A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4)

by Meara Platt

  “But promise me that you won’t do anything stupid or rash.”

  “Such as elope with Devlin on Saturday night as he asked me to?” She shook her head and sighed. “I won’t. I’ve learned my lesson. And do you want to know something else? Even if I did elope with Devlin, I don’t think Graelem would move on and find himself another bride. The notion makes me feel awful and wonderful at the same time.”

  “Are you certain? He struck me as having more common sense than any Farthingale, save Father or Uncle George.” She shook her head and yawned. “Well, nothing we can do about it tonight. I’m glad you won’t consider eloping with Devlin. Let’s not mention it again, ever.”

  They said nothing more as Gladys carried in the overnight bag she’d helped Daisy to pack before Daisy had gone off to stay with their aunt. Gladys now unpacked it, remaining silent out of respect, although Laurel would have much preferred her chattering away. They all needed something to relieve the bleak sorrow descended upon their household.

  Within minutes, the chore was done and Daisy was soon ready for bed. Laurel doused the lamp and climbed into bed. She worried that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, but the events of the day must have exhausted her, for she fell into a sound slumber before her head ever hit the pillow. She awoke late the next morning, saw that Daisy was still asleep, and quietly washed and dressed before heading downstairs.

  When she entered the dining room, she was surprised to find it empty. This was a Farthingale first, no one occupying a seat at the dining table. The breakfast salvers had all been set out and steam escaped under several of their shining silver lids. She lifted one lid and found the kippers sitting untouched. She lifted another and found the sausages had not been touched either.

  She let out a sigh and moved away. Like the rest of her family, she had no appetite.

  “Miss Laurel,” Pruitt said as he entered, regarding her in a gentle, fatherly manner. He set down another tray of something else no one would eat this morning. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

  “Thank you, Pruitt, but no.” She met his gaze. “Where is everyone?”

  “Your father and uncles went off to the regimental headquarters to make arrangements.” He glanced upward. “Your mother and aunts have asked that breakfast be brought up to their rooms. I doubt any of them will come down before noon. The twins are still upstairs. I’d say they are still abed, but one is never quite certain what they might be up to.” He arched an eyebrow. “I have not seen them climb down the tree outside their window, so I would hazard a guess and say they are still in their chamber.”

  “Thank you, Pruitt. That is a thorough and no doubt accurate report.” She cast him a wan smile. “I’ll have a cup of tea in the garden. This way I can keep my eye on the twins when they do scamper like squirrels down the tree, off to wreak whatever well-intentioned mischief Lily concocts.”

  “I think they’ll behave themselves today. Are you certain I can’t send you anything other than tea?”

  “Nothing else. I don’t think my stomach will tolerate more just yet.” She walked to the double doors that led into the garden and settled into one of the wrought iron chairs beside the flower bed. It was a lovely morning, warm and sunny, with enough of a breeze to keep the day from getting too hot. The sky above was a bright, deep blue and the clouds were as white and soft as lamb’s wool.

  She lingered over her tea, too distracted to read a book or newspaper, yet bored as she sat alone with only her thoughts. When the clock chimed eleven o’clock, she decided to walk to the mews to see how Brutus was faring. He seemed well yesterday, but one could never be sure with horses.

  Abner greeted her as she arrived. “My condolences, Miss Laurel.”

  “Thank you, Abner.” She noticed that the Farthingale coachman was polishing the family carriages and realized it was in preparation for the funeral that would take place within a matter of days. “I’ve come to look at Brutus.”

  “He was skittish again this morning, but I can’t figure out what’s wrong.”

  Laurel entered the stables and walked to the stall where Brutus was kept. He calmed as soon as he saw her. A few gentle strokes to his nose and a short walk around the mews courtyard had him right again. “I can’t find anything wrong either.”

  She handed the reins to Abner’s nephew as he approached. “Good morning, Amos. We were just discussing Brutus.”

  He nodded. “I’ll take him out for a ride this afternoon, Miss Laurel. We’ll figure out what’s ailing him. Miss Daisy was asking after you.”

  “Oh, good. She’s awake. Do let me know how he does this afternoon. Have you noticed any rats or other feral creatures sneaking into the stalls or carriage houses?”

  “No more than usual,” Amos said, and the same was confirmed by his uncle.

  “Abner, you bring your terriers into your rooms at night. What if we leave them loose and roaming the stables these next few nights?”

  “Aye. I can do that, Miss Laurel.” He ran a hand across the back of his thick neck. “It troubles me, too. Brutus isn’t one to spook easily.”

  Laurel returned to the townhouse and went in search of Daisy. She found her seated in the garden along with Lily and Dillie, sprawled on the blanket they’d spread atop the grass. The three of them were entertaining little Harry and several other young cousins. Harry was smiling and giggling at their antics, too young to be aware he’d just lost his father.

  Daisy glanced up. “Where did you run off to?”

  Laurel knelt beside her and lifted Harry into her arms to hug him. “I was at the mews. Brutus has been acting odd lately and I was trying to figure out what’s wrong.” She shrugged her shoulders. “He calms whenever he sees me. Amos and I thought it might be rats scaring him. Brutus is big, but he’s still a temperamental baby.”

  She kissed Harry’s belly, her heart tugging at his joyful squeal, and played with her other little cousins, tickling them and chasing them around the blanket. Young Charles popped one of his marbles into his mouth, but Dillie noticed and got it out before he could swallow it. Lisbeth asked Laurel if she liked to kiss boys. “It depends on the boy. Yes to Harry or Charles,” she said and kissed Harry’s belly again.

  She remained outside with her sisters and cousins enjoying the peaceful interlude, but as the clock chimed twelve o’clock, she decided to pay a call on Graelem—kissing him was nice, too. Very nice.

  She knew that she shouldn’t visit him, but knowing that she shouldn’t or couldn’t made her want to do it all the more. He had to find himself a new bride. He wouldn’t do it while she hovered over him like a hummingbird.

  Still, she missed him.

  They hadn’t been apart a full day and already her heart felt heavy.

  Daisy looked up in surprise as she rose. “Where are you going? We’re not supposed to leave the house today.”

  “Must I report my whereabouts to all of you? May I not have even a moment to myself?” Had it been just Daisy seated beside her, she would have confided that she was on her way to see Graelem. But the twins and their giggling cousins would no doubt say something ridiculously embarrassing about her and Graelem, teasing and talking loud enough so that their voices carried into Eloise’s garden.

  Missing him was not reason enough to see him. It was completely illogical. She needed to keep out of his way and give him the chance to move on.

  But she had never been in love before, and it was no easy chore to force herself to fall out of love with him. She didn’t have to be logical at a time like this.

  How else was she to make certain he had moved on?

  She walked next door and knocked.

  While waiting for Watling to open the door, she quickly patted down her hair, hoping the curls hadn’t blown out of place. Of course, little Harry had managed to tug on a few with his pudgy fingers. Well, Graelem would overlook a few curls out of place.

  She smoothed her gown, a pale gray with white lace trim at the neck and sleeves. No happy colors for her thi
s next month. Oh, dear. She’d just been to the mews and hoped the scent of horse sweat didn’t linger on her gown. She had washed her hands and face with lavender soap before coming over.

  “Miss Laurel,” Watling murmured, stepping aside to allow her in. “I’ll escort you to the parlor. Lady Dayne and Lord Moray are entertaining in there.”

  She let out a small gasp and stopped as her heart sank into her toes. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” Had Graelem moved on already? Would she find a salon full of elegant debutantes eager to land an eligible baron, even if his was a Scottish title? Tears welled in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  She turned to walk away—actually, run away in sobs—but Graelem stepped into the hall just then and saw her. “Laurel?”

  She tipped her chin up, hating that it was still wobbling as she struggled with tears that had yet to burst free, but were about to.

  “Laurel,” he said tenderly and started toward her, quite agile on his crutches. She hated that he still had to use them. She’d done this to him.

  She tipped her chin up higher. The darn thing still wobbled. “I don’t wish to intrude. I understand you’re entertaining.”

  He nodded. “I am indeed. I’m most eager to have you meet them.”

  Her eyes rounded in horror. Did he truly believe she could behave herself while he casually introduced her to the next Baroness Moray? One of them was not likely to make it out of the room alive, probably him. She knew where Eloise kept her fire irons and she meant to use them as weapons. If he had the gall to introduce her, she’d poke him so full of holes he’d have blood pouring out from every open cavity in his body. “How could you?”

  He shook his head, now obviously confused. “What? Don’t you wish to meet my aunt and uncle? They’re eager to meet you.”

  It was her turn to gaze at him in confusion. “What?” she mimicked. “Your aunt and uncle? As in the Earl of Trent?”

  He nodded.

  “And who else?”

  “Lady Trent, his wife. Who else do you think is in the parlor?” He suddenly arched an eyebrow and let out a hearty chuckle. “Blessed Scottish saints! Did you think I had a roomful of marriage-minded debutantes parading before me?”

  She refused to respond, but her blush gave her away.

  “Lass, you have a fertile imagination. No wonder you looked like you were ready to bludgeon me.” He handed Watling his crutches and took her into his arms.

  She was too embarrassed to protest. Besides, she loved the protective warmth of his arms, loved the hard feel of his oak-hard muscles enveloping her. “Forgive me,” she said in a whisper against his chest. “I want you to move on and yet I behave like a demented wet hen whenever I think you actually might.”

  “I’m little better.” He sighed and eased her back a step in order to inspect her features. “There are so many good reasons why I should move on, but none of them matter if it means losing you. You’re stuck with me, sweetheart. Will you allow me to properly introduce you to my aunt and uncle?”

  She looked down to inspect her simple gown. “I’m not suitably dressed.”

  “And you’ve been crying,” he said softly.

  She nodded.

  “Lass, you look beautiful. You always do. There isn’t a lovelier girl to be found in all of England.” He reached for his crutches and thanked Watling. “As for your tears, they’re all aware of the loss your family has suffered. Will you allow me to escort you in?”

  She nodded. “I’ll stay, but only for a moment. I’m sure my mother will have need of me.”

  “I know, lass. Let me know if there’s anything we can do for your family.”

  The “moment” turned into an hour spent in enjoyable conversation with Graelem and his relatives. His aunt and uncle were charming and thoughtful, which ought to have come as no surprise because Eloise was the earl’s mother and she was the same way. That’s why she was beloved by all the Farthingales. As always, Eloise went out of her way to make her feel welcome.

  But Laurel had stayed too long and would be missed at home. She cast Graelem a glance to gain his attention. “I must go.”

  He nodded and rose along with her. “I’ll escort you home.”

  “You needn’t trouble yourself. I was going to look in on Brutus again. I may not have the chance to do so for the next few days.”

  Graelem pursed his lips in contemplation. “He’s still not himself?”

  “No, but I can’t seem to find anything wrong.”

  “I’ll accompany you.” He turned to his aunt and uncle, who had also gotten to their feet.

  Lady Trent smiled and took Laurel’s hands affectionately in hers. “Miss Farthingale, we’ll stop by your home tomorrow to pay our condolences to your family. We don’t wish to impose on them today, but we’re so glad we had the opportunity to meet you.”

  “My mother,” the earl said, turning to Eloise, “adores you and your sisters. I see her admiration is not misplaced. My nephew chose well. We look forward to welcoming you into the Dayne family, although I know under the circumstances, it won’t be right away.”

  That Graelem had no intention of moving on, and had already told his family as much, left her elated but at the same time saddened. “Yes, well…” She didn’t know what else to say.

  Would Graelem grow to resent her if they married?

  After all, she was the reason he would lose his inheritance.

  Chapter 19

  LAUREL AND GRAELEM walked out of Eloise’s house and turned onto Chipping Way just as a carriage drew up in front of the Farthingale residence. There were several sleek black carriages already drawn up there, but she recognized this one as belonging to Lord Kirwood. She placed her hand on Graelem’s arm to hold him back.

  “What’s he doing here?” Graelem muttered, a growl of displeasure escaping his lips as a footman opened the carriage door and Devlin descended. He stood off to the side, staring at Laurel’s house as though he were inspecting it for its riches and stamping his kid leather gloves impatiently against his thigh while one of the Farthingale footmen assisted his parents.

  Laurel liked Lord Kirwood and his wife, but they’d certainly indulged their only child. Lord Kirwood, closer in age to Eloise, had married late in life to a much younger wife and had not expected ever to have children. Devlin was a surprise and joy to them, a more elegant version of his good-natured father who enjoyed the simple country life. Unlike his father, Devlin enjoyed the fashionable salons and bustle of London.

  Since they’d been good friends and neighbors for as far back as Laurel could remember, the Kirwoods were considered family, so their condolence visit was not at all out of place. However, she knew Devlin had another purpose in paying the call. Now that Graelem couldn’t possibly marry her in time to save his inheritance, Devlin would no doubt offer again to marry her. After a suitable mourning period, of course.

  She studied him from a distance. He seemed quite confident for a man in bad financial straits. Did he believe that he could still win her over? He belonged in Bedlam if he did. She would never accept him. “Let’s wait until they’ve gone inside. I don’t want them to see me.”

  Unfortunately, The Fates were conspiring against her. Devlin’s father dropped his monocle and as Devlin turned to one of the footmen to command that he retrieve it—Devlin would never stoop to do it—he spied her standing beside Graelem.

  He frowned at her and shot Graelem a menacing scowl.

  Oh, dear.

  Both of them looked ready to come to blows again. She couldn’t allow it. “Don’t you dare raise your fists to him, Graelem.”

  His gaze was trained on Devlin and remained on him even as he responded to her. “I won’t. I’ll just kill him.”

  Ordinarily, she might have enjoyed watching two suitors vie for her hand and might have taken Graelem’s comment as a jovial, possessive jest. But Graelem wasn’t one to jest about this sort of thing. She trusted him not to launch the first blow, but he’d make certain his was the last. �
��Don’t hurt him, Graelem.”

  “I won’t. He’ll die painlessly.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “Ugh, men! Go home before this escalates into war. I’ll stop by once our guests have all left. We can check on Brutus then.”

  “What about Devlin? I don’t trust him. I’m coming with you.”

  She turned to him and rolled her eyes. “You mustn’t. I have every faith that you’ll act the gentleman, but Devlin won’t. My household is in mourning. I won’t upset my parents more than I already have. You know what will happen the moment you and Devlin are in the same room. You’re a lit match to his gunpowder.”

  Graelem frowned at her, but she knew he was merely frustrated. He didn’t want Devlin sniffing about her. His protective instincts were on alert. “Don’t let him get you alone. He’s a desperate man.”

  How desperate could Devlin be? He might be heavily in debt, but he was a handsome baron and there were other wealthy families who would gladly trade a hefty dowry for a noble title. “You needn’t worry about him. The house is filled to the rafters with Farthingales. There isn’t so much as a mouse hole that isn’t occupied. I’ll be quite safe in my own home.”

  She left Graelem’s side and started toward the house, wishing that Devlin would follow his parents inside and not wait for her to reach him. But Devlin was too busy glowering at Graelem to bother keeping up with his parents or show any consideration for the somber occasion.

  “You’ve been crying,” he commented, hurrying to keep up with her as she whirled past him on her way inside. “Has the brute upset you? No doubt he’s broken off the betrothal now that there’s to be no wedding by Midsummer’s Day.”

  She curled her hands into fists but held them behind her back to keep from poking him in the nose. His was an elegant nose attached to a handsome face, but one she was growing to detest. How had she not seen his petty and insolent nature before?

  Devlin continued before she could respond, which was a good thing since he would not have liked her answer to his impertinent question. “But you needn’t fret. I’ll marry you, Laurel. You know it has always been my wish,” he said with such sincerity she might have believed him had she not noticed his gaze straying toward Daisy, who was standing alone by the staircase holding what seemed to be an unopened letter in her hand. A condolence note from a friend? Or more mischief plotted by Devlin?