A Breath of Scandal: The Reckless Brides (19 page)

“Not in the least. Because I am wife hunting. Have been since I gained my majority. It’s a fact of my life—just as much a part of my duty as seeing to the running of the estate while Father works for the government and in Parliament.”

Will straightened from his slouch. “You run the estate now?”

“Have been for five years. It’s not all balls and card games, you know.”

“No. I
know.
” Will didn’t like that he sounded baffled. But he had been so caught up in his own concerns—first trying to regain his command from the Admiralty, and now this diversion with Preston—he had made assumptions that weren’t even remotely correct. “I had no idea. I didn’t realize—”

“You’ve been away. Doing
your
duty.”

“Yes.” Will let out a pent-up breath. His brother was right. However dissimilar their duties—they were both committed to the faithful execution of that duty. “I have. So do we have an agreement?”

“Done.” James didn’t even open his eyes.

“And done.” It was only hair. “Do your worst, Winchell.”

But Winchell was a professional, and Will emerged an hour later looking as careless, tousled, and au courant as any town buck, ready to bait Mrs. Preston’s hook with an irresistible lure—his titled, wife-seeking brother.

He sent the letter of invitation to Redhill via a liveried Downpark footman, just in case Mrs. Preston had any doubts about who was coming calling. “The Viscount Jeffrey,” the invitation read, “requests the pleasure of the Misses Preston for a family outing to Cowdray House Ruins near Midhurst.”

A carriage ride to view a picturesque, atmospheric ruin, just close enough to Wealdgate to be an agreeable, wholesome country outing, and just far enough away for the trip to take the greater part of an afternoon. And with the addition of Claire and Thomas, there would be no room in the coach for meddlesome mothers or crabby chaperones of any kind.

The response came back from Wealdgate with alacrity. Mrs. Preston may have wanted to please Lord Aldridge by continuing the charade that Preston wasn’t
out,
but the lady was not equal to refusing the heir of an earl. Or the prospect of his assembled family. And so both girls were given enthusiastic permission to go.

Will’s only difficulty would be with his own mother. Should the Countess Sanderson gain a full understanding of just what he was up to, Will had no illusions that she would come down on him with a fully loaded broadside of her displeasure. Therefore, he ensured Thomas would keep silent by bribing him with an entire day away from his lessons, and approached his foray into his mother’s writing room with studied casualness.

“Mama, do you think I might sneak Thomas out from under his tutor’s nose again tomorrow? I rather liked having him with me and getting to know him again now that he’s grown.”

His mother looked at him over the top of her desk. “I don’t see why not. You’re not going to take him to some … house of disrepute, are you? I know he’s a tall boy, but he’s only fourteen, William.”

Poor Thomas. That was the price of being the youngest. At Thomas’s age, Will had been staring down his own mortality at the business end of a cannon. Not that Will wished such an adolescence on Thomas. But it was clear the poor boy was straining at the ropes for a greater share of freedom.

“Mama, I hardly know where the houses of ill repute are to be found anymore. Would you feel more sanguine if I took Claire, as well? A lovely country outing to reacquaint myself with the district. There are ruins and whatnot nearby, aren’t there? Bound to be something historical for Thomas to learn about.”

And so, with a wave of her hand, it was done.

Broad Ham, in all his infinite and closemouthed wisdom, divined all the subtle particulars necessary to the event, and chose for the outing the large, elegant, glass-windowed traveling coach, with blue upholstered seats and the Earl Sanderson’s crest emblazoned discreetly on the door, and two tall liveried footmen up behind. He rolled this impressive display into the Prestons’ drive at precisely 1:58 o’clock in the afternoon, and kept his perfectly behaved, matched four-in-hand motionless as James alighted to knock on the door.

The moment Preston came out of the house, her arm folded comfortably around her sister’s, Will felt his gut tighten pleasantly with anticipation. Whatever it was that made him eager for her company, he was content to spend the day exploring it, without questioning it.

He drank in the sight of her like a thirsty man at a well, anxious and curious to take a look at her in the daylight. Some shred of self-preservation hanging on at the back of his skull told him he needed to see her without the assistance of liquor, or the glamour of the night. To find out if his attraction to her was nothing but a product of the illicit, clandestine nature of their meeting. To find a reason not to be traipsing about the countryside in the middle of the night.

Today there was no trace of the Amazon—well, perhaps a small trace, if the shadow sketching along the top of her jawline was a purpling bruise. Today, she was artfully disguised as a proper young lady in a fetching, cherry-red pelisse and matching bonnet that set off the blue in her eyes.

She was not the classical beauty her sister was proclaimed by all to be, but Preston had something attractive and appealing of her own. Something intriguing and enchanting in her astonishingly direct gaze, in the fathomless depth of her bright blue eyes. Something frank and confident that spoke to him more clearly than mere beauty alone. Something that called him to do irregular, reckless things.

And to do irregular, reckless things with her.

*   *   *

Will Jellicoe was standing on the lawn, sheltered from view on the other side of the coach, keeping prudently well out of sight of her mother, and acting for all the world as if he had no interest whatsoever in the outing. But Antigone knew better. Even as his brother Viscount Jeffrey took the lead in greeting her and her sister, Antigone knew from the bottom of her soul that Will Jellicoe had arranged it all. And he had arranged it all for her.

Antigone reassigned her eyes to study the ground under her feet so she might not be caught staring, because the brief glimpse across the distance had already been more than enough. Enough to tell her that he looked different and yet the same. Enough to tell her that today he wore a coat of dark, saturated blue the color of the ocean vast, which in the flat overcast light of the early afternoon made limitless horizons shine in his eyes. Enough to tell her that he had abandoned the dignified naval queue, and cropped his golden hair so that it danced in the light, teasing wind. Enough to tell her he was more handsome than ever.

The little hop toads of envy that had clouded her happiness at the thought that he might prefer Cassandra had been dispersed by his bringing his brother the viscount, who clearly had eyes only for Cassie.

Mama—whom Antigone suspected of consenting to the outing without consulting Lord Aldridge for the simple expedience of hoping to catch Viscount Jeffrey for Cassandra—and Mrs. Little stood in the doorway with handkerchiefs aflutter as Lord Jeffrey led them to take the forward-facing seat in the gorgeous carriage with another young girl who must be their sister. The gentlemen, including a much younger brother who had very politely held the carriage door while Lord Jeffrey handed them in, piled in to take the backward seats.

And there he was, Commander William Jellicoe, not three feet from her in the opposite corner of the carriage, looking as handsome and nonchalant as ever he could.

His legs seemed infinitely long as he folded them up to fit in the crush of six sets of legs and half as many skirts, and his form-fitting buff breeches outlined his powerful thighs all the way down to his polished, ebony boots. Every article of his clothing, from the crested black hat to the soft kid gloves, appeared to be artlessly perfect. He, and indeed his whole family, were the picture of effortless, formal grace.

There he was, so tall and impeccably dressed in beautiful, well-made clothes, while she was buttoned into a borrowed pelisse that was too short on her. The contrast in their clothes, indeed in their lives, was enormous.

But all Antigone could do was stare at him, and smile, and marvel at how neatly it had been done.

Everyone was smiling, in fact. They had not yet all been introduced, but every last one of them was grinning at each other with a giddy release of nervous tension as if they
had
just robbed the Bank of England.

“Well done, Commander Jellicoe,” Antigone congratulated him, when the door was shut and they were well away. “Well done.”

“Nothing to it,” the rascal answered, as he doffed his hat. As if outwitting her mother—and with her, Lord Aldridge—had been mere child’s play. “I see you’re still in one piece. No worse for wear?”

His barely veiled reference to the bruise across her cheek sent a flush of heat creeping up the back of her collar. “You’re meant not to notice. Cassandra spent almost an hour on me with the rice powder, so please don’t mention it.” But she could only smile at him, all confident confederate, she was so intolerably happy to see him again.

He glanced at the others. “Miss Antigone, I hope you will not mind me being so open, but my brothers and sister are all well aware of your unfortunate engagement—”

From happiness to despair in the space of a single breath.

And still he smiled at her.

How could he smile? It was as if the word had set off a bomb inside her head—rational thought exploded, and all that were left were little charred cinders, floating in useless wisps, crackling and sparking down through the air.

“My engagement?” she repeated on a choked whisper.

“Annie,” her sister consoled in a nearly inaudible whisper, and took her hand in a gesture of silent support.

Jellicoe’s forehead creased up into a chagrined frown. “Your unfortunate engagement upon the dance floor with the importuning Stubbs-Haye.”

“Oh.” She tried to collect herself, but her aplomb had been charred beyond easy redemption. It would be a wonder if her brain ever worked again.

“You’ll have to forgive my brother, Miss Antigone,” Viscount Jeffrey leaned across his brother to speak. “He uses the term ‘engagement’ in the naval sense. He can have no idea that it is not a term to be applied so loosely, and especially not with regard to old Stubby. I’d take fright too, if I thought to find myself engaged to Stubby!”

“Oh, yes. Yes,” was all she could say, thankful for his understanding. She concentrated on drawing repeated breaths into her frightened lungs.

“You are very kind, sir.” Cassie spoke in a rushed whisper, as if she had to get all the words out before her brain could stop them at the edge of her lips and hold them captive.

Antigone squeezed her sister’s fingers in thanks at such a show of love and devotion, and collected herself enough to speak with something of her characteristic tart humor. “I am meant to be demure and regretful about my encounter with Mr. Stubbs-Haye, Commander, but you have already made me feel like I am among friends, so I hope I need not pull on a cloak of false propriety.”

“You are most assuredly among friends,” the pretty, pink-cheeked girl, dressed in a gorgeous, highly fashionable pelisse of primrose velvet and coordinating white velvet bonnet, sitting on the other side of Cassandra exclaimed. “I’m Claire, by the way, although it’s a little late for introductions. Will has told me all about you. I feel as though I know you already.”

Oh, Lord. What could Jellicoe possibly have told his sister about Antigone that would put her in a good light? Everything they had done together—the drink in the library, the trip to Petersfield, and the fight in the Jolly Drover—could only be taken in the most unflattering light.

“I told you,” Will answered her unspoken question. “Claire shares your low opinion of the
dis
-Honorable Gerald Stubbs-Haye.”

“Atrocious man,” Lady Claire averred. “I was your friend from the moment you laid him out. What’s the term the sporting fancy use, James?”

“Like an undertaker, dearest.”

“Yes!” Lady Claire said with relish. “You laid him out like an undertaker.”

Antigone’s breath was stolen by a new jolt of astonishment. She had friends—people who thought as she did. Who had been thinking as she did, and not as her mother, or Lady Barrington, or anybody else thought. Friends—most particularly one friend—who had somehow concocted this entire excursion. All so she would know that she had friends.

The warm feeling bottled up in her throat until she wanted to smile and cry all at the same time. She owed it all to Jellicoe. “You are an appallingly nice man. With a very nice family.”

He smiled, his blue-eyed devil-may-care smile, and everything tight and tense within her eased. “Pray don’t tell anyone.”

Antigone held up her hand in silent pledge. Her cheeks ought to ache from all the smiling she was doing, for it seemed when she was in his company, she could do nothing but smile.

“Isn’t anyone going to introduce
me
?” the boy in the corner grumbled to no one in particular.

“My humblest, et cetera.” Jellicoe demurred to the lad with a laughing half bow. “But we will start with age before beauty, so James will go first. My brother James, Viscount Jeffrey, you know Miss Preston, but I give you her sister, Miss Antigone. My sister, Lady Claire, has been bold enough to introduce herself—I thank you, Claire.” Will Jellicoe nodded to his sister and then waited, as if he were done, clearly teasing the boy in the corner who, like all the younger siblings of the world, was finding it hard work being ignored. “Was there any more?”

“Will!”

“And this stickler for the proprieties is also my brother, the Honorable Thomas Jellicoe. Thomas, may I present Miss Preston? And Miss Antigone Preston? She is the owner of that ripping great black mare I told you about, and if you are very good, and very nice to her, she may consent to tell you about her.
May,
” he warned the lad, “for it is not my boon to grant. So be nice to the lady.” He returned his gaze to Antigone. “Unlike me, Thomas is enamored of all things equine, and is a great authority on horseflesh of every stripe. We think it’s because he’s really the natural son of Broad Ham.”