by Carola Dunn
"You've swallowed the bait, have you? I wondered."
"She's hooked me,” Will confessed, refilling his glass. “Perhaps because she casts out no lures, so one forgets to be wary."
"She appears to have no need to employ tricks."
"True, but it's more that she's enjoying herself too much to have any present interest in catching herself a husband. Somehow I must get her away from the crowds. You wouldn't mind if I married her?"
"My dear coz, why the devil should I?"
"After all, I am your heir, though I'm not likely to inherit, thank heaven, as you are only half a dozen years older than I."
"Eight years. Thank heaven?"
"Damned if I know what I'd do with that great pile of yours. I much prefer Goff's Acre.” Suddenly he sat bolt upright, spilling a few drops of brandy on his blue-and-gold-brocade waistcoat. “I have it! Christmas at Goff's Acre. I shall have a house party."
Rod grinned. “A house party for two? Just you and Miss Megan?"
"I shall have to invite her family, alas. Lady Kilmore seems to be fit as a fiddle now. Rod, you will come, will you not? You can keep Miss Kilmore occupied for me. And Stewart is showing signs of interest there. I'll ask him, too. Between the two of you, she won't have time to watch Miss Meg too closely."
Stewart! Could he nowhere escape the damnable fellow? Rod was jealous, he was forced to admit—to himself. Will seemed to have no notion of his cousin's warm feelings for Thea, but he might guess if Rod objected to inviting the viscount. Hoping that Lord Stewart would choose to spend Christmas with his children, he asked, “Who else?"
Will pondered. “Aunt Anne, as nominal hostess and to entertain the dowager. My aunt Hazlewood is going to one of your sisters as usual, I trust?"
"Amelia has that honour this year, I believe."
"Thank heaven. In that case, I'll invite Uncle Reggie. Don't want to hurt the old boy's feelings, and he'll liven things up
"You don't regard him as a rival, I collect."
"For Meg's hand? Uncle Reggie? Besides being sixty and fat as a porpoise, he's even more expert at avoiding parson's mousetrap than you are. Let's see, that is almost all family, mine and hers. It will be dull as ditchwater for you. Shall I ask Lady Daphne, or Mrs. Wilmington, to amuse you?"
"Heaven forbid! How about the Cheverells?” Rod knew that Thea and Lady Cheverell were becoming fast friends.
"No, no, coz. I'm not turning my house party into one of your political gatherings! And I don't want Giddy around casting sheep's eyes at Meg, or I'd ask the Turners. She is thick as thieves with Giddy's sister."
"How about the Lewins, then? Miss Lewin is a friend of Miss Megan's, is she not?"
"Yes,” said Will decisively, “and Pretty's épris in Jane Lewin's direction, if I'm not mistaken. How he can prefer her to Meg escapes me, but he'll make up the numbers nicely. I shall be betrothed by the New Year and wed before Easter."
"Don't count your Easter eggs before they hatch,” Rod advised his exuberant cousin, but he was wondering if a week at Goff's Acre might not be just what he needed.
In such limited company, Thea could have no possible reason for calling on his help or advice. He knew now that he wanted her for his wife, but he didn't want her to marry him only to have someone to turn to in times of trouble.
At least, with Thea, he had no fear that all she cared for were his title and his money. Whether he was willing to settle for less than love, if necessary, he was far from certain.
* * * *
The next morning he went to see his lawyer and his banker, and then, still in a mood of unwonted confusion, he rode out to Hampstead. Sue was surprised to see him on a dank, drizzling afternoon. Setting aside her sewing, she rang for tea, poked up the fire, then settled to give him her full attention.
Instead of taking his usual place in the chair opposite hers at the fireside. Rod leaned on the mantel and stared down into the flames flickering about the glowing coals. “I'm going away for Christmas,” he said, “and I may not be back."
He heard her stifled gasp before she faltered, "May not?"
"I've found the woman I want to marry."
"Surely you cannot suppose she would be foolish enough to reject you,” she said with tolerable composure. “Who is she?"
"Thea Kilmore."
"I thought it might be. You have spoken of her more than of anyone but your mother. I almost feel I know her.” She hesitated. “As you have described her, I cannot quite picture her as a marchioness, running Hazlemere and the Town house, entertaining your political associates, and so on. Is that why you are uncertain?"
"No. I shouldn't expect her to become a grande dame overnight, if ever. Indeed, I sincerely hope she will not if it means taking a leaf from my mother's book.” He turned from the fire and took his seat as Enid brought in the tea tray. Sue poured as he continued. “Many women leave the management of a large household entirely to servants while they occupy their lives with fashion and gossip. Let Thea cultivate her kitchen garden should she so choose!"
"And your friends?"
"She is already on good terms with several of their wives. If she finds it too difficult to act as hostess for large, formal gatherings, we shall have small, informal parties, which I prefer anyway."
"Does not your position demand entertaining on a grand scale?"
"My position allows me to do as I wish—within reason—and my wife likewise. You know my mother's invitations are the more prized because they are rare. But in any case, Thea's confidence is growing as she comes to know people and feels more at home with the ways of Society. She is no coward, Sue. When I recall how she faced Lady Kilmore's uncle..."
"Yes, you told me. You said you came nearer to losing your temper with that man than you have since you were a child."
Rod grinned. “I was seven. I lost my temper with one of my sisters when she said a hedge was too high to jump, so I set my pony at it, though I knew she was right. The pony made it, with a few scratches. I didn't. I broke my leg and couldn't ride at all for months. A painful and compelling way to learn that to lose control of one's emotions is to lose all discretion."
"So with your usual calm you sent to the rightabout the villain who threatened Miss Kilmore, and you believe the courage she showed then will help her to take her place as your wife. Then what is the difficulty? Do you truly think she may refuse you?"
"If I say no, I shall appear a shocking coxcomb."
"Oh, fustian, Roderick! Only a complete ninnyhammer would turn you down, and you would not have fallen in love with a complete ninnyhammer."
"No, but you will have gathered that since the moment I met her I have rescued her—or more often her family—from any number of predicaments.” He set down his empty teacup and crossed to a sideboard where decanters stood ready. A glass of Madeira in hand, he returned to the fire and once again took up his pose, staring into the flames. “She runs to me for assistance and advice. Is it too much to hope that she might some day come to see me as more than a knight errant?"
Sue rose and moved to his side. Her arm about his waist, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “If she does not, she is indeed a fool,” she said quietly, a note of pain in her voice. “In that case, you will not marry her?"
"I don't know.” His doubts remained unresolved. “I want her love!"
"Give her time. Rod. You have known her only a few weeks."
"You are right, of course. That's more or less what I told her when she asked whether Will is seriously attempting to fix his interest with her sister. Although, as a matter of fact, he is. That is his purpose in holding a house party over Christmas."
"Which is where you are going?” She shivered, though they stood right before the fire.
He embraced her briefly, then let her go. She sat down, her hands tightly clasped in her lap.
"I'm sorry, my dear."
"It was bound to happen sooner or later,” she said dully. “I always knew it, but as time passed I have allowed myself to
forget."
"You shall never be forced to ... to find someone else,” Rod said, taking a packet of papers from his pocket and placing it on the tea tray. “After we have been faithful to each other for so many years, I would not betray the bonds of friendship, of affection between us, in that way. Here are the deed to the house and documents relating to an annuity that will keep you in comfort all your life."
Sue nodded, not touching the packet. Her gaze on his face seemed to burn through him. “You will be faithful to her,” she whispered, “as you have been faithful to me. Now go. Don't come back, ever. I could not bear it."
He bent to kiss her forehead, then strode from the room, from the house. Until that moment, he had not guessed that she loved him. Could the ten good years possibly atone for the pain of parting? Turning north, into the country, he rode Achilles long and hard through the rain.
That night, at the Cheverells', he waltzed with Thea. Floating in his arms in a cloud of cerulean blue net, she sparkled in response to his forced cheerfulness. Yet at the end of the dance she said with sweet concern, “You are troubled, are you not, my lord?"
"I hoped I was hiding it!"
"I daresay no one else has noticed. If you prefer, I shall say no more. Only, you have often listened to my troubles, and I know sometimes a sympathetic ear helps to put things in perspective. So, if you wish to talk..."
Her solicitude warmed him. He yearned to unburden himself, but Sue might well be the only subject he could never, ever discuss with Thea—just as he ought not to have discussed his love for Thea with Sue. Nor would he have, had he realized the depth of her feelings and how his words must hurt her.
"But I do not mean to pry,” Thea finished anxiously.
"Of course not. I am not unacquainted with your eagerness to soothe others’ woes.” He had to tell her something. “I have made someone unhappy, someone of whom I am fond."
"Oh dear, how very distressing. Is there nothing you can do to remedy matters?"
"Nothing."
"Can I help?"
"I fear not.” Over her shoulder, he saw Lord Stewart approaching. He smiled at her. “You must not worry. Miss Kilmore. Servant, Stewart."
"The next dance is mine, I believe, Miss Kilmore,” said the viscount with a hint of belligerence.
"Yes, it is, sir. Is it already time to form the sets? Have you by any chance seen Megan? I hope she has not been looking for me."
Lord Stewart peered round to no effect. Rod, with the advantage of his greater height, told her, “Miss Megan sat with your brother and Lady Kilmore during the waltz. She is about to stand up for the country dance with Sir Gideon Turner if my eyes do not mistake me."
Thea thanked him with a smile and Stewart cast him a glance of envious annoyance. She went off on the viscount's arm, but Rod was left with a feeling of satisfaction quite out of proportion to his petty victory over his rival.
For once she had tried to help him, instead of the other way about.
* * * *
He was disappointed to learn from Will that Lord Stewart had accepted the Christmas invitation. At least, forewarned, he was first to offer to drive Thea to Goff's Acre.
Will had pointed out hopefully that Miss Megan might withstand the horrors of travel better in his curricle than in a closed carriage. For so short a journey, the dowager judged that unexceptionable. So, two days before Christmas, a cavalcade set out from Russell Square.
As host, Will left first, with Megan beside him bundled in a cocoon of rugs. Then the Kilmore carriage bore off Lord and Lady Kilmore, the dowager, and Lady Anne. At the last moment, Thea discovered she had left her muff abovestairs. She hurried to her chamber to fetch it, her abigail having left earlier with the other personal servants and the baggage.
Waiting in the hall. Rod recalled his first visit to the house, which he had made with the laudable aim of saving the Kilmore sisters from oblivion. He could hardly blame Thea for seeing him as a white knight when he had played the part to the hilt. Yet even then he had been attracted to her as much by her pluck as her vulnerability.
He looked up as she came down the stairs, pink-cheeked and laughing. Even the warm cloak could not disguise her graceful slenderness. Now he desired her as he had never desired a woman before, but he wanted love, not gratitude, to bring her to his arms.
"Pray do not tell Meg I kept you waiting,” she begged gaily as they started down the front steps to the street. “How she would roast me!"
A ragamuffin darted up to them. His face was half hidden by an aged hat pulled down over his eyes, a tattered collar turned up about his chin. “You Lady Kilmore?” he demanded.
"No, she has gone into the country. I am Miss Kilmore.” Thea's voice shook and she clung to Rod's arm.
"You'll ‘ave ter do. ‘Ere.” The boy thrust a piece of paper at her and was off before Rod could react.
She dropped it. Bending to pick it up, he read the scrawl on the outside: PENELOPE. He frowned as he handed it to her.
"You know what this is, Thea?"
"Please, let us go.” She scanned the square fearfully and hurried to the curricle. As Peter scrambled up behind and Rod set the horses in motion, she broke the seal and read the contents. “I shall not give it to Penny,” she said, her face pale.
"Her uncle?"
"Another threatening demand for money, this time with instructions on where to deliver it.” She tore it in half, and in half again.
"Another! Why have you told me nothing of this?"
"What could you have done? You were at Hazlemere when the first was thrown to me in Lord Stewart's carriage, in the street. It had no names, no direction. When nothing happened I hoped it was a mistake."
"Nonetheless, I wish you had told me.” He was being unreasonable, he knew—dissatisfied when she came to him for help, affronted when she did not. “Never mind, Vaughn will hardly pursue his niece into Hertfordshire, so forget his bluster. I wager it is no more than that."
He set himself to amuse her, and before long was rewarded with the return of colour to her cheeks and a smile to her sensitive mouth. The shadow in her eyes remained.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Prinny has left off his stays,” announced Mr. Glubb-ffoulkes. His plate laden with a second helping of nearly everything from the luncheon buffet, he lowered himself creakily to his seat opposite Thea. “Says he don't have the heart to bother since Charlotte died. A frightful sight, he is, with his belly down to his knees."
Seated beside him, Meg giggled. Will, on her other side, groaned. “Uncle, not at table, if you please!"
"Not to worry, my boy, I've no intention of giving up my corsets. Daresay puss here wouldn't care for it.” He beamed at Meg.
"Pray, sir, keep them on. I think the Cumberland corset a wonderful invention."
"You're a good girl. Tell you what, since you don't favour my suit, you ought to have a go at one of the royal dukes. They are all casting off their mistresses and running after German princesses, the jobbernowls, hoping to beget an heir. Don't know what they're missing at home."
"Uncle, if you dare bring Miss Megan to the attention of any of those reprobates..."
"Why, perhaps Miss Meg has a fancy to be Queen,” protested the old court-card with a twinkling glance at Thea.
Will's reaction confirmed what Thea had already guessed. Only his serious interest in Meg explained the house party, with the guests all friends of the Kilmores. Nor had she missed the fact that he had omitted all his rivals from his list, save Mr. Glubb-ffoulkes, who scarcely counted. Meg had told her she favoured Will, though no one could have guessed from her demeanour that she liked him any better than the rest of her court.
Since Thea dared not hope for any closer connection with Roderick, she thought wistfully that marriage between her sister and his cousin would be some consolation.
* * * *
As the days passed, the pleasures of Christmas chased Mr. Vaughn's threats from Thea's mind. She joined in gathering evergreens, holly and mistleto
e to garland the house. She helped choose a yule-log and cheered on the gentlemen as they dragged it to the house. Carols in the little church in the village of Goff's Oak; roast goose, mince pies, and flaming plum pudding; servants, tenants, and tradesmen crowding in with cheerful faces for their Christmas boxes on Boxing Day; excursions to Hatfield House and Waltham Abbey: Will was determined to entertain his guests in fine style.
Between the various amusements, Thea enjoyed her return to the peace of the countryside. The company was small enough, and well enough known to her, to give her no cause for uneasiness. Lord Stewart and Roderick were flatteringly attentive, though Meg said something that suggested Will had asked the marquis to keep her chaperon-sister occupied.
Expecting no better, Thea settled for the joy of riding with him through snowy woods and fields, sitting beside him at the informal meals, playing backgammon with him in the evenings. Though Lord Stewart usually tagged along as an unwanted third, she was happy, so she treated him kindly.
Will had planned a ball on New Year's Eve, the day before the house party was to break up. Thea was looking forward to it until she realized he had invited dozens of friends and neighbours. Somehow the brief absence from the haunts of the ton had renewed her apprehension at the thought of meeting strangers, her fear of doing or saying something wrong. Even her new ball gown, a dark wine red with white lace trimmings and flounces, seemed far too dashing.
As guests began to arrive, she hid behind a bank of red-berried holly and sweet-smelling pine branches in the ball room. The musicians from the village were already tuning up when Rod, a glass in his hand, found her lurking there.
"I know I shall make a mull of it,” she wailed in despair. “I shall ruin everything for Meg."
"Nonsense.” He sat down beside her, his sheer size a protective bulwark. “Here, drink this champagne and you will feel much better."
"Do you think I ought? I am not much used to wine."
"I am certain you ought. You must have heard the terms Dutch courage and pot-valiant."
