The Bridal Quest

by Candace Camp

  Chapter Eleven

  Irene was wise enough to know that Lady Odelia was baiting her. She hoped, no doubt, to make Irene jealous with the mention of the other women and the suggestion that Lord Radbourne might choose one of them instead.

  Irene, however, had no intention of being manipulated by Lady Odelia or anyone else. She reminded herself that it made no difference to her whether Gideon chose another woman for his wife, though she was honest enough to admit that she had felt a twinge of what she supposed might be jealousy at the thought of him marrying another. After all, over the course of the time she had been here, she had begun to like Gideon, and she could not help but think that if she were of a mind to marry, he might well be the man she would choose. And it was a rather heady sensation to be pursued by so eligible and attractive a man as Lord Radbourne.

  But she was not going to marry, and she was not so weak as to allow her mind to be swayed by feelings of lust or pride. She sincerely hoped that she was not so ignoble as to wish for him not find happiness with some other woman if she herself would not marry him. So she was determined to ignore the little barbs that afflicted her now and then when she looked at Gideon and thought of him wooing another.

  She stayed steadfast in her decision to quell the vanity that had inspired her to wear prettier dresses and arrange her hair in a soft, inviting style. There was no point in attracting Gideon's attention; indeed, it worked against her wishes. Moreover, she felt that returning to her old style sent an overt message to him and the matchmakers that she had no intention of trying to catch his favor.

  They continued with the dancing lessons, as well as the rather stilted conversations between the three of them that were meant to improve the earl's social skills, but Irene made sure to maintain a correct distance between herself and Gideon, as well as a rather formal tone. She noticed a certain puzzlement in Francesca's eyes and an irritating amusement in his, but she strove not to let his attitude bother her. No doubt he wanted to goad her into one of their arguments. However, she was as aware as he that their arguments always resulted in an upheaval of emotions and produced a sort of intimacy that her pleasant-but-distant attitude discouraged.

  Over the course of the next few days they developed a loose schedule of working in the mornings, then stopping their lessons just before luncheon. In the afternoons Gideon disappeared into his office or on business about the estate, and Francesca and Irene were left on their own to do as they wished—at least sometimes. Francesca spent much of her time helping with the plans for the upcoming week, and as a consequence, Irene often found herself involved in the preparations, as well.

  Since interminable conversations regarding seating arrangements, floral decorations, menus and music bored her almost past bearing—and conversations about the merits of the various possible brides for Gideon were irritating in the extreme—Irene often avoided the drawing room after lunch, secreting herself in the library with a book or occupying herself in her room with the needlepoint she had been halfheartedly working on for the past month, or writing a letter to a friend or her brother.

  She would have preferred to take a long walk, but after her experience the first day she was at Radbourne Park, she had been reluctant to run the risk of running into Gideon. However, she grew more and more restless, so on her fourth afternoon of inactivity, she decided that a walk through the gardens would be safe enough. After all, if Gideon was locked up in his study or out looking at his lands, he would not be idling about in the gardens. And in just a few more days the other guests would begin arriving, which Irene feared meant that she would rarely have much chance to be by herself.

  She pulled her bonnet off the shelf and slipped out the back entrance onto the terrace, then down the steps into the upper garden, where she wandered onto the path, tying the strings of her hat as she went. With no destination in mind, she randomly took whatever paths forked off, looking at the autumn flowers. She stepped through a lattice archway, covered in ivy, and on the other side, as she turned to go through a gap in a hedge, she stopped.

  There, in front of her, a small boy was crouched, intently studying the progress of a snail across the path. He whirled at the sound of her approach, looking alarmed. But when he saw her, he relaxed and stood up.

  "Sorry," Irene said, smiling reassuringly. "I did not mean to frighten you."

  "I thought you were Miss Tyning," he told her confidentially. He was a pleasant-looking, sturdy lad of five, with a thatch of sandy hair and a sprinkling of freckles across his snub nose. His eyes were the same light blue as Teresa's, confirming Irene's guess that this must be Timothy, Teresa's son, who had been rather inexplicably invisible since her arrival.

  "She is my governess," he went on to explain. "And she will be ever so annoyed when she wakes up and sees that I've gone. But it was much too pretty a day to stay inside."

  "Much too pretty," Irene agreed solemnly.

  He regarded her for a moment. "You are the lady come to marry Gideon, aren't you?"

  Irene lifted her eyebrows. "I am Lady Irene Wyngate. I am here to help his lordship, but no, I have no plans to marry him."

  "That is what Mama says. She said it would never happen. But Lady Pencully said it would. And people always do what Lady Pencully wants."

  "Indeed?" Irene smiled faintly. "I imagine they do, most of the time. But I think, this once, she will not get her way."

  "Really? I hope not. I don't want Gideon to marry. Mama says that if he does, that will be the end of me."

  "The end of you?" Irene repeated, shocked. "Whatever do you mean?"

  Again he shrugged. "I don't know." He paused, then confided, "I think she does not like Gideon." He heaved a little sigh. "She does not like for me to be with him. But I like Gideon." His face lit up as he went on. "He is my brother, you know. I didn't have a brother until he came."

  "It's very nice to have a brother," Irene commented. "I have one, too."

  "Really? Is he as big as Gideon?"

  "No, I do not think so. Your brother is rather large."

  "I know. He says that I will be large one day, too. I hope so. I would like that."

  "I imagine he is right. Your uncle Jasper is tall, as well."

  Timothy nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, he is. Uncle Jasper is nice. But not as nice as Gideon. He doesn't say much to me. Mama doesn't like Uncle Jasper, either. But I don't think he's bad. Do you?"

  "I don't know him well enough to say. Nothing about him struck me as bad, though. He is a little quiet and stiff."

  "Gideon is much better," Timothy circled back to what was apparently one of his favorite subjects. "He likes to see the things I collect. Rocks and bugs and such. Sometimes in the afternoon he comes through the garden. That's why I come down here when Miss Tyning falls asleep."

  "I see." Irene cast a look around, her heart suddenly picking up its beat. Drat the man! Must he be everywhere? "Do you think that he will be here today?"

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  "Perhaps I should go back into the house then—so that you and your brother can have your talk."

  "He won't mind that you're here," Timothy assured her. "He likes people."

  "Really?" This was a side of Gideon Irene had never noticed.

  Timothy nodded. "He always talks to the gardeners and the grooms. Sometimes, when I sneak down to the kitchen for a snack, he's down there, talking and laughing with the cooks and the footmen and all. Except Horroughs." The boy pulled his face into a fair approximation of the butler's taut face. "I don't think Horroughs likes him."

  "I'm not sure Horroughs likes anyone," Irene commented.

  Timothy giggled and began to jump, chanting, "Horroughs doesn't like anyone. Horroughs doesn't like anyone."

  Irene watched the boy's antics, smiling. It was hard to imagine this cheerful, lively child being Teresa's son. Irene hoped that he would manage to remain relatively unspoiled by his mother's influence. At least he seemed to have disregarded her when it came to Gideon.

  Because
of the noise Timothy was making, she did not hear the crunch of boots along the path until they sounded right behind her. She whipped around to see Gideon stepping through the ivy-clad trellis that she had passed under a few moments earlier. He stopped when he saw her.

  "Ah. Lady Irene. I wondered who Timothy was talking to."

  "Lord Radbourne." She had delayed too long, she thought. She should have left as soon as Timothy had raised the possibility of Gideon appearing.

  It occurred to her that he might think she had come this way in an effort to meet him. There were women, she knew, who spent a great deal of time making careful, precise plans to run into a man "accidentally". The practice was particularly in use at house parties.

  "I was just out for a stroll when I ran into Master Timothy," she explained, then instantly regretted that she sounded as if she were making excuses for herself.

  "I told her you might come," Timothy said, jumping happily into the conversation. "And you did!"

  "Yes, I did. I am doubly glad that I did so now, as I get to see both you and Lady Irene." Gideon's face softened as he looked down at the boy, and he smiled, his usual wariness falling away. "What have you got to show me today?"

  Gideon squatted down beside the boy to be face-to-face with him. Timothy smiled and began to dig in his pockets, pulling forth a variety of treasure: rocks, marbles, a ha'penny, a bent and rusty nail and an old key.

  "My, look at that," Gideon commented, inspecting the items gravely. He picked up the key. "This looks as though it has been around for a long time. Someone must have been unhappy, don't you think, years ago when they lost it?"

  Timothy nodded and began to explain when and where he had found each of the things he had deemed worthy of being shown to Gideon. When he had finished this rambling discourse, he pulled Gideon over to show him the snail he had been watching earlier, only to find that the creature had finally made its way across the path and had disappeared beneath a bush.

  Irene, watching the two of them, was amazed at both Gideon's patience with the boy and his obvious affection for him. She would have said there was no softness in him, especially after the blunt set-down he had given the other evening to Lady Odelia.

  But there was no hint of the autocrat in the man who listened so carefully to the small boy. Nor would she have guessed that the man she saw now would be intent on marrying for such cool, unemotional, businesslike purposes.

  Gideon turned and saw her watching them, and he smiled at her. Her heart did a little turn in her chest as the full force of his easy, unfettered, genuinely happy smile hit her. The cold, hard angles of his face changed into a handsomeness that was both warm and compelling, pulling her in, and she could not have kept from smiling back at him even if she had wanted to.

  Gideon rose lithely to his feet. "Well, much as I enjoy talking with you, Timothy, and seeing your treasures, I suspect that the excellent Miss Tyning is no doubt searching madly for you. We should take you back to the house."

  The boy gave in without much complaining, and they turned to go back down the path. Gideon paused beside Irene. "Won't you walk with us, my lady?"

  "Yes, do," Timothy added, reaching out to take Irene's hand. He looked back toward Gideon and added confidingly, "I like her. She didn't scold me for getting dirty." He pointed toward the smudges on his knees where he had knelt on the path.

  "Lady Irene is a jewel among women," Gideon agreed, casting an amused glance at her.

  "I don't think she likes Horroughs, either," Timothy went on.

  At that statement, Gideon chuckled. "Then she is definitely worthy of our friendship."

  Timothy smiled happily. "I knew you'd like her." He turned to look up at Irene. "Are you going to come live here, too?"

  Irene ignored the sideways look Gideon sent her and told Timothy, "I am merely visiting. I shall be here only for a week or two."

  "Oh." Timothy looked downcast.

  They emerged into the upper garden. As soon as they did, they saw a thin, nervous-looking woman in a plain brown bombazine dress hurrying along the main path, glancing anxiously down each row of shrubs she passed.

  When the woman saw them, she let out a cry and hurried in their direction. "Master Timothy! There you are!"

  She came to a stop before them, managing to look both furious at Timothy's escape and cowed by the sight of the Earl of Radbourne.

  "I beg your pardon, my lord. I am so sorry if the boy has troubled you. I promise you it will not happen again," she said in a rush, reaching out to grab Timothy's other hand.

  Irene gave Timothy's hand a reassuring squeeze before she released it, but in fact, she could not see that he looked particularly frightened at the prospect of his governess's wrath.

  "Miss Tyning!" A shrill voice issued from above them on the terrace.

  They all looked up and saw Lady Teresa standing there, her pretty doll-like features twisted into an expression of venom. She lifted her skirts and hurried down the steps toward them.

  "Have you lost track of him again, Miss Tyning?" she exclaimed as she drew near, her voice high and shrewish. "I cannot conceive how a grown woman can be so easily outwitted by a five-year-old boy!"

  "I am sorry, my lady," Miss Tyning said softly, curtseying before Teresa, her eyes turned down to the ground. "I— I thought he was playing in his room, and I—"

  "He was merely in the garden," Irene put in, feeling sorry for the woman in the face of Teresa's anger. "He came to no harm."

  Teresa turned her glare on Irene. "And you, an unmarried woman, know so much about children," she said with withering disdain.

  Irene was not so easily intimidated as the governess, however, and she gazed back at Teresa with cool assurance. "I did not mean to discount the great worry that a concerned mother such as yourself must feel. Indeed, I am quite surprised that I have not seen Timothy before, for I am sure you must spend a great deal of time with him."

  Teresa bridled at the ironic undertone of Irene's words, but Irene went on before she could speak. "However, though I may not know much about children, I have a great deal of faith in the fact that there is little harm that could come to Lord Radbourne's brother on the grounds of Radbourne Park. Timothy may have been out of sight of the house, but he was definitely not out of hearing, and I dare swear there are gardeners working about the grounds who could help him. Why, in the short time he was out there, both Lord Radbourne and I chanced past where he was. So I think you may rest easy that he was in no danger."

  Teresa's glare remained unchanged. Without looking at either her son or his governess, she snapped, "Miss Tyning, take Timothy inside now. I will be up to deal with both of you later."

  "Yes, my lady." Again the governess bobbed her obeisance to Teresa, then headed for the terrace, dragging Timothy with her.

  The boy turned to look back at Gideon and Irene, and gave them an insouciant wave. Irene hid a smile at the gesture, but Gideon did not bother to hide his response and waved back.

  "Stay away from my son!" Teresa ordered, turning to Gideon.

  "I beg your pardon?" Gideon turned his gaze on her, flat and black, unyielding.

  "You heard me," Teresa went on. "There is no reason for you to be around him."

  "He is my brother," Gideon reminded her.

  "He is none of your concern!" Teresa shot back.

  Gideon raised his eyebrows a little at the force of her reaction, but he said nothing.

  Teresa, however, was not finished. "You encourage him to misbehave. He did not escape from Miss Tyning nearly as often before you came to the Park."

  "He knows that I frequently take a walk about this time in the afternoon," Gideon admitted. "I think perhaps he hopes to run into me here. If we were to set up a schedule, a time every day when he and I would go for a stroll, then he might not be tempted to 'escape', and you would not have to worry that he might be in danger. It would be good for him."

  "I am the one who will say what is good for Timothy," Teresa told him.

  It see
med to Irene that Teresa looked even angrier than before at what seemed to her a very reasonable and even generous offer on Gideon's part. There were not many men who would suggest taking on the company of a lively five-year-old boy even for a few minutes each day. Irene started to give Teresa her opinion, then realized that would probably only annoy the woman even more and certainly wouldn't help Gideon and Timothy's case.

  Teresa went on, her voice rising into a screech. "Do you think I want my son to spend more time with you? Do you think I want him to speak like a shopkeeper or have the manners of a street urchin?"

  Irene drew in a sharp breath at the insult and glanced quickly at Gideon. His face was stony. He looked at Teresa for a moment, his lips pressed tightly together.

  Then he said, "I am afraid that you are quite overset, my lady. No doubt your worry for your son impels you to say things that you will later regret. I suggest we both forget this conversation." He bowed slightly toward her. "No doubt you wish to get back to the nursery to look after your son."

  He turned to Irene, offering her his arm. "Lady Irene? Shall we continue our walk?"

  "Yes, of course." She put her hand on his arm, and they stepped away from Teresa.

  Gideon's arm was like iron beneath her hand, and Irene cast a quick glance upward at his face. His expression was still like granite.

  "You must not pay any attention to what Lady Radbourne said," Irene told him. "She is a fool."

  "There is no denying that," he agreed.

  "I am sorry."

  "For what? You did nothing."

  "I know. But still, I am sorry that she was ... unkind."

  "I have dealt with far worse than Teresa, believe me." He shrugged. "Anyway, she is merely the only one rude enough—or stupid enough—to say to my face what all my relatives feel."

  "No. I am sure they do not," Irene protested. "Anyway, you don't speak like a shopkeeper. And your manners—well, perhaps you are not so polished as some gentlemen, but I have met a good number of gentlemen who are quite ill-mannered, I assure you."