.
“Hamby, if you’ll excuse my cousin and me, I wish to speak with her.” Edward grasped her upper arm and led her through the overcrowded room into a wide corridor.
“Edward.” She jerked her arm free. “Anne will wonder where I’ve gone.”
He snorted. “The woman isn’t fit to chaperone my boots, let alone you. Now, what were you doing talking to Hamby? Don’t you know the man’s a pig?”
She tipped her chin in the air. “I am not so naïve, Edward. I’m quite aware of Hamby’s unsavory predilections. Though if you recall, he is a political ally of my father’s. I couldn’t ignore him.”
“I suggest you do. I hear he’s searching for a young wife. I’d hate to see your name added to his list of prospective candidates. Now, let me take you home. You shouldn’t be here. And that gossip-gathering cousin of yours and her pea-brained husband should be aware of that. This crowd is—”
“Miss Lawrence!” Lord Anthony approached.
Edward made another disapproving noise. “Who’s that pup?”
“Lord Anthony. The Marquess of Huntington’s brother.”
“Well, I don’t approve of him sniffing about your skirts.”
“You don’t approve of anyone.”
“Where you’re concerned, you’re right. Especially anyone attending one of Caruthers’s notorious gatherings.”
“You’re attending.”
“Yes, and that should tell you something. I should box Caruthers’s ears for inviting you.”
Anthony stepped beside her. “Miss Lawrence, how wonderful to see you again.” The two men’s gazes locked. Their expressions reflected curiosity and distrust. If she didn’t say something, they might start ramming heads or gnawing at each other’s legs like feral dogs. Best to introduce her cousin before Anthony bit off more than he could chew.
“Lord Anthony, allow me to introduce my cousin Lord Thorton.”
“Ah, a cousin, you don’t say?” Anthony thrust out his hand. “Good to meet you, Thorton.”
Edward stared at the extended hand, looking as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to shake it or gnaw it. Finally, he clasped Anthony’s hand. Apparently too tightly, if Anthony’s grimace was any indication. “If you’ll excuse us, I was about to escort Caroline home—”
A high-pitched female squeal cut Edward off.
They all turned.
Anne rushed toward them, Charles trailing her. Anne smacked Caroline’s arm with her closed fan. “I worried you’d run off again. I nearly suffered apoplexy when I turned around and you weren’t there.”
Caroline shot Edward a reprimanding glare. “I’m dreadfully sorry, Anne. Edward wished to speak with me.”
“Yes, that’s all well and good, but . . .”
Edward crossed his arms over his chest, drawing Anne’s regard. His face hardened.
“Ah, quite understandable. How are you, my lord?” Anne asked.
He grunted a reply.
An unfamiliar odor, sweet yet pungent, teased at Caroline’s nose.
Edward’s nostrils flared. He mumbled a low curse.
“My goodness, is there a fire in there?” Anne pointed at the door they all stood near.
“No, it’s the smoking room,” Edward said.
Charles’s nose wrinkled. “Must be some new Turkish blend. Strange odor, I say.”
People gossiped about Caruthers’s gatherings. They whispered of opium smoking, debauchery, even orgies. She’d believed it nothing more than malicious prattle. The expression on Edward’s face said different.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wallace.” Edward set his fisted hands on his hips. “If your curiosity about this gathering is well served, I suggest you escort Caroline home. She shouldn’t be here.”
Anthony, acting the diplomat, smiled at everyone. “I’m on my way out, as well. Might I accompany you to your carriage?” He offered Caroline his arm.
She contemplated arguing with Edward. He had no right to dictate her actions. But she didn’t wish to be here or anywhere else Lord Hamby was. Best to stay out of his lordship’s sight if he was searching for a wife.
“Good man. Thank you.” Edward clapped a hand on Anthony’s shoulder.
Caroline rested her fingers on Anthony’s sleeve and nodded at Edward. “Good night, Cousin.” As they moved down the corridor, she took one last look into the ballroom. “Your brother didn’t come, Anthony?”
“No. Did you know James is planning on leaving London by week’s end?”
Her heart picked up speed. “Leaving? So soon?”
“Yes, he’s returning to Trent Hall. I think he would have left today if he’d been able to convince our grandmother to accompany him. He’s worried about the old bird. A waste of good energy. She’ll outlive us all.”
“Will you tell him I said goodbye?” She blinked, trying to relieve the sudden stinging in her eyes.
“You’re both acting extremely stubborn.”
What did he mean by that? Had James said something? “Anthony—”
“What are you two whispering about?” Anne asked, stepping beside them.
Anthony grinned. “Waltzing, Mrs. Wallace. We were discussing how one can tell so much by watching a couple waltz.”
“Really? I shall have to pay more attention, my lord.” Anne smiled as if she relished glimpsing something scandalous.
Once outside, Anthony led Caroline a short distance from her cousins and spoke in a hushed tone. “Whatever you’ve heard about James, it’s not true. He didn’t murder Henrietta. He and I were sitting in his office when we heard her tumbling down the stairs. He tried to revive her, but I knew it was too late. You see, her neck . . . Oh God, I should not be telling you this. Forgive me.”
“No, I’m glad you have taken me into your confidence.”
“Several servants said he and Henrietta had had a terrible row that morning. In truth, they fought often. She was forever jealous of any woman he spoke with. How he could stand it, I do not know. All I know is that he didn’t push her. You must believe me.”
She squeezed his hand. “I do.”
An expression of relief flashed over his face. “I see the way you look at each other. Don’t let the rumors shatter what might be.”
“Anthony, you are mistaken. Your brother has no interest in marrying again.”
“Sometimes one doesn’t realize what one wants until it’s too late.” Hoofbeats clapped against the cobbles. “Ah, here is your coachman. Please think of what I’ve said.”
He turned to her cousins and spoke louder. “Mrs. Wallace, Mr. Wallace, I bid you a pleasant night.”
* * *
An anxious voice pulled Caroline from sleep. She bolted upright and drew her blankets to her chest.
“Miss, are you awake?” Mrs. Roth stood in the doorway holding an oil lamp that illuminated the housekeeper’s pale face, making her look like one of Dickens’s ghostly characters come to call. The elderly woman darted to the bed. The beacon she held flickered in her unsteady hand, casting spears of light onto her taut and bloodless lips.
Never Kiss a Notorious Marquess Page 17
