by Kimberly Nee
…
When she emerged from her bath, she was clean and there was a horrid dirt ring around the hammered brass tub she’d used. She’d never been so embarrassed before, and her cheeks had to be scarlet as the maid came to assist. The maid’s jaw went slack at the sight of the filthy tub, while Elena spluttered and stammered lame-sounding apologies. Before she could make an absolute fool of herself, she left the poor girl with the mess and went to dress to go below.
The breakfast room was empty, only a clutter of dirty dishes and empty teacups testimony to a meal enjoyed some time earlier. Elena sighed softly as she eyed the remaining pastries on the sideboard. They were a rather sad-looking lot, no doubt stale from sitting out, but her stomach rumbled so she perused the remains and found one that didn’t look too inedible.
A corner crumbled as she tried to break a piece off, but when she popped it into her mouth, she found it wasn’t stale at all. The light, flaky pastry practically melted in her mouth, cool but still buttery tasting and delicious.
“I thought you’d have joined the others by now.”
She jumped, whirling about to glare at Lord Dunning, who leaned leisurely against the doorjamb, a hint of a smile playing about his lips. Swallowing her mouthful of pastry, she croaked, “Don’t sneak up on me that way! What if I choked?”
“Well, you didn’t.” He uncrossed his arms as he came completely into the room. “I see you’ve recovered from your sojourn into the woods.”
“My sojourn?”
“Your walk.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks grew warm. Although they both spoke English, it didn’t seem to be the same English at times. “I suppose. I had a hot bath and that always seems to work wonders.”
“I find the same.” He smiled, moving to the windows. “But, as you can see, it is shaping up to be a lovely day. So why not go and take advantage of it? The ladies are down playing a game of pall-mall. You would probably enjoy it and could probably catch up to them rather easily.”
“Pall-mall? I don’t even know what that is,” she replied, popping another bite between her lips.
“It’s easy to learn.” He traced a fingertip over a pane of rippled glass. “You simply hit a ball with a mallet and try to get it through the arch. Whoever manages to do so in the fewest moves wins.”
“So why aren’t you out there, if it’s so simple?” she countered, joining him at the window.
“Because I’d rather not be the lone male out there.”
“I thought every man dreamed of being surrounded by admiring ladies.”
“Hardly.” He grinned down at her. “I imagine the giggling would drive me mad.”
“We don’t all giggle, you know.”
“Ah, but that group”—he tapped the glass lightly—“is a giggling bunch. I’ve known Lady Rosamund, Eleanor, Christina, and Cordelia since they were in leading strings.”
“You don’t want any of them? There are no others for me to choose from, you know.”
He turned away from the windows to regard her with a serious look. “Yes, I know. Which of them were you thinking? Or do you like all of them?”
“I thought Eleanor and Lady Rosamund were possibilities. Maybe even Christina. I don’t know. Each one seems quite practical and none come from an impoverished family. Any of them would make a fine countess, and you’d probably make beautiful heirs together.”
“Think so, do you?” One thick dark brow arched ever so slightly.
She nodded. “I do. Lady Rosamund is quite beautiful, if a bit tiny. Eleanor isn’t quite as pretty, but she’s hardly ugly, either. Christina is pleasant enough in her own way, I suppose. And you, my lord—” Warmth crept into her cheeks as she looked up at him and her words died on her tongue. As his brow crept up even higher, she muttered, “Well, you’ve seen yourself.”
“Yes, I have. And I thank you. I think.”
“So, which of those ladies would you prefer? Since you’re the one who will be married to her, after all.”
She held her breath while his eyebrow returned to its normal position and he gazed out the window. “Lady Rosamund, I suppose. I’ve known her longest and she’s the most tolerable. Although, I must admit I—” He glanced over at her before resuming his perusal of the ladies on the lawn. “I’d have assumed you would suggest Cordelia.”
“Why?”
“Because of her stutter. You strike me as the sort to champion the downtrodden. You have, I assume, tried to converse with her?”
“I have, and while I have sympathy for her, I couldn’t see her being the Countess of Dunning. Although I did notice she doesn’t always stutter, so perhaps once she grew accustomed to being the countess, she’d fare well.” She popped the remaining pastry into her mouth and surreptitiously wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Fortunately, he didn’t seem to see her, as he still peered through the window. “Thank you, but no. She is not for me.” Dunning shook his head. “She’s nice enough, if a bit on the quiet side.”
“I hardly fault her for being quiet. The others tend to run her over when she tries to speak.” Elena felt a pang of sympathy for Cordelia and her unfortunate stutter. “Did you know she thinks your blood is cursed, my lord?”
“What?” Now he turned to her, disbelief echoing in the word.
She nodded. “She was telling me the story the other evening. An old woman who cursed one of your ancestors for turning her away. She said the curse strikes only Markham men and always around their thirtieth birthday.”
“Nonsense,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no such thing as a curse, and there certainly isn’t one on my family.”
Something in his voice betrayed his dismissal of the notion, and Elena knew she had to tread carefully. Perhaps, despite his protestations, he did share Cordelia’s belief about his cursed blood. The ladies were far enough away that their conversation couldn’t be heard, but they certainly appeared to be enjoying themselves. A peal of laughter rang out as Eleanor smacked her mallet against a dark blue ball to send it rolling down the hill, and she hiked up her skirts to chase after it.
Her eyes still on the game, Elena steadied herself with a deep breath and murmured, “Is it true that the men in your family die prematurely?”
“No more so than in any other family,” he replied shortly, stepping away from the window. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve work to do.”
“My lord.” She reached for his arm, but wasn’t quick enough as he jerked to his right to avoid her touch. “I beg your pardon if I’ve said something I shouldn’t. It just seems—”
“My family is none of your concern, Miss Sebastiano.” His voice was stiff, his expression blank, and he didn’t halt his stride as he stalked to the doorway.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, of—” She blew out a heavy breath as Dunning left her standing alone by the windows. In the distance, a door slammed, the sound muffled but still loud enough to make her jump.
“That could have been handled with a little more care.” Conn’s entrance into the room startled her almost as much as Dunning’s had.
“You heard.” Elena thunked her forehead gently against the windowpane as Lady Rosamund swung at her ball and it rolled through a metal arch. More laughter. She held back what would have been a dreary sigh. The English and their games made so little sense to her, even after all these weeks.
The floor creaked as Conn came to stand beside her. “I heard.” She tried not to wince at the concern in his voice when he added, “I told you this wasn’t a wise idea.”
“I had no idea I’d uncover rumors of a curse.” Her forehead still pressed against the glass, she turned to peer up at Conn. “I wonder if it’s true.”
“Our host was rather vehement that it isn’t.”
“I know, which is exactly why I think perhaps he does believe it.” She lifted her head. “You don’t think it’s possible, do you? For a bloodline to be cursed, I mean.”
“I don’t know.” Conn shrugged, walking away
from the window to the sideboard, where he unabashedly broke a pastry in two and left one half on the platter. “Mami used to speak of evil spirits, remember? She knew countless prayers and sayings to ward off every evil known to man.”
“She learned those from a shaman slave where she lived before she met Papi, but she never said she believed in them. And even if she did, she’d seen so many of those evils it would be hard to fault her.”
“She believed enough about certain things.”
Elena turned away from the laughing ladies on the lawn to regard her brother warily. “Like what? I don’t remember her going on about curses.”
“No, but she made certain our house was blessed by a priest and a shaman.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“Why not?” Conn chewed his pastry as he dropped into a chair and sprawled his long legs across the carpet. “It was to ward off dark spirits. And what is a curse? It’s a dark spirit manifesting in unfortunate incidents. Or in his lordship’s situation, early death.”
“That’s insane, and you sound like a madman for even saying it.” She picked up his discarded half of pastry and sank into a chair. “I don’t think blood can be cursed. What would be the point of punishing an entire bloodline for the sins of one?”
“What better punishment than condemning the people you love, beyond your control?”
She made a face at him. “Stop being silly. Fortunately for his lordship, Lady Rosamund puts no stock in curses.”
“Why is it fortunate for him?”
“Because she’s the one he’s chosen. At least, I think he has.”
Conn paused in his chewing, his mouth going slightly slack as he stared at her. “You work quickly.”
“At least this time. I haven’t tried talking to Claudia yet.”
“I let Galen sleep in. He almost chewed my ear off last eve, and to be honest, I need a break from him. I’ll try later.”
“As you will.” She shrugged, even as a prickle of doubt danced through her. “I had nothing to do with it, really. I simply talked to all four of them and she seems to fit his requirements perfectly.”
“His requirements.” Conn resumed his chewing. “And what are those requirements again?”
“She’s pretty. She’s wealthy in her own right and therefore isn’t a fortune hunter. And she could be someone he could like but not love, who will provide him with a son.”
Conn coughed briefly, and reached across the table for a discarded napkin to wipe his mouth. “You realize he plays a part in that as well, don’t you?”
“I do. But she looks as if she’d give him a son. I’m not so sure the others will.”
“She looks as if—what does that even mean?”
She glared at him. “You know what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t and this is getting awkward as it is, so let’s drop the matter, shall we?” He shook his head, letting the napkin flutter to the table. “I suppose Claudia was fortunate she fell in love with Galen instead of his lordship. Somehow I can’t see her being happy with a gent who only wants a pretty face and a heartbeat in his bed.”
“Conn!”
“What? It’s exactly what he wants, isn’t it? Doesn’t seem to care much about having something in common with her so they could talk once the act was finished. Claudia would be a lonely lady once that heir was born, don’t you think? It’s a good thing providence intervened on her behalf, if you ask me.”
Conn seemed angry, as if Dunning’s requirements were a personal affront to him. “What a horrid thing to say. You know how it is in these families. Claudia explained it all to me. An heir, a continuation of the blood and title and holdings, are all that matters here. No family wants to see itself die out, to see its houses and possessions all turned over to someone they’d never even met. And I don’t blame him for placing duty above feeling.”
“You don’t?” Conn leveled her with a long look. “I’d expect such sentiments from Serena, but not from you. You were always the dreamer, Lena. Always believing in love over everything else. You’re not nearly as practical as that.”
She tried to hide how Conn’s assessment of her stung. Was that how everyone saw her? As a hopeless, common-sense-lacking, dewy-eyed, romantic ninny? “Well, perhaps it’s time I stopped having my head in the clouds and started behaving more practically. After all, you and I are the only ones left without a mate, and maybe, just maybe, that’s why.” She rose stiffly from her seat and stormed to the door, where she paused long enough to add, “And maybe you don’t care about being alone, but I do. I’m tired of it. I’ve had enough, and if being sensible is what it takes to find someone to love, that’s what I’m going to be.”
Chapter Ten
Elena’s heartbeat was almost painfully fast as she approached Claudia’s closed door. The feeling of not having enough time made her want to panic, which served no purpose at all. Best to simply ignore it all as she rapped on the door.
Diego Santa Cruz opened it. “Claudia is not feeling well, Elena. You should let her rest.”
She swallowed hard at his lack of a smile and his icy tone. In all the years of his friendship with her father, she couldn’t recall his ever being anything other than warm and cordial to her. You and your big mouth, Galen.
“Please, Tio, if I could just speak with her, or you and Tia? This is madness, what’s going on. My brother loves her. And she loves him. It’s madness not trying to get them back together. Especially after all the trouble his lordship has gone through to make this marriage happen when it was to have been his.”
Diego’s amber eyes narrowed. “She would be better off marrying the puffy earl. At least he has a sense of honor.”
“Puffy” was hardly a description she’d use for Lord Dunning, but she let it slide. Why make matters worse? “I understand everyone is upset, and I’m sure if Papi were here, he’d give Galen a sound thrashing for his idiocy. But what I don’t understand is this…” A blush crept into her cheeks but she continued, “When Chris and Serena were alone for all those weeks at sea and then on Bermuda, and my father found out what happened between them, he didn’t pummel Chris.”
Diego’s eyes narrowed, which made her face grow hotter still. It wasn’t often anyone spoke of the fact that his son Chris had deliberately compromised Serena to get around his own boasts about avoiding marriage.
“He would have been perfectly in the right if he had.”
“But he didn’t, because he knew Serena loved Chris and that Chris loved her. And they belong together, as anyone can see.”
The door opened wider still, and relief tickled at the edges of her words. “Just as anyone can see Galen truly loves Claudia and she truly loves him. And they belong together.”
“Papa, let her in,” Claudia said from the depths of the room.
“Claudia, are you—” Gabby began.
“I’m sure, Mama. It’s all right.”
Diego stepped aside to allow Elena to come completely into the room. Claudia was sitting on the bench built into the window, staring out at the misty morning. She looked as gray and wan as the weather, her eyes red and puffy, with shadows beneath them.
Gabby rose from her chair, looking as concerned as Elena felt regarding the wedding. She’d never seen Claudia’s mother look so worried. Not even the cake troubled her this much.
“Where is your brother?” Gabby asked in a tight voice.
“He’s with Conn, trying to figure out how to make things right.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. He was with Conn. She only hoped they were trying to work out the latter. “He hasn’t slept in two nights, Tia. I don’t think he’s eaten, either. All he wishes is to talk to you and Tio.” She gestured to Diego, who leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, expression still grim. “To set things right again,” she added.
“Then he should face me as a man.”
“He did that once already and has the bruises to show for it. I think he’d rather not have his other eye bruised as well. But, he is
sorry. Very much so, from the looks of it. And truly, is his admission any worse than Chris’s?”
Claudia sniffed. “I’d like to speak with him.” She glanced at her mother, and added in a louder voice, “Alone.”
Gabby frowned, but sighed and nodded. “Very well. Your father and I will go for a walk.”
“The devil I will!” Diego shot back. “I intend to stay right here.”
“You will walk with me and you will keep out of this matter,” Gabby snapped. “Grown men fighting like boys over something you yourself are just as guilty of!”
“That was different!”
“It was the same. If you recall, Chris was born only six months after our wedding,” Gabby said, grabbed Diego by the wrist and yanked.
Claudia looked up at Elena, her cheeks scarlet. “They are so embarrassing sometimes.”
“My mother and father were the same way,” Elena admitted, sinking onto the bench beside Claudia. “So, you’ll listen to him?”
Claudia nodded and dabbed at one swollen eye with her sleeve. “You know, that punch didn’t even take Galen from his feet.”
That didn’t surprise Elena. He had three brothers. He was used to fisticuffs, although it had been years since the Sebastiano boys last came to blows. “Perhaps not, but he’ll be colorful for your wedding.”
Claudia winced. “I know. He looked awful when he left.”
“He looks even worse today.” Elena flashed a wicked smile at her friend. “You may have to play nursemaid to him for a day or two. Should I find some way to sneak you into his room?”
“Lena!”
“Don’t sound so shocked.” Elena nudged her gently in the ribs. “I’m jealous. I’ll probably die wondering what it’s like. And here you are, not even married and a fallen woman.” She slid her arm about Claudia’s shoulders and hugged her close. “And in less than seventy-two hours, I’ll be so happy to call you my true sister.”
