It was the uncertainty that stopped him. The uncertainty that would always be there with him, nagging at him, if he continued this ruse, if he made her his wife. He would rather give her up, send her away, settle her and Sean in some house of their own far away from him, rather than never know the true nature of her relationship with Lansing.
The truth lay with Lansing. Somehow before this week was out, Gray would wrench it out of him.
The next morning, Lansing lurked in the hallway near Lady Palmely’s bedchamber. Most of the men, including Gray and that Sir Francis fellow, had gone out riding that morning, but he had begged off. This was his chance to get her alone, to begin his courtship. By the end of this week, he had every intention of making her so in love with him that she would agree to marry him.
If only he could rid himself of Gray and Maggie. He rubbed his cheek. Maggie’s slap had left a faint mark, but nothing to be commented upon. When he was married to Lady Palmely, he had no doubt he could make sure Maggie and Gray were not welcome at Summerton Hall. If Gray had once been estranged from his father, Lansing had no doubt he could facilitate another estrangement. What a justice it would be to usurp Gray’s place with his father!
Lansing heard a door open, but not Lady Palmely’s door. Two of the other ladies walked by him. He smiled charmingly, showered compliments upon their appearance, and made a near-bawdy remark to make them giggle. Finally they were gone. Lady Palmely was his object, only she. Olivia, Lady Palmely.
He had best not encounter Maggie. She was an annoyance and an impediment. Still, it rankled that Gray had her in his bed. Lansing disliked Gray winning anything that rightfully belonged to him, even if he no longer wanted it.
Lansing turned and spied the ethereal Lady Palmely, the goddess of his hopes and dreams, walking gracefully toward him.
“Good morning, Lady Palmely,” he said with just enough smile to entice, but not enough to frighten her off.
“Good morning, Lieutenant Lansing,” she said brightly. She raised her chin as if greeting him were some act of defiance.
No matter. He liked the alliteration of his name on her tongue. One advantage of his military rank, lower than Gray’s rank, was it saved him from being a mere mister.
He leaned toward her, just a little, and gave her a bashful expression. “I know it is forward of me to say so, but you look quite beautiful this morning.”
She colored prettily, giving that chin lift again. “Why, thank you.”
He sobered, as if he were placing his heart upon his sleeve. “Could I beg you to take a turn in the garden with me?”
“I should like it above all things,” she replied with resolve.
He made sure his eyes shone with pleasure. “Not more than I.”
He offered her his arm and led her to the garden. It would be ideal to take her to that Chinese temple where he’d taken Maggie. It was nice and private, but too far for this first excursion. Later, for certain.
As they walked, he dug deep into his ammunition of charm. He told his most entertaining stories. Gave his most sincere compliments. She laughed in all the right places, smiled when he willed it.
They came to a trellis festooned with flowers. He told her she looked like a flower herself in her white morning dress. She blushed. This was splendid. She was beginning to admire him.
He gave a sigh and looked poetically into her eyes. “Tell me, my lady, before my hopes are dashed to cinders, is there any way I might beg permission to pay my addresses?”
The smile on her face vanished, and her eyes grew very, very large.
A blunder. Damnation! He took a step backward and made his voice as soft and as soothing as he could. “I beg pardon, my lady. I became quite carried away. I wish you no distress.”
“I would like to return to the house,” she said in a small voice.
He bowed. “I serve to please you.”
They covered half the distance before she broke the silence. “They said you are a friend of Gray’s. Are you?”
“It gives me great honor to consider myself his friend,” he replied, wondering why the question was asked. Had Gray gotten to her?
“I see,” she said.
What the devil did she see? Hell and damnation. Gray must have poisoned her mind to him. It was the only explanation. Gray caused this change in her attitude, and she would surely, like everyone else, listen to the son of an earl over the son of a doxy.
Maggie spent more excruciatingly idle hours in Lady Camerville’s sitting room, with nothing more to do than think of Gray. She was determined to make him talk to her. He was the one keeping his thoughts inside this time.
He’d returned to the bedchamber early that morning. Maggie sat up when he entered the room, but he said nothing to her. He would not even look in her direction. Instead, he dressed himself in her dressing room. When Decker arrived, he said a brief word to him and they both walked out. Maggie had sat up in bed and hurled a candlestick at the closed door behind them.
Now she flipped through Lady Camerville’s latest Lady’s Monthly Museum without reading the words or seeing the plates, plotting when she might get Gray alone. Olivia wandered the room, stopping to look out the window near Maggie’s chair.
“I wonder when the gentlemen will return,” she asked absently.
So did Maggie. She planned to be in the bedchamber when Gray came to change his clothes, to ask him to say out loud what his feelings were. Never was she more convinced that total honesty was the only hope for them to salvage the promise their one night of lovemaking had given them.
Olivia paced some more and wound up back at the window.
One of the ladies said, “I will wager Lady Palmely pines for that dashing Lieutenant Lansing. We all saw how he could not take his eyes off you last evening, Olivia.”
“Never fear, dear. He’ll return soon enough,” another added. The other ladies giggled.
Olivia spun around. “I do not pine for him, I assure you. Besides, he did not go riding.”
Maggie looked up, surprised Olivia should know anything of Lansing’s doings.
“Yes, we saw him this morning, did we not, Juliana?” one of the other ladies commented. Her friend agreed that they had.
Olivia gave Maggie a very guilty look before turning back to the window, raising more questions in Maggie’s mind. She’d been so wrapped up in her own problems, she’d not noticed much about how Olivia had been faring.
Maggie rose from her seat and walked over to stand beside Olivia at the window. “You are restless.” Maggie spoke quietly so the other ladies would not hear. “What has happened, Olivia?”
“Nothing.” Olivia’s retort was a bit too sharp.
Maggie opened her mouth to ask about Lansing, but Lady Camerville interrupted. “We will have no luncheon today, ladies.” It was already past noon, and they had only left the breakfast room an hour ago. “We shall be quite rustic and dine early down by the lake. My dear Cammy and I have devised all sorts of entertainments! Archery and boating. Music and swordplay.”
It sounded the sort of entertainment that would afford Gray more chance to avoid her, Maggie thought. She became even more determined to catch him after he returned from riding.
Maggie tried to speak with Olivia again while the ladies waited in idleness for the men to return, but Olivia made certain to attach herself to one group of ladies or another. Eventually word came that the gentlemen had returned. Olivia excused herself and nearly ran out. Maggie had only to rise from her chair and cross the room to catch up with her, but when she reached the hall, Olivia was nowhere to be seen. She hurried to Olivia’s room and knocked upon the door. There was no answer. She turned to leave.
Lansing blocked her way. “Where is she?” he demanded.
“Who?” She stalled.
“Lady Palmely.” His eyes looked dangerous.
“What do you want of her?” Maggie demanded.
He seized her by the arm and pulled her into a nearby alcove. “It is none of your con
cern. But I’ll not have you or Gray speaking ill of me.”
“I have nothing but ill to say of you, sir,” she shot back.
He bent down into her face. “If you stand in my way with Lady Palmely, I will rid myself of you. You and Gray. Do you comprehend my meaning?”
For a moment she could not breathe, but she glared defiantly and tried to pull away. “Your threats mean nothing to me.”
He squeezed her arm tighter, but the sounds of some other guests approaching made him let go. With a parting sneer, he marched away.
Maggie put a hand to her chest to calm her pounding heart. She ran to her bedchamber in search of Gray, only to find Decker brushing off his riding coat.
“I have missed him!” she cried.
He knew whom she meant. “He spoke of playing billiards.”
She did not know where the billiards room was, but she hurried out again, ready to barge into it, if necessary. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she realized she could not simply walk in on the men, not without explanations she did not wish to make. She decided to find Olivia before Lansing found her.
She started with the rooms where the guests congregated. The parlor. The library. The conservatory. Olivia was in none of them, and neither was Lansing. She asked one of the gentlemen in the conservatory if he had seen Olivia.
The man gave a vague wave of his hand. “I believe I saw Lady Palmely walking in the garden.”
Maggie knew Olivia would not stroll through the garden by herself. A sick feeling settled in Maggie’s stomach and she hurried outside without bothering to fetch her bonnet or shawl. Fearing Lansing would have taken Olivia to the garden’s Chinese temple, Maggie ran down the path toward it. As she neared the temple’s entrance, she heard the murmur of voices and Olivia’s laugh.
She boldly stepped up to the entrance. “Olivia!”
From the corner of her eye, she saw a man and a woman jump apart. Olivia and . . . Sir Francis!
“Oh!” Maggie exclaimed, giddy with relief. “I beg your pardon.” She turned to go.
“No, Maggie. Wait.” Olivia caught her by the arm and led her back to where Sir Francis stood, his neckcloth rumpled and his grin stretched ear to ear.
“I must tell you!” Olivia laughed. “But it is a secret so I beg you not to speak of it.” She cast an adoring glance at Sir Francis. “Sir Francis has asked me to marry him and I have accepted.”
Maggie shrieked and gave Olivia a huge hug, laughing and crying, all the same, partly in relief that it had not been Lansing after all. Then she gave dear Sir Francis a hug. He dabbed at his eyes as well.
“How did this happen? I mean when?” Maggie sputtered.
“A moment ago,” sighed Olivia.
Sir Francis wrapped his arm around his new fiancée. “I assure you I have loved her for many years.”
“And I assure you both that nothing could make me happier! I have longed for this day!” Maggie hugged Olivia again.
“To think I almost behaved most foolishly.” Olivia’s brow wrinkled. “Do you think Gray will approve?”
“He will wish you both very happy.”
Olivia hung on Sir Francis’s arm, squeezing her cheek against it. “I never thought to be so happy a second time.” She gave another worried look. “Oh, dear. Will Rodney like it, I wonder?”
“He will love it,” Maggie assured her. “He is already greatly fond of Sir Francis.”
“And I of him,” said Sir Francis emphatically.
“Do we announce it here, do you think?” Olivia’s brow wrinkled.
Maggie laughed. “I do not know how to advise you of that.”
Sir Francis assumed a commanding expression. “We tell Gray. But before making the announcement public, we must inform the earl.”
Olivia gazed at him with rapt admiration. “You are so right.”
The three of them walked back to the house, Olivia nearly skipping along. Maggie was happy for her. She was. Even though her own happiness, a day ago so much like Olivia’s, had plunged into jeopardy. She set her chin determinedly. Her love for Gray was worth battling for, and she would not allow Lansing to spoil their future together.
By the time they returned to the house, the estate was a bustle of activity in preparation for Lady Camerville’s garden party. Servants were busy erecting tents and placing tables and chairs beneath them. An archery range was being set up, and a servant passed by carrying sets of foils. Maggie lost hope of catching Gray alone anytime soon. When she, Olivia, and Sir Francis entered the conservatory door, she spied Lansing standing nearby. Maggie could feel his eyes like daggers in her back long after they passed him.
Chapter TWENTY
Gray stood unseen among a throng of gentlemen whose company he did not desire. He watched Olivia and Sir Francis—and Maggie—walk by Lansing. He saw Lansing’s eyes follow them.
Gray was biding his time, waiting for the proper moment to get Lansing alone again.
Gray went along with the planned events, as if the entertainments brought enjoyment. He conversed on such matters as the weather, the problems of unemployed soldiers, the escalating corn prices. He listened politely to town gossip, heard of the plays performed that past season, the attractions at Vauxhall Gardens. When the ladies left to change their dresses, the gentlemen went on to boast of their mistresses, arguing whose was the most expensive, whose the most talented.
Sir Francis came up to him. “May I have a moment of your time, Gray?” The man looked as if he were about to burst into song.
They stepped into a small corner of the library. “What is it?” Gray asked, though he was certain he’d already guessed.
Sir Francis attempted a sober look, failing entirely. “I wish to tell you that I have asked Lady Palmely for her hand in marriage, and she has accepted.” His last words ended on a wide grin.
Gray clasped Sir Francis’s hand, shaking firmly. “Well done, sir! My felicitations to you!”
They were interrupted from speaking further by the entrance into the library of the ladies, all wearing wide-brimmed hats to shelter their faces from the sun. Gray’s eyes found Maggie before he remembered he was not ready to see her. She wore a pink gown as pale as a lady’s blush. His senses stirred in spite of himself.
The party began their procession to the lake. Gray ought to have been Maggie’s escort, but he hung back, not trusting himself to be so close to her. Sir Francis stepped in, escorting both Maggie and Olivia, one lady on each arm.
Down at the lake footmen stood ready to serve wine under tents. Musicians played pieces by Haydn. Lord and Lady Camerville shouted above the din to inform the guests of boats for rowing, of archery, quints, and fencing. Gradually the guests chose their occupations. Gray wandered around, keeping Lansing in sight. He also saw Camerville head directly for Maggie, who was momentarily standing alone.
“Come. Come, my dear!” Cammy said to her. “I will row you in a boat. Lovely idea, eh?”
Maggie looked horror-struck. Gray now understood her dread of the water, believing the part of her story about the drowning deaths of her parents and brother. His belief about her drowning Lansing was more uncertain. Gray hoped Sir Francis would intervene with Camerville, but he saw Sir Francis and Olivia walking arm-in-arm toward the archery range.
Gray took a breath and strode over. “Cammy, I will borrow this lady for a moment.”
Cammy, with a frightened look on his face, threw up his hands and backed off. Gray walked Maggie to the tent where the wine was served and where several ladies were seated.
“Gray, I must speak with you!”
“Not now.” He led her to a chair.
“Only a moment, I promise you.”
He would not look at her. “Camerville will not approach you here.” He turned to leave.
“But Lansing—” she cried.
He shot her a quelling glance and strode away to look for Lansing. He finally spied him alone in the area set aside for fencing. Lansing held a foil, testing its weight and strength.<
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Lansing looked over and saw Gray watching him. He held up the foil. “Indulge me,” Lansing shouted, his voice not quite friendly. No one else had selected swordplay.
Gray walked over and chose one of the thin-bladed swords. The time had come to tease the truth from Lansing and Gray figured a blade, even one tipped with a protective button, could only assist.
He and Lansing stripped out of their coats and waistcoats. Gray balanced the sword in his hand and tested its action. He had often sparred with Lansing on the Peninsula when they had been friends practicing to battle Frenchmen bent on slashing at their necks.
Gray sliced the air with the foil as they walked to their places on the lawn. Compared to his cavalry saber, this sword was light in his hand. The action was familiar, though, and his arm retained the knowledge of how to use it.
A breeze fluttered the sleeves of his shirt. Gray glanced at the sun beginning its westerly descent. He turned so that it was at his back. Lansing nodded, acknowledging the tactic.
They stood en garde, knees relaxed, upper bodies erect. Carefully at first, they tested steel against steel.
The blades sang as they clashed, more musical than deadly, but it was early yet. They were reassessing each other. Evenly matched in the past, each knew the one who made the first mistake would lose the contest. Gray felt the pumping of his blood, as if he were again riding into battle.
Lansing thrust, the movement quick and surprising. The point stopped short of Gray’s shoulder. Gray’s skills were rustier than he’d thought.
“Becoming slack, man?” taunted Lansing, his grin holding none of the high spirits of their soldiering days.
Gray scowled. He defended, biding his time to attack. They thrust and parried, back and forth. Lansing lunged again, but parrying became easier now that Gray’s muscles had warmed and his reflexes had returned. Lansing next scored a hit, pressing the buttoned sword tip onto Gray’s chest, dramatically bending the blade. “Touché,” he cried, returning to en garde. “What stakes shall we vie for, by the way?”
Gray breathed deeply, remembering he had more purpose here than a mere contest with swords. “How about the truth? The truth about Maggie.”
The Improper Wife Page 28
