Rhonda Woodward (20 page)

“Thank goodness, I thought you would never come out.”

Marina stopped cold when she saw her sister step out from behind a yew hedge. “Deirdre! What on earth are you doing?”

“Waiting for you.” She twitched her spring green skirts, shaking loose a few twigs and leaves.

“What on earth for? And why didn’t you come in?”

“I did not wish to visit with anyone. I came so that we may walk home together in private. I have something I must discuss with you.”

“Goodness, you sound terribly serious. Whatever is the matter?” She decided to wait to share the news about Mrs. Birtwistle and Mr. Penhurst until Deirdre shared whatever was burdening her.

“It is about Henry Willingham and George Halbury.”

“Oh,” Marina said flatly. In truth, she had forgotten about them. “What is it?”

“Well, in a way it is really about the Vicar. You see, I have been thinking about his sermon, and I think that perhaps, well, it is possible that something I said may have given him the wrong impression.”

Marina cast her sister a sideways glance as they walked along the sun-dappled lane. The younger girl looked distressed.

“Good lord, what have you done?”

“I am not exactly sure. And I very well could be wrong. And even if it is something I said, he still had no right to look at you when he spoke of Jezebel.”

Marina was beginning to get a bad feeling. “Out with it, Deirdre.”

“You can’t be angry. Promise.”

“How can I promise such a thing? Tell me now or I will get angry before I even know what you’ve done.”

Deirdre bit her lip and continued in a voice that held the hint of tears. “You see, it was after Papa woke up, but he was still so very ill. We weren’t receiving visitors, except for the Vicar and Mrs. Ralston, and I was so happy for some company.”

She stopped talking and Marina waited a moment before saying, “So far, nothing shocking. Go on.”

“One afternoon, the Vicar and Mrs. Ralston came, along with Mrs. Willingham and Henry. You and Mama were busy with Papa, so I decided to have tea brought in and visit with them. Henry asked about you and I did not like his attitude at all.”

“How do you mean?”

“He sounded so proprietorial and hinted that you and he had some kind of understanding. To take the wind out of his puffed-up sails, I hinted that he should not be so confident, because you had expressed a fondness for George Halbury. Of course I didn’t come right out and say it so bluntly, but I believe he took my meaning.”

“Oh Deirdre, you should not have done such a thing.”

“Probably not, but he was so terribly irritating. The next week, the Ralstons came again, this time with George Halbury and Major Fielding. George sounded nearly as confident and smug as Henry. I said something similar—made sure he knew not to be too sure of himself where you were concerned because you had always had a liking for Henry Willingham.”

Marina looked heavenward for a moment as the full meaning of Deirdre’s words sank in. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“Yes, I see it now. It was very bad luck that the Vicar was there during both visits.”

Marina stared at her sister, eyes glinting with angry frost. “Bad luck? No wonder he thinks that I behaved poorly with Henry and George, you goose. My own sister made it sound—
in front of the Vicar
—as if I am dangling after two gentlemen, leading them on, playing one against the other! What were you thinking?”

Deirdre looked utterly crestfallen. “I guess I wasn’t. Really, Marina, they were both so annoying. As if by merely asking Papa if they may pay their addresses it was a done thing. It was as if they didn’t think you had any say in the matter. I was just trying to give them a setdown. I can see now how it went wrong. I am really very sorry.”

A new thought washed over Marina. It was more than likely that Lord Cortland had heard of this. After all, Lady Darley, his aunt and his cousin were in church that day. Oh, this was terrible!

“It was one thing when I thought the Vicar had got some quirk in his head about me, or that Henry and George misinterpreted something Papa said. But
you
have made me look worse than a flirt. No wonder the Vicar behaved as he did. Why would my own sister do such a good job of tearing down my character if it wasn’t true?”

“That was not my intention at all!”

“I have kept the Vicar’s odd sermon from Mama, but now we are going home and you are going to explain to her what you have done. Oh, how is this to be untangled?”

Picking up the front of her dress, Marina began to hurry down the lane, her thoughts swirling between anger and mortification.

“I will try to make it right, Marina, really I will,” Deirdre practically wailed, hurrying behind her.

“What is the point of being so very, very good all of one’s life, if people don’t know it?”

She did not expect her sister to answer and kept up her swift pace, only pausing when she heard an odd noise vibrating through the air.

They had reached a slight rise in the lane and Marina looked back to see where the sound was coming from.

In the distance, she saw a large closed coach, pulled by six black horses, bowling up the lane. A postilion, liveried in black, scarlet and gold, rode the front left horse. There were six outriders in the same livery and one held a trumpet aloft, blowing it every few moments, heralding the arrival of someone very important.

Marina froze, eyes riveted on the spectacular scene, wondering what esteemed personage could be ensconced in the shiny black coach.

“Look Marina,” Deirdre said in a wondering tone, “did you ever see anything like it?”

The coach and outriders moved as one at a fast clip, drawing near enough for Marina to hear the pounding hooves.

“Let’s get off the path, Deirdre.” They rushed a little further up the lane, to a wider spot and stepped off to the shoulder, stopping to stare at the fast-approaching coach. The herald sounded the trumpet again, but Marina noticed the coach beginning to slow.

The foremost outrider reached them first, pulling his black horse to a rearing halt.

“Hold for his grace, the Duke of Hawksmoor.”

Chapter Twenty

On a mutual intake of breath, Marina and Deirdre exchanged a wide-eyed glance. “Cortland’s grandfather!” Deirdre whispered in an awed voice.

The coach drew parallel and Marina could see the carved and gilded ducal crest on the door. Another outrider, the scarlet plume on his black tricorn dancing, dismounted swiftly and rushed to open the coach door and pull down the steps.

A gentleman emerged, alighting without help, and looked from Marina to Deirdre with an imperious look Marina found very familiar. He was as tall as his grandson, and despite the abundance of gray hair mixed with the black, his bearing was still erect and powerful.

His attire seemed more fitting to a London drawing room than the countryside, Marina thought vaguely. He wore a close-fitting coat of dark blue superfine over a buttery yellow waistcoat, tan pantaloons and the polish on his Hessian boots was mirrorlike.

The intricate folds of his neckcloth were a thing to behold and while Marina continued to peruse him, he pulled from a small pocket a silver quizzing glass, attached to a blue silk ribbon, and raised it to his eye.

“I am Hawksmoor,” he said in a cold drawl, frowning behind the glass for another moment before dropping it, where it swung from its ribbon.

In accord, and heedless of the dirt, Marina and Deirdre sank into deep curtsies.

As she rose, Marina gathered her composure, feeling utterly overset by the sudden appearance of a man Cortland would look like in another forty years or so.

“I am Marina Buckleigh, your grace, and this is my sister, Deirdre. Can we be of assistance?” The only thing that seemed to explain his inexplicable presence on this remote country rode was that he was lost.

“You may, Miss Buckleigh. How far are we from Buck Hill?”

“Not half a mile, your grace.”

He nodded curtly and turned to Deirdre, pinning her with his authoritative gaze. “Young lady, be so good as to return to your home in my conveyance and inform your parents that I have come to call.”

Deirdre audibly gasped, looking frightened and confused. “Yes, your grace.”

His hard gaze returned to Marina. “Miss Marina Buckleigh, you will be so kind as to walk with me. I desire the exercise and a private word.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the outrider who had opened the coach door. “Griswold.”

Evidently, the Duke’s servants were so well trained that all his grace needed to say was a name and everyone sprang into action.

A silver-tipped, ebony walking stick and a tall hat were produced from the recesses of the coach’s interior, which his grace accepted with a nod. Deirdre, with a last panicked look to Marina, was handed into the coach.

With a feathering flick of his whip, the coachman set the matched black cattle in motion, while two of the outriders remained at a discreet distance behind the Duke and Marina.

Still convinced that there must be some confusion, Marina said, “Your grace, if you have come to see your grandson, he is staying at Ridgeton Abbey, nearly ten miles from here.”

“I have not come to see my grandson, I have come to see you.”

She glanced up at his profile, and it became abundantly clear where Cortland got his grandly aristocratic nose. “Me, your grace? What . . . whatever for?”

“I have received so many conflicting accounts of you, I desire to know which of them are true.”

“Accounts of me?” She stared at him in disbelief.

He gestured to the lane. “Shall we?”

They began walking and with her thoughts whirling, Marina waited for the Duke to continue.

“I assume you have heard of the estrangement that exists between my grandson and me?”

“Only that one exists, your grace.”

He nodded, seeming satisfied with her answer. “Despite this estrangement, I keep well informed of my grandson’s interests. As he is my only heir, it is my responsibility as well as my duty.”

Completely confused, Marina said nothing, hoping he would expound.

“When I die, Miss Buckleigh, my grandson will become one of the most powerful men in the realm. Great responsibility comes with that power.”

“Yes, your grace.”

This speech still did not explain why she was walking on a country lane with the Duke of Hawksmoor.

“When my grandson marries he will marry someone of unimpeachable, unassailable reputation, from a family well connected to the Hawksmoors.”

Marina swallowed hard at this blunt statement, delivered in a forbidding, implacable tone of voice. At the implication of his words, her spine stiffened and her cheeks warmed. Could the Duke really be insulting her?

“And what does that have to do with me?” She put down her unusually sharp tone to her overwrought nerves.

He gazed down at her, his expression impassive, but she didn’t think she imagined the surprise in his eyes.

“Your tone of voice is impertinent, Miss Buckleigh.”

She sighed heavily, feeling contrite. “I expect so, your grace, and I do apologize. However, I prefer plain speaking.”

His assessing gaze bored into her for several long moments, but she held her ground and refused to look away.

“I will say that you are not in his usual style.”

He was truly as aggravating as his grandson, she decided, growing impatient.

“Sir, I can think of no reason for the Duke of Hawksmoor to be insulting a young lady he’s never met and has no connection to.”

He harrumphed. “For someone who prefers plain speaking, you are certainly being coy.”

Such was the power of his imposing presence, Marina could not maintain her courage. She gave up her defensiveness and they walked on in silence for several minutes. Soon, a nagging thought forced her to speak.

“Your grace, you truly have not seen your grandson in years?”

“That is so.” His tone was so coldly forbidding she was not brave enough to pursue the subject.

“I am not here to talk about my grandson—only indirectly as it pertains to family responsibility.”

The look she sent him conveyed confusion. “And that still does not explain why you are here.”

“When I received information that my grandson is making an unprecedented and extended stay in a friend’s country home, I assumed a woman was involved.” He sent her a sharp, assessing look, which she met impassively.

“I arrived at Ridgeton Abbey this morning,” he continued, “to hear that my daughter, Lady Meredith Brandon, has a certain opinion of you. My granddaughter has a completely different opinion, and Lady Darley has yet a third. Everything concerning my grandson involves dynastic implications, so I determined to form my own opinion and was given your direction.”

“You did not see your grandson this morning?”

“I believe he and young Penhurst were out riding,” he explained briefly.

A suspicion began to dawn and she stopped. “Your grace, despite your talk of dynastic implications, I believe you desire to mend the rift between you and your grandson, but when it came to the sticking point, you used me as an excuse to leave Ridgeton Abbey before your grandson returned to the house.”

He harrumphed again. “It is no use changing the subject, I shall not be deterred. Have you or have you not formed a secret engagement with a certain young man, whose name changes depending on who is telling the story?”

She stared, arrested by his outrageous question.

“Oh,” she said, and “Oh!” again in growing indignation, “I do not understand how one can live in a small village all of one’s life, seeing the same people day in, day out for years, and yet have one’s character be so completely mistaken.”

They resumed walking and soon passed through the huge wrought iron gates and began walking up the long inclined drive to the front door. The full implication of the Duke’s words sank in and Marina’s heart plummeted. She could just imagine the malicious gossip the Duke had heard, and knew that Lord Cortland must have already heard it before.

Despite her deepest hopes and desires, she turned to the Duke and said, “You have nothing to be concerned about, your grace, your grandson has paid me no particular attention.”

They had shared a passionate kiss, one that she would hold close the rest of her life, but those things did not mean anything to men like Lord Cortland. Her heart plummeted further, but she refused to let her pain show.

She glanced at the Duke and could see that her words had taken him by some surprise and they walked the rest of the distance in silence.

They reached the wide marble steps, and she said quietly, “You expressed your intention to call on my parents, your grace. My father has been seriously ill and I ask that you not upset him.”

She opened the door and as they stepped into the foyer, the Duke said, “Miss Buckleigh, I am not satisfied—”

He broke off, noticing the others in the foyer. Marina did not think the day could have gotten much worse until she saw Henry Willingham and George Halbury standing in the middle of the black-and – white checkerboard floor, with a terrified-looking Deirdre.

All three, heedless of the gentleman standing next to her, began to speak at once.

“Miss Marina, you must!—”

“Oh, Marina, I am so sorry!”

“Miss Buckleigh, please allow . . .”

Just then, Marina saw her mother entering the foyer from the passageway that led to the library. To Marina’s consternation, Lord Cortland, looking breathtakingly handsome and proud wearing an elegant charcoal jacket, strolled behind her.

“Marina?” Mama’s voice held a question as she gazed around in alarm at the near chaos in her entryway.

“Grandfather?”

Marina saw the incredulous frown on Lord Cortland’s face as he caught sight of the Duke standing in imperious silence just inside the door.

A sudden welling of panic-stricken laughter threatened to take hold of Marina. Espying the butler hovering nervously nearby, she stepped forward and said loudly, “Holmes, please bring refreshments to the blue drawing room.
His grace, the Duke of Hawksmoor,
has had a tiring journey.”

Everyone ceased talking and turned to the Duke, gaping as if he had just sprung from the marble floor instead of walked through the door. Hastily, all but Cortland either bowed or sank into a deep curtsy. The Duke acknowledged the group with an indifferent inclination of his head.

Still staving off her fit of hysterical laughter, Marina turned to her astonished-looking mother. “Mama, please take Deirdre, Mr. Willingham and Mr. Halbury into the yellow drawing room. Deirdre has something of great importance to share with all of you. Don’t you, Deirdre?” Marina shot her sister a killing look.

Deirdre, after looking like a gasping fish for a moment, found her voice and said, “Yes, yes, I do.”

Unable to look at Lord Cortland and still barely holding on to her equanimity, Marina turned to the Duke, who was gazing at her with what she supposed was as close to astonishment as his haughty features allowed.

“Your grace, Holmes will take you and your grandson to a room where you may discuss dynastic implications in private.”

That wasn’t at all what she wanted to say, but in her present state, it was the best she could do. She sank into her deepest throne-room curtsy, and without looking at anyone else, she rose and walked right out of the front door.

***

Marina paced in her rose garden, oblivious to the multitude of white buds promising glorious beauty during the long summer months ahead. Even though she was dressed in her walking gown, she seriously considered marching to the stable, taking a horse, and riding away to Fielding Manor or even, more desperately, the vicarage.

Anywhere but here. She put her hands to her hot cheeks. What were they all doing in there? She had been a coward to leave and she now questioned her sanity in trusting Deirdre to explain her deplorable actions to Henry and George—she surely risked making a bad situation worse.

And Lord Cortland! Her heart pounded at the thought of him. He had not even looked in her direction. Had he been terribly angry with her for practically forcing him to address his grandfather? Was he even still in the house, or had he left with the Duke, never to see her again?

Her heart ached, so consumed by love that she prayed he would reconcile with his grandfather. They were so terribly alike it would be a tragedy if they stayed estranged.

She paced, then sat on the bench beneath the arbor, then rose and paced some more. She was in the midst of planning to leave her walled garden, circle the house, sneak in by a side door and run up to her room, when she heard the creak of the gate.

Whirling around, her heart caught at the sight of Cortland.

He pulled the gate closed behind him and approached her, frowning, yet there was something else in his expression that made it difficult for her to breathe.

“I have one question for you.”

She gazed up at him, her heart skipping at the sound of his deep voice. He was here, so close she could almost touch him.

“Yes?” She spoke hardly above a whisper.

“How did Sefton get that black eye?”

Marina nearly choked on her startled laugh. She did not know what she had expected him to say but it wasn’t that. With an inner smile at the tease she saw lurking in his warm golden eyes, she said, “I punched him.”

“Did you? I am consumed with jealousy. You’ve done something I’ve been itching to do for weeks,” he drawled, taking a few steps closer, until she was within arm’s reach.

“If you like that then you will be delighted to hear that after I punched him, I shoved him so hard he landed on his backside in the dirt.”

His hungry gaze roamed her face, and a tremble ran through her whole body, but she didn’t look away.

“Where did I get the notion that you are a reserved and very proper young lady?”

She held his passionate, warmly intimate gaze and felt a sense of growing wonder at what her heart was telling her. “Certainly not from me, my lord.”

He did not reply and continued to watch her, as if waiting for something. With intuition born of love, she realized that in this instance, amazingly, he was not as supremely confident as he’d always been. The sweet feeling in her heart swelled to overflowing.