by Diana Quincy
The moment splintered and he had the despairing sense he wouldn’t know another like it.
Bold amusement crossed his mystery lady’s face. “Tell me,” she whispered, “do ladies often try to run you to ground?”
“Lady Hawke is most persistent.”
“It seems you are the one in need of rescuing.” Before he knew what she was about, she stepped through the curtain and pulled it closed behind her. “Lady Hawke, what a delightful surprise,” he heard her say, her voice drifting away as they moved down the corridor. “I am quite lost. Could you direct me back to the parlor?”
Chapter Four
“I wonder if they employ a four-crop rotation,” Bella mused, surveying the latest documents she’d requested from the estate steward at Traherne Abbey. The man hadn’t questioned her interest, likely assuming Sebastian was aware she’d asked for the papers to be sent up.
Monty sipped his wine. “Most farmers do.” They were out on the front lawn, lunching at a linen-covered table that had been set out for their meal. “They alternate wheat, barley, and a root crop like turnips.”
“And the fourth field is planted with feed for the livestock?”
He nodded. “I see you’ve learned well from your study of French and Spanish farming methods during our travels.”
“Yes, that explains why I’m so well acquainted with barley and turnips.” She fixed a pointed look on him. “But where did the mysterious Monty gain his vast knowledge of agriculture?”
“It is no mystery,” he said, putting his glass down on the table. “I’ve managed an estate book or two in my time.”
“You’ve worked for a grand estate?” Tabby interjected from behind her easel.
“Something like that.” Rising from the table, he wandered over to look at her painting of the house. “Lovely use of color. What shades did you use for the sky?”
Blushing with pleasure, Tabby explained her color choices. Bella noted how deftly Monty deflected attention from himself—and his past. Taking in his tall, trim frame and unassuming posture as he bent over Tabby’s painting, she decided if Monty had secrets, they were his to keep because her every instinct suggested he was as honorable as he appeared. Returning her attention to the papers before her, she said, “Traherne Abbey appears profitable enough now, but it wasn’t doing very well just a few years ago.”
Josette groaned. “Must you always speak of such boring matters? It is a waste of time when one could be dancing or shopping.”
“These boring matters, as you call them, are what keep us all comfortable and well fed,” Bella said. “I should dearly like for that to continue.”
“You are running out of the money?”
Reaching for a meat pastry, Orford answered for Bella. “She thinks Sebastian is helping himself to a bit too much of the pie, a sum far beyond his fixed allowance as her husband.”
Silly as it was, Bella winced inwardly at his reference to Sebastian as her husband. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine the dark stranger in his place. A pleasant sensation flowed through her at the memory of his quiet strength and the lingering scent of musk shaving soap and male skin. One look into those vivid emerald eyes was enough to make her want to forget all about honor and duty. She sighed. “I wonder how long it will be before I become accustomed to thinking of Sebastian as my husband.”
Tabby cast her a sympathetic look. “But what can you do? A husband retains all power over his wife.”
“Perhaps.” She’d given that point a great deal of thought. “But at least I shall be duchess while he remains a mere mister. I must use the power of my rank to exert influence over ducal affairs.”
“Such lofty goals.” Josette yawned. “I tire just thinking of it.”
Bella did have ambitious aspirations where Traherne was concerned. Gazing across the verdant lawn to the gracious, unfussy lines of the ivory-tinted Palladian villa, she experienced a sense of homecoming. Although it was a minor property in comparison to the ducal seat at Traherne Abbey, she felt far more at home within Strawberry Hill’s cozier confines. She’d hated ambling around the abbey’s vast emptiness, with little in the way of company save the assortment of nurses, governesses, and servants who’d been paid to keep her company in lieu of the family she’d never had.
A deep-rooted connection bound her to both properties and, indeed, to all of Traherne. The duchy was what grounded her and gave purpose to her life. As a child, she’d barely seen her father, but for as long as she could remember, she’d known she’d inherit the title when he died.
She felt the weight of that responsibility as keenly as any male heir, perhaps more so as a female who hadn’t been properly groomed to assume the reins. Her father might not take his duties seriously, but she certainly did. And that meant doing everything in her power to keep Traherne safe from Sebastian’s apparent poaching.
“It does seem like an awful lot of work,” Tabby said, echoing Josette’s sentiments. “I’m not sure why you bother.”
Relaxing back in his chair, Orford closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the sun. “She doesn’t want it said the duchy fell to pieces after being placed in the care of her feminine hands.”
“Quite right.” Determination surged within her. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my birthright and I won’t allow Sebastian Stanhope to stand in my way.”
…
“Poussée! Parade!” The fencing instructor called out instructions from the sidelines. “Excellent! Une telle grace!”
Sebastian thrust forward with vigor, landing yet another hit on his embattled opponent.
“Such a magnificent combination of flexibility and power.” Master Henri’s black, bushy eyebrows rose in admiration as Sebastian launched a forceful final series of offensive moves with little apparent effort. “Il est formidable!”
“Yes, yes.” Pen watched from the side, having already finished his turn. “He’s superior in every way.”
Sebastian’s exhausted opponent seemed to agree, given his obvious relief when the practice match ended and two other men moved into position to take their turn. Sebastian stepped out of their way, his bared broad chest glistening with a fine sheen of sweat from his exertions.
Pen handed him a towel. “You’re in rare form today. You practically ran poor Darley into the ground.”
“Nonsense.” He mopped his face, his attention on the start of the next match. “He acquitted himself well.”
“There are already few enough men willing to take you on.” Pen looked to where the weary man now sat, trying to regulate his labored breathing. “I doubt Darley will offer you a rematch anytime soon.” He started toward the changing room but halted when Sebastian didn’t follow. “Are you coming?”
Sebastian shook his head. “No, you go ahead. I think I’ll await another match up.”
Pen looked incredulous. “You are going to have another go at it? You’ve already been at it for hours.”
Sebastian tracked the movements of the two fencers as they parried and thrust. “Just one more.”
“I say you are even more vigorous than usual, Stan. And distracted, too. Wouldn’t have anything to do with that woman from Claymont’s library would it? Tasty piece that one. One could not help taking notice of that delightfully full bosom. Perhaps she will be the one to finally tempt the saint.”
“At the moment, the only thing I’m tempted to do is run you through with my foil,” he said, without taking his eyes from the bout. “Without the safety button on the tip, of course.”
Chuckling, Pen backed away. “Have I hit a nerve?” He pondered aloud moving in the direction of the changing room. “Interesting.”
Once he’d gone, Sebastian exhaled loudly through his nostrils. Pen had hit a nerve.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the saucy beauty. Any liaison was unthinkable, of course. It was completely against everything he believed in, totally at odds with the example his moralistic father had set, which he had always tried to emulate. Still, he i
magined what it would be like to nourish his hunger with the sumptuous taste of her, to pull her into his arms and share the events of his day.
Blast and bugger his eyes. What had come over him? He knew the agonizing cost of infidelity better than anyone. He’d seen firsthand that children suffered the most. They grew up not quite bastards, but not exactly legitimate either. Fruit that had fallen a little too far from the tree, which, nonetheless, still had to be gathered along with the finest pickings.
He would prove himself worthy of his father’s approval, and he had thus far lived up to his child self’s long-ago vow to never do as his father had and risk having a bastard child.
Until now. With her.
It occurred to him that in the future he would dissect his life into two parts: before the knowing of her and the after. And in this after, he felt like a different man. He now comprehended that his resolve had never truly been tested and he feared failing as magnificently in this as he had always excelled in everything else.
“Avancer, commençons!” Master Henri’s strident voice broke into Sebastian’s thoughts. The master summoned his star student for another match. Grateful for the distraction, he picked up his foil and headed back to the floor, his worn muscles once again on edge.
Sebastian joined Pen and Adelaide at Vauxhall that evening, attending at the invitation of their mother, the Countess of Alston. She’d organized a small party in their box with a light supper before dancing and fireworks later in the evening. Lord and Lady Hervey were also in attendance, accompanied by their young daughter, Grace, a friend of Adelaide’s.
As always, Adelaide glistened with excitement, reveling in her first visit to the pleasure gardens. “Sebastian,” she asked breathlessly. “Are you going to ask me to dance this evening?”
The countess looked up with a frown from where she supervised the laying out of the refreshments. “Adelaide! You never ask a gentleman to dance.”
“But it’s just Sebastian. You don’t mind, do you, Sebastian?”
He responded with a warm smile. “Not at all.” He turned to her mother. “I assure you, it is always my pleasure to dance with Lady Adelaide.”
“Nonetheless,” the countess said, “this is your debut season. You are no longer in the nursery. You must act with appropriate decorum.”
Adelaide looked down at her clasped hands in her lap. “Yes, Mother.”
The countess flashed an apologetic glance at him. “And Mr. Stanhope is far too mannerly to refuse you.”
“Basil, there you are.” Penrose greeted the latest arrival to their box. The sudden appearance of Sebastian’s younger brother spared Adelaide from any more of her mother’s admonishments.
Basil stepped into the box with a bow. “I hope I haven’t missed supper. I’m famished.” The youngest of the Stanhope men was easily the most classically handsome. Not only did he possess the tall, lithe frame and golden mane that marked all of Sebastian’s brothers, but nature had also arranged his patrician facial features in perfect symmetry.
One could practically hear Adelaide and Grace’s combined intake of breath in the presence of Basil’s vigorous masculine beauty. Even the dour Lady Hervey seemed affected by Basil’s physical perfection, which the brothers had laughingly dubbed the “Basil Effect.”
“I’ve never seen anyone with an appetite like yours,” Pen remarked. “Where do you put it all?”
The Adonis greeted his brother with a winning smile. “We Stanhopes have hearty appetites. Even the saints among us, isn’t that right, Seb?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he said a little testily, knowing his thoughts of late were far from saintly.
“Saints?” breathed Adelaide, still staring at Basil, her eyes wide with entranced admiration.
Sebastian felt a tug of amusement at how quickly the young girl had fallen under Basil’s spell. “My brothers’ misplaced, unfortunate, and untrue nickname for me,” he said. “Trouble always seemed to find my brothers when we were growing up. Because I did not always follow their reckless path, they dubbed me the saint.”
“Only he became even more saintly after we grew up,” Basil said before popping a tartlet into his mouth.
“I’ll say.” Pen exchanged a knowing look with Basil, no doubt referring to Sebastian’s prolonged abstinence from carnal pleasures, something the two of them couldn’t begin to comprehend.
The countess smiled at Sebastian. “There is no finer, more honorable gentleman.” He felt a twinge of guilt at her words, given his recently acquired obsession with another man’s wife.
A missive he’d received this afternoon from Mirabella compounded his short-tempered frustration. He’d been at the townhome he would soon share with her, overseeing preparations for her return. He rarely stayed at the lavish Park Street address, usually preferring the simple comfort of the bachelor’s quarters he still kept. Just this afternoon, he’d had his things moved into the master’s chambers, anticipating Mirabella’s scheduled arrival the following day. He’d ordered fresh flowers laid out in the main rooms of the house, saving the largest bouquet for her bedchamber, the one that adjoined his through a shared sitting room. The usually solemn, empty house had been abuzz with activity as the staff prepared to finally have a master and mistress in residence. Servants had spent the past few days airing out the place, cleaning the large, empty rooms that now smelled heavily of lemon, soap, and beeswax.
He’d experienced a surge of optimism as he strode from room to room inspecting the activity, his Hessians clicking against the marble floors, the seductive aroma of flowers wafting through the rooms. He looked forward to reuniting with Mirabella and hoped they would soon be blessed with a child. Perhaps it would draw them together. Focusing on his wife and family would help him overcome his unfathomable infatuation with the beauty from the opera, which was beyond ridiculous. For devil’s sake, he didn’t even know her name.
It was while contemplating a hopeful future with his wife that his butler found him, bearing a note on a silver tray. In a brief, formal missive, Mirabella informed her husband that her return had been delayed, their reunion deferred for another sennight. She asked for his understanding. Sebastian scowled. His patience had already run out.
“I say,” said Basil breaking into his thoughts. “Isn’t that Cam’s friend, David Selwyn?”
Sebastian caught sight of his eldest brother’s longtime friend walking with a small group of people. “So it is.”
“I hear he is finally betrothed,” Basil said.
Selwyn’s rank did not match that of their brother, the Marquess of Camryn, but he made up for it with an obvious intelligence and a good-natured temperament. Not a particularly handsome man, Selwyn had a pleasant demeanor and took a great deal of care with his appearance and manners.
“Isn’t he betrothed to Bromley’s daughter?” Penrose asked.
Basil whistled. “Bromley? David Selwyn and the daughter of an earl? It’s a fine match.”
“He is not a born gentleman,” remarked Lady Hervey. “I understand the sister married a baron. Those commoners have done a fine job of marrying their betters.”
“Mr. Selwyn is a fine gentleman.” Sebastian did not care for Lady Hervey on account of her being both a snob and a gossip.
“It’s a match made in heaven. Selwyn’s flush in the pockets and Bromley’s got pockets to let,” said Pen.
Basil crossed his arms over his chest. “The perfect marriage. Bromley gets the blunt and Selwyn lands a lady above his station.”
Spotting them, Selwyn waved his friends onward and stepped toward their box. “Gentlemen.”
“Basil here tells us you’re about to get leg shackled,” Sebastian said after the introductions were made all around.
The other man nodded. “Yes, I’m fortunate Lady Florinda was gracious enough to accept my suit. And how are Camryn and his lovely marchioness?”
“They are well,” answered Basil. “They’ll be in town with the children soon enough. Charlotte isn’t one to rusticat
e for long periods of time.”
“Why, look,” said Penrose, watching people strolling by, “isn’t that the woman from Claymont’s library?”
Sebastian’s heart bucked. Following the direction of Pen’s gaze, he caught sight of her chatting animatedly with her companion. She wore a full-length cornflower-blue pelisse trimmed with steel-blue cording. The two of them strolled down the main walkway between the supper boxes at a leisurely pace, seeming to enjoy the amusements, pointing at something that caught their fancy. Irritation shot through Sebastian when he recognized her companion as the same cur who’d been with her at the opera. Orford. What else did they share while her addle-pated husband obviously sated his needs elsewhere?
“She’s lovely,” remarked Basil to Pen. “Who is she?”
Selwyn followed their gaze. “That’s Traherne’s daughter.”
“I beg your pardon?” gasped Pen.
“The Duke of Traherne’s daughter,” Selwyn said. “The one who inherits after her father’s passing. She’ll be the rarest of creatures, a duchess in her own right.”
“That’s Mirabella Wentworth?” Basil’s mouth gaped like a fish on a hook. “How can you be certain?”
“I met her at luncheon this afternoon. She’s a particular friend of my betrothed. They attended Miss Langdon’s School for Young Ladies together.” He glanced over at the woman with little real interest. “It’s no wonder you don’t recognize her. Lady Mirabella is known to few people in town. She grew up in the country and never had a season. The rumor is Traherne married her off as a child to settle a debt.”
Basil elbowed Sebastian. “She doesn’t look plain or fat to me.”
Sebastian barely heard him. The world tilted, upsetting all sense of balance and order. A volley of emotions bombarded him. Nothing made sense. And yet it made perfect sense.
He watched his wife through a fog of incredulity. His wife! When she stopped to exchange pleasantries with someone, giving a smile that was a bit too saucy to be polite, his every nerve ending swelled with euphoria.
“This,” he uttered after Selwyn left to rejoin his friends, “is most unexpected.”
