by Deb Marlowe
“Well, that was always going to be the case.” She grinned at him while an idea bloomed in her head. He’d suffered enough. He’d fought alone, long enough. He deserved a bit of support. He deserved a bit of a win.
And it was going to start with her.
Chapter 18
Keswick came down early to breakfast the next morning, determined to be done with it and in hiding before his father could show up from the village.
He sat down with a plate from the sideboard and nodded a good morning to Hope.
“Good morning, Kes,” she said warmly. “Here’s fresh tea for you.”
He smiled his thanks as a footman entered with a fresh pot—but the expression died away as Miss Vernon followed on the servant’s heels.
“Miss Vernon!” The countess appeared to be surprised. “Were we expecting you so early, today?”
“Is Miss Parscate not down yet?” the girl asked innocently. She carried a stack of ladies magazines in her arm. “We were going to go over new hairstyles for the ball this evening.”
“She retired a bit late last evening,” Mr. Sommers said. “A group of us spent too long discussing the pleasures to be had in London’s Season.”
Miss Vernon cast a glance at Keswick, but he had picked up an abandoned newspaper and pretended not to notice.
“I have not seen her this morning,” Hope answered, “but do come in and sit down. Have you breakfasted yet?” She waved for the footman to bring the girl a cup of tea.
“I wouldn’t refuse a bit of tea and toast, thank you.”
“Well, we haven’t any amusements planned for today. Most of the guests expect to spend a quiet day in preparation for dinner and the ball this evening, but I’m sure Miss Parscate will be down directly.”
“What of your sister, my lady? I daresay she must be interested in learning some of the newest, fashionable hairstyles. Is she available to spend the morning with us?”
Hope blinked at the girl a moment. Keswick felt sure she was trying to decide if Miss Vernon meant to be insulting. He could have told her that the girl absolutely did.
“How kind.” The countess had clearly decided not to waste time arguing with her uninvited guest. “Glory is not available, I’m afraid. She left early this morning. She’s riding to Brockweir to visit the saddler.”
Again, Keswick pretended not to be attending. But he was.
“The saddler?” Miss Vernon sounded incredulous. “On the day of your ball?”
“That’s our Glory,” Tensford chuckled. “She is a serious rider. She takes exceptional care of her mount and her equipment. Her saddles are specially designed.”
“How . . . unusual.”
“It doesn’t seem so, when you see her ride. I’ve never seen anyone with a better seat.” Keswick knew better than to speak up, but he could not bear to let the nasty creature get the last word on Glory.
“It’s true,” Tensford said cheerfully.
“She will be back this afternoon, in plenty of time to prepare for the evening.” The countess stood and the men did as well. “My preparations for the day begin now, however. I’ll bid you all a good morning.”
Miss Vernon turned a calculating smile in his direction.
“I will try to stay out of your way, my lady, and perhaps take a walk in the gardens while I await Miss Parscate. That is, if you will accompany me, Lord Keswick?”
Tensford set down his coffee. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Miss Vernon, but I’ve already claimed Kes for the day.”
Keswick nodded and tried to look like he knew what his friend was talking about.
“There’s a good bit of work to be done on my specimen before Mr. Simon, from the British Museum, arrives later today. I’ll need Keswick’s help to finish in time.”
“I’ve rearranged the seating for dinner, so be sure to ask Mr. Simon to join us,” Hope told him.
Tensford kissed her, right there in front of everyone. “Thank you, my dear.”
Keswick took a last sip of tea. “I’m ready when you are,” he told Tensford. He nodded to the rest of the table. “Until dinner and the ball, then.”
“What?” Miss Vernon stiffened in her chair. “Surely you’ll return for nuncheon?”
Hope looked at her, somewhat exasperated, but Tensford merely shook his head. “Very sorry. We’ll be working through, to get done in time.”
“I’ll have cook send out a tray of sandwiches.” Hope cast a cool look at Miss Vernon and departed.
Keswick and Tensford followed her out and set out for the workshop.
“She’s persistent, that one,” Tensford said over the crunch of gravel.
“You see why I imposed myself upon you, days early,” Keswick said. “She ran me right out of London.”
“Who would have thought she’d follow you out here?” Tensford opened the workshop door and nodded to the footman sitting inside. “Thank you, James. We’ll be here for the rest of the day. And I’m sure my wife will have a list of duties for you to help her with.”
The footman bowed and left while Keswick stared at his friend. “You’ve set a guard?”
His friend shrugged. “Perhaps it’s foolish. I just can’t get that fishtail out of my head. It’s bothered me for years, and I can’t bear the thought of this one disappearing.”
“I had no idea naturalists were such a nasty bunch.”
“Yes, well, I had no idea debutantes were such an incessantly persistent breed.” Tensford sent a warning look his way. “You might have to do something drastic to dislodge this one, at this point.”
“If you have any good notions on how to accomplish it, I’d love to hear them. I need to get rid of her quickly—especially as she’s somehow convinced my father to push her cause.”
Tensford looked truly horrified. “If your father likes her, she must be worse than I already thought.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“No wonder you wished to bolt back to London. I do appreciate your staying, all the more. Mr. Simon seems very interested in hearing just how you three found this lovely piece.” He ran a hand along the large fossil. “I suspect he is thrilled at the prospect of attaching your name to it.”
“A bit of notoriety to sell tickets?” Keswick rolled his eyes. “See the fossil accidentally exposed by London’s famous rakehell! Does he really think that will work?”
“Evidently. I hope you won’t mind. I also suspect it has something to do with the surprisingly high price he’s willing to pay—and I admit, it’s a bit of a sop to my pride, getting it.”
“Tired of spending Hope’s money, are you?” He tossed his friend a grin to ease the sting of the question.
“Not precisely. I’m not too proud to spend it, in order to restore Greystone and help our people, but well . . .”
“I understand. It will be nice to get a bit of your own back. And in support of such a cause, I’m happy to let my name be bandied about with this old thing.”
“Good.” Tensford picked up a brush. “Will you check the varnish on the framing pieces, to be sure they have dried? And I think we’ll need some shim pieces, if you wouldn’t mind cutting a few varied sizes from those strips of thin wood?”
They got to work and had been at it thirty minutes or so before the workshop door opened. Miss Vernon stuck her head in. “Oh!” she said. “Here you both are.”
Keswick just stared at her, but Tensford gave her knowing smile. “Indeed. Just where I said we would be.” He waved a hand over the large stone piece. “Are you interested in fossils? I would be glad to tell you all about—”
“No, thank you,” she interrupted. “I thought I would check to see if you might be done early, but I can see that . . . you won’t.” She started to withdraw. “Good day!”
“That’s one,” Tensford said, after going to the door and checking to see that she’d hurried away.
“One what?” Keswick asked with a shudder. “Don’t tell me there are more to follow?”
“Just wait.”
An hour later, they were maneuvering the first corner of the frame into place, coming at it from different directions, when the door opened again. Keswick started when his father stepped in.
Tensford repeated the same offer, but this time his father took him up on it. Keswick kept working while his friend showed the older earl around, telling him about all the different sorts of fossils that had been found on the estate and why the newest find was special.
Keswick felt his father’s gaze fall on him more than once as they spoke, but the old man never spoke to him. When Tensford had talked himself out, the earl stood, staring at his son.
“And you say the museum’s man will be at dinner this evening? And at the ball?” Braunton asked.
“He will. He wishes particularly to speak to Kes and the young ladies who were responsible for the find.”
His father nodded. Keswick kept working.
“I do thank you for my own invitation.”
“Of course.” Tensford glanced at Keswick as he answered.
“I shall speak with you this evening, then.” His father spoke to him directly. “We have matters to attend to.”
Keswick glanced up and managed a small nod.
His father gave him another long look, then took his leave.
“And that is two.” Tensford shook his head. “Damned if she wasn’t right.”
“She?”
“Glory. She said that those two would come in to check up on you. And now that they have, I am to give you your instructions.”
He said nothing. He felt odd at the mention of her. Raw. She knew. She’d peeled away his armor and seen the ugly truth inside. No one else knew the full story, not Tensford or Sterne or Chester or Whiddon. He didn’t know how to act with his secrets abroad in the world instead of tucked safely away.
“Kes?”
“Instructions?” he asked hoarsely.
“She wants you to saddle up your horse and ride out to meet her—at the height. She seemed to think you would know what that meant.”
He did. And his heart pounded in anticipation and trepidation.
“She has something for you. She wanted to give it to you before this evening, and before you left to return to London with the rest of the party.”
He thought about it. He’d spent years shaping his life so that he didn’t feel vulnerable, would never feel that way again. She did that to him. But she also made him feel connected and strong and whole. He thought about seeing her tonight at the ball, surrounded by strangers and foes. He thought about saying goodbye to her as a mere acquaintance, practically a stranger, and never seeing her alone again, in a place where they could laugh and he could tease and share real conversation and feel utterly safe just being himself.
He eyed the half-finished framing. But he knew.
“I can finish this up.” Tensford drew close and put a hand on his shoulder. “But Kes? I ask you to be . . . gentle with her. She sees the spot you are in.”
If only he knew how true that was.
“She’s exactly the sort to offer to help with drastic measures. If you allow it, I fear she won’t escape unscathed. She’s fragile, you see.”
Keswick drew a deep breath and looked his friend in the eye. “I’ve been honest with her from the start, I vow it. The last thing I want is to hurt her. But Tensford? You all need to blink and step back and really look at Glory. Perhaps bits of her are fragile. But for the most part? She’s brave and loyal and strong and she’s got a core of steel. It’s time you all saw it.”
And with a nod and a smile and a reassuring clap on the back, Keswick walked out, heading for the stable.
* * *
He’d just left the thinning trail and turned onto the fern-thick track when he saw the first one. The bright red bow caught his attention. Dismounting, he plucked a carved, wooden horse from a fork in a tree. It was painted a sorrel color and sported a tag, along with the ribbon.
I hope this brings only good memories of Saoirse.
He felt a twang in his chest and knew suddenly why people spoke of heartstrings. Glory had surely just plucked one of his.
He became suspicious when he found the second parcel—a small picnic basket—sitting in the bottom of the dip before the steep climb. It contained a dish of sausages, another of colcannon and—
“Brown bread,” he said out loud in amazement, and wondered how she’d remembered—and how she’d convinced cook to make it.
He knew for sure what she was up to when he reached the top of the first rise and found a small basket full of India rubber balls—and it made him laugh out loud. He was still chuckling when he crested the second hill and looked down into the glen—and saw her waiting, standing on the fairy stage.
His grin faded. He tethered his job horse next to Poppy and walked slowly down the slope. She stood in the middle of the makeshift stage, dressed in a light and gauzy gown of green and wearing a garland cleverly woven of branches and vines. She gave him a tight-lipped grin and he could see her nerves in the twisting of her fingers.
He took a step forward, concerned, but she held up a hand. “I sincerely hope you don’t mind my presumption. I mean only to try to make up for a few of those missed birthdays.”
“It does. It was a kind notion.”
She gestured around the stage. “This is the last present—but I ask that you do not say anything, not yet. Not another word. Just sit.” She nodded toward the logs sitting in the appropriate, audience position. “I mean to do this, but you cannot speak until it is done.”
He held silent and took a seat. She watched, her anxiety clear, and he only gave her an encouraging nod.
Their eyes held for a long moment. Suddenly, her back straightened and she nodded back. She took a couple of steps to the right, then stood for a second, head bowed toward the center of the stage. She looked up—and transformed into . . . something else.
It was Puck’s verse, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The one where he calls himself the merry wanderer of the night and talks of the nonsense he gets up to for Oberon. She gave it her all. She held nothing back while she forgot herself and became the mischievous sprite, bragging of her misdeeds and pretending to be a horse and then a crab, and falling off of a stool and laughing until her sides split.
He couldn’t look away. She was magic, come to life in this fairy glen. And when it was over, he stood up. He gazed at her in wonder, still silent for a time, before he began clapping and nodding like a fool. “That was—” He couldn’t find the words. “No one has ever . . . That was the finest gift I’ve ever received. I feel so honored.”
He wished he could say what was truly in his heart and mind. She’d trusted him, as he’d trusted her. She’d given him a piece of herself. She had understood how vulnerable he felt and had again moved to even the balance between them. To ensure their equality and their mutual ease and comfort.
“Thank you,” he finished simply.
She came forward and held out her hands. He moved to the edge of the stage and lifted her down. Unwisely, he didn’t step away, but held her close and looked down into her cognac gaze.
“I should thank you,” she whispered. “You’ve changed me, Keswick.”
That sent his shoulders up, but she reached up and ran both hands over them, as if soothing all of his misgivings.
“You made me see things differently,” she continued. “You’ve made me want things I refused to consider before.” She shrugged up at him. “You inspire me, Keswick.”
His skepticism must have shown.
“It’s true.” Her grin grew a bit twisted. “I should be dizzy with the transformation you’ve wrought upon me, in so little time. When you arrived, I was closed and wary. Then I was . . . hopeful. Then you made me laugh, you made me think, you listened and you made it easy to talk—both to you and to others. I began to see that I am not the only one with burdens. It seems everyone has them, but the heft and shape of them vary. And now . . .”
She paused and his gu
t twisted in anticipation of what she must think, now that she knew the darkest bits of his life—and of his soul.
Both of her hands came to rest against his chest. “I see that despite the terrible weights that your father continues to lay upon you, it’s your mother’s legacy that continues on in you.”
His heart stopped beating. He wondered, vaguely, if she could hear instead, the surely audible sound of all of his internal armor cracking.
“You are a shining light, Keswick, despite your efforts to hide it from your father and the rest of the world. I see it. I want to be like you. I want to start by shining my light upon the person I find most deserving. You.”
Reaching up, she trailed a finger along his jaw. “I’m using the courage that you helped me to find, to ask for what I want—to give us both the present we need. Each other. Even if is it only for today.”
Everything inside of him reeled. He reached for strength, for balance. But he was tired. So very tired of convincing himself that he didn’t need anyone. Tired of clutching his armor close and moving through the world alone. Tired of knowing he shouldn’t want her, though he did, so damned much.
Her sweet, kindly meant words tore up his innards because he was tired of not being known.
And her earnest, hopeful smile told him he wasn’t, not any longer.
So, he let go.
He let go of caution and guardedness and suspicion—and all the strings that held his armor together—and it shattered, fell to pieces at his feet.
And, metaphorically naked, he leaned down and kissed her.
With soft, but scorching kisses, they plundered each other’s mouths. After a moment, she pulled back to drag in a long, shuddering breath. He used the moment to savor the shock of pleasure coursing though him, and to rejoice that he did not have to push it away.
Feeling almost joyful, he kissed her again. She was everything hot and sweet. A drug that called to him, that demanded his tongue to dance with hers, that each stroke and twining should send desire cascading through his veins, that each should set his cock to stirring and reaching for her.
