Sarah tossed out a placatory smile and resumed walking. “Mama, nobody will hear me, and we have always been honest with each other. Casriel needs me. He needs a wife who knows how to manage a large household, who won’t bother him when he wants to go shooting for weeks at a time, or spend his evenings with the House of Lords. I do fear my darling earl will end up with an Arbuckle or Lady Antonia if I’m anything less than diligent about my pursuit of him.”
“Honesty and cruelty are worlds apart, Sarah. Lady Canmore wasn’t born to a title, and she has suffered a bereavement. She has no children to comfort her, and she is very attractive in a way a mature man would appreciate.”
Mature was a problem. Casriel wasn’t ancient, exactly, but Sarah wanted to get the heir and spare part of the marriage over with before he became much older. One had to be practical about those matters.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I should not have been so blunt, though you must admit, blue-eyed blondes are plentiful, while my looks do set me apart.”
Mama had never been a beauty. She did not grasp what a burden befell a woman who turned every head in the room, some with appreciation, many with envy, a few with the wrong sort of covetousness. Sarah occasionally danced with the covetous men simply to torment them, which was… the closest she came to diversion at a formal ball.
“If you are not careful, Sarah, you will be set apart by your waspish tongue and the desperation with which you seek to gain the notice of your betters.”
Mama had become tiresome within two hours of Sarah’s return from finishing school, though recently… tiresome was a vast understatement.
“Waiting for a duke or marquess to wander my way hasn’t worked, Mama. I thought perhaps Mr. Tresham would take notice of me, but his tastes are apparently not as refined as I’d hoped.” Another plain widow had snabbled the ducal heir, more’s the pity.
Good heavens, what if marrying widows became fashionable?
“Sarah, you are young,” Mama said, another one of her frequent laments. “Your father and I did not marry until I was one-and-twenty. You have time. There are other earls, other heirs. If you focused instead on developing an acquaintance with men of suitable station, a proper friendly acquaintance, of course, rather than poring over Debrett’s and reading the scandal sheets, perhaps—”
Mama stumbled, probably because she was a little out of breath from trying to keep up with Sarah’s longer stride while she lectured.
“Mama, do be careful. This path is not well maintained, considering the traffic it must bear. Where can Lord Casriel have got off to?”
And where were the Arbuckles? At the very worst possible moment, they’d doubtless come giggling and bouncing from behind a tree, spoiling the day with their sly innuendos.
“I believe that’s his lordship on the bench up ahead overlooking the lake,” Mama said, “sitting with Lady Canmore.”
“Then we are not a moment too soon. Look as if you are fond of me.”
“I am fond of you, for the most part. Your father—”
“Not now, Mama.” The less said about Papa, the better. Sarah adored him, of course, and was very grateful that he’d managed to pile up a lot of lovely money—about which one must never speak—but Papa was common, blunt, and plain. He had the fashion sense of a dead mackerel and grumbled about every expense. The less he was mentioned in proximity to the earl, the better.
“Good day,” Sarah called, waving gaily. “Lady Canmore, my lord.” She and the countess had been introduced, as had Mama and the countess. Now the countess would have to introduce Sarah to the earl.
How perfect.
Casriel rose and bowed. “Ladies. It’s Mrs. Quinlan, if I’m not mistaken, and Miss Quinlan.”
Oh, he was being a bit bold, dispensing with the introductions, but then, this was not a formal gathering, and he was an earl. Perhaps he was eager to make the acquaintance of the Season’s most eligible heiress?
Lovely thought. “My lord.” Sarah swept her most graceful curtsey. Mama ruined the effect by bobbing at the same time. “A very great pleasure to meet you. Have you been enjoying the beauties of nature?”
He and the countess had been sitting a proper distance apart on the bench, not even speaking. When a woman hadn’t any conversation, what else was there to do, except admire the scenery?
“I have indeed,” his lordship replied. “The wonders to be found in the immediate surrounds bring joy to my bucolic soul.”
Lady Canmore’s lips quirked, though his lordship’s comment had not been humorous. It had, in fact, been moderately adept flirting, considering that Sarah was the only wonder in the immediate surrounds.
More loveliness. “I have ever enjoyed fresh air and sunshine,” Sarah said. “Mama says young ladies must mind their complexions, but I say that’s why we have parasols.”
“That reminds me,” Lady Canmore said. “I should return Mrs. Tresham’s parasol.” She brandished a lacy affectation.
“Allow me that honor,” his lordship said, plucking the parasol from the countess’s grasp. “I’ll leave you ladies to enjoy the view.”
Bowing and curtseying ensued, though Sarah did not like the look on her ladyship’s face. For an older woman, the countess had a nice smile, and her eyes… They were plain blue, but they sparkled like the lake beneath the afternoon sun. Perhaps age did that for a woman, gave her sparkly eyes as a consolation for sags and wrinkles.
“Oh, look, Anastasia!” a voice cried. “We’ll have company for the rest of our walk.”
Drusilla the Dragon churned up the path, Awful Anastasia at her side, while the earl remained with Lady Canmore by the bench.
Her ladyship smiled at the twins as if she was honestly glad to see them. “Miss Arbuckle, Miss Anastasia. Good day. I was just about to return to the house. Perhaps you’d like to join me.”
“A fine idea,” the earl said, “though perhaps Mrs. Quinlan and Miss Quinland would like to continue around the lake?”
“I rather would,” Sarah said, sending him her best limpid gaze. “The day is so lovely and the company fine.”
“Then I’ll leave you and your mother to the fresh air,” he said. “Lady Canmore and I can return to the house with the Arbuckles.”
He bowed, offered Lady Canmore his arm, and Sarah was left with nothing to do but curtsey and smile as if her dearest wish had just been granted.
“Come, Mama,” she said. “If we want time to rest before tonight’s dancing, we must be on our way. I do hope to see you on the dance floor, my lord.”
He was not a particularly bright man, for he appeared puzzled rather than pleased. “I’m afraid I cannot stay for the evening’s dancing. A debate on the Corn Laws demands my attention. Perhaps another time.”
The Arbuckles were looking mutinous, which was delightful. Lady Canmore was smiling vapidly, and Mama’s gaze promised more lectures.
Sarah curtseyed. “I will look forward to the happy occasion of a shared waltz at another time, my lord.”
Much bobbing of bonnets transpired, and then his lordship was sauntering up the path in the company of not one but three women, all of them eligible in the strictest sense, and yet, Sarah considered the encounter a victory.
“You are happy with that exchange?” Mama asked.
“Most assuredly. I made a positive impression, and his lordship was so enchanted with the prospect of gaining my acquaintance, he did not wait for proper introductions. That is very encouraging.”
Mama set a spanking pace now, when Sarah’s stays were digging into her sides and she needed time to ponder this opening skirmish.
“You believe the earl to be enchanted with you?”
“He is reputed to be a perfect gentleman, Mama. What perfect gentleman ignores a countess when she’s on hand to make introductions? We know Lady Canmore, she knows him. She should have introduced us, but his lordship didn’t want to bother with the niceties. Normally, I would take such presumption as disrespect for me, but we are at a glorified picnic, and everybody
“I’m not sure I know who you are of late.”
The path took a turn, which let Sarah steal a peek over her shoulder. The twins were gamboling along like puppies behind their elders, while Casriel politely escorted the countess as the senior female.
A husband with a title and manners would never unduly impose on his countess, and though Mama might profess some confusion on the matter, Sarah knew exactly who she was.
She was the next Countess of Casriel. Let there be no mistake about that.
“No progress with my harp, then?” Aunt Freddy asked, twitching at the quilt over her knees.
“I did not discuss your harp with his lordship,” Addy replied, rearranging the various scent bottles, brushes, and combs on Aunt’s vanity. She had received Addy in her boudoir, a custom that had been popular during an earlier age. A lady would entertain even gentlemen callers in her bedroom of a morning and chat over tea while her toilette progressed.
Back when ladies and men could be friends without causing raised eyebrows and unkind talk.
“What did you discuss with Lord Casriel, Addy? If you say the weather, I will cut you out of my will.”
That frequent threat sat ill now. Aunt Freddy was pale, even for her, and the armchair by the window gave her a translucent quality, as if she’d already sent part of her spirit on to another realm.
Addy took the other armchair. “Lord Casriel has a daughter, Tabitha. She’s only a few years from leaving the schoolroom and the darling of his heart. She’s apparently something of a harp virtuoso in the making. Would you like to work on your knitting?”
“You shall take up my knitting for me today. One heard talk, ages ago, that the eldest Dorning had been a tad indiscreet. Some of those boys are wild—that Sycamore is a throwback to his great-grandfather—but the rest of them seem susceptible to domestication.”
Based on Aunt’s tone, she was not complimenting the majority of the Dorning brothers.
“I suspect Lord Casriel might have been a throwback too,” Addy said, “but then the younger siblings kept coming along, his one venture into wild behavior resulted in a child, and he became a good example instead.”
A good example whom she had propositioned. “He kissed me, Aunt.” Addy hadn’t meant to say a word about her tryst with Lord Casriel to anybody.
“About time somebody kissed you. Roger has been gone long enough. I hope his lordship’s overture was welcome?”
“The overture was mine. His lordship’s attentions were very welcome.” Addy had remained with him in the folly, kissing and kissing and kissing like a couple new to courting. He was patient, he was plundering, he was inventive and determined, finding sensitive places on Addy’s body that surprised her.
The inside of her elbow, the hollow of her throat, the nape of her neck. Casriel’s hands were callused—she loved that his hands were callused—and yet, his touch could not have been more tender. In bed, he would be… beyond words.
“Addy, you have not worn that look since you and Roger courted, if even then,” Aunt said. “Perhaps you should marry Casriel.”
“He needs money. I haven’t but my widow’s mite.” A comfortable mite as mites went, along with the London house, a matched team of solid bays to pull the Town coach, a riding mare, and a standing invitation to Canmore Court, but nothing an impecunious earl should marry for. “I have no interest in remarrying, Aunt.”
“You have an interest in Casriel and in his kisses. Marriage generally starts out exactly like that. Do you like him, Addy?”
The question was far from prosaic, no matter how innocently Aunt tucked her shawl about herself.
“Who would not like a gentleman with perfect manners, a title, and such an attractive countenance?” Not handsome in the refined sense, but a face that had been lived in and would weather well.
“Brummel was a good-looking devil with exquisite manners,” Aunt said, “also an utter toad on occasion and a profligate rake. Nobody was sorry to see him decamp for France.”
“Except his creditors, who were legion.” Which was the aspect of Casriel’s situation that made Addy also not like him. He was determined to marry for money. Her rational mind understood the utter necessity of having coin enough to provide for dependents, especially for a young female dependent. Her heart, though… Her lonely, stupid heart… She wished for his sake that he need not be so mercenary, and she wished that she could afford a more sentimental view of life too—not of marriage, but of life in general.
“A man must provide for his family, Addy. You cannot in one breath admire Casriel’s paternal devotion to a by-blow and in the next castigate him for taking responsibility for the child. She’s a girl, which is lucky. She’ll marry well enough.”
Addy opened Aunt’s workbasket, which sat between the chairs, and took out the current knitting project. “Tabitha will marry well if Casriel dowers her well.”
“Just so, particularly if he marries a woman both sensible and well born. That color blue goes with your eyes.”
Casriel had lovely eyes, not only for their color, but also for the emotion they conveyed. He had a sly sense of humor—admiring the wonders of nature, indeed—and he knew how to keep the upper hand with Miss Quinlan. He did not know how to go about having an affair, and neither did Addy.
“Aunt, how does one conduct a liaison?”
Freddy yawned behind a pale hand and closed her eyes. “In your situation, one conducts a liaison discreetly. Back in my day, we weren’t such possessive fools about marriage. Men did not treat their wives like chattel to be locked away in the attic until the right holiday came along to put the wife on display before the relatives. We were friends with our spouses, allies, companions, and lovers as well.”
Roger had endorsed such an approach to marriage, calling Addy the family nun when he was feeling like a brat.
“I’m sure everything between the genders was conducted more sensibly back in the day, but how does one conduct a discreet affaire de coeur now?”
“That Casriel doesn’t have the whole business planned is a point in his favor.”
I know that. “That I don’t have the whole business planned must be a point in my favor, then.”
Aunt opened her eyes and studied Addy. “The trick is to be casual, but not too casual. Careful, but not too careful. Either excessive sneaking about or excessive flamboyance will cause notice, and notice will cause talk. Casriel can simply pay a call on the servants’ half day. Nobody will be above stairs save yourself, and you can receive him at the door as you would any caller when the staff is employed with other duties. If you can’t puzzle out the rest—”
“You will disown me.”
“In addition to cutting you out of my will. Is today Tuesday?”
“Wednesday.”
“Then dear Mr. Ickles will be calling this afternoon. What time is it?”
The clock on the mantel was easy enough for Addy to see, though Aunt’s eyesight was apparently not equal to the task. Her solicitor was a good ten years her junior, meaning he was venerable rather than ancient.
“Not yet noon.”
“Then I have plenty of time to make myself presentable. Send the maid to me in an hour or so.”
Addy finished off the row of stitches and rolled the half-finished shawl around the needles. “Aunt, did you eat breakfast today?”
“I would not know. Ask the housekeeper. I usually do, and I am not hungry, so one concludes I ate recently. Did Roger ruin you for any other man’s attentions, Beatitude?”
Another question more complex than it sounded. “I esteemed my husband greatly and welcomed his affections.”
“Silly girl, do you think it’s impossible to esteem a man greatly and want to strangle him in the same hour? Roger was not a bad man, given his privileges, but he lacked exactly the quality you find so attractive in Casriel. Casriel grasps that with privileges come responsibilities, and he does not shirk his responsibilities.”
Not quite accurate. “Roger desperately wanted an heir. That was very responsible of him. I could not provide one.” Three short sentences that waltzed over years of unspoken disappointment on Roger’s part and then arguments, tears, and miserable silences.
“Roger had a brother and a fraternal nephew,” Aunt observed. “He thus had an heir and spare. He had no need to worry for the succession.”
Roger also had no by-blows that Addy knew of, suggesting that Casriel had been right: Paternal limitations had prevented conception, rather than anything amiss with Addy. The issue had not been the succession, however. The issue had been Roger’s pride and the need to best Jason at every turn.
“I’m having the kitchen send you up a luncheon tray,” Addy said. “Don’t let Mr. Ickles overstay his welcome. You need your rest.”
Aunt waved a hand. “Go prepare for your torrid assignation, my dear. Casriel looks like a man of healthy appetites. You’ll need your rest.”
“Naughty, Aunt Freddy.” Addy kissed her cheek and left her sitting in the midday sun, pale as a ghost and already nodding off again.
The conversation saddened Addy and hadn’t offered her much enlightenment regarding the specifics of a discreet affair. Despite Addy’s assurances to Casriel, she needed to take precautions that would make conception less likely and had little idea what those precautions might be.
Theodosia Tresham would know. Of all the ironies, Theo had dreaded the prospect of a second child during her first marriage. Paying a call at midday was not quite the done thing, but Theo was a dear friend, and time was of the essence.
Casriel did not need another by-blow, and Addy would not wish illegitimacy on any child, though she longed to be a mother. Six months before his death, Roger had given up on that dream, at least as it related to Addy becoming the mother of the next Earl of Canmore.
She gave the maid instructions to fetch Aunt a full lunch tray, allow the older woman an hour’s nap, and then to make sure Mr. Ickles did not stay more than thirty minutes.
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