by Mary Balogh
Unfortunately for Sylvia, when the ladies retired to the drawing room. Rosalind, Susan, and Lady Theresa crossed immediately to the pianoforte in search of the music for a song that they had been talking about during dinner. Letitia had gone to her room to fetch her work basket. Sylvia had no choice but to join Lady Standen by the fire. She was scolded, very gently, both for her forwardness and for her opinion.
"Nigel is a dear boy," his mother said, "but he has always been wayward. My elder son has educated him for the Church and has offered him more than one living. Nigel has refused. You see, my dear, if he wishes to serve humanity, as he claims to do, he has ample opportunity to do so in the best possible way. George is a sensible man, you may depend upon it. You must let yourself be guided by him, my dear. He will shape your mind well."
Sylvia had lost the courage that had borne her up for a few minutes in the dining room. She examined her fingernails as her hands were spread across her lap. "Yes, ma'am, I shall try. I am indeed sorry if I caused you embarrassment earlier."
"There," Lady Standen said soothingly, leaning forward and patting Sylvia's hands, "you are a good girl. Just a little impulsive."
Much later, when tea was being served after a noisy game of charades, Lord Standen himself took Sylvia aside. "I was not best pleased with your behavior at dinner," he told her. "I appreciate your loyalty to Nigel, who is to be your brother-in-law, but do you not think, my dear, that your first loyalty should be to me?" He smiled charmingly to soften the harshness of his words. His tone was very gende.
"I was not intending to disagree with you, my lord," she replied timidly. "I was merely offering an opinion."
He smiled again. "And a very humane opinion, too," he said. "It does you credit. But your ideas are unformed, my dear. You are very young, but recently out of the schoolroom. And you have been without your father for upward of a year. You must allow yourself to be guided by me. I shall take the greatest delight in forming the mind that lies within that pretty little head." He lifted her hand and touched it lightly to his lips.
A short while later Sylvia sat on Rosalind's bed, still dressed, watching her cousin take the pins from her hair and brush out the shining coils of almost black hair. "Was I so very bad?" she asked. "Oh, Ros, I do not know how I shall face everyone tomorrow."
"Sylvie, you are making a great to-do about nothing," Rosalind said. "The discussion was a general one and you had every right to contribute your ideas. Your opinion had great validity. I am sure that several people at the table agreed with you. Mr. Broome certainly did and I did."
"But, Ros, I spoke against his lordship," Sylvia wailed.
"So what?" her cousin replied. "Must you always agree with him, Sylvie? You were not rude to him, after all."
"But I am ignorant and I do have an unformed mind," Sylvia said. "I should not set my opinion against his."
"Who has told you that?" Rosalind asked suspiciously.
"Her ladyship was upset with me and his lordship was displeased."
"Sylvie," Rosalind said, putting down her brush and giving her cousin her full attention, "you must not allow anyone to convince you that you are such a foolish female that you cannot even think for yourself. Please promise me you will not."
"But he is to be my husband, Ros," Sylvia said hesitantly.
"Are you quite, quite sure that you wish him to be?" Rosalind asked impulsively. She was immediately sorry that she had asked the question. Tears welled up in Sylvia's eyes. Her cousin was almost overwrought, Rosalind realized, and did not need this particular line of questioning.
"He is a very magnificent man," Sylvia said haltingly. "I must consider myself gready honored to be chosen by him."
"I am sorry," Rosalind said. "I should not have asked that. You are tired, Sylvie. Go to bed now. We have that shopping excursion tomorrow and must be wide awake." She kissed her cousin on the cheek and watched her leave the room.
Sylvia held back her tears until the dresser had left the room, leaving a candle burning on a side table. But then she gave in to her confusion and misery. She had been so sure that she was in love with Lord Standen. It was far too late now to discover that she was not. And she dared not confide in anyone, even Rosalind.
***
"I am certainly glad that I did not take a hand against you today," Sir Henry Martel said to the Earl of Raymore on the same afternoon as Rosalind took her ride with Sir Bernard Crawleigh. "If I did not know you better, Edward, I would almost think you must have had the cards marked."
"I did do rather well," Raymore agreed, stacking money and vouchers into a neat pile before him. "The opposition was not of your caliber, though, Henry."
The two men moved into the lounge at Watier's, where they sat down to a drink.
"You are very quiet, my friend," Sir Henry said after a few minutes of silence. "I thought you would be elated to have your bachelor freedom for a few days again."
"Oh, yes, quite," his friend replied absently, flicking open his snuffbox and placing a pinch of snuff on the back of his hand. "I have been devilish busy, though, yesterday and today, trying to persuade Hans Dehnert to play at my concert."
"The Austrian pianist, Edward? Is he in England?"
"Yes, indeed," the earl replied. "As a visitor only. He has refused quite adamantly several people who have tried to persuade him to give a recital."
"I have the feeling you would not tell me this," Sir Henry said, "if you had not somehow succeeded."
The Earl of Raymore allowed himself to smile as he inclined his head. "All is settled," he said. "I can leave for Standen's house party in the morning with a clear mind."
"Tomorrow?" his friend asked with raised eyebrows. "I understood that you meant to put in a token appearance only at the end of the week, Edward."
"I find that I must carry through my responsibility to the end," Raymore replied. "By the end of the summer I should be free of both my wards, Henry. In the meantime, I should supervise their activities through the rest of the Season."
Sir Henry chuckled as he downed the rest of his drink. "Edward," he said, "I do believe that you are becoming a member of the human race. Elise said it was bound to happen sooner or later. I will wager that you are becoming attached to those females and will miss them sorely when they do get married."
Raymore shuddered. "Heaven forbid!" he said fervently.
"Come and dine with us tonight," Sir Henry said, rising to his feet. "Elise has still not been into company since her confinement. She would be delighted to have you as a guest."
The earl declined, pleading a previous engagement. Then he proceeded to sit on in his place, undecided about how to spend his evening. He did not wish to dine at home. He had done that the evening before, believing that it would be bliss to have his home to himself again. Even Hetty had gone away for a few days, to stay with friends until her charges returned from the country. He had found himself unaccountably restless. He had wandered from the dining room to the music room and had stood before the pianoforte pressing down the keys almost at random. Although he was a connoisseur of music, he was not himself a performer. With one finger he tried to pick out the tune of that song she frequently sang, "My Luve is like a red, red rose." He could almost hear it in his mind, but somehow the tune would not reproduce itself on the pianoforte.
He had finally gone, late, to the opera. For once, he had not enjoyed the music. He scarcely heard it, in fact. His sole object had been to watch the little redhead dancer and to meet her backstage afterward. Perhaps she had attached herself to someone else by now. He had certainly neglected her of late. But it was worth a try.
Raymore had spent a most satisfactory night with the creature, who was everything a woman should be. She kept her mouth shut, gave him exactly what he wanted and more, and made no demands afterward for further meetings or for a more permanent arrangement. She had no cause to complain, of course. He had paid her well enough.
He should be satisfied. He had quickly regained his former manner of
living. He was free of his wards for a few days and soon would be free of them altogether. He concluded that his restlessness was due to the fact that he knew this breathing space was only temporary. At the end of the week they would be back again and his home would not be his own.
He had decided earlier in the day, as soon as final arrangements had been made with Hans Dehnert, that he would journey into Sussex the following morning, three days before he had originally planned to do so. It might appear ill-mannered if he arrived for only two days when he had been invited for the whole week. And he had to make sure that the engagement was really satisfactory. Rosalind was a schemer, a woman of somewhat loose morals, he suspected, but she was a lady and his ward. If Crawleigh did not truly want her, or if he saw her merely as a plaything, then the betrothal must be ended without further ado. He would send her to live at Raymore Manor when the Season was ended if that was what she really wished. He had other homes in which to stay himself when he tired of town. He need not be troubled by her presence.
Raymore finally left Watier's, taking his hat and cane from the porter. He moved on to White's Club, where he joined a circle of acquaintances for dinner. He spent most of the night playing cards, unable to stomach the thought of searching out the little dancer again. He arrived home with the dawn, somewhat the worse for drink.
Chapter 10
Rosalind woke up the following morning feeling more cheerful and more energetic than she had done for a long time. She had lain awake for a while the night before, hands clasped behind her head, thinking through the events of the last weeks, assessing what had happened, sorting out her feelings, trying to understand why she had felt guilty with Bernard that afternoon.
It seemed that events had just happened to her, almost without her will, since the summons came from her guardian for her and Sylvia to travel to London. She had been so used to ordering her own life. Suddenly to be catapulted into society had been a shock. She had been sure that after that first appearance no one would want to know her and she would be allowed to return to the way of life she knew. She had been somewhat upset by Sir Rowland Axby's attentions and by her guardian's insistence that she listen to his addresses. And she had been relieved to discover Sir Bernard Crawleigh, who had been friendly and relaxed from the start. Her engagement had been embarrassing because she could never be sure if Bernard had been precipitated into it before he was ready or whether, in fact, he would ever have been ready.
These were the facts she set out before herself to consider. No, there was one more. There was the Earl of Raymore himself. Rosalind frowned and gazed up at the darkened hangings above her bed. What was it about him that always hovered in the back of her mind? He was an unpleasant man, cold and domineering. It seemed that she could never be near him without all her nerves bristling. Was it hatred that kept him always there on the fringes of her consciousness?
She found him attractive. Now that she was away from him, out of his house, she had to admit that fact. He was gorgeously handsome with that thick blond hair, aquiline features, and perfectly proportioned body. That she could never deny. Her dream man, Alistair, had looked almost identical. Poor Alistair! She had almost forgotten him. But it was not just Raymore's looks that attracted. He had an almost irresistible magnetism for her. She thought of that kiss again and compared it, point by point, with Bernard's caresses. He had taken every one of the liberties with her that her betrothed had taken, and more, and she had not resisted as she had that afternoon. She grew hot at the memory of how it had felt to be in Edward's arms for those brief moments, the very sexual kiss, his hands moving forward possessively from her back.
Yes, she must admit it. It was the only way she might be able to solve the problem. She found the Earl of Raymore a very attractive man. She felt uncomfortable in his presence, partly because she wanted him. She felt infinitely better just admitting the truth to herself.
Having admitted it, she could look at the situation rationally. It was not love that she felt. She disliked Raymore, even despised him. She could not imagine that they would ever find a topic on which they might agree. The attraction was entirely physical. There could never be a relationship between them, even if he felt the same way. And he had made it quite clear from the start that he returned all her feelings, but that he also found her physically repulsive.
Well then, Rosalind thought with great good sense, she must totally ignore the attraction. It was not worthy of her attention. And having decided as much, she turned her attention to Bernard. Should she continue to feel guilty about having unwittingly trapped him into a betrothal? Today he had not behaved like a man who had been unhappily caught by his own sense of honor. He had quite deliberately invited their t?te-a-t?te by the stream and he had shown every sign of finding her attractive. His lovemaking had not been merely a dutiful embrace. In addition, he was still friendly and teasing.
The fact was that he had proposed, even when she had told him that he need not. She did not have to feel responsible. The only question still to be considered, then, was whether she could be happy with the match. Bernard was a man she could like and respect. And he was an attractive man. She enjoyed his caresses, though she had been somewhat uncomfortable with their ardor that afternoon.
Rosalind fell asleep after determining that, from that moment on, she would accept her betrothal wholeheartedly. She would be confident that she was the woman he wanted to marry and she would allow him to set the pace of the courtship. The Earl of Raymore would exist for the future only as her guardian, and even that position would be his for only a couple of months longer.
***
All the ladies went shopping the following morning. The village three miles away boasted only a few shops, but the haberdasher's was pronounced to be a very tolerable establishment and Lady Theresa and Sylvia each found straw bonnets at the milliner's that were most becoming.
The gentlemen had had a morning of riding. Both groups were in high spirits at luncheon and greeted with enthusiasm Lord Standen's suggestion that during the afternoon they all walk to the lake that was a mile away through the trees. A picnic tea would be sent by wagon later.
Lord Standen took Sylvia on his arm and led the way through the shady woods to the east of the house. "You will like the lake, my dear," he told her as they walked. “It is most picturesque. You will be able to sketch here for hours after we are married."
"I never did learn to sketch or paint in watercolors with any great success," she replied apologetically. "Ros was always the artistic one."
"Yet drawing is such an important accomplishment for a lady," he chided gently. "I shall hire you a drawing master and you will soon learn."
Sylvia murmured her thanks. She was soon exclaiming in delight at the beauty of the lake, which was larger than she had expected. "And there are the boats," she said excitedly. "Oh, may we take them out this afternoon, my lord?"
"Of course you may," he said indulgently, "provided one of the gentlemen accompanies you. You will find, my dear, that after we are married, I shall be very insistent that you never take out a boat alone. I should not wish my pretty little wife to endanger herself in any way."
Sylvia looked up shyly into his face to find that he was smiling kindly down at her.
Rosalind was walking with Sir Rowland Axby. He was telling her how his children would enjoy Broome Hall and its spacious grounds. The lake too would delight them and the boats, and an island in the middle of the lake for them to explore. Rosalind began to wonder why he spent so much time away from his children if he loved them so much. But perhaps his need to find them a new mother kept him out in society. Rumor had it that he had offered for two other girls, both new debutantes, since his proposal to her. And he had been particularly attentive to Susan Heron in the last two days, though she had made a determined effort to avoid him this afternoon by grabbing Sir Bernard's arm as if it were a lifeline.
Some of the party sat on the grass by the lake, shaded by the branches of a large oak tree, though Lady
Theresa still found it necessary to use a parasol that matched so perfectly the light-blue muslin of her dress that Sir Rowland was moved to tell her that she looked as pretty as a picture. Lord Standen, his sister, and Susan Heron decided to stroll around the lake as far as they could before swampland made further walking impossible. Sir Bernard Crawleigh, Nigel Broome, Sylvia, and Rosalind took to the boats.
Nigel pulled hard at the oars of his boat. He deliberately took a different direction from that taken by Crawleigh, who was rowing at a far more leisurely pace directly toward the island. Nigel said nothing until he and Sylvia were a considerable distance away from anyone else in their party.
"I say," he said at last, shipping the oars and allowing the boat to rock gently on the water, "did I get you into trouble last night, Sylvia?"
"No, really," she denied, "you did not force me to speak."
"I'll wager Mama and George did not like it, though," he said. "They consider me the black sheep, you know. I can stand their disapproval because my conscience tells me that I am right. But I would not for the world have you take my part and incur their displeasure too. Did you get a thundering scold?"
"Well, not exacdy a scold," she said unhappily.
"You need say no more," he said a trifle grimly. "I know how both George and Mama can sound so kind and so sincere. They can have one feeling quilty even when one knows that one had done no wrong."
"Nigel," Sylvia said, color rising in her cheeks, "is it so dreadful to disagree with one's husband? I would never openly criticize his lordship, you know, and I will try never to fight with him. I am sure he is right when he says that he knows so much more than I and I should allow myself to be guided by him. But surely it is not wrong sometimes to disagree with him and at least discuss a topic. Is it?"
