Vanessa put her hand over her aunt’s. “Don’t worry about him. If you ask Leale, she will reassure you that, when I met Eveline at Madame deBerg’s, all our words about the baronet were mixed with laughter.”
Dabbing a handkerchief against her niece’s damp cheek, she asked, “Then why these tears?”
She stood and faced her aunt. Silently she held out the letter. Waiting for her aunt to read its few words, she bit her lower lip to keep more sobs from oozing forth.
Aunt Carolyn said nothing as she put the letter back on the window seat. Sitting next to it, she folded her hands in her lap. Her gaze rose to Vanessa’s, and she whispered, “I thought I asked you, weeks ago, to put an end to this odious correspondence.”
“You did.”
“You chose not to obey?”
“No, I could not.”
“This.” She touched the letter. “This is what I hoped to spare you from suffering. Vanessa, why are you doing this? You must accept the truth.”
Vanessa knelt next to her aunt and folded the older woman’s hands between hers. “Aunt Carolyn, I accept the only truth I know. The truth within my heart. It tells me Corey is still alive.”
“No!” Aunt Carolyn set herself on her feet. Taking two steps along the corridor, she turned to affix Vanessa with a furious glare. “I shall not let you waste your life hoping for what we both know is preposterous.” She picked up the letter.
Vanessa gasped as her aunt tore it in half. “But, Aunt Carolyn, if I don’t keep the hope alive, what will happen to Corey?”
“Nothing.” Her voice softened as she threw the pieces of paper onto the floor. “There is nothing we can do to help him, but there is something I can do to help you.”
“I know. I need to find a man to wed, so that Wolfe Abbey is not left without a family to tend it. Don’t you see?” Tears burned in her eyes again. “We are a family. You and me and—”
“I will hear no more of this out-of-hand talk.” Aunt Carolyn cupped Vanessa’s chin in her slender fingers. “I have let you have your head during this Season, but I long for the days when you smiled easily. I fear you have forgotten how to have fun.”
“You tell me my brother is put to bed with a shovel, but ask me to smile.”
Aunt Carolyn shook her head sadly. “If you would mourn for your brother as is right, you could forget the lies your heart whispers to you. I know you think your heart is trying to protect you. You are wrong. You cannot change what has happened. You must think only of what is to come.”
“I do. I think often of Corey’s homecoming.”
“Which may never happen, and I fear never as you wish.” She sighed once more as she released Vanessa. “I did not want to say this, but you leave me no choice. If you do not find yourself a husband before this Season comes to an end, I vow to you, Vanessa, although it goes against every grain within me, that I shall spend the next Season arranging for a husband who you will marry slap-bang.”
“Aunt Carolyn!” Disbelief tainted her voice.
Lady Mansfield was silent as she walked away. Then she paused and came back to gather the shreds of the letter. Sorrow drew unfamiliar lines on her face as she handed Vanessa a lacy handkerchief. She left Vanessa knowing that—although it would have seemed inconceivable the day before—her aunt meant to do exactly as she had threatened.
Chapter Eight
Ross told himself he should have known better than to accept the invitation to this evening’s musicale. Bruce Swinton was tolerable company at the table of green cloth, but he was the ton’s most inept host. If Swinton had any taste in music, the orchestra playing at one end of the ballroom gave no clue to it. Ross grimaced as another drum roll careered across the room. The selection was better suited to a parade ground than a London town house.
He crossed the room beneath the friezes edging the high walls. The ceiling was painted in a mural meant to represent heaven. Tastefully draped cherubs played among rose-colored clouds. The scene was broken by a pair of bronze chandeliers and scores of candles. Below them, the floor glittered past the green Kidderminster rug. Flowers sat on rosewood tables along the sides of the room, their fragrance nearly choking in the crowded room. A hint of a summery breeze, as soft as baby’s fingers, touched his cheek, and Ross saw a set of French windows open at the far end of the room. This chamber was the perfect setting for an evening’s entertainment, but he was not entertained.
He reminded himself of the real reason he was here tonight. With Franklin acting like a beaten cur, it was Swinton’s chance to try to turn Lady Vanessa’s head. Ross was not going to miss witnessing this.
“Blast!” he muttered, adding a pair of earthy curses. Nothing eased the agony of his ears when the musical piece reached its crescendo. Fitful applause followed the end.
Taking a glass from a passing servant, Ross sipped the wine. His smile returned. Swinton might be tonedeaf, but he had cultivated his palate.
Greeting other guests he passed, he paused when Swinton scampered past him toward the door. Ross chuckled. That level of anticipation could herald the arrival of only one person. With Franklin’s abrupt announcement that he had cut himself out and would as lief pay the pound for the wager than call on Lady Vanessa again, Swinton must be calculating how best to win the lady’s hand.
Now this could be entertaining. Ross set his glass on a table as a slender form entered the room.
Lady Vanessa was wearing white, like most of the women. It was a shame, he decided. The pink she had worn at her aunt’s home had complemented her delicate coloring, which gave no hint to the steel within her. He could not halt his grin as he thought of the various versions he had heard of Franklin’s last moments in Lady Mansfield’s house … and on the street in front of it. Promising himself that one day he would learn the truth of what had happened from Lady Vanessa herself, he watched his host.
The red-haired man recalled his manners in time to bow over Lady Mansfield’s hand, but his attention focused on the younger woman, who was giving her Indian shawl to a maid. When he raised Lady Vanessa’s hand to his lips, a wide grin on his lips, a peculiar tightness cramped Ross’s stomach. He frowned. Perhaps the wine had not been as excellent as he had thought.
He walked to where Swinton was stumbling over his words in his eagerness to impress the two ladies. Tapping his host on the shoulder, Ross smiled at Swinton’s sharp glance. He resisted retorting that he could not enjoy this if he watched from halfway across the room.
“Good evening, my lady,” Ross said to Lady Mansfield, then he added, “and to you, my lady.”
“My lord,” Lady Vanessa answered tersely.
He saw her glance at her aunt, then quickly away. He could not guess what message had passed between them. When Lady Vanessa gave Swinton a smile and accepted his offer of a glass of wine, he watched them walk toward where chairs were set for the abominable performance ahead of them.
Lady Mansfield mused, “Not an impossible match.”
“Not impossible,” Ross agreed.
She looked at him, a smile lilting at the corners of her lips. “You sound distressed, my lord. You need not look the sad scamp. Vanessa has given no more than her ear to Mr. Swinton at this point.”
“My lady, you mistake a bit of queasiness from soured wine for heart-sickness.” He held out his arm. When she put her fingers on it, he led her toward the chairs. “I consider it a point of honor never to have more than a casual amitié with a lady my friend has expressed an interest in.”
“So Mr. Swinton is interested in Vanessa?”
Ross nearly laughed. This was what Lady Mansfield had hoped to discover. “I can assure you that Bruce Swinton would find winning your niece’s heart very worthwhile.”
“I have few doubts about that,” she replied dryly, then chuckled. “You play with words as readily as Vanessa. I own to being astounded that you stand back while Mr. Swinton commands her attention. Your sense of honor is exemplary.”
“No, my lady, only my determination to
enjoy others’ pursuits of matrimony.”
“Something you do not wish for yourself?”
“Mayhap someday, when I am senile enough not to know better.”
Across the room, Vanessa heard her aunt’s light laugh. Looking back, she saw the amazing sight of her aunt on Lord Brickendon’s arm. Their heads were bent toward each other in earnest conversation. When Captain Hudson strode toward them, she heard what sounded like a snort from beside her.
“Mr. Swinton?” she asked pointedly.
The red-haired man seated her in the front row of chairs, the tails of his black evening coat flapping about his legs. “Excuse me, my lady, but I cannot help being amused about the collection of admirers your aunt is gathering.”
“You can’t?”
Mr. Swinton smiled and sat next to her. “You are misreading my words. I meant no slight to your charming aunt. You Wolfe ladies should be named for the perfect flower, for you intrigue a gentleman into thinking of gentleness instead of the feral temper of your family’s namesake.”
“You are the one mistaken.” Vanessa relaxed, for Mr. Swinton was trying to be agreeable company. Just because she had been in the dismals since her aunt’s ultimatum did not grant her the right to inflict her low spirits on him. “The Wolfe women are not sacrosanct from our family’s many faults.”
“May I say you and your aunt have shown rare aplomb in light of the distasteful escapade of earlier this week?”
“’Twas no escapade, Mr. Swinton. It was—”
“Intolerable of Franklin,” he supplied, his smile broadening. “Franklin can be a boor when sober. When blind as Chloë, the man is a knight and barrow pig and loses every manner he ever possessed. I must offer my abject condolences for your discomfort at the hands of my friend.”
“You cannot be held responsible for the behavior of your friend. I am, I must own, just glad to be shut of him.”
“I am pleased to hear that you do not judge a man by the cup and can he enjoys at his club. I have found that those companions, who are boon about the card table, can be an embarrassment when we are amid the fairest blossoms of the Polite World.”
Vanessa was about to reply, but the orchestra began playing even more loudly again. Rising, for she was certain her ears could not abide the noise for long, she saw her motion had set up Mr. Swinton’s bristles. His brown eyes, which were not as dark as Lord Brickendon’s, were wide with dismay.
And dismay was what she felt as she found herself comparing Mr. Swinton to the viscount. In spite of herself, she looked across the room. Lord Brickendon was no longer talking with Aunt Carolyn, and she had no chance to discover where he was, as Mr. Swinton asked if she would like to see the painting that he recently had had commissioned.
“Yes,” she answered. At that moment, she was eager to agree to just about anything to escape the crash of the music and her thoughts of the equally disquieting viscount.
Vanessa breathed a sigh of relief when they emerged from the ballroom into a small alcove.
“They are thunderous,” Mr. Swinton said with an apologetic smile. “I must speak with them before the beginning of the musicale. The selections for that are much more serene.” He pointed to an ornate, gilt frame. “This is the painting, my lady.”
A gasp of admiration burst from her lips as she stepped to where she could better see the canvas, which was more than her height and twice the length of the mahogany library table beneath it. Rolling hills of spring’s freshest green provided the backdrop for almost life-size figures of riders in their pinks mounted upon fine horses. About the steeds’ feet, dogs pranced, eager for the hunt across the stone walls and through fields stroked with the first gray light of morning.
“See the dog in front of the lead rider?” Mr. Swinton asked with undeniable pride. “He is of the Swinton Park kennels. The white patch just above the dog’s forepaws marks my kennels’ distinctive marking.”
“They look like excellent dogs. I can imagine them flushing the fox from its hold in no time.”
“You sound as if you enjoy the hunt, my lady.”
“I do. We often rode out at Wolfe Abbey before …” Her voice nearly broke as she thought of the halcyon days before Corey left for the continent and while her father had still overseen Wolfe Abbey. The longing for those simple diversions, for mornings chasing the fox across a dew-dappled field, for evenings when they sat by the hearth and shared a hot drink and read from the books they all adored, swarmed over her, as stinging and fierce as a hive of bees.
“My lady?”
She smiled, although she feared her expression would appear as feigned as it felt. “Forgive me. I lost myself in thoughts of hunts past.”
“And of hunts future?”
“I fear there is little worth hunting in Town.”
“If one isn’t seeking a spouse on the Marriage Mart?”
Thoughts of the past evaporated as Vanessa’s smile became genuine. “Those words could be considered blasphemous by certain parties.”
“I find the desperate search for a whither-ye-go can stand in the way of friendships.” He took her hand and held it between his. “Why should we not become friends? We share a love of the hunt and a dislike of that cacophonous music.”
“I would like that.” Guilt pinched her, for Mr. Swinton’s offer gave her the best opportunity to please Aunt Carolyn. Mr. Swinton was honest enough to say he was not setting his cap on her. She appreciated that and the fact that she could be seen enough in his company to discourage the insipid men she had met during the Season. She wanted little to do with any of them, save … Lord Brickendon, she had to own to herself, who was not in the least insipid. Yet, by appearing to live in Mr. Swinton’s pocket, she could avoid the viscount’s touch, which had been so unsettling. So deliriously unsettling.
She glanced back at the ballroom. She saw Lord Brickendon as clearly as if no one else stood within the huge room. He looked over his shoulder, and their gazes touched, as intimate and eager as a caress. As her fingers clenched in the silk of her dress, she fought the craving to surrender herself to the passions in his dark gaze. So easily she could have walked to him, drawn to him in a spellbound rapture.
Mr. Swinton’s pleasant tenor intruded, and she flinched. “Is something wrong, my lady?” he asked.
“No—no, I am fine.”
Puzzlement furrowed his forehead, but he said, “I would be honored if you and your aunt would join a small party I have arranged at Swinton Park this weekend. My master of the hunt has informed me that the dogs are anxious to be put to the scent, and I wish to oblige both him and them by setting them after the fox. Do join us.”
“I wish we were able to,” Vanessa said with regret. After months of being confined amid cobbles and marble, she longed to exult in the commonplace wonders of the country. Also—and perhaps more importantly—she would be far from Lord Brickendon. “Your invitation is generous, Mr. Swinton. However, I have promised a friend to be her hostess for the remainder of the Season. I could not be so remiss as to leave her right after we had opened our house to her.”
“Of course not.” A smile blossomed across his thin face. “I have just the dandy. Our party is small. Please offer your friend an invitation to join us in our hunt.”
Vanessa put her hand on his arm as they walked toward the ballroom. Her voice trembled when she saw Lord Brickendon talking again to her aunt. Getting out of London now would be prudent. A few days away, while she talked Aunt Carolyn into seeing sense, and she would have a better perspective on everything in Town. “That is generous of you, Mr. Swinton. I would be delighted to,” she said with a smile. She was glad she could be honest when she said, “I can’t imagine anything I would enjoy more.”
“Nor I, my lady.” His eyes glistened. “Nor I.”
Opening her parasol, Vanessa took a deep breath of the fresh air as she stepped out onto a small terrace overlooking the gardens of Swinton Park.
“To think,” said Eveline with a soft laugh, “that I threate
ned to fling out of the house when Papa said we would be going to daisyville. Now here I am.” She wrapped her arms around herself beneath the bright colors of her fringed shawl. “This shall be so much fun, although I look forward to the hunt with dread.”
Vanessa tilted her head, so she could see past the wide brim of her green Oldenburg bonnet. She smiled as the wind pulled at Eveline’s Scottish-style bonnet and twisted the plume attached to one side. “You need not dread anything. You can stay here in the house. Few women ride to catch the fox.”
“But you do.”
“Papa and Corey insisted that I ride as they did.” She laughed at Eveline’s gasp of shock. “Don’t worry. I shall not shame you or Aunt Carolyn by riding astride tomorrow. Everything I do or say shall be comme il faut.”
“As I am sure you always are, my lady,” answered Mr. Swinton as he climbed the trio of stone steps to the terrace. “I am delighted to see you have arrived here in such good humor. The journey from London can be tiring.” His eyes widened as he looked at Eveline. “Miss Clarke, this is a surprise.”
“For me as well,” Eveline answered as she offered his hand. When he bowed over it, dimples pocked her cheeks. “I was delighted with the invitation you asked Vanessa to present to me.”
“So you are staying with the Wolfe ladies.”
“We are dear friends.” She squeezed Vanessa’s hand, then added, “I must ask you to excuse me, Mr. Swinton. I make it a habit, any time I travel, to be certain that my abigail has unpacked my fripperies properly.”
“Eveline—”
“I shall be but a minute, Vanessa.” She walked toward the double doors opening into the book-room, pausing only long enough to wink brazenly at Vanessa.
Smiling, Vanessa walked with Mr. Swinton in the opposite direction. Trust Eveline to try to give her an unchaperoned moment with their host. She resisted the urge to be honest with her dear friend. Eveline would be sure to let the secret slip, and Aunt Carolyn soon would be looking for another suitor for her.
For now, everything was better than she had dared to hope. Coming to the country had been a grand idea. She would have fun with her bosom-bow and keep in with Mr. Swinton. Aunt Carolyn had been quite the prattle-box on the journey to Swinton Park, and Vanessa had said nothing to disabuse her of her notion that Vanessa and their host would soon be coming to a permanent understanding.
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