by Jane Feather
"How did you know?"
"Stoneridge has been very informative," she said mischievously.
"Theo, you haven't already -"
"Not quite, because Stoneridge wouldn't," she explained. "But I'm not expecting any surprises."
"Surprises about what, cousin?"
The three gasped at the earl's cool voice coming from the corridor behind them. How much had he heard?
Theo spun round. Sylvester was laughing, his eyes bright, and she knew he'd heard a great deal more than he should. "Were you eavesdropping, my lord?"
"Not at all. I just happened to come up behind you," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of disclaimer. "But I'll tell you something, my love, if you're not expecting any surprises, you might be in for a shock."
He let his eyes rest on their flushed faces as they absorbed this. They were all three distinctly unnerved by his sudden appearance, and he enjoyed the sensation of having the upper hand for once in the massed company of Belmont females. Deliberately, he cupped Theo's chin in the palm of his hand and kissed her mouth.
"Life is full of surprises, cousins." Releasing Theo's chin, he offered a bow of mock formality and turned aside into the long gallery.
"I'm glad Mama wouldn't let him choose me," Clarissa said thoughtfully, examining her younger sister's countenance. "He's very worldly and… and, well…" She searched for the right word. "Mature." She settled for that, although it wasn't quite what she meant. "Not that I don't like him," she added hastily. "I do… but he's a little intimidating."
"An understatement," Emily declared. "But he seems to understand Theo." She knew this was what her mother believed, although Elinor had confided to her eldest daughter that she expected the marriage to be punctuated by fireworks.
"I believe that disposes of my marriage quite satisfactorily," Theo said dryly. "I'm going to my room. There are things I have to do."
Her sisters watched her retrace her steps, then exchanged a speaking look and went downstairs to support their mother in her continuing ordeal with her guests.
Theo closed her bedroom door with a sigh of relief. Tonight would be her last night in this room. Since her grandmother's death, the apartment traditionally occupied by the Countess of Stoneridge had stood empty, the furniture under holland covers, but now, after twenty years, it had been prepared for the new countess.
Apart from new curtains and bed hangings, the furnishings were the same as they'd been for three hundred years. The feather mattress had been refilled, the paneling and cherrywood furniture polished and waxed, the tapestry carpet new stitched where it had frayed, the heavy silver candlesticks polished until the old silver seemed almost translucent. And yesterday she'd seen Dan, the handyman, oiling the hinges on the connecting door between the conjugal bedchambers.
Her lips still felt warmed by that light kiss, and she crossed her arms over her breasts as familiar tingles of excitement lifted the fine hairs on her spine. Tomorrow night the mysteries would be revealed, and she would fully understand these strange surges of desire.
Her private smile was unconsciously smug as she picked up the china doll on the window seat, thoughtfully examining its round placid face and bright-blue glass eyes. She'd keep this room just as it was for her own daughter.
But there must be a son too. A son who would eventually become the sixth Earl of Stoneridge. Her father's blood would run in his grandson's veins, and the child would return Stoneridge to the Belmonts.
Theo sat on the window seat, no longer aware that she was cradling the doll just as she had done as a little girl. She closed her eyes, conjuring up her grandfather's face, clear and strong still in her memory. Her father's face was lost to her, except in the portrait on her wall. Opening her eyes again, she gazed at the picture, looking for the distinctive resemblances between father and son. They were there in the high-bridged nose, the full upper lip, the set of the chin. When the time came, she would make her son in their image.
But there would be no children yet awhile. The little bottle that would ensure that lay hidden at the bottom of one of the drawers in the dresser.
At noon the following day she walked up the aisle on the arm of Sir Charles Fairfax, who had once thought to see her married to his own son.
Sylvester watched her approach, smiling slightly at the demure traditional appearance she presented, the raggle-taggle gypsy he'd first encountered invisible beneath the floating veil, the lithe figure, so quick and so efficient in combat, disguised by the yards of virginal white silk and the gauzy train clouding behind her, borne by her elder sisters.
Rosie, in pink muslin, walked solemnly in their wake, bearing a bouquet of white roses. She seemed to be concentrating on her steps, Sylvester thought, noting how her eyes were riveted to the ground. On second thought, she was probably on the lookout for some interesting example of insect life in the cracks in the paving stones.
Theo stepped up beside Sylvester as Sir Charles covered her hand briefly with his own in affectionate reassurance. He was a dear, sweet man who'd known her since she was a baby, but he wasn't her grandfather… he wasn't her father. And she knew Elinor would be feeling the same. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked rapidly, grateful for the concealment of her veil. She would not break down; she must be strong for her mother as Elinor would be strong for her.
Then her sisters stepped aside, and Reverend Haversham began the ceremony.
It was over very quickly, Theo reflected, as her husband lifted her veil and the organ burst into renewed life. Too quickly for such a momentous change in one's life. She was now a Gilbraith.
But only in name.
She'd exchanged her name for the right to call Stoneridge her own. For the right to see her children inherit their grandfather's birthright.
His lips were on hers in the ritual kiss, and their open eyes met. For a puzzling second she thought she saw something almost like triumph in the gray gaze. Then it disappeared, and she saw instead a sensual invitation that she knew was mirrored in her own gaze.
She walked out of the church on her husband's arm, her veil thrown back, hearing the shouted congratulations of the estate and village folk, knowing them to be genuine. They were happy to have a Belmont in the manor… even a Belmont now called Gilbraith.
They walked back to the manor through the village as tradition dictated, the villagers following them, children throwing wild-flowers in their path. Theo responded to the shouts of congratulations with laughing comments, calling people by their names, asking after family members who weren't in evidence.
Sylvester was content to smile and wave, presenting a genial, friendly appearance, leaving the personal touch to his wife. Satisfaction bubbled in his chest. He'd done it. In four weeks he'd courted and wed his passport to a complete inheritance. Against all the odds, he'd persuaded this temperamental hoyden to abandon her prejudices and take his name. Of course, fate had given him one ace in his pack – Theo's innate passion. Up to now he'd used it to his own advantage, but from now on it would be an instrument of pure pleasure for them both.
Almost as if she'd read his mind, her hand crept into his, her fingers scribbling over his palm in a gesture that somehow contrived to be wickedly suggestive. He closed his fingers tightly over hers, stilling their motion, and bent his head close to her ear.
"Patience, gypsy. All in good time."
She gave a choke of laughter and a little skip, and Sylvester grinned. For the first time since Vimiera, he felt a lightening of the spirit, a sense of pleasure in the prospect of the future.
The stranger, clad in the rough homespuns of an itinerant peddler, kept to the rear of the cheerful throng of visitors accompanying the bride and groom to the manor. His eyes and ears were everywhere as he assessed the reactions of the locals to their new lord of the manor. The cloaked and masked man who'd employed him in the Fisherman's Rest on Dock Street had given him precise instructions: He was to find an opportunity to create a little mischief for the earl – fatal mischief, if at all p
ossible. The man had been a rum sort, swathed in his cloak and speaking through a muffler so his voice had been distorted, but his gold was good.
The stranger took a coin from his pocket and bit it to reassure himself of that fact. He glanced with a Londoner's contempt for country folk at the smiling, jovial men and women around him. Fawning fools, the lot of 'em – dependent on the goodwill of the manor for their livelihood; falling over themselves to make a traveler welcome. He'd strolled into the taproom of the Hare and Hounds, announced himself as a peddler, and no one had questioned him, even in the absence of a pack. Amazing how gullible country bumpkins could be. They'd give him all the information he wanted and not even know they were doing it.
Tampering with the earl's saddle had been as easy as taking cake from a baby: a little chat with the stable lads, a stroll round the tack room, identifying the fine-tooled leather saddle with its embossed design around the pommel. And then five minutes with a hammer and a handful of tacks in the early hours of the morning in the unguarded stable block. It was a damn shame such a neat plan hadn't had the desired results. But there were all kinds of accidents that could befall a man interested in the sporting pursuits favored by the gentry.
He followed the crowd up the driveway to the gravel sweep in front of the house. The bride and groom turned on the step to wave at the cheering peasantry before disappearing through the garlanded oak door. The throng immediately surged toward the back of the house, the soi-disant peddler in their midst. In the kitchen courtyard tables groaned under the weight of pies and puddings, hams and barons of beef, and kegs of ale were ranged against the orchard wall. The manor clearly knew what its tenants expected on these occasions, the stranger reflected, holding a tankard beneath the foaming tap of the keg. Such bounty would be hard to come by in the city.
He drank deeply and looked around. No one was questioning his right to partake of this bounty. Fools. He could work the crowd and pick every pocket, and they'd never suspect. But he was being paid too well to do something else for it to be sensible to muddle things up. He strolled casually out of the yard. This would be a good opportunity to explore further. No one would take any notice of an inebriated wedding guest wandering the grounds.
In the long gallery the small group of friends and family were gathered with more restrained exuberance than the villagers in the kitchen courtyard. Lady Gilbraith, her daughter in tow, made the rounds of the guests with all the assurance of a hostess dispensing the hospitality of her own house. The Gilbraiths had come into their rightful inheritance, and everyone should know it. Elinor's old friends regarded this assumption of authority with puzzled disgust, but Elinor herself struggled to appear untroubled by it. Her daughters, however, all noticed the tautness to their mother's mouth, the unusual stiffness of her posture as she moved around, discreetly seeing to the comfort of her guests as they reeled from the onslaught of Lady Gilbraith.
Theo left Sylvester's side at the door when it seemed that everyone had arrived from the church, and went to join her mother. Elinor turned smiling as her daughter's hand slipped beneath her arm. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words were stillborn as Lady Gilbraith's voice rasped from a group standing beside one of the long windows.
"Stoneridge is a most generous man. Such a delicate gesture to marry one of those poor girls… no fortune among them. A sacrifice, of course. He could expect no dowry, but it's so like him to think only of doing the right thing."
"Indeed, Lady Gilbraith." Elinor's cold tones broke into the stunned silence. "I don't consider marrying one of my daughters to be a sacrifice for anyone… not even Lord Stoneridge."
Theo felt the blood drain from her cheeks and flood back again in a scarlet tide of rage. Her eyes searched out the earl. He was deep in conversation with Edward's father and Squire Greenham, his head courteously bent toward the shorter men. He took a glass of champagne from a tray passed by a footman, and the muscles in his back rippled beneath the gray silk of his coat. But for once Theo was unaware of his physique as she made her way across the room, pushing past people with too much haste for strict courtesy.
"Stoneridge?" She plucked at his sleeve.
He looked down at her, a smile on his lips that died as he took in her expression. The blue eyes flared like bonfires against a midnight sky, and he could feel her anger as an almost palpable current flowing from her.
With a word of excuse to his companions, he moved aside, ushering Theo into a secluded corner.
"What's happened to put you in such a temper, gypsy?"
Theo shook her head impatiently. "You have not given me a wedding present."
"Not yet," he agreed, clear puzzlement in his voice and eyes.
"Then I am claiming it now," she said in a fierce undertone. "I wish to speak my mind to your mother. But I thought I would tell you first, since we have some sort of a contract on the subject."
"Is that what you call it?" Sylvester said with a dry smile, not yet appreciating the seriousness of the issue. He glanced across the room toward his mother. "So what's all this about?"
Theo told him what Lady Gilbraith had said. "I don't mind, for myself," she said in the same fierce tone. "But she embarrassed Mama and forced her to be rude to a guest, which she hates to do, so I am going to tell her ladyship exactly what I think of her."
Sylvester closed his eyes on a surge of anger that was directed as much at himself as at his mother. Only he knew how hideously far from the truth she was. If anyone had been generous in this marriage, albeit unwittingly, it was Theo.
He turned from her, saying curtly, "This is for me to deal with, not you."
Theo looked up at him and saw that he was as angry now as he had been with her in the stableyard. She almost began to feel quite sorry for Lady Gilbraith. The old bat didn't know what was coming her way.
"May I come too?" She took a skipping step to follow him.
"No, you may not!"
It was such a ferocious negative that she fell back to observe the scene from a discreet distance.
"Ma'am, a word with you." Sylvester's voice was frigid as he reached his mother. He turned to his mother-in-law and said, "Permit me to make my mother's apologies, Lady Belmont, for an inexcusable insult. I can only imagine she's suffering from an excess of excitement."
Lady Gilbraith's face seemed to fall in on itself. She gasped, two spots of color burning on her cheekbones, but was rendered speechless.
"You will wish to make your farewells, ma'am," Sylvester said. "And I'll escort you to your carriage. I know you wish to reach Stokehampton before nightfall. Mary…" He jerked his head imperatively at his equally dumbfounded sister, took his mother's elbow, and escorted her unprotesting from the gallery.
"Good heavens," Elinor murmured. Sylvester Gilbraith was not a man to tangle with. But he'd come to the defense of his bride, and that could only endear him to his mother-in-law. She returned to her duties as hostess with a sigh of relief that the competition had been removed.
Theo, although she couldn't hear any of the exchange, saw her mother-in-law's discomfiture and her swift disappearance and decided that she'd been suitably avenged.
On his way back to the long gallery twenty minutes later, Sylvester stumbled upon Rosie sitting on the floor in the corridor staring intently at the palm of her hand. An empty champagne glass was beside her.
"Is this one ant or two?" she asked, without looking up. "Sometimes I think it's one, and then it seems to be two."
He squatted beside her, taking her upturned palm. "How much champagne have you had?"
"I'm not sure," Rosie said vaguely. "Is it one?"
"It could have been two, but at this point it's just a dead insect smudge," he declared, folding her fingers over her palm. "And don't let me see you with another glass of champagne, little sister, unless you want some trouble." He rose to his feet, reaching down to pull her upright.
"Is that a sword of Damocles?" Rosie inquired, brushing at her dusty pink skirt.
"A what
?"
"That thing that Theo said was hanging over her," she replied absently. "I think I'll walk down to the dower house and see if my museum has arrived safely. Will you tell Mama?"
"Yes, I'll tell her." He shook his head, half smiling as Rosie weaved her way down the corridor, on the lookout for any interesting specimens. He thought he was beginning to get the hang of this new family he'd acquired. There was certainly something rather appealing about them… particularly when compared to his own.
Refusing to think any further about his mother, he returned to the gallery, where the reception was beginning to break up.
"Have you had news of Edward, Sir Charles?" Emily linked arms with her future father-in-law as they went downstairs. "I keep reading the Gazette for news of his regiment, but by the time we get the paper, it's hopelessly out-of-date."
"The news is old news before it goes into print, my dear," Sir Charles said with a sigh. "But we believe that no news is good news."
"I wrote to Edward about Theo's betrothal several weeks ago."
Lady Fairfax took Emily's other arm. "I expect a reply is already on its way from Spain."
"Yes," Emily agreed. "Theo and I wrote too."
"Perhaps he'll have a leave in the next few months," Sir Charles said, patting her cheek. "It's hard for you, my dear. It's always hard for women in wartime. Waiting and worrying."
"Women and fathers," his wife said gently. Edward was their only child.
"Lord Stoneridge was in the Peninsula, I believe," Emily said. "But before Edward was sent to serve there."
"I gather Stoneridge served in Portugal," Sir Charles replied. His host had not cared to expand upon the subject beyond the succinct information that he'd been wounded, captured, and exchanged.
"Are you leaving already?" Theo came over to them. "Thank you for giving me away, Sir Charles."
"My pleasure, my dear." He kissed her cheek. "I hope Stoneridge will be doing the same for Emily before too long."
Emily blushed, but Theo laughed and hugged her sister. "Of course he will. I have a feeling Edward will be home very soon."
