Touch of Passion

by Susan Spencer Paul

  Chapter Eleven

  London, two weeks later

  “I apologize for disagreeing with you, Loris, but I’m afraid my wife is right. You look stunning.”

  Niclas Seymour made a slow circle about Loris, taking in the elegant gown that she wore. His three-month-old daughter, Sian, was in his arms. His twin sons, Macsen and Elias, just past two years of age, had taken up following their father wherever he went and toddled behind, each with a hand on the tail of his coat.

  “It’s perfect,” he declared, coming to a halt beside his beaming wife. “That color almost exactly matches your eyes. Not quite brown, not quite gold. It’s more a cinnamon, with perhaps a bit more red. And with your hair arranged in that becoming manner, I doubt any other female could possibly outshine you. Don’t you agree, Dyfed?”

  Dyfed smiled from where he stood and replied, “Very much. Fashionable society in London is about to be turned on its head.”

  “It is a beautiful dress,” Loris told them, gazing down at the lovely garment with a mixture of pleasure and alarm, “but are you quite sure I’m to wear it out-of-doors? In the daylight? It’s so …” Feeling herself flush, she waved a hand at her upper body. “Thin.” She certainly wasn’t going to admit in front of men that her bosom felt indecently bare, though of course they could see that for themselves. The gown was cut so low that if she’d been home in Tylluan, she would surely have come down with an inflammation of the lungs. Or frozen to death. “It hardly seems suitable for the purpose of calling upon an elderly gentleman.”

  “The purpose,” said Dyfed, coming nearer, “is to make you look enchanting, which you are.” He took one of her hands and kissed it. “And among the ton this dress will be considered scandalously prim and proper. Only wait until you see what you’re to wear to parties and balls. This is merely a day dress.”

  “I never thought to have something so beautiful,” she said, and moved to hug Julia. “You’ve spent so much time making me presentable this past week. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Julia Seymour was one of the few women whom Loris had been able to call a friend. She had been brought to Castle Tylluan years earlier by Niclas, on a quest to stop Ffinian from forcing Julia’s aunt, Lady Alice, into marriage.

  Lady Alice’s estate, Glen Aur, lay in the valley below Tylluan, and she and Ffinian had become lovers following the death of Lady Alice’s husband. But Ffinian had wanted much more, not the least of which was Lady Alice’s fortune, which he thought he would gain through marrying her. Lady Alice, however, was content to leave their relationship as it was and had no intention of taking another husband so soon. Her family, unfortunately, didn’t believe that she would be able to resist Baron Tylluan’s attentions and had sent Julia to Wales to rescue her elderly aunt from what they perceived as Ffinian’s ruthless clutches.

  Niclas, for reasons of his own, had agreed to safely escort Julia to Wales, presumably to manage his uncle while she rescued her aunt. Along the way, Niclas and Julia had fallen in love, and now, following three years of marriage and three children, were the happiest couple Loris had ever set sight on. Barring Ffinian and Lady Alice, of course, who had married just as soon as Ffinian had agreed to give the title and lands at Tylluan into Kian’s care.

  And Niclas and Julia made a striking couple, as well. Niclas was a tall, handsome, dark-haired man with the piercing blue eyes common to Seymours, while Julia was small and feminine, with soft chestnut-colored hair and eyes a lighter shade of blue than her husband’s. They were very much in love and almost always in each other’s company.

  Niclas had the ability, or curse, as he sometimes called it, to feel the emotions of mere mortals. Except when he was touching Julia. She was able to give him peace and surcease simply by touching him, with the result that they were constantly holding hands, especially in public, where the emotions of mere mortals could so easily make Niclas’s life a nightmare. Society, Julia told Loris, thought their constant display of affection vulgar, but neither she nor Niclas cared. Loris didn’t think it vulgar in the least, but vastly romantic.

  “It is a beautiful dress,” Julia agreed, smiling. “But only because you’re wearing it. You do look stunning, Loris. Lord Perham is going to be very pleased.”

  Lord Perham. Loris had been trying for days not to think of her coming meeting with him, but it was proving to be impossible. She had tried to imagine what he looked like, sounded like, and what he would think of her when he saw her.

  Her appearance had undergone a dramatic change since she and Dyfed had arrived in London, following what proved to be a rainy, but uneventful, journey from Tylluan.

  Julia and Niclas had welcomed Loris warmly into the comfort of their beautiful town house, while Dyfed had gone to stay at Mervaille, the London estate of the Earl of Graymar. The very next day, scarcely giving her a chance to catch her breath, Julia had taken Loris in hand and set to the task of turning her from a country dowd into a lady of fashion.

  The first order of business had been dealing with Loris’s thick, unruly hair. It had never been cut before, and the length had always made it something of a problem for Loris to manage. At Tylluan she generally rolled it up into a haphazard pile atop her head or simply left it unbound. On those rare occasions when they had company for dinner, she went to the trouble of braiding and arranging it more carefully, but even then several strands managed to escape. Kian never grew weary of teasing her about her unkempt appearance, often fingering the loose curls to make her angry. He’d not find it so easy to do now.

  She had feared that it might be rather sad having so much of her hair sheared away, but the result had been much the opposite. By the time Julia and her maids set down their scissors and curlers, Loris felt as if ten pounds had been lifted from her head. It was the most wonderful, buoyant feeling, and the new curls that Julia had created framed Loris’s face in a manner that she found very pretty.

  For the first time in her life, as she gazed at her reflection in a mirror, Loris began to feel a longing to be feminine. And dainty, though she knew, given her height and the firmness wrought from years of hard work at Tylluan, that was asking too much. She would have to settle for what was possible, and with Julia’s help that would be more than enough.

  A hot bath with a long, hard scrubbing had come next, and after that Loris’s nails had been carefully trimmed and polished with oil. All manner of lotions and powders had been applied to her face and body following this, and, finally, Julia had sprayed Loris with the most wonderful perfume. She had been gratified when Cousin Niclas had sniffed her and remarked that he liked the scent on her almost as well as on his wife.

  Lord Graymar, having arrived with Dyfed that evening to welcome Loris to London as well as to dine, had declared himself astonished by the change in her appearance.

  Julia, smiling with pleasure at her success, promised that it was only the beginning.

  The next day they’d made an early start, visiting dressmakers, milliners, cobblers, and a great many stores where they purchased the necessities required by a woman of fashion.

  Stockings and gloves and undergarments trimmed in lace, reticules and rouges and more powders, handkerchiefs, and pretty combs—some decorated with glittering jewels—for Loris’s hair. It had been an exhausting day and, worse, very expensive, but when Loris protested about the cost Julia had immediately hushed her. She wasn’t to worry over the expense. The family considered Loris to be one of their own, and it was long past time for her to be treated as such. Julia thought it shameful that Ffinian hadn’t brought Loris to London years ago for a proper Season and appeared to be determined to make up for what she viewed as the former Baron Tylluan’s neglect of his ward.

  Dyfed came each afternoon to visit and see the progress that Loris was making in her transformation. He himself, having already been in possession of a suitable wardrobe for his visits to London, always arrived looking like a properly dressed gentleman, handsome and fine. He’d had his hair cut, though it was still far
too long to be considered fashionable, and she saw that the nails on his hands had been cleaned and trimmed.

  Despite the perfection of his outward appearance, Dyfed looked unhappy. He tried not to let it show, but Loris knew him too well to miss the gloom that had settled over him even before they’d left Tylluan. It had been present all through their journey and remained as each day in London passed. He and Lord Graymar were busy trying to find some solution to the problems at Tylluan, though Loris wasn’t precisely sure what it was they were looking for. She’d overheard Lord Graymar speaking of the matter to Cousin Niclas in passing, but Dyfed never mentioned it. He looked tired and tense, much as Kian had before they’d left Tylluan, and Loris knew that Dyfed longed to return to Wales and his newfound love.

  Still, he was always reliably pleasant during his daily visits, assuring Loris that she looked beautiful and that she would make a great splash when they began to attend balls and parties. He kept her informed about the arrangements that were being made for her meeting with Lord Perham.

  Lord Graymar would be with her during the interview and would make certain, should the outcome not be what was hoped for, that society would not hear of it. They were all determined that Loris’s one and only Season in Town should not be marred by gossip.

  Although how that could be managed Loris didn’t know. Rumors regarding Ffinian Seymour’s long-secret ward had already begun to circulate, Dyfed told her, and those who had caught glimpses of Loris in company with Julia had reported that she was a beauty, although not, by appearances, in any way refined. But that, as Dyfed said, was to be expected, for London society held newcomers from the country in low esteem to begin with, more certainly those who harkened from Wales, which was scarcely considered to be civilized. But Loris was going to surprise them all, he predicted, when she made her first real foray out among the ton.

  Loris wasn’t quite as convinced. She had been introduced to some of Julia’s acquaintances, whom she and Julia had come across while making their daily visits to the various shops, and had found the experiences to be very awkward. Julia tried to help Loris, guiding her through the meetings and being a perfect example of ladylike decorum, but she had never learned the art of polite conversation and usually ended up saying—or doing—the wrong thing. She had decided that the ton, or what she’d met of it thus far, was a terribly impractical collection of individuals and wondered at how Kian and Dyfed and Ffinian—who lived exceedingly practical lives at Tylluan—could possibly find a visit to Town refreshing.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t deny that her impression of London itself was vastly improved from what it had once been. She hadn’t really believed what various members of the Seymour clan had told her about the great city, for she’d only had her own memories to go by. But there was so much more, she had discovered. There were beautiful homes and glorious parks and elegant shops.

  Dyfed had taken her driving several afternoons in a curricle that he’d borrowed from Lord Graymar, and Loris had been so astonished at how quickly they’d found trees and grass and flowers—and not so very far from the docks! She couldn’t understand why her parents had never taken her to one of the several parks in the city during her childhood, especially having promised to show her such beautiful things. But perhaps, if her mother had truly been the daughter of an earl, they were afraid she might be recognized in so public a place. Loris found it amazing now to realize just how small her world had once been.

  She was equally astonished—and pleased—by the changes she saw in herself. As each day passed and as she grew more used to the new face that she saw in her mirror, a measure of excitement began to grow in her heart. And then today, just in time for her meeting with Lord Perham, the first few of her new dresses had arrived, and the transformation had been complete.

  She had been quite sure, gazing at her reflection, that this couldn’t possibly be the same Loris who had arrived from Tylluan two weeks ago. The same person who had once labored as a serving girl at the Red Fox and who had spent the last ten years of her life as housekeeper at Castle Tylluan.

  But not all of Loris’s time was spent in buying clothes or improving her appearance and manners or enjoying the parks in London. She managed to find a few hours alone each day to think of Kian. And Liw. And of what had happened to all three of them at Tylluan.

  The worst part was forcing herself to remember the countless nights when Liw had come to her, when she’d opened her heart to him. And she did force herself to the task, for given her own natural inclination, Loris knew she would have pushed the memories out of her thoughts forever. Because it hurt to know that it had been Kian she’d been confiding to all the while, that he had used deceit to lure her most private secrets out into the open. Loris had told him things as Liw that she never would have wanted Kian to know—most especially all those things she’d thought about Kian himself. And then he had pretended to be so understanding and had even taken her side against Kian, time and again. Worst of all, he’d advised her on how to approach Kian, how to appease and understand him. Loris had always been so grateful and had loved Liw even more because he was such a wonderful, caring friend. She had trusted him as she had not dared to let herself trust anyone since her father’s death. But Liw had turned out to be completely false.

  Aye, it was painful to think upon, but Loris knew, from past experience, that the best way to cure a terrible wound was to drain and clean it, day after day after day, until the infection had cleared and healing could begin. And so she made herself remember, and consider, and think over each instance when she had confided to Liw, or at least as much as she could recall. She brought back to mind the things he’d said to her, his smile and the comforting feel of his arms about her. And when she had finished facing down one memory and had told herself that it wasn’t so very terrible to recall and that she could certainly live with it, she went on to the next. She wept a great deal, sometimes with grief for Liw, sometimes with fury at Kian, and afterward felt as if she’d drained off a good deal of the poison.

  At night, lying in her bed or sitting beside the window, gazing out at the damp London nights, she strove to make some kind of order out of the myriad confusing thoughts and emotions that she’d come away from Tylluan with.

  She thought of what Kian had done in coming to her as Liw and tried to understand what had driven him to do such a thing. He loved her, he said. They were unoliaeth, he told her, and there was nothing she could do to change that. Loris had scoffed at his words because she hadn’t sought his love and refused to be forced into union with any man without having a say in the matter. She’d already had more than enough of others deciding what her life would be; she didn’t want more.

  But she hadn’t understood the unoliaeth, he had told her only days ago. And he didn’t love her simply because he believed they were fated to be.

  I don’t need magic to tell me what’s between us, he had said. And neither do you.

  The words haunted her, waking and sleeping, almost as much as what he’d said to her just before walking away.

  I’m here, too.

  The memory made her heart ache, for Loris had said those same words, save that then there had been no one else to hear. She knew what it was to be invisible, unimportant, powerless, to hunger for someone to notice that she was there. That she mattered. Loris wondered if she had ever before considered what Kian had gone through in all those years since she’d come to Tylluan, loving and not being loved in turn. If she’d been in his place, perhaps she would have been driven to find a way to be near her loved one as well.

  There was a stir in the air, and Niclas murmured, “I believe Malachi has arrived.”

  And he was right. Lord Graymar appeared at the parlor door a moment later, dressed to gentlemanly perfection not in the daunting black he usually preferred, but in beige breeches, a tight-fitting blue coat that matched the color of his eyes, and gleaming black Hessian boots. His light blond hair, which, in typical Seymour fashion, was overlong, was tied ba
ck in its customary tail at the back of his neck.

  Like Kian and Dyfed, Malachi had inherited the sharp, fine features that blond Seymours usually possessed. In fact, he looked so much like his Tylluan relations that those who didn’t know better often mistook them for brothers upon sight, rather than cousins.

  But there was a difference between the three men that Loris always found striking. Dyfed and Kian could look angelic when they wished, while no one who saw Lord Graymar would ever use that word to define him. He exuded a natural grace and power that made her think of nobility, even kingliness, but never anything that even approached angelic.

  He stood at the door, his gaze moving critically over Loris’s figure, from head to toe and back again. At last he gave an approving nod and offered a slight smile. “Julia,” he said, “you have worked the miracle that I fully expected you would. She’s ravishing.”

  Moving into the room, he first greeted Macsen and Elias, who had abandoned their father at the sight of their favorite relative. Bending down to pet their soft dark curls, Lord Graymar said, “There you are, my rascals. What have you been doing this fine day? Making your father old before his time, I have no doubt.”

  “No, in point of fact, it’s their music instructor who has begun to sprout gray hair,” Niclas told him. “The boys happened to discover the piano this week. I suppose we’ll have to saw the legs off to make it safer for them to practice.”

  “The piano?” Malachi said, rising full-height. “I thought they’d only just started with the flute.”

  “Oh no, that was last week,” Julia said, taking a slumbering Sian from her father’s arms. “They’ve long since grown bored with it. We’re beginning to run out of instruments to keep them busy.” She cast her husband a teasing glance. “And to think we were worried that the worst they’d do was levitate their nursery toys.”