by Jane Ashford
Arthur’s spirits soared. His stubborn love had been swayed by his…heroic deed. He was sure of it. Nearly sure. He had to ask her. He was wild to do so. She was sitting so close to him, and yet an inconvenient crowd away. He must be rid of all these people!
He hadn’t counted on the young ladies being present. He couldn’t command them as he might Tom and his comrades. Well, nothing to do but make a start. “Is there no work to be done here today?” he asked the air. The outer circle of artisans reacted to the voice of authority and began to disperse. But Tom and the young ladies, including Poppy, made no move. He was left within their circle of interested gazes. Arthur searched for words.
But he’d forgotten. He’d thrown off the shackles of propriety. He wasn’t hemmed in by them any longer. Noting that it was deuced difficult to establish new habits, he said, “Will you all please go away and let me talk to Señora Alvarez?”
“Are you finally going to speak?” asked Miss Deeping. “We have been wondering why you were waiting.”
“Charlotte,” said Miss Finch.
“Well, but we…”
“Charlotte,” said Miss Moran.
Miss Deeping held up a hand to forestall them. And then all three young ladies spoke in a practiced chorus. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“What is?” asked Poppy. “Do you practice speaking all together? It’s funny.”
“Let’s get back to it, Poppy,” Tom said to her. He rose and offered his arm. With a giggle, she stood and took it. As they walked out, Tom looked back over his shoulder, grinned at Arthur, and gave him a quick salute with his free hand. Arthur could only smile back.
The three young ladies gathered their things, of which they seemed to have an inordinate number. Then they too departed. At last he and Teresa were alone in the courtyard.
They were not overlooked. There were no windows into the workshop. Arthur found himself thinking that a few windows would be pleasant, for the light, and realized he was putting off hearing his fate. “Well,” he said.
“Do you intend to explain yourself?” Teresa asked.
He was momentarily concerned. Then he saw the gleam in her dark eyes. She wasn’t quite laughing, but she wasn’t cool either. Strong emotion stirred there. “You worried that you would ruin me,” he said. “I did not agree, but you weren’t open to my arguments. So I decided to do it myself, to remove your…anxieties.”
“Remove?” She shook her head. “When I saw you lift that punch bowl, I thought I’d gone mad.”
“It was quite heavy.”
Her lips twitched. “And the looks on those men’s faces!”
“I do wish I might have seen that,” he said. “But their backs were turned to me, you know.”
Teresa gazed at him. It seemed that doubt still plagued her. “Perhaps you have lost your mind.”
“Some people think so. Let them.” He leaned closer to her. “I am simply in love.”
“Do you say I have driven you mad?”
“No. I say you have let me find myself once again.” He dared to take her hand. She didn’t pull it away. “I have been…muted for some years. By circumstances. And rules. Now I’m ready to come to life.”
“Which means behaving outrageously?”
“That was only to convince you. Have I? Because I can indulge in more and more outrageous pranks until you are.”
“You are being ridiculous.”
“Am I? It is a new and interesting behavior for me. Quite stimulating.”
“Lord Macklin…”
“I wish you would call me Arthur. I really long to hear my name on your lips.”
The word led Teresa to focus on his. Those lips that had sent fire through her veins.
“I hope it’s clear that I am offering for you again,” he said. “Is it? If I went down on one knee this time, would it help?”
“Will you be serious?”
His expression shifted. “I’ve never been more so, Teresa. I don’t think I can be happy without you.” He frowned. “That did not sound well. If you really do not wish to be my wife, then of course I won’t continue to plague you.” He looked into her eyes. “I dearly hope that is not the case.”
“Must I marry you to keep you from making a fool of yourself? Again.”
A smile curved those seductive lips. “Absolutely. It is your duty to redeem my reputation, to save me.”
“I? To save you!”
“I believe you have. At least I hope you will agree to do so. Continue to do so. For the rest of my life.”
The clumsiness of his words, so unlike the ever-confident earl, enchanted her. “How can I refuse?”
He sprang to his feet and reached for her, then hesitated. “Would you mind very much saying ‘yes’?”
“Yes,” Teresa said. “Yes, I will marry you, and we will save each other for the rest of our lives.”
He pulled her up into his arms and kissed her as she had been longing to be kissed—tenderly, ruthlessly, softly, passionately. The world disappeared into a languorous flurry of kisses.
Some indeterminate time later, they sat side by side with his arm around her waist. “Will you wear your striped waistcoat to the wedding?” Teresa asked him.
“I will wear it every day from now on, if you like. Unless…” He looked concerned.
“Unless?”
“Clayton, my valet, has been rather furtive since the Overton ball. I fear he might have burnt that waistcoat. But I will buy another exactly like it.”
Teresa held up a hand. “No. I would not like to begin our marriage by offending Clayton. He was very kind, and most imposing, when I stayed at your house.”
“You will be there always now,” he replied with complacent delight. “So we will do without the stripes, if necessary?”
“We will.”
“But nothing else. Anything you want, you need only name it.”
“I have always been fascinated by elephants,” said Teresa.
“By…” He looked down at her, caught the joke, and smiled. “It would serve you right if I purchased an elephant and put it in your care.”
“With one of those seats they wear on their backs,” she retorted. “Like the pictures from India. We could ride it about your estate. That would certainly confirm your…transformation.”
“Do you dare me? Or tempt me?”
“I retract everything,” said Teresa, and kissed him again.
They were both laughing when Tom’s head appeared in the doorway. “Are you finished?” he asked. “It’s just that everyone keeps asking me.”
“Señora Alvarez and I are going to be married,” answered Arthur.
“Oh, good!” Tom looked back and perhaps made some gesture. In the next moment, he and the three young ladies had surged back into the courtyard. It seemed that no one had gone farther than the workshop.
“I told you so,” said Miss Deeping as they surrounded Arthur and Teresa.
“You promised you would stop saying that, Charlotte,” said Miss Moran. “We wish you every happiness.”
“Indeed,” said Miss Finch. “When is the wedding to be? Ada will be furious if she cannot attend.”
“We haven’t planned—” began Teresa.
“It will be quite soon, by special license, and pay no heed at all to other people’s convenience,” said Arthur.
“Are you going to let him dictate to you?” asked Miss Deeping, censure in her face.
“A lady gets to decide everything about her wedding,” said Miss Moran.
“Her last, and often only, efficacy,” added Miss Finch dryly.
Teresa looked up at her earl. His gaze was warm and caressing. Love brimmed up and filled her. “Well, you see, he has promised me an elephant.”
“What?” asked the three young ladies in unison.
“Did he really?” Tom looked delighted. “Can I come and see it? We had one in a play once, and I wondered if…”
“Go away,” Arthur said. “All of you. You ladies, go home. Tom, return to your work or wherever you please. As long as it is not here.”
There were protests. Arthur summoned up his new habit of impertinence and pointed a finger at the door. Slowly, reluctantly, they went. He then returned to the much more pleasant matter of kisses.
Keep reading for an excerpt from the next novel by Jane Ashford.
Things are looking up for Diana Gresham and her new love Captain Wilson, until they’re challenged by a scandal from the past…
The Repentant Rebel
Available in Jane Ashford’s upcoming duo, When You Give a Rogue a Rebel.
Coming soon from Sourcebooks Casablanca
Diana Gresham hugged the thin cotton of her nightdress to her chest and snuggled deeper into the pillows of the posting-house bed. She had never been so happy in her life, she told herself, and today was just the beginning of a glorious future. This afternoon, she and Gerald would reach Gretna Green and be married, and then no one could part them or spoil their wonderful plans—not even her father.
Of course, Papa was unlikely to protest now. Diana’s lovely face clouded as she considered the terrible step she had been forced to by her father’s harshness. If he had only listened this once, it wouldn’t have been necessary to defy him. But almost eighteen years as Mr. Gresham’s sole companion had repeatedly—and painfully—defeated any such hopes. Papa was implacable; he had never shown the least interest in her ideas or opinions, except to condemn them. Diana felt only a small admixture of guilt in her relief at having escaped her rigid, penurious home.
A tap on the door made her expression lighten. Sitting up and smiling expectantly, she called, “Come in.” The panels swung back to reveal first a loaded tray, then an extremely handsome young man.
“Voilà,” he said, returning her smile possessively. “Tea. And hot toast.” He swept a napkin from the tray to display it. “I play servant to you.”
Diana clapped her hands. “Thank you! I am so hungry.”
“The unaccustomed exertions of the night, no doubt,” he replied, placing the tray across her knees and resting a hand on her half-bare shoulder.
Diana flushed fiery red and gazed fixedly at the white teapot. She would get used to such frankness concerning the somewhat discomfiting intimacies of marriage, she thought. Her first experience last night had not been at all like the stolen kisses she and Gerald had exchanged in the weeks since they met. Yet Gerald had obviously seen nothing wrong so Diana dismissed her reaction as naiveté. She knew she was less sophisticated than other girls, even those not yet eighteen. Because her father had never allowed her to attend any party or assembly, nor meet any of the young men who visited her friends’ families, Diana was deeply humble about her ignorance, while passionately eager to be rid of it. Until Gerald’s miraculous appearance during one of her solitary country walks—an event she still could not help but compare to the illustration of the Archangel Michael in her Bible—she had never spoken to a man of her own age. That her sole opportunity should bring a veritable pink of the ton (a term Gerald had taught her) had been overwhelming. From the first, she had joyfully referred every question to him, and taken his answers as gospel.
Diana raised her eyes, found her promised husband gazing appreciatively at her scantily clad form, and promptly lowered them again.
For his part, Gerald Carshin was congratulating himself on his astuteness. He had been hanging out for a rich wife for nearly ten years, and his golden youth was beginning, however slightly, to tarnish. Even he saw that. His sunny hair remained thick—automatically he touched its fashionable perfection—and his blue eyes had lost none of their dancing charm, but he had started to notice alarming signs of thickness in his slim waist and a hint of sag in his smooth cheeks. At thirty, it was high time he wed, and he had cleverly unearthed an absolute peach of an heiress in the nick of time.
Carshin’s eyes passed admiringly over Diana’s slender rounded form, which was more revealed than hidden by the thin nightdress and coverlet. Her curves were his now; he breathed a little faster thinking of last night. And her face was equally exquisite. Like him, she was blond, but her hair was a deep rich gold, almost bronze, and her eyes were the color of aged sherry, with glints of the same gold in their depths. She wasn’t the least fashionable, of course. Her tartar of a father had never allowed her to crop her hair or buy modish gowns. Yet the waves of shining curls that fell nearly to Diana’s waist convinced Gerald that there was some substance in the old man’s strictures. It had taken his breath away last night when Diana had unpinned her fusty knot and shaken her hair loose.
“Your tea is getting cold,” Carshin said indulgently. “I thought you were hungry.”
Self-consciously Diana began to eat. She had never breakfasted with a man sitting on her bed—or, indeed, in bed at all until today. But of course, having Gerald there was wonderful, she told herself quickly. Everything about her life would be different and splendid now. “Are they getting the carriage ready?” she asked, needing to break the charged silence. “I can dress in a minute.”
“There’s no hurry.” His hand smoothed her fall of hair, then moved to cup a breast and fondle it. “We needn’t leave at once.” But as he bent to kiss Diana’s bare neck, he felt her stiffen. She won’t really relax till the knot’s tied, he thought, drawing back. A pity she’s so young. “Still, when you’ve finished your tea, you should get up,” he added.
Diana nodded, relieved, yet puzzled by her hesitant reaction to Gerald’s touch. This was the happiest day of her life, she repeated to herself.
Gerald moved to an armchair by the window. “Once we’re married, we’ll go straight to London. The season will be starting soon, and I…we must find a suitable house and furnish it.” Gerald pictured himself set up in his own house, giving card parties and taking a box at the opera. How the ton would stare! He would finally have his revenge on the damned high sticklers who cut him.
“Oh, yes,” agreed Diana, her breakfast forgotten. “I can hardly wait to see all the fashionable people and go to balls.”
Gerald scrutinized her, the visions he had conjured up altering slightly. Diana would of necessity accompany him. “We must get you some clothes first, and do something about your hair.” She put a stricken hand to it. “It’s lovely, but not quite the thing, you know.”
“No.” Diana looked worried. “You will tell me how I should go on, and what I am to wear, won’t you?”
“Naturally.” Gerald seemed to expand in the chair. “We shall be all the crack, you and I. Everyone will invite us.”
Diana sighed with pleasure at the thought. All her life she had longed for gaiety and crowds of chattering friends rather than the bleak, dingy walls of her father’s house. Now, because of Gerald, she would have them.
“You must write at once to your trustees and tell them you are married,” he added, still lost in a happy dream. “We shall have to draw quite a large sum to get settled in town.”
“My trustees?” Diana’s brown eyes grew puzzled.
“Yes. You told me their names, but I’ve forgotten. The banker and the solicitor in charge of your mother’s fortune—yours, I should say, now. You come into it when you marry, remember.”
“Not unless I am of age,” she corrected him.
Gerald went very still. “What?”
“Papa made her put that in. Mr. Merton at the bank told me so. Mama would have left me her money outright, but Papa insisted upon conditions. It is just like him. The money was to be mine when I married, unless I should do so before I came of age. Otherwise, I must wait until I am five-and-twenty. Isn’t that infamous?”
Carshin’s pale face had gone ashen. “But you are not eighteen for…”
“Four months,” sh
e finished. Sensing his consternation, she added, “Is something wrong?”
His expression was intent, but he was not looking at her. “We must simply wait to be married,” he murmured. “We cannot go to London, of course. We shall have to live very quietly in the country, and—”
“Wait!” Diana was aghast. “Gerald, you promised me we should be married at once. Indeed, I never could have”—she choked on the word “eloped”—“left home otherwise.”
Meeting her eyes, Gerald saw unshakable determination, and the collapse of all his careful plans. One thing his rather unconventional life had taught him was to read others’ intentions. Diana would not be swayed by argument, however logical.
Why had she withheld this crucial piece of information? he wondered. This was all her fault. In fact, she had neatly trapped him into compromising her. But if she thought that the proprieties weighed with him, she was mistaken. The chit deserved whatever she got.
He looked up, and met her worried gaze. The naked appeal in her dark eyes stopped the flood of recrimination on his tongue, but it did not change his mind. Hunching a shoulder defensively, he rose. “I should see about the horses. You had better get dressed.”
“Yes, I will,” replied Diana eagerly, relief making her weak. “I won’t be a minute.”
Gerald nodded curtly, and went out.
But when Diana descended the narrow stair a half hour later, her small valise in her hand, there was no sign of Gerald Carshin. There were only a truculent innkeeper proffering a bill, two sniggering postboys, and a round-eyed chambermaid wiping her hands in her apron.
Diana refused to believe Gerald was gone. Even when it was pointed out that a horse was missing from the stable, along with the gentleman’s valise from the hired chaise, Diana shook her head stubbornly. She sat down in the private parlor to await Gerald’s return, concentrating all her faculties on appearing unconcerned. But as the minutes ticked past, her certainty slowly ebbed, and after a while she was trembling under the realization that she had been abandoned far from her home.
Papa had been right. He had said that Gerald wanted nothing but her money. She had thought that his willingness to marry her at seventeen proved otherwise, but she saw now that this wasn’t so. Gerald had simply not understood. Hadn’t she told him all the terms of her mother’s will? She thought she had, but her memory of their early meetings was blurred by a romantically golden haze.
