Nevertheless, Ariana’s compliment made him want to preen. “Thank you, Lady Ariana. You look very lovely this morning as well.”
Her morning dress was a pale green material of some sort with emerald satin trim.
“I thought we decided yesterday you would call me Ari, and you asked me to call you Jared, when we are not in the village or at the manors. I see no reason to change now, sir.”
He smiled, delighted at the suggestion. “As you wish, Ari.”
She nodded. “And how is your memory? Has more returned to you?”
He shook his head. “I fear not. But Bullen has been an enormous help, and I was hoping you could be, too.”
She eyed him warily.
“Well, Heddy did say we were childhood playmates.”
“Hardly real playmates,” she said, suddenly grinning. “You were seven years older and thought me a terrible nuisance because I followed you and Bullen around, and you had to continually rescue me.”
“Did I? Well, I am certainly glad of it now, even if I don’t remember. Would you care to go for a walk in the gardens? The day is much too beautiful to remain indoors.” And he still had doubts about sitting for long in his tight buckskin breeches though they had made it just fine in the curricle.
“You’re right. Let me grab my bonnet, and we can stroll the rear gardens.”
Leaving him for but a few minutes, she returned in a straw bonnet that made him briefly regret his suggestion, since the brim covered too much of her face and all of her beautiful eyes. She led him down a long hall that ended in a large family parlor with double doors opening onto a brick terrace. Through these doors, she led him outside. Wakefield’s gardens easily rivaled those at Haverly, and the old earl actually kept his manicured.
Jared stifled the automatic wince. He had to do something about Haverly in this century and soon, or there would be nothing left by the time he was born in, oh, say another two hundred years.
A dark blur whizzed across the terrace, and a heartbeat later, Jared slammed into Ariana. He grabbed her against him before she could stumble and used the other arm to keep Harry from leaping on him a second time.
“So much for my order to stay in the curricle,” Jared grumbled.
Ari only laughed. “Down, Harry!”
The traitorous wolfhound obeyed her immediately, though Jared was mollified when Harry sat on his boot and not on Ari’s.
“How do you do that?”
“Say it like you mean it, not like you’re asking.”
He frowned.
She grinned. “Don’t feel bad. He has been living with me for the last two years.”
“Right.” Jared gazed out over the gardens. “This is beautiful.” He offered his arm for the descent down the back steps.
“You don’t remember this either?” she asked, her eyes full of concern.
“Did I come here often?”
She nodded. “More so after your father died. You liked visiting with my father and discussing investment ventures. I know Papa did.”
“Where is your father this morning? I should pay my respects while I’m here.”
“Gone off to Compton.”
Though the bonnet shielded a lot of her face, he caught her grimace. “Why the long face?”
They walked several steps before she answered. “Papa has gone to Compton to visit my suitors.”
Jared stopped dead. “What suitors?”
Her marriageable future was none of his business, but he found he disliked the idea of other men chasing after her. No matter that he had to leave as soon as the fountain was fixed, he still didn’t like the idea. He could end up stuck here, and he wanted Ariana to be free.
“Papa has felt ill of late and has decided I must marry before he dies.”
“What is the nature of his illness?” he asked, fully aware it could be something easily treated like high blood pressure or as curable as pneumonia. Except that in this era, nothing was easily treated.
A flicker of pain showed in her eyes. “The doctor says it is consumption.”
“He is not seeing Padwick, is he?”
That startled her. “Why yes. He’s the only doctor in the county.”
“No matter what your father has, do not let Padwick use his leeches. They don’t help. They only hurt.”
She gave him a wary frown.
“I read a lot—have read a lot of medicinal theory.”
He needed to shut up, he really did. Consumption was misdiagnosed so often in this era, Wakefield could succumb to a dozen different diseases or maladies. Jared was no doctor, nor could he go around the nineteenth century trying to save people who had been dead for two hundred years.
“Trust me on this. Forget the leeches. My bump and headache are gone, and I didn’t require them.”
She gave him a tentative nod, though she still looked unsure.
“How about a picnic? Cook packed me a basket with enough for two.”
One of Jared’s brighter ideas, once he realized the fountain would take at least two days to repair well enough to hold water. The thought of spending a few hours in Lady Ariana’s company made him glad—for the first time—to be stuck in this century.
He had really startled her now. Two bright flags of color stained her cheeks, and her eyes had gone wide.
She recovered quickly. “I don’t think that is such a good idea.”
“But I thought we were childhood playmates.”
“We were,” she said pointedly.
Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good.
“Is it so odd of me to ask?”
“You never have before.”
“Then more fool me. So, what do you think? You have to eat.”
Good Lord—she concentrated as though she were making a decision of national importance. Had Seven hurt her in some way? Mistreated her? Deuced unfair it was that he had to suffer for his ancestor’s misdeeds. He studied Ari as she agonized over her decision and swore if she agreed, he would make her glad she had accepted.
She finally gave him a weak nod. “I suppose I could go. It would be rude of me to refuse the Duke of Reston. Just let me get my shawl.”
He didn’t like the sound of that at all. She was only going because he was the duke and she was required to accept because of some protocol? Had that protocol traveled down through the centuries? Had every woman accepted his invitations his whole life for the same reasons? Surely not. Some women had wanted to accompany him. Hadn’t they?
Minutes later, they barreled down the country road to Compton in his brand-new-to-him curricle with the same spirited blacks Bullen had harnessed and brought round the day prior. Jared had some idea of where he was headed, though the countryside looked confusing without the familiar paved highways and twentieth-century landmarks with which he had grown up. He knew this country lane to be the general path of his Highway B4009, which ran from Hampstead Norreys to East Ilsley with Compton lying in between.
It was all he could do not to gape when he saw the tiny hamlet of Dolan from the top of the rise. The whole of the village fit in a twelve-block area, one-hundredth the size of present day Dolan—his Dolan—but he had to admit the surrounding countryside was far more beautiful now, so lush and verdant with no exhaust-belching vehicles racing about.
Ariana remained silent most of the way, and he felt her gaze slant toward him every so often. He decided he hated her bonnet for hiding way too much of her expressive face. He would let her be for now and not force her into a conversation until she was ready. But come hell or high water, he vowed he would find out what Seven had done to upset her so.
****
Ari suddenly wished she had not agreed to a ride in Jared’s curricle or to share his picnic. He was much too close for comfort in the curricle’s confined quarters. She also regretted her decision to put Harry out to play with the other dogs—now wishing for his presence, squished between her and Jared as a buffer. Jared this close made her skin tingle, and she hadn’t counted on him driving righ
t through the village of Dolan for all to see. Though they had ridden through the village often enough in her youth, tongues would surely wag now with her father bandying her dowry about the countryside in search of the best suitor. She could still hear the nasty rumblings Lady Wilder had spread about.
Jared slowed the curricle to a crawl when they reached the outskirts of Dolan. She knew the reduced speed was safer but hated giving anyone willing to look, a close-up view of their ride. Then he went and slowed to a stop in front of the Hare and Hound Inn.
She glanced worriedly at him. “What are you doing? I thought we were going for a picnic.”
Jared grinned. “We are, and I have Cook’s lunch in tow, but my wine cellar appears to be empty. The last bottles were consumed with dinner last night.”
“Imagine that,” she said drily.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, your life and death miracle in France did not curtail your drinking.”
“Was it supposed to?”
“One could only hope.”
He tied off the reins. “Well, since you are checking up on me, we had the last three bottles between us over dinner last evening.”
That did surprise her. In the old days, he would have had three bottles alone, or so the gossip went.
“Us?” she asked curiously.
“Me, Bullen, Chappy, Wiggs, Heddy, and Cook.”
She gaped at him. “You ate with your staff? You, the Duke of Reston?”
“Evidently, they have not been paid in a while, and I didn’t wish to eat alone. Seemed the least I could do was share.” He shrugged sheepishly. “You are staring as though you have spied a ghost.”
He climbed down. “I need to order more wine for the manor, so I will pick a bottle up for us, place an order, and be right back.”
“The innkeeper is Harold Harrison, remember?”
He stared blankly. “No, I did not.”
“His wife is Hildy.”
He smiled.
She did not.
“Thank you, I appreciate you looking out for me and my memory loss.”
“I seriously doubt you knew their names before the memory loss.” To his raised eyebrows, she bluntly added, “You wouldn’t have bothered to remember their names.”
“Well, that was a definite set-down. Evidently, you have no concerns about insulting a duke.” He quirked an authoritative eyebrow. “But I will let it pass—for now. Do you want to come in with me?”
“And make sure everyone in Dolan knows we are out together? No, I will wait here.”
“Would it be so terrible to be seen out with me? And while you are answering that question, would you mind telling me what I did to irritate you so? You are as prickly as a hedgehog today. Was it the kiss we shared yesterday? If so—”
She shook her head quickly. “No, that was not it. I mean—You are mistaken. I’m not irritated in the least.”
She could not have this conversation with him. Not now. Not ever. Her humiliation would then be complete.
“I apologize if I was rude earlier, Your Grace.”
He frowned. “And now I am back to being Your Grace?”
“I apologize, Jared.” She tried for a smile. “You won’t be long, will you?”
His damnable brow went back up. “Just long enough to select a few good vintages for my cellar and one for us.”
He disappeared inside the inn, and Ari tried her best to be inconspicuous in his flashy forest-green curricle and to remind herself to give Jared the respect he was due as a peer of the realm—a highly born peer she refused to fall for again.
“Lady Ariana?”
So much for inconspicuous. She turned toward the voice and groaned inwardly.
Oxley Pearson. Dash it all.
“Good day, Baron Dalton.” She stiffly inclined her head.
The big man was off his horse before she had finished her salutation and reached the curricle in three strides. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.” He tied his horse’s reins to an inn post. “I was on my way to Wakefield to call upon you.”
She frowned. “But my father went to see you this morning, my lord.”
“I did see your father.” He gave her a smug smile. “He came by to assure me that I am the favored among your suitors, so I left at the same time he did in order to call upon you.”
“Lord Dalton, I’m quite certain you misunderstood my father.”
“I did nothing of the sort, and besides, I already knew I was the favored suitor.”
She gave him an incredulous look. Etiquette be damned. “And how is that?”
The smug smile reappeared. “Because I’m your wealthiest and handsomest suitor. Of course, you’ll choose me.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward, not caring if he noticed. He did not. However, he did notice the conveyance in which she sat.
“I don’t recall your father owning a curricle.”
“He doesn’t.”
He frowned. “Then whose curricle is this?”
“It belongs to a friend.”
The frown turned uglier. “What friend?”
“I do not think that is any of your concern.”
“My con—” He reached into the curricle and scooped her out before she could react.
She struggled hard, and he stumbled a step. “Put me down! Let me go this instant, Baron Dalton!”
Thankfully, the baron set her on her feet but kept a vice-like grip on her elbow. “You are not going anywhere until you tell me who brought you here. This is disgraceful, Ariana. You’re as good as my betrothed and have no right to go flitting about with anyone else.”
“No right?” she choked out and tried unsuccessfully to yank her arm free. “Let go, you oaf!”
“Oaf?” His face flushed beet-red, and the veins in his overly high forehead poked out. He jerked her arm hard. “I’m not letting go until you tell me with whom you are out riding.”
“She is riding with me,” a deep voice boomed from the inn entrance, “and you have three seconds to unhand her. No, make that two.”
Jared tossed two bottles of wine on the curricle seat as he passed. “One.” He took two long strides. “Two―”
Dalton’s mouth gaped. “But you are dead. At Waterloo.”
“Not bloody likely,” Jared growled and raised a fist.
Dalton released Ariana, and she scampered back toward the curricle.
“She is my betrothed,” Dalton sputtered.
“I am not!” Ari cried from a safe distance. “I am no one’s betrothed!”
Jared glared. “It appears you are mistaken, sir. Now if you will excuse us.” He turned back toward the curricle.
Dalton let out a roar and tackled Jared on a dead run, taking them both to the ground in a heap. The big blacks reared as the bodies tumbled dangerously close. Ari moved nearer as the horses stomped frantically in place, and she readied to grab the harness if the horses reared again.
Jared twisted and shoved Dalton’s dead weight off his back, then struggled to his knees. Dalton came up with him and swung a glancing blow, sending Jared back down onto the ground.
Oblivious to the danger of striking a higher-ranked peer, Dalton roared, “She is mine, damn you!” and swung again.
This fist Jared ducked, and he planted a solid one of his own, right to Dalton’s jaw. Ari stared in amazement as Dalton’s eyes crossed, and he keeled over backward. She waited for him to struggle back up, but he lay still as a gravestone.
She eased over for a closer look. “He is not dead, is he?”
Jared gave her an incredulous look. “No, just a glass jaw, it seems. He still breathes. His chest is moving.”
Sure enough. Dalton’s barrel chest rose and fell with each breath. She felt a hand on her elbow.
“More importantly, are you all right?” Jared turned her. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
The tenderness and concern in his eyes took her breath away. “N-no,” she stammered, “he just frightened me a little.�
�
“Who is he?”
She blinked at him, surprised he did not remember a titled neighbor, but then he had not recognized his best friend yesterday, the Earl of Dexter.
“Oxley Pearson, Baron Dalton,” she said, managing to keep most of the disgust from her voice.
“Why would he think you are his betrothed?”
“Because my father wants me married,” she admitted with no small amount of chagrin. “He set a high-priced dowry on me and is peddling me to nearby titled suitors. Nearby to keep me close at hand once married.”
Jared glared at Dalton’s prone figure. “It’s a blasted shame he went out with the first punch. I would have enjoyed a few more.”
“Are you going to press charges?” she asked, more from curiosity than any concern for the arrogant oaf lying prostrate on the ground.
“Whatever for?” Jared actually looked puzzled.
“Well, you are a duke.”
“True, but I pressured him. I expected him to blow, just not attack with my back turned.” He held out an arm. “Shall we go?”
She hesitated and glanced back at Dalton’s unconscious form. “What about him?”
“What about him?” Jared grinned.
Now that was more like the Jared she knew. “We cannot just leave him lying there in the street.”
“Well, of course we can. He deserves to lie there for a while and ponder his sins.”
She fought the laughter bubbling up and tried desperately for a stern look.
He sighed in resignation. “Oh, all right,” he said and disappeared inside the inn. He was back out a moment later, pitcher in hand. He tossed the contents—only water—in a perfect arc across Dalton’s still prostrate form.
The baron coughed and spluttered back to consciousness and sat up. Jared tossed the pitcher at him, and Dalton instinctively caught it before the pottery put him down a second time.
“Stay away from Lady Ariana,” Jared growled, “or I will finish what I started. And next time, I will leave you lying in the street for all to see.”
Duke Du Jour Page 8
