by Regina Scott
There came the venom. Gregory nearly sighed aloud. Charlotte glanced between Yvette, who remained smiling, and Lilith, who was darkening, then focused on Yvette. “How interesting. I admire a woman who can make her own way in the world despite circumstances. I don’t think I could work as a companion, alas. I’m much too opinionated.”
Yvette inclined her head. “As am I. Ask Lady Carrolton. She did not know what to make of me. And poor Lady Lilith felt it necessary to be forever showing me my place.”
Lilith dropped her gaze. “Habit. Please forgive me, Yvette.”
Gregory blinked. Yvette’s smile widened, and Charlotte looked insufferably pleased about the whole thing.
She requested that Gregory walk her to the door when the visit ended.
“I did not wish to spread gossip,” she said, pausing in the entry hall with its black and white marble tiled floor, the space feeling cramped after his grand entry hall at Carrolton Park. “I am not the one who bears a grudge against Lydia Villers and her brother. She broke Worth’s heart last year. He blames her. I blame him. I just thought you should know since you’ll shortly have a Villers in the family.”
Of their set, Frederick Worthington—Worth to friends and family—was the prickliest. Fiercely independent, with an artist’s sensibilities and a scholar’s intellect, he had devoted himself to the furtherance of chemical knowledge. Gregory could see him falling in love with such intensity that he frightened the lady away.
Still, Lydia Villers, with all her engaging energy, didn’t seem the sort to run. Her brother would have counted her alliance with the wealthy and titled Worth a coup. Why refuse, if he had been ready to lay his heart at her feet? She hadn’t discovered her interest in science yet, and he would likely have encouraged it if she had.
“Thank you for the warning,” he told Charlotte now, taking her hand and bowing over it. As he straightened, he found her regarding him, head cocked. When he raised a brow, she laughed.
“Sorry. I was trying to imagine you courting Miss de Maupassant.”
He took a step back, bumping against the half-moon table under the gilt-framed mirror. “I am not courting Yvette de Maupassant.”
She smiled. “Certainly not. Those looks flashing between the two of you were merely because Lilith and I were so boring. Come now, Carrolton. You and I have known each other since we were children. You were never good at dissembling.”
He almost wished he was. Those grey eyes were too knowing.
“I greatly admire the lady and am honored by her friendship, as I am by yours,” he told her.
“Very prettily said, sir. Have your way, then. But if you care about the lady, don’t be a fool like Worth and convince yourself anything is more important.” She straightened. “I hope shortly to be wishing you happy as well, Carrolton. Good day.”
He saw her out, closing the door behind her. The walls were far too close. Perhaps he should buy the house next door, expand the space. Then there was the bill the Prime Minister had sent him to consider sponsoring. And would he require a new coat for Lilith’s wedding? She would hardly allow him to escort her down the aisle in tweed.
He stopped the frantic circling of his mind, recognizing the cause. Charlotte was right. It was easy to think of a dozen things to fill his time, when what was most important to him was the lovely French lady sitting in the withdrawing room, yet far away.
~~~
Yvette smiled at another young lady who had come to congratulate Lady Lilith, allowing the conversation to wash over her. She had thought attending these visits would take her mind off the danger, but they were no help. Lilith would say she was here to shop for a trousseau, and it would be large and expensive, and if Yvette had to listen to it again she would scream. Was this all English ladies did? Small wonder Lady Carrolton pretended the vapors.
Her former employer had had trouble rebounding from the rigors of travel and had spent the previous day abed. The physician had sequestered himself with her for a time, then reported to Marbury that she required undisturbed rest. It was almost as if they were back at Carrolton Park, for Yvette had helped Ada entertain her, reading and sharing news from Lilith’s many visitors. At least the countess had recovered sufficiently today to go out calling herself.
Yvette had declined to accompany her. If she left the house, Gregory would insist on escorting her, and he had enough to do watching each visitor who came in the house as if he suspected her cousin was hiding behind the muslin skirts. He enjoyed the visits even less than she did. She knew, because sooner or later his gaze would go unfocused, and she was certain he was back in the greenhouse with his beloved plants.
She would have preferred to be there as well. Indeed, she was surprised how much she missed Carrolton Park. She had always preferred the city to the country, the excitement of Paris to the quiet of the Picardy countryside on the way to Calais. But she could not argue the peace of Gregory’s wooded home.
Or the comfort of his company.
They had had little time for conversation since arriving. The size of the house meant that everyone was together far more often than usual. However, Lilith had retired early the previous night. With Marbury standing by the open door to the withdrawing room, Yvette and Gregory had talked long into the night. How delightful to listen to the stories of his time at school, the many friends he’d made, their antics, what he’d learned while traveling. Some of his friends she had met—Harry and Julian Mayes and the Duke of Wey. Some she looked forward to meeting, like this Viscount Worthington with the beautiful, clever sister who looked at Gregory as if he should live in her pocket.
Non, non, she would not be jealous. He was not hers. He would never be until Claude was vanquished.
Now she forced herself to focus on the latest visitor, a Miss Pence. Dressed in a beribboned pelisse of serpentine satin, the pinched-nosed brunette had insisted on keeping her bonnet, as if she only intended to stay a moment instead of the half hour she had rattled on. The white wicker frame was festooned with large yellow silk flowers and a reddish-brown ribbon that teased her pale cheek.
Yvette leaned closer to Gregory and nodded toward the bonnet. “Helianthus, non?”
“Too small to be a sunflower,” he murmured. “More likely Bellis Perennis, or at least someone’s idea of what a daisy should be.”
Lilith glanced their way with a frown. Her friend’s look was equally quelling.
“We were admiring your bonnet,” Yvette explained.
She inclined her head, setting the bright yellow flowers to bobbing. “Thank you. I thought the ribbons particularly fetching. The latest color, I’m told.”
“I considered it for the sofa at Carrolton Park,” Gregory said. “Dead salmon, I believe.”
Yvette bit her lips as the lady’s smile froze. “I beg your pardon?”
“The color,” Gregory elaborated with all earnestness. “It’s called dead salmon. It suits you very well.”
Yvette burst out laughing. She regretted it immediately, for Gregory began to look a bit like a dead fish himself as Lilith’s friend took herself off in a huff.
“Really, Gregory,” his sister scolded him. “Have you no sensibilities?”
“It is my fault,” Yvette intervened. “I should not have laughed.”
“No, you should not,” Lilith agreed, nose in the air. “Imagine naming a color dead salmon.” Her nose came down, her lips twisted a moment, and then the sweetest giggle escaped. “Oh, Gregory. You couldn’t have made that up. What was the designer thinking?”
Smiling, Gregory inclined his head. “I didn’t make it up, but I should have considered how your friend might react. Forgive me, Lilith.”
She waved a hand. “I suspect we’ll have a few more of those moments while we’re in London. Everyone wants to call on me. Too many considered me on the shelf, you see. Now that I’m to wed, I’m a seven-day wonder. There will only be more comments when I go shopping for fabric for a wedding gown.”
“And not in dead salmon,” Yvet
te suggested.
Lilith laughed again as she rose. “No, certainly not. Someone very clever taught me that I look better in more intense colors, regardless.”
“Perhaps silver or white,” Yvette suggested, rising as well. “In long lines to emphasize your height and grace.”
Lilith took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “You must come with me. What would I do without your fashion sense?”
Gregory looked so pleased with the situation Yvette thought he might pop a button off his blue waistcoat.
“You are comfortable with me going shopping?” she asked him.
His smile turned determined. “Of course. I’ll come with you.”
She knew it was a risk, but she couldn’t stop the feeling of relief at the idea of leaving the house.
They were coming out of the withdrawing room when Marbury appeared on the stair.
“Your ladyship, my lord, Miss de Maupassant,” he said, dipping his head respectfully. “Lady Carrolton returned from her outing looking peaked. She is in her room and asking for you.”
Yvette made a face. “We have neglected her. I will go.”
“We’ll all go,” Lilith said with a look to Gregory.
He nodded and motioned them to proceed him up the stairs.
Ada was laying a compress on the countess’ head as they entered the pretty blue room she used while in town. Lady Carrolton lay on the counterpane, fully dressed in one of her black gowns. A shame she hadn’t done more to heed Yvette’s advice. The dark fabric sapped the color from her cheeks, made her eyes look sunken.
“Is that my family?” she asked in a wheezy voice. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was having a perfectly lovely coz with Lady Agnes when I simply couldn’t keep my eyes open another minute. Where’s my red case?”
Yvette moved closer. Though Ada had turned down the lamp, Lady Carrolton’s pupils were tiny pinpricks, and sweat beaded her brow. A chill went through Yvette.
“Mother,” Lilith scolded. “You promised to behave.”
Yvette straightened and met their gazes. “It is no act this time. She is ill. Send for the physician.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gregory paced the upstairs corridor. It was far from satisfactory, a mere ten paces from one side of the house to the other. He wanted to be at his mother’s side, but Lilith had been adamant.
“We don’t know whether she’s contagious,” his sister had said, pushing him out into the corridor. “You are the earl, Gregory. Your heir is a distant cousin who cares nothing for us. You cannot take ill and die.”
“We will stay with your mother,” Yvette had promised, face sagging with sorrow. “And I will come for you if there is any change.”
It had been an hour, and she hadn’t come out of the room.
He looked up as Marbury ascended the stairs, towing the new physician. Gregory had met and interviewed him after his first visit, finding him singularly self-effacing for a man of medicine. The fellow had a carefully trimmed beard and mustache, and his hair was the same shade of brown. Clutching his black valise, he peered at Gregory through thick-lensed glasses as Marbury brought him to the bedchamber door.
“Dr. Smythe, my lord.”
Gregory nodded. “Doctor. I trust Marbury explained the situation?”
“Yes, my lord,” he said, voice calm and quiet, with a hint of an accent Gregory guessed was Scottish. The man had been trained in the famed school in Edinburgh, according to what he had told Gregory.
Gregory stepped aside to let them pass and followed them to the door.
The physician paused before entering, glancing at Gregory as if he suspected Gregory intended to come with him. “If it pleases your lordship, I prefer to see the patient alone.”
“My sister will insist on being present,” Gregory said. “And I must insist on her attendance as well. Marbury, ask Miss de Maupassant to come out.”
The physician’s smile of thanks looked far too bright in the dim corridor.
Yvette came out shortly, and the physician hurried past her into the room. Yvette’s gaze was all for Gregory. She grasped his hand and held it tight in both of hers. “Do not fear. She is stronger than she pretends. She will fight this.”
“But how did this happen?” Gregory asked, warmed by her touch. “She seemed to be recovering.”
Yvette shrugged. “Who can say? These diseases do as they please, make this one sick and another not at all. We will not let it take her.”
He felt a smile coming. “Able to fight death, are you?”
She paled. “I could wish as much, for those I love.”
He focused on their joined hands. Hers had always looked so small in his. Yet her fingers had a strength to hold him, to thrill him, to wipe away concerns, to celebrate joys. He had debated whether she could care, whether he cared enough. Now none of that mattered. His mother’s illness and his sister’s worries about the line of succession drove home the point. His life was finite. Why waste another minute?
“Dare I hope you include me among those you love?” he murmured.
“Oh, mon coeur.” She reached up one hand to touch his cheek, eyes misty. “You most of all. I did not believe there were men like you still on this earth—true and honest and loyal.”
Those qualities were far from what he wanted her to feel for him. He snorted. “I sound like your pet.”
She smiled. “My tame lion. Majestic as the King of Beasts.”
He sighed, defeat creeping closer. “So, I am a beast.”
Her hand fell. “You mistake me. I have nothing but admiration for you.”
“Admiration is a start,” he acknowledged. “But what if I want more?”
In answer, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.
Once more, the world collapsed into sensation, emotion. He pulled her close, answered her kiss with another. In her touch, he felt alive, the man he was meant to be.
At length she pulled back, and he released her. She stared up at him.
“What do you wish from me?” she whispered. “Ask it, and it is yours. I could refuse you nothing.”
“In that case.” Gregory went down on one knee, putting his head below hers. “Yvette de Maupassant, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
~~~
Joy bubbled up inside her, and she bent to take his face in her hands and kiss him again. “Oui, mon coeur. Mais oui. Je suis honoré.”
“English, if you would?” he asked, gazing up at her with hope shining in his eyes. “I don’t want to mistake you.”
“Yes,” she said, taking his hands to encourage him to rise. “Yes, yes, yes. Only kiss me again.”
He was rather thoroughly obliging her when someone coughed.
Yvette broke away, but Gregory caught her and held her against his side. Standing in the corridor was the footman and Beau Villers. The former was trying not to smile. The latter was staring dumbstruck.
“Villers,” Gregory acknowledged as if it were every day he was caught kissing his mother’s former companion. “I’ve been expecting you for several days.”
Villers shook himself and sketched a bow. “I found myself in your neighborhood but never had an opportunity to present myself at a decent hour.”
So, he must have been one of the men Lord Hastings had assigned to watch the house. The dark circles under his eyes attested to a few sleepless nights.
“I was hoping to speak to Lilith,” he continued, glancing from Gregory to Yvette.
“She is with the countess,” Yvette offered. “It seems Lady Carrolton is truly ill this time.”
Villers made a sad face. “How tragic. Of course Lilith would wish to be at her side. I admire her devotion. But I must protest. What if she too should contract the disease? You cannot put her life in such danger, my lord.”
Yvette peered closer. His color had fled; his shoulders had risen. For once, it seemed Beau Villers was more concerned about another than himself.
Just then the door opened, and Mr. Marbury steppe
d into the corridor. The footman hurried back to his post at the door as the butler joined Yvette, Gregory, and Villers.
“Dr. Smythe would like a word with you, my lord, in the sickroom,” Mr. Marbury said. “I regret that he asked the invitation to be extended to family only.”
“Then I will be admitted,” Villers said. “My place is at my beloved’s side.”
Gregory gazed down at Yvette tenderly. “Yvette will be welcome as well. She has agreed to be my bride.”
Villers gaped once more.
Marbury’s smile appeared. “May I be the first of many to congratulate you. However, given the countess’ illness, perhaps it would be wise for fewer people to be in attendance.”
Yvette nudged Gregory. “It is my turn to wait. You will tell me all, I know.”
He took her hand and kissed the back. “Everything. I’ll return shortly.” He frowned at Villers, who reluctantly stepped back.
Marbury escorted Gregory to the door.
“Married, eh?” Villers asked in the quiet. “I suppose I should congratulate you as well.”
Yvette nodded, feeling as if the joy would explode out of her if she spoke. Gregory, Earl of Carrolton, wanted to marry her. She would be his partner, his wife, a countess. It was everything her parents had wanted for her, everything she had been taught to believe was hers.
Yet was it? She would be an English countess, bound to the land most in France considered the enemy. She would not be able to return, to fight Napoleon, to see her country restored to sanity. Was that truly what she wanted now? Where had her impetuous heart led her?
~~~
Inside his mother’s room, Gregory inched closer to the bed. His mother’s eyes were closed, her breath stuttering, the sound like a knife in his chest. Lilith clasped his arm and held it tight, eyes haunted.
“Villers is here,” he murmured, and he thought he heard her catch her breath.
“A challenging case,” Dr. Smythe mused, turning from the countess to eye Gregory. “But not without hope. I fear your mother requires immediate treatment, my lord. I have heard of a medicine, a tincture found to have miraculous results, but the ingredients may prove difficult to procure.”
