“What would you like to know?” She poked a bite of sausage into her mouth.
He looked thoughtful. “Whatever you wish to tell me.”
Cecelia thought as she chewed her food. Family seemed a safe enough topic of conversation. “I have an older sister, Arabella, who’s currently in France with her husband, Culpepper, and our parents. Culpepper’s mother was French and when she died a few years ago, he inherited a home in the Loire Valley. He and Arabella traveled to France once the peace talks began and when Arabella wrote that they were expecting their first child, Mama insisted that she and Papa go to France to be with her." She spread a small dab of butter on her scone.
"Arabella tends to be histrionic and my brother-in-law needed another male about to keep him sane. Papa’s very good at ignoring Arabella’s weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth as well as Mama’s tendency toward drama. Culpepper needs to learn to do the same if he’s to survive a lifetime with my sister." She stopped long enough to roll her eyes. "I would imagine he and Papa spend a good deal of time in hiding either playing billiards or cards or riding the estate.
“Mama wrote that the Loire Valley is beautiful. I’ve never been to France and now that we seem to have achieved some sort of peace I would like to go. Maybe once things are better settled around here.” She smiled wistfully then shrugged. “All in good time, I suppose."
He rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he gazed at her. "Please continue, my lady. I would like to hear more."
His expression was unnervingly intense and she took a sip of tea, trying to gather her thoughts.“I was acquainting you with my family, wasn’t I? I also have a sister-in-law named Priscilla, whom I love dearly. She married my brother, Eugene, a few months ago. They’re in Surrey, now. I suppose I miss her more than anyone. And there’s Aunt Mirabella who has her own home in Bath but she spends most of her time in Surrey or Mayfair with us. She has twelve terriers she’s named after Roman and Greek gods and they drive everyone batty. I love animals but in this case twelve terriers are eleven too many. They are completely out of control. Though if it hadn’t been for Ulysses escaping the garden, Priscilla and Eugene might have never married.” She paused. “I suppose that sounded rather odd. I really am babbling, now, aren’t I? Are you certain I’m not boring you?”
His lips curved into a smile. “Not at all. In fact it grows more interesting by the moment. I wonder at the names. Arabella and Mirabella? Family names, perhaps?”
She grinned and nodded. “And Mama’s name is Isabella. For some reason the addition of bella to one’s Christian name seems to bring on nervous tendencies. Thank goodness, Papa put his foot down when I was born. Even Papa couldn’t have borne four difficult females and he’s very mild mannered.” She finished the last of her tea. “Have you anything planned for the afternoon?”
He held out his hands. “Surprisingly enough, it happens that my afternoon is open.”
“If you’d like, I could take you on a tour of the house after lunch. You’ll need to learn your way around. I must admit that when we first arrived I considered leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind me when I went exploring, but our housekeeper is very efficient and they would have been swept up before I could find my way back.”
“It is not a modest building,” he agreed. “It would be easy to lose one’s way.”
“Much of it has been closed off and I’m still puttering about trying to decide what chambers to open up as we will soon be having guests. And there are still areas I’ve yet to see so it should be interesting for both of us.”
“I would very much enjoy a tour.”
Her eyes brightened. “Oh brilliant, as I would enjoy the companionship. I made the mistake of taking Rosie and David exploring with me the second day we were here and I’ve decided to wait at least another ten years before I try that again.”
“They are exuberant?”
“Exceedingly.” She glanced at the gilded cartel clock on the wall. “I tutor them in the morning along with Billy, he’s quite a bit older, and I should leave soon if I’m not to set a bad example by arriving late.”
His brows practically rose to his hairline. “You are their tutor?”
She could not help but notice the astonished look on his face. It hadn’t been her intent to shock him but it seemed that she had. “I know it isn’t quite the thing for the Marchioness of Clarendon to act as tutor to three children.”
“It is most unusual,” he agreed. His tone and expression were more guarded but she could still sense his dismay at the unconventional task she had taken on.
“I take it you don’t approve.”
“I did not mean to criticize. It is only that I am surprised.”
“As absurd as this might seem to some, I feel as if I’m contributing something important to their lives and I like that feeling. And I do love the little imps. It took all of five seconds for them to find their way into my heart.” She smiled disarmingly. “I admit it took much longer than that to get my husband to agree to my idea of tutoring them but after a good bit of cajoling he relented.”
She set her napkin aside and rose before he could assist her. “I must dash upstairs. Would you like Winston to show you to the library? There are a number of newspapers and periodicals there, though I’m afraid most of the books are quite ancient and, at least to my way of thinking, terribly dull. Have you read Pride and Prejudice?” She caught the blank expression on his face and flushed. “I beg your pardon. You wouldn’t know. It’s a very clever book. I’ve ordered several copies along with crates and crates of additional books, but they’ve not yet arrived.” She stopped at the threshold and dipped a curtsy. “Enjoy the rest of your morning, monsieur. I will see you later today.”
André heard the soft mummer of her voice as she spoke to someone in the corridor and allowed himself to expel a long breath. The effect she had on him was extraordinary. He was fairly certain that he didn’t normally indulge in humor and light-hearted banter. In fact, the notion seemed absurd. Yet, he had flirted shamelessly and she had shown every sign of enjoying it, as had he. His only thought had been to please her. How was he able to slip into another persona so easily?
“Sir?”
Surprised, André looked up. The butler had entered the salon.
“Lady Clarendon has suggested that you might like to see the library.”
“Qui. Merci.” He pushed back his chair and rose. The library would be secluded and he decided that if he couldn’t be in the marchioness’s company, he preferred to be alone.
With considerable dismay, Rand surveyed the charred remains of what had been a newly repaired cottage. Lightning had likely struck the thatched roof and though the night's deluge put out the fire, the cottage had been completely gutted. Other than the stone fireplace, nothing was salvageable. They would need to clear it all away and begin all over again. Wet ashes stuck to his boots and the smell of smoke hung heavily in the air. He kicked at a smoking shard of wood. “Hell and damnation,” he muttered. “What a mess. At least it didn’t spread. I’m out a bit of blunt and we’ve lost some time. It could have been far worse.”
He called out to Whitley who was watching his men raking debris into a large pile. “I’ve heard lightning never strikes the same place twice. Do you suppose it’s true?”
Whitley looked up. “Wouldn’t put any stock in it, milord. There’s a big oak tree near Essex that’s been hit three times. It’s an ugly thing; all black ‘n splintered to pieces but nobody’ll cut it down. Locals think it’ll bring bad luck.”
Rand grimaced. “Is there any lumber left from that last delivery?”
“Not much. Part of what was delivered was too green to use. We’re waiting…” Whitley’s eyes narrowed as his voice trailed off.
Rand followed his line of vision. One of the men recruited from the village was staring dumbly at the burned out torch he held in his hand.
“Christ!” Rand strode toward him. “Where did you find that?”
“Laying on
the grass, milord.” He pointed to a spot about ten feet away. “Right ‘n plain sight. Like somebody wanted it to be found.”
“Looks like we have a bigger problem than we thought,” Whitley said grimly as he came up beside Rand. “Who would do something like this?”
Rand sighed heavily. “My neighbors are unhappy with me, but I can’t see it going this far.” He thought for a moment. “Tell your men to keep this quiet. I don’t want word of this get out. Least of all, to my wife.”
“I’m very impressed,” Cecelia commented to André as she locked the door to the stillroom behind them. “You’re far more knowledgeable about the workings of a stillroom than I am.” She slipped the ring of keys into her pocket. “Could it be that you’re a famous chemist who was on the verge of discovering a cure for typhoid or some other horrific malady? Or perfecting a compound that will make crops produce threefold and hens lay two eggs a day?”
“You give me too much credit, my lady. It would be nice to believe that I could bring about such miracles, but I doubt my skills could rival those of a chemist much less one of such extraordinary expertise. I would assume my knowledge comes from observation and not practical use.”
She placed her hand in the crook of his arm and they headed for the stairs. “I admit that it’s something I never wanted to learn. I’ve always been afraid I’d pick the wrong thing and accidentally poison someone. And after a number of failed attempts at making restorative tea, Mama agreed it was not my calling. It seemed that no matter what I did, everything smelled of vinegar.” She wore an impish grin. “Another feminine pursuit I’ve managed to escape.”
She took a step forward then, felt a sudden flutter of unease as if she were slightly off balance. She came to a halt, gripping his sleeve as she swayed. Her vision clouded then cleared again.
He looked at her with concern. “Are you alright, madam?”
She waited a moment, then gave a slight nod of the head. Whatever it was, had passed. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Are you certain?”
“I am. Would you like me to show you the billiard room? Men always seem to like billiards, though I don’t understand why it’s considered a man’s game. It takes expertise and precision rather than strength. I’ve always wanted to learn to play Mama but nixed the idea. She said it was bad enough that Papa taught me how to handle a bow and arrow.”
“It’s my turn to be impressed. You are a woman of many talents. Do you fence as well?” he asked with a smile.
She broke into a peal of laughter. “Now that would be truly beyond the pale wouldn’t it?” She lifted her skirt a few inches and preceded him up the steps. “Even for me.” Stopping at the top of the steps, she waited. “The easiest way to get to the billiard room is through the gallery.”
“I don’t mean to be forward but I would be happy to teach you to play billiards. That is, if your husband would not object.”
She broke into a radiant smile. “How wonderfully scandalous!” She paused and her smile widened. “You remember the game?”
He returned her smile. “I believe I do.”
“But that’s splendid! Not just because you’ll teach me but because you’ve remembered something else. And yes, I would love it if you would teach me to play billiards. Though I’ll be running dreadfully short of time with the house party coming up and I’ve told myself that I won’t skimp on the children’s lessons because of it.” Her brow crinkled as she thought. “Let me see what I can do about my schedule. It may need to wait a few weeks but I would so love to surprise my husband.”
André frowned at this. “He would not mind?”
She grinned. “Only if I were skilled enough to best him. And that will be my ultimate goal. I’m afraid I tend to be rather competitive. It isn’t particularly gracious but I don’t seem to be able to help myself.” They rounded the corner and she stopped. “Here we are.”
They reached the gallery. It seemed to go on forever. The mahogany paneled walls were lined with gilt framed portraits of sober faced aristocrats. Candelabras as tall as a man were set back into the windowed recesses that admitted enough sun to light the gallery but not fall directly on the paintings.
“Rather daunting, isn’t it?” Cecelia remarked. “I do hope they weren’t all as miserable as they look. I believe there’s an unwritten rule that one is not allowed to smile while having their portrait done. When mine is painted, I’m going to smile until my cheeks freeze.”
“You will have the artist entranced. I daresay he will be able to capture your beauty but not your spirit.” He paused and the expression on his face grew more serious. “I’m not certain anyone could.”
She laughed. “Your flattery makes you a welcome guest, monsieur.” Stopping in front of a portrait of a severe looking man wearing a long, tightly curled dark wig and an impressive flounce of lace at his collar and wrists, she tilted her head and pursed her lips. “The poor man looks as if someone just died.”
“These are your husband’s ancestors? I see no resemblance.”
“Only in a very distant fashion. We know almost nothing about them. What little I know comes from Mrs. Brice and Miss Mae. And other than other than the foolish things his predecessors did with the estate, Rand--Clarendon has no interest. Of course, he’s very busy now. Oh.” Without warning the floor pitched and rolled and her world spun. She took a wobbly step and felt André’s arm curl around her waist to steady her.
“Mon dieu. You are unwell?”
She sagged against him. Gradually the feeling subsided. Not quite certain what had happened she blinked and shook her head. “How odd. I’m--I’m fine. It was just a bit lightheaded.”
“You must sit down. Let me take you to a chair and then I’ll ring for a servant.” He continued to keep his arm around her. His face was so close to hers she felt his breath on her cheek.
“No, please. I’m fine.”
Anxious to rid himself of the stench of his smoke-scented clothing and take a hot bath, Rand took the steps two at a time. He rounded the corner onto the gallery but the sight of André’s arm around Cecelia’s waist and his head bent toward hers brought him to an abrupt halt. His fists clenched. Their backs were to him, but he had seen enough. “Good afternoon.” His voice was quiet, but iced with fury.
André’s arm fell away and Cecelia turned when they heard his voice. “Oh, Rand. I was...” The rest of her sentence caught in her throat when she looked up at his face.
“Lady Clarendon was kind enough to show me the gallery,” André finished for her.
“So I see.” He nodded curtly at André before taking Cecelia’s arm. “I trust you enjoyed your excursion, but if you will excuse us, monsieur, I must speak with my wife.” Without waiting for an answer he pulled Cecelia down the gallery and up the stairs to the third floor. Neither spoke until they reached the privacy of their bedchamber, but it was obvious that her anger was mounting. By the time he had shoved the door shut with the heel of his boot, her fury had caught up with his. She yanked her arm away from his grasp. “What on earth is the matter with you? You were unbearably rude. Lord only knows what he thinks of us.”
The line of Rand’s jaw was rigid and his eyes blazed. “I find my wife in the arms of another man and you think I’m rude? I don’t give a damn what he thinks of us. I’ve had a trying day and the last thing I needed to see was some stranger’s paws all over you. You didn’t appear particularly upset by his advances. What in God’s name, were you thinking? Memory or not, if it happens again I promise you I’ll be inviting our guest to meet me at dawn.”
Her eyes widened at his comment. “But that’s absurd. His paws weren’t all over me. I wasn’t in his arms. And he most assuredly wasn’t making advances. If you’d bother to ask, you would know that I was feeling lightheaded and he put an arm out to steady me. Would you have preferred that I fell? Or don’t you believe me?”
He studied her a moment. Her eyes were bright but her skin was unusually pale with two spots of color on her cheeks. �
�Are you ill?”
“Of course not. I was simply a little lightheaded. It lasted all of five seconds.”
“Were you faint?”
“No.” Her voice rose. “I’m perfectly fine. I’m not ill and I don’t faint. My sister does enough of that for both of us.”
Satisfied with her explanation, he was quiet a moment. He didn’t doubt her honesty or her faithfulness, only her wisdom in dealing with André. “It is completely inappropriate for you to be alone with him,” he said more calmly. “It will encourage gossip.”
She was far from calm. “I am a wife, not some virginal maiden, and I don’t need to be chaperoned every minute to protect my virtue! I am also his hostess. I simply offered to show him our home. He hasn’t anything to occupy his time. He doesn’t know anyone. He’s a guest in our home and as you weren’t here, I was making an attempt to be hospitable. Maybe you should make a list of what I’m not allowed to do as I’m unable to grasp your way of thinking.”
“These are not ordinary circumstances, Cecelia. We know nothing about him. You simply can’t go off alone with him. We don’t know what kind of a man he is.”
“We know nothing about him because he knows nothing about himself! Can you imagine how awful that must be? And we weren’t alone. There were servants just down the corridor.”
“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“And how is that?”
“Christ!” He raked his hand through his hair. “You don’t even realize it do you? Last night he barely took his eyes off you. I don’t trust him.”
She sniffed. “That’s ridiculous. He simply needs a friend.”
“He’s a man and a man needs more than just friends.”
She stared at him. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”
He ignored the sudden urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “That was uncalled for Cecelia. Completely and utterly uncalled for.” A sudden thought came to him and his gaze dropped to her belly. “Are you carrying?”
The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) Page 28
