From time to time, the trio vowed similar sentimental drivel, though none of their matches were an idyllic love-at-first-sight phenomenon. No, as Pierce deliberated about it, each of their unions were fraught with misunderstandings and complications. And yet, his brothers-in-law, each formerly as much a rapscallion as he, enjoyed wedded paradise now.
Maybe that love codswollop had some merit after all.
Unable to resist, Pierce glanced over his shoulder.
Bianca stood exactly where he’d left her. Staring into the distance, her shoulders hunched in dejection, she hugged herself. Impossible to tell for certain from here with the sunlight bathing her, but dampness appeared to glisten on her cheeks.
Maybe all she needed was more time. More courting, too.
Elsie might be of some help in that regard. Perchance the servant knew a thing or two about her mistress that Pierce didn’t which could prove useful.
Truth be known, Pierce had rushed things a mite.
More to the point, Bianca must trust him. Trust that no ulterior motives had induced him to offer for her.
Hopefully, that would lay a foundation for redeeming himself. Because if he failed…
Without her, he faced a dismal, hollow existence.
Pierce wasn’t ready to quit the field after losing the first battle. He would stay and make a valiant effort not to mope about, a love-struck swain, his pride be hanged.
No wonder Pierce hated Bertram.
Bianca would hate him, too.
Anguish kept her immobile as she stared across the lake, tears wetting her cheeks.
Only Pierce possessed the ability to turn her into a dribbly fountain, blast him. Although she wanted to reject the reason why, her logical mind denied her the privilege. She was falling in love. Maybe had already completely done so, and lost herself, lost sight of her destiny in the process.
More maddening, she didn’t want to be conflicted, wanted the decision, the path forward to be obvious. But love wasn’t obvious or easy, either. Not at all. This glorious hurt, this willingness to be vulnerable, knowing the person you’ve given your very soul to could shatter it into countless shards with a callous glance, a cutting gesture, or a slicing word was agony at its acutest.
Mum had loved like that, and her adoration eventually crushed her. But if Bianca married Pierce, at least her physical wellbeing would be assured.
She released a scornful laugh that ended on a strangled sob.
Now she was entertaining the ludicrous notion?
Sighing, she shoved her loose curls behind her ears and kicked a rock into the pond. It did little to ease her melancholy.
The ducks, their shoe-button black eyes regarding her warily, swam in slow circles, quacking occasionally. On the other side of the pond, a duck paddled to the edge, then waddled ashore. Five downy, black and yellow ducklings followed her.
Despite Bianca’s doldrums, she turned her mouth upward at the precious little fluff balls scurrying and quacking behind their mum.
Another unbidden sigh whisked past her lips.
The peril of a woman possessing her nature was that she would never cease loving Pierce. Even when he gravitated back to his sirens and gaming hells. Like a faithful dog that comes back and licks her master’s hand even after he kicks her, she would love him.
Only an utter nit-wit fell tail feathers over teapot spout in love with a known philanderer.
In less than a month, too. Such rashness guaranteed a broken heart.
For a man like him, she was sorely tempted to take that chance. It might be worth it, just for the few memories she’d have.
No! It wouldn’t, common sense berated her.
No, it wouldn’t.
It would ravage her.
That afternoon, Bianca directed Elsie where to put the ready-made items Pierce had purchased for her in Northhollow. The rest of her wardrobe would not be completed for two weeks. She’d only permitted him to order three morning gowns, an equal number of day dresses, and one ivory spencer she might wear with any of them. He’d inquired about a gown appropriate for evening wear, and Bianca’s eyes nearly boggled from her head when the shop owner murmured the garment’s cost.
Always frugal, she’d tried to stand her ground and proclaimed her current shift and chemise were perfectly good.
Pierce, however, cocked a superior raven brow and proceeded to order two of each for her as well as several pairs of stockings, slippers, and even stays. “Lenora said you improvised with bed linens, and as much as I admire your ingenuity and economy, Bianca, your new gowns demand new underthings as well.”
At his reminder of her intimate apparel, another scorching blush suffused her.
No surprise he knew a woman’s wardrobe from the skin outward. But to think that he and his sisters actually believed she’d fashioned undergarments from old linens brought a new surge of chagrin. She ought not to have jested about that, but Bianca had so wanted to shock Miss Walcott.
Although Mrs. Dunlap hadn’t uttered so much as a syllable in suspicion, her skeptical, forced smile had hinted at her disbelief when Pierce introduced Bianca as his ward. The flush skimming from Bianca’s neck to hairline mightn’t have helped dissuade the dressmaker’s inaccurate assumption either.
Even this far removed from London, their relationship raised speculation. That hadn’t stopped the seamstress from eagerly presenting fripperies and fallalls as well as her most current fashion plates.
“An earl is an earl after all, and if he desires to purchase a wardrobe for a young lady, it isn’t my place to question his reasons,” the dressmaker mumbled beneath her breath while measuring Bianca’s waist. She wouldn’t have dared, except Pierce had left them to run his errands.
Elsie sniffed one of the new floral embossed oval soaps then rewrapped it in tissue paper. “I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything as wonderful. Would you like a bath before dinner? You could also take a short nap. You were up so early this morning. I could make you a cup of chamomile tea as well.”
So she’d seen the yawn Bianca attempted to hide behind her hand.
“You can wear your new gown, too. It’s just his lordship and you dining, so it’s no matter that it’s a day gown. Especially since it’s the finest in your wardrobe.” Her round face crumpled, and her cheeks glowed raspberry red. “I meant no disrespect, Miss.”
“I know you didn’t. And yes, a bath and the tea would be lovely.”
A lengthy soak and the soothing brew did appeal. It might help alleviate the headache brought on by hours of measurements and pinning. As tempted as Bianca was to request a tray sent to her chamber tonight, she wasn’t a coward. She’d face Pierce across the table, and answer his inquires with the same aloofness he’d presented to her the entire day.
Several times throughout the morning and afternoon Bianca opened her mouth to ask exactly how Bertram had caused Pierce’s mother’s death. Yet each time, her manners refused to allow her to pry into something so personal and obviously painful.
If he wanted her to know, he’d tell her.
He was as entitled to his secrets as she was to hers.
Boots crunching in the gravel, Pierce trod the meandering garden path, occasionally nodding his approval to Broomfield and what the staff thought were two new hired hands. They were in fact, old acquaintances. Men who specialized in covert security, and their purpose was to protect Bianca.
Not that he worried overly much about Fairfax fighting the guardianship now. Reflecting over these past weeks, he’d concluded Fairfax wouldn’t want the expense of caring for Bianca again.
Nevertheless, Felix and Chambers, a slight sardonic bend to their mouths, dutifully worked at putting the finishing touches on Pierce’s surprise for Bianca. Digby, Elsie, the other two maids, Burroughs, and even Popplewell had put aside their normal duties to help as well.
Given his valet’s cross scowl, Popplewell believed the task beneath him. Yet he humored his employer. Not without a considerable amount of grumbling, howe
ver. Unlike good-natured Mrs. Digby in the kitchen, preparing another surprise at Pierce’s behest.
Elsie gave a little one-handed wave as he passed.
“Miss Bianca’s resting, just like we planned, m’lord.”
At first, the loyal, closed-lipped maid hadn’t been eager to share what she knew about her mistress. When Pierce explained he wanted to do something special for Bianca, Elsie chattered on like a magpie.
“Excellent. Thank you for your help, Elsie,” he said.
She dimpled and turned her attention back to the bush she was adorning.
Call Pierce a codpate, but he’d decided to court Bianca full on. She’d become as essential as air and water, as addicting as opium, and he craved her presence. Her love. If he didn’t succeed in winning her…
This quest had only just begun in earnest. He would not harbor a single thought about defeat. Not at this early juncture, anyway.
A disturbance on the pond drew his attention. A drake had chased another male away from a hen. Pierce well understood the possessive sentiment. He grinned and touched his scar. There might be something to that nonsensical soul mate stuff his mother had rattled on about after all.
Self-castigation, or perhaps irony, better described the feeling infusing him. He’d finally admitted the truth to himself this afternoon. Actually, while he’d watched Bianca, her shoulders and chin set in resolution, tolerate Mrs. Dunlap’s ministrations.
What a marvelous revelation, too.
By Jove, he’d succumbed to the unthinkable, the wonderfully untenable, and given his heart to the fiery vixen. Now he would do most anything to make her his countess and one day his duchess. Hands clasped behind his back, he surveyed his property. Yonder beech tree possessed ideal branches for a rope swing or two.
He and Bianca would have four offspring: an ebony-haired boy and girl like him, and a ginger-haired boy and girl like her. And a cat and a dog, too. And ponies for their children. Maybe even a parakeet. As a child he’d seen the winged green clouds spiraling through the hazy skies and wanted one.
Unfamiliar giddiness soared behind his breastbone, and he chuckled. He’d become a besotted fool. Him, the acerbic, unemotional Earl of Wainthorpe.
He envisioned Coventry’s smug grin as he announced that another member of the Wicked Earls’ Club had succumbed to love’s indefensible allure. Is that what he meant when he’d chortled that Pierce, “…didn’t realize the truth of it?”
Marching across the lawn, Pierce glanced at Bianca’s balcony windows. The drawn draperies hid the hectic preparations outside, all part of Elsie’s subterfuge to assist Pierce.
Whistling a tune he’d heard Bianca singing yesterday, he cast a final glance around the lawns and gardens. Satisfied with the progress, he entered his study by way of the terrace. Stacked atop his desk lay the post he’d collected in Northhollow. Mayhap it contained word of Fairfax’s whereabouts.
Most well-bred misses—all that he was acquainted with—were ignorant of the seedier parts of London, much less knew about the atrocities that went on there. That Bianca did made him more than a little curious. So, before he bundled her off to Halverstone, he also asked Simmons to do a bit of discreet poking about to see what he could discover regarding Bianca’s mother. While he was at it, he asked Simmons to make inquiries about her father too.
Men didn’t just vanish. Someone knew something.
Sinking into his button-tufted leather chair, he lifted the top letter and quirked his mouth. From Simmons. Pray it contained good news. He cracked the seal with his thumbnail. Touching two fingers to his scar, he read the letter, concentration pulling his brows tight. Once finished, he sighed and tossed the missive atop his desk.
Chock full of news, mostly unsavory and unpleasant.
Information he’d have to tell Bianca, including a diary Churchgrove found of her uncle’s at Elmswood that evidently revealed much. But not tonight. Tonight was for her. Resting his chin on his steepled fingertips, he sank back into the chair.
Unlike three weeks ago, no satisfaction thrummed through him. In fact, if he put a name to what he most felt at the moment, it would have to be pity. Not even Fairfax deserved to have his throat slit and then his body tossed into the Thames for fish food.
His corpse was discovered a week ago.
Seemed he’d borrowed from the same unscrupulous money lender once too often.
Just before the clock struck seven, after a soothing bath, calming tea, and a lie down, Bianca stood before the full-length mirror once more.
Was that really her?
The serene, fashionably dressed and coiffed woman gazing back at her didn’t much resemble the farmer’s wife who’d trundled to the barn this morning to pet a sweet calf. All she lacked were emeralds to match the gown or perhaps jets at her ears, throat, and wrist to be a proper tonnish lady.
The toes of her black shoes, a startling contrast against the gown’s lovely silk fabric, caused her to purse her mouth. Pierce had ordered her pretty slippers and a pair of half-boots as well. Mrs. Dunlap couldn’t mask her astonishment at the size of Bianca’s feet.
Bianca lifted a leg, twisting her foot this way and that.
Miniature boats. That was what she claimed for feet.
Naught to be done about that.
However, she did wish for a delicate fragrance made especially for her by Floris’s in London to dab at her wrists and behind each ear. It wouldn’t hurt to have every weapon at her disposal to snare herself an earl.
For during her nap, she’d dreamed of her parents. Mum had cupped Bianca’s cheeks and told her to trust her heart. Then Papa was there, embracing her, his blue eyes sparkling with tenderness.
“Always choose love, me darlin’. Always.”
Bianca awoke with the most peculiar sense she’d actually been with them. She tried to shove aside her misgivings about Pierce, about a future with him, but years of fears shackled her in uncertainty. Optimism battled with doubt in her heart for a few moments more. Then, with a final wrench, she shook herself free of her reservations, and determined to heed her parents’ advice.
Love was too precious to be disregarded or discarded.
Minutes later, she entered the dining room as she did every evening. Instead of being seated opposite Pierce tonight, a place setting lay to his right. Apparently, he hadn’t given up wooing her just yet.
Wonderful.
Now if only he’d propose again, and Bianca could give him the answer he’d wanted this morning. A little tremor ran through her, but she schooled her features into nonchalance while chiding her undisciplined pulse to calm itself.
Pierce rose, his dark as night eyes shining with renewed appreciation at her elegant attire. “That color is most becoming on you.”
“Thank you.”
A perfectly proper compliment, so why did disappointment clench behind her ribs that he hadn’t said something a trifle more teasing or risqué? For his scorching gaze certainly hinted at something deliciously scandalous
“Have I mentioned that green is my favorite color?” He gazed at her expectantly, like a little boy eagerly sharing a secret with his best friend.
Oh, did he want to know her favorite color? How utterly irresistible.
“Mine is dark pink. Which does not work at all with this hair.” She fluttered her fingers over her carefully arranged curls.
“I think you would be beautiful wearing any color, sweeting.” He stood behind her chair, an encouraging, not the least suggestive smile creasing his face. “I’ve taken the liberty of having you seated beside me. I thought we ought to get to know one another properly, and bellowing down the table’s length didn’t appeal.”
She already knew he slept naked as a newborn babe and that a coal black, very attractive beard covered his jaw in the morning. And smatters his magnificent chest and torso, too. She also knew he looked dashing, even with his midnight hair disheveled, and he owned a lazy smile that made her insides wobble.
Something of her train o
f thought must have shown, for he flashed his typical rakish smile, then patted the back of her chair. “Come. To honor your Scot’s heritage, I’ve asked Mrs. Digby to prepare something special for you tonight.”
Pierce actually remembered that little detail about her parentage?
Bianca didn’t recall mentioning it to him.
And he’d actually conferred with Mrs. Digby about the menu? My, full of surprises this evening, wasn’t he?
His charm proved contagious nonetheless, and she returned his jaunty grin.
“May I ask what we are to dine upon?”
She slipped onto the chair, all too aware of him standing behind her, his clean male scent, sandalwood and cedar, teasing her nose.
Pierce pressed his hands to her shoulders for the briefest instant after pushing her chair in. When his warm palms cupped her, his thumbs brushing her nape, she almost dropped her serviette as an electric jolt sluiced down her arms and spinal cord.
Taking his seat, he conjured that dastardly charming grin again.
She pressed a palm to her middle on the pretense of arranging the linen square. A pair of rowdy kittens frolicked in her stomach.
Did her smile cause the same riot inside him?
He lifted his serviette, and as he unfolded it, confessed, “Well, truth to tell, on such short notice, Mrs. Digby could only manage a Scot’s dessert, cranachan.”
“That’s my favorite.” Aunt Florencia always prepared the delicacy for Bianca’s birthday and at Christmastide. And that he went to such effort made that squishy feeling in her middle spread outward, until her whole body fairly hummed.
A nonplussed expression flitted across his aristocratic face’s planes. “I hoped to surprise you.”
She lifted the wine glass to her mouth, gazing at him across the crystal rim. “You have, and your thoughtfulness is rather endearing.”
My, this flirting business came quite naturally.
“Is it now?” Pure masculine confidence oozed from Pierce.
Oh dear, oh dear.
She’d seen that penetrating expression before.
Earl of Wainthorpe Page 13
