Sally MacKenzie Bundle

by Sally MacKenzie

  David closed his eyes briefly to keep from rolling them. Why did he have to be subjected to such a large dose of April and May today of all days? Not that he wasn’t happy for Alex and Lady Oxbury. He was. He just didn’t care to feel that happiness right now. He had too much misery to occupy him.

  “Yes, well, I’ll think about it.”

  “You’d best not think long, Lord Dawson. My brother can be very determined when he has a mind to be.”

  Alex nodded. “It would be hell to arrive just moments after the vows were said to discover Lady Grace had been pining for you and had wed the neighbor in despair.”

  “Yes, of course. I promise to give it serious thought. At the moment, however, I am in search of Lady Wordham. I wish to bid her farewell; I’m off for London today.”

  “London?” Alex frowned. “It should be Devon.”

  “Yes, well, I have some business to attend to in Town that cannot wait.”

  “I think you’re making a mistake, David, but if you insist on doing so, I’ll ride with you. I’m leaving shortly myself.”

  Now that he made note of it, he saw Alex was dressed for travel. If he went with him, he’d be badgered every step of the way to alter his course for Devon and Lady Grace.

  “You go ahead, Alex. I don’t want to delay you. I’m not certain how long I’ll be with Lady Wordham.”

  Lady Oxbury smiled. “It is so wonderful you’ve reconciled with your grandmother, Lord Dawson.”

  “You should call me David, Lady Oxbury, since we are shortly to be related. And yes, it is wonderful. I can thank your niece for pushing me toward that reconciliation.” No matter how much pain he was in because of Grace now, he couldn’t forget she had helped him see the futility of clinging to old hurts.

  And clinging to new hurts? Should he put aside the pain of his last interview with Grace and ride for Devon?

  Ridiculous! He did not care to ask for her rejection again. He was not a complete fool.

  “You don’t happen to know where I might find Lady Wordham, do you?” The sooner he spoke to his grandmother, the sooner he could leave this benighted house party.

  “I think she’s in the rose garden, David.” Lady Oxbury smiled. “And, please, you must call me Kate.”

  “Not Aunt Kate?”

  She laughed. “I think Kate will be sufficient.”

  “Very well, Kate. Thank you, I will go look in the rose garden and leave you two to resume the activity you were engaged in when I arrived—though I would suggest you close the door this time.”

  Lady Oxbury—Kate—flushed. Alex laughed.

  “Good idea,” he said. “You may close it behind you when you leave.”

  David smiled as he pulled the door shut. At least one Wilton had benefited from this infernal Season.

  Lady Wordham was sitting on a bench in the rose garden, her face turned up to the sun.

  “Careful, Grandmother. You’ll ruin your lovely pale complexion.”

  Lady Wordham laughed and patted a spot on the bench next to her. “Come sit, David. I promise to be good and put up my parasol, even though the mid-afternoon sun feels wonderful on my old bones.”

  David sat and smiled at his grandmother. “Is that why you are sitting out here by yourself—to enjoy the warmth of the sun?”

  She reached over and patted his hand. “That and to have some quiet in which to think.” She leaned closer. “Do be careful of those Addison girls. One or the other of them means to trap you into marriage.”

  He laughed. “I think the only thing that has kept me safe so far is the fact they both wish to compromise me. They keep foiling each other’s plots.”

  “Well, I must tell you, I don’t care for either of them.” Lady Wordham looked away to examine a rose. “Lady Grace, now…she seems like a very nice girl.”

  David repressed a sigh. First Alex and Kate, now his grandmother. Was everyone at this gathering—aside from the Addison twins, of course—trying to match him with Grace? “Lady Grace left, Grandmother, did you not hear? Her father came and took her back to Standen.”

  “I did hear, of course. When are you leaving?”

  “Now. I only tarried to say good-bye to you.”

  Lady Wordham grinned. “Don’t waste time sitting with an old woman, boy. Go on.” She patted his hand again. “Go after the gal. I want another great-grandbaby before I die.”

  He coughed, hoping to dislodge the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m leaving for London, Grandmother. Lady Grace made it clear before she left that she wasn’t interested in my suit.”

  His grandmother’s mouth hung open for a moment. Then she snapped it shut, sat back, and frowned. “Balderdash. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. The girl is obviously madly in love with you.”

  He shrugged. What was he to respond?

  Lady Wordham leaned forward and tapped him on the knee. “No. No, you must be wrong. I’ve observed you both. By my age, one has learned a thing or two. I know she feels something for you.”

  He tried to laugh. “Annoyance, perhaps.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. The girl loves you. Go after her. Find out what the problem is. You can’t let silly pride stand in the way of happiness.”

  He was not going to argue. He leaned over to kiss her weathered cheek. “I’ll see you in London.”

  She grabbed his hand and looked intently into his eyes. “David, I know the pain of letting pride keep me from someone I love.” She laid her hand along his jaw. “Don’t be a fool like me, grandson. Go to her.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “It is. Well, it may not be easy, but it is simple. Just go.”

  He stood and tried to smile. “I will think about it.”

  “But will you do it or will you be pigheaded like your grandfather and deny yourself this love?”

  There wasn’t an answer that would satisfy them both, so he just bowed and left.

  He was waiting for his horse to be brought round when Miss Smyth found him in the entryway.

  “Not you, too?” He bit his lip, but the words had already been said.

  “Et tu, Brute?”

  He scowled at Miss Smyth’s parrot. “I didn’t know Theo had studied the classics.”

  “He has a very eclectic collection of phrases; he’s rather like a magpie that way, hoarding odd bits of things. Well, he’s very like my Uncle Theo, of course. That’s where he learned it all.” She looked at his greatcoat, then glanced at the door. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes. I’ve said good-bye to Lord Motton and thanked him for his hospitality; I thank you, as well, of course, for acting as his hostess and organizing…everything.”

  He suspected Miss Smyth had organized a few too many things. Frankly, he’d been hoping he could sneak away without attracting her attention. He was sure what she would say, and he was rather tired of being urged to go to Devon. Couldn’t people comprehend that Grace’s father had given him the cut direct and that Grace herself had indicated her wishes concerning him very clearly, so clearly even a dunce such as he could understand?

  Miss Smyth was frowning. “You should go to Devon, you know.”

  “Miss Smyth, you do understand Lord Standen would probably have me shot on sight?”

  The woman snorted. “I’m sure that’s illegal. You’re a peer.”

  “And Lady Grace informed me in no uncertain terms she has absolutely no interest in furthering our acquaintance.”

  “Oh, she didn’t mean that.”

  He was sorely tempted to tear his hair out by its roots. “She is marrying her neighbor.”

  Miss Smyth waggled her finger at him. “Only if you don’t get on your horse and ride posthaste to the rescue.”

  “She doesn’t wish to be rescued.”

  “There is no need to shout, my lord.”

  “Sorry.” He took a sustaining breath. “The fact of the matter is Lady Grace is content with her situation.”

  “And if you believe that, you are a bigger dunderh
ead than I thought.”

  “Dunderhead! Numskull! Blockhead!” Theo apparently was full of synonyms for idiot.

  He was not going to shout at a parrot, so he contented himself with a glare. Theo fluffed his feathers and glared back at him.

  A footman stepped inside. “My lord, your horse is ready.”

  He nodded at the man, keeping himself from falling on him in gratitude only by an extreme exercise of will. “Ah, yes. Well, I must be going. Thank you again, Miss Smyth, for your hospitality.”

  “It won’t have done any good if you let Lady Grace marry her neighbor. Go to Devon for God’s sake, man! Show some backbone.”

  Arguing with Miss Smyth—and her parrot—was clearly futile. Retreat was his best course of action.

  David nodded politely and fled.

  Chapter 20

  “Papa, I cannot marry Mr. Parker-Roth.”

  Papa looked up from The Morning Post, a forkful of poached eggs suspended halfway between his plate and his mouth.

  “Ridiculous.” He completed the fork’s trip, chewed his eggs, and washed them down with a mouthful of coffee. “Of course, you’ll marry Parker-Roth.”

  “No. I cannot.” Grace pushed her plate of cold toast away from the edge of the table. She couldn’t eat; her stomach was in far too much turmoil to even consider ingesting anything. “I thought I could when I left Lord Motton’s estate. I thought I could when we rode over to the Priory yesterday to see John. I even thought I might be able to go through with the wedding after I took a turn about the garden with him and listened to him drone—I mean discuss all his infernal—that is, interesting plantings.”

  Grace paused. She was breathing so quickly she was making herself dizzy.

  “But I can’t. I just cannot do it.”

  “Nonsense. You are merely experiencing maidenly nerves. Once the wedding and the bedding are behind you, you will be fine.”

  Her stomach lurched, threatening to disgorge its limited contents onto the breakfast table. She pressed her hand firmly to her mouth and breathed steadily through her nose. She moved her fingers far enough away from her lips to allow a response.

  “No.”

  “No what?” Papa had gone back to his paper as if the subject were closed.

  “No, I will not be fine.” There. Her stomach had subsided to a slow churn. She lowered her hand and focused on her father. “I have thought about this all night, Papa. I hardly got a wink of sleep. And I have come to the firm conclusion I cannot marry John. It would not be fair to him.”

  Papa waved a hand in her direction and turned to a new page in the newspaper. “Don’t worry about that. I’m sure Parker-Roth doesn’t care.”

  “I cannot imagine John doesn’t care that I’m in love with another man.”

  “You’ll get over that.”

  Could she be hearing Papa correctly? A man who had harbored a grudge against an entire family for over thirty years because the woman he’d loved had rejected him, the man who had told her as recently as a few days ago that he still loved that woman—this man was telling her she would get over being parted from her own love?

  “You never got over it, Papa.”

  “What?” He pulled his nose out of the paper long enough to frown at her. “What do you mean?”

  “You never got over Lady Harriet.”

  He scowled at her and returned to the newspaper. “I married your mother, didn’t I? I…adjusted. You will, too.”

  “But you had no choice. Lady Harriet was beyond your reach. She was dead. Lord Dawson—”

  He glared at her. “Do not mention that name in my house.”

  Grace threw down her napkin and stood. “Why do you insist on clinging to this animosity? I’ll wager you’d never even met Lord Dawson until he walked into Viscount Motton’s entryway.”

  “What has that to say to the matter?”

  “What? Everything! How can you hate someone you’ve never met?”

  “Easily.”

  She grabbed onto her temper with both hands. She knew it would do no good to shout at Papa. Instead she leaned on the table and looked him in the eye.

  “Right. You’re right. It is even easier to hate someone you’ve never met. You don’t know all the good things about him.”

  “There are no good things about a Wilton.” Papa’s mouth was set in a white line. He snapped his paper and turned away from her to read it. “You’re allowing yourself to become hysterical.”

  “I am not.” She was shouting. She swallowed and tried to rein in her anger. “You are not allowing yourself to hear the truth in what I am saying.” She straightened, clasping her hands together to keep from wrapping them around Papa’s neck. She must try to remain calm. Rational. “Lord Dawson was the same way. He’d decided he hated his grandmother until I was able to persuade him to talk to her. If you would only meet—”

  “No!” Papa slapped his newspaper down on the table and surged to his feet. “I will not meet with Dawson. I have no need to meet with him. I will not see the man again.”

  “You will, unless you wish never to see me again.” She raised her chin and hoped David had not changed his mind about matrimony. “I intend to marry the baron.”

  “Oh, really?” The veins in Papa’s forehead were pulsing—never a good sign. “And how are you going to manage that? You have no way of traveling to Motton’s estate—if Dawson is even there still—as my carriages are not at your disposal. But, more to the point, you will not be free to wed the baron as you are marrying Parker-Roth tomorrow.”

  “No!” She grabbed the back of her chair. In less than twenty-four hours…“I thought the wedding was not for days yet. You said—”

  “I prevaricated.”

  Married in less than twenty-four hours…dear God! “I never actually agreed. John never actually proposed.” He certainly had never kissed her. The man couldn’t want to wed her. She would be doing them both a favor to decline.

  “That doesn’t matter. You will actually marry.”

  “No. I will go now and tell him that I must cry off. It will be awkward. It will be embarrassing, but in the long run, it will be better. He cannot want an unwilling bride.”

  Papa crossed his arms, his face stony. “None of that matters. He has agreed to marry you. It is a good match. You will be close to home, among people you know. You will marry him. There is no more to be said.”

  She gripped the chair back harder. She wanted to pound her hands on her father’s chest. “No. I will not marry him. I can’t.”

  “You can. You were willing enough before you went up to London. Damn it all, you were willing enough when you left Motton’s estate.”

  “I was not willing—I was resigned.”

  “Bloody hell.” Papa threw his hands up in the air, and then leaned toward her, his right index finger stabbing at her. “You listen to me, miss. You will marry Parker-Roth. I am your father, and I order you to do so.”

  She stabbed her finger back at him. “You can’t order me. I am of age. I will not marry the man, do you understand?” She tried to get her voice under control. “I am sorry, Papa, but what you ask is impossible.”

  Papa was shouting now. “You are not going to do to Parker-Roth what Harriet did to me. You are not jilting the man, do you hear me?”

  “The entire house hears you, Papa.”

  “Good. Go to your room, you ungrateful girl. I will see you again in church.”

  “When the vicar asks if I take John as my husband, I will say no, Papa.”

  His face was the color of a furnace. His veins looked like they would burst. Surely he would not suffer an apoplexy?

  “Go!” He roared the word.

  Grace went.

  So he’d taken the road to Devon. So he was an idiot.

  David looked at the inn’s bed and sighed. It was too short for someone his height, but at least it looked like the sheets were relatively clean.

  He should have taken the road to London. He’d certainly decided to do so whe
n he’d left Miss Smyth in Motton’s entryway. But when he’d come to the crossroads…well, somehow his horse had headed toward Devon.

  If he’d taken the road to London, he’d have been home days ago, sleeping in his own roomy bed. He’d have gone to a number of balls and routs already and started his marital search over.

  Damn.

  He couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for sorting through the giggling debutantes, the coy young misses, the slightly desperate maidens beginning to wilt on the vine.

  He wanted Grace. He really wanted Grace. If there were any chance in hell he could still have her…well, it behooved him to leave no stone unturned.

  So here he was, pausing at The Blue Heron before going to Standen tomorrow morning to turn over the last stone. He’d arrived at the inn just before dinner. Had a nice chat with a Mr. and Mrs. Weyford, a young couple, rather newly married…well, all right, it wasn’t so nice a chat. Oh, the couple were perfectly pleasant. The problem was he kept thinking of Grace, imagining it was they, not the Weyfords, exchanging fleeting glances full of promise of what they would do once they got upstairs to bed.

  He’d preferred his conversation with Reverend Barnsley, the other guest at the inn. The reverend was on his own, on his way to take up a living in Cornwall, and an enthusiastic angler. A well-placed question here and there kept the man discoursing on fish and bait and tackle all evening.

  And now he was in his room with this lonely, short, uncomfortable-looking bed. Tomorrow he’d reach Standen. He’d know for certain whether there was still a chance to make Lady Grace his baroness. Maybe he’d discover she’d already wed her boring neighbor.

  God, that thought was beyond depressing.

  He climbed into bed and tried to find a comfortable position. It was impossible. The mattress was stuffed with rocks.

  It was going to be a very long night.

  Dear Papa,

  I am sorry I must disappoint you now, but I cannot disappoint myself—and John—for years. Please tell John that I love him, but as a brother, not a husband, and extend my sincere apologies and regrets to him and his family.