“But you must have heard it from somewhere,” Lady Penhollow prodded.
Finally, Lady Danbury admitted, “I heard the news from the downstairs maid.”
“And I from the dairyman who told our cook,” Lady Baines said.
“Never mind where I heard it,” Mrs. Willis grumbled. “But it was the same avenue.”
Lady Penhollow rubbed her temples with her fingertips, a headache beginning to form. “I swear, the villagers of Hobbles Moor are going to drive me to madness.”
“What do you mean, Annabelle?” Mrs. Willis asked.
Lady Penhollow dropped her hand. “They are on her side. I could read it in Mrs. Meeks and Betsy’s faces. Even the cook acted strangely when I said something about that woman. They are such a superstitious lot, they’ve probably decided she’s the queen of Cornwall or some such nonsense.”
“What woman?” Lady Baines asked, moving to the edge of her seat.
“The woman my son rescued from drowning yesterday.”
“Tell us about it,” Mrs. Willis said.
Lady Penhollow quickly went over the details.
“Lost her memory?” Mrs. Willis asked.
“Yes. Dr. Hargrave calls it amnesia. The only thing she has remembered so far is her first name, Eden. Isn’t that a ridiculous name?”
“Almost sacrilegious,” Lady Baines agreed.
“Heathen,” Lady Penhollow answered. “But apt. I fear this woman has the ability to wrap my son around her fingers.”
“Penhollow?” Mrs. Willis asked in disbelief.
“I’d always thought him the steadiest of men.”
“There is something about this woman, something vulnerable that seems to bring out the protective instincts in my son,” her hostess answered.
Lady Danbury and Mrs. Willis had been listening to Lady Penhollow’s story intently, but Lady Baines’s attention appeared to have drifted. Since this was not uncommon for her, it didn’t concern Lady Penhollow until Lady Baines asked, “Does she have a perfect figure, flawless skin, and thick, curling sable hair?”
“Why, yes, she does. And green almond-shaped eyes. Cat’s eyes. Have you met her, Letitia?” Lady Penhollow said.
“No, but I believe she’s strolling in the garden at this very minute.”
The three other women turned as one to look in the direction of the garden. Even Lady Penhollow was astonished by the change in Miss Eden. When she’d last seen her, the girl was lovely, yes, but still had the air of a wounded sparrow, shy, diffident.
The woman in the garden was a glorious creature. Somehow, she’d gotten one of her dresses from the laundry. The high-waisted dress was of jade-green silk with a lace overdress and a very low-cut bodice. Little more than a scant piece of expensive lace covered Miss Eden’s impressive cleavage while the dress’s color drew the viewer’s gaze up from the perfection of Miss Eden’s figure to her smooth complexion and magnificent eyes.
Her glossy hair was curled and piled high on her head, captured there by a length of ribbon. The impression was that if a person pulled on the ribbon in just the right manner, her hair would tumble down past her shoulders in wanton disarray.
“She’s very… pretty.” Lady Danbury was the first to break the silence.
All four women stared out the window at the intruder who could destroy Mrs. Willis’s and Lady Penhollow’s plans for their children. Very deliberately, as if she knew her way, Miss Eden walked across the garden, taking a path that went around the side of the house.
“I can’t imagine where she is going with such purpose,” Mrs. Willis observed.
“Yes,” Lady Danbury echoed. “It’s almost as if she is searching for someone.”
There was a heartbeat of silence and then Lady Penhollow said, “My son.”
“What?” Mrs. Willis asked.
“That path leads to the stables… She’s looking for Pierce,” she concluded with dawning horror. “She’s dressed herself up to go meet my son!”
Lady Penhollow turned and would have charged from the room to go in the direction of the stables if not for Mrs. Willis placing her hand on Lady Penhollow’s arm.
“Annabelle, don’t be foolish.”
“Foolish? Did you not see the girl?” Lady Penhollow demanded. “He will take one look at her and be smitten. All will be lost!”
“Yes, and you won’t change anything if you run down to the stables at this moment other than to throw him into her arms.”
“I want to protect him—”
“But he’s a man, Annabelle, and he won’t feel he needs protecting. He will not thank you, I can assure you.”
“But what do I do? I can’t just let her have him.”
“Perhaps she is a great heiress,” Lady Baines said, “and a wonderful match. Then your fears would be all for naught.”
Her friends turned on her, aghast at her disloyalty.
Lady Baines swallowed. “I was attempting to make Annabelle fell better.”
Mrs. Willis glared at her.
“But won’t Miss Eden be leaving soon? I mean, you can’t keep her forever,” Lady Danbury offered hopefully.
Lady Penhollow shook her head. “Pierce sent messengers out last night searching for word of a shipwreck or someone missing a sister or daughter. They returned this morning with no word at all. He’ll send the messengers out again, but I fear she will be with us for a very, very long time. He’s insisting she stay until she recovers her memory.”
“Wait! I have an idea,” Mrs. Willis declared.
“What is it?” Lady Baines asked.
“We shut her out,” Mrs. Willis said ruthlessly. “We make him realize she is unsuitable. Even better, we make her miserable until she steps back from Penhollow.”
“But how do we do that?” Lady Danbury asked.
The four of them stared at each other. No one spoke until Mrs. Willis piped up again. “I have it! We shall throw a dinner party. Well say we are welcoming her.“ He will discover that she doesn’t fit in, and see for himself she is not suitable. Nor will he suspect we are anything but gracious.”
Lady Baines cast a doubtful eye in the direction of the garden. “I’m not so certain. She is remarkably beautiful.”
“Oh, Letitia, don’t be so downhearted,” Mrs. Willis said. “A man wants more in a wife than looks. If that were the case, opera dancers would be duchesses! This woman has no family, no fortune.” Mrs. Willis laughed. “And no memory! Pierce is far too proud and practical to waste his title on a nobody.”
“I only pray that you are right,” Lady Penhollow said.
“Of course I am,” Mrs. Willis answered. “Now draw closer. We have a dinner party to plan.”
Her ear to the keyhole of the Garden Room door, Betsy gasped in disbelief. She looked up at Mrs. Meeks and Rawlins standing behind her. “You won’t believe what they are planning to do!” she whispered.
“What?” Mrs. Meeks asked.
“They don’t believe Miss Eden is good enough for Lord Pierce.” Betsy put her ear back to the keyhole and listened again. “They are going to hold a dinner party so that he can see how out of place Miss Eden is and they are going to have their husbands talk to him. Make him understand he can’t marry a nobody.”
She stood. “Silly aristocrats. Don’t they understand? Lord Penhollow is already in love.”
“How can he be?” Rawlins asked.
“He’s under the spell of the charm,” Betsy said confidently. “He’s destined to marry Miss Eden. He can’t help himself.”
Mrs. Meeks wrung her hands. “Charm or not, those women are going to do everything in their power to make sure he doesn’t marry her.”
“Then we’ll have to make sure their plans are all for naught, won’t we?” Rawlins said.
Both Betsy and Mrs. Meeks turned to the usually dour butler. “What do you have in mind, Mr. Rawlins?” Betsy asked.
“Where is Miss Eden now?”
“I sent her in the direction of the stables, where Lord Penhollow is,”
Betsy said with a knowing wink.
“Well, if they can get together and make plans, it seems we should be able to do the same,” he answered. “What say you to our adjourning the discussion to the kitchen?”
Betsy’s face split into a big grin. “I think it is a capital idea.”
Chapter 6
The stable yard was quiet after a busy morning. Dane the blacksmith had finished the shoeing and was picking up his tools to walk the mile back to Hobbles Moor. He was a large man with a bald head that matched his size. Few men picked a fight with Dane Smith.
Most of the grooms were busy repairing tack in the shade of the stable or performing other chores assigned to them by Jim, the head groom. Jim was as short as Dane was tall and the two of them, both good friends, made a rather odd couple. Dane rarely spoke whereas Jim never kept his opinions to himself. They enjoyed sharing a pint almost every night in the local public house, and woe to the man who thought to interfere in their discussions for the two of them were fiercely protective of each other.
Fortunately for Pierce, their loyalty extended to include him. He admired both men greatly. They’d taught him everything he knew about horses and had served as surrogate fathers on an occasion or two.
Right now, Pierce was putting that expertise to use as he inspected the most recent addition to his stable, a bay mare that had belonged to one of the Penhollow Hall neighbors. “She’s a beauty,” he said to Jim.
Jim snorted. “You paid too much.”
“Aye, but Royster Blackburn knows I’ve coveted this animal since I first laid eyes on her. Besides, I’ll make back twice her price on each colt I sire off of her and Cornish King.”
“But think what you could have made if you’d paid half the price,” the Cornishman countered as Pierce leaned over and ran his hand over the mare’s glossy coat.
“She’s worth the money,” Pierce answered. “Plus I like her height and her strength.” Leaning over, he admired the broadness of her chest, exactly the way he liked his horses. “But I don’t want to turn her over to King right away. Let’s give her six months or so. There’s no hurry. And what do you think about this cut here?” He motioned to a small surface cut on the animal’s knee. “Looks as if she rubbed against something. We’d better apply that salve your wife cooks up. I like it the best of any. I wish she’d share the recipe,” he hinted, as he always did when the subject came up.
Jim didn’t answer, but Pierce didn’t think a thing about that. He rubbed the animal’s nose. “She carries the right name—Velvet. You’re a beauty, aren’t you, girl?” he crooned softly to the mare and received a nudge of appreciation from Velvet.
Pierce laughed and looked over his shoulder at Jim. “We’ll put her in the far—” He broke off, realizing that Jim was not attending him. Instead, the man stared off in the distance— and he wasn’t the only one. Dane stood stock-still while the grooms had come to their feet, the tack on the ground around them. All of the men silently watched some point behind Pierce.
Curious, he turned, and then his own mouth dropped open.
In the afternoon sunlight, Eden stood on the path leading to the house, a vision of feminine beauty. She wore a dress of green silk and lace that followed the curves of her lush figure. Her eyes seemed to sparkle while her hairstyle emphasized the perfect oval of her face and the graceful line of her neck. Pierce closed his hand into a fist, his fingers aching to pull the ribbon that held her thick glossy hair up in curls and let it come tumbling down around her—
He broke his thoughts off abruptly. “Miss Eden,” he said in greeting, thankful that his voice sounded normal, although a touch strained. He regretted he’d not thought to add a jacket and neckcloth since their last meeting, wishing for the first time in his life to look every inch the earl.
Miss Eden did not seem to be offended by his casual dress. “Lord Penhollow,” she greeted him in her low, musical voice that sounded as sweet and welcoming as a siren’s song.
Aware they had a very curious audience, Pierce was by her side in four strides. He lowered his voice. “This is a pleasure.” He took the hand she offered. She didn’t wear gloves and her hand was warm to his touch. Bending over it, he couldn’t help but admire the way her breasts swelled over the bodice of her dress, although they were discreetly shielded from his complete view by a piece of strategically placed lace.
Her fingers tightened momentary over his, calling his attention back to her. “I hope my visit to the stables isn’t an imposition,” she said. “I felt the need for a walk and followed this path by chance.”
“How fortunate for me,” he answered, straightening, and meant every word.
She didn’t answer, but he knew she’d heard the heat in his voice because her cheeks blushed becomingly—and her nipples tightened against the green silk bodice of her gown.
Lust shot through him. He wanted to cover the outline of those buds with his lips, to slip her dress down over her shoulders and feel her against him, right here in the bright light of day… and he could swear he saw an answering desire in the depths of her clear green eyes.
Velvet whinnied, bringing him to his senses. Conscious that he’d been holding her hand the whole time, he released it, but not before glancing over his shoulder and noticing that both Jim and Dane’s eyes were alive with interest. He took a step back.
Eden had caught his glance in the direction of the grooms and moved back a few steps toward the shelter of the tree whose branches dipped over the path, giving the two of them more privacy from prying eyes. “You should be proud of your gardener, my lord,” she said primly, as if they hadn’t almost set each other on fire only seconds ago. “I have never seen a more beautiful place on earth than your garden.”
Her appreciation was so obviously sincere, Pierce admitted something he rarely said to others. “Actually, I planted the garden, although I have gardeners who take care of it now.”
“You planted it? The roses? The flower beds?” She shook her head. “I would never have thought a man could plant such a garden. You’re an artist, my lord. You love beauty.” She touched his arm. It was a light touch, but it burned through him.
“I started the garden when I was thirteen. Several of the villagers at Hobbles Moor helped. I planted it for my father.”
“Your father? Did he also enjoy gardening?”
Pierce almost laughed at the thought. “No, he wasn’t a gardener. Actually, when I planted it, he was quite ill. He’d lived in London most of my childhood so I was happy when he returned. Of course, by then he wasn’t able to ride or fish or do the things I enjoyed. His breathing was so labored, he couldn’t even climb up the stairs to the second floor. That’s why we prepared a room for him on the first floor. It’s the room you’re in.”
Her lips formed an “oh” of understanding. “He suffered from consumption.”
“Yes.” Pierce didn’t like to remember. When his mother had discovered that his father also suffered from syphilis, the consumption had been a blessing. He could still recall the ugly fight between his parents he’d overheard coming from his father’s bedroom. Pierce had been right outside the French doors, weeding one of the flower beds. Weeding… because he’d wanted a father’s approval and would never have it.
His father had died without ever mentioning the garden.
She touched him again, this time lightly upon the back of his hand. “He was not a good father, was he?”
Pierce paused, reevaluating his opinion of her. There was more depth to Eden than met the eye. She read people well. He forced a smile. “He had his ways.”
“But you were a good son, because that is the type of person you are.”
“And what type is that?” he couldn’t resist asking.
Her smile was sure and quick. “Noble.”
The word pleased him.
Her fingertips brushed his arm again. “You should have no regrets. People are selfish. They do what they wish in spite of the consequences.”
There was a beat of
silence and then he said, “Sometimes the consequences are worth the endeavor.”
Their gazes held. “Yes, sometimes,” she echoed.
Jim’s loud clearing of his throat broke the spell between them. “Do you want to keep this horse standing out here all afternoon, my lord?” he asked.
Pierce moved back on the path and then stopped. Jim and Dane stood next to each other like matchmaking mamas. Even the grooms were all grinning like whip-silly fools.
“We don’t want to disturb your little tête-à-tête,” Jim said, his broad Cornish accent butchering the French words.
Pierce shot him a frown but the little groom returned his look with one of wily innocence. Dane was good enough to give Jim a poke in his ribs with his fist.
But Eden ignored the good-natured teasing, walking down the path and into the stable yard. “So these are the most famous stables in England,” she said and then gifted the hired men with such a radiant smile, even Jim appeared stunned into silence. “Betsy was telling me about them. She said there are no finer horses in England.”
Jim puffed his chest out with pride. “Aye, there are not,” he declared, and his grooms nodded agreement. “Wait until you meet King, miss.”
“King?” Eden said with surprise. “You know the king, my lord?”
Jim didn’t wait for a response from Pierce but shouted at one of the grooms to go fetch Cornish King. “And take this mare back to her stall,” he ordered another.
“He refers to my stallion, Cornish King,” Pierce told her.
“And no finer horse in all England,” Jim declared. “Isn’t that right, Dane?”
“Aye, no finer,” the blacksmith answered perfunctorily although the two had argued that claim for years. And then the usually closemouthed Dane did something completely out of character. He stepped forward and said almost eagerly, “Did you know that Lord Pierce here is descended from kings himself? King Arthur to be a fact. Penhollow Hall is built right on the foundations of Camelot itself.” Then, a dull shade of red creeping up from his neckline, he stepped back beside Jim.
Eden tilted her head up to Pierce with interest, a teasing light in her expressive eyes. “I’ve heard it said that half of England claims to be descended from Arthur, my lord. Are you one of that half?”
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