Born to Be Wilde

by Eloisa James

  Parth wrapped his arms around her from behind. Aunt Knowe was so tall that he easily put a chin on her shoulder. “You, my best of aunts, will never lose us. We’ll all be here for All Hallows’ Eve, won’t we? I wouldn’t be surprised if Alaric turned up like a bad penny.”

  His aunt dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “I want you all to be happy. I want you to have your own households.”

  She sounded as if she were trying to persuade herself. Parth rocked her a little. She smelled of warm toast and the face cream she made herself, using honey from estate bees.

  “At any rate,” she said, freeing herself and turning, “You have set yourself a task, Parth.”

  He hesitated, wondering if it was the moment to mention that he had no intention of marrying Elisa. But she continued.

  “Lavinia isn’t like those other young ladies of your acquaintance—and I include your adopted sisters in the group. Betsy is independent, but Lavinia is a force of nature.”

  Parth raised an eyebrow. “You know? Even Lavinia believes I’m courting Elisa.”

  She put her hand on his cheek for a second. “You’re my boy, Parth. It shouldn’t surprise you that I noticed how you looked at Lavinia. But, my dear, Lavinia is more serious than most, and I’m not entirely sure you’ll make a good pair.”

  Parth tightened his lips. Naturally, he wanted his beloved aunt to approve of his marriage, but if she didn’t, it wouldn’t change his mind.

  “I’m worried that she might marry you for the wrong reasons,” Aunt Knowe continued.

  Wrong reasons? He felt his lips easing into a smile. Lavinia would marry him because of their kisses, because of the infatuation that had led her to propose marriage to him.

  “I’m aware she has no dowry,” he said. “If she had wanted a title, Beck was at her feet. If she chooses to marry me, it won’t be for my money.”

  His aunt made a face. “I don’t know why I’m fretting over this, because however much I love you and Lavinia, and I do love that dear girl—Wait a minute! What happened with Elisa?”

  “I have made no promises to the contessa.”

  “You brought her to Vauxhall! And invited her to come to the wedding,” his aunt cried. “You informed everyone at the tea party, including Lavinia, that you were in love with her.”

  “I said nothing of the sort. I merely mentioned that I had plans to court her.”

  “You said you had plans to marry her,” his aunt retorted.

  “I had second thoughts.”

  “Is Elisa aware of your second thoughts?”

  He nodded. “Elisa ordered me to continue to woo her for the moment, because she is looking forward to the wedding.”

  “Do you honestly mean to woo two women at the same time?” Aunt Knowe broke into a smile. “Not to mention the fact that you brought along Lord Jeremy to court Lavinia! It sounds marvelously entertaining, like one of those comedies in which men hide behind sofas, and kiss all the wrong ladies.”

  “Jeremy is not here to court Lavinia,” Parth said. “He’s too unstable to make advances to anyone. He’s here because I couldn’t leave the fellow alone in London.”

  His aunt leaned forward and poked Parth’s waistcoat. “I would advise you to make your case to Lavinia before the contessa arrives. Don’t take this the wrong way, my dear, but that strong and silent act you’ve perfected will not make it easy to court two women at once.”

  “I won’t court them both,” Parth said. “Elisa knows.”

  “Well, Lavinia doesn’t know—nor that Elisa does know,” his aunt retorted.

  “I’ll find the right moment to tell her.”

  “Hmm, I wish I could hear that conversation.” Aunt Knowe headed toward the door. “Do come say hello to Diana. It’s going on toward noon, so she’s probably thrown up at least thrice and will be looking for diversion.”

  “What conversation would you like to hear?” Parth said, following her.

  “The one in which you explain to Lavinia that you planned to marry Elisa, but now you’ve changed your mind and you’ll marry her, and oh, by the way, you’ll still court Elisa in public.” She burst into laughter.

  Parth said nothing as they went down the corridor. In his estimation, Elisa would be perfectly happy as long as he brought her to Lindow and she could entertain herself with living versions of the Wilde prints she collected.

  She would thoroughly enjoy the wedding and ball to follow, surrounded by the very best people in English society, all behaving with the joyful abandon that came along with house parties.

  Outside Diana’s bedchamber, Aunt Knowe turned, eyes twinkling, and patted his cheek. “Even as a boy, you always kept your promises. Only you would offer suitors to the woman you want for yourself. Of course, one of those suitors sailed immediately for Norway, and the other is so war-damaged that she won’t be able to drop a plate in his vicinity.”

  “But I did follow through on my promise,” Parth said, grinning at her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Later that morning

  The route they took led around the northern edge of Lindow Moss, the vast peat bog that lay to the east of the castle. Lavinia had paid little attention to the bog before, but as she sat at the window and mile after mile rolled by, she understood for the first time how large it was.

  It was a chilly cold September, and when they first got in the carriage, frost rimed each blade of grass. By mid-morning, the frost had melted from hillocks, but in lower-lying areas, it stayed, turning into pools colored by fish with flashing silver scales. Or shimmering Indian silk.

  “Do you know the story of Lindow Moss?” Annie asked, breaking into her thoughts. “I learned all about it when we visited before.”

  “No, do tell,” Lavinia said.

  “It’s swallowed up people, hasn’t it?” Mary, one of the seamstresses, interjected with a shiver. “I heard as one of the duke’s own children was swallowed up there.”

  “The heir to the dukedom,” Annie said, lowering her voice. “Horatius, his name was. He had been drinking in the tavern, more than was good for him. He wagered he could ride across Lindow Moss in the dark and come out safe on the other side.”

  The other seamstress, Tabitha, leaned across and peered out at the bog. “It doesn’t look terrible.”

  “There are holes that will suck you down,” Annie declared, obviously relishing her role as local expert.

  Tabitha shuddered and sat back against the seat. “I wouldn’t go in there if you paid me ten shillings.”

  “The poor man never made his way home that night,” Annie said. “They managed to save his horse, but the heir was gone, his body swept underground and never recovered.”

  “Underground?” Lavinia asked.

  “Rivers run under there,” Annie said, nodding out the window. “The ground looks as if it’s solid, but it’s not. You can hear the water rushing along under your feet, going to the sea.”

  Tabitha wrapped her arms around her chest. “That’s awful.”

  “There’s them as say Horatius was murdered,” Annie whispered. But then she frowned and looked at the two seamstresses. “It’s worth your position to say anything like that in front of Mr. Prism. You have to follow the castle’s rules or you’ll be dismissed without a reference. Might even be thrown out and told to make your way through the bog by yourself!”

  “I doubt that very much,” Lavinia intervened. “What are the rules?” Mary and Tabitha were sitting up straight, eyes wide.

  “No talking to anyone that asks about the Wildes,” Annie said. “Even if they seem like the friendliest person in the world, say, an old woman, just curious about what they ate for dinner the night before. I can promise you that it’ll end up in the newspapers and Mr. Prism always finds out where the information came from.”

  Mary pursed her lips. “Who would care about food?”

  “The world does, and that’s not a joke,” Annie said. “Those gossip columns are mad for any sort of information.”

>   “I was offered two pounds if I would describe the wedding dress,” Tabitha said. She was the quieter of the two, quite possibly born a lady. Lavinia hadn’t pried, because a lady wouldn’t want to talk about what had caused her to take up a trade.

  “I was only offered ten shillings,” Mary said indignantly.

  “Accept a bribe, and you’ll be gone,” Annie stated. “The castle sticks together. Even when the heir died, nobody found out a thing from them. Never. That’s another rule: I know we were just talking of Horatius, but you mustn’t ever mention him to an outsider, nor the way he died, neither.”

  “Certainly not,” Tabitha said.

  “Last rule,” Annie said, “and it’s a big one too. Don’t ever, ever flirt with one of the Wildes.”

  “I would never!” Mary cried, indignant.

  “You’ll think of it,” Annie said with a smile. “It’s impossible not to. They’re that beautiful, all of them, even the boys as are eighteen, nineteen, and only returning home now and then.”

  “Pshaw,” Mary said, tossing her hair. “I’m a London girl, born and bred, and I don’t have any interest.”

  Tabitha was looking down, pleating her dress. “What is on your mind?” Lavinia asked.

  She looked up. “It isn’t always the maid who flirts with the master.”

  “True enough, but not in the castle,” Annie promised. “The Wildes don’t ever do that sort of thing. The rule is there because Mr. Prism got tired of having to let maids go because they’d crept into someone’s bed.”

  “That’s absurd,” Mary said. “We would never do such a thing!”

  The conversation changed to something else, but Lavinia stopped listening. Instead she imagined making her way into Parth’s chamber and waiting there for him. Tearing off her clothing and hiding in his bed.

  Holding her breath as he came into the room. Peeking through the bed curtains at his simple black coat, worn over a plain shirt, even though he owned a lace factory.

  Tabitha and Mary were squealing at Annie’s tale of a loose-lipped maidservant who had come to a bad end, so Lavinia relaxed into the daydream because . . . why not? She would never do such a thing in real life.

  Because it was her dream, she dressed him in a plum-colored coat, with deep cuffs of a dull silver. His shirt was superfine linen, so when he took off his coat, she could see the lines of his muscles through the cloth.

  His pantaloons were tight, perfectly fitted to his legs so that everyone could see his thighs. In her imaginary hiding place behind the bed curtains, she watched as he kicked off his shoes and wrenched down his pantaloons.

  Stretching in the light of the fire, his skin was the color of warm bronze, smooth over taut muscles. She knew what a man’s body looked like, because she and Willa had investigated naughty books when they were younger.

  But in her imagination, he was better than those illustrations because he was alive, moving . . . Parth. He drew back the bed curtains and looked down at her with a start. Her heart pounding, she looked back at him, mute.

  Would he . . .

  Deep in his eyes, a spark lit, that rare, elusive smile that she’d seen only once or twice. “It must be my birthday,” he said, without an ounce of disdain.

  Her dream Parth wanted her more than anything else in his life. He bent over her, firelight glinting on his chest, and braced his arms on either side of her head.

  “Parth,” she murmured, stirring, stretching like a cat, brushing against him.

  He bent his head and lapped at her mouth, lazy and wicked. “May I unwrap my present?”

  Something touched her knee, and Lavinia opened her eyes.

  “We’re almost there,” Annie said. “I can see it!”

  Lavinia turned to look out the window, certain there were red patches in her cheeks. Wisps of her daydream clung to her blissfully. Parth’s rod had been heavy, warm. His lips were softer than she thought. His smoldering eyes had not been just admiring: They had been adoring.

  That was enough to snap her out of her daydream. She pushed the thought away with disgust. Since when did Lavinia Gray have to create dream men to admire her? Let alone a man who was bringing another woman to Diana’s wedding?

  For some reason she had a weakness for Parth, the way her mother had for laudanum. But enough was enough.

  Lindow Castle was a great heap of gray stone against the chilly sky, taking on definition as they came closer, turning into a proper castle, with different-sized turrets and towers and a large stone courtyard.

  “It was besieged once,” Annie said importantly. “The whole village of Mobberley moved inside, snug as bugs in a rug. The men crept back and forth through the bog, bringing in food and whatever else was needed.”

  “Without falling into those rivers?” Tabitha asked.

  “No, but local story has it that quite a few of the enemy’s bodies made their way down to the sea,” Annie reported.

  “Who were they?” Lavinia asked.

  Annie shrugged. “They gave up after a while and moved on, and the castle got stronger and bigger. Queen Elizabeth paid a visit, and, before her, her father, King Henry VIII, too. He practiced archery, and there’s an arrow stuck right through a sheep’s skull up on one wall, and that’s his, or so they say.”

  “A sheep?” Lavinia asked dubiously. It didn’t strike her as particularly heroic. The sheep she’d seen from the carriage just stood around, as if they were waiting to have arrows stuck in them.

  The castle was near now, sharp against the silver-gray sky. It looked immense, looming over Lindow Moss, the duke’s flag signaling that he was in residence.

  Annie bounced on her seat. “You’ll like the housekeeper, Mrs. Mousekin,” she told the girls. “Mr. Prism, the butler, is a stiff man, and no mistake. But he’s fair.”

  Twenty minutes later, the coaches drew to a halt in the great stone courtyard, whose torches were already lit against the waning light. Lady Knowe emerged to meet them, Prism close behind. Introductions were made, the journey inquired about, and as grooms and footmen surrounded the carriages to attend to the horses and begin the process of unloading, the group made its way into the entrance hall.

  After a footman had borne away their cloaks, Tabitha, Annie, and Mary were taken off belowstairs with promises of hot drinks and bedchambers.

  “No sewing until tomorrow!” Lady Knowe bellowed after them.

  She turned to Lavinia and enveloped her in a hug. “Thank the Lord, you are more yourself! You’ve lost that peaked look you had, with your cheekbones sticking out like flying buttresses.”

  “You are exaggerating,” Lavinia said, laughing and hugging her back.

  “Are the carriages stuffed with delightful garments?”

  “Indeed they are,” Lavinia promised.

  “I cannot wait to see them all!” Lady Knowe cried, taking Lavinia’s arm and leading her toward the stairs. “The duchess is waiting for you in Diana’s room. Things have gone from bad to worse, and that poor girl can scarcely get out of bed without losing whatever she’s eaten.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Not to worry,” Lady Knowe said. “I have her sipping a good bone broth every twenty minutes. She won’t have gained much weight by the wedding, which means the guests won’t know another Wilde is on the way. At least, not until one appears two or three months after the fact. Or until the bride throws up on her groom’s toes, in which case the secret will be out.”

  “She must be fitted into her wedding dress, if I have to prop her up myself.”

  “You might have to hold her basin,” Lady Knowe laughed.

  “We’re at a point where the bodice must be tried on,” Lavinia said firmly. “Especially because ladies’ bosoms change shape under these circumstances. Have you put me in the same bedchamber I had before?”

  “No, my dear,” Lady Knowe said. “Prism and I have spent hours planning where to put all the wedding guests. I’ve put you in the North Tower, if you don’t mind. It’s the family tower, so you’l
l have young Wildes underfoot.”

  This time Lavinia’s smile was genuine. “That will be my pleasure.”

  “The chamber directly beside yours was intended by some ancestor for his mother-in-law; it’s large enough to accommodate your seamstresses. You’ll have Berthe, and the castle seamstress, and I’ve engaged another girl from the village. If things become desperate, we can always borrow a maid or two as well.”

  “With luck, we shall keep to my schedule.”

  “Capital,” Lady Knowe said. They had arrived at the top of the stairs. “We’ll pop by Diana’s chamber to say hello. What I wanted to tell you first, my dear, is not about Diana’s troubles.”

  Lavinia froze. “My mother?”

  “Oh, no, Lady Gray is doing well, from what I understand,” Lady Knowe said. “It’s Parth.”

  He must have eloped.

  Lavinia swayed for a moment, as if taking a blow. It made sense. He would hate the fuss of a wedding. He had declined a title, for goodness’ sake. He wouldn’t want an audience for his vows.

  “I understand,” she said between numb lips.

  “What do you understand?” Lady Knowe sighed and put her hands on her hips. “I do declare that the two of you are enough to age a body by ten years. He’s here, Lavinia. I wanted you to know.”

  “What? The Morning Chronicle said that he would be speaking to Parliament again this week about banking rules.”

  “Apparently they had to work out their own rules,” Lady Knowe said. “He arrived this morning, bringing Lord Jeremy Roden with him.” She paused. “He will stay a fortnight before returning to London to fetch Elisa for the house party. Now, I know that Lord Jeremy was presented to you as a possible suitor, my dear, but the man was badly affected by his experience in war. In short, you can’t have him.”

  “I don’t want him,” Lavinia said.

  “Excellent!” Lady Knowe cried. “I’m just so pleased that Parth will stay with us for a few weeks. I can hardly ever make him stop working for such a length of time.”

  Lavinia had refused Parth’s escort, and he’d arrived in Cheshire virtually the same time as she did? High-handed wasn’t a strong enough adjective for that man. He had chased her here because he didn’t believe she could take care of herself. Arrogant. Managing.