by Regina Scott
“Is no man willing to marry within his own class?” her mother lamented.
Lady Lilith put her nose in the air. “Apparently not. You will recall the duke had his choice of three imminently suitable ladies—”
“Including you,” her mother agreed.
“—and still he wed his governess. I am disappointed with Mr. Villers, as well. All this talk of marriage, and he never so much as asked to hold my hand.”
“But how could that be?” Yvette asked, all innocence. “The earl instructed me to act as chaperone while Monsieur Villers courts you.”
Lady Lilith gasped. The cruel lines around her mouth disappeared, and light gleamed in her pale eyes. “Truly?”
“Mais oui. If you doubt me, ask your brother.”
“I will.” She hurried off.
Yvette didn’t see her or Gregory again until they all gathered for dinner. As she entered, the countess leaning on her arm, Mr. Villers was making conversation with a blushing Lady Lilith. Gregory started toward them, and Mr. Villers glanced up, turned white, and dropped his gaze to the damask-draped table. He did his best to keep his distance from Lady Lilith for the remainder of the evening, excusing himself early. Gregory watched him go.
“Gregory hates him,” Lady Lilith moaned as Yvette prepared to bid the countess good night. Her daughter paced the bedchamber, dark skirts swirling. “Beau will never declare himself with such animosity.”
“Surely your brother wants what is best for you,” Yvette told her.
Lady Lilith met her mother’s gaze. “That’s what Father used to say, and here I am alone.”
The room felt colder, as if the specter of the dead earl had passed by. Yvette waved a hand to dispel the thought. “I will speak to the earl, tell him how you feel.”
Lilith brightened. “Would you?”
Lady Carrolton held up one hand as if to bless her. “Excellent idea. He’s less likely to take his wrath out on the staff. Be cautious, though, French.”
Be cautious. As if she could be anything less. As it was, she half-expected to see her cousin leering at her from behind a statue in the elegant entry hall as she ventured downstairs, preparing to pounce from behind a tall Oriental vase in the corridor, or lurking in the corner of the beautiful withdrawing room. He was none of those places. And neither was Gregory.
She approached Mr. Marbury in the end. The butler was in the kitchen, discussing the next day’s plans with the cook. Like every other room at Carrolton Park, this one bore the mark of its master. The walls were a warm cream, the cabinets a sunny yellow that was reflected by the polished copper pots and pans. Palm fronds and pineapples in greening copper topped the tall metal supports that braced the high ceiling. The solid work table in the center of the room boasted a marble top, and the brick hearth held a round black cast-iron door for a roaster. Napoleon would have been jealous.
“Pardon me, Monsieur Marbury,” Yvette said with a curtsey. “I am to deliver a message from Lady Lilith to the earl. Can you tell me where he is?”
The butler held out his large hand with a sigh. “I shall deliver it.”
Yvette grimaced. “I regret that it is not on paper. I have memorized it.”
“Then report it to me.”
She lowered her gaze. “It is of a personal nature. I promised to tell only the earl.”
Marbury sighed again, lowering his hand. “Such doings, Mrs. Clarke.”
“In my day servants knew their place,” the older, heavy-set cook said, patting her silvery curls.
“Ah,” Mr. Marbury said, “but you are not a servant, are you, Miss French?”
Yvette stilled. Had she given herself away? Did he know? She raised her head to scan his face. His smile was kind, his look fatherly. She drew in a breath.
“Mais non,” she said with a smile. “I am the countess’ companion.”
He nodded. “Very well. His lordship is the greenhouse. He does not appreciate having his work interrupted. I will escort you and explain the matter to him.”
Disappointment clung to her as they exited the kitchen for the yard. It took little thought to realize why she suddenly felt blue. She had been hoping for time alone with Gregory. She didn’t want to share him with anyone, even Marbury.
Still, as they set off across the lawn, she was glad for the butler’s strength beside her. The greenhouses stood a little ways from the house, very likely so as to keep out of the building’s shadow, and the only light came from inside and the feeble moon tangled in the trees. In the darkness, she would never have seen her cousin approach. Then again, he would not easily see her if he was watching the house.
They reached the closest greenhouse, and the butler opened the door. Warm, moist air rushed out, along with the scents of earth and life. As she stepped inside, she gazed about.
The greenhouse was a long, low structure with a peaked roof, the metal scaffolding supporting the glass like a skeleton of some gigantic creature. Pots along either side held dark earth, silvery ash, rounded rock from a river bed, and water that sparkled in the lamps hung by chains from the roof. Here and there, larger pots supported broad, vibrant green trees heavy with the round dimpled fruit of oranges. Tables down the center groaned under the weight of pink lilies, purple asters, and frilly marigolds, all under the glittering black of the night sky.
It was still easy to spot the large man in the tweed coat.
He was standing at the closest table, sleeves rolled back and gaze focused. His hands were black with soil; perspiration beaded his brow, likely from the heat of the room. In front of him lay dozens of smaller pots, fragrant blossoms bobbing as he picked up a container. How gently those big hands cradled the plant, how tenderly he moved it into a larger pot.
Marbury waited until he had finished before clearing his throat. Gregory looked up, eyes blinking as if recalling himself from a long distance. “Marbury? Miss French?”
Yvette curtseyed.
“Miss French has a message from your sister,” Marbury explained. “It is of a personal nature and rather urgent, from what I’ve gathered. May I leave her with you to explain?”
Gregory nodded, and Marbury withdrew.
The earl shook the dirt from his hands and strode forward. “What’s happened? Has your cousin been sighted again?”
Yvette shook her head. “Non, non. It is truly about your sister I must speak. She is very concerned about Monsieur Villers. She believes he would propose if you would encourage him.”
His face tightened. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
She frowned up at him. “But why? He is not the most admirable fellow, I agree, but your sister is fond of him.”
“He’s done nothing to prove himself worthy of her, and I will not countenance an alliance until he does.”
Once more, he was all conviction, all command. Still, she could feel his concern, for his sister, for her. She wanted to ease the tension.
“So, tell me,” she said with her best smile. “What do you do here in the night?”
“Nothing of import.”
She didn’t believe him, and she wasn’t ready to leave his company so soon. She wandered to the table, then turned to gaze up at him. “I think it is of more importance than you claim. You have a secret passion. You must tell me.”
~~~
A secret passion. With her looking up at him through lashes gilded by lamplight, he could easily confess he was coming to care about her. To think her cousin had approached her not once but twice chilled him. And he could not seem to get through to Julian or Villers that this approach of making her the bait was madness.
So, he’d taken refuge in the one place he knew, the one place where he could make a difference. The one place his size and strength were immaterial. Even his friends might laugh had they known. The powerful Carrolton, playing in the dirt.
“It’s just a hobby,” he insisted.
She touched the tip of her finger against a bloom, and he felt as if she’d caressed his cheek. “But you take such
care. And you do not keep these wonders to yourself. I have seen such blossoms before—on your mother’s dressing table.”
He nodded. “They are her favorite.”
Her smile was soft. “How kind. The countess said Marbury was filling her vase. But it was you.”
“She wasn’t getting out much, you see,” he felt compelled to explain. “Or at least she didn’t until you arrived. I thought it might cheer her to see them.”
“And this?” she asked, moving on to the Hemerocallis.
He smiled at the bright, tri-petaled blossom. “Lilies. For Lilith.”
“And you are starting something new, I see,” she said, regarding the row of pots where bulbs were just sprouting.
His throat felt tight. “I planted them last fall, but I’ve been trying to force them to bloom early. Iris xiphium. Some call them fleur-de-lis.”
She stilled. “The flower of France.”
He couldn’t answer.
She turned to face him, lips soft. “You want them to open, for me?”
Why did he feel like a child who’d been caught with his fingers in the sugar bowl? “I thought they would remind you of home.”
She flung herself at him, wrapped her arms as far as they would go around him. “Oh, Gregory, how you honor me.”
She trembled against him. He put his arms around her, bent his head until his chin brushed the curls of her crown. Like silk. And she smelled of roses—Rosa. Even as he marveled, he heard a sound that ripped through him.
He thrust her back from him. “Are you crying? I never intended, that is I hoped…”
She laughed through the tears shining on her cheeks. “Non, non, mon cher, you mistake me. These are tears of joy. No one has ever been as thoughtful to me as you. Merci beaucoups.”
He drew in a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Well, then, you are very welcome. Now, I should get you back to the house before Mother and Lilith wonder what’s become of you.”
She took the arm he offered her but held him in place. “First, mon coeur, you must tell me. Why are you so set against Monsieur Villers?”
He sagged. “Must I?”
“Mais oui, for I must have something to tell your sister. I have seen him at his worst at Harry’s home, so I can understand your reluctance to accept him.”
“He’s useless,” Gregory said. “He’s supposed to be on guard, and he’s done nothing but flirt with Lilith.”
“True. He looks to his own interests first. When he threatened to blackmail Harry, I was equally angry with him.”
He jerked back. “What! He threatened Harry?”
Yvette patted his arm. “Have no fear. Harry and I dissuaded him. I thought perhaps he had learned his lesson. He agreed to help Lord Hastings, after all.”
“Very likely to avoid prosecution, if he’s attempted to blackmail others,” Gregory muttered.
“Perhaps. But he does seem to admire your sister. Could not love make him strong?”
He shook his head. “You have been through so much, yet you still believe in the power of love?”
Her smile was sad. “One needs to cling to something.”
Cling to me. The words almost came out before he clenched his teeth against them. He had offered his heart before—in the calm of an English withdrawing room—and been dismissed. He had no right to offer it to her now, not while she was so uncertain as to her future.
“Will you consider the matter?” she pressed. “Your sister is actually happy with him. It is so good to see her smile.” She waved a hand toward the plants. “Is that not why you work here? To create something that will bring your mother and sister joy?”
It was. The simple acts brought him peace, reminded him of the man he wished to be. A man who cared for his family, who looked to the needs of others.
Though at the moment, his need to hold her was nearly his undoing.
“Very well,” he said. “I will attempt to tolerate Beau Villers. But if he hurts Lilith in any way, I will not be accountable for my actions.”
All humor vanished from her face, and he almost called the words back. The best he could do was offer her his arm again and escort her out, leaving his peace behind in the greenhouse.
Chapter Sixteen
What was she to make of him? Yvette watched Gregory over the next few days. He was as good as his word, treating Villers with cordiality even though at times his face showed his conflicting feelings. As if he hadn’t noticed, the would-be intelligence agent lavished praise on Lady Lilith, seldom straying from her side from breakfast to dinner. Lilith bloomed under the attention, her laugh warm, her smile bright. And that only made her suitor more determined to please her.
There was no further sign of Claude. Yvette made a point of asking Gregory or Mr. Villers each day, when she could escape her duties.
“He won’t dare show his face,” Mr. Villers had bragged. “We scared him all the way back to France.”
Yvette had smiled at him. “I doubt that. It will not be his face you see, monsieur. It will be the flash of the blade before it strikes.”
That had wiped the sneer from his mouth.
But with Lady Lilith getting all the attention, Lady Carrolton became more demanding, making it difficult for Yvette to chaperone Lilith or leave the house much. The countess insisted on Yvette’s company and began asking for things out of the red case again.
“You must tell her she doesn’t need them,” she appealed to Gregory when he came to visit his mother the second day after they had returned from the wedding.
He obligingly sat on the chair and set the case in his lap, but if the countess thought he would protect her precious pills, she was doomed to disappointment.
“Purgative,” he read on one bottle of liquid. “Why would you need to purge yourself, Mother? Cook is very skilled.” Likewise, he dismissed the pills to put her to sleep and wake her up.
“Exercise and fresh air will do more for both, madam,” he informed her.
He left her with her vinaigrette box and handkerchiefs.
“Villain,” his mother muttered as he carried off the rest.
“I will see what I can do,” Yvette said, hurrying after him.
She caught up with him in the corridor. “Your mother relies too much on her medicines, but are you sure it is wise to take away so many?”
His arms cradling an assortment of pills, potions, and products, he shook his head. “I can’t be sure of any of this, Yvette. Until I know they are safe for her, I’m keeping them out of her reach.” He offered her a contrite smile. “I’m sorry. I know that will likely make your job harder. I’ll stop by more often.”
And he did. Twice every morning, tea in the afternoon, and after dinner. He read books to his mother, shared information from the London Times that had been delivered, and reminisced about her younger days. The last Yvette found particularly interesting.
“Do you remember when we used to go up to the Clarendon Square house with your father for the opening of Parliament?” she asked one day as they were gathered around the tea cart. Lilith and Villers were out riding, with an armed groom as attendant. If Lilith wondered at the precaution, she hadn’t mentioned the fact to Yvette.
The earl leaned back in the chair, which squeaked in protest. He hastily straightened, balancing the delicate china cup in his large hand. “I remember when Father took me to see the King review the troops. Very stirring.”
His mother sighed, glancing down into her tea. “Yes, your father always thought you shouldn’t be overly influenced by the ladies of the house. I had Lilith, of course, but I wished I had more time with you.”
He set aside his tea. “I’m here now, Mother. What would you like to know?”
Her eyes turned misty. “Why haven’t you wed? Surely you don’t want the estate to go to some distant cousin.”
The chair squeaked again as he shifted, gaze darting to Yvette and back to his mother. “No, Mother. But I’ve been busy setting things to rights after Father’s death.”
She frowned. “For five years? He can’t have left the estate in such a poor state as that.”
“Your son has been devoted to your care as well,” Yvette pointed out.
“Bah,” the countess said. “High time you wed. A nice English girl of good family with a fortune. Surely you can find one.”
None of those characteristics applied to her. She was aware of a distinct lowering in her spirits.
Not that she intended to marry Gregory. How could she reconcile the two images of him, hers and his family’s?
There was the brute his mother and sister feared to cross.
The quiet gardener who grew them flowers in secret, never seeking their approval or thanks.
The commanding peer who refused to allow his sister to marry the man she loved.
The valiant protector who risked his own life to keep Yvette safe.
Who was this man?
But with all her questions, she could not question why she feared the truth. She had been hiding her heart for years. She could not feel safe revealing it now.
Her tensions rose as they prepared for church that Sunday. Claude must know she would be there. Would he find some way to strike? Gregory must have feared as much, for he stayed by her side while Villers pasted himself to the other.
“Just who are you escorting, sir?” Lady Lilith complained as they reached the door of the church.
“You, dear lady, always,” Mr. Villers promised. He glanced at Gregory. “Only…”
“Only he wishes to make sure I do you credit,” Yvette said. “I am not so used to fine company.”
“Exactly,” Villers said, straightening and frowning at her. “I will not have my beloved’s reputation besmirched by improper behavior.”
Lady Lilith patted his hand. “That is very kind of you, Beau, but I have the utmost faith in French. She has done wonders for Mother and helped me as well. Now, come along.”
Gregory looked surprised. Yvette could only smile.
Safely surrounded in the pew, her head lower than any around her, she was able to relax and enter into the spirit of the service. She was still alive. Lady Lilith had complimented her. Friends surrounded her. She had much to be thankful for.
