The grounds went on past the rolling hills of the horizon, well manicured and perfectly attended. At the foot of the terrace stairs a gravel pathway led across a short stretch of lawn to a formal garden encompassing an ornate fountain. High boxwood mazes—one square, the other round—flanked the garden.
Did one ever feel as alive as one did in the country? She breathed deeply of the fresh air and marveled at the sheer wealth that made all this possible.
She and her sisters had grown up at Shelbrooke Manor, the Earl of Shelbrooke’s ancestral home. Ancient and sprawling, the place was well loved but had little else to recommend it. The old house had been falling in around their ears, until the past year when her brother had at last gained funding for repairs and renovation.
“Do you like it?” Thomas’s voice sounded beside her.
Her heart fluttered and she steeled herself against the effect he had on her. “It’s beautiful.”
He gazed over the grounds with a look of loving pride. “When I was a child, I thought it was all quite magical.” He chuckled. “I still do, I suppose.”
She smiled at the fanciful notion. “I had no idea you believed in magic.”
“It must be the poet in me,” he said with mock solemnity, then grinned. “So I daresay the magic probably isn’t quite up to scratch, either.”
“Nonsense, Thomas. Even a bit of magic is better than none.” She laughed and turned her gaze back to the gardens. “This is the kind of place where fairies dance in the moonlight. I doubt there is any magic better than that.”
“They’ve been dancing for a very long time.” He gestured at the boxwood hedges. “The mazes were planted more than a century ago by a previous Duke of Roxborough for his new bride. The square one is for family, because its corners are aligned with points of the compass and therefore no matter where Effingtons may scatter, they are still within reach of home.”
She stared at him, fascinated by his tale. “And the round one?”
“Ah, the round one is very special. The circle signifies love, eternal and never-ending.”
She shook her head. “But a circle is unbroken. Surely there must be a way in?”
“Of course. Even symbolism does need to bow to practicalities now and again.” He smiled. “Also, in the center of the maze is a circular area we treat as a room. Each spring, the servants furnish it. For those few who know the secret of the maze, it becomes a private, secluded place. It even has a gate.”
“My, you Effingtons do think of everything.”
“Indeed we do. Once safely in the maze, you’re in the center of everything on the estate yet completely alone.”
“Really?” She raised a brow. “Doesn’t that depend on how many people know the secret?”
“Indeed it does. But only a few Effingtons know how to navigate the maze. Or rather, only a few of us manage to remember. And the gate can lock . . . from the inside.”
“What of the servants?”
“That is a problem.” He shook his head sadly. “I can’t tell you the number of servants we’ve lost in there. I suspect someday we’ll stumble over their bodies—or their skeletons, more than likely.”
She stared at him with dismay. “You’re not serious?”
“Of course I’m not.” He grinned. “We remove the bodies long before they become skeletons.”
“Thomas!” She laughed.
“In truth, only a handful of servants know the route by heart, although a map is kept somewhere. Those who are charged with bringing in the furniture routinely tie a string at the entrance to ensure their safe exit.
“At any rate, according to the family legend, the duke vowed the Effington family would prosper as long as the mazes grew.”
“Like the ravens at the Tower of London?” she said. “England will stand as long as the ravens remain?”
“Something like that.” He cast her a sideways glance. “I never said my ancestors were above adapting an already acknowledged legend to suit their own purposes.”
She laughed again. It seemed his presence made her laugh quite a lot. When she didn’t want to smack him.
“You might not realize it, but I have any number of ancestors who did not hesitate to bend facts to suit their purposes.” He turned toward her, rested his elbow on the balustrade and considered her thoughtfully. “Not all the family skeletons are in the maze.”
“What a relief.”
“No, no, we trot them out periodically. Usually to make a point but sometimes simply for entertainment. Let me think.” He furrowed his forehead in an exaggerated manner. “Just off the top of my head, mind you, it seems to me any number of remote cousins have been jailed for sheep-stealing. There’s the distant aunt who married an Italian. Not scandalous in and of itself, but she was considered to be quite mad. Used to run about the countryside stark-naked.
“There was a pirate in there somewhere, although I believe we prefer the more respectable term of privateer. And a smuggler or two. Indeed, my family tree is fraught with scandal and unscrupulous branches,” he said loftily.
“And to think that I considered you, the heir to all this scandalous behavior, stuffy and rather pompous.”
He leaned toward her confidentially. “It was an act.”
“And now?”
“I am the unrepentant rake you see before you.” He straightened and swept a theatrical bow. “As determined as any Effington before me to get exactly what I want.” He grabbed her hand and drew it to his lips. His midnight eyes sparkled in the sunlight. “And what I want, my dear Marianne, is you.”
“Stop it, Thomas.” She pulled her hand from his. “I will not discuss this now.” She turned away pointedly and nodded at the scenery. “Tell me about the garden between the mazes.”
“That is the duchess’s garden. It’s routinely dug up and redesigned with every new Duchess of Roxborough. My mother has done it any number of times.” He pointed to the fountain. “She had that put in just last year, shortly after this annual house party, I believe. Do you like it?”
“It’s lovely.”
He leaned close and nuzzled her ear. “You can certainly change it to suit your preferences when you’re my duchess.”
She jerked back. “I am not going to be your duchess.”
He shrugged, obviously not believing her for a moment. “You’ll change your mind before we return to London.”
“You are amazingly arrogant, Thomas.” She stared in disbelief. “What makes you think I will agree to marry you here when I would not agree in London?”
“Because here you will not be able to resist the lure of adventures only I can offer you.”
“What adventures?” she asked with suspicion.
“If I told you, it would spoil the surprise. And I should think one of the key elements of adventure is surprise.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “I intend to prove to you that life with me will be as adventurous as anything you’ve ever read in a book.”
“You do?” she said in an altogether too breathless voice.
“I do indeed.” He smiled down at her in a most wicked manner. Her heart caught in her throat. “You believe in fairies, my dear, and I believe in magic. You can deny it all you wish, but we are well matched.”
“Are we?” she murmured.
Perhaps they were well matched, in all but the one thing that really mattered. The one thing she refused to marry without.
Marianne glanced around the parlor, where those guests in residence at the Hall still lingered. It was considered a small group, at least in terms of this annual Effington gathering. But at dinner Marianne had counted the number present to be somewhere in the vicinity of forty.
Thomas had told her more guests would arrive early tomorrow in time for the well-known Roxborough Ride, which he described as a fox hunt without the fox.
Marianne’s equestrian skills were limited, but the Ride seemed like something of an adventure and she planned on at least attempting the course. Becky could hardly wait. Even Jocelyn, ne
ver especially fond of hours on horseback, was intrigued, although she would only be an observer. It was difficult to navigate over obstacles when you couldn’t see significantly farther than the nose of your horse.
The following night was the dowager’s ball, and Thomas had said the crush would be as great as anything seen in London. Marianne had briefly met his grandmother, the dowager duchess, upon their arrival. At the moment, the dowager and Aunt Louella sat in a corner of the room deep in conversation. Although there was a span of at least a quarter of a century between their ages, they apparently knew, or had known, many of the same people. Aunt Louella actually seemed to be enjoying herself. It was a side of her aunt Marianne had never seen, and it was as delightful as it was disquieting.
Thomas was nowhere to be found, and that, too, was somewhat disconcerting. What was the man up to? And what were these adventures he’d planned?
Marianne murmured her apologies, pleading the lateness of the hour, and left the parlor. She headed for the chamber assigned her, if, of course, she could remember where it was. The house was intricately designed. The wood paneling glowed with polishing, the sconces shone brightly and dust would not dare to linger anywhere here.
Effington Hall was twice the size of Shelbrooke Manor and she suspected it had never had so much as a moment of disrepair. Thomas could say whatever he wished about the scandalous nature of his ancestors, but apparently once they’d acquired their fortune, they were clever enough to hang on to it.
She climbed the stairs toward the second floor. For some reason her room was not in the same wing as her sisters’ and aunt’s, nor were they on the same floor. Perhaps placement had something to do with the numbers of guests expected. Or perhaps Thomas had made certain her room was especially private.
She wouldn’t put it past him. Nor would she deny him access. The lessons he’d taught her, or rather the lessons they’d shared, were beyond anything she’d ever imagined. Just the thought sent a shiver of delicious anticipation through her.
She pulled open her door, half expecting him to be waiting for her, and suppressed a twinge of disappointment. The bed was turned down, the doors leading to a small balcony open. The maid who’d showed her to the room last night said it was the only balcony on this side of the house. It was barely big enough for two people and surrounded by ivy. Quite enchanting, really.
She sank into a chair and tried to read a book she’d brought with her but couldn’t seem to focus on the words. She hadn’t read much at all lately. Life itself was filling her time.
After a long while she tossed aside the book. Obviously this was getting her nowhere and obviously Thomas wasn’t coming. It was just as well. After he melted every bone in her body and turned her to a quivering mass of sensation, he’d probably badger her about marriage again. He was becoming quite creative in his persistence. She smiled at the thought. Still, she was as stubborn as he.
She changed into her nightclothes, blew out the candle and slipped into bed. And rolled onto her stomach. Then twisted onto her side. Punched the pillows. And sighed. She squeezed her eyes tight and tried to think of things that made her sleepy. Tried to ignore the sounds of the country at night. The rustling of leaves in the breeze. The incessant chirping of insects. The rattle of gravel hitting the floor. . . .
She sat up and listened. There it was again: the clatter of pebbles on the floor. She threw off the covers, slid out of bed, grabbed her glasses and headed toward the open doors. A spray of gravel landed at her feet. The faint glow from the banked fire helped her spot the tiny rocks. Gingerly, she picked her way through the gravel and stepped out onto the balcony.
“Ah, ‘tis Juliet.”
She put on her glasses and peered over the railing. Starlight lit the night nearly as bright as day. “Thomas?”
Thomas grinned up at her, one hand behind his back. “No, not Juliet. But far, far better. ‘Tis the fair Marianne.”
“Quiet. Someone will hear you.”
“Not on this side of the house.” His voice carried a smug note. Just as she suspected, her room was not randomly assigned. The realization was not unpleasant.
“What are you doing?”
“Marianne, my sweet, I feared I should not see you again.”
“Not see me again?” She laughed. “You saw me barely an hour ago.”
“ ‘Twas a lifetime.” He pulled his hand from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of flowers tied with a ribbon. “I come straight from the duchess’s garden bearing a token of my affection.”
She leaned her elbows on the railing and rested her chin in her hands. “And the duchess won’t mind?”
“The duchess wants nothing more than to see me wed. She would sacrifice more than a few posies for that.”
“And how, pray tell, do you propose to deliver said token?”
“Much as Romeo would.”
“Really?” She grinned. “Didn’t he end up dead by his own hand?”
“Then I can do no less.” He moved closer to the house and out of her sight.
“What do you mean, you can do no less?” she called after him.
No answer.
“Thomas?” Apprehension twinged through her. “What are you up to?”
His voice was muffled. “I’m bringing you your token.”
She stepped to the side of the balcony and could see him at the bottom of the wall. He’d tied the ribbon around his neck and the bouquet hung in front of him like a floral medal of valor. “Surely you’re not planning on climbing the ivy?”
“Indeed I am.” He studied the ivy for a moment, then reached up and grabbed the woody vines.
“Don’t be absurd. You’ll kill yourself.”
“I’ve done it before.” He’d found footholds and was indeed inching his way up the ivy.
“And how long ago was that?”
“I climbed this vine any number of times when I was a boy.” His voice was strained. “I can do it now.”
“Now you’re some twenty years older and I daresay a great deal heavier.” He was a good five feet above the ground. “Thomas, please get down.”
The only answer was the rustling of the ivy.
“The ivy cannot hold you. You’ll fall.”
“Nonsense. I can—” The unmistakable sound of vines ripping free interrupted him. For a moment he vanished amid a wave of ivy. Leaves rustled as if moved by a powerful wind. And a solid thunk sounded from the ground below her.
Her heart leapt to her throat. “Thomas?”
“I’m fine.” He lay in a heap of ivy at the foot of the wall. “Just a few bruises. Nothing to worry about.” He picked himself up off the ground and grinned weakly. “Apparently I overestimated the strength of the ivy. I simply forgot that the vines are much thicker and more secure on the other side of the balcony.”
He disappeared under the balcony. She scurried to the other end and leaned over to find him. “Don’t you think you should give up now? I am suitably impressed.”
“It’s a blasted adventure, Marianne.” He rubbed his hands on his pants and drew a deep breath. “One doesn’t let a minor mishap stand in the way of an adventure.” Once again he started up the wall.
She studied the ivy skeptically. “The vines don’t look substantially thicker to me.”
“Well, they are,” he snapped.
“I do hope so.” She stared down at him. “I would hate to see you tumble to your death.”
“As would I,” he muttered.
He was making better progress on this side. Perhaps he was right. She relaxed a bit, rested her forearms on the stone railing and watched him.
“It would be difficult to explain to your family how the Effington heir had met his demise.”
He grunted in response. It was obviously hard work, but he was nearly halfway up the wall.
“What would I say to your grandmother?”
“Tell her I’m insane.”
“Don’t you think she’s already aware of that?” Marianne shrugged. “After all,
I haven’t known you for very long, yet I knew you were mad the moment I met you.”
“Not nearly as mad as you’ve made me,” he said under his breath.
She bit back a laugh. He was climbing a little slower and she noted him testing the vine before putting his full weight on it. Good. She really didn’t want to see him plummet to the ground.
“Would you like some help?”
“Not unless you have a rope handy.”
“I could get a sheet,” she said brightly.
He muttered something she couldn’t quite hear and she suspected that was probably best. Thomas’s attempt at providing her with an adventure was obviously more trying than he’d anticipated.
She leaned far over the railing. He was still a good six feet below the balcony.
“What are you doing?” He glared up at her.
She stretched out her hand. “When you’re close enough, you can grab my hand.”
“Get back,” he said sharply. “You’ll fall. I’ll fall.”
The vine beside her—one of the thickest—quivered, and a few of the suckers sprang free from the wall. At once she noticed that it was not the only branch no longer connected to the house.
“Thomas,” she said slowly, “I think you need to climb down. Now.”
“Don’t be absurd.” He panted. “I’m almost there.”
“I’m serious about this, Thomas. I really think—”
The vine snapped as if cut and collapsed, sliding down the wall, and Thomas with it. It seemed extraordinarily slow, at least to her. Thomas, no doubt, had a different perspective. The vines, branches and leaves crumpled to the ground. A nasty thud echoed in the night, accompanied by an oof. She winced in sympathy.
It looked bad, but at least the ivy hadn’t fallen away from the building and had probably cushioned his fall. She stared down at a large tangled pile of leaves and vines. “Thomas?”
“I’m . . . fine,” he said in a muffled voice.
“Where are you?”
The vines shifted and Thomas clawed his way free. He threw her a less-than-enthusiastic wave. “I’m . . . fine.”
“Thomas?”
He staggered around the corner of the house, his words drifting back to her. “I’m . . . fine.”
The Marriage Lesson Page 19
