She thought quite seriously about creeping past him. She didn’t think he would notice her. But this was no more in her nature than the proposed fake engagement. Besides, there was something in his stance that provoked both curiosity and compassion. He was almost universally vilified, shunned by his peers, and isolated from society. But he still lived with the tragedy of his loss.
After only a moment’s hesitation, she walked up to him until they stood side by side, gazing at the ruin.
“Can it not be repaired?” she asked.
“Oh, just about anything can be repaired if one has the will.”
“What happened?”
His head turned toward her, as though the question surprised him. “Surely everyone knows I set my brother’s house on fire, thereby murdering him and his wife and inheriting his title and estates.”
“I don’t believe that.” She met his gaze and found a baffled if fascinated expression there.
“You don’t know me well enough to exonerate me.”
“No, but Alvan does. My brother would not remain friends with a man who could do such a thing.”
Verne swung away, as though he could not be still. “Guilt takes many forms,” he said obscurely. “Come, let us get out of this wind. I hope you have come around to my proposal.”
She took a couple of running paces to keep up with him, and he shortened his stride abruptly. “I don’t wish to lie to people,” she said. “It seems beneath contempt.”
“Perhaps it is, but do you really imagine those same people wouldn’t be joyfully sharing lies about you anyway? Lies that would do you considerably more harm.”
Ruefully, she had to concede the point. “But it is not even believable that you and I should form such a firm attachment so quickly!”
“Who is to say it is quick? I’m sure the world knows Alvan has never dropped me. We could easily have met before. Besides, you are known for both kindness and waywardness, so I really doubt the world will be terribly surprised to hear you have made such an unsuitable choice of husband. But I’m sure they will be highly sympathetic when you dismiss me.”
She frowned in consternation, but unexpectedly, his elbow brushed hers in a light, friendly nudge.
“Don’t take it all so seriously,” he advised. “There is nothing to lose here, and we might even have a little fun with our masquerade.”
She eyed him uncertainly, and his lips curved into a rather wicked smile. “I did not mean that kind of fun, although, I would be most happy to oblige—”
“You will oblige me by keeping your distance,” she said hastily.
“Oh, I shall not overstep the mark,” he mocked. “But you might also consider if we are to carry this off, you need to pretend a little affection. You need not hang on my every word or swoon with love every time I enter a room, but you should at least look pleased to see me and laugh at my jokes.”
“Why, who is to see?” she demanded.
“I expect the Longstones—my sister-in-law’s family—this afternoon.”
“Why, what did you tell them?” she asked dubiously.
“That if they wished to meet the lady I plan to marry, they should present themselves here today.”
She pounced. “So, you did not use the word betrothed?”
“No. As I said, we should not make any of this seem too rushed.”
“But I cannot lie to these strangers and tell them we’ve known each other for years!”
“All we need say is that Alvan and I are friends. They can make what they will of it. I shan’t tolerate a catechism, and I’m fairly sure you are adept at diverting questions you do not wish to answer.”
She let that go, since it was alarmingly accurate.
They had rounded the corner to the front terrace and were now approaching the main door.
“You don’t need to do this,” she said abruptly.
He appeared to think about it. “No one needs to do anything. But I am more than happy to carry this out. For many reasons.”
She searched his averted face until he glanced down at her.
“What?” he demanded.
“I am curious to know your other reasons.”
“They come under the category of entertainment,” he said carelessly as they climbed the steps to the front door. “As I said, I see no reason why we can’t both have a little amusement before you break my black and unworthy heart.”
*
Without actually agreeing to the false engagement, Cecily found she was going along with the idea. Shilton showed her to a different bedchamber next to the one to be occupied by her aunt.
“Even so, we shall not stay unless Mrs. Longstone arrives to act as hostess,” Lady Barnaby said firmly.
But it seemed Verne understood his connections very well, for not long after midday, a carriage arrived and disgorged an elegant gentleman, a plump, middle-aged lady, a younger, much more languid lady, and a child of about eight-years-old.
Cecily watched with her aunt from her new bedchamber window. To her surprise, Verne walked out to meet them, and the little girl flung herself at him with cries of, “Uncle Patrick! Uncle Patrick!” He swung her high in the air, making her squeal with delight before he deposited her back on the ground and bowed carelessly to the others.
“Well, they haven’t taught the child to bear a grudge,” Lady Barnaby observed.
“About what?” Cecily asked distractedly.
“The fire, of course.”
“Well, they know he had nothing to do with that.”
Aunt Barny regarded her. “And how do you know?”
“Because Alvan believes it.”
“Well, Mrs. Longstone doesn’t,” Lady Barnaby said bluntly. “For she’s been shouting his guilt all over the country for years.”
*
Mrs. Longstone welcomed them formally to Finmarsh House just before tea. They were summoned to the formal drawing room on the first floor, which Cecily had only glimpsed before from the passage. It had the air and scent of a room that was never used.
Walking in, Cecily was immediately aware of Lord Verne who stood by the empty fireplace, resting his shoulder against the mantelpiece. Although she did not look closely, she imagined his expression was sardonic. Certainly, it did not appear he was joining in the conversation, which broke off as she and Lady Barnaby entered.
The plump lady, dressed in a very fashionable blue day gown, rustled toward them, holding out her hand. “Lady Barnaby, Lady Cecily, I am so sorry I could not be here to greet you when you arrived,” she exclaimed. “But honestly, you could have knocked me down with a feather when I received Verne’s note.”
“Well, it was an accident, really,” Lady Barnaby said easily. “We meant to go straight to London from Audley Park, but one of our horses went lame and we ended up at the Hart Inn—where, by chance, we encountered Lord Verne! Nothing would do but that we come to Finmarsh. I hope we haven’t inconvenienced you too badly.”
“Not in the slightest,” Mrs. Longstone assured her. “It is my pleasure to welcome you here.”
Cecily wasn’t convinced it was pleasure she read in Mrs. Longstone’s bright eyes. Avid curiosity, yes. However, she was a perfect hostess, and at once presented the elegant gentleman who had risen on their entry.
“My son, Mr. Henry Longstone,” she said proudly.
Mr. Longstone was indeed a fine figure of a man. Like his mother, he would not have looked out of place in the most fashionable of London salons. More than that, his shoulders were pleasingly broad under his perfectly-fitting coat, and his legs, encased in flattering, skin-tight pantaloons, muscled and strong. He bowed gracefully over Lady Barnaby’s hand and turned to Cecily.
“Lady Cecily, I am enchanted. You’ll never believe how often I have tried and failed to obtain an introduction to you.”
Cecily, who had long been immune to flattery, merely raised one eyebrow. “Why?”
Mr. Longstone smiled. “Why did I try? Or why did I fail?”
“Neither
. I meant why would I never believe it? I presume you do not lie as a matter of course.”
Lord Verne, approaching in time to overhear the exchange, emitted a crack of laughter. A frown flickered and vanished from Longstone’s brow, so quickly she might have missed it had she not been deliberately looking at him rather than Verne. A twinkle of amusement entered Longstone’s eyes instead.
“And my cousin,” Mrs. Longstone continued, “Madame de Renarde.”
Cecily shook hands with the cousin who was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. Tall and regal, her almost drooping posture and lethargic movements expressed unutterable weariness with the world. And yet, her blue eyes were piercing in her lovely face. She could have been any age between five-and-twenty and five-and-thirty, but she was the sort of woman who would always be beautiful.
“I’m the governess,” she said unexpectedly.
Over her shoulder, Cecily caught Verne’s sudden scowl. But he wasn’t the only one who objected to such a description.
Mrs. Longstone tuttted. “My cousin is helping educate my granddaughter, until we can engage a governess,” she explained. “And this is my granddaughter, Miss Jane Verne.”
At her grandmother’s summons, the little girl came closer and curtseyed to Cecily, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“How do you do?” Cecily said, gravely, offering her hand.
Jane took it with something approaching awe and risked a smile, which Cecily returned. As soon as she was free, she slipped back to stand with Verne. Cecily thought another frown disturbed Mrs. Longstone’s brow, but she couldn’t be sure.
As everyone moved to sit, Cecily found her hand taken and placed on Verne’s arm. His touch caused her skin to tingle and she made an instinctive move to withdraw.
“Remember how diverting you find me,” he murmured in her ear.
Which at least made her blush, no doubt reinforcing the fairytale he had concocted. For once, she could think of nothing to say, and merely sat on the sofa he selected for her before he took his place beside her. Since no one told Jane where to go, she plonked herself down between Verne and Cecily.
“Jane, don’t bother Lady Cecily,” Mrs. Longstone snapped.
“She is no bother to me, ma’am,” Cecily assured her. “I have just come from Audley Park where there were several children to entertain me, and I miss them.”
“Ah, were you there for Miss Maybury’s wedding to Lord Dunstan?” Mrs. Longstone asked. “I was surprised not to be invited, for I have known the Overtons forever.”
“There was only family present,” Lady Barnaby assured her.
Mrs. Longstone gave a tinkling laugh. “I suppose the new Lady Dunstan’s nose was out of joint anyhow, her unmarriageable sister having snared the duke, your brother!”
“Oh, her nose looked as straight as ever to me,” Cecily said mildly.
“I suppose you also attended His Grace’s wedding?”
“It was another quiet, family ceremony,” Cecily said evasively.
At that point, two large tea trays were carried in by Daniel and an unknown maid who unloaded everything onto the tables set up for the purpose. The teapot was placed in front of Mrs. Longstone, and something in the way she moved in the simple act of pouring tea made Cecily think of pride and triumph. Certainly, no one would have guessed from her manner that her daughter had died so terribly in this house only five years ago.
Or would they? Verne rose to take the poured cups and saucers from her and ferry them to each of the company. Only then did a stiffness enter her posture. She passed the saucers almost gingerly so their fingers did not touch for an instant. And she did not look at him.
In fact, Cecily realized that neither Mrs. Longstone nor her son had looked at Verne, let alone addressed a word to him, since she had entered the room. They were ignoring the man in his own home, and yet seemed happy enough to be here. It was… odd.
Madame de Renarde, on the other hand, regarded him quite often, and it seemed to Cecily that she made certain their fingers touched as she received her tea. This irritated Cecily, though she refused to think of why.
But all of this went on beneath the civilized conversation which was at first almost excruciating. Cecily, who hated awkwardness, set out to entertain, bringing Jane into it for lightness, and indulging in a little witty banter with her aunt. Slowly, everyone thawed and genuine smiles and laughter grew more frequent.
Only the man beside her said nothing except to Jane. When Cecily glanced at him, the question forming on her lips vanished, for he was already watching her with disturbing intensity. She felt imprisoned by his gaze.
He rose abruptly. “I feel the need of fresh air. Who would care for a turn in the garden? Such as it is.” Since he held one peremptory hand down to Cecily as he spoke, she felt obliged to rise with him.
“I would like to!” Jane said at once, and Lady Barnaby, who had clearly felt obliged to make the effort as chaperone, relaxed back into her chair.
“You and Lady Cecily, Jane, may chaperone each other,” Madame de Renarde drawled.
“Come with us,” Cecily invited at once.
The French lady laughed. “Oh no, I have seen the garden before and shall refuse to walk there again until he restores it to its former glory.”
“What does she mean?” Cecily asked as they descended the stairs, and Jane was sent scuttling to fetch her shawl.
Verne shrugged impatiently. “She prefers formal gardens, like my sister-in-law. I like it better now that it’s more natural.”
“Is she really Mrs. Longstone’s cousin?” Cecily wondered.
“Distant cousin, I believe. The Longstones looked after her and her parents when they first fled from the revolution in France.”
“And Monsieur de Renarde?”
“Another émigré. They live largely apart.”
Cecily glanced back up the stairs to see Jane rushing down with her shawl. “And now she teaches your niece.”
“Apparently so…” He took the shawl from Jane and placed it around Cecily’s shoulders. There was nothing lover-like in the gesture, and yet, she felt ridiculously aware of the light touch of his hands. “What exactly does Madame teach you?” he asked Jane, leading the way across the hall, away from the front door.
Jane wrinkled her nose. “Deportment. Watercolor painting. Pianoforte.”
Verne curled his lip. “Accomplishments,” he uttered with undisguised contempt. “Wouldn’t you rather learn about history and other countries, science, and literature?”
“Yes, but I don’t think she knows about those,” Jane said naively.
“I expect she has just forgotten,” Cecily said. “And will remember shortly.”
“More likely she’s bored with them,” Verne said cynically, pausing to open a side door. He glanced quizzically at Cecily. “I don’t suppose you number governesses among your large acquaintance?”
“I can make inquiries, but Mrs. Longstone is under no obligation to follow a stranger’s recommendations!”
Verne took a small cloak from the coatrack at the door and handed it to Jane. “But you are not a stranger, are you?” He ushered her out the door. “You are the Duke of Alvan’s sister.”
Jane, released from the restrictions of normal adult company, bolted ahead like an arrow from a bow, straight into the long grass that had clearly once been a shaped lawn.
“And about to become my betrothed,” he finished.
Cecily frowned. “Or not. Surely by coming here, they have bestowed respectability upon my visit and I need fear no scandal.”
“It depends what they say when they leave,” Verne said wryly.
Cecily searched his averted face, learning nothing. “Your relationship with them is… ambiguous. To be frank, I can’t understand why they came when you and they so clearly dislike each other.”
He shrugged. “A mixture of shock and snobbery. They could not stay away. For example, I would wager you any amount of money you like they are even now at the draw
ing room window watching us. Don’t look up. Look at me. Imagine you find me fascinating.”
“Oh, but I do,” she said, gazing up at him adoringly. “Is this too much?”
His breath caught, and it wasn’t all laughter. Something ignited in his eyes. “Not for me. I only wish you meant it. I suspect you are a minx, Lady Cecily. How is it you are not yet married?”
“I told you. Because I have not yet accepted anyone who offered for me.”
“Yes, but why is that?”
She shrugged. “None of them… moved me.”
A smile curved his lips. “Even the gentleman favored by your aunt, whom you have been considering? Are you a romantic?”
“No,” she retorted. “But if I give up my freedom, I insist upon at least not being bored.”
“Just think how flattered I shall be when you accept me.”
“Should I be equally flattered when you ask me?”
“Certainly. I have never offered anyone marriage before.”
“I don’t think we need discuss what you did offer,” she said hastily. “And I think our point is made. You may stop looking at me now.”
The smile still playing around his mouth broadened. “But I like looking at you.”
Cecily had been fending off flirts, from the clumsy to the exquisite, since she was seventeen. And yet, even though she knew Verne was not serious, heat seeped up through her neck and into her face. His turbulent eyes had darkened impossibly. And even though he still walked beside her, very slowly, the manner in which he all but leaned over her was predatory. He took her breath away. Like the moment outside the Hart when he had kissed her, she no longer felt in control.
And so, she fought back. “Likewise. For it’s quite true you do fascinate me. For instance, I’m still dying to know what you were doing in the Hart with those strange men last night.”
His brows flew up, acknowledging the hit, although the appreciation in his eyes intensified. “Drinking, gambling, looking for beautiful women to abduct. I was surprisingly successful at all three.”
“I doubt it,” she said sweetly. “Surely none of you were looking for marriage.”
“No, but I’ve no objection to betrothal and the opportunity to gaze at you so adoringly.”
The Unmarriageable Collection (Books 1–3) Page 27
