Did she?
Danger lay there.
If he wished to proclaim continuing affection for her, she dare not welcome it. Dare not accept it.
But the past she'd shared with him, brief though it was, had been exciting. Soothing. Carefree.
She'd not experienced any emotion to compare. Not with any man she'd met since. And she'd met many, purposely, deliberately trying to elicit the serenity of shared pleasures like poetry.
And she found no equal to him.
Was he the same man? Tried by war. Tested by emotional losses of a deceased father and a dead wife. Tempered by physical pain and infirmity.
Was she the same woman? Tried by losses of deceased father and brother. Loss of home and hearth, friends and good family name. Tempered by the discovery that to work for others, to teach children, was a boon to her self-worth. A blessing to her poor abused pride.
She should allow a renewal of their friendship. Partly because that was good manners. He'd come so far, made such an effort to see her that he deserved a polite reception. More, she could not offer, nor should she even predict.
She would be kind, but cautious. And if she allowed him more, she would be watchful, wary of the tenderness of her heart.
And here in the sanctuary of her own rooms, she could revel in his gift.
She crushed the letter to her chest, smiling at the moon. And in that moment her heart swelled and she drifted in the euphoria of how dearly she had once loved him.
Chapter 5
Del closed the door to Marjorie's bedroom chamber. She should have known better than to try to catch her this early. It was after eight o'clock and Marjorie had always risen before either Bee or her. Seeking some sisterly comfort after last night's rousing challenges, she hoped Marjorie might be in Bee's rooms. She hurried along the hall.
Their lady's maid Mary let her in. Del took the opportunity to grin at the servant. "We'll talk later, Mary."
"Miss?" She blinked, her innocence a thin shield.
Del chuckled. "No need to pretend, Mary. I know what you did. I'd love to hear later how you managed it, but I do love the book."
"Oh, oh, that’s good." She bit her lip and curtsied. "Thank you, Miss."
Del hurried into Bee's dressing room.
Her sister was still in her morning dress, stepping into her shoes.
"How are you this morning?" Del asked her, searching her pale face for clues to her feelings.
"As surprised as you, I think. Alastair has had quite a time recovering from a strange loss of memory. He was left for dead on the battlefield. Can you believe it?"
Del shook her head. "I cannot imagine what courage it takes to face a host of others with weapons drawn. Or to survive wounds."
"Nor I. But he looks wonderful. Rather I should say, he looks as healthy as a soldier can be who was robbed of his name and all memories."
"This is terrible." Del took Bee's hands. "How on earth did he recover?"
"Time. Care. Friends. I'm not certain of many details as he wished to discuss something else."
"Marriage?" Del asked with a smile.
Bee nodded. "And you? You are just as surprised by Bromley's appearance."
"I am." She'd fallen asleep with Neville's gift clutched to her chest. When she'd awakened, the first thing she did was open the book to read a few passages. But she'd refused to cry. Last night, she'd thrilled to his sweet gift and his charmingly original sentiment. This morning, she needed to be more careful of her heart.
A knock sounded on Bee's sitting room door and Mary hurried to answer it.
Marjorie strode in, halted and put her hands on her hips. "We must be in the midst of an epidemic. You both look as if the world fell on you."
"It has," said Delphine with a toss of her long platinum curls over her shoulders. "Bromley here is such a shock."
Bee strolled to her dress form where her new outfit for the day hung. Fingering the neckline of the royal blue wool gown, she shook her head. "Alastair, too."
"But isn't that what you wanted? Bee? For him to be alive?"
"Without question. But he wants much now that he's here."
Marjorie turned to Del. "And what of you, Del? Bromley wouldn't be here if he weren't invested in making up for the past."
"What if I don't want him to?" Delphine asked, conflicted, suppressing tears. "He's free, a widower, but—he's changed."
"If he's changed in a good way, if he wants you, and I doubt he'd be here if he—"
Bee shook her head. "What of Griff? You don't seem especially thrilled to see him."
"I am. Of course I am. But he's irritable. Interfering."
Bee widened her blue eyes. "With what?"
Marjorie shrugged and sank onto Bee's little dressing table chair. "My plans."
"With Riverdale?" Bee asked pointedly.
"No. I mean—" She frowned at them. "Well, yes."
"I like Riverdale," Del announced in truth. The lord, long considered a rake, was handsome and entertaining company. "When you're finished with him, Marjorie, I will take him."
"What of Eliza?" Marjorie's anger shown through. "She might like him. Give him a chance."
Del wouldn't let Marjorie change the subject. "You mean after you get finished picking his purse?"
Marjorie sniffed. "I play fairly."
"Do you?" Bee asked.
Marjorie straightened. "I am insulted. If anyone loses to me, I can take their money as well as the next woman."
Bee narrowed her gaze. "Don't get greedy, Marjorie."
"And you?" Marjorie shot back. "You mustn't become downhearted and do anything foolish."
Del glanced from one to the other. Was Bee intending something she didn't know about? She folded her arms and worried that Marjorie might guess that she herself would apply for a teaching position if the three of them needed to earn their keep. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing." Marjorie's purple eyes glistened with tears. "I'll leave you to your breakfast."
Del caught her arm. "Don't be mad at us."
Bee stiffened, her complexion gone white with dismay. "I won't marry a man who'd be shamed by me."
Del stepped backward. She would not be easily persuaded to marry, especially not to Neville Vaughn. "I won't marry a man who tricked me."
"Pride offers cold comfort even on a summer night," Marjorie reminded them.
Bee took a step forward, sorrow in her gaze. "You do things for pride."
Oh, fie! Del wanted to cry. The only people she'd ever counted on had been her two sisters. Whenever they argued, rare as it was, she panicked. "Marjorie, we wouldn't leave you."
Marjorie nodded, but she scowled at them. Raising both hands, she halted their conversation. "I'll see you outside at eleven."
"You did well last night," Neville smiled at his valet, Farnsworth. The man helped him into his newest frock coat, one of his new London acquisitions from his tailor.
"Lady Goddard's maid found me in the servants hall and told me what to do." Farnsworth used a valet's brush to make pristine the chocolate wool across Neville's shoulders. "Miss Delphine's maid was quick to agree."
"Superb. We will do the same tonight."
Farnsworth shot him a grin. "As you wish, sir."
"Enjoy your day, Farnsworth. I see no need to change until supper. My cape, if you will?"
His man took from the wardrobe Neville's new black wool walking cape that his tailor had ornamented with dark brown Hussar braid closures. Smart and clean. Neville enjoyed being out of the muck of battlefields, the grime and blood that worked indelibly into the fabric of a fighting man's clothes and the pit of his mind.
"Fits you precisely, sir. Miss Craymore will be impressed."
"May you be right, Farnsworth." With that, he picked up his gloves, hat and cane and took the stairs as quickly as he could.
Outside, others milled about. Trevelyan, a gentleman whom he'd met only last night, and the Marquess of Tain stood near the steps in close conversation when Penn jo
ined them. Neville grinned when he saw how Penn regarded Tain. That consideration was one he'd seen before. She wished a better acquaintance with the man. Much better. Perhaps Penn's natural inclination was to pursue her interest despite her past and Tain's seeming disinterest in marriage. This house party might see more wed than just the three Craymore sisters.
He laughed and looked round. In the far field, he spotted Delphine, her curvaceous figure in emerald green trimmed at collar and cuffs in red fox. She conferred with a few Marsden servants as they set up the refreshment tents for the greenery cutting party. Though other guests waited for carriages to take them out toward the copse, he decided to walk. The terrain might be uneven and a challenge for a man of his limited abilities, but chances were the grounds of the Marsden estate were less hazardous in every way than striking across any field in Europe. Here, there would definitely be no holes from cannon balls, no unexploded ordinance nor any poor soul's bones ground into the earth.
Del saw him coming, stopped her discussion with a footman and waited for him. "Good morning. You look wonderful, sir, in your civilian attire. New?"
She seemed bright as the morning sun and happy to see him. A victory, small but he'd take it. "Costly, too."
"The very best should always command the highest price."
He snorted. "If it lasts forever, the investment is well met."
"And if it has the desired effect?" She arched a long blonde brow, teasing him as she once did long ago for his sartorial splendor.
"Does it?" He extended one arm to show off his attire.
"Indeed, sir. You are every inch the gentleman."
His face fell, her compliment dear to him. "I hope so, Del. I wish to be for you."
She stared at his feet, then at the refreshment tent. "Do you care for a brandy? Tea?"
"Not just yet, no. I left breakfast only an hour ago. I hoped I'd find you there."
"I took mine in my rooms. Much to do, you see. And…Neville?"
He cocked his head.
"Your gift was a fine sentiment. Thank you."
"You are most welcome, Del. I wanted it to be a present you would use again and again."
"That it will be. You know me well."
He stepped forward, now so near her that he could inhale her lavender fragrance. His head spun. Her essence, heady and soothing. "I think so, yes. The very element that made us a unique match."
"Few like the play on words as you and I do. Your note was sweet."
"It was what I recalled best when I rested from battle or prepared for the next."
Her pale blue eyes turned hard and inquisitive. "Why would you think of love poetry at such times?"
He could have been affronted or alarmed that she did not understand him. Had it been that long that she did not remember who and what they were to each other? "The sweetness of what we meant to each other reminded me always of what I fought for."
She blinked.
He narrowed his eyes on her, understanding that she fought for clarity. "You were the one I wished to protect. The one whose life I wished to preserve with my service to my country."
"Not your…?"
Wife? "No. Only you."
Shaking, she searched his eyes. "How can that be?" she whispered.
"One does not choose who one loves."
She nodded. "Yes, of course. I thank you for the compliment."
"Not compliment. Truth," he said and offered her the only justification that sprang to mind, a few lines by Christopher Marlowe. "'It lies not in our power to love or hate, For will in us is overruled by fate.'"
She drew herself up, wildly searching the field for logic or escape. "Please don't bring up the past, sir."
Desperate to stay, hoping she'd not dismiss him, he asked, "Shall I instead speak of the weather?"
She burst out in a laugh. "Why not?"
The sight of her happy rocked him to his core. It's how he always wished to see her. He'd not roil her but try to remain near her. "May I help you here?"
"No, thank you. I am finished. We await the guests to do their duty and cut enough greenery to make their fingers raw."
He chuckled. "Afterward, they'll drink enough brandy to heal all their wounds."
"And later lull them to their rooms for a nap! Come sit?" She turned aside to indicate the way to chairs set up before the table laden with lines and cutlery, china and crystal.
"Only if you will sit with me."
"Oh, Neville, that is dangerous."
"I promise not to pounce."
"Or do rhyming."
"Or do rhyming," he agreed and winked at her.
She blushed.
A good sign he could once more thrill her.
She shook her head. "On the contrary, I will not stay for the greenery."
"No? Why not?"
"I've an errand I must do in town."
"Well, then, I will come with you."
"Oh, that's not necessary. And you will be missed here."
"By whom? I wish to be missed only by you and if you go without me, what is my purpose here?"
"You are persistent," she said feigning a frown.
He leaned forward on his cane and confided, "It's how I helped to win the war."
She smiled at the sky. "Come then. My maid Mary will accompany us. You know my Mary, I do believe." She tossed him a teasing look.
"Actually, it is my valet who was introduced to her by Lady Goddard's maid."
"How industrious of them."
"I thought so myself," Neville said with wide and innocent eyes.
"You would, you devil." She picked up her skirts with one hand and looped her other hand through his arm. "Come along. We must hurry before tea is served in the orphanage."
Chapter 6
One of the Marsden town coaches idled in the portico in wait on Del's appearance. She'd said she would not be tardy.
Neville bowed to her as she appeared upon the entry steps of the house. A maid followed on her heels carrying a large reticule. But Del paused when she spied his valet by his side.
"You might have told me you'd bring him," Del leaned close to whisper.
"I did not wish to argue." He could not contain his grin. "Besides, you needed your maid. And my man and she do know each other."
"Clearly."
"A gentleman needs protection too."
"From me?" she countered.
"Because you always captivate me," he said near her ear so only she might hear.
A frisson rippled through her. He saw it though she wouldn't wish it. He suppressed his smile.
She snorted. "What's his name?"
"Farnsworth." He handed Del up onto the step, ignoring the rueful shake of her head.
She leaned back. "He’s quite industrious."
"I trained him well."
A bark of laughter escaped her. "Are you certain you and he are not spies?”
“We’d be successful,” he said with a little nod as he took the reticule off the maid, waited until she'd taken her place. Then he climbed into the coach and took the seat opposite the ladies, Farnsworth beside him.
A footman shut the door. They rolled off in silence, Del's sweet blue eyes twinkling in mischief.
But she looked much too self-satisfied so that Neville had to ruffle her feathers—and addressed her maid.
"Do you go to town often, Mary?"
The maid, not used to being spoken to in such situations, turned to her mistress with a question on her face.
"It's fine, Mary. Do tell Lord Bromley."
"We…we do, my lord."
"And what do you like best?"
"My lord?"
"When you go, do you prefer the shore, the shops, church, what?"
"I like it all, my lord. With Miss Marjorie, we go to the gypsies' hut."
"Is that so?" He arched a brow. "For spells or—?"
"Tales o’ the future."
He cleared his throat, hiding a laugh.
"From reading her hand." The maid put a
finger in her palm.
"Yes. I see. And do you come with Miss Belinda?"
"Oh, we do. Miss Belinda likes the beach."
Del frowned at her.
"Sorry, Miss. I shouldn't 'ave said that."
"Why not?" Neville checked Del's disapproval against Mary's dismay.
Del burrowed her hands in her red fox muff. "My oldest sister has it in her mind to catch smugglers."
Neville balked. "You're serious?"
"Never more so."
"That's dangerous. No task for a woman."
"Quite."
"Does she have a plan?" He hoped so!
"She discovered two men months ago, one obviously a runner, the other his agent. Though she says she doesn't look for more, we suspect she does. Don't we, Mary?"
"Yes, Miss. She does. Errr. Well, I mustn't say that." She bit her lips together.
"And you, Farnsworth?" Del returned the favor of inappropriate address of a servant, all to change the subject, Neville was certain. "Do you serve Lord Bromley abroad?"
"No, Miss. Only in London."
Neville had cautioned his man to reveal nothing of the French offer while at this party. "Farnsworth previously served one of my friends who lost his life in Spain. I'm happy to have him."
"Oh, I say," Del said with a consoling glance at the valet and Neville, "that is good. My apologies."
His man dipped his head in acknowledgement.
"Were you in Spain with him, Farnsworth?"
"No, Miss. I've never been abroad though I'm hoping to go so—" He clamped his mouth shut, his eyes wide with his error.
Well, damn.
Del caught the tension between Neville and his servant. "Do you perhaps return to Paris when Lord Bromley does?"
"I—We—"
Neville stepped in. "Farnsworth and I have not discussed it. I have only three weeks to settle my affairs. Difficult to do. My first responsibility is to present myself at Timsbury to sort out the mess my father left."
"Your estate manager has not been efficient?"
"Indeed, he has. But my father did not believe in spending money. Not on anything. My understanding is that many of the tenants' cottages need repair, new roofs for one thing. The creek must be dammed anew against flooding. And I must buy new livestock. My father would not spend the money for years. We need pigs and chickens to feed them and to sell, if we have surplus. The main house may need a thorough cleaning, if not more."
The Viscount's Only Love: Christmas Belles, Book 2 Page 6
