by Deb Marlowe
A walk around the ground floor rooms felt better, though, and she ended up in Hope’s favorite parlor, where the afternoon sun came in. She stared longingly out into the garden. Could she risk a quick turn through the blossoms, in the fresh air? Pressing her lips together, she decided she shouldn’t. In fact, she should go back up—
She paused, listening. What was that?
A faint, soft noise. Again. There, over by the settee. She crossed the room carefully, making sure her steps were quiet and slow. She thought she might know . . .
Another soft mew and yes, her suspicions were confirmed. Holding on to the back and bracing herself on her good knee, she peered behind the settee.
“Oh, Grumpet!” she sighed. “Look at what you’ve done, you darling girl.” The barn cat had obviously snuck into the house. She’d dragged a lap robe into the corner and now reclined upon it like royalty, with four lovely little kittens mewling around her.
“Oh, but why in Hope’s parlor?” There was a bit of a mess back there. “I saw the fine bed they set up for you in the stables.” But the grooms had warned her that Grumpet liked to sneak off when her time came upon her.
Glory carefully moved the settee just enough so that she could sit and reach down to lift up one of the sweet babies. “And a good day to you, pretty thing.” This one was grey and striped and not afraid at all. “Well, I’ll send word to the stables and we’ll have you and your mama and your siblings settled in a trice.” She set the darling down next to his mother. “The dairy has been waiting word of the blessed event, too, Grumpet. They’ll send down some lovely cream for you.”
They would need a basket large enough for all of the animals and some soft toweling. She added to the list as she stood and set off to find the housekeeper.
“Well, good afternoon.” Lord Keswick stood in the doorway. He bowed and grinned. “Here you are at last.”
Caught utterly by surprise, Glory froze.
“You are not talking to yourself, Lady Glory, are you? I seem to recall you giving me some grief over the idea when we first met.” He peered around inside the room, his dark hair strangely disheveled, but shining where the sun struck it. “You haven’t been helping yourself to Tensford’s brandy, have you?”
She raised her chin as her heart raced and her mind cast about for a way to escape. “I have not. Nor am I talking to myself.”
“Oh?” He looked around again. “To whom are you speaking, then?”
“Grumpet, if you must know.” Yes. If she could lure him over to look, then perhaps she could escape without him seeing . . .
“Who, or what, is a Grumpet?”
She gestured back toward the shifted furniture. “The barn cat. She sneaked in here to have her litter. The kittens are darling. Would you care to see?”
“Yes.” He straightened, interest flaring. “I have a soft spot for cats. They are so independent. And occasionally disdainful and downright snobbish.”
“Just behind the settee,” she said, making a careful turn.
He strode by her and she began to walk toward the door, as swiftly as she could. Almost there. She’d done it. She’d made her escape—
“What have you done to your leg?” he asked casually.
She knew the question didn’t truly echo through the room like the reverberation of a gong. But she felt the shuddering aftermath of it up and down her spine, nonetheless.
It was an innocent question.
It didn’t feel like it.
She had to answer, but her brow had furrowed and her shoulders hunched as if all the pain of the pitying, judgmental or disdainful reactions she’d ever suffered was about to descend upon her.
Suddenly, she straightened. Shook her head and threw her shoulders back. This was not who she was—a girl who cowered and hid. It never had been. If misery came, she would bear it. She was done hiding.
Still, hope squeezed her heart as she turned to face him. “It’s an old injury,” she said, cursing inwardly at the tightness of her voice. “It happened when I was a child. The damage to my leg is permanent.”
He looked up, distracted from the kitten he was holding.
Chin held high, she took a limping step toward him.
His gaze ran down the length of her and then back to the kitten. “Oh. Sorry to hear it. I suppose that explains why you love riding so much, doesn’t it?” He sounded perfectly matter of fact. “So much easier to get around—especially with a seat like yours.” He glanced up and beckoned her. “Come and sit and enjoy them for a moment before you run off and tattle on poor Grumpet.”
Stunned, she went and sat near him.
“Why Grumpet?” he asked.
She blinked, still not sure what had just happened.
Nothing. Nothing had happened.
She had revealed her secret to this large, striking man, with his coat molded across his broad shoulders and his big hands full of purring kitten, and his reaction had been . . . negligible.
“Did you name her?”
“Ah, no. She’s a cranky soul. She loves the horses, but despises the stable hands and grooms. Tensford’s personal groom is a Scotsman and he’s the only one who can get close to her. He scratches her ears and calls her a ‘wee grumpet’ and the name stuck.”
“A good name, then. Though she’s not objecting to me.”
“No, she isn’t.” Tiny smile lines appeared at the corners of his eyes as he laughed at the kitten. And neither am I.
“Well, she does need to go back to the stable, doesn’t she?” He pulled a face as he glanced back into the corner. “Even if only so someone can clean up after her. Do you have a basket large enough to carry them all out? I’ll help you get her home.”
“I’ll fetch one from the housekeeper.”
“Fine. I’ll wait here.” He grinned at her over the kitten’s tiny face. “And don’t feel as if you need to hurry on my account. I’m perfectly happy right here.”
* * *
An hour later they walked back together from the stables. He carried the basket and had shortened his stride to match hers. When they reached the gate that led to Hope’s garden, he paused.
“Do we have time to sit a moment, do you think?” he asked.
She flinched. Was this it? Had he merely delayed his reaction until their task was done? Was he going to be one of those who acted over-concerned and coddled her like a babe in swaddling blankets? “If you are asking because you think I need to rest, there’s no need.”
It came out sharper than she had meant it to.
He raised a brow at her.
She glared back.
He sucked in a breath and blew it out. “I haven’t noticed any grooms carrying you about or anyone pushing you in a Merlin chair. I have seen you ride. Enough to know that you must do a great deal of it. All of this makes me assume you are quite willing, able and experienced at walking back and forth between the house and the stables.” He waved a hand toward the house. “Go on if you like. Your sister’s garden is lovely. I just thought I’d like to sit there with a pretty girl for a moment. But you must do as you see fit.”
A pretty girl? A flush of pleasure mixed with her embarrassment. “I . . . I am sorry. I shouldn’t be so defensive.”
Relenting, he offered his arm. “Come, then.”
They strolled among the blooms until they came to a bench. She sat and tried to control her pulse as he stretched out next to her, his elbows on the back and his legs sprawled out next to the basket into the garden path.
“How did it happen?” he asked with a nod toward her skirts.
Her mouth twisted. “Trampled by a horse, believe it or not.”
His eyes widened. “No! Truly?”
“My father’s stallion. He was skittish. Temperamental. I’d been warned a hundred times to leave him be, to never go near him.” She shrugged. “I suppose I’ve always had a willful streak.”
“You must have put it to good use, to brave riding again, afterward—and to have mastered it so completely
.”
“I was determined. But it took me a while to get there. The doctors told my family I’d likely never walk again. I had to fight to prove them wrong about that before I could head back to the stables.”
“That stubborn streak must be a mile wide,” he said almost admiringly.
She laughed. “You are the first to make it sound like a virtue.”
“I suppose you see that sort of reaction often, then? Others trying to treat you like a perpetual invalid?”
“A fair bit. It’s frustrating. But I suppose it’s far preferable to being looked at with disdain or disgust.”
He sat up straighter. “Over a bit of a limp?”
“To be fair, it is more than bit of a limp. But I don’t know why so many have such difficulty with it. Women are often condescending—as if it is a judgment upon me and I somehow deserve to be lame. Men are more likely to be repulsed. Or to shake their heads in pity. One of my father’s friends used to say, ‘Such a shameful waste.’ every time he saw me, as if my damaged leg somehow negated every other aspect of my person and situation.”
He was sitting straight up now and frowning down on her. “The bounder!”
She shrugged. “Yes, well . . .”
“It’s ridiculous.” He cast a twisted grin sideways at her. “Disdainful and snobbish is only ever acceptable in cats.” He shook his head. “We all have wounds and scars.” A dark laugh escaped him. “Your leg would have to be attached backwards to match some of the hidden injuries I carry around.”
With a sudden start, he twisted on the bench to look at her. “Hold a moment. Is that why you’ve been in hiding? Because you believed that I would judge you as harshly? That I would react to your injury in such a fashion?”
“I . . .” Her mouth hung open a little. He looked shocked . . . angry . . . and growing more so by the second.
“After we met while I was hip deep in swamp muck? After we spent a pleasant day riding out across the estate? Did I give you reason to suspect that I might act so . . . disrespectfully toward you?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Then I must assume you’ve heard some of the more vile rumors about me—and have chosen to believe them.” He stood, his square jaw tight and his expression closed. “I regret if I should have given you reason to do so.” He gave a stiff bow. “If you will make my apologies to your sister? I believe I will dine in the village tonight.”
“My lord!” She reached out and gripped his arm. “Please, wait.”
He leaned down and spoke through his teeth. “I find myself a fool, Lady Glory, for believing you to be different than so many others.”
A barbed insult. Sharp too, for she registered the pain of it past her awareness of his looming muscular frame and the bounding of her heart.
He glanced down and sneered. “Your leg is nothing. Perhaps you think it sets you apart, but it is the rest of you that is so sadly similar to everyone else.”
She stood but he scooped up the basket and strode off, moving rapidly. “Lord Keswick, please!”
But he didn’t turn or even pause. She could never catch him. Slumping back down onto the bench, she covered her face with her hands.
She was an idiot! As the sun sank lower, she cursed herself. He was right to be offended. She’d acted no better than all of those who had misjudged her. She’d expected the worst without giving him a chance to prove her wrong.
Shadows stretched across the garden and the first stars had begun to wink in the sky before Hope finally found her, still on the bench.
“There you are. I hadn’t expected you to come down to dinner, but then I heard you weren’t in your rooms either. Is something amiss?”
“Only me. Again.”
Hope sat down next to her. “Is it Lord Keswick? He . . . saw you?”
“Yes.”
“And his reaction?” she asked gingerly.
“Everything one could hope for. He acted as if it were nothing.”
Even in the dim light, she saw the relief spread across her sister’s face. “Oh, good for him! I had hoped he would.” She raised her brows. “You know, perhaps seeing him first out riding was a good idea. He got to know other things about you first.”
“Yes, but he deduced that I expected him to act badly. He was insulted.”
“Oh.” Hope sighed. “Yes. I can see that.”
“I owe him an apology, Hope.” She raised her brows at her sister. “And I think I know how to deliver it.”
Chapter 5
Keswick came down late to breakfast the next morning and dined in sulky, solitary splendor. The earl and his countess were off, preparing for further guests and being productive and happy, no doubt. The sister was likely hiding again, or plotting further insult, or perhaps just lurking about thinking evil thoughts about him.
He nursed a cup of coffee and thought about returning to London. He’d lost his taste for the country. Or perhaps, just for country girls. Surely he could avoid Miss Vernon for what was left of the Season?
A footman entered, carrying a small silver tray. He stopped next to Keswick’s chair.
“This came in the post for you, sir.”
With a nod of thanks, he took the letter. Grinning, he noticed Chester’s seal on the back and opened it up.
Kes,
I do hope Tensford is not boring you past tears with cows, crops and fossils. Strike that—I highly suspect he is—but even so, I dash this note off to tell you that you’ve done the right thing.
That Vernon Girl is a menace.
The damned chit has got a maggot in her brain that your trip to Gloucestershire is a sham. She believes you are still in London and just attempting to avoid her. She’s begun haunting your usual spots, driving past your rooms and club several times a day. She spent an entire afternoon lying in wait outside of Angelo’s and I swear, I saw her carriage parked down the street from the gaming hell we left early this morning.
She’s hunting you, old boy, and if she catches you, she’s going to stick the steel pin of matrimony through your gullet like one of those simpering butterfly collectors and mount you on her wall.
And if she ain’t enough to keep you inured in the country, I heard last evening that your father has come to Town.
So, even if farm life has numbed your brainbox and has you thinking of returning—don’t do it, man. Better to stay where you are.
Give Tensford a good smack and tell him it’s from me . . .
Yrs . . .
Chester
Keswick dropped the letter like it burned. Good heavens, what had he done to deserve the attention of a harpy like Alice Vernon? He winced, then, at the absurdity of the question. What hadn’t he done? Nonetheless, he wasn’t going to give in to her, no matter how richly he deserved her. And his father? He shuddered. Nothing he’d done, no matter how wicked, could demand a visit with his father to balance the scales.
No, Chester was right. He could far better stay here and tolerate insults and boredom.
Scratch that. Boredom, he discovered as he left the dining room, was not on the menu today.
Lady Glory lay in wait for him. She sat on a bench in the entry hall, a young gentleman standing nearby. The young man held his hat in hand and looked to be attempting a conversation, but she was watching the doorway through which Keswick emerged.
“Lord Keswick,” she called, as soon as she spotted him. “Come and meet Mr. Lycett.”
He approached and she made the introductions. “Mr. Lycett is the squire’s nephew. He’s visiting over at Stroud Hall and will be joining us, along with his family, for some of the house party entertainments.”
“It is very kind of you to include me,” the young man said, watching her closely.
“Not at all. It’s all Hope’s doing. She’ll be so sorry she wasn’t here to offer you tea this morning.” She smiled, but seemed a bit tense. “Mr. Lycett made a delivery for us this morning.” She gave him a nod. “And I do thank you for it, sir. You are very kind to see to it yo
urself.”
“It was my pleasure. In fact, as soon as I heard it was your request, I told my uncle I would fulfill it myself.”
“We must thank you for your attention,” she answered. “It is very much appreciated.”
The man bowed and waited an awkward moment, but she offered no further comment.
“Well, then. I’ll be off.” Mr. Lycett gave up at last. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord.” The young man made his bow and reached for Lady Glory’s hand, as if he was going to kiss it. She grasped his hand instead and gave it a good shake. “Good day, sir. And thank you. We will see you soon.”
“Good day. I look forward to it.”
She waited until he was gone from the hall before she stood and took a step forward. “I owe you an apology, Lord Keswick,” she said directly.
She did, by God. His pride still smarted. He waited. And examined the plain but sturdy habit she wore today. It wasn’t as bright and pretty as the sprigged muslin she’d worn yesterday, but it looked comfortable—and the dark fawn color brought out the amber in her eyes. It suited her.
“I was wrong to make assumptions about your response to my lameness—and thus to your character. I do offer my sincerest regrets.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
“And to prove the depth of my sincerity, I offer a diversion.”
“Even better,” he said with approval. “What did you have in mind?”
“Ride out with me?” She led him to the door and gestured outside. Mr. Lycett was gone, but her mare waited in front of the house, along with a splendid, sturdy looking chestnut.
“I begged the use of the squire’s gelding a tad early,” she said. “That’s the delivery Mr. Lycett spoke of. He’s a prime goer. You’ll love him.”
