by Candace Camp
Thea straightened in her chair and smoothed down the front of her skirt. She ought to return to the great hall. She was not the sort to hide in a dark room, licking her wounds. However, she could not bring herself to go back and watch Lord Morecombe dance with Damaris and the Cliffe girls. Worse, what if Mrs. Cliffe decided to press him into dancing with the wallflowers, such as Thea? Thea was not about to risk that embarrassment.
She found a candelabra and lit it, illuminating the room with a soft glow. She was pleased to find a bookshelf on the wall behind the door, and soon she was settled down in a comfortable chair out of sight of the open doorway, engrossed in a book. A few minutes later, there were steps in the hallway, and Thea looked up to see her brother peering cautiously around the door. His expression brightened.
“Ah, Thea! So you stole away, too? Too noisy by half in there, I thought.” Daniel came farther into the room. “You found a book?” She pointed toward the bookshelf, and he turned. “Ah, excellent.”
He examined the shelves and chose a tome, then sat down on the chair closest to Thea, the candelabra burning on the table between them. The two of them remained there through the rest of the ball, reading in companionable silence, as they so often did of an evening. Thea glanced over at her brother and smiled fondly. She had a good life, she reminded herself. It was foolish to grow downcast because one arrogant rake had not recognized her. Her life was orderly and unhurried and had purpose. She did not want for anything, and she had friends and family. She could do as she pleased—within the bounds of propriety, of course. There was no reason to be discontented or sad over the behavior of Gabriel Morecombe, whom she would probably never see again, anyway. She would simply forget about him.
“Lord, what a bore!” Alan Carmichael declared as he and Lord Morecombe entered the drawing room of the Priory, followed closely by Sir Myles. Gabriel went straight to the decanters of liquor on the sideboard, and Alan flung himself into one of the armchairs flanking the fireplace, letting out a dramatic groan. “I should have listened to you, Ian, and stayed here.”
Ian, Lord Wofford, who was stretched out in the other chair, his feet propped on the hassock and a snifter of brandy in one hand, merely lifted an elegant eyebrow. “Told you.”
“It wasn’t so bad.” Sir Myles propped his elbow on the mantel and grinned at the other men. His eyes, usually twinkling with merriment, and his close-cropped curls were almost the same golden-brown color. Though not as tall as Gabriel, he was powerfully built, with the wide chest and muscular arms that denoted his devotion to the gentlemanly art of pugilism. “There was dancing. Young ladies. And the Squire served a damned fine hot punch back in his smoking room.”
“Yes, but did you look at the ladies?” Alan countered. “All those Cliffe girls! There must have been ten of them.”
“Four, I believe,” Gabriel Morecombe offered as he poured healthy amounts of brandy into their glasses. “It only seemed like more because they were so uniformly alike in looks, dress, and general silliness.”
“I have to endure that sort of rural festivity whenever I am home,” Ian said. “I had no intention of subjecting myself to it here. I shall be eternally grateful that Father sold this place—though I cannot conceive why you agreed to buy it, Gabriel.”
“Come, now.” Gabriel made an expansive gesture, a smile lighting his handsome features. “Look around you.” He turned and handed their drinks to Alan and Myles. “Where else can I obtain such peace and solitude as I have here?”
“And such lack of civilization,” Ian drawled.
“Civilization is overvalued. I far prefer owning a house to which I can retreat without having to deal with tenants and my estate manager or worry about whether I offend my stepmother’s sensibilities.”
“Well, if you didn’t want obligations, why’d you go to the Squire’s Christmas ball?” Ian asked.
“A good question.” Gabriel grimaced. “One which I asked myself as Mrs. Cliffe dragged me across the room, introducing me to every single woman who lives in the area. In truth, I suspect she imported a few from another village. After the first five minutes, I could scarcely have told you my name, let alone any of theirs.”
Ian let out a crack of laughter. “I warned you! I knew every marriage-minded mama in the county would be there to introduce you to their eligible—and stultifyingly boring—daughters.”
“Since you are already married, Ian, that would have presented no problem for you,” Myles pointed out.
“True. Wouldn’t have kept me from perishing from ennui, however.”
“Well, I think you are all too harsh on the fair village of Chesley,” Myles said lightly. “I, for one, enjoyed the evening of dancing. And while the Cliffe sisters were trying on the ears, it was more than made up for by the treat to the eyes that is Mrs. Howard.”
“She is a beauty,” Gabriel agreed.
“D’ you mean the black-haired lovely?” Alan asked. “She was a peacock among pigeons, wasn’t she?”
“Who?” Ian asked as he stood up and went to the sideboard to set down his glass. “A beauty here in Chesley? Sounds like a Banbury story to me. I would have remembered a raven-haired temptress.”
“She moved here only a few months ago, I believe,” Gabriel said.
“Good heavens. Why?”
Gabriel laughed. “Perhaps she was looking for peace and solitude, too.”
“She’ll get an ample amount of that,” Ian retorted sardonically, turning and leaning back against the sideboard. “Now, gentlemen … are we going to proceed to any actual entertainment this evening?”
“What did you have in mind?” Gabriel asked.
“Loo, whist, vingt-et-un—whatever suits your fancy. Your butler told me he found several bottles and casks in the cellars. Lord only knows when they date from. I thought I’d go down and see if there was anything we might want.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Be my guest.”
“I’ll go with you.” Alan took a candlestick from the sideboard and the two men left the room.
Gabriel poured another drink for himself and Myles, and they settled down in the chairs in front of the fire, stretching their legs out toward the warmth.
“Hope the evening wasn’t too much of a bore,” Gabriel offered. “I thought it would be good to meet the locals.”
Myles chuckled. “I didn’t mind. Clearly I do not require the level of sophistication Ian does. When one grows up with five sisters, one becomes accustomed to attending such affairs. It helps make it more bearable, I suppose, that a sir is not as coveted a marriage prospect as a lord.”
“Do you ever think about marrying?” Gabriel asked thoughtfully.
“As little as possible.” Myles grinned. “Why? Don’t tell me some girl’s caught your fancy?”
“No. Not at all. I suppose I shall one day, but …” Gabriel shrugged. “It doesn’t seem a very alluring prospect.”
“Not if you look at Ian’s marriage.”
Gabriel glanced over at his friend. “Do you think Ian is terribly unhappy? He doesn’t say anything, but …”
“But it’s almost Christmas, and he is here with us instead of at the Park with his wife,” Myles finished. “That must mean something. I’ve never asked him. I don’t suppose he seems particularly unhappy.”
“But neither does he seem particularly happy.”
“Everyone knows they weren’t a love match.”
“I’m not sure that makes any difference.” Gabriel’s voice had a bitter tone, and his friend shot him a quick sideways glance. But before Myles could speak, Gabriel went on, “I doubt Ian ever expected a love match … or cared to have one, really.”
“He’s not a romantic.”
“But there could have been a better match, someone more suited to him, if his father had not been so intent on gambling away Ian’s future.”
“Fenstone thinks of no one but himself.” Myles sighed and drained his drink. “Always has. But it’s done now. At least marrying Emily took care of his f
ather’s debt.”
Gabriel snorted. “For the time being. Naturally the Earl’s gone back to trying to run the estate into the ground.”
“Do you mean Fenstone’s run off his legs ag—” Myles stopped and sat up straight, staring at Gabriel. “Is that why you bought this place? So Ian’s father would have enough cash to pay off his latest debts?”
Gabriel shrugged. “I wanted a house in the country besides the family seat.”
“Of course you did.” Myles gave him a knowing look. “Well, I hope you’ve managed to hold off the Earl’s creditors for a while. Bad for Ian if his father landed in the River Tick.”
They broke off at the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside. A moment later, Ian appeared in the doorway, a bottle cradled in each arm.
“What did you find?” Gabriel asked.
“A lot of spiderwebs and dust,” Alan responded, brushing at the sleeves of his jacket as he came up behind Ian.
“And a cask of excellent Armagnac,” Ian added. “Too big to bring up; you’ll have to get the footmen to haul it up tomorrow. I did, however, find some bottles of passable cognac to tide us over.”
“Very good.” Gabriel stood and shrugged out of his jacket as Ian and Alan went to the table on the other side of the room. “Get out the cards, Myles. Cigars?” Gabriel picked up a box from the sideboard and passed it around as Ian opened the first of the bottles.
The men settled down around the table, and Myles began to shuffle the cards. Gabriel raised his glass. “Gentlemen! Here’s to a short memory and a far merrier evening ahead.”
Three
In the days after the Squire’s party, Thea was caught up in the whirl of activities that always preceded Christmas. Not only did she pitch in to help their housekeeper clean and cook for the upcoming festivities, but she also had the usual parish business to attend to. For years before her father’s death, Thea had acted as his secretary, not only copying out his sermons in neat, legible ink, but also totting up his books and acting as a sounding board for his views on various parish matters. The parishioners had become accustomed to taking their problems to Thea first, to be relayed by her to the vicar, and when the living had been given to Daniel after Latimer’s death, the church members had continued to go to Thea. Unlike Latimer, Daniel had little interest in hearing the matters Thea brought to him, so that she had grown used to simply handling them herself.
She did her best not to think about Lord Morecombe, but her mind stubbornly continued to return to that moment when he had looked at her with such a bored lack of recognition. It did not help that almost everyone who came to call on her for the next few days wanted to talk about little except the Christmas ball and their exotic new neighbor.
Mrs. Cliffe dropped by two days later, ostensibly to discuss the Ladies Auxiliary, but in reality to relive her social triumph. Thea, who had been working on Daniel’s sermon for Christmas Day, did her best to hold her tongue as the Squire’s wife and her sister, Mrs. Dinmont, extolled the many virtues of Lord Morecombe.
“Such a fine gentleman, don’t you agree, Althea dear?” Mrs. Cliffe rarely needed an answer, so she did not notice Thea’s lack of assent. “Even the Squire’s mother admitted that he is a fine figure of a man.”
“So handsome,” Mrs. Dinmont added, playing her usual role in the conversation.
“Such an air of address! And a more finely turned leg I have never seen. Not, of course, that a high-minded young lady such as yourself would have noticed.”
“Oh my, Maribel!” Mrs. Dinmont tittered into her hand. “The things you do say! Not, of course,” she added after a look from Mrs. Cliffe, “but what you are absolutely correct. I am sure none of the gentlemen looked nearly so elegant on the dance floor.”
“His friends were all very well, too, of course,” the Squire’s wife went on magnanimously. “Sir Myles is most charming. But he cannot compare to Lord Morecombe.”
“No, indeed.” Mrs. Dinmont bobbed her head. “No comparison at all.”
“I vow, I was so pleased when he stood up with my own Daisy.”
“Only after he had taken you out onto the floor,” her sister pointed out archly.
“Now, Adele …” Mrs. Cliffe playfully slapped at her arm, laughing. “He was only doing what was polite.”
“But, still, you moved quite smartly through the cotillion with him.”
Mrs. Cliffe smiled and gave a little toss of her head. “I haven’t yet forgotten how to dance a few steps. But it was clearly Daisy in whom his lordship was interested. He danced with all four of the girls, even little Estella, who was over the moon about that, I can tell you. But I know it was Daisy who caught his eye. I would not be at all surprised if we see Lord Morecombe at the manor again, you mark my words.” Mrs. Cliffe nodded in a knowing way.
Thea deemed it unlikely that the supremely bored and arrogant Lord Morecombe had any interest in Daisy—unless he was drawn to giggling, combined with a lack of wit. If he had been attracted to anyone at the party, she felt sure it would have been Damaris, who was both beautiful and capable of carrying on an intelligent conversation. An inner devil tempted Thea to point out that the rakish lord whose misdeeds Mrs. Cliffe had been gossiping about for almost three weeks now would scarcely be a fit suitor for an innocent young maiden such as Daisy, but Thea refused to give in to her baser nature, merely smiling and nodding until Mrs. Cliffe and her companion finally left.
But if Thea had hoped to escape further tales of Lord Morecombe, she was doomed to disappointment, for the following day at the bakery she was treated to an account of the lord and one of his friends racing their curricles on the main road and nearly oversetting Colonel Parkson in his gig. That afternoon, paying a call on one of the sick of the parish, the old woman’s daughter spent much of the afternoon regaling Thea with a description of the young lords at the Priory having a number of casks hauled up from the cellars, just so they could sample some old brandy.
It was a relief to finally escape the house and return to her own home. There, at least, she knew she would be safe from any discussion of Lord Morecombe, for Daniel had no interest in the occupants of the Priory. She could spend a nice quiet evening reading in front of the fire, the silence broken only by Daniel’s occasionally reciting aloud to her a passage he found particularly interesting about the Roman ruins at Cirencester.
Thea let out a little sigh. Well, perhaps it was not an especially exciting prospect, but at least it was familiar and would not irk her as all conversations about Lord Morecombe seemed to. It was silly to let herself grow so irritated about the man, who was, of course, nothing to her. His attitude had stung a little, but it meant nothing. She would forget all about it as soon as Gabriel Morecombe and his friends went back to London.
And, she reminded herself, she had a great deal to look forward to. The Christmas celebration was her favorite time of the year. Tomorrow she would go out early and cut down evergreen and holly branches to decorate the house and church, an activity she always enjoyed. And in only a day or two her sister would arrive with her niece and nephews, and the house would then be filled with all the noise and activity she could wish for.
The sun was not yet peeking over the eastern horizon when she left the vicarage the next morning in search of greenery. Dragging a small wagon behind her, Thea headed across the bridge and past the church. There she cut across a field toward the woods beyond, where she knew she would find plenty of red-berried holly and fragrant fir trees. As she crested a small rise, Thea spotted a man riding up the road toward her. Even at this distance, she recognized the tall frame and the tousled dark hair. It was Gabriel Morecombe, heading from the village toward his house. She came to a dead stop.
Quickly Thea stepped back so that she was hidden in the shadows of the trees. The horizon had started to lighten, and she was able to make out the details of the horse and rider. He wore a fashionable greatcoat with multiple capes at the shoulders, opened carelessly down the front to reveal an unbuttoned jacket and a n
eckcloth hanging untied around his neck. He was bareheaded, his hair uncombed, and his jaw was shadowed with dark stubble. As he rode, he yawned widely and rubbed a hand down his face.
This was no man out on an early-morning canter. Clearly he was returning to his house after spending the night in the village. Thea could imagine what sort of place he’d spent the evening. The tavern for a while, no doubt, and after it closed … She drew herself even straighter, her jaw setting and her mouth thinning into a straight line. It did not matter to her, but if she had needed any proof that Lord Morecombe was exactly the sort of drunken, licentious … libertine that people said he was, here it was, right in her face.
The rider did not glance in her direction as he rode past. Thea waited, scarcely daring to breathe, until he was out of sight. Then she blew out a pent-up breath and hurried forward, the wagon bumping along behind her. Indignation fueled her steps, so that she strode faster and faster. The man was so bold! So brazen! Obviously, he cared little who saw him riding home at such an hour. He practically flaunted his wicked behavior in front of everyone. He had not even bothered to slip out under the cover of darkness. Not that it would make his activities any less reprehensible, but one would think the man could exhibit some shame, at least. She should have known what sort of man he was from the very beginning; he would not have kissed her that night so long ago if he was any sort of true gentleman. She had simply been too naïve to realize that he was a roué—well, perhaps not a roué, for she thought of them as being old, but certainly he was a rake. A rake and a libertine and a cad, too, no doubt.
