Rothburn took the two missives and balanced one in each hand, gazing first at one then the other in some consternation. What then? He had requested a response, but not two of them. Realizing that he would never know the answer until he read them, he chose one at random and tore it open. He frowned in displeasure as he read Lady Alana's missive.
'Rothburn, Please accept our apologies, but we cannot ride with you in the park. Allie has over stepped herself in making such a request and I can only throw myself on your mercy and ask that you will not repeat this faux pas to another. It would ruin the child. Be aware of her youth and allow this folly to go without comment, I beg you. Regards, Lady Alana
Frowning, he re-read the message, a low growl in his throat. As if he would repeat gossip of any kind! How dare she assume him to be so flap-jawed! It rankled the earl's sensibilities that she thought so little of his character, and he was annoyed that she refused the outing. After their dance last night, he had hoped she would respond with more eagerness. He then tore open the other envelope and read it with growing amusement.
"Rothburn, Please pay no attention to anything my aunt says in her note. I'm sure by now you have realized that she does not always do or say what she really feels, and I have a strong suspicion that she has more than a little fondness for you. I would make you aware that she is shy of your attentions based on her past experiences with gentlemen.
If you have regard for my aunt, be not deterred by her reluctance. Be strong in this matter, and I'm sure you will soon have a willing bride. I await your appearance this afternoon. Sincerely, Allie Pendleton.
Grinning at the audacity of the chit, and yet relieved at her words, the earl went to his desk and replied to Lady Alana's note, humming under his breath as he did so. Signing with a flourish, Rothburn directed the footman to deliver the answering missive along with a dozen hot house roses for Lady Alana and a lovely sprig of posies for her charge. Handing the servant a second note, he said in a low voice, "And this as well for Miss Pendleton, discreetly if you will."
* * * * *
"Your response My Lady." Peterson held forth the crested envelope and was faintly surprised when Lady Alana snatched it from him with a deep frown, abrupt dismissal in her tone.
"Thank you, Peterson, that will be all."
She was normally very kind to the servants and tipped quite liberally. It was so unlike her that Peterson was heard to remark upon it at dinner in servant's quarters that evening.
Alana, oblivious to her unkind behavior toward the servant, tore open the heavy envelope and was surprised that two whole pages fell out. She took the missive to a deep chair close to the windows and sat down. Spreading the sheets on her lap, she deliberately delayed reading them, an exercise in self-control. She would not be eager to peruse his words. She would not!
Finally, with a sigh she took up the opening page and began to read. Her eyes went wide, and her heart quickened and leapt into her throat as she took in words written in the earl's elaborate hand.
Dearest Lady Alana, It is with a sore heart that I have received your curt dismissal of my invitation. Although, it is true that Miss Pendleton issued the initial invite, it was with a spirit of enthusiasm that I accepted her request for my company, believing that you were in compliance and wishful of my companionship as well.
I regret my hastiness in assuming that you would be eager for my friendship and can only wish it were so. Last night in the garden I believed for a moment you were not indifferent to me, and it is a blow to my heart to find that you not only are (indifferent) but as well, you think so little of my character that you feel it necessary to caution me against gossiping.
I can assure you that I have never, nor will I ever, indulge in idle gossip. That you should even think that I would repeat Miss Pendleton's error of decorum to anyone is beyond belief.
Knowing that you are under a misapprehension regarding my character I must insist on escorting you in the park as planned, that I may have the opportunity to correct this error. Expect me at one o'clock sharp. Your Servant, Rothburn
The door opened just then and Alana looked up to find the footman bringing a large vase of hot house roses into the room. She peered at the lovely fragrant bouquet with some surprise. "For whom are those meant?"
"They are for you, My Lady. Lord Rothburn has sent them. And, these as well for Miss Allie." The footman indicated a servant just behind him holding a smaller vase containing a bright array of posies.
Placing the flowers on an occasional table near her, Peterson then indicated that the lesser offering be set upon a table at the far end of the room. He then ushered the underling out of the door with the customary bow toward his mistress.
Staring at the beautiful array of deep, blood-red blossoms, Alana nearly forgot for a moment that there was a second sheet of paper yet unread. She let her gaze drop to the page and continued, her pulse fluttering anew at the next words. As she scanned the page, something stirred in her heart, something she tried without success, to ignore.
I do hope you enjoy the roses. They are beautiful and so, My Lady Alana, are you. If you look beneath the blossoms you will find a small token of my affection. If you still refuse my attentions when next we meet, these flowers will wilt, I can assure you, from the pain of your rejection, for they were given in the spirit of hope and cannot continue to blossom if that hope is crushed. Rothburn
Rubbish! Pure unadulterated rubbish! Alana crumpled the sheets in her hand and rising, went to toss them into the fireplace. She hesitated, however, and at the last moment smoothed the pages and returned them to their envelope, which she stuck in the pocket of her skirt.
Recalling his mention of a token of his affection, she returned to the bouquet, and peered into the vase where she saw a small, hastily wrapped package. Lifting it out, she brushed the soil away and pulled open the ribbon that held it.
A miniature fell into her hand. The autocratic and handsome features of Clivedon George, Sixth Earl of Rothburn, gazed up at her. He thought to trifle with her affections, she was sure. Rothburn, she knew, was famous for his adroit avoidance of matrimony, and if he sought to have any other type of relationship with her he could go hang.
Still, they were pretty words and pretty flowers. What lady could resist keeping the letter as a bulwark against her old age? Someday she would be able to read this letter and remember that once, briefly, she had warranted the attention of a handsome man.
What could it hurt to go riding in the park? She could further advance Allie as a suitable candidate for wife of the earl and this opportunity could not be ignored. She was responsible, after all, for finding the girl a good match. Yes, she decided. They would accept. Delusion, it seemed, was playing havoc with Lady Alana's sensibilities.
* * * * *
"Allie, I have decided, after due consideration, we will go riding with Rothburn today after all. But," Lady Alana fixed her niece with a stern glance, "you are never—I repeat never—again to invite any man to escort you. As it happens, Lord Rothburn had hinted at taking us into the park when I danced with him last night."
Alana lied without conscience, half believing her own words. "So, I've decided that he would have issued an invitation, given the chance."
Allie, privy to more than her aunt realized regarding the incident, kept her own council, and merely nodded compliance. The earl had sent along a short note for her, secreted to her by Peterson via Tillie. It had said only:
Point taken, do not despair. See you at one, Regards R
Demurely, the girl sat close and offered to pour the tea, passed the scone platter and generally made herself useful. She experienced a grand feeling of triumph as she contemplated the result of her small ruse. The earl and her aunt had clearly taken a fancy to one another.
Allie could not fail to see the significance of the roses, compared to her own small bouquet. A man sent roses to his lady love and posies to one for whom he had a lesser regard. They could be brought 'round to a match eventually, she was s
ure.
Allie, as usual, was not concentrating on her own future. Somewhere along the way the girl had forgotten about getting married herself, so caught up was she in her match-making scheme. It would take a handsome young man of some notoriety to turn her head now that she had loved and rejected the most eligible male of the Haute ton.
* * * * *
Griffin George stood looking in some amazement at his cousin Rothburn. "What do you mean, you have to leave? I've been traveling these last two days, and I've so looked forward to spending some time at White's with you."
"Griffin, you must understand. I've things to do, and I cannot entertain you at this instant. I'm—well, I'm engaged elsewhere at the moment and you'll just have to go along to White's on your own."
Rothburn, looking mightily distracted, stood slapping his riding gloves against his thigh. "If you must know, I'm committed to taking two ladies for a ride in the park, and I'm nearly late as it is."
"Which two ladies? Perhaps I might join you. Two is too much, even for you." He looked at Rothburn hopefully. His travel stained appearance and crumpled cravat notwithstanding, he was ready to go.
"Looking like that?" Rothburn turned toward the door, calling over his shoulder. "You may join me at the Heppleton ball tonight for dancing. But, you will go nowhere with me looking like that. The very idea, man! You are a mess!"
"Just give me a few minutes—" Griffin tried unsuccessfully to detain the earl, and failing that, turned back into the house, calling for his valet. Within the space of a few minutes he was spruced up, his coat and cravat replaced with fresh attire, his boots given a quick shine and he was off again, heading for Hyde Park.
Griffin was not a man to be told no, even by his lofty cousin, and he was determined to meet the ladies that Rothburn was scheduled to squire.
Any woman Rothburn singled out for attention had to be a beauty and if there were two of them, it would be all the better should Griffin be able to attach himself to one. Did he not aspire, after all, to become a rake hell like Clivedon George, The Earl of Rothburn?
Trotting along on one of the his cousin's best blooded mounts, Griffin kept a lookout for the crested carriage and was not disappointed to find his assessment correct. Two lovely creatures—though one looked to be a bit old for the marriage mart—sat sedately in the carriage, laughing delightedly at some comment of Rothburn.
The younger one caught Griffin's eye immediately with her wide smile and sparkling sapphire eyes. And damnation if that wasn't a dimple in her cheek. His heart skipping a beat, Griffin rode forward until he was level with the vehicle and waited for his relative to acknowledge him.
"Griffin! I thought I told you—" Rothburn, realizing he was being unmannerly, stopped his scold, deciding instead to introduce his cousin, as was customary. "That is, I am surprised to see you. Thought you went to White's. May I present Lady Alana Fisk and her niece, Miss Pendleton?" He turned his gaze to the ladies and offered, "My cousin, Griffin George, just up from Cambridge."
"Delighted Ladies. I just arrived and was told by the servants that you had come driving in the park. Thought I'd see if I could find you. I'm surely glad now that I did."
Ignoring his cousin's raised eyebrows at this small deceit, Griffin turned his gaze upon Allie and smiled his most devastating smile. A smile normally guaranteed to thrill the heart of any young woman, so he'd often been told. And, it did not fail him now, he could see, when Allie beamed at him in a most congenial manner.
When he turned that same smile upon the aunt it was received with less enthusiasm, he noted, as she returned his look with a cool gaze and limpid lifting of her lips. He noted as well the scowl Rothburn speared him with at that moment. There was more than a hint of jealousy in that look.
For all intents and purposes, it looked to him as though his cousin had more than a passing interest in the aunt. He would find out quick enough, he decided, and proceeded to make himself charming to the older of the pair, gauging Rothburn's irritated reaction as proof of that pudding.
Griffin was relieved to discover that it was not the younger lady that interested Rothburn. In fact, he was elated to know it. Quickly, he returned his attention to Allie. He noted with some devilish amusement, Rothburn visibly relaxed as Griffin's attention fell away from the older of the pair. He observed as well the charming young girl went from pouting to sparkling as he engaged her attention with his witty commentary.
For his part, Rothburn found his violently jealous reaction to Griffin's flirtatious manner with Lady Alana quite alarming. Never in his entire life had he felt such a rush of rage. Tamping it down with some effort, he regarded his intrusive cousin with something akin to irony.
Had the man not come along and flirted with Alana, Rothburn might never have discovered in time that he was dangerously close to falling in love. It would not serve. The earl was determined to stay single for as long as possible, and a love alliance was not in the cards at any rate.
He would marry—eventually—but to one of his mother's choosing. And she had already selected Lady Eleanor for the role of future Countess. That's how it was done in his circles, and he was not going to flout convention and incur the possible wrath of his parent. No matter how he might desire this lovely creature who gazed at him knowingly.
He might be The Earl of Rothburn, but his mother—due to some fancy manipulations by his late father's solicitor—held the purse strings. All Rothburn actually owned was the entailment property, family jewels and a fair bit of land he'd purchased on his own. If his mother never gave over, he would still be quite well off, but he wanted it all.
More importantly, he'd given Lady Eleanor every indication—by his attentions, if not his words—that they would eventually wed. To withdraw at this point would be a breach of etiquette certain to see him ostracized by society should the lady complain—an occurrence he did not wish for. It would ruin his political career, something dear to his heart.
Lost in his ruminations, he did not at first hear Lady Alana's question and had to be drawn back by an elbow in his ribs, given by that same lady.
"Really, Rothburn, you are not minding a word I say." With that she turned her back on him and engaged her niece and Griffin—who had maneuvered his mount to the opposite side of the carriage—in conversation. Leaving him in no doubt she snubbed him.
He kept his temper with some effort and waited his chance to join the discussion without appearing gauche. As he began to attend the conversation, he realized that the trio was making plans. Griffin had been invited to dinner before the ball, but the earl had not. Exercising his prerogative as The Earl of Rothburn, he did something heretofore unheard of for him—he invited himself.
"I say, that is an excellent idea. Griffin and I will join your family at the dinner hour and if Gordon is not otherwise engaged, perhaps we can persuade him to join us in attending the ball."
He leveled a look on Lady Alana that was very stern, daring her to deny him. She saw through his ruse, though, and a certain amount of pleading in his gaze touched her, despite her earlier irritation with him.
Lady Alana treated him to one of her rare smiles. "Only if you promise to attend the conversation around you, Rothburn. Rudeness will not be allowed." She spoke lightly, yet there was an undercurrent of determination in her voice, not missed by Rothburn.
He nodded his acquiesce and the foursome proceeded along the narrow path, engaging in a most delightful hour of spirited discourse. It did not occur to him that he'd just relinquished control to the woman without a murmur. He, who always gave orders, apparently now took them from the lovely Lady Alana.
* * * * *
"What can I say Old Fellow? I cannot believe you have actually fallen!" Sir Gordon sat, drink in hand, comfortably ensconced in his favorite arm chair while Rothburn paced the room. "I wish you the best of it, but Alana has never given any suitor encouragement. I'm not sure it is wise to—" Gordon stopped as the earl interrupted with a bellow.
"Wise!" Rothburn looked askan
ce at his friend, then continued. "What the devil has wise to do with anything? Do you believe I wanted this? I stood in this very room the other day telling you I'd not be leg-shackled!"
He studiously avoided remembering to whom he would not be leg-shackled during that particular conversation. "I tell you, this is misery. What shall I do? I cannot just abandon Lady Eleanor. We've had an understanding these past four years. She has waited patiently. My mother will have fits. I am—"
"A man bloody well grown!" Sir Gordon, in his turn, interrupted his friend. "Are you saying that Lady Alana, whose blood lines and reputation are impeccable, would not suit your mother?"
There was a hint of enmity in his tone that was not lost on Rothburn, who looked sharply at the knight for a long moment before he answered.
"I am saying," he spaced his words out through gritted teeth, not in anger, but in a show of absolute patience, "that my mother has chosen for me. I have, perhaps like an idiot, gone along and never gainsaid her. It would be foolish of me to do so now."
"Well, then don't, for heaven's sake. Surely even you know that love is not what peers marry for. You will just have to bear the cross—"
Rothburn interrupted Sir Gordon with a vehement thrust of his hand, staying the other's words before he could complete his thought. "I am very much aware of what I must do. It is not what I must do that I am concerned about. It is Lady Alana's feelings. I cannot in good conscience say that I have not given her some hope of an alliance—"
Interruptions seemed to be the order of this conversation, for Sir Gordon once again forestalled Rothburn's completion of his sentence, this time with a voice raised enough to be heard throughout the house. "No male of this family has given you leave to court Lady Alana. Whatever do you mean by this?"
His face red and angry, Sir Gordon took a threatening step toward his friend, "Have you compromised her, sir?" Sir Gordon had conveniently forgotten his indulgent comments of a few minutes before regarding the matter. "How could you be so callous?"
A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series) Page 4
