Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8)

by Lancaster, Mary

  “Apology accepted.” That at least was cold and aloof.

  “You haven’t heard what I’m apologizing for yet,” he pointed out.

  “I know what you should apologize for.”

  “I shouldn’t have spoken to you as I did in the hotel. It was unforgivable, but I hope you can forgive me in time.”

  “It is nothing,” she said remotely. “Already forgotten.”

  He blinked. “You’ve forgotten that I accused myself of murder?”

  “Oh hush, of course I haven’t forgotten that,” she said crossly, glancing beyond him to see if anyone could have overheard. Almost reluctantly, her gaze came back to his. “That is what you are apologizing for?” she asked, to be sure.

  He shrugged. “For my whole manner to you at that encounter. It was rude and hurtful, and my only excuse is my own pain in feeling it necessary to renounce you, to give you up before I’d even won you.”

  Oh, I was won. That’s what is unforgivable. She bit down on her lip to keep the words in. “Then you’re not apologizing for the lies you told me during the rest of our acquaintance?” she managed at last.

  “Oh no. There were no lies. I meant every word I said to you. And I’ve come to see that I wasn’t wrong. Your happiness, not your family’s or my supposed honor, should always have been my concern. If I can make you happy, I’ll want no more of life.”

  He was doing it again. She couldn’t believe he was doing it again, luring her in and she was so desperate to fall for it.

  “Well, you can’t,” she said flatly.

  “Then you won’t marry me?”

  She stared at him. There was understanding in his eyes as well as a rueful pleading that almost won her over. “No,” she said with as much hauteur as she could manage. She thought it pretty well done.

  But he only smiled. “I thought you’d say that, so I want to assure you I won’t give up. And I will win you.”

  “Oh, no. I only allow one chance and you lost yours. You most certainly can’t win me now.”

  He leaned forward, as if he were looking beyond the curtain into the main part of the theatre, but it brought his head close to hers, almost touching. His breath kissed her ear. “I wasn’t really trying to win you before. I was just following instinct and desire and fun. Now, I’m serious.”

  She jerked her head around, which most certainly brought her too close to his lips. She remembered their devastating effect on her. The idea of him being more intense, more determined, melted her very bones.

  “What nonsense you talk,” she said distinctly. “Go away, Lord Tamar.”

  “For now,” he breathed, rising to his feet.

  And only with his threatened departure did she remember what Grant had told her, why he’d committed that murder he was suffering for still.

  “My lord,”

  He sat back down, expectantly.

  “How are your sisters?” she managed.

  His eyes were almost frightened as they searched hers, and then, slowly, they softened. “They are well,” he said. “Thank you.”

  She wasn’t softening, truly she wasn’t, but she was glad she’d said it.

  And if her heart drummed at the prospect of his courtship, his pursuit, well, that was most definitely her secret.

  *

  He didn’t come all the next day.

  She knew he wouldn’t. She couldn’t receive gentlemen visitors, not formally, at any rate, and he would only have been turned away at the door. It didn’t stop her watching the approach from the drive, or walking twice in the orchard. She laughed at herself, but in truth, she wanted him to be there so she could soothe her own humiliation by rejecting him. In fact, she wished he would make a formal offer for her hand so that she could laugh in his face.

  Her stomach dived.

  Is that really what she would do? Laugh?

  Or make a dignified exit from the room?

  She wouldn’t get the chance to do either. Braithwaite would throw him out before the offer even got to her.

  She just couldn’t fathom Tamar’s purpose in this.

  *

  The following day, Mrs. Winslow and Catherine made a detour in their journey into Blackhaven, and took Serena up in their carriage. Kate was “at home” that afternoon.

  “It’s very kind of you,” Serena said, gratefully, as she joined them in the carriage. “But I have to warn you that you are aiding and abetting me in breaking my mother’s rules. You must know I am in disgrace and not meant to go out.”

  “My dear, I know you go out,” Mrs. Winslow returned, “and I believe the countess would rather you do so properly chaperoned. Besides, I’m sure she does not wish the world to know she regards you as disgraced. Mrs. Grant thinks she will already have reached that conclusion herself.”

  “Let us hope so,” Serena murmured.

  The first person she saw when she entered Kate’s drawing room was Lord Tamar. The immediate hammering of her heart was, she assured herself, a response to the challenge of remaining aloof.

  And it was a challenge. As soon as she’d been welcomed by her hosts, he was there beside her, offering her his chair, and when she took it, he perched casually on the arm beside her. In anyone else, it would have looked proprietorial, if not scandalous. But Tamar made his own rules, and Blackhaven society seemed to regard his social oddities with indulgence.

  It was Serena who found it difficult to concentrate on the general conversation, to do more than smile and nod when something seemed to be expected of her. For her whole being was aware of Tamar’s closeness, of every smallest movement of his large, lean body.

  At last, he murmured, “How are you?”

  “I am well, thank you,” she returned civilly. “How is your wound?”

  He flexed his injured shoulder. “Pretty much healed. Would you like to ride with me, tomorrow? Grant is lending me one of his horses.”

  It took her breath away. “I thank you, but I cannot tomorrow,” she managed.

  “Why not? Are you afraid?”

  She glared up at him. “Of what should I possibly be afraid?”

  “Nothing,” he replied at once. “So why won’t you come?”

  “Because I do not wish to,” she snapped.

  “Then you won’t meet me in the orchard either?”

  “You are quite correct. I won’t.”

  “Please, Serena,” he breathed. “I won’t give up.”

  “Then you will waste your life,” she said flippantly and rose to her feet. Inevitably, he stood with her, bringing her for an instant so close that they almost touched. Their eyes met. Her bones melted and her heart twisted with a yearning she refused to give into. “Excuse me,” she muttered and walked away to join Catherine.

  *

  She didn’t go to the orchard the following morning, though she lay awake for some time, staring at the window and refusing to regret it.

  Later on, after breakfast, she returned to her chamber, trying to decide which gown would look best for the Penhalligans’ rout tomorrow evening. For some reason, such things mattered again.

  Then, something in the mirror caught her attention. In the window’s reflection, a man was crossing the lawn beyond the courtyard.

  Dropping her favored gown on the floor in her hurry, she sped to the window. She knew, long before he was close enough to make out his features, that it was Tamar. His loping stride and long, lean figure, the shape of all the paraphernalia he always carried, made it clear.

  Breathlessly, she returned to the glass to make sure her hair was properly pinned and her face not streaked with flour, for she’d been helping Cook bake for the harvest party on Saturday. Then she rushed downstairs to the small drawing room, and assumed a languid pose on the sofa with her book. It could have been upside down for all the true attention she paid it.

  Before long, she heard the knock, heard his voice in the hall below, greeting Paton and joking with the footman. They didn’t deny him entry, for she heard footsteps on the stairs and though
t her heart would burst with excitement or at least with the challenge of appearing indifferent as she asked him to leave. For some reason, it was very important to appear indifferent.

  But she waited in vain. The footsteps faded. No one came near the small drawing room.

  She rang the bell. When the footman appeared she said, “Did I not hear a visitor, James?”

  “Lord Tamar, my lady. He’s painting the young ladies in the schoolroom. He said not to disturb you.”

  “Not to dist—” She broke off, furious with him.

  She was already storming down the passages to the schoolroom before it struck her that this was no doubt what he wanted her to do. If he’d called and politely requested to paint, she would either have refused and dismissed him, or agreed and not gone near the schoolroom. This way ensured she stormed in there, flustered and wrong-footed because she’d already given her permission for him to paint her sisters, before all this trouble.

  She paused, took a deep breath, and walked much more slowly, modelling herself on Kate at her most languid.

  Rather to her surprise, no chattering or laughter spilled through the open schoolroom door, and when she paused in the doorway, the girls all had their heads down, working. Miss Grey, an expression of awe on her face, watched from her own desk. A few feet away, Lord Tamar had set up his easel and was busily painting. As he glanced up and met Serena’s gaze, a spontaneous smile curved his lips, and her heart turned over.

  But she couldn’t give in to this, not again. She walked into the room, directly toward Miss Grey.

  “Serena!” Alice exclaimed, just a little nervously, for they all knew there was some quarrel between Serena and Tamar. “Lord Tamar came to paint us after all.”

  “In your unnatural state of quiet study?” Serena said.

  “He says we’re not allowed to move,” Helen threw in.

  “You don’t obey when I tell you that,” Serena said.

  The girls laughed.

  “Go and have a peek, Serena,” Maria urged. “Tell us what it looks like so far.”

  “Absolutely not,” Serena said.

  By then, Miss Grey had stood up to greet her.

  Tamar, who hadn’t given more than a nod and a smile over the top of his easel, said now, “I hope you don’t mind. I came to keep my promise to your sisters.”

  Then where is Kate Grant? Her mouth opened to say the words just as she caught sight of Kate sitting in the corner with her book. She looked up and waved. Where the devil had she come from? She must have been here already, waiting for him.

  Serena closed her mouth. Traitress. “Why should I mind?” she said carelessly. “So long as you don’t interrupt their lessons—Miss Grey has the final word.”

  “Actually, his presence is less disruptive than yours,” Miss Grey said. “My lady.”

  Tamar laughed. So did the girls, and Serena was sure Kate sniggered behind her book. They were all in league against her, or at least for Tamar. How could so many sensible, kind people be urging this madness?

  Because it’s what I want. Because he makes me happy.

  Made me happy. I can’t trust him anymore.

  Couldn’t she? Couldn’t she understand his doubts, his misplaced honor? A lump rose in her throat.

  “Then carry on, of course,” she managed.

  Almost blindly, she turned and left the room. She needed to be alone in her own chamber, to cry, to throw things, to think…

  “Serena.”

  She didn’t stop for his voice behind her. She couldn’t. Instinctively, she quickened her pace, but inevitably, he caught up with her, grasping her elbow to make her halt. The passage was empty and silent. Presumably peace reigned once more in the schoolroom.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then why do you keep coming back?”

  He stared at her, then placed both hands on her shoulders. “Because I love you. Because I think I might have made a mistake in believing you’d be happier without me.”

  She lifted her chin, hanging on to her pride by a thread. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Grant, mainly. And Kate. They made me think, truly think, and now I’m trusting my heart over my brain.” His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Couldn’t you be happy with me, Serena? Don’t you love me?”

  She closed her eyes, as if that could hide her from him. “I would have given anything for you, stood up to anyone and anything. But you spoiled it, Tamar.”

  There was a pause, then, but she didn’t open her eyes. Instead, she tried to turn her head away, but his fingers caught her chin, tilting up her face.

  “No, I didn’t,” he whispered. “I just gave it a bit of a setback. Nothing is perfect, Serena, least of all me. But the love was always there, growing stronger with every instant. That is all I have.”

  His mouth closed on hers, tender and sweet. She allowed it for an instant, because it felt so good, so curiously right. But then a tear escaped the corner of her eye and she gasped, freeing herself, and fled along the passage to the stairs.

  *

  When Tamar left his studio to attend Mrs. Penhalligan’s rout, Rivers was back on his step.

  “Still here?” Tamar said, locking his door. “You really don’t know what else to do, do you? Go home, Rivers, you’ll get nothing from me.”

  “Then, it’ll go badly for you,” Rivers called after him. “I’m warning you.”

  Tamar laughed and went on his way, eager to get to the party, to see Serena again. He knew she would be there, and after their unexpectedly emotional encounter outside the castle schoolroom, he had hopes that he was winning. He was sure she cared for him still. She was just afraid to give in. He wasn’t proud that he’d caused that fear.

  Mrs. Penhalligan looked both gratified and slightly dazed by the sheer quantity and quality of the guests packed into her modest house. Of course, once Serena and Kate had decided to “help”, the poor lady hadn’t stood a chance. At least the success of her party was assured.

  Tamar found it rather touching that they would go to such lengths to cheer Catherine after her disastrous flirtation with Valère. As well as distracting her, they were restoring her confidence, showing her how popular and attractive she was. It wasn’t difficult with so many of her old Blackhaven friends present, which in turn brought curious strangers to be introduced.

  It could have gone horribly wrong, of course, for both Kate and Serena were more stunningly beautiful and eye-catching than the much quieter Catherine. Kate might have been the vicar’s wife and out of bounds, but Serena was not.

  Discovered in the main drawing room, vivacious and dazzling in a gown of white muslin over rose silk, she set his blood on fire. She was leading the applause for one of the Penhalligan girls who had just performed on the harp, at the same time as she casually led two very obvious admirers to mix in Catherine’s court. Not that she was so obvious as to palm every gentleman off on Catherine. Some, she introduced to one or other of the Penhalligan girls, forming larger groups from which she then flitted off to join another set. She was like a butterfly, lovely and never still.

  “Well?” Kate said, joining him by the drawing room wall, where he leaned, watching Serena.

  “I was just thinking,” Tamar mused, “what a wonderful partner and asset she would be for a clever man with political or other ambitions.”

  “She would be,” Kate agreed. “So would I. In a different style, of course.”

  He glanced at her. “And yet you chose Grant. At least he is a good man.”

  “He says you are. Getting cold feet, Tamar?”

  “No,” he said in genuine surprise. “I was thinking how anything would be possible for even a wicked man, if she were at his side.”

  It was true. As he made his way across the room, greeting acquaintances and pausing for a word with the young people of the house, the world seemed to be expanding. He’d never thought further ahead than earning a few coins for his pictures, to put
food in his and his siblings’ mouths, and get Rivers off his back for another year. But although he loved to paint, and knew he always would, he knew, too, that a lot of what he produced was pretty dross, souvenirs for visitors or flattering portraits for the wealthy. There were better things he could do, to make a difference.

  “I thought you had come to speak to me,” Serena said tartly. “But apparently not.”

  Only then did he realize he’d stopped in front of her, his mind rushing with ideas and possibilities while his mouth remained mute.

  He grinned. “I have. Your beauty leaves me tongue-tied.”

  “If only.”

  “Walk with me?” he invited.

  She glanced uncertainly to her left.

  “There is no room for me at Catherine’s court,” he said wryly. “It’s you I want to talk to.”

  “What about?” she asked discouragingly, although she did walk beside him.

  “To ask your advice. Do you think it would help or hinder my cause if I sent Braithwaite the painting of your sisters, along with a letter asking for your hand?”

  Her face flushed. “I don’t think it would make any difference. He will refuse and probably post up here—with my mother!—before either of us can draw breath.”

  “Then at least I’ll be able to speak to him.”

  She looked at him. “It isn’t his consent you need.”

  “Most.”

  A frown tugged her brow. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It isn’t his consent I need most,” he said patiently. “I understand that. But I’m planning ahead.”

  She looked as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or deliver a blistering retort. Taking advantage of her indecision, he smiled. “Shall we see if there’s any supper?”

  “I suppose you haven’t eaten today.”

  “I suppose I haven’t. Julian’s winnings are all gone, and I’m still waiting for Alban to cough up.”

  “You like being outrageous, don’t you?”

  “Just honest. Ah, look, here is the dining room, and no one has discovered it yet. Meet me in the orchard tomorrow.”

  He liked taking her by surprise. Though in this case, he was really just trying to say what he had to before anyone else joined them, as happened almost immediately. Seeing him and Serena peep in, several other people spilled out from the card room as well as the drawing room to partake of the elegant supper.