A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series)

by Diane Davis White

  "I cannot say. A kiss in the garden does not illustrate immediate betrothal." Countess Rothburn tossed a haughty glare at Aggie, her superior tone having no effect whatsoever on the woman, who grinned at her and stepped away from the window. Lady Susan noted her maid's speculative gaze, not surprised at the boldness of her next comment.

  "Mayhap three weddings if you would not be so stubborn with Burlington." Aggie's sly allusion to the marquis' never-ending quest for her ladyship's hand hung in the air between them while the Countess gathered herself for a retort. Lips pursed in a no nonsense manner, the maids eyes gleamed mischievously.

  "You leave that subject alone," the Countess warned her. "I will not have you meddling in my affairs, Aggie. You go too far!" Aggie had been pestering her for years to give in to the urgings of Lord Burlington and wed him. Her knowledge of the situation gave the lie to her mistress' accusation of meddling, and as usual, Aggie would not be suppressed.

  "Well, then. What will you do once the master has fled with his bride? Whose life will you order then, if not Burlington's?" Aggie grinned saucily and escaped the room, laughing heartily at her own joke. The angry slamming of a bureau drawer followed her down the hall.

  Beware the forwardness of servants, Lady Susan thought—not without some fondness—as she removed the locket from her neck and placed it carefully in the very back of her jewelry case. She felt strangely light without the golden chain pressing against her skin as it had done for many years, since the death of her husband.

  Though she had been quite fond of Rothburn, she'd never come to love him as she had once loved Mathis Pendleton. Clivedon had always known her affections were given elsewhere—had known it when they wed. Satisfied she'd made him an excellent wife, Lady Susan suffered no regrets, no guilt and no long drawn out period of mourning.

  She felt somewhat the same about Lord Burlington as she had her husband, admitting a certain fondness for the marquis. Still she had never seriously considered his suit until now.

  As she had pondered earlier, it was time that she did. But first, to get the foursome out of her garden and into the church.

  * * * * *

  The dinner went quite well as all present were in high spirits. The Countess, for once, did not deign to create any manipulative maneuvers, having had her fill previously in the day.

  Halfway through the second course she agreed to speak with Lady Jersey on behalf of Lady Eleanor and by dessert she had agreed to aid both couples in smoothing the path of their new alliances.

  Feeling quite sated by the bountiful repast, Countess Rothburn had mellowed by the time coffee was served in the small drawing room.

  "I shall go 'round and see your mother first thing tomorrow, Eleanor. I wish to see her before Sir Gordon presses his suit to your father. Wouldn't want them totally surprised by all this, wouldn't help your case."

  "What do you think my chances will be, Madam? I've no title—" Sir Gordon looked at her over the rim of his cup, hoping she could shed some light on that particular dilemma.

  "No cause for alarm. We shall simply do as we should have years ago... petition the crown for a peerage." Her words dropped into the room like a stone, stunning all and causing the knight to choke on the coffee he was sipping. "It's done all the time. Your grandfather... "

  Countess Rothburn hesitated for a moment, pain evident in her eyes, which surprised the two gentlemen but not the ladies. "Your grandfather should have been given a peerage but he would not toady to the royals for it. His aid in bringing the economy round to solid ground was selfless and quite a miracle, as I recall.

  "And don't forget, you are a knight of the realm in your own right. Fought for this country and have a good standing in the ton. No, it should not be difficult to convince Lord Burlington to aid us in this matter."

  "Lord Burlington? What has he to do with anything? I can petition the crown and the Parliament." Rothburn looked closely at his mother, whose coloring was suddenly very high, then with some peevishness he said, "Don't need Burlington. Can do this myself. My friend, after all."

  "Wait!" Sir Gordon interrupted with some forcefulness. "Have you run mad? I don't want a peerage. If my circumstances are not acceptable as they are, I will do naught to change them."

  He glanced at Lady Eleanor—who had gone white—and spoke directly to her, his voice gentling considerably. "Your parents must accept me as I am. Can you understand? I would be—toadying, just as my grandfather would not do. If he would not, I certainly shall not.

  "Our family honor is at stake here. Merchants though we are, we have rubbed elbows with kings and loaned them money upon occasion. And half the lords in the country owe their largesse to my family's expertise as tradesmen."

  Not accustomed to speaking more than a sentence or two in company, Sir Gordon subsided, his hand held comfortably by his lady love.

  "I'm not concerned if they disapprove. We shall be wed at any rate. If you don't want a peerage, I shall stop using my title as well," Lady Eleanor said softly.

  Her whispered words carried about the room and brought a misty smile to Lady Alana, who valued her nephew and felt this young woman would make him the best of wives. Still, she had to agree with the Countess, and argued her point, pinning Sir Gordon with a somber gaze.

  "Though you do not think you want a peerage, and mayhap you do not, it would not go amiss were you given an Earldom. It would justify the family—all the hard work and thankless tasks performed on behalf of Britain. It might be selfish of you to refuse such an offer, Gordon"

  She drew a quick breath and continued before he could interrupt, as she could see he was about to do. "Think of the advantages to your sibling—and the children you and Eleanor will eventually have. It is not something to toss away lightly, I am sure."

  "She's right, old fellow. Being an earl has great advantages. And you could further any cause you wished once you were given a seat in the house." This argument, put forth by Rothburn, had its effect on Sir Gordon, who had many causes he'd furthered using Rothburn's influence. It would be much better were he able to do so himself.

  "I suppose I could allow you to try. But never think I am doing this for Eleanor's parents. I am swayed by your argument that I could do great things for the common good, were I admitted to the House of Lords."

  He felt Eleanor's grip on his hand tighten in compliance and he smiled down at her, his eyes brimming with unspoken regard.

  "Now that is settled, we must think of some way for Lady Alana and Rothburn to be accepted as a couple right away." The Countess spoke almost tentatively, having once been stung by Lady Alana for her meddling. She did not wish to suffer a second time from that girl's temper.

  "It is quite simple, Mother. We shall be seen about at the various balls. I shall dance with only her and make my intentions clear—once Lady Eleanor has been given a chance to beg off publicly, of course."

  He looked 'round the room as he spoke. "Anyone else have a suggestion that is better?"

  "There is another matter that you and I need to discuss soon." Sir Gordon, recalling his edict regarding Griffin George, looked meaningfully at the earl. "Perhaps we can go on to White's later and—"

  "Whites? You would go to White's tonight when you have only just been betrothed? Preposterous!" Forgetting for a moment that she no longer had the upper hand, the Countess glared at the knight and then at her son, who was grinning at her. "What's funny, may I ask?"

  "Nothing Mother, except—no one is actually betrothed. Not until Lord Avonleigh accepts Gordon's suit and the ton has been satisfied that we are all re-aligned, so to speak."

  Rothburn looked a warning at Lady Alana, whose posture had suddenly gone rigid, her face taking on that peculiar look it had when she prepared to give a set down.

  "If the gentlemen wish to go to Whites, I have no objection. Although I had thought they might accompany us to the Beasely's card party." No one would think the worse of the four of us together. We do not have to convey our changed alliances. We can appe
ar as a foursome and that will not elicit gossip, I am certain."

  Not one to play cards much, Lady Alana simply wanted to keep Rothburn by her side as much as possible.

  "Beasely's?" Groaned Sir Gordon. "Surely, Alana you could find some other worthwhile place to go. I cannot abide Beasley and his feather-brained mama. I would rather stay here," he added hopefully.

  "Can't. Having late guests and I won't have room for you." Lady Susan lied smoothly, her tireless efforts having taken their toll. She was now ready for her bed and did not wish to entertain the four young person's beyond another hour.

  "Guests at a late hour? Mother, you never—" Rothburn stopped in mid-sentence at the look he received from his parent—noticing for the first time the weary droop of her shoulders and the obvious strain in her eyes. He changed tactics at once. "Beasely's it is then. Ladies, would you need to go home and change? I shall for a certain. Gordon?"

  "Past six o'clock now. If we hurry, we'll all be spruced up and ready for the card party by eight." Taking his cue from Rothburn, Sir Gordon put a hearty note in his voice and agreed to the outing. "Mayhap we should include Allie. Girl's been pining away in her rooms. Should get her out and about, don't you think?"

  At the mention of Allie, Lady Alana sat up straight in her chair and fixed the earl with a level look. "What of your cousin? Has he agreed to return?"

  "Which cousin, may I ask?" Countess Rothburn, not privy to the story, looked rather confused. "You have so many cousins, Rothburn."

  "Haven't heard from him yet." He answered Alana first, then turned to his parent. "Griffin, Mother."

  He sent a questioning look at Sir Gordon who nodded compliance before he clarified the situation for his mother's benefit.

  "Well, for heaven sakes!" She spoke with exasperation. "Get the boy here immediately. I'll have him up to scratch before any of you can say boo. I quite like young Allie. Met her at Mrs. Parker's ball. Sweet child, not one to be left wilting for want of a beau."

  "He'll be here in a day or two, I'm sure, Mother. I'll bring him 'round for a chat soon as he arrives." Rothburn then rose from his seat and indicated that they should be on their way. He smiled at his mother's sudden perkiness. A good skirmish always set her to rights.

  "I'll stop by for dinner tomorrow if you wish and we can continue to plan our—ah, well make plans, you know?"

  The Countess saw her young guests on their way then went with a slow step up the broad staircase. When she reached her rooms, she did not at first retire, however. She had several missives to write, the first of which was to Lady Janice, inviting herself to a very early tea the next day.

  Aggie bustled about, preparing her mistress' night clothes and putting a hot brick at the foot of the bed. She waited in vain for the Countess to appraise her of the latest results in the negotiations from the garden and went off disgruntled to gossip with cook, leaving Lady Susan alone at last with her thoughts.

  Chapter Eleven

  ~~

  Griffin George was miserable—distracted. He was, in fact, feeling quite muddle-headed and out of sorts. He'd missed several of his classes and brought down the wrath of the head dean—for the first, and he hoped the last time—normally being very attentive to his studies.

  He paced his small quarters back and forth, back and forth, hands running a riotous path through his normally neat hair. There were deep circles of lost sleep beneath his eyes, and his appearance was one of a besotted young man in the throes of painful indecision.

  A man whose dreams had been forever changed by a pair of sapphire eyes and a winsome smile.

  Having left London with a strong purpose of not looking back, he had for the first two days thrown himself into his lessons with passion. It had not served as he'd lost his ability to attend at the lectures and failed completely to grasp his assignments.

  Then the dreams had started. Dreams of Allie waltzing in the arms of a man not himself. Walking down the aisle of a small country church while he stood by as she wed another.

  He would wake drenched in sweat, calling out 'wait, don't do this!' and come to his senses slowly, each time with remorse and dread.

  Guilt, he decided. That's all it was. Just guilt, for leaving without seeing her and at least explaining his reasons. Of course, he thought his reasons too complicated for Allie to understand. Better she shed her tears now and get over him than to drag it out and find later that he was not up to scratch and able to be wed.

  Griffin only wished his convictions were as strong as the words he had spoken to Rothburn. His heart ached abominably, his mind gone adrift with constant thoughts of a slip of a female whose lovely profile stole into his mind's eye with regularity. Her graceful poise, mischievous demeanor, the sweet dimple that appeared occasionally when she laughed. And her laugh, oh what a rich and wonderful sound.

  Griffin, annoyed with the train of his thoughts, stomped to his desk and with a sweep of his arm, disabused it of clutter then sat down to write a letter. Several tries and many crumpled sheets later, he sanded the missive and went posthaste to the mail bin.

  * * * * *

  "A letter for you Miss Allie." Tillie produced the slightly crumpled envelope and handed it over, lingering with a hope of finding out its contents, for her mistress usually shared most things with her. She was disappointed, however, when Allie dismissed her and closed the door to her sitting room firmly behind the maid.

  Allie stood looking at the letter as though it were an alien thing. She twisted the envelope in such a manner it might not be readable when she had done. Realizing she must read it or toss it into the fire, she opted for the former and tore the seam of the paper slowly open.

  Blinking back fresh tears, she backed into her chair and plopped down in a most unladylike fashion, her eyes trained all the while upon the messy besmirched missive. It was truly difficult to discern, so much crossed through and ink blotched was the paper, but as she read with a growing sense of anger, she forgot her tears as her ire reached a peak.

  How dare he write to her thus? The man must be mad to think she would understand such balderdash and accept it as truth. He had simply trifled with her and there was an end to it. Rereading it, however, she could not help but be moved, for he appeared truly distraught.

  My Dearest Allie, You must know by now that I've returned to Cambridge. I regret with all my aching heart that I did not seek you out to explain and can only hope that you will read this letter with some compassion for my circumstances, for it has never been my wish to hurt you. I would sooner cut out my heart, which would be just as well considering the pain I have in that region at this moment.

  I know you have expected more from me, due to the attentions I gave you and have led you to believe there was something more to us than just goodbye. I must tell you, however, that I cannot in good conscience, give you hope of marriage at this time and it will be, in fact, several years before I am in a position to wed. I would not ask you to wait for me, it would be unfair.

  It would be better for us both if you turn your affections away from me and I will try to do the same, though I'm sure, for me, it will be an impossible task. Please do not hate me, for I have loved you and I know that you have feelings of regard for me, if not actual love. I wish you happiness, and will hope that your forgiveness will be forthcoming for it would ease me to know that you harbor no ill feeling. Please respond by soonest post. Yours, Griffin

  "Harbor no ill feeling?" Allie read aloud that last phrase once again, her heart heavy and her temperament far from forgiving. With a growing rage, she tore the letter practically in half and tossed it into the grate, watching as the flames caught and began to curl the edges.

  With a sudden rending of her heartstrings, she realized that she could destroy nothing Griffin had given her, not even this harbinger of bad tidings. She grabbed the poker and shoved the scorched paper away from the flames and plucked it out, singeing her fingertips in the process.

  Sucking upon her burnt digits, she carried the pieces to her
secretary and smoothed them against the blotter with her undamaged hand, regretting the destruction she had caused to the only letter she was likely ever to receive from him.

  Perversely, she wanted to be a part of his life and make him happy. Yet she wanted—more than anything—to bang his skull with the poker she had just used to rescue his letter from the flames.

  Allie began to cry. Silent heartrending drops fell from her sapphire eyes, which grew even deeper in color as her tears washed into them.

  * * * * *

  At the time Allie was reading his letter, Griffin received one of his own from Rothburn. Its contents set his already agitated emotions roiling even more. As he read, his scalp prickled with dread. His hands—already clammy—began to shake so he could barely hold the page still enough to peruse the words.

  Dear Cousin, Although I did not attempt to hinder your recent abrupt departure from London, I must admit that I was not comfortable in my mind with your decision. I would be willing to let the matter pass, however, were it not for the request of my great friend, Sir Gordon Pendleton. He desires your immediate return to present yourself that he might put some questions to you regarding your association with his sister.

  It appears she has gone into a deep decline—supposedly due to your absence—and, quite naturally, Sir Gordon is unhappy with your treatment of the girl. I know not if he intends to force anything upon you, but it would be wise were you prepared to remove permanently from your current lodgings to an accommodation suitable for a married senior student. I will be happy, should the need arise, to increase the allowance your father has settled upon you, that you may continue your studies.

  Please arrange to return here, for at least a short term. I am hoping your honor will prevail, as it has always done. Regards, Rothburn

  He finished at last, and tossing the offending missive onto the clutter of his desk, went to stand at the windows overlooking Cambridge. The hustle and bustle of passing carriages and gown clad students hurrying to and fro—along with the sundry other pedestrians—went unnoticed by the despondent Griffin. Barely able to comprehend what might be his fate, he turned the matter over in his mind again and again.