Briella loved the floating steps of the waltz. “Ah, si! This, I like very much,” she exclaimed as Monsieur Robert whirled her around and around in the mansion’s unoccupied ballroom. Dancing with a male partner was definitely to her liking.
And so it went, over and over for three weeks until Briella was ready to tear out her hair. Etiquette lessons were drummed into her head until she could repeat them in her sleep, or so it seemed.
* * * *
After their ride in the meadow, Antonio had invited Hal and his sister to visit Westhaven Hall to see his Spanish Andalusians. Caroline had sent her regrets, pleading another headache. Although Hal expressed her disappointment, Antonio was certain he knew the reason. Perhaps, he had pressed too hard and fast during his last meeting with her. Unfortunately, he had to be in London with his sister and grandmother, and he put Caroline out of his mind for the present.
The day to leave Kent approached. Weston House in London had been refurbished and polished in anticipation of the upcoming London Season. The Thorndyke entourage left in a caravan of carriages, fourgons, baggage, ladies’ maids, footmen, horses and grooms.
Acting as escort during his sister’s debut, Antonio believed his ducal consequence must be good for something, so he made appearances at many of the prominent balls and entertainments. Hal also mentioned to Antonio that he’d be in London for some of the festivities. He offered to fill in as escort whenever it was needed. Antonio surmised it wasn’t only goodwill that prompted his friend’s offer. Hal was infatuated with Briella. Unfortunately, Antonio also sensed that his sister did not harbor the same romantic tendre for the earl.
* * * *
A steady stream of invitations flowed into Weston House now that the knocker was on the door and the Dowager Duchess was in residence with her grandchildren.
Elizabeth dressed meticulously as always in a fashionable gown and soft, leather slippers even when staying at home. This morning she asked that her chair be drawn closer to the small fire burning in the grate. A fluffy, Kashmir shawl was draped over her shoulders to fend off the slight chill that seemed to permeate the town house’s small family parlor even on warm days.
One by one, she sat and opened the heavy vellum envelopes comprising a neat stack on the table next to her. Elizabeth perused each gilt-edged invitation. Meanwhile, her granddaughter paced, wearing the nap off the Aubusson carpet in the parlor. Briella was more restless than ever on this particular day.
“Briella, please desist. I’m dizzy with your tramping back and forth,” the aged duchess admonished. “I fully understand your impatience, m’dear, but your first appearance in society is extremely important. It must be handled just so. Once you are presented to the queen this coming Friday, everything else will run smoothly. You’ll be too busy to think. For now, I must attend to this mountain of invitations and select only the most prestigious ones for our acceptance.”
Peering out at the dreary day, not raining but blanketed with heavy cloud cover, Briella couldn’t contain her edginess. “Grandmama, if I can’t remove myself from confinement soon, I fear I shall become rematado—a-a raving maniac. I must ride, please! No one of consequence will be in the Park during this miserable weather. Let me take Luis with me, just for an hour,” she pleaded. “I will speak to no one, I promise. I beg you will let me go.”
“Come, come, gel. Has it gotten that bad? I had no idea you were stretched so tight.” Elizabeth eyed her granddaughter’s expression and sighed aloud. “Ah, well, if that indeed is the case, then, Briella, have your ride.”
“Oh, Grandmama! Gracias! Thank you!” Briella exclaimed happily, smiling brightly as she planted a quick kiss on the old lady’s wrinkled cheek.
“But mind you, no racing about. A ladylike pace only, using the sidesaddle. Attend me, Briella, for I will not have you disgracing us before we even get started.”
“Morris! Morris!” Briella called to the Weston House butler as she started to leave the room.
Seated in her cushioned chair, Lady Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose in exasperation, not for the first time. “You forget, Briella, you must always speak softly,” she patiently admonished her granddaughter again.
“Oh, sorry, abuelita.”
Morris entered the foyer from a side hall, his stride measured and precise, his face expressionless. “Bueno, Morris, there you are! Please send someone to the stables. Have Luis saddle my mare and a mount for himself. We are going riding in the park,” she said joyfully.
Briella was off, racing along the hallway, through the foyer, and up the stairs to her bedchamber, lifting skirts high so as not to trip, and taking two steps at a time in an unseemly manner while rushing to don her riding habit.
Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile. She was doing all she could to launch this young spitfire properly, but she rolled her eyes and inhaled a needed breath. The girl was a tempestuous bundle of fireworks waiting to go off in all directions. The Beau Monde was in for a whale of a surprising Season. Elizabeth had every reason to believe Briella would take the ton by storm.
“Ah yes, unless I miss my guess, my granddaughter is, indeed, an ‘Original’, a diamond of the first water,” the old lady bragged aloud as she counted the mounting pile of invitations waiting for acceptance. If she played her cards right, Briella would be London’s newest ‘Toast.’
Elizabeth laid her elegantly coiffed head against the high backed chair and dreamily gazed into the fire’s low flames. Was it really almost sixty years ago she’d made just such a splash at her come out? A smile twitched her rouged lips when she remembered. What a time she’d had! All those dashing young, aristocratic bucks lavishing attention on her, showering her with flowers and tokens of esteem. Ah yes, the balls, the routs, the elegant house parties that lasted for weeks. The music, the operas with their rich-toned Italian sopranos and deep-voiced baritones striding about like gaudy peacocks onstage. There was the glitter of the Drury Lane Theater, and the magic and laughter of Shakespeare’s titillating farces. She recalled promenading along Rotten Row surrounded by admirers wanting only a brief word or a smile from her to make their day complete. Ah, yes, she mused. I remember it well. It will be exciting to relive it again through Briella’s triumphs.
“Demned if I’m not looking forward to it,” Elizabeth muttered. “Gives a body reason to get up in the morning.”
Chapter 8
Mid-May, 1845
The Kent fields and woodlands were painted in glorious shades of green, dotted with touches of pink, white, lilac and yellow. Wildflowers spread across lush, grassy meadows, their stems swaying like delicate, frothy-skirted ballet dancers in the warm breezes. Birdsong warbled through the air, sounds varied and sweet to the ear. England’s springtime was everything one could wish for.
The day was not yet as warm as promised at nine o’clock. Caroline rose and breakfasted as usual. Hal was in London. He had been there for the past few weeks. Since she was in charge at the manor while he was away, Caroline liked to put the routine business of the day behind her as soon as possible.
Crestwood’s steward, John Crowley, met with Caroline several times a week as did his wife and housekeeper, Anna. There were tenants’ needs to be addressed, errands to be run, and invitations to answer now that she was coming out of mourning. Done with their early morning meeting, Caroline found everything was complete and in good order.
Deciding it was much too pleasant to waste a beautiful day, she sent word for William to have Demon saddled and went to don her male riding clothes. Hal wasn’t around to disapprove, and she’d heard the duke was in London. All was clear. She left the manor for a long solo ride and a lazy picnic.
Caroline and Demon were enjoying their morning outing. How she loved the big horse. The stallion had been foaled the year her mother died. Her father, seeking to give his daughter something to fill the emptiness in her heart, promised the colt to her. William trained Demon up from a rank yearling while he lavished equestrian lessons on the young, female rider. By the time Demon w
as four and Caroline ten and four, a solid bond developed between the animal and rider that only another avid horse person could understand and appreciate.
As Caroline was turning the stallion onto a path that led back toward Crestwood, a devilish idea struck her. The sun was much hotter than it was earlier in the day, and she had developed a thirst along with her hunger. The brook that cut across Westhaven’s lands was a short distance away. It would be a cool spot to water Demon and quench her thirst. She knew it was always shady beneath the drooping willow branches—a perfect spot to relax while Demon grazed, and she ate her bread and cheese.
A half-forgotten promise she’d made to the duke, pledging she wouldn’t trespass on Westhaven property without permission pinched at her, until she erased the vow from her mind, deciding his silly rule was quite ridiculous. She’d ridden across Westhaven lands many times before, and James and Lorena never minded.
The day was hot and sultry, and Caroline was perspiring. Temptation was great. Wetness trickled down the valley between her breasts. The damp linen shirt clung to her shoulder blades. The thought of sloshing on some water to cool her cheeks and elsewhere was irresistible. Being stubborn, she forgot the duke’s command, set her jaw, turned away from the path, and headed for the meadow and the shady haven adjacent to the shallow stream.
* * * *
Today, since the weather was admirable, Antonio decided a canter across the countryside would do him a world of good. He might even drop by Crestwood Manor. Yes, that was an excellent idea. He could take the shortcut through the meadow. He’d make up an excuse to call on Caroline Lockler although the real reason was that he wanted to see her again.
He’d spent six weeks in London with Briella, Aunt Mari, and his grandmother. After her presentation to Queen Victoria, he had escorted his sister to numerous balls, musicales, routs, and other galas at which his grandmother thought they should make an appearance. His sister did not lack for admirers although Hal was most often in her company. The earl was in London for another week.
With her exotic coloring and extraordinary beauty, Antonio heard Briella touted as the ‘Dark Incomparable.’ Her lilting, Spanish accent, so like his, encouraged, not discouraged her acceptance, and he was glad for her. He noticed, too, several of his former classmates were under Briella’s spell. They cozened up to him so they might place higher in her estimation. Probably, it was his elevation to the title. Or perhaps, times had changed, Antonio realized. The younger members of the ton no longer held their foreign, Spanish/Catholic background against either him or his sister.
During the past several weeks Antonio and his aristocratic companions had managed to spend time in some of the best bawdyhouses and gaming hells in London, but two days ago, five hundred guests or more had jammed into what was deemed one of the most prestigious and extravagant affairs of the Season, and Antonio had hated every minute of it.
Excusing himself from London’s festivities for a time by asking Hal to take over escort duty, Antonio decided to check on the progress of the construction at Westhaven Hall. After inspecting the work with his Uncle Carlos, he was pleased. However, while on his way to Kent, Antonio had realized his sexual excursions into gratification in Town were less than satisfactory. His physical needs had been satisfied, but something was missing. Perhaps it was time for him to set up a permanent mistress. He considered the thought briefly then forgot about it.
* * * *
When Caroline reached the stream, she halted and dismounted. She slipped Demon’s bridle off and loosened the girth on the flat saddle to give him some ease. The horse made his way to the stream by himself and dipped his muzzle into the water. Swishing his mouth around, he snorted loudly. She grinned at his obvious enjoyment, thinking his drink must’ve tasted good.
Caroline plopped down onto the cool grass. Leaning against the trunk in the shade of the feathery branches of a willow, she munched on her lunch. Demon meandered a short distance away, browsing the thicker grass along the streambed. Caroline sighed. The water looked delightfully refreshing where it bubbled over a series of small boulders and eddied in calmer pools. She knew there were fish in the stream. James had often brought his young son, Joshua, there to angle. The sharp memory of Joshua, Lorena and James Thorndyke’s deaths filled Caroline again with sadness.
It also brought to mind James’s successor.
Six weeks had passed, but Caroline had no trouble recalling her last meeting with Antonio. Unconsciously, she had monitored the time he had been away. For reasons she'd rather not accept, she'd been plagued by a hollow spot inside her that ached to be filled by his presence.
How foolish can I be? I mean nothing to him. Why should I miss him, of all people?
She scolded herself, knowing she thought of him too often, reliving those moments in Hal’s study. He had been teasing her, she decided, nothing more. He’d mauled her with his eyes though, and with those sly innuendoes. So far, she was unable to formulate anything to bring him down a peg for his insolence, and with him in Town and her in Kent, it wasn’t likely they’d meet again soon.
Finished eating, Caroline knotted the remains of her bread and cheese in a scarf, depositing the cloth bundle beneath the tree’s swaying branches. She slipped off her boots and stockings and placed them next to her leftovers. Then she rolled her breeches up above her calves. It was a short walk to the inviting water of the stream. Dipping the toes of one foot in first, she laughed out loud. Finally, she waded out into the shallows, letting the water level rise to just below her kneecaps.
Undoing several buttons, she stooped and scooped up two handfuls of water, closing her eyes and splashing the icy liquid over her forehead and cheeks. The water drenched the front of her shirt. “Umm, this is wonderful,” she said with a sigh of satisfaction. She heard Demon nicker but she ignored him. Yanking shirttails out of her breeches, she dried her wet cheeks. She was pushing some errant locks out of her eyes when she looked up and saw him.
Oh my Lord! The Duke!
Caroline’s face mirrored her shock. She believed him in Town, chasing petticoats.
“Your Grace!” she stammered without thinking. “W-what are you doing here?”
Antonio stood a short distance from the water’s edge, toying with the reins of Challenger’s bridle. He was dressed casually in a shirt and tight buckskin breeches. He tapped a riding crop lazily against one leather booted calf.
“This is my property. Why shouldn’t I be here?”
Uh-oh, Caroline thought. He’s going to be difficult. I know it.
“The question, Senora, is what are you doing here? I was given no notice that you wished to use my stream for your…umm…daily bath.”
“What?” Taken aback, Caroline blinked up at him in dazed astonishment.
Then suddenly she realized how disheveled she looked. Her shirt was open halfway to her waist. Shirttails were hanging out of her breeches. Both shirt and abbreviated chemise were soaked through and clung to the skin of her chest.
“You-Your Grace!” she repeated, totally embarrassed. “Please!” she exclaimed, attempting to pull her shirt closed. With a nervous shake of her head, she tossed the sopping ends of hair sticking to her face and swung them over a shoulder. “Turn your back and have the decency to allow me to make myself presentable!”
Antonio smirked and made no move to comply. Instead, he continued to stare. His intense gaze roamed appreciatively over her exposed bosom and even lower to her thighs, bare calves, and back up again.
Horrified, Caroline looked down at herself after his sharp-eyed perusal. Her deep pink areolas, centered with proud nipples, had hardened from the chilly water and were easily apparent through the sodden shirt and chemise. There was no way she could escape his eyes other than to turn her back.
Which is exactly what she did.
She saw the light of mischief dancing in Antonio’s dark eyes when she glanced over her shoulder. His teeth gleamed between smiling lips as she watched him tether Challenger to a small bush. Caroline
heard him chuckle, certain his wicked laugh spelled trouble.
Antonio returned to his original vantage point.
Caroline was even more discombobulated when she realized her behind now faced him with an excellent view when it was encased in the skintight breeches. She was sure he was appraising its size and rounded shape, too.
How can he be such an uncharitable beast, staring at me so wickedly?
Caroline cringed beneath his ungentlemanly perusal. A flush crept up from her bare chest like mercury in a thermometer, rising out of the open necked shirt. Heat flamed over her cheeks.
How long is the Spanish devil going to keep me trapped in this stream?
Antonio crossed his arms and waited stolidly, as if he had all the time in the world. “Well, Caro, you must either come out now—or come out later. It’s up to you. I have no pressing business, so I will await your decision.”
The impudent rogue! Is he really going to treat me so humiliatingly?
“Your Grace, if you please…”
Her voice trembled with impotence although the words were enunciated clearly—in a haughty tone—at least as haughty as her embarrassing predicament allowed. “You’re being despicable, you know. I assure you I won’t forgive your loathsome behavior.”
“You challenge me, my lady?”
She watched his expressive eyebrows inch skyward.
“You are here on my property uninvited. Isn’t it my prerogative to exact some sort of penalty or, even perhaps, some recompense from a trespasser?”
She watched him sidle closer to the edge of the water. No more than an arm’s length separated them. One tanned hand rested on his lean hip. His crop was tucked under the other armpit. His handsome face didn’t express a clue as to what he was thinking as he waited for Caroline’s reaction.
Flustered, hardly knowing what to say, she grasped at the first flimsy excuse that came to mind. “F-forgive me, Your Grace. I merely stopped to have a picnic.” The words were forced out of her lips between clenched teeth. “It was hot and I was very thirsty, so I…” An explanation slowly rolled into a murmured apology. “Well, then,” she said. “I suppose I should be sorry.” She griped inwardly, still flabbergasted after hearing the duke’s odious accusations.
The Reluctant Duke Page 7
