by Mary Balogh
A gift of daisies
Mary Balogh
THE IMPOSSIBLE MR. GOWER
Lady Rachel Palmer was quite used to men falling helplessly in love with her. Every gentleman in aristocratic society, including her devoted fiancé, Lord Algernon Rivers, fell a willing victim to Rachel's dazzling beauty and bewitching charm.
Every gentleman, that is, except Lord Rivers' closest friend, the studiously unfashionable and splendidly handsome Mr. David Gower.
Mr. Gower made it clear that the ravishing Rache represented everything he scorned, and that he was the very last man in the world she could ever ensnare. It was a challenge Rachel could not ignore-from a man she could not resist…
******************************
FIRE AND ICE
Rachel had never been held thus, against the full, warm length of a man's body. And she had never been kissed thus, with lips that moved over hers, parting and persuading hers to do the same. But she knew this was right. This was the way it must be.
Then she felt David's hold loosen.
"I have given into a temptation I thought I had under control," he said. "I had determined never to touch another woman this way until she had consented to be my wife."
"I can marry you," Rachel said eagerly.
He shook his head. "No, Lady Rachel, we can never marry."
Rachel's face was becoming stormy. "Give me one reason why I may not marry you."
"Because I am not asking you," he coldly replied.
Signet, North American Library, Signet
Copright 1989
And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin:
And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?
-Matthew 6: 28-30
Mary Balogh
A gift of daisies
Chapter 1
The two young men walking along Bond Street were quite unremarkable, mingling as they were with the usual morning crowd of elegant shoppers and strollers. One was fashionably attired, from the tip of his beaver hat to the toes of his shiny black Hessian, boots. The other was plainly but neatly dressed. His height and splendid physique gave him an air of fashion, but a second glance would have revealed to an observer that both his coat and his boots had seen better days.
The latter young man was smiling at the other as they dodged a fashionable couple on the pavement. "Yes, Algie," he said, "I must confess that you are now the perfect gentleman down to the last little detail. Only one thing puzzles me. Why does high fashion require one to drag around all sorts of useless paraphernalia?"
Lord Rivers looked down at his newly purchased gold-topped walking cane. "It is rather splendid, is it not?" he said, thoroughly pleased with himself. "Do you think it will elevate me to the ranks of the Corinthians, David m'boy?"
"I doubt it," his cousin, David Gower, said with a laugh. "I think there are other qualifications of more importance."
"A damned shame, I would say," Lord Rivers commented without rancor. "But the cane does add years of consequence to a man, you must admit, David. A pity you would not let me buy you that turquoise-studded snuffbox. I can't stand the stuff myself, but it would give you a definite air."
"I don't think it would have quite fit my image," David said with a grin. "And you must learn, Algie, that I do not need you to be spending money on me. I have quite enough for my purposes. It is sufficient that you have invited me to stay here in London for a number of weeks before I remove to the country to rusticate forever after."
"Well, you can't blame a man for trying," Lord Rivers said with a sigh. "But you haven't become a killjoy, have you, David? You used not to be. You were up to all sorts of mischief as a lad. The despair of my aunt, I seem to remember."
"Poor Mama!" his companion agreed. "But no, Algie, I don't think you will find me turned into an old sobersides. You must remember, though, that it is four years since we last met. Very eventful years. I have changed."
"You must have," his cousin agreed fervently. "You actually studied at unversity, David? Amazing! I never heard of such a strange thing. And then refused Rufus' offer to send you on the Grand Tour. Now, that needs explanation."
"My brother has his family to think of-he doesn't need to worry about me," David said. "Papa did not leave the estate in a very prosperous way, you know, Algie. Rufus has the Cardwell title and little more. No, it was always understood that I must seek employment. I have done so. There is no point now in playing the grand gentleman and gallivanting off to the Continent. Besides, I would not have found the experience very pleasurable. A waste of time, rather."
"You have changed!" Lord Rivers said bluntly. "Only four years ago, David, when you were here with me, you were fretting at the cruel fate that had made you a younger son."
"And now I have learned to bless that same fate," his cousin said with a shrug. "People change, Algie. It is the difference between one-and-twenty years and five-and-twenty. Now I am not only contented but actively glad that I am the younger son of a not overly wealthy father and thus forced to seek my own way in life. And I am equally glad that Madeline has done her duty so promptly and presented Rufus with two sons so that I am far removed from all hopes of the title."
"If I didn't know you better, David, m'boy," Lord Rivers said, eyeing the other around sharply starched shirt points, "I would suspect sour grapes. But you always spoke what was on your mind… Ah, well met!"
David followed his cousin's gaze to the doorway of a ladies' modiste, from which two young ladies were just emerging. One was extremely pretty, the other rather plain, his mind registered somewhat absently.
The pretty girl smiled brightly in their direction and raised a perfectly frivolous green parasol over her head. "Algie," she called, "how glad I am to see you. I was just saying to Celia how dreadfully lowering it was not to have a gentleman's escort along Bond Street to the milliner's. Do say you are not in a hurry. You are such an imposing figure that I am bound to be noticed if I am on your arm." She laughed gaily to dispel any impression of conceit that her words might have aroused.
"As if you needed my presence or any other man's in order to be noticed, Rache," Lord Rivers said, closing the gap that remained between the two small groups.
David Gower's attention was caught, and he looked with some curiosity at the pretty girl in green. This was the neighbor Algie had spoken of the day before. The Earl of Edgeley's daughter, up from the country for her come-out. He had spoken so warmly, in fact, about her beauty and her success with the ton that David had wondered if there were any more to their relationship.
"How d'ye do, Miss Barnes?" Lord Rivers was saying, lifting his hat to the plainer girl and bowing his head. "May I present my cousin, David Gower? Lady Rachel Palmer, David, and her friend Miss Celia Barnes."
Curtsies and bows occupied the next several moments. Lady Rachel was indeed a beauty, David noticed. Her cheeks were flushed becomingly and her dark eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. Her hair, in soft curls beneath an absurdly ornate little bonnet, was as rich a brown as her eyes. She had a light, trim little figure. She would have attracted him a few years before. He could well imagine that Algie might be nursing a tendre for her. He turned and smiled at Miss Barnes and made some commonplace remark as he bowed to her.
"Lord Cardwell’s brother?" Lady Rachel was asking. "Is Gower House open, sir? I did not know the family was in town."
David smiled. "I am Algie's guest for a few weeks," he said, "before we go into the country together."
T
he color in her cheeks deepened. "You are to go to Singleton Hall?" she asked. "We are returning home at the same time, you know. Are you to stay there long?"
"I did not make the introduction very clear, Rache," Algernon said apologetically. "I should have presented David as the Reverend David Gower. He is taking over the vacancy in the village church when Vicar Ferney retires at the end of next month. It is my living, y'know."
Lady Rachel was looking wide-eyed into David's face. "Oh," she said, and giggled. "I did not realize. I am so sorry. You do not look like a clergyman, you see."
David's eyes were twinkling. "Clergymen are not born sixty years old, stooped, gray-haired, and nearsighted, you know," he said. "I will have to earn those honors."
"Oh," she said, sounding somewhat disconcerted. She turned to Algernon. "Algie, you will be at the Simpson ball tonight? You really must. I have a new ball gown that is absolutely weighted down with the most exquisite Brussels lace. Is it not, Celia? I simply must be certain that everyone sees it and me. And no one waltzes as well as you. I shall sign your name next to the first waltz on my card to make sure that no one of inferior talents steals it. Shall I? And Celia has a divine blue silk that is like to blind all beholders when it catches the candlelight. I shall sign your name on her card for the second waltz. You will be there?"
"Rachel!" Celia admonished her in an undertone and an agony of embarrassment, looking anywhere but at either of the two young gentlemen.
"Perhaps I may have the first?" David said in an attempt to lessen the girl's mortification.
"Oh, and the second with me?" Lady Rachel asked. "Can you waltz, Mr. Gower?"
"Yes, actually," he assured her, "though nowhere is it taught as a requisite for holy orders, ma'am."
She giggled and twirled her parasol. "How I am looking forward to this evening," she said, her eyes sparkling again. "It is an age since the last ball. A week ago yesterday. Though there was dancing in the Whites' drawing room three evenings ago. There were no more than fifteen couples, however. I am beginning to find the Season tedious, Algie."
"I fear we are blocking the pavement, Rache," Algernon said, offering her his arm. "Which milliner did you wish to visit? And how could you possibly need more bonnets? I have not seen you in the same one twice all spring. That particular one is very fetching, by the way."
"Thank you," she said. "Imagine how lowering it would be, Algie, to go through a whole Season with the same bonnets as one started with. That is a splendid cane. Is it new?"
David smiled warmly at Miss Barnes and took her arm within his.
***
Lady Rachel Palmer had been enjoying her first Season. She was nineteen years old, quite horrifyingly old to be making her come-out, in her opinion. However, she was glad enough to be in London even at that late date, considering the contempt in which her father held all that pertained to city life. Her mama had finally persuaded him that he must sacrifice his personal interests for the sake of his daughter.
"How is Rachel to have any choice of husband, Edgeley," she had said before winter even set in, "if she is never to meet anyone but Algernon? I will be perfectly delighted if she does marry him eventually, you know. But I would hate to see her do so just because she has never been presented with any alternative."
The Earl of Edgeley had grumbled and sulked all through the winter and had kept his women feeling almost as if they lived on tiptoe and with bated breath. But finally in February he had announced that he had rented a grand house in Grosvenor Square and that they might as well use it for a few months as leave it stand empty.
Her papa had grumbled every day since their arrival about the noises, the smells, the absence of open spaces where one might breathe comfortably, and a hundred and one other grievances. But Rachel did not care. She had taken with the ton immediately,, had been granted vouchers for Almack's within two weeks of their arrival, had at least four invitations among which to choose for each evening's entertainment, and had been granted permission to waltz three weeks and two days after they set foot in London. -
She had become the rage. No one had ever spoken this aloud in her hearing, and she had certainly never said it. She always felt a little guilty even thinking it, since the thought suggested some conceit. But she did think it nonetheless, and with great satisfaction when she was not feeling guilty. She had never once had to face the embarrassment of an empty space on her dance card, or a supper waiting and no escort to take her in, or a bright afternoon and no one to drive her to the park. Quite the contrary, in fact. She frequently had to disappoint those gentlemen who were in the habit of arriving fashionably late at an entertainment.
She had even had two marriage proposals, both from young men who had very improperly pressed their suit on her without first consulting her papa. Had they done the proper thing, of course, they would not have spoken to her at all, because Papa would have asked her, and she would have told him that one of the young men was a fortune hunter and the other a bore.
Rachel had come to London intent on marrying Algie one day. She loved Algie-she always had. She had even hero-worshiped him for a number of years when his ten-year seniority over her had made him appear gloriously adult and male. She still did think him rather glorious, in fact. He was not handsome, actually. His very prominent nose and light brown curls, which never looked quite fashionable even when combed to look intentionally disheveled, had destroyed that possibility. But he was a striking and a good-looking man, nevertheless. He had always had an almost exaggeratedly upright bearing that appeared to give his chest extra breadth and to add to his height, which in reality was scarcely above the average.
There was an air about Algie. People who did not know him well thought him pompous. They also tended to stand in awe of him. In town, Algie took great delight in being quite up to the minute in fashion. The height of his shirt points and the intricacy of his neckcloths during this particular spring were truly awesome. Rachel had not seen him during any other spring, of course, but she had heard that he always liked to follow the newest trends.
She had felt quite contented at the thought of being his wife someday. Sometime in the future. There was no hurry. Indeed, there was no formal understanding between them, though it was generally assumed in their neighborhood that they would eventually marry. But she had also come to London with an open mind. A girl was young only once. She had no burning desire to become betrothed before she had had a chance to sample some of the joys of life as a carefree young lady. And certainly no desire to be married just yet. She was quite ready to look around her at all the handsome and dashing young sprigs who abounded during the Season as much as did sprightly, fashionable young ladies like herself.
The Season had presented a dizzying number of activities. Rachel could not remember when she had last had an hour in which to do nothing but relax. She could also not remember an evening in which she had been in bed before midnight, except for Sundays, of course, when Papa would allow nothing more than church-going, quiet family walks or drives, and evenings devoted to reading aloud to one another from some edifying book, usually the Bible. Even in London that pattern was not to change, as Rachel had learned with a sigh of resignation within one week of their arrival in town.
Mornings, of course, could be a time of relaxation. Almost all her friends did not even rise until noon each day and were horrified to learn that Rachel was invariably up for breakfast and some vigorous morning exercise. But it was not in Rachel's nature to be idle. Sometimes she felt almost as if some demon drove her, though whether it drove her toward some goal or away from a contemplation of her own thoughts, she was not at all sure. She only knew that the pleasures of town, which had so delighted her for weeks, threatened to be not enough to distract her very restless mind.
She was very thankful for the presence of Celia, a dear friend from school days whom Papa had permitted her to invite to stay with them during the Season and even to return with them to the country afterward. Celia was a quiet and placid young lad
y. It had always been a matter of puzzlement to their school friends, and indeed to the girls themselves, just why they loved each other so dearly. It must simply be a classic case of the attraction of opposites, they concluded.
Celia had a calming influence on Rachel. She perhaps prevented her friend's activities during the Season from becoming too frenzied. For her part, Rachel tried to draw Celia out of a shell of quiet, always decorous behavior. Celia had been brought up in a strict household, where money was scarce and careful management a prime virtue. She found it hard to relax and enjoy herself. Rachel had set herself to seeing that her friend dressed becomingly and met eligible gentlemen. Left to herself, Celia did not have good taste in clothes, favoring safe pastel shades that did nothing for her rather pale hair and complexion.
Celia did sometimes find it difficult to keep up with the energy of her friend. On rare occasions she had refused outright to join an outing. But usually she would exert herself to follow wherever Rachel wished to lead, knowing that in the mornings at least her friend had little choice of companion. Lady Edgeley did not indulge in morning outings.
On this particular morning Celia had protested that there was absolutely nothing she needed to purchase, and even Rachel had admitted that she could do little more than look, since she had already overspent her allowance once and Papa would be in a rage if she asked him for a second advance on her next month's pin money. But go to Bond Street they must. No one interesting ever went to the park in the morning, and if they stayed at home, what would they do to fill in the empty hours until luncheon time? Celia had protested no further, but had gone in search of their pelisses while Rachel ordered the carriage to be sent around.
And so they had met Algie, as Rachel had been secretly hoping they would. She simply had to make certain that he would be at the Simpson ball that night, since he was the only gentleman of her acquaintance who really knew how to waltz. Algie twirled her and twirled her until she was dizzy. She always loved the sensation of being utterly dependent for support on the shoulder beneath one hand and the large masculine hand that clasped her other. She had forgotten to ask him two evenings before at the Ripleys' soiree if he were to attend the ball.
