“I thought Wynne would come with you. She has not visited us in a sennight.” It bothered Devona that her sister seemed reluctant of late to discuss her confidences. In some ways, she had become quite secretive.
“She promised to call on Amara Claeg,” her father said, shaking his head. “Don’t know why she troubles herself. Lady Claeg will always blame us for her son’s death. The Claeg gel might be as gentle as a tame pony; nonetheless, befriending her is like inviting a vengeful adder to rest upon your breast.”
No one had endured more confrontations with the hostile Lady Claeg than Devona. Of all the Bedegraynes, she had been the most despised because of Doran Claeg’s unrequited love for her. In the end, his love had caused his death. Amara was the only Claeg who understood Devona was not to blame. She had maintained their friendship, despite her mother’s demand that she sever all connections to the Bedegraynes.
A slammed door in the distance had everyone glancing at the open doorway. The feminine murmur and the rhythmic click of four paws heralded the presence of Tipton’s sister and her dog.
Sir Thomas perked at the noise. The motherless sixteen-year-old had earned a place in the old man’s heart. Nothing fired him more than cheek and determination. Madeleina Wyman was fashioned with both. Her lively temperament sorely tested her brother’s patience. The pair often did not agree, which led to many loud discussions, a few tears, and the occasional crash. Their confrontations had always made Devona homesick for her brothers and sisters.
Madeleina rushed into the drawing room. Her Maltese, Flora, was at her heels. The dog’s long white hair appeared to have been recently combed. It swept the floor about her as though she was adorned in a flowing robe. Crisp pink ribbons secured the hair above her eyes, revealing dark, alert canine eyes.
The dog had been a gift from their friend Dr. Sir Wallace Brogden before he and Devona’s brother had departed for India. Brogden had hoped the grieving girl, who was going to miss the two gentlemen, would find comfort in a pet. Brogden’s instincts had been accurate, although his choice still puzzled Devona. Madeleina loved the outdoors. She spent hours digging and creating her gardens. It had been her sanctuary long before Devona had come into her life. Why he had chosen a creature that seemed more ladylike in appearance and mannerisms than Rayne’s sister could only be viewed as a facet of their friend’s dark humor. Nevertheless, Flora and Madeleina had become instant friends.
Resting her cheek against Lucien’s, Devona gave her sister-in-law a welcoming smile. “Good afternoon, Maddy. Flora looks freshly bathed. Was she digging in your flowers again?”
Madeleina grimaced. Her cream-and-green spring dress looked fresh, though a small dirt smudge on her jaw confirmed the small battle between dog and mistress. “I swear she thinks I am hiding her bones.” She kissed Devona on the cheek and tickled Lucien on the chin as she passed. “Brother,” she acknowledged. Brightening at the rising man, she exclaimed, “Papa Thomas! No one told me you were visiting.”
Sir Thomas embraced her. Flora, upset she was not being included, whined and circled around them. “What are you doing here?” He directed his glare at Rayne. “Maddy, gel, you should be in one of those fancy ladies’ schools. Devona, what was that prissy school I sent you gels to?”
“Miss Rann’s School of the Ladies’ Arts. She still runs the school, you know. Never have I encountered a woman so obsessed with the proper folding of napery. Wynne and I both agreed no lady’s education is complete without her lecture on the twelve steps of sitting.” She grinned at the girl’s groan.
Baffled, her father frowned. “Twelve steps? What steps are there to sitting on your arse?” He reddened at Madeleina’s mirth for his slip.
Light-blue eyes, so much like her brother’s, twinkled. “The woman is cracked.”
“Madeleina,” Rayne reprimanded.
She moved closer to Devona, her sun-streaked light-brown hair swinging jauntily, matching her proud stride. Her hands parted in invitation to Lucien. He squirmed in his mother’s arms, eager to climb into his young aunt’s embrace. Devona handed over her son. Madeleina cooed, murmuring nonsense until the little boy shrieked his glee. Like her brother, Madeleina was learning to widen her tiny circle of love and trust.
“There was an incident at the school,” Devona explained to her father.
“Several, by my account,” Rayne countered.
Madeleina swayed; the motion exposed her agitation as much as it soothed Lucien. “One mistake and I am branded for my villainy forever.”
Her husband’s eyes transformed into an intriguing pewter hue whenever he was angry. That color was focused on his sister. “A small creature was killed because of your waggery.”
“Who knew Miss Rann feared birds? All I wanted to do was liven up her staid instruction. She was the one who felled it with a book.”
Devona recognized a fight brewing between them. “Rayne, she has a point. Releasing the bird into the room was harmless. No one could have predicted the tragic outcome.”
Irritation flickered in his expression at her interference. “Supporting her side will only encourage her outlandish behavior. You do recall the reason why we sent her to the school?”
“I have to agree with the gels, Tipton. No reason to fuss over a little bird,” Sir Thomas interjected.
Madeleina’s rocking picked up speed as Rayne glowered at all of them. “There is the small matter of the fire.”
Devona’s father’s bushy brow lifted. “Fire?”
Hurt and defiance smoldered in Madeleina’s eyes. “If you are so certain I set that fire to that girl’s bed, then how can you sleep at night? I might set your house ablaze.” Her arm tightened around Lucien.
Having placed herself between fighting siblings more times than she could count, Devona positioned herself so neither could see the other. Flora, assuming her swinging skirts was a new game, tried nipping at her hem. “Maddy, your brother does not believe you are responsible for the fire, so desist in goading him. Is this not so, Rayne?”
“She is merely an innocent bystander in a series of regrettable incidents,” he dully agreed.
Provoking beast, Devona silently thought. The infuriating man obviously did not understand how to handle the sensitive nature of a budding young woman. She would be certain to set him straight later in private. “Papa, the school was closed due to an outbreak of typhus.”
Concern for Madeleina had Sir Thomas scowling. “Bloody putrid fever!”
“Once word reached us that a few of the girls had taken to their beds due to a fever, Rayne insisted on examining the girls. He confirmed the local doctor’s suspicions and then promptly removed Maddy from the school. He did not even bother packing up her clothes.”
Refusing to confirm the tale, Rayne stared at his clasped hands while Maddy and Lucien danced over to study one of the paintings hanging on the wall.
Cloaked within grief, wariness, and pride, neither of the Wyman siblings seemed capable of admitting their affection for the other. Still, a callous man would not rush to the side of his sister if he thought her in danger. Nor would a young woman have been distressed at leaving her brother’s house to go to school if she did not find comfort in being a part of his family. Devona had faith they would someday settle their differences.
“Maddy, do not wiggle Lucien so,” she warned. “Pearl fed him pudding.”
“Oh, he seems fit to me.” Maddy lifted him up high. She brought him close to rub noses. “Are you not, my sweet little man?”
Lucien grinned. He then proceeded to vomit all over the front of her dress. Shrieking, she jumped back, yet her hold on Lucien never faltered. Flora barked at her mistress’s upset. Horrified, Maddy handed the boy back to his mother. Regurgitated pudding dripped off her chin. Without a word, Rayne tossed her his handkerchief. Devona applauded his control. His only sign of amusement was a muffled snort. Sir Thomas laughed outright, probably relieved he had not been his grandson’s target.
Maddy mopped her chin. “Oh, vile,�
�� she wailed.
* * *
Gar stood by the door of the carriage, preparing to help Wynne and Amara down. If he wondered why they were not driving into Hyde Park instead of abandoning the carriage at the Park Lane entrance, he kept his questions to himself.
Amara looked splendid in her walking dress made of fine cambric. A twilled blue silk mantle rested on her shoulders. Her dark-brown hair had been swept up and concealed within a matching headdress. Slender strands of hair had been selected with care and curled. The wind blew them across her face, tickling her nose. Distracted, she brushed the irritant away.
Wynne’s choice of dress had been influenced by her thoughts on Keanan’s reaction. She wore a white sarcenet underdress, with a green crepe robe over it, hoping it heightened the green in her eyes. Her blond hair was tucked beneath a cap of green crepe and intricate lace. White kid shoes and gloves completed the image she wanted to project. She was a confident, privileged lady. The woman who had clutched Keanan Milroy, begging for his kisses, had been an aberration. She had no intention of repeating the experience.
“No offense, Wynne. Our last outing did not end well. You can understand my trepidation concerning our joining Mr. Milroy,” Amara said, interrupting her thoughts.
“He saved my life.”
“Then blackmailed you. It is not like you to fudge the finer points.”
Wynne looked back, reassured to see Gar following them at a discreet distance. “He was rather annoyed with Lord Nevin when he issued the summons. A later meeting allowed him to explain his intentions.”
Amara halted, recognition flashing across her expressive features. “A clandestine meeting? I thought you had more sense. This is something Devona might do—”
“It is not as sordid as you imagined. Since you think I have lost my good sense, I do not see the need to continue the subject,” she said. A shard of guilt splintered her indignation because part of her knew that Amara was speaking the truth.
They continued walking in silence. Almost to the entrance of the park, the crowd thickened. Everyone seemed to be anticipating an upcoming coach race between two reckless gentlemen who possessed more pride than common sense. Neither one of them had any interest in the outcome so they moved away from the noisy spectators and entered the park.
The sight of dozens of tents and the heavenly aroma of food greeted the two ladies. Keanan Milroy had been telling the truth when he had mentioned the small fair.
“You have feelings for him,” Amara whispered. Awe resonated in her voice. “Wynne, loving a man beneath you can only lead to regret. I recall reading a treatise a few years back on the very subject.”
Love. She flinched at the thought. How could she love the man? They were barely acquainted. Devona had once said that her affection for Tipton had struck her heart like a lightning stroke. Wynne believed her. Her sister always rushed headlong into life. Falling in love would be no different. Her reckless sister had found happiness, but Wynne considered it luck. Too many Bedegraynes trusted their fate to impulse. She had sworn to be more sensible.
“Cease being a snob, Amara. Mr. Milroy, despite his profession, has behaved like a gentleman.” She decided not to mention his kisses.
“Gentlemen have vied for your attention before only to be rejected. Mayhap you feel beholden to him for his bravery. Reward him. You have the right. Just do not encourage him.”
“Miss Bedegrayne, your friend offers sage counsel,” Keanan said, approaching them from behind. “Forgive my tardiness. Lord Lothbury insisted he join us on our adventure.”
Wynne and Keanan took turns making formal introductions, all pretending their meeting was accidental.
“Miss Claeg,” Lothbury murmured, bowing over her hand. “Now that you have shed your mourning garb, I hope to see you about town more. I insist on claiming your first dance.”
The marquess’s words flustered Amara speechless. She tended to be awkward around gentlemen, an affliction Wynne had not been able to alleviate. Accepting his proffered arm, the pair walked several steps ahead.
“You rogue,” she accused. “How did you guess?”
Keanan leaned closer, boldly brushing a brief kiss to her cheek. He did not pretend not to understand her charge. “Ah, Wynne. Last night you thought with your heart. Today, I suspected you would armor yourself with logic. Bringing a companion to protect yourself from my lecherous intentions was wise”—he fingered the lace on her cap—“but entirely futile.”
“Amara is my friend. Gar”—she glanced over her shoulder and smiled at her footman—“will tear off your arms if you misbehave.”
His gaze followed hers to the footman. Each man soberly sized up the other. Nodding to the servant, he returned his attention to Wynne. “A well-built guard you have, deary. If you insist on calling a fight, I am willing to oblige. A good fair always demands a prize ring.”
“Beast,” she said, not really angry. She expected Mr. Milroy to act like the gentleman that she had sworn to Amara he was.
Enjoying the atmosphere of the fair, it was easy to forget she had been maneuvered into attending. Music filled the air. Couples broke into impromptu dancing all around them. In the distance she could see some of the quality sitting on quilts, observing the festivities from a distance while servants served them meals on fine porcelain. She had partaken in those picnics in the past. Now she looked forward to mingling with the masses. They would not starve, she decided, observing an old woman sitting on a stool, flipping fritters. It was one of a thousand smells, mingling with sunshine, the animals, and people, begging to be explored.
“Well, Miss Bedegrayne, what would you like to see first?” Keanan asked. “The stage was built for a play, it seems. We can make our way over to watch a hero triumphing over a villain. There is a wild animal show. I will hold your hand and protect you from the ferocious beasts. Or perhaps you are hungry? I thought I heard your innards growl a second ago.”
“It was impolite of you to notice.”
“I disagree. A gentleman always sees to his lady.” He cupped his hands and yelled to his friend. “Lothbury!”
Still flushed, Amara and the marquess joined them. “With a mob like this, it would be easy for folks to get lost.” He winked and nudged Keanan.
“Miss Bedegrayne and I have decided to eat before we explore the fair. Will you join us?”
Amara’s lips parted as if to speak, but Lothbury was already making their excuses. “I promised Miss Claeg we would find a place close to the stage for observing the play. Do not let us detain you. We can meet up later for the fireworks.” He was already leading her away before anyone could argue. Helpless, Amara silently appealed to her friend.
“I cannot leave my friend in his clutches. She will never forgive me,” Wynne said, moving to go after them.
Keanan stilled her by grabbing her arm. “Lothbury may be a bit too impressed with himself, but he is harmless. He will keep Miss Claeg safe.” He shrugged. “The man is a marquess. That alone should still her mama’s tongue if the gossip reaches her ears.”
It was not Lady Claeg she feared. The ambitious woman would be thrilled learning her daughter had caught the attention of a marquess. It was Wynne’s brother Brock who was likely to throttle her if anything came of this budding friendship.
“Gar, look after Miss Claeg. She intends watching the play with his lordship.”
The footman’s eyes narrowed on Keanan’s. “She’s not the only one who needs a keeper, miss.”
“I will look after your mistress, Gar. She will come to no harm under my care.” He extended his hand, willing to seal the vow with a handshake.
Gar accepted it, and for a few seconds the men tested the strength of their oaths. Grimacing, the footman released his grip. “I am not the only man coming after you if I hear different.” Nodding to Wynne, he threaded into the crowd in search of Amara.
“Come on.” He took her hand. “Let me feed you. Maybe then you will swallow down that frown.”
* * *
/> Feeding Miss Bedegrayne did indeed improve her disposition. She was smiling at him when he lifted her up and set her on the merry-go-round.
“I feel foolish,” she said, nervously clutching the ropes strung up to the center pole.
“Rot. Everyone likes to see a pretty maid rosy-cheeked and giggling.” He paid the man for her seat and waved farewell.
Two men spun the giant wheel. Keanan watched Wynne tighten her hold on the ropes on the first turn. Her skirts flared with the increasing speed. She tilted her head back and laughed. While watching her pleasure, desire washed through his blood like strong spirits.
He wanted her.
If she were any other woman, he would not have hesitated. He was a healthy man, fired by the natural urges a man feels when an attractive woman has caught his eye. Wynne Bedegrayne possessed a singular allure that could twist a man into knots. He had sensed it the moment he saw her. Claiming her would be a mistake, and the price dual-edged. Unfortunately, the risk was as tempting as the lady.
Once the ride was over, he ran forward and grabbed her off the wheel. Still laughing, she held on to his arms as if he was the only means of keeping her on her feet.
“Wonderful!”
“Aye, my favorite part, too,” he said, his right hand splayed across her lower back, pulling her closer. “If I keep you dizzy and weak with laughter, you will never want to leave my arms.”
Shock widened her eyes. “I fell for a ruse? You fiend!” On wobbly legs, she tried to step back. “How many women have you put on a merry-go-round just to take advantage of their dizziness?”
He liked how she bristled. Then again, he preferred her in his arms more. “Counting you?”
Her reply came out like a hiss. “Yes!”
Taking up her hand again, he kissed her palm. “One.”
“Oh.”
The misty, romantic expression on her face nibbled at his conscience. To diminish the importance of his admission, he said, “The fairs I attended were to prove myself in the ring. Afterward, I was tired, sweating and my knuckles bleeding from cutting them on some bugger’s jagged teeth; I was poor company for any woman.” Sighting the tent he had been searching for, Keanan hailed the man standing by the entrance.
The Scandalously Bad Mr. Milroy Page 11
