A Season for Love

by Cynthia Breeding

  How embarrassing. Elizabeth swallowed several times to subdue the coughing fit even as a few tears rolled down her cheeks. Lord, now she would have a puffy face and red nose. How could anyone drink that horrible stuff?

  Darian removed the snifter and replaced it with a linen handkerchief. His hand covered hers and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “It will pass in a moment.”

  She shook her head, keeping her eyes down as she dabbed at her nose and face. No doubt he and Edward thought it humorous too. Silly Elizabeth. Couldn’t even take a sip of brandy. She forced herself to look up. Edward was trying not to smile, but Darian’s face was serious.

  “I am sorry. I should have warned you,” he said.

  “It is all right,” she finally managed to say and looked at Isabella who had nearly finished her drink. How could she do that? Elizabeth sat up straighter. “Shall we play cards then?”

  Isabella held out her glass. “I believe I will have another brandy.”

  Edward grinned. “I shall get it for you.”

  As they moved to the table, Isabella seated herself across from Edward, thereby making Elizabeth partner with Darian. She looked askance of him, but he just smiled.

  “Are you ready to win, Miss Townsend?”

  More than ready. “Yes. I love whist,” she said.

  “Well, it isn’t faro,” Isabella interjected, “but, in the country, it will have to do.”

  “What do you know of faro?” Darian handed the deck for Edward to shuffle and then placed the cards in front of Isabella to cut. “Has it found its way into ladies’ parlors while I have been gone?”

  Isabella took a sip of brandy and smiled coquettishly. “I stumbled upon some gentlemen at a house party once. It seemed such an exciting game.”

  “Games of chance always are,” Edward replied with a grin. “Perhaps once we are back in Town, a private game could be arranged.”

  “Oooh! I would like that.” Isabella started to clap her hands, nearly spilling the brandy. She looked at the glass as though wondering where it had come from. She set down the snifter.

  Darian dealt the cards silently and turned the final card face up—the Queen of Diamonds. “Diamonds trump,” he said and turned to Edward. “Your trick.”

  Elizabeth glanced at her cards, careful not to show emotion. She had the King of Diamonds as well as several lower numbers. The king would assure at least one trick. Who had the ace?

  Edward put down the Eight of Spades. Darian countered with a nine and Isabella trumped it with the Ten of Diamonds. Elizabeth glanced at her. Foolish girl to use such a high trump. Was she foxed? She glanced down at her hand again. She certainly didn’t want to waste her king and she wasn’t about to throw away her Jack of Spades since the trump was out there. She placed the Two of Spades down.

  “We won!” Isabella scooped up the cards.

  Darian glanced over at Elizabeth, a tiny, almost indiscernible lift at one corner of his mouth. She wondered if he had guessed that she’d given away the trick.

  Isabella giggled and put out the new card and the next trick was won by Darian. So it went for several more, Elizabeth winning three, Darian another one and Edward two. By the time they got to the thirteenth trick, Isabella was yawning.

  “I am thoroughly bored,” she said.

  “But the score is eight to four,” Elizabeth said. “We cannot quit until one of has five points over the minimum.”

  Isabella yawned again, almost forgetting to cover her mouth with her fan. “Whist is boring. I cannot wait to get to Town where there will be fun and excitement.”

  “I am looking forward to Town myself,” Edward said. “Italy had its entertainments, but nothing like London.”

  “And you, Miss Townsend?” Darian asked. “Are you looking forward to the Season also?”

  “I have never had a Season,” Elizabeth replied, “but I am not overly fond of the soot and noise and smell of most of London.”

  Isabella blinked at her. “Mayfair does not smell. Nor does Hyde Park. Good gracious, what kind of a life did you lead there?”

  Elizabeth could have bitten her tongue. Of course, Isabella wouldn’t have encountered the less than desirable parts of London. She had no idea of how the laboring classes lived or how women and children toiled twelve hour days for a mere pittance that barely put food on their tables. Elizabeth wouldn’t have known either, except that her papa insisted in ministering to the poor and Mama volunteered at the hospital. Papa always said practicing charity was good for the soul.

  She was spared an answer by the butler appearing in the doorway, announcing that the carriage was ready to take them home. She didn’t think she’d ever been so grateful for an interruption.

  As Darian and Edward escorted them outside, she tried to avoid looking at either one of them. She might just as well have announced to all-and-sundry that she was nothing but a poor relation and a charitable cause herself.

  Darian helped Isabella into the carriage and then held out his hand to Elizabeth. As she placed her hand in his, his strong, warm fingers closed over hers and he leaned close, his breath caressing her ear.

  “London stinks,” he said.

  Chapter Six

  By mid-morning, wagons began to arrive carrying freshly cut lumber from the forest between Stafford and Newberry. From the burnt-out wall of the dining hall, Elizabeth watched as Darian swung down from the magnificent Andalusian he’d purchased from her uncle. His thigh muscles rippled beneath snug breeches and the simple linen shirt he wore detailed his broad, strong shoulders, making him look every bit as powerful as the full-chested stallion beside him. The horse’s sleek, blue-black coat reflected the raven color of Darian’s hair in the sunlight. Edward joined him and her uncle met them in the yard, Andy by his side. The young man was determined the earl would find no slack with him in repairing the kitchen.

  Anna, too, had put in extra effort, whitewashing the sooted walls of the dining hall until almost all hint of smoke was gone. Elizabeth smiled at the maid vigorously polishing the brass kettles and moved to help her.

  “The fireplace is still standing, since it was made of stone,” the earl said as he, Darian, and Edward came closer to inspect what was left.

  “The cupboard seems to have been saved.” Darian opened the iron door to the small area fitted into the side of the hearth meant for keeping things warm. “We should be able to have the wall built around the hearth by the end of the day.” He motioned for the men to start bringing in the lumber.

  Elizabeth watched in fascination as Darian lifted planks with apparent ease and swung the hammer with agility and strength enough to drive a nail through the lumber with one powerful stroke. The slight sweat that glistened on his brow also dampened his shirt and caused it to cling to biceps nearly as large as a smith’s. She should find something to do. It was better not to watch Darian. Isabella had no such compunction, Elizabeth noticed, but then why should she? It was her intended out there working. Isabella had every right to watch his strong, masculine body move. Edward, working beside Darian, was equally well-formed. Elizabeth squinted. Isabella seemed to be enjoying watching both of them.

  Edward looked up just then and grinned, flexing his muscles and giving his hammer an extra-powerful swing. Isabella smiled. Elizabeth decided to retreat into the deeper recesses of the house. It wouldn’t do to have Darian see her gawking at him like a street strumpet.

  As she passed Anna setting the last of the kettles down, the maid dipped a curtsey and looked hesitant.

  “Did you wish to ask something?” Elizabeth asked.

  “We have lost most of our food stores,” Anna replied, “but there be some lemons that was left in the cellar. Do you suppose his lordship would mind if I made some lemonade a little later for the men?”

  “I do not think he would mind at all. That is a wonderful idea.”

  “And could I use some ice too? There be a bit left.”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth smiled as she turned away. No doubt, Anna wanted
to make herself useful, but the fact that her Andy was working side-by-side with the earl and the Marquess of Bingington, as well as Lord Armstrong, was probably too great a temptation to resist. She would want to impress all of them.

  Elizabeth was curled in a chair in the parlor, immersed in reading a recently published novel entitled Pride and Prejudice, when Julianna popped her head around the corner of the door. “Her Grace has sent servants down with the noon repast,” she said. “Mother said to come find you.”

  Elizabeth closed the book reluctantly, thinking how much she identified with both Jane Austen, who’d lived in a rectory, and the heroine of the novel, Elizabeth Bennett, who lost her father as well. Even their names were the same. In the novel’s case, however, Miss Bennett had possible suitors in Bingley and Darcy. There was no possible suit with Darian. Perhaps she should plead a headache and stay in her room. Elizabeth sighed. She could hardly plead a headache every day they’d be working on the repairs. And there were the evening dinners to be faced. She would just have to be strong until after the Season and then find a job as a governess somewhere, away from Stafford and Newberry.

  Isabella was pouring lemonade when Elizabeth walked into the yard and toward the makeshift plank table in the shade of a large oak.

  “Excellent lemonade,” Edward said as he took several sips. “Tart and sweet. Just the way I like things.”

  “Thank you.” Isabella slanted a sideways glance at him and smiled before moving on to pour Darian’s drink. “I hoped you both would like it.”

  Elizabeth looked from her to a dismayed Anna and then back again. Was Isabella going to take credit for Anna’s work? Before she could make a remark, her uncle did.

  “It is excellent,” the earl beamed. “My Isabella is always full of surprises.”

  It would be surprising if Isabella could find the kitchen, Elizabeth thought snidely and then was immediately overcome with shame. Papa would be so disappointed in her for that unkind thought. A marchioness wouldn’t be expected to actually cook anything or even enter the kitchen. She would only need to leave orders for staff. And that was something Isabella would excel in.

  * * * *

  Darian watched Elizabeth covertly at the dinner table that evening. She’d been unusually quiet during the noon repast and had disappeared into the bowels of Newberry House shortly after they’d eaten. Even now, she seemed subdued and toyed with the pudding in her bowl. The venison on her plate had barely been touched.

  “Are you feeling all right, Miss Townsend?” he asked. Her face flushed, then paled and he began to wonder if she were truly ill.

  She glanced at him quickly and then looked away as though afraid to hold his gaze. “I am fine. Thank you for inquiring, Lord Bingington.”

  He frowned slightly. Why was she being so formal? This was a casual, country dinner, not court. Everyone here could call him Darian.

  “Oh, she has had her nose in that Jane Austen book all afternoon,” Isabella said. ‘No doubt she is reliving some long-winded philosophy of Miss Austen’s. I find her an incredible bore.”

  Twin flames flared in Elizabeth’s cheeks, but before she could respond, Julianna chimed in. “Miss Austen is a successful writer! I admire her.”

  “What is admirable about sitting for hours on end penning a story?” Isabella tossed her head so the ringlets of curls framing her face danced. “I could not abide it. She should be doing, taking part in society, not sitting around thinking. How dreary.” She flashed a smile at Darian and then Edward. “Might I suggest a game of charades this evening instead of that dull whist?”

  “Charades would be delightful,” Edward replied.

  Lord Newberry laughed. “An excellent idea. We ‘old folks’ may even join you. What say you, Stafford?”

  The duke nodded. “I think we are all due for some fun. Shall we move to the parlor?”

  Darian noticed that Elizabeth seemed to lag behind. She whispered something to Julianna, who looked concerned and then nodded, before joining the others. He poured ratafia for everyone while his mother tore slips of paper for Isabella to write the phrases on. His father produced a beaver hat and Isabella placed the papers inside.

  “Who will go first?” she asked.

  “I will.” Edward stepped up to the hat.

  Darian slipped into the hall unnoticed as everyone tried to guess Edward’s passage. Elizabeth hadn’t returned. She wasn’t in the dining room. An inquiry of the doorman assured him she’d not asked for a carriage to go home. The library, maybe? He walked down the hall and opened the door. She sat in a leather chair, an oil lamp on the table beside her, engrossed in a book.

  “Jane Austen?” he asked.

  Elizabeth started, the book slipping from her hands. “My lord! You startled me.”

  “I am sorry. That was not my intention.” Darian moved toward her and picked up the book. Le Morte d’Arthur. “Not Jane Austen.” He handed it back to her.

  “No. Mallory’s knights of the Round Table have always fascinated me. Their tales of chivalry and duty and honor are inspiring.”

  Darian lifted a brow. “Are you not forgetting that King Arthur’s best knight betrayed him?”

  Elizabeth looked up at him, her grey eyes like luminescent pearls in the flickering lamplight. “Did he? Maybe Gwenhwyfar should not have married Arthur. Maybe she only married him—” She stopped abruptly. “Pay me no mind, my lord. I am a bit out of sorts, I fear.”

  “I do not blame you. Isabella’s remarks were uncalled for.” He took the book and laid it on the table and held out his hand. “Would you care to take some air?” He could have sworn she blushed in the dim light.

  “I—I hardly think it proper, my lord.”

  “Just a short stroll in the gardens.” He quirked up a corner of his mouth. “The paths are very well lit and I promise not to take you into the maze.”

  She did blush at that. He found it endearing and suddenly yearned for the privacy the dark paths of the maze would give them. To complete the kiss that almost happened, to feel her soft lips opening slowly to him, to feel the silky, smooth, creamy skin of her exposed shoulder. To put an arm around her slender waist and draw her up against him while his hand slid slowly down her bodice… Jesu! What was he thinking?

  Elizabeth stood. “We should return to the parlor. I have been most rude about not participating in charades.”

  Darian nodded and offered his arm. “As you wish, Miss Townsend.” As he escorted her down the hall, acting every inch like a chivalrous knight of old, his unruly mind could only focus on what it might be like, having the sweet, luscious, enticing Miss Townsend writhing naked beneath him on the floor of the gazebo in the center of the maze. He shook his head, reminding himself that, like Arthur’s knights, he had honor and duty to uphold as well.

  But it was a thought that wouldn’t go away, even as they stepped into the bright light of the parlor and Isabella smiled coyly at him.

  Chapter Seven

  Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief when, three days later, Darian and Edward brought the last wagonload of materials to Newberry. These past days had been stressful, trying not to be too obvious in avoiding Darian and feeling like she had a knife twisting in her stomach when she watched Isabella flirt with him. Although, Elizabeth had to admit, Isabella also flirted with Edward, to a point where the brothers often glared at one another.

  The evenings were worse. After her refusal to walk with Darian in the garden, he waited on Isabella attentively, preparing her plate at dinner and making sure the footman kept her wine goblet filled. At whist, Isabella claimed Darian for her partner and Edward, no doubt to salvage his pride, doted on Elizabeth as though he actually desired her. She honestly didn’t know which was worse—having the man she wanted ignore her or having a beau whose attentions she didn’t want.

  Well, the structure was almost finished. Tonight, Newberry’s staff would be able to prepare the evening meal in their own home.

  Yesterday, they built an icebox for the kitchen s
o that ice, along with its insulating straw, would be contained and the straw not as liable to catch fire should another candle fall. It was all the rage in Rome, Edward declared. Today, they were also going to build a vault, of sorts, in the cellar using huge pieces of tin that would slow the process of the ice melting.

  The servants, along with the earl and his family, watched in fascination as large sheets of tin, mined in Cornwall and manufactured in South Wales, were taken carefully down from the wagon. Elizabeth winced as one of the razor-sharp edges hooked the corner of the wagon and carved a deep groove in it. Men with thick leather gloves carried the sheets down the steps that led underground.

  “How nice to count on having ice when we return from London in July,” Julianna said. “We will be able to enjoy a cold lemonade.”

  “Well, it certainly will make the provincial country more bearable,” Isabella replied. “I always miss the conveniences of Town.”

  “It will be just like having our own Gunther’s!” Julianna beamed. “Are you not excited, Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth didn’t have the heart to tell Julianna she probably wouldn’t be returning with them. If she were to be a chaperone, she fully intended to use society gatherings to ferret out information about a possible governess post.

  “I suspect a cold lemonade would be most welcome on a hot, summer day,” she said.

  A loud shout from below, followed by a heavy clang and more shouting, had all three of them on their feet and rushing from the parlor to the courtyard. Julianna gasped and put her hand to her mouth as two workers struggled up the stairs from the cellar, Darian draped with an arm over each of their shoulders, his feet dragging between them. His shirt was torn and a trickle of blood dripped down his chest, but worse was the blood flowing from his thigh.