Price of Desire

by Lavinia Kent

  Marguerite’s cheeks matched the sweetly scented lilies that fragranced the air.

  “Oh, of course, you are right. And I am afraid I did discount Burberry. He just never . . . well, he was not . . .”

  “Don’t worry; I know just what you mean. It’s what made him so special. I can only hope the crowd descending will not be far different.” Rose turned back towards the carriage that was nearly upon them.

  “Do you not know?” Marguerite asked.

  Rose took her sister’s hand and smiled at the girl’s naiveté.

  “I believe I’ve met everyone, except Lord Jason. He’s coming as a friend of Lady Clarington’s son. But, it is far different to meet in society than in one’s own home. And besides, when I met them I was with Burberry, and while we may have known him for the sweet man he was, I am afraid that with company he could put on quite a stiff countenance. It always put others on their best behavior.”

  “I thought you knew them well. If not, why are they coming?”

  “I think they’re coming to inspect me.”

  Rose knew her own cheeks matched her sister’s. She turned her entire attention to the carriage as it pulled to a stop. She could not be sure whose crest marked the door. “I gather I am a bit of an unknown and I think frank curiosity draws them. Not to mention a pile of hurried correspondence between myself and everyone I could think of who might have an eligible prospect for me.”

  “But, why? You have been out for years. Why should anybody be curious about you now?”

  “There is apparently a difference between being the gangly young bride of a known recluse and being a widow of sizable portion. For some reason, that makes me more interesting. There are, apparently, even rumors of my great beauty.” Rose looked down at her ample curves and faded blond hair. Her complexion was decent, except for the annoying tendency to flush red, which she shared with Marguerite.

  “Don’t be silly, Rose. You know you’re pretty as a peach.” Sincerity shone in Marguerite’s eyes.

  “I’ve always considered myself more of an apple.” Rose patted her full hips.

  “You can be a bit tart.”

  “As long as I am not a bit of a tart.”

  Marguerite giggled, until she couldn’t speak. At least she no longer appeared ready to drop in a faint – not the best way to greet one’s guests.

  Rose sighed inwardly, but said only, “You cannot even envision me a tart?” She’d certainly felt like one last night as she’d let her memories overcome her. But she pulled her shoulders back. She had the duties of a hostess to fulfill. “Come now. Let’s see who it is.”

  The coachman opened the carriage door and helped a very narrow lady out. The lady sorted out the full skirts of her gown and stiffly turned to Rose. It was evident she wore the tight corset of twenty years before, nothing else could account for that perfection of posture.

  “Lady Burberry, I believe,” the woman uttered, before Rose could open her mouth. “I am Lady Smythe-Burke. We were introduced at your late husband’s memorial. You must forgive my early arrival, but I can’t bear to lunch on the road, so I always make provision to arrive at my destination before noon. My dear friend, Mrs. Huntley, has spoken well of you and your own correspondence has proved most satisfactory. I always like a girl who says just what she means. Some would be put off by this plan of yours to find a manageable husband, but I believe it shows good sense in the extreme.

  “Now show me to my room so I can refresh myself. I want to be on hand when the others arrive. Only proper that I complete all the introductions. I know everybody, of course. Only strange bit of the whole plan is hosting a party where you don’t know all the guests. Bit like being in a play. I always enjoy a good farce. Of course, with me here to give credence to the whole affair it can only go well. I do believe you took my advice on the guest list.

  “Shame that Wimberley won’t come, but then he never does. I invite the boy to all my soirees just so I can have the pleasure of his reply. He does decline most prettily, but then he is a pretty thing. Did you ever meet him? Oh, of course not, burying yourself away here in the country. Fine thing when Burberry was alive. I always did like that man, but how do you expect to find a husband if you never make it to Town? Maybe you’ll be lucky. I did give you the soundest advice on whom to invite. If not, I’ll dust you off and have you as my guest. I always did like a girl with sense.”

  Still giving Rose no chance to reply, Lady Smythe-Burke sailed into the house. She was past the master stair before she paused.

  “Where did you say my room was? Such a nuisance having to learn the order of a house all over again. I would think they could all be built on the same scheme and then one would always know where one was. Great idea, that.”

  “I’ve put you in the Blue Room, up a floor, overlooking the rear garden. I thought you might like someplace peaceful.”

  “You don’t have peacocks, do you?”

  “Well, no.” Rose glanced at Marguerite, whose eyes watered with mirth. “Why do you ask?”

  “Can’t abide the creatures, always screaming at ungodly hours. I’ve a maid to wake me, don’t need a bird. They do make a nice plume, though. I had the most wonderful bonnet when I was a girl, four plumes straight up behind. Lovely thing, it was.” She looked expectantly at Rose.

  “Let me just show you the way to your room, Lady Smythe-Burke. I’ll make sure you’re settled in properly.” Rose gasped as she hurried to catch Lady Smythe-Burke, who was still heading down the wrong hall.

  Rose had just caught her and was endeavoring to turn her in the right direction, back towards the stairs, when a door at the end of the hall swung open and a familiar silhouette stepped out, the harsh planes of his face outlined in the morning light.

  Blast that man. He’d kept her from sleeping most of the night. She’d taken a breakfast tray in her room to avoid him, and still the minute she dropped her guard . . .

  “Major Huntington, I didn’t invite you.” Lady Smythe-Burke barked the words.

  Wulf bowed his head in courtesy. “My dear Lady Smythe-Burke, I was not aware you were my hostess. Forgive my rudeness.”

  “What’s he doing here? I didn’t put him on the list. He may fill out his jacket nicely, but he doesn’t meet your criteria. Not at all.” Mrs. Smyth-Burke turned to Rose.

  Rose was still forming a reply when Wulf spoke again. His tone was every bit as flat as the previous evening. “I am afraid I am more of a forgotten duty than a guest, my lady. I am here on a matter of personal business. Unfortunately, my arrival has put Lady Burberry out of sorts.”

  “Not at all, Major Huntington. What sort of hostess would I be if I couldn’t handle one more . . . guest, unexpected or not. And as you took such pains to explain to me last night, you were expected.” Rose tried not to bite out the words. She would remain as cool as he. She flushed under his steady gaze, as it swept her, leaving a trail of shivers in its wake.

  “Will you be joining the party then, Major Huntington? Are you here because of the wagers? It will make the numbers uneven, but who would complain about one more gentleman?” Lady Smythe-Burke eyed them both with speculation.

  “I had not planned to, but if invited it would of course be unchivalrous to refuse. And I am afraid I don’t know of any wagers.” He met Lady Smythe-Burke’s gaze and then the two of them turned to focus on Rose.

  She swallowed once before answering, her stomach knotting. How had this come about? “I also am unaware of any wager, but of course your presence is desired, Major Huntington. I am sure you’ll add much to my humble party.”

  “As long as I am . . . desired, I would be most pleased to join you and your other guests.”

  His eyes, as bold as hands, swept over her again, and she knew her flush had deepened. Only when he looked at her this way, as if he would lick her like an ice, did his eyes flash with life. Was that why she reacted like this to him, as if flames licked up from her very toes? No other man had this effect, melting her to the core.

&
nbsp; His pupils darkened as he continued, “Although I fear I didn’t come with proper wardrobe for any formal occasion.”

  “We’re in the country. I am sure that none of my guests will be sticklers for formality.” Why did he keep staring at her? If only he would look away she’d have the chance to regain some of her composure.

  “I can vouch for that,” Lady Smythe-Burke hooted. “If I say you’re acceptable, then you’re acceptable. The only one who might object would be Sir Barton, and that puppy won’t dare to disagree with me.”

  Rose wasn’t sure how she felt having one of her prospective suitors described as a puppy. Sir Barton was on the far side of forty and surely not a puppy. If he was still so unformed and eager, then he was not what she sought.

  “If you’re sure, then I will of course join you. But, now I must attend the business that brings me here. I believe Mr. Mitter is already in the library. If you’ll excuse me, ladies.”

  A great breath escaped Rose as Wulf turned and continued down the hall. Shoulders that she had not realized had grown tense relaxed.

  “Major Huntington, indeed,” Lady Smythe-Burke said. “He does promise to be an interesting addition. Surprised Westlake didn’t mention he was in the neighborhood. They were inseparable as boys. Wasn’t sure at first what you were thinking inviting him. He’s hardly manageable. Not at all the sort of man who’d leave a woman to her own devices. But, I see your plan now.”

  “You do?” Rose took the older woman’s arm and turned her back down the hall towards the stair, in the direction of the promised blue room. She counted each breath as she pretended composure.

  “Why, yes. Competition. Nothing brings a man to the point faster than a little competition. Surprised I hadn’t thought of it myself. Only problem with manageable men is they need to be managed. I am so pleased you’ve taken that into consideration. With Major Huntington here to raise a few hackles I am sure you’ll have several proposals before the fortnight’s out. There is the wager, after all.”

  “Really, my lady, it was not my intention to raise any hackles. Major Huntington is only here in response to a bequest in my husband’s will. I had not planned on his being part of the party. And I still don’t know about this wager you keep mentioning.”

  “Good story. Stick to it. Don’t want the competition to be too obvious. Might scare the lads away.”

  They reached Mrs. Smythe-Burke’s room and Rose took her leave. She suppressed the desire to sigh with relief. This was not going at all as planned. She was supposed to be facing the process of choosing a husband with care and reason, not spinning like a child’s top out of control. What had happened to her well-ordered life?

  She gave one last glance around the hall to make sure everything was in order for the arriving guests, and then darted up the nursery stair. She normally spent full mornings with Anna. Today, she would have to squeeze in a few moments before the next carriage pulled up.

  Wulf gazed around the library with a sense of disbelief. Books lay piled this way and that, some spread open, their spines pressed wide. This was not at all the well-ordered room he had encountered on his previous visit. It looked like a young child had run rampant, causing destruction at will.

  “Frightful, simply frightful. If Mr. Blaine had explained the situation I would have found another position.” Mr. Mitter spoke from his spot in the corner. He stood still, his hands fluttering over a pile of books. “There is simply no order to them. How could any gentleman treat his treasures in such a fashion? It’s unbearable.”

  “I don’t believe Lord Admiral Burberry would ever have allowed such disorder. He was a most scholarly man. Rather, I expect Lady Burberry allowed, perhaps even caused, this disorder to develop.”

  “Yes, I am sure you are right, Major Huntington. That is the most likely explanation. The feminine mind is, I fear, not suited to order. I was wondering why a man of your stature would come on such a task.”

  Wulf moved to the desk. He’d sat before it once, waiting to join Burberry in his study. He shook off the thought. He could not let the memories of the past affect him now. “A man of my stature? I am not sure what you mean.”

  “You were at Waterloo. A hero to the core, I am sure. And then with your uncle the earl’s legacy a man of means, as well.”

  “My legacy.” Wulf curled his fingers into a fist. He should have expected this.

  “Yes, the estate, Holly House. Mr. Blaine explained that you had been left quite a handsome property.”

  “I have not accepted it. It should remain with the remainder of my uncle’s properties, in trust for his son.”

  “I don’t see why. His son, his heir is well provided for. The earldom is vast. The earl would never notice the difference.”

  “That does not matter. It would still be the honorable recourse.”

  “Why? Your uncle wished you to have the property. Think of all you could do if you accepted. The freedom you would enjoy.

  Wulf’s mind filled a vision of the house, of the comfort and safety it had provided. If he accepted it could he recapture the wonder and hope that had once filled him? Could he make a home? It was too late. “I once did my uncle a great disservice and then I refused to make amends. He should not have left me anything.”

  “But apparently he deemed otherwise. Surely you could not have done anything that –“

  “Enough. My past is just that, mine. Forgive me if I am rude, but I do not wish to discuss this further. We have much work to do.” Wulf drummed his fingers on the well-polished surface of the desk. It was oddly dust free considering, the shambles in which they had found the rest of the room. He picked up a fine edition of Shakespeare’s sonnets and replaced it on the shelf.

  He turned to the secretary, who was nervously flicking his fingers over the titles. “Have you had a chance to look through this then, Mitter? Is there any kind of order to it?”

  Mitter swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but allowed the matter to drop. “Not that I can find. It looks more like somebody dumped and re-piled the volumes than that anybody actually looked through them. There are remarkable number of volumes on Greek antiquities.”

  “Yes, Burberry was fascinated by the ancient world. He was stationed in the Mediterranean for years, picked up much of his collection then. Said once that there was nothing more exciting to him than walking in Homer’s shoes. I’ve heard he wanted to go to Oxford before he joined the Navy. Can you imagine?” Wulf restrained the irony of his own voice.

  Mitter gazed up with wide eyes. He’d missed the edge in Wulf’s tone. “That is odd. Can’t imagine why anyone with an academic bent would turn to the military.” He picked up another book with a crumbling jacket. “Look at this. It’s a detailed account of a young man’s journey across Asia Minor, well over a century ago. And these . . . first hand accounts of the crusades. I’ve never seen such a collection of diaries and journals.”

  “My father mentioned something about that once. How the admiral obsessed over reading what people had seen in their own words. He wanted to build a picture of how the ancient had progressed to the present, step by step. I think if we look we’ll find a collection of maps as well.”

  “Maps?” Mitter’s eyes glittered with excitement.

  “Burberry was fascinated with how the world changed . . . where borders stayed steady and where they blurred or moved all together. The idea that cities, countries, could grow great and then fade altogether intrigued him. Look at these.” Wulf gestured towards the great piles of books. “I wonder how he tracked these all down.”

  “I am sure I don’t know. Quite the collection, though. It will take me days to sort through it, the state it’s in.” Mitter spoke low, more intrigued with the books spread before him than with keeping up his end of the conversation.

  In truth, Wulf sympathized with Mitter’s fascination. A decade ago, when he, himself, had dreamed of nothing beyond his studies and the wonders of ancient worlds, the plethora of history spread about him would have seemed an
unbelievable trove. Now, after experiencing the world for himself – seeing the kinds of destruction which maps did not reflect, he had no interest in the words of others, for he knew better himself. He tore his eyes from a speculation on ancient trade routes and moved toward the window. He was a man of action; he’d leave these dry tomes to Mitter. They could hold no fascination for the man that he’d become.

  He turned his face away. He would refuse his uncle’s legacy. Being surrounded by books of learning only separated him further from the man he’d been. He’d knew he’d be a stranger at Holly Hill, and being a stranger in his childhood home was unacceptable.

  A flurry of cobalt and gold outside the window drew his gaze. It darted behind a bush and then peeked out again.

  “Anna.” The soft call was muffled by the window. “Anna, come now, you’ve been out long enough. I need another kiss before I wash up.”

  The flurry bobbled out from behind the shrub, all glowing smiles and rounded cheeks. Her tousled curls gleamed in the bright sun as she galloped.

  Rose rounded the corner and came into view. The deep blue dress he noted earlier shone in the sun, contrasting with her creamy skin and glowing curls. She bent as the flurry raced into her arms, unmindful of grass stains and wrinkled skirt. Her delectable, womanly hips were almost successful in distracting him from the child.

  “Ah, my poppet, I missed you this morning. What have you and Nanny been up to?”

  “I want to play with the ball, but Nanny says no.” The high-pitched child’s voice echoed loud, causing even Mitter to glance up. She stood straight within her mother’s encompassing arms.

  “Now, I know you can keep your voice more in control. Didn’t we discuss yesterday that princesses don’t need to scream to be heard?”

  “I want to play ball! I am only a princess when I want to be.” If anything the cry grew louder.

  “Anna, I am delighted to learn you want to spend the morning playing ball, but the whole house does not need to know.”

  Anna. This was Anna. His daughter, his flesh and blood. He knew the truth; he was not mistaken. He let his head fall forward against the window. His daughter. He couldn’t define the emotions that swept through him. All he could do was watch as the child pursed her lips, stepped back from her mother and stomped one dainty foot hard. Wulf smiled at her determination. He knew that feeling.