by Louise Allen
‘Run and leave you?’ she demanded, as furious as he, suddenly. ‘I never did that and you know it. You taught me to fight after the time Jerry Hopkins, the miller’s son, and his cousin were drowning those kittens and I tried to stop them and they pushed me into the mill pond. You pulled me out and you beat them both and then you taught me what to do if anyone attacked me. And I did, too, although I didn’t get the chance to kick him where it hurts like you said to do. I stabbed him with a hat pin though.’
‘Kick him where... I told you to do that?’ Giles took her by the shoulders and stared down at her. ‘Hatpin. I have never been so scared in my life as when I saw you were still there. Laurel, there were four of them.’
‘I know. You were wonderful, Giles.’ She reached up and touched the skin close to the cut on his face—it was already bruising.
‘No lady should see such—’
‘Idiot,’ she scolded. ‘I am Laurel, not some lady with the vapours.’ Then she was in his arms, her body tight against his, his mouth hot on hers and her hands were burrowing into his hair, her fingers feeling the elegant curves of his ears, the brush of that strand of hair that had always fallen into his eyes, even when he was a boy, even now with his expensive, modish crop.
It felt right to be kissing Giles and the taste of him was familiar now after just that one kiss, here in the heart of the Wilderness. She wanted him, she realised as the blood sang in her ears and her heart thudded against his. His skin smelt of sweat and anger and crushed grass and she wanted him more than she ever had.
She would say yes, because surely she could not feel like this, he could not be kissing her like this, if there was not something very special between them.
‘Lady Laurel!’
Giles spun her round, pushed her behind him as he turned to face whoever it was who had spoken. Dizzy, disorientated, Laurel clutched at his shoulders as she leaned against him, panting a little. Her bonnet had fallen off at some point in the battle, she realised, and her bodice was half-undone, her breasts straining against the flimsy covering of her chemise. She had not been aware of Giles unfastening anything, but he must have done or the hooks had ripped free when she had wielded that branch...
‘Ladies, you will excuse us, but this is a private conversation.’ He sounded furious, even as he kept his voice at a polite conversational level.
‘Conversation?’ It was Lady Druitt. ‘We saw you coming into the Wilderness—most unwise, Lady Laurel, I must say—and then there was screaming and we saw those men being dragged out. Naturally we hastened in here. Lady Laurel, kindly remove yourself from behind Lord Revesby. This is all shocking, quite shocking.’
‘Lady Druitt, Mrs Atkinson.’ Laurel somehow got her bodice fastened and stepped out from the shelter of Giles’s broad shoulders. Both of the ladies had their friends clustered behind them. The ladies stared avidly, creating an agitated chorus of shocked gasps and tutting. ‘There is nothing shocking whatsoever, unless it is that the management of the Gardens had a nest of footpads skulking in here. They should have broken glass on top of the wall—a child could climb it. Thank you, but I have no need of your...assistance. Lord Revesby acted with courage and despatch.’
‘Of course you have need, young lady! Have you no shame? What have you to say for yourself, Revesby, luring Lady Laurel in here and then exposing her to such violence?’
‘That you have just interrupted a proposal of marriage.’
Laurel put her hand on Giles’s arm. Through the fine woollen cloth she could feel him vibrating with anger. He was still primed with aggression after the fight and then there had been that passionate kiss and she suspected that if there had been a man with this flock of clucking hens he would have hit him. As he could not lash out physically at women Giles was keeping hold of his temper with ferocious will.
‘Which one can only hope has been answered in the affirmative,’ said Lady Druitt. ‘Your poor father’s health when he hears of this—’
‘My father the Marquess,’ Giles said, subtlety reminding them that they were all comprehensively outranked, ‘will be delighted to hear that Lady Laurel is to be his future daughter-in-law.’
Laurel opened her mouth to protest that she had not yet agreed, then closed it again. They were completely cornered. She could refuse Giles only at the expense of a scandal that would ricochet around Bath like an exploding shell. Phoebe’s position as her hostess would become impossible. She would have to go back to Malden Grange in disgrace, back to being the dependent spinster stepdaughter. There really was no choice. And besides, now her hand was forced she felt a surge of relief. This was what she wanted. Giles, whether or not he loved her.
‘Naturally I answered in the affirmative,’ she said coolly. Inside she was shaking, but she was going to back Giles up to the hilt. The way he had moved to shield her, instantly, without hesitation, the way he had fought for her was worth a thousand words. ‘Lord Revesby is a gentleman of honour who would never presume to kiss a lady to whom he was not affianced. If you would excuse us, ladies? My aunt, Lady Cary, is waiting in expectation of our good news and I would not have her hear about the incident with the footpads from any other source.’
What was Mrs Atkinson smirking about? It was not a very pleasant smile, not the expression of someone whose dear friend was about to hear welcome news, more the smug, knowing look of a conspirator. Surely the ladies had not all followed their progress around the Gardens in the hope of snooping on a scandal? Perhaps Mrs Atkinson was not such a good friend as Phoebe thought.
Laurel swept out of the Wilderness with Giles at her side, a gracious smile plastered on her face. As they passed the ladies he stooped and picked up her bonnet.
They stayed silent until they were outside, then Giles walked swiftly around to the side, out of sight of the main lawns. ‘Hell and damnation,’ he muttered. ‘We both look as though we have been in a riot. Associating with me is hard on your hats.’ When she laughed, perhaps a little shakily, and tied her bonnet ribbons, he said, ‘Laurel, you are quite unhurt, aren’t you? You wouldn’t lie to me?’
‘I would never lie to you, Giles. I am shaken, I will admit, but I have not as much as a scratch.’
He was pale under the tan—from anger, she had thought, but perhaps worry for her—and some colour came back at her words. ‘Were you going to say yes?’ he asked. ‘Would you have agreed to marry me if they had not come upon us?’
‘Yes,’ she said, trying to be honest. ‘Seeing you fighting for me made me realise how much I...how much I admire you. And then when you kissed me, I was certain.’
‘Thank heavens for that, because I do not think we have any choice now, short of igniting a scandal.’
‘You sound relieved,’ Laurel said, warmed by the ring of sincerity in his voice. Why she should doubt him when it was he who had been pressing for this engagement all along, she did not know, but there was no mistaking the fact that he welcomed it.
* * *
‘I am relieved.’ Giles looked down, but was frustrated in his attempt to see Laurel’s expression by the brim of her bonnet. ‘That is the usual emotion of a man who has been pressing his suit when he is accepted, I imagine.’
As he said it he experienced a qualm. Possibly relieved, although accurate in his case, was not the most tactful choice of words. Delighted, happy, even ecstatic might be expected. His brain was still fogged with fighting fury and the effects of that kiss. Laurel was not the only one it had affected.
‘And delighted and happy,’ he added, smiling as he said it, despite the pain as the bruises made themselves felt. It was something he had learned early with the diplomatic corps—if he smiled it put warmth and sincerity into his voice.
But this was not a matter of deceiving a possible enemy for an hour or so, a day or two, or ingratiating himself with someone whose influence would be beneficial for Britain. This was Laurel, the woman with whom he would spend
the rest of his life.
She might have been hurt, even killed.
He thought of those knives again, of the rank smell of the gang, of the brute anger and greed in their eyes. And he thought of her courage, her unflinching reaction, and felt a thrill of pride in her.
‘I am relieved,’ she confessed. ‘Relieved that we got out of there without it becoming any worse than it was—both with those men and with Lady Druitt and her cronies. Thank you for the way you dealt with the ladies.’
‘For what? I should not have been kissing you like that somewhere we might have been interrupted at any moment. As we were.’
By that coven of old crows, he thought bitterly, mixing his metaphors with a certain relish. He knew why he had kissed her perfectly well: he had slain the dragons for her and that kiss had been a claiming on the field of battle.
‘For keeping your temper and for snubbing them in the politest manner. “My father the Marquess” was masterly.’
She sounded quite cheerful. ‘You are certain, aren’t you, Laurel?’ What had come over him? He should be running to get a special licence, not giving her every opportunity to turn him down.
‘Yes. Of course I am. What is the matter, Giles? Have you changed your mind?’
Chapter Twelve
‘Changed my mind? No, certainly not. But you have just had a shock and I do not want you to feel trapped by what has just happened.’
‘Of course not. Will you come in with me to tell Aunt Phoebe?’
‘I had better, before the news of the fight or the old crows squawking reaches her. Should I be approaching your stepmother for her blessing, do you think?’
‘Definitely not,’ Laurel said with a vigorous shake of her head. ‘I am of age—we do not need anyone’s permission, or blessing.’
‘Who are your trustees? Your cousin the Earl, I assume?’ He knew perfectly well it was and remembered in time to make it a question.
‘He is the only one, although Mr Truscott, Papa’s solicitor, would be involved if Cousin Anthony met with an accident or could not act for me.’ She stopped suddenly, halfway along Great Pulteney Street. ‘This does feel very strange. I never imagined that I would marry. Now I can hardly think of all the things I should be doing.’ Her hand on his arm was not quite steady. Shock was beginning to make itself felt, but he knew better than to fuss over her in the street.
‘We will tell Lady Cary first.’ Giles began walking again and she fell into step beside him. ‘Then I will go and tell my father, who will be delighted, but I think I had best break the good news by myself, in case he is feeling unwell.’
In case he leaps out of his chair with a whoop of joy and says something damning in front of you, more like.
‘You can write to your cousin to prepare him. I will write, too, we will need to meet together with our lawyers to sort out the settlements.’
What else? Ah, yes.
‘Where would you like to marry? Malden Court, Palgrave Castle, the Abbey here? I will need to know to sort out the licence.’
‘I suppose Malden. That would be easiest for you, would it not?’
‘My convenience is a minor matter.’
‘I would not want to impose upon Cousin Anthony and his wife by inflicting an entire wedding on them. And I suppose it would seem like a snub to Stepmama if I am not married at Malden.’
‘You do not sound very happy at the thought. Is it the house or your stepmother that makes you hesitate?’ Of course, she had no idea that the house would be hers on her marriage to him. Now he had a stepmother-in-law problem to solve. Hopefully the Dower House was in good order and Lady Palgrave willing to retire to it with good grace.
‘Stepmama,’ Laurel admitted.
‘I will sweet-talk her,’ Giles promised. ‘So, Malden Grange in a month?’
‘A month...’
‘Is there any reason to delay?’
‘No, I do not suppose there is.’ Laurel tightened her hold on his arm. ‘We will be married in a month, I can hardly believe it.’
* * *
Lady Cary, it seemed, had no problem believing their news. The butler had the front door open before they set foot on the steps and she was waiting in the drawing room almost quivering with anticipation. One look at them and she gave a shriek and tottered back into a chair. ‘Lord Revesby, your face! And, Laurel, whatever has happened?’
Giles made sure Laurel was sitting down and sent Nicol for hot sweet tea and then let her tell the tale. She seemed to need to talk and he was concerned for her.
‘Oh, thank goodness you accepted Lord Revesby, dearest! So brave, such a hero!’
At least, that was what he thought Lady Cary was repeating over and over, but as she was hugging Laurel in an all-enveloping grip her voice was a trifle muffled. ‘She took so long to make up her mind,’ she said to him, rather more intelligibly when she finally let go. ‘I am so relieved, dear Giles. I shall call you Giles, for you are to be my nephew and, after all, I knew you as a child.’
Giles, emerging from another of her enthusiastic embraces, straightened his crumpled neckcloth and assured her that he would be honoured.
‘I would have done anything to see you so well established, my dear.’ She turned back to Laurel. ‘I believe you two are made for each other.’
‘I should tell you, Lady Cary, that we had an unfortunate encounter in the Gardens with a number of ladies, some of whom I believe are known to you. They encountered us in the Wilderness, embracing in the aftermath of the attack, and created quite a scene, despite being assured that we are engaged to be married.’
‘Mrs Atkinson, for one,’ Laurel said. ‘She was positively smirking. Anyone would think she was delighted to have discovered us behaving indiscreetly, not shocked.’
‘I am sure they meant well, dear.’ Lady Cary looked exceedingly flustered to Giles’s eye. Presumably she would have the coven descending on her at any minute twittering about poor chaperonage and making her life a misery.
He was certainly not going to be around to add fuel to the flames. ‘I must leave you and go and report to the constables, then break the good news to my father. I hope you will both dine with us this evening, but I must see how his health is first. I will send a note.’ He held out his hand to Laurel and, when she took it, raised it to kiss her fingers. ‘You have made me very happy.’
* * *
Giles dealt with the constables and the resident magistrate easily enough and was assured that he would be informed in ample time of the date of the trial at the next Quarter Sessions. A visit to his room at the Christopher set his clothing to rights and Dryden cleaned the cut cheek and applied an infallible lotion of his own devising which stung like the devil.
Now he should go directly to break the good news to his father and take the dead weight of worry and guilt off his shoulders. Giles strode into the High Street and then up Bond Street, intending to cut through Quiet Street into Wood Street and from there into Queen Square.
Instead he found his feet had taken him into George Street, heading away from his father’s lodgings. With a shrug he turned into Gay Street, went around the Circus and out on to Crescent Fields with the view out to the south across the city and the River Avon.
Giles sat down on the dry grass and stared at the sheep grazing in the pasture below him, incongruous with the elegance of the Royal Crescent at his back. They reminded him of the sheep dotted across the Downs when he had stood with the woman whose name he had not known and had been seized with the impulse he still did not understand to kiss her.
He flexed his grazed knuckles and let the last of the fight ebb out of muscle and nerve, but he could not relax. It did not take much thought to tell him what was so disturbing him—his conscience was giving him hell. His first duty was to his father and to his inheritance. He knew that, with an understanding that went bone-deep, back to the very first t
hings he had learned as a child. It meant he must marry well and appropriately and he was prepared to do that, even though he had now lost any element of choice in the matter. None of this was new, a suitable marriage was what was expected of aristocrats.
Laurel was most certainly suitable—and, it turned out, she was the only choice compatible with his duty. So far, so...satisfactory. Giles grimaced at the choice of word. What of Laurel? Why had she accepted him? He did not deceive himself that she had been swept off her feet by the sight of him fighting. He thought he had been very clear about not being able to offer her love, so it was not that which was making his conscience so uneasy. He had not lied to her, he was certain, racking his memory in an effort to reassure himself that he had not uttered any actual falsehoods.
Except by omission. He knew about her inheritance and he stood to gain by that, far more than she was aware. And if it was not for that inheritance he would have avoided her after that fraught encounter in the Pump Room and taken his bitter memories of her away with him.
So, some good had come of this. Giles leaned back on his elbows and stretched out his legs, eyes narrowed against the sunshine. He and Laurel were friends again, each understood what had happened all those years ago, each forgave the other. The sun was warm. Giles put his hands behind his head, tipped his hat over his eyes, shut out the sight of Bath and surrendered to the wave of sleep that washed over him.
Friends do not deceive each other.
The thought swam up through the buzz of bees, the faint cries of children playing further along the Crescent Fields and the hum of the city below him. He was deceiving Laurel by omission by not telling her about the provisions of her father’s will.
On the other hand, an inner voice of practicality said, it is for her own good. You are giving her back the life she should have had, the title that should have been hers, the future—the children—that she would have had if it had not been for that misunderstanding. You are saving her from the life of a spinster.
He opened his eyes, all desire to sleep banished, and sat up.
