by Robyn Carr
She didn’t realize until he had straightened that her mouth was still standing open. She closed it, swallowed, and narrowed her eyes. “How dare you.”
He chuckled. “Which insult angers you more, ma petite? Telling you that I wish only to touch you if we are to make love? Or is it the desire that I leave unsatisfied?’
“Ooooo. How...how...”
He turned away from her again, but this time he did not laugh. Instead he waved an impatient hand in what appeared to Vieve to be a gesture of dismissal. “I know, I know. How dare I. It might be wise to judge the temperament of your prey, my sweet, before you tempt so. It is a dangerous game you play.”
“Oh, you...you beast.”
He lifted his glass as if in a toast. “I suppose you’ll be saying good night now?”
She whirled away from him and fled into the house, slamming the door. She stomped her feet on the marble floor of the foyer, groaning aloud in rage. She had invited him to sample an innocent kiss and he had turned it around to make her look like a teasing hoyden. The arrogant bastard.
Her temper fully aroused, she snatched open the door and stepped quickly onto the veranda. From the rail, he turned to face her, completely surprised to see her again. She took determined steps toward him, raised her hand, and slapped him so hard the night air was split with its sound. He did nothing but stare. She whirled around, storming back into the house and slamming the door. Without pause, she fled up the stairs to her room, slamming another door.
Tyson looked first at the closed door of the house and then casually glanced out into the garden, where his gaze met those of Paul and Evelyn. They were at the foot of the steps, having just approached when the angry Vieve had first left the captain. They were about to mount the four steps up to the veranda when she returned, in a fury, to slap his face. She apparently had not seen her brother, but then, she was in such a high-flown temper, she was blind to everything but the insult she felt. Tyson had a nagging curiosity about the point at which he would have been stopped had he proceeded with the maid and decided that it was a far better thing that Paul had seen only the angry slap. Paul came up to the veranda quickly, surprise more than anger showing on his face. “What the devil was that about?”
Tyson took a long pull on his pipe, sending swirling puffs of smoke into the clear night air. “Paul,” he began in a concerned voice, “how long has it been since your mother died?”
“Nearly two years now. Why?”
“I think perhaps your sister could use the wisdom of an older woman, that’s all. Somehow, I don’t think her aunt Elizabeth would be the appropriate one, but perhaps Evelyn could gain her confidence and offer her some advice.”
“Advice about what?” Paul demanded. “Why did she slap you? What did you do?”
Tyson laughed a bit uncomfortably, and if the lighting on the veranda had been better, Paul might have discerned a slight blush on his cheeks. Tyson had met with an angry father or two, and even a possessive brother or husband. Although Paul was considerably younger than Tyson, the situation was no less tense. “I’m afraid, Paul, that she slapped me not for what I did...but for what I didn’t do.” He moved past them to the door and turned to look back at the couple before going inside. “I think a little guidance is in order, but please be careful not to hurt her. I’m certain she does not fully understand her error.” He smiled sympathetically. “She is a perfectly normal young woman and it is time for her to have a husband.”
Chapter Four
When Vieve opened her eyes in the morning, her very first reaction to the new day was to flush scarlet equally in embarrassment and outrage. The Yankee was staying for two more days, and while that length of time had originally disappointed her, she now thought it an eternity. She was not willing to face his superior smile after the events of the previous night.
Before her breakfast was delivered, everything changed abruptly. Since Lord Dumere and Lord Ridgley were on the best of terms, Evelyn regularly stayed overnight at Chappington when some family affair required her presence. And Lord Dumere, elderly and less given to social invitations than he once had been, seldom accompanied his daughter, for Harriet and the other female servants provided adequate chaperones. On this morning as Evelyn prepared to return to the Dumere estate, her carriage arrived with sad news. During the night her father, her only relative, had quietly passed into death.
Now hiding away in her rooms to avoid Tyson’s taunting grin or sparkling, knowledgeable eyes was no longer even a consideration for Vieve. In fact, upon hearing the sad news, Tyson himself quickly packed his things and hailed Bevis with his coach to make a hasty departure. He was shaking hands with the baron on the manor’s portico just as Vieve came out of the house.
“You needn’t leave so abruptly, Captain,” Lord Ridgley said.
“I think it is best, my lord. Your family must not concern themselves with my entertainment now. You know where I can be found.” He spied Vieve and turned toward her, bowing. His eyes did not tease. “Madam, I have given my condolences to Evelyn, but I’m sure you feel the loss as well. I am sorry for the sad event.”
She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “Thank you, sir. We will all miss Lord Dumere.”
He took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “You will surely be called upon to help Evelyn through this period of grief. The young woman is sweet and kind. I’m glad for her that she has a good friend in you.”
Vieve was speechless. His sensitivity warmed her; she nearly forgot that a few hours before she was so furious that she had decided never to speak to him again. “I’ll do what I can,” she told him.
Tyson put his hat on his head. “I’ll delay you no longer. Thank you again for your extended hospitality; I will await a message that you will be coming to London to continue our discussion.”
Boris nodded. Tyson entered his coach and left without further ado. Vieve stood with her father and watched the departing coach. Then she turned toward him. “What do we do now, Papa?”
Lord Ridgley put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, walking with her back into the house. “Paul has taken Evelyn home and will stay with her through the next few days. She has plenty of chaperones in those servants.”
“Did the death come as a surprise to you?” she asked him.
“None of us could have expected many more years with Lord Dumere,” Boris said solemnly. “For that matter, I have not so many either.”
“But, Papa, you’re in the best of health.”
“I am sixty years old. I have overstayed my welcome on this earth as it is.” He stroked his thick moustache in contemplation of this, and she could not mistake the watering of his eyes. “I had better get this family settled. There is a great deal undone.”
“Papa, just because Lord Dumere has died, you needn’t be so discouraged about your own...”
“Both my parents were dead before I was your age. My father died when I was only twelve, and my mother married a commoner two years later. She never recovered from complications that arose when she gave birth to your Uncle Charles. When she died, my stepfather did not even remain long enough to see her buried. I was left with a large estate to manage alone and that self-centered young whelp to try to raise. You young people—you think things go on forever. They don’t. We don’t. I had best get my own affairs in order before the dark angel makes his call.”
“Oh, Papa,” Vieve sighed, hating this kind of talk from him.
“You will be busy for the next few weeks, my dear. I think you should pack for an extended stay with Evelyn. However much snickering there is at our lack of etiquette, a wedding had best follow the old lord’s burial. She cannot be left to fend for herself on that dwindling acreage. She will need Paul now.”
“Of course I’ll go,” Vieve said.
“You’ll have precious little time for courtship games, daughter. You’ll have to put all frivolity aside until Paul and Evelyn are settled. Tell that young buck who’s prancing at your heels to cool
his.”
“I already have,” she said quietly.
“Hm, well, that’s good, daughter. There are more important things just now than his relentless petitions for your hand.”
She almost told her father that he was not alone in that complaint, but instead she asked, “Papa, about Andrew, do you find him completely unsuitable?”
“For marriage with you?” Boris snorted. “I had higher hopes for you, but if he is your final choice, I will not argue. I only ask that you consider the prospect carefully. There may be better for you than young Shelby. For all his arguments to the contrary, he does not seem quite ready to take a woman to wife.”
“He is the same age as Paul,” she said.
“Aye,” Boris returned. “That is what concerns me.” Boris gave her hand a pat. They stood in the foyer. “I will see to my accounts. There will be some adjustments to be made for my friend’s passing. I must prepare my ledgers for Evelyn’s dowry.”
“Papa, do you begin to add her estate to ours already?”
Boris gave a short, rueful chuckle. “In a manner, child. Go ahead with your packing. Tell me before you leave.”
Weeks passed before Vieve was again made aware of the issue of Evelyn’s dowry. Lord Dumere had been quietly buried, and Evelyn and Paul had sent around invitations for a wedding to follow her father’s death by only a month. Vieve conceded that there was good reason for sadness, but hoped that the bride, who was strong and sensible, would manage to set aside her grief for this one special day.
On the morning of her wedding, Evelyn’s mood was melancholy. As Vieve spread out the long French lace veil, she noticed that Evelyn’s eyes misted again, and it was not with the sentimental tears of joy common for brides. “Your father would not have wished your wedding day to be marked with sadness. Happiness is what he always wanted for you.”
Evelyn nodded. “Do you know, Vieve, that when my father and Lord Ridgley agreed on our betrothal, this estate was four times its present size?”
“It is still large,” Vieve said with a shrug. “I doubt that the size of the Dumere estate has much to do with Paul’s interest in you.”
Evelyn looked away and her lips trembled. “Oh, no. My dowry is the furthest thing from his mind.” She looked back at Vieve with eyes brightened by some tender reminiscence. “I recall the first moment that something of love grew between Paul and me. Even though we were promised as small children, I was fifteen—five years ago now—when we first spoke of love. By the end of that summer he was impatient to be married. My father cautioned us that we would be much happier if we waited just a little longer. But I think that what Father wished for was a little time to try to bolster the dowry. You know there is nothing of love lacking between us. Yet there is something lacking.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Evelyn. Enough of this. Paul adores you and you are everything he has always wanted.”
“Oh, my dear, sweet Vieve,” Evelyn sighed. “I am not sad because of my father, or for any lack of love for Paul. Paul is the most wonderful man in the whole world. But he has needs beyond a willing wife. And if he would but look elsewhere, he could find a woman with so much more to give him.”
“That’s absurd,” Vieve scoffed. “He could never find anyone better than you.”
“He could find a bride with wealth.”
Vieve laughed and took Evelyn’s hands. “It is so unlike you to bemoan your condition. Your estate is not the richest in England, but it is still valuable....”
Evelyn shook her head. “I’m afraid it has very little value. Father was much in debt. I only bring your family more problems. What was once a proud dowry is little more than a burden now.”
Vieve was shocked. “I didn’t realize....”
Evelyn dropped her gaze, and Vieve saw that her cheeks were slightly flushed. “Of course you didn’t, darling. Father would not have boasted of the fact, and Lord Ridgley is too much of a gentleman to turn me away with a forfeited contract for marriage. As for Paul, he is just a poor fool in love.”
“He is not a fool,” Vieve said, seizing a brighter attitude. “To the contrary, I have heard Father say that in estate management he is brilliant. Much more so than he is in the merchant businesses. I’m certain that he intends to build up this estate and make it useful and strong.”
“Yes, that is what he says.”
“You have only one choice, then,” Vieve said in an almost admonishing tone. “You must not appear a sour, discontented bride. You must be happy for Paul’s sake.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling tremulously. “Yes, it is too late for anyone to change their minds now.”
“Evelyn, you mustn’t worry. You will make do. Wealth is not the most important thing.”
Evelyn’s hand touched Vieve’s cheek in a gentle stroke. She smiled tolerantly. “My dear, dear Vieve. Sometimes I forget how young you are.”
Vieve shed a few tears during the ceremony, but not because Evelyn had succeeded in casting any doubt on the appropriateness of her marriage to Paul. As the couple clasped hands and repeated their vows, it was as if a shower of light fell on them.
Vieve considered Evelyn’s worry over her modest dower lands, thinking how like Evelyn it was to put her own desires behind the needs of everyone else. So, the Ridgley family would not profit from this match, but it was easy to see that they had gained something more important than money. Evelyn and Paul had love, passion, devotion, loyalty, respect, and many common goals. Evelyn would be the perfect wife, having already proven she could gracefully endure Paul’s proclivity for hard work. And likewise, Paul’s insistence that they quickly marry demonstrated that he was a man who would try his hardest to anticipate Evelyn’s every need.
The marriage had been arranged when they were mere children, but it was plain to see their elders’ wisdom in matchmaking.
Vieve shed a tear of vicarious joy. A true love match was rare. She feared that she and Andrew did not share that kind of love. Aside from those very stirring romantic feelings that Andrew had recently inspired, she didn’t know whether they shared anything at all.
She stood with her father as the bride and groom left the dais and walked down the garden path toward the house. Lord Ridgley looked down at her, his eyes sparkling under his fierce bushy brows. “Your day will be next, I imagine. I hope you will be as happy as they.”
She sniffed a little. “I was just hoping for that very thing, Papa.”
As he escorted Vieve behind the bridal couple, he leaned down so that his lips were close to her ear. He did not look at her when he spoke, and he kept his voice low so that only she would hear him. “If you will consider more than one suitor and use just a little patience and restraint, I am sure you will come to me with a worthy request when you’re ready.”
She looked at her father’s profile with a softening in her heart for him. How late she was to realize that he wished for her happiness.
There was no shortage of wine for the wedding guests, yet Vieve drank very little. She stayed apart from the celebrating, partly because of the inner conflict that caused her to question her future, and partly because Captain Gervais was in attendance.
Vieve was only slightly surprised that he had come. When her father found it impossible to journey to London, an invitation for the wedding was sent to the captain. But if Tyson had made the journey on the pretense of discussing business, he had a strange way of showing it. He refused the offered hospitality of Chappington Hall and insisted upon a room in a country inn. She had glanced at him a few times and could still feel her cheeks grow pink at the thought of her experience on the veranda.
Her father did not remark on Vieve’s reserved mood until the dancing began.
“Vieve,” he instructed, “go see if that colonial merchant can dance.”
She smiled, but demurred, and moved away to give her father a wide berth. The wine had livened his spirits, but she hoped to stay in the background and go unnoticed. She felt so confused by the course of events and their mean
ing in the past month that she felt a strong need to retreat into her private thoughts. Had she not met Captain Gervais on the road that night, this might be her own wedding. Her defiance now appalled her. And each time she looked askance at the handsome Yankee captain, she remembered that night and his clear proposal that he would lay out generous coinage for a young mistress. Her naïveté where men were concerned was a dangerous and suddenly frightening thing. On this day most especially, she was unwilling to tangle with either Andrew or the bold sea captain.
Tyson Gervais did not bother her, but Andrew did. She had avoided being alone with him since the night she had ridden to the old keep weeks ago. Many demands were being made on her. She had to lend support to her grieving friend while simultaneously trying to make quick but elaborate wedding plans. Such juggling of duties and emotions drained even the most resilient spirit, which even Andrew had finally begrudgingly understood. But his patience was not endless; the wedding was here, the celebrating had come, and yet Vieve did not cease in her evasion. Now he seemed determined to make an issue of his concern.
Vieve resisted his invitation to enter the deserted library for a few quiet moments. She refused when he tried to steer her toward the veranda doors, and she declined when he suggested a walk in the garden to watch the setting of the sun.
“Why are you ignoring me?” he finally demanded. “You’re acting as if something is wrong between us.”
“Something is wrong between us, Andrew,” she said solemnly. “I’m not exactly sure what it is, though.”
“This all started when that damned colonial visited Chappington. I’ve told myself you couldn’t possibly be thinking of striking up an affair with a common foreigner, but now I’m beginning to think you already have.”
“An affair?” she repeated.
“Well, what else could it be? You won’t even come into the garden with me. Are you no longer interested in the promises we’ve made to each other? I thought you loved me.”
