by Amanda Scott
He was the first to speak, saying in a cultivated drawl, “There you are, my lad. Wondered what had become of you.” Raising the glass, he peered briefly at Gillian, then added, “Daresay you will desire to present us to this young woman. Can’t say we’ve had the pleasure. Good day to you, ma’am.”
The youngest man raised his quizzing glass too, blinked at her through it, and said, “By Jove, yes. A fine ma’am, day.”
“Good day, sirs,” she said, keeping her countenance with difficulty, for she had no doubt now that both gentlemen, and very likely the third as well, were a trifle the worse for drink.
Thorne said caustically, “Put that damned glass in your pocket, Perry, or I will feed it to you.”
Sobering rapidly, the gentleman attempted to obey, but the quizzing glass appeared to be too large for the fob pocket into which he tried to slip it. After a second attempt he pushed it up under his coat and said, “There, Josh, that’ll do, won’t it? No need to put yourself in a pucker. Only came out to do the polite, and you still ain’t introduced us.” Turning back to Gillian, he said, “Must excuse ’im, ma’am. Got no manners. Brought up to think everyone else had to have ’em instead, on account of he’s going to be a duke one day. Went to his head, don’t you know? Allow me. Thorne’s cousin, Peregrine Dawlish, at your service. And these two gentlemen ...” He gestured toward the other two. “Chap on the right is Andrew Corbin—Lord Corbin, that is. You can remember him because, except for Thorne, he’s the biggest. And the other’s Crawley. Excellent man. Nottinghamshire family. Daresay you’ve heard of ’em.”
Gillian looked expectantly at Thorne, but he remained stubbornly silent. “Your cousin is right, sir,” she said. “You ought to have presented them to me, you know. Am I to make myself known to them, or do you mean to do it?”
His lips twisted wryly. “Thought you liked to do things on your own, my dear. I won’t pretend that was not a matter I had hoped shortly to discuss with you, but you will perhaps comprehend why I did not immediately leap to do the honors.”
Crawley chuckled. “I can see that he has not been treating you well, ma’am, so let me assure you that we are pretty certain you must be Lady Gillian Carnaby. Of course, if you are not, I am immediately made to look the worst sort of an ass, so I do hope you will take pity on me and say that you are, regardless.”
Gillian smiled at him and then at the other men in turn and said politely, “I am certainly Gillian Carnaby. Did you come all this way in search of his lordship? You must have many things to say to him.” She turned to Thorne. “No doubt, my lord, you will want to remain in town to dine with your friends.”
“Not so fast, my dear,” he said smoothly, gripping her arm again. “Corbin, did you drive down in your phaeton?”
“Certainly I did,” the beau replied. “Didn’t I tell you before? Rattled here at such a pace that I feared I’d put us in a ditch. Phaeton’s not large enough for three grown men either. I had to come without my valet, Josiah. Devilish inconvenient!”
“Don’t expect me to sympathize,” Thorne said. “I want your rig. I know your team’s not fully rested, but it’s a short way and I won’t spring ’em. Lady Gillian has a gig in the next street, being watched over by some urchin. See if you can induce him to entrust it to your care for the present. There is also my horse, yonder. Look after him. I am going to drive her home.”
“But that is not necessary, my lord,” Gillian protested. “I can drive myself perfectly well, and you must want to visit with your friends. How you think I shall recover my gig later if we leave it here now, I don’t know. Or the gelding.”
Dawlish, smiling, said, “Don’t mean to push in where we ain’t wanted, m’lady, but there is a simple solution to that problem. Can understand that Josh would not want to leave you on your own to travel these roads, but he wouldn’t want to be seen escorting a mere gig, let alone driving one. Too much beneath his dignity, to be sure.” For once he ignored the withering glance shot him by his cousin and continued, “No reason he can’t drive you if he likes. I should be only too happy to ride his horse back, and I daresay Crawley can handle the gig without any bother or loss of dignity. The only question is whether Corbin can be induced to ride in such a lowly vehicle. But perhaps he will choose to remain behind at the inn instead.”
“Corbin begs leave to say he will not,” the beau drawled. “I’ll wager I’m as curious ... that is, I daresay her ladyship will be glad of our escort too. Bound to,” he added in a gently confiding tone, shooting a sidelong glance at Thorne.
“Exactly my point,” Dawlish agreed. “Stands to reason that if Josh is put out—which even a nodcock could see he is—she’d as lief have us around to keep him from jawing at her, which, if you want my opinion, is the true reason he don’t want to drive a noisy gig or ride alongside her whilst she drives it.”
Feeling the hand that gripped her arm tighten painfully, Gillian said swiftly, “I shall be delighted to be so well escorted, gentlemen, and you must, all of you, stay to dine at Carnaby Park. My father and his wife will want to make your acquaintance.” And what Estrid would think of three extra gentlemen arriving to grace her table without so much as an hour’s notice, Gillian decided not to think about.
The three gentlemen accepted with a promptness that made her bite her lip to keep from laughing, and she was sure she heard a grinding sound from Thorne’s teeth. She looked at him, expecting to see the anger in his expression that she had seen before. Instead she saw a decided twinkle in his eyes.
“Piqued, repiqued, and capoted,” he murmured for her ears alone, “but don’t think that you have escaped hearing what I want to say to you, for you have not.”
She was given no opportunity to reply. Corbin shouted for a groom to bring his carriage, gave the boy holding Thorne’s horse a coin to collect the gig, and it was not very long before their little cavalcade was ready to depart. Gillian discovered that the phaeton was a light one rigged for speed rather than comfort, and drawn by a magnificent team of matched bays. They were soon bowling rapidly along the highroad. Looking at her companion, Gillian saw that his lips were set in a straight line, and his gaze was focused upon the road. His skill was evident in the confident way he managed the ribbons, however, and after watching for several moments, she relaxed, waiting for him to speak.
He remained silent, concentrating on the team and on the road ahead of them. Observing that the others had begun to fall behind, Gillian looked at him again and said, “Trying to lose them, my lord?”
He glanced at her, then looked over his shoulder. “I haven’t driven Corbin’s bays before,” he said. “I’ve driven his chestnuts, but I think this team is even finer.”
“Just trying their paces, in fact.” She grinned at him and was pleased to see the twinkle return to his eyes in response.
He slowed the pace a little before he said, “The others will catch up in a few moments.” Then he added abruptly, “I thought we had agreed that our betrothal would stand for a time.”
“Well, in truth, sir, you decided that it would,” she said. “We did not agree to much of anything that I can recall. Indeed, I told you right up to the last that I thought you were mistaken to drag the business out any more than was absolutely necessary.”
He was silent again, and she found herself hoping that she hadn’t banished the twinkle. His eyes were so deeply blue and his lashes so dark that the twinkle was quite remarkable, and she wanted to see it again. But his attention was back on the road when he said, “I suppose I did make the decision, and I still think it was the right one. Just what did you think you were going to do at that newspaper office?”
She grimaced. “I had the oddest fantasy, sir, that I could simply walk in there, say that a mistake had been made, and ask them to print a correction. It was not simple at all. I became quite tongue-tied and hadn’t the least notion what to say. I hate to admit this to you, but I was never so glad to see anyone in my life as when you burst through that door.”
�
�I do not burst through doors. I open them and walk through.”
“You were in a blazing fury.”
“I was not. I was in complete control.”
She smiled. “Do you know, I think you are quite right about that. I certainly have never before seen anyone who looked as angry as you did who could then manage to speak as lightly as you spoke. But I am not mistaken about the fury.”
Again he fell silent, but when she said nothing more, he turned to her at last with a rueful smile and said, “No, you are not mistaken. There are times I’d like to throttle Mongrel—my cousin Dawlish, that is—but he does have an aggravating way of nicking the nick from time to time, and he knew I was vexed. Babbling on about manners and such was his way of rebuking me. I’ve been known to react in a quite reprehensible way to his prating, and he’s got a healthy respect for my temper, but he is no coward and frequently speaks without concern for his own well-being—just wanting to be helpful. Safe enough for him when others are around, of course. I have learned to hide my feelings reasonably well when I must, for it has been brought home to me more than once that it is not only the gentlemanly thing to do, but often the wisest. My father is something of a Tartar.”
Gillian grimaced. “What does he think of all this, sir?”
“He is the reason I came down here with any willingness whatsoever to be reasonable about it. It is by his command that the whole thing is to be settled without scandal. He has threatened to pack me off to Ireland if it is not.”
“And you would go?”
“I doubt I would be given any choice in the matter. His methods are what one would call peremptory.”
“I think you must be very much like him,” Gillian said.
He stared at her. “I am not!”
“Well, it would not be surprising, for most men are like their fathers, just as women are like their mothers. One learns from what one sees, I expect. But you are something of a Tartar in your own way, you know. I have experienced it myself, and you pointed out that your own cousin has a healthy respect for your temper. The others do, too, I think. They were watching you rather closely, even whilst they teased you. Did they really drive all the way from London merely to see what I look like?”
“They did.” His jaw tightened again, and she knew he was not pleased to be reminded of the fact.
“Why are you angry now?”
“I’m not.”
“Don’t be childish, sir. You know you are still vexed with me if not with them. Wouldn’t it be a good deal more sensible merely to say what you wish to say when you wish to say it?”
“I didn’t want to speak before; I wanted to shake you.”
“There, that’s much better, but you could not shake me in the newspaper office, of course, or in the High Street. It simply isn’t done. Although a man did sell his wife in the market square last week,” she added thoughtfully, “and one was used to believe that that wasn’t done either. One of our grooms told me the fellow led her right through town on a rope halter.”
Thorne laughed. “Sounds like a sensible chap to me.”
She considered the point for a moment, then said, “I do not think it can have been at all sensible, for surely the Church does not recognize a change of ownership as a legal marriage.”
He said, “Are you trying to pick a quarrel with me?”
She chuckled. “No, certainly not, though it would serve you right if I did, for I am certain now that you made me angry on purpose that day on the north coast. It did me a great deal of good at the time, of course, and really, I do wish you would lose your temper now if you are going to lose it, and be done with it. It is difficult to go on pretending that I am not quaking in my boots waiting to hear what you will say to me.”
“I don’t believe you ever quake.”
“Well, but you do not know me very well, do you?”
“On the contrary, I think I am coming to know you very well indeed. I distinctly recall now that when the waves were nipping at your toes, even when I did make you angry—and, yes, I did do it on purpose—you did not seem to be at all frightened of me.”
“Well, that shows just how mistaken you can be, for I was paralyzed with fear. In that horrid moment when you swung me off the rock, I shut my eyes and prayed, certain I was only moments from meeting my Maker.” When he still looked disbelieving, she gave it up and said, “Are you still vexed with me, sir?”
“Will you attempt to deny our betrothal again?”
“No, I quite see now that such a course will not answer.”
“Good. If you are prepared to be reasonable, there is no more to be said.”
“But there is. I can see that placing an announcement in the South Devon paper will not answer, particularly since the news has found its way to London, but I still can see no good reason to continue the charade once we reach the city. Surely I can cry off at once then. This pretense is what I do not like.”
He looked directly at her, his expression implacable. “Let me make myself plain; there can be no pretense about it. As far as I am concerned, and as far as you or anyone in London will be concerned, you are my affianced wife, with all the rights and privileges of that position, and you are under no obligation to cry off unless you wish to do so, now or ever. I will make the usual arrangements with your father, regarding settlements and dowry, and everything will go forward just as it would have had we met any other way and had a marriage arranged between us.”
“But that is dreadful!” she cried.
“Do you really think so?” he asked in a gentler tone. “You have encouraged me to speak freely, so I will tell you that I find I am rapidly becoming accustomed to the notion.”
The warm look she saw in his eyes just then startled her, but she felt no responsive warmth in herself. On the contrary, a distinct shiver shot up her spine when she remembered what Meggie had said about him, and what her uncle had said. Thorne was a rake of the first stare, a man accustomed to charming ladies and bending their will to suit his own. No doubt he thought he had only to smile at her to make her submit to his every wish and decree. That must be how it had always been for him, for was that not the very nature of a rake? One could not be successful in the posture if one did not possess the skills with which to charm one’s victims. He would learn his error, she thought. In the meantime, it was better to see him smile than frown, even if one suspected that his warmth was no more than masculine lust. His displeasure had made her a great deal more uncomfortable.
As much to divert her own thoughts as to make a point, she said, “There is no need to arrange matters with my father. It would be needless bother, since nothing can come of it later.”
“There is a small matter of the law,” he said. Again she received that direct look. “I must protect myself as well as you, for a betrothal is a binding link between two people, and when one is a man in my position, he would be a fool not to put the details down on paper. Moreover, a proper settlement ought to be made that protects you even if you cry off. I think you do not understand the pinch you could find yourself in when you do. There should be some small compensation for that.”
“But that is not at all necessary!” she cried, truly distressed. “You are not at fault, sir. If it had been one of your friends who had been so misguided as to play this trick upon us, then perhaps you might be forgiven for taking some of the burden unto yourself; but since it was not—”
“Yes?” he prompted with a glint of mockery in his eyes. “Do you mean to tell me the truth at last, then?”
“No,” she said hastily. “Pray, believe me, sir, that I must not do that. But I do mean to insist that you do nothing so foolhardy as to settle money on me. Indeed, I do not need it, and I should find that a most untenable position.”
“You do not understand,” he said gently. “I do it not for you so much as to protect myself. Even if you cry off, all you would have to do to sue me for breach of promise would be to suggest that you had done so under duress—”
“I woul
d never do such a thing,” she said sharply. Anger and mortification nearly overwhelmed her. She could not bear it that he should think such a thing of her.
“Don’t be nonsensical,” he retorted. “It has nothing to do with whether you would or would not. It has to do only with being sensible. My father would have my head carried to him on a platter if I did not take such a simple precaution, and your father,” he added grimly, “ought to be just as determined to see that you are properly protected as well.”
“But I do not need any such protection!”
“Nonsense. I heard your stepmother just as plainly as you did, and I would have understood your position even without her help. The birth of your little brother puts you right out of the heiress stakes, my girl. Until his birth you were Marrick’s sole heir. That can no longer be the case.”
“But I am anything but destitute, sir. It is not my position to speak about such things, I know, but it is only right to tell you that I inherited my mother’s fortune. She was a Vellacott of Deane, you know, and inherited nearly everything that was not entailed. My fortune is in trust, of course, and will remain so until I am twenty-five, but I have an independent income. You must have wondered why my stepmother does not awe me as she certainly would if I were completely without means of my own, like most girls are. Grandfather set up the trust so Mother would not be entirely dependent upon my father and so that he could not waste her fortune, had he been of that mind. He would not have done so, of course. He loved her very much. You have met my Uncle Marmaduke. The present Viscount Vellacott of Deane, his elder brother, is a sour, grasping sort of man. My grandfather did not like either of them very much, which is why the bulk of his fortune went to Mama. Grandfather said she was the only Vellacott he knew who was not a parasite.”
“Pleasant fellow,” Thorne said. “I prophesy that you will enjoy great success in London once the news gets out, and that Crawley will soon become my chief rival for your hand.”
