The Legendary Lord

by Valerie Bowman

  She pressed her handkerchief to her nose and laughed. “I believe you’re right. You may call me Sarah. When we’re alone, of course.”

  “Of course.” He winked at her. “Very well, my lady. Before I shared that less-than-entertaining tale, you were telling me that we must examine my speech. Tell me, what is the matter with my speech?”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t mean your speech. That is to say, the way you speak. I meant the content of what you say.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “There may, of course, be nothing the matter with it. But I’ll have to examine it.”

  “How, precisely, do you propose we do that?”

  “Well.” She cleared her throat. “Let us pretend that you are at a ball and you are asking me to dance. We’ve met, but only once.”

  She stood and made her way to the corner, where she began to have an earnest conversation with absolutely no one.

  Christian watched her and scratched his head. “What are you doing?”

  She glanced back at him. “I’m pretending to be speaking with my friends. Come over and interrupt us.”

  Christian exhaled his breath. He’d already learned that Lady Sarah was a bit unusual, but if the woman could help him attract a proper wife, he’d try anything. He stood, grabbed a coat from the pile on the sofa, put it on, pulled on the lapels, and strode over. “Good evening, Lady Sarah. May I have this dance?”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes at him. “Good evening, Mr. Forester. Have you met my friends, Lady Kate and Lady Mary?” She gestured to her imaginary friends.

  “I have not, but I am here to ask you to dance,” he continued.

  Sarah stopped, turned, and put her hands on her hips. “See, right there. That was shortsighted of you.”

  Christian frowned. “You said a lady likes to be singled out.”

  “Yes, but her closest friends are the ones to whom she will speak about you after your dance. If you aren’t solicitous of them, they will not like you and will not say particularly kind things.”

  His frown deepened. “Should I ask them to dance, too?”

  “Certainly not. Then the lady you are attempting to court will not know whom you are interested in.”

  Christian shifted his weight to his right foot and stuck out his left one. “Does this honestly make sense to all of you?”

  Sarah blinked at him innocently. “Of course it does. And it would make sense to you, too, if you would pay attention.”

  “I don’t see how it can possibly—”

  “Try again,” she interrupted.

  Christian gave her a thunderous expression but walked away, turned, grabbed his lapels again, cleared his throat, and walked back. “Good evening, Lady Sarah, Lady Kate, Lady Mary. A pleasure to see you all this evening.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Forester,” Lady Sarah replied, batting her eyelashes again.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Bat your eyelashes at me. It’s distracting.”

  “The lady you’re courting may well be distracting to you. In fact, she’d better be distracting or you probably ought not to court her.” Sarah’s tinkling laughter followed. That was distracting, too.

  Christian tried to ignore her laughter and her lily scent and concentrate on his lesson. “I hope your lovely friends here won’t mind if you take a turn dancing with me. Can you spare her, ladies?” He bowed to her imaginary friends.

  “Yes, thank you. I would love to dance,” Sarah said prettily.

  He offered his arm and she placed her hand on his.

  “We’ve no music,” he pointed out when they walked over to stand in the open space between the table and the sofa.

  “Use your imagination. Pretend a waltz is playing.” She held out her hands as if they were about to begin a waltz.

  Christian took a deep breath and pulled her into his arms. He spun her around in time to music that was only in his head. Sarah apparently knew the song because she began to hum the exact one he’d been thinking of.

  “How did you—?”

  “I told you, I’ve done this quite a lot. I’ve been learning to dance since I was barely out of leading strings.”

  They danced for a bit and Christian tried to ignore the lily scent of her hair and the soft feel of her in his arms. He reminded himself that he must concentrate on his witty repartee. That was what they were about, wasn’t it?

  “Lady Kate isn’t as pretty as you are,” he whispered, leaning down so she could hear.

  Sarah slapped at his arm with an imaginary fan. “That’s horrid.”

  “Lady Mary isn’t either,” he said with a wicked grin.

  “You are insulting my friends, sir.” She raised her nose in the air.

  Christian stopped for a moment. “You don’t truly have friends named Kate and Mary, do you?”

  “No,” Sarah said with a wink. “I invented them entirely.”

  “Good.” Christian exhaled. “I’d hate to be insulting real people. Insulting imaginary ones is amusing, though.”

  “How are you enjoying your evening, Mr. Forester?” Sarah asked, obviously intent upon resuming their lesson.

  “It’s better now that I’m in your company, my lady.”

  “You do know how to flatter a girl,” Sarah said, with more eyelash batting.

  “It’s impossible not to flatter one as lovely as you,” he replied smoothly.

  “Hmm.” Sarah stopped dancing. Christian stopped, too.

  “You’re doing a fine job,” she said.

  “Dancing?”

  “Yes, but I was referring to your speech. You obviously have no problems being charming.”

  He snorted. “I’m glad to hear you think so. Was my repartee witty enough?”

  “I think so.”

  “Was my speech enticing enough?”

  “Quite.”

  “It’s because we’re just here, you and I, in my home in Scotland. There’s nothing intimidating about it. No reason to be shy or uncomfortable. When I’m in London, however, things will be different.”

  “The answer to that particular dilemma is simple.”

  “It is? How?”

  “When you are in a London ballroom speaking to a beautiful lady, you must pretend that you are here in Scotland, dancing and speaking only to me.”

  Christian lifted his chin and glanced away. Why did he have the feeling that when the time came, that was precisely what he would wish he were doing?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  By the evening the snow seemed to have stopped, but it was already halfway up the windows and the wind continued to blow mercilessly, howling between the trees in the nearby forest. Fergus II returned from his business outdoors with a fine layer of ice resting atop his coat. Sarah removed the little garment to dry it by the fire and rubbed the dog vigorously with a blanket to warm him. He yipped and stuck out his tongue, clearly happy for the attention.

  When Christian came in from doing his chores, he smiled at her. “My apologies for myself and this dog being your only company, my lady.”

  “Nonsense. You are both excellent company. In fact, I was just thinking of how peaceful and lovely it is to be able to sit and enjoy myself in a room with another person even though no words are shared between us. You’re obviously comfortable with silence.”

  “Perhaps too much so,” Christian replied.

  “It’s so different here from my life at home,” Sarah said. “Father and Mother and Hart are always talking. There’s a constant bustle in our houses either in London or in the country. But here, with you, I can just be quiet and relax without feeling … alone.”

  “I understand,” Christian said quietly.

  “I’ve never felt that way before. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else comfortable with sharing silence.”

  “Nor have I,” Christian murmured.

  “What was that?” Sarah asked.

  “Nothing. What say we have dinner? I’m famish
ed.”

  They had cured meat and cheese and wine for dinner. Afterward, Christian brought out the wood pieces he’d been working on and set them on the table along with his knives and small chisel.

  “What is that?” Sarah exclaimed. She was wiping her hands on her apron, having just finished cleaning the dishes from the meal.

  “A chessboard.”

  “I can see that,” she said, rolling her eyes but smiling. “What are you doing with it?”

  “I’ve been slowly carving it over time. I was planning to work on it more this evening.”

  She came over and stared down at the board. “You made this?”

  “Yes.”

  “The entire thing? The pieces, too?” She picked up one of the rooks and turned it over in her hand, examining it carefully.

  “That’s right,” he said. “I’ve always enjoyed fashioning things out of wood. I made this table. And the coatrack too.”

  “What is it made from?” Sarah asked, setting the rook back down and running her fingers over the checkered board.

  “The dark pieces are made from cherry and the light, hawthorn.”

  “It’s so well done.” There was an unmistakable note of admiration in her voice.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re just going to let this sit up here? With no one to see it?”

  “I don’t get many visitors here,” he replied. “Which is how I like it. Present company notwithstanding, of course.”

  She twisted a dark curl over her finger. “I love to play chess,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes.

  “Do you?” Another surprise. “How did you learn?”

  She pulled out a chair and settled in. “Father was forever trying to teach Hart how to play. Hart hated it. So one day I asked Father if he’d teach me. He laughed at first, but when he stopped laughing and realized I was serious, he decided it would be a lark. Hart never did learn how to play properly, poor man.” She grinned. “I, however, never lose.”

  “Never?” Christian whistled. “That’s a strong word.”

  “Yes. And a true one.”

  “Careful. I might just begin to think you’re full of conceit after all.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “It’s not conceit if it’s true.”

  He gestured to the board. “By all means, then, my lady. Show me your skill.”

  “With pleasure.” She rubbed her hands together.

  Halfway through the game, Christian realized he was going to be beaten soundly. He and Sarah had spent the better part of the last hour teasing each other over the game. He decided to change the subject. Perhaps he might distract her.

  “What’s next?” he asked. “In your lesson plan for me?”

  “Trying to divert my attention, Mr. Forester?” Her alert eyes didn’t leave the board.

  “Absolutely,” he replied with a grin.

  She paused, stretched her arms high above her head, and continued to study the board. “I believe that would be reputation.”

  “Reputation?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “You know, reputation? A sort of popularity. What the gossips say about you. That sort of thing.”

  “I can tell you exactly what the gossips say about me. Absolutely nothing.”

  “Precisely, and that’s a problem. I always tell Meg, better to be gossiped about than to be ignored.”

  He snorted. “Does that comfort Meg?”

  “Of course not, but I have to say something uplifting. She’s my dearest friend.”

  He smiled at her and shook his head. “So I’m to make the gossips’ tongues wag?”

  “It’s all about making them wag in the right direction. I could give you the best clothing, teach you the best manners, and provide you with the most witty repartee, and none of it matters a pin without word spreading that you’re sought after.”

  Christian groaned. “Marvelous. How on earth am I to manage that?”

  Sarah’s eyes remained pinned to the board. “All you need is a young, popular, unmarried lady to tell her young, popular, unmarried lady friends that you are the catch of the Season. She must be unmarried. Hearing such gossip from the matrons is sure to send the unmarried ladies running in the opposite direction. It’s like hearing it from our mothers, I’m afraid.”

  “Which is another reason why my friends Lucy, Cassandra, and Jane can’t help me,” Christian replied.

  “Precisely.”

  “You truly believe that will work? Spreading a bit of gossip among the unmarried ladies?”

  “Of course.” Sarah shrugged. “How do you think the catch of the Season becomes the catch of the Season?”

  The side of Christian’s mouth quirked up in a grin. “A coveted title, a huge estate, and lots of money, of course.”

  She finally met his gaze. “No. It’s never that. Last Season the marquess was a catch because of his title, of course, but the Season before last it was Baron Bolt. And he was neither particularly rich nor particularly well titled.”

  Christian rubbed his chin. He still hadn’t shaved. No valet. No proper shaving utensils. He’d long since decided that Lady Sarah was just going to have to forgive him for his beard. That’s what she got for arriving unexpected at his hunting lodge.

  He considered her words. She was right. Baron Bolt had been the catch of the Season two Seasons ago. The man had half the female members of the ton chasing after him. “I always assumed it was because Baron Bolt was particularly handsome, or so the ladies seemed to think.”

  “No more handsome than you,” Lady Sarah said just before making her next move on the chessboard.

  “I’d thank you for the compliment if you hadn’t just captured my bishop.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied with a grin, clutching the vanquished bishop in her fist.

  Christian studied the board, plotting his next move. “So you’re saying it isn’t about one’s clothing, money, or title?”

  Sarah propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “It is about those things if they’re missing or inadequate, but if they’re there, it’s merely a matter of generating the right sort of word of mouth.”

  Christian continued to study the board. “That sounds preposterous, you know.”

  Sarah laughed. “You’re the one who suggested I waltz back home pretending I’ve been visiting. You understand how it works.”

  Christian rubbed his beard again. “God help me, I believe you’re right. But who would be willing to spread such gossip? I’m not exactly rich in unmarried, young, popular lady acquaintances. I might add that if I were, I might not have this problem to begin with.”

  “Why, you ask one of them for a favor, of course. Haven’t you ever asked for a favor?”

  Christian stared blankly at the chessboard.

  “You haven’t, have you?” Sarah’s voice was incredulous.

  “Haven’t what?”

  “Ever asked for a favor.”

  “What does this have to do with chess?” Christian made an idiotic move that put one of his knights at risk. He cursed under his breath.

  Sarah stopped studying the board to look at him. “It’s all right, you know.”

  “What is?”

  “To ask for a favor. People do it all the time. You’ve granted me a favor by allowing me to remain here.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?” he asked softly.

  “What if what doesn’t work?”

  “The rumors? The reputation?”

  “That’s simple,” she said, returning her attention to the board and easily capturing his knight. “If the rumors don’t work, set your sights on the most sought-after lady in the crowd. If she notices you, all the others will, too.”

  Christian shook his head, marveling at her words. “You ladies are devious.”

  “No, we’re practical.”

  “Practically evil.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Very well. Any suggestions of wh
om I might ask for such a favor?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and gazed at him skeptically. “Really?”

  “Really what?”

  “You cannot be that dense. You happen to have a young, unmarried, popular female sitting directly across from you and, by the by, she owes you a favor.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “You’re going to help me?” Christian asked, blinking at her incredulously.

  “Why wouldn’t I? As soon as Mrs. Goatsocks and I return to London and say we’ve been visiting friends to the north, hopefully the gossip will die down soon enough. If you return to London just as the next Season begins, I’m certain I can help you before I become an old married lady myself.” She grinned at him and rubbed her hands together as she studied the chessboard.

  Christian sighed and contemplated his defeat. “Go ahead. There’s my queen. Finish me off.”

  Sarah did so in two easy moves.

  “You’re quite good at chess,” he admitted.

  “And you are quite good at carving.” She examined the queen closely. “It’s absolutely amazing how detailed the pieces are.”

  “It’s just something I do to pass the time.”

  “If this is something you do to pass the time, I’d like to see what you’re truly skilled at.”

  That statement hung in the air for a bit, making Sarah blush until Christian chuckled and said, “Obviously not at attracting ladies.” He gathered the pieces together to put them back in the wooden box he’d carved for their storage. “Anything else to teach me? About the fairer sex, I mean.”

  “Oh, yes. I nearly forgot. When you pay the lady of your choosing a call, don’t bring roses. Anything but roses.”

  “Why not roses?” He set the pieces gingerly inside the velvet-lined box.

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Everyone brings roses. It shows absolutely no imagination whatsoever.”

  He cracked a smile. “Shouldn’t you merely be glad to have received flowers?”

  “Well, of course, but if you want to stand out in a crowd of suitors, you’ll have to do better than roses.”

  “Fine. No roses. Duly noted. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Tell her that her hair looks pretty.”

  “What if it doesn’t?”

  Another eye roll. “Tell her regardless. We spend a great deal of time on our hair and we’re excessively fond of it.”