“Lady Veazey should have no concerns about her entertainment tonight, Mama,” Charlotte said. “Why, there’s hardly a cloud in the sky for miles. Surely it will hold up.”
Then she turned to Jane. “This ought to be an evening for you to remember, for certain. I cannot think of the last time I was at Vauxhall Gardens and we had such lovely weather.”
“Are they as beautiful as I have been told? The gardens, that is.” Jane’s eyes, Peter noticed, shone a lighter than normal shade in the sunlight, with amber flecks scattered amongst the usual, rich brown.
“Quite,” Sophie said. “I daresay you’ve seen nothing to match the splendor of the pleasure gardens. And the fireworks!”
Jane flushed slightly before stammering out: “And what, precisely, are fireworks? I’ve heard them mentioned now countless times, but I honestly have no idea what to expect. I don’t wish to make a cake of myself in front of the whole ton.”
Peter choked out a laugh on a sip of lemonade. How could a woman who was already old enough to be considered a spinster have never seen fireworks before?
His choke was met with the most foul glare he imagined Jane capable of producing. “They are an extravagance to which I’ve never been exposed, Your Grace. I hardly think it’s quite so amusing.”
“I apologize,” he stammered out, still attempting to calm the coughing in his throat. “It is not amusing—simply surprising, is all. I would have thought they’d have fireworks at least occasionally in the country.”
She crossed her arms, which had been holding her up as she leaned back against the blanket, across her chest in a huff. “Well, you would have been wrong, then.”
“Clearly.” Good Lord, why was he so bloody attracted to the minx when she pouted at him with such an annoyed expression like that?
“You could explain them to me, to help me avoid further embarrassment, you know,” she said.
“I could.”
Several beats passed, with no one saying a word. His mother and sisters looked from one to the other, plainly waiting for one of them to sort their tiff out.
He was in no hurry. She was damnably intriguing to him, sulking the way she was.
“Well?” she asked and raised an eyebrow at him.
“Well, what?”
Her arms flew to the sky in exasperation. “Well, are you going to tell me what they are or not?”
Peter merely smiled.
Which was apparently not the reaction she wanted. She rose to her feet and stormed away after his children and her cat, who had moved off to a nearby oak tree Joshua was attempting to climb, while muttering something about, “Drat that bleeding imbecile of a man,” beneath her breath.
All of which made him smile all the more. He was becoming quite a dolt. But what a lovely sight it was, to see Jane’s hips swaying as she marched along the walkway, the fine lawn fabric of her afternoon dress swishing from side to side in time with her stride.
“Peter,” Charlotte said, breaking his concentration on the sight slipping further away from him, “that was inordinately rude.”
“Stop chiding your brother,” Mama said to Char before turning to him. “But your sister’s right. That was terribly rude. I should be appalled.”
“Should be? Meaning you aren’t?” How could he ever be so fortunate?
“I’m not,” she replied, “but only because I can see there is something beneath the surface between the two of you.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “You, my dear son, are developing a tendre for her.”
This time, he spat the lemonade from his mouth in shock. “I most certainly am not.” Ridiculous notion, that.
“You are,” Sophie chimed in. “Denial won’t change anything.”
“Mind your own affairs,” he growled. “You should be finding yourself a husband, shouldn’t you? How many offers have you declined so far this Season, hmm?”
“Leave her be,” Char piped in. “She’s only stating what is perfectly obvious to the rest of us.”
“Perfectly obvious to a group of unmarried hens, you mean? I think I’ll trust my own judgment, if it is all the same to you.”
“Listen to him growling like a wounded bear,” whispered Char in fascination, oblivious to the murderous scowl he cast in her direction.
“What would you know about how a wounded bear sounds?” Sophie asked. “You’ve never seen a bear in your life.”
“What does that matter?” Charlotte asked. “He’s clearly only stinging because we can see straight through him.” She took another scone and popped it into her mouth, not bothering to chew and swallow before she continued with: “Just like we always could.”
“You all think you know so much about me, but you know nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”
“Stop berating your sisters voicing the truth you have no desire to hear,” Mama said in a brook-no-nonsense tone.
Peter rose, prepared to deliver them all a blistering set-down and leave, when he heard the scream. A scream that threatened to rob him of all his breath and stop his heart from beating. Sarah. His baby girl.
“Sarah!” he called and rushed in the direction of the sound. Not seeing anything. Not realizing that his mother and sisters were right behind him, running as fast as they could.
She was around the corner of the house and off a distance further. The sound was slightly muffled, perhaps by tree branches.
He flew, brushing past bushes and tree branches. Her cries carried him forward. “Sarah?”
Then the sound changed. Was it squealing? Giggles?
Finally, he arrived where his daughter was, in a heap on the ground beneath a too-tall branch, buried in a pile of bodies. And she was laughing.
Because Jane was leaning over her and tickling the breath out of her, along with Josh and the damned cat, too. In fact, all of them were laughing, even if the laughter was coming through tears in Sarah’s case. Well, perhaps the cat was not laughing. Could cats laugh? He doubted it. But it was squarely involved in the fray, nuzzling up against Sarah’s chin while she squirmed and squealed.
Peter came to a dead stop, moving again only when Char and Sophie ran into him from behind and pushed him forward. After sending them a ducal glare, he asked, “Sarah? Are you all right? Sweetheart, I was so worried when I heard you scream.”
But his daughter was in such a fit of giggles she couldn’t answer him if she tried. Not that she tried.
Jane took pity on him, though. “She took a good fall from the tree there. Sarah thought that since Joshua could climb it, she should be able to as well. I wasn’t fast enough to catch her, I’m afraid.” She rose and straightened her gown about her legs, leaving the children and the cat where they lay. “But I’ve checked her all over, and there are no broken bones. I imagine she’ll be fit as a fiddle again in no time.”
“I see.” But of course, he didn’t. “And do you profess to be a doctor, then, Miss Matthews?”
“We’re back to Miss Matthews and Your Grace, then are we?” she spat back at him. “No, sir, I’m nothing of the sort. But I know how to find a broken bone. You should just be thankful I was here to help her.”
“Thankful? Thankful! I can promise you, ma’am, I shall be thankful the day you have married and are no longer living beneath my roof. And not a day sooner.”
She leveled him with an icy stare. “Well, I’ll do my best not to disappoint, then. Good day to you.” The minx spun on her heels and marched back to the house, ignoring Sophie as she followed behind.
“Papa,” Sarah said, “why are you angry at Jane? I’m not hurt.” She looked up at him with wide eyes, still brimming with unshed tears.
“Never mind about that,” he said and gently moved both the cat and Joshua off of her before lifting her into his arms. “Mama, please have Spenser send for a doctor. I want Sarah thoroughly checked over for breaks and bruises.”
He waited for no response, and carried his princess back to the house, to Mrs. Pratt in the nursery. No expense would be spared when his daughter
’s health was at stake. And he would not trust the word of a silly spinster who treated a cat like a human and was scared of horses on such a matter.
Preposterous.
~ * ~
Vauxhall was an unexpected treat. Yes, of course Jane had known she would be going—that wasn’t the unexpected part. It was the gardens. They were so lush and inviting, so green and colorful, so filled with vitality, she felt sure she would burst with the excitement she felt just from walking through the gates and traversing the walks until they reached Lady Veazey’s supper box.
Even having Peter along would not spoil her mood. Not tonight. She simply wouldn’t allow it to happen. There was far too much for her to enjoy, and she wouldn’t allow anyone to ruin it for her.
The supper box slowly filled with the other invited revelers, all of whom Jane at least had an acquaintance. The two Miss Marlboroughs were present, as was Miss Lily Fairfax. Lord Sinclaire had joined the group, along with Lords Pottinger and Eldredge—the latter of whom passed Jane a kindly smile, but made no other effort at conversation, much to her relief, and Mr. Derringer, a kindly, older gentleman who remained unmarried. Of course, the elegant and petitite Lady Veazey was present, alongside her devilishly handsome husband. Finally, there were all of the Hardwickes and Jane. Somehow Cousin Henrietta had even wrangled Neil into accompanying them, as well.
Several matrons stood off to the side of the box along with the dowager, providing ample chaperonage for all of the unmarried ladies and gentlemen.
As the supper box filled to overflowing, Char brought two glasses of lemonade over to Jane. “I hope Lady Veazey is unaware of her faux pas. She has one more young lady present than she has eligible gentlemen. It just isn’t done.”
A cursory glance around the party proved Char’s observation correct. But was it truly a mistake? “Perhaps an invited guest was unable to attend at the last moment,” Jane murmured, keeping her voice down so she wouldn’t attract anyone else’s attention to the uneven numbers.
But then Lord Utley, smiling like the rogue she knew him to be, strode across the walk and stopped directly before the entrance to Lady Veazey’s box. Drat. He must be the final member of the party.
“A lovely evening, isn’t it?” he called out, inclining his head to their host and hostess and let himself inside.
“So glad you were able to join us, my lord,” Lady Veazey called out to him, “and at such late notice, too. I was simply devastated when Sir Jonas Buchannan sent word he couldn’t attend.”
Before Jane could ponder the matter any further, Peter stormed across the box to stand beside her, the fierce look in his eyes enough to send her shaking to the corner, had the look been intended for her. “Charlotte. Jane.” His brusque tone sent shivers across Jane’s bare upper arms beneath the small capped sleeves of her gown. Thankfully, she could imagine his scowl to be intended for none other than Utley at that moment.
Peter’s rather large frame was so close to her side, she couldn’t move without brushing against him. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, almost daring the newest member of the group to draw near.
Utley made his rounds, speaking briefly with each of the various smaller groups which had gathered in the supper box before moving on to the next. Sophie stood with Lord Eldredge and Miss Marlborough when Utley arrived at their group. Their voices were too low for Jane to make out anything they said, but Sophie’s eyes never lit up, nor did she ever break into a smile as long as the cad remained with them.
Finally, after conversing with every other group, Utley moved to stand before Peter—who made no effort whatsoever to make the man feel welcome.
“Somerton,” Utley drawled, his voice unctuous and ingratiating. “Pleasure to meet you, as always.” His nose crinkled a touch, though he fought to conceal the action. “And of course, Lady Charlotte and the delectable Miss Matthews. It is always a joy to discover one is in the company of such lovely ladies.”
“Utley,” Peter clipped off, low and almost menacing. “I am almost surprised to see you out in company. Why, no one has seen you since the first ball of the Season, from what I understand.”
“I have had to make a brief foray into the country to see to one of my estates. Sadly, at times, business must take precedence over pleasure. Of course you would know all about that, wouldn’t you? But now I’ve returned, and Lady Veazey was delighted to discover my availability for this evening when we met on Curzon Street this afternoon.”
“Is that so?” Peter asked, deceptively mild in his query. “Did you also, perhaps, visit your brother in Wales?”
“Wales? Egad, Somerton.” Utley laughed, a nervous, fractious sound. “That is quite a trek, especially while so much is happening in Town. No, I haven’t been to Wales in months. Perhaps longer.” He passed a pointed look in Jane and Charlotte’s direction. “But really, aren’t we boring these lovely ladies with our discussion of business affairs?”
Before Peter could answer, and despite his obvious attempt to issue a response, with his mouth gaping open, Lady Veazey interrupted them all. “Dinner will not be served for another hour. I believe it would be lovely if we all broke into pairs or small groups and went for a walk through the pleasure gardens. Gentlemen, would you be so kind?”
Lord Veazey took up her arm and led her from the box. They paused at the gate and looked over their shoulders to be certain that none of their guests were left out.
Utley turned to Jane with a triumphant look upon his face. But before he could even open his mouth to ask if she would allow him to escort her through the gardens, Peter took hold of her elbow. “Come with me,” he muttered and tugged against her, practically dragging her forward.
She gasped, but was secretly pleased, not to mention grateful that she would not have to spend any time alone in the man’s presence. With a quick look over her shoulder, she saw that Lord Eldredge and Neil were escorting Charlotte and Miss Theodora Marlborough out of the supper box, and Lord Sinclaire was only a few paces behind with Sophie. Miss Marlborough and Miss Fairfax promenaded one on either side of Lord Pottinger, leaving the matrons to form a group to take a leisure walk together—leaving Utley on his own. Lord Veazey gestured to him to come along and walk with himself and his wife—obviously not what the man wanted, but it suited Jane’s mood just fine.
Peter was still tense as he held onto her arm, guiding her more than only a bit faster than necessary through the lamp-lit trees lining the various walkways. She wanted to say something—anything, really—but dared not upset him further. In truth, she wasn’t certain why he was so intensely angered by Lord Utley’s presence. Not that it mattered. Jane was more than all right with being whisked away from the man with all due haste.
Her last encounter with the man had been one she would have preferred to have forgotten...and almost had.
Almost. But not quite.
And because of that, she had no desire whatsoever to spend any more time in the man’s presence than absolutely necessary. No time at all in his presence would suit Jane rather well, thank you very much.
Utley’s arrival at Vauxhall left her unsettled, to say the least.
She must have been huffing for breath, because Peter suddenly slowed his pace and inclined his head to her. “I must apologize. I seem to have lost my manners.”
By this point, they had outpaced the other revelers by such a distance that she couldn’t even see them when she peeked over her shoulder into the distance. Peter led her through twisting walkways that were now less well-lit than the earlier ones—paths whose arch of trees overhead largely blocked the moonlight from illuminating their trail.
“There’s no need to apologize.”
Oddly, that was true. There wasn’t. He had manhandled her and pulled her away without even a by-your-leave, yet she wasn’t upset. Rather, she worried what had caused him such a great distress.
He answered her question before she could even give it voice. “Utley and I have a history. Not a very pleasant history, either.”
“Oh. So you were displeased to see him this evening, then?” Perhaps, if they talked enough, he would relax again. She had so wished for a pleasant evening instead of the tension of the afternoon.
“I’m always displeased to see him,” he growled. “The man is a scoundrel of the first order, a man thoroughly unfit to be in the company of ladies. Especially my sisters and those in my care.” Peter released his grip on her elbow and smoothed his hand along her gloved arm, guiding her hand into place on his arm. The tension she felt there, while tangible, had begun to lessen.
“What did he do? If he is such a scoundrel, why doesn’t the rest of society shun him as you seem to do?”
His pace slowed to almost a crawl and eventually came to a complete stop, staring off into the trees. “He ruined Mary.” His arm shook beneath her, the tension building within him anew.
Jane stared up at him—at the silhouette of his face, at his thinned lips and the pulsing vein in his temple—searching for something unknown. “Mary was your wife?”
“Yes.” His jaw barely opened to allow the word to escape.
“What—what did he do?”
Peter pulled his arm free and stalked away from her, rubbing a hand absentmindedly over his square jaw and shaking his head. His eyes were empty. She wanted to hold him, soothe his pain, but knew she shouldn’t.
“He trapped her. Mama threw a ball at Hardwicke House, celebrating Sophie’s come-out. Utley had been invited. We’d known his family for years—my brothers and I had played with him and his brothers as children. Utley had only just inherited the title from his father a few months before. He was the newest peer on the marriage mart.”
Peter looked at Jane, as though he only then realized she was with him, even though she’d been there the whole time. “You should sit. We should sit.” Trembling, he took her hand in his and led her to a bench beneath the trees and away from the lights.
“Mary attended the ball as well. She was the daughter of Lord Throckmorton. Mama had hopes that I might offer for her, even though we really had no attraction to each other. But I was the most eligible bachelor of the ton at the time, and Mary was one of the most respected candidates for marriage amongst the young ladies.” His eyes closed for a moment.
A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle Page 77
