A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series) (9 page)

Chapter Eight

~~

Alana searched the crowded ballroom for her niece, dreading the conversation they were about to have. She slowed her steps, not anxious to be the harbinger of bad news. Allie, while showing signs of maturity, still tended to fall into schoolgirl behavior under stress.

Damn that Rothburn! Leaving her to do this deed
.

Though she tried to be upset, she softened toward him, knowing he had Allie's feelings in mind.. Recalling his obvious remorse lifted her spirits somewhat and she almost smiled.

She'd almost turned back to him, but had caught herself with a stern reminder it would not aid her peace of mind. Until something was settled between Lady Eleanor and Rothburn, Alana could not dare to hope. And so she searched for her hoyden of a niece, hoping not to break the girl's heart, but aware she most likely would.

To her great relief, Allie took the news of Griffin's defection with seeming aplomb, a credit to the girl's burgeoning maturity. No matter her breaking heart, the young lady refused to let anyone witness her distress.

The rest of the evening went without incident—if you could discount the looks of longing bestowed upon Alana by her so-called swain. Lord Rothburn appeared so stricken by Cupid's arrow he could scarcely take his eyes from her.

Guilt for having been in the garden with Rothburn made Alana squirm inwardly. Had they been seen, her reputation would be in shreds. She worked her Spanish lace fan so hard she earned a questioning look from her niece. Slowing the fan, Lady Alana attempted to look casual, hoping the heat in her cheeks was not another blush.

It was a great relief when the evening drew to a close and Alana went to her bed with aching feet and her face muscles stiff from holding a smile all evening—determined no one looking her way would find anything amiss in her conduct.

To Alana's further relief, Allie threw herself almost frantically into the numerous balls and tea parties, joining several outings to the country, and generally appeared unaffected by the loss of Griffin. Only she could know of the girl's broken heart and despondency. Aware that the period of frantic action could not last, she was unsurprised when, by the end of the week, Allie was closeted in her rooms, pining away.

Alana knew well the bottomless agony a young woman could experience at such a time. Unable to coax the girl from her room, she finally subsided into a despondency of her own as she contemplated Rothburn, the man who had become the center of her world. She'd fallen completely in love with him and burned with embarrassment each time the specter of her wanton performance in the garden came to haunt her. She had thrown herself at the man and he, of course, had responded. What he must think of her behavior was beyond imagining.

* * * * *

The pall of sorrow that fell over the Pendleton townhouse affected everyone. The servants crept about, speaking in near whispers. Sir Gordon could only guess at the cause of Allie's distress, for no one had told him the events that had caused Griffin to disappear. He surmised—and quite rightly—that the lad had trifled with Allie's affections and then gone back to Cambridge without a backward glance.

He was aware, however, of the reason for Alana's upsetting behavior and became quite disturbed when she did not revive, refusing two invitations in a row. Deciding it was time for another chat with Rothburn, he called for his carriage on the third day of Lady Alana's withdrawal to her rooms and went without preamble to the home of his friend.

"Sir Gordon to see you, My Lord," the butler intoned gravely, opening the door wider to admit the knight into the library. Wondering at the forbidding appearance of the normally jovial knight of the realm, the butler stepped back and closed the doors firmly, leaving the pair alone.

"Ah, Gordon! Just thinking of coming 'round to your place. Have something to discuss with you. Glad you saved me a trip. Port or ale?"

"Port." Sir Gordon grumbled, his eyes gloomy and his personage fairly quivering with some unnamed emotion. "Ale gives me heartburn."

Rothburn appeared chipper and content, not to Sir Gordon's liking at all. How could the man be so callous, leading Alana into the garden then breaking her heart? The fellow seemed unscathed by his cavalier behavior. Lord Rothburn's next words startled him out of that line of thinking.

"Been contemplating a visit to you. Holed up in my rooms these last few days. Brooding, pacing and quite miserable."

"Miserable?" Sir Gordon, thinking of Alana's misery, could no more keep the pleased expression from his face than he could stop the rain outside. He tried with little success to evince serious regard when his friend raised an eyebrow.

"No need to be so delighted," the earl said. "Been thinking things through, and I've made a decision."

"What decision is that?" Sir Gordon hardly dared to hope he'd hear the words freeing him to pursue his own happiness with Lady Eleanor.

"Going to approach Mother, get released from the bond of this attachment to Eleanor and ask you for your Aunt's hand in marriage."

"I don't know what to say," Sir Gordon sputtered, taken aback by the very words he'd anticipated. "Quite speechless."

"Don't blame you. Rather a jump from merely wishing to seduce the lady and initiate a long-term affaire." Realizing what he'd just admitted to, Rothburn harrumphed in a manner that reminded Gordon of the man's mother. He barely concealed a snort of laughter.

Soon they were settled in comfortable chairs, facing the hearth, holding glasses brimming with Port. The pair stared at one another, speechless, then both began to talk at once.

"I expect you want to marry—"

"I want to marry as soon as possible—"

"What?"

"What?"

Falling silent, they looked at one another in surprise. Holding up a hand for silence, Sir Gordon spoke again. "I want to marry Lady Eleanor. I have long had tender feelings for the lady and since you are prepared to ask for Alana's hand in marriage, I see no reason why I should not further my acquaintance with one for whom I have the warmest sentiments."

Rothburn spoke, a twinkle in his eyes that was not lost upon Sir Gordon. "But what of my mother's plans?"

"No offence, Rothburn, but your mother's plans can go to the devil and you have already decided a course that will make it happen."

Sir Gordon fixed a quelling gaze upon the earl, who had begun to laugh merrily. He would not allow frivolity in regard to Lady Alana's reputation. He asked with some force, "Are you asking for her hand?"

"If she will have me I shall wed the lady with all haste. I find the bachelor state has rather paled before the—ah, delights of Lady Alana."

Rothburn, whose heart had not been this light and carefree in weeks, gulped at his Port and grinned foolishly at his friend.

"I say, you are serious, aren't you?" Sir Gordon, relieved of a great burden, looked with pleasure at the other man. "I think we'd best make plans—and quickly. Alana has moped around the house, keeping to her rooms, just as Allie has."

 At the thought of his little sister, so forlorn and unhappy, Sir Gordon frowned mightily and changed the subject once again.

"What in the devil has your cousin been up to? He has played my sister a rather dastardly game and I would have satisfaction. Understand he has just up and disappeared after engaging her affections and leading her to believe there was something of import between them."

Then he growled his next words, "If he has compromised her, I shall kill him—after he weds her, of course."

"I shouldn't be too hard on the boy. Actually, his intentions were so honorable that he could not bring himself to ask Allie to wait five years for him to complete his education and get himself set up in the Diplomatic Corps. I felt that his decision was rather mature, in fact."

 Rothburn spoke defensively for his young cousin. "One can only hope your threat was an idle one."

"Not as idle as you'd like, I dare say," Sir Gordon responded, not quite ready to concede, his temper still up at the thought of his innocent sister's reputation impugned.

"How is the girl? Hope she is getting over this—this puppy love. Know it's painful, but we've all been through it, eh?"

His attempt to lighten the mood obviously fell on deaf ears as Sir Gordon continued to growl under his breath, looking at the earl as though he were responsible for Allie's broken heart.

"Well, I shall tell you that she has not left her suite in three days, refuses food and has been seen walking on her balcony, sobbing. Does that sound like she is getting over it?"

He sneered his last comment, and fixed the earl once more with a reproachful stare. "What shall be done about it, is what I'd like to know."

"Certainly I am distressed for her. Allie is a sweet child and deserves better than my cousin's reprehensible behavior. I had not thought that she would be so affected. They only just met and I —"

The earl stopped in mid sentence, seeming at a loss for words.   

"Rothburn, attend me well. You and I have been friends forever and I would not want to spoil our regard for one another by killing one of your relatives, but I shall have an end to Allie's suffering. Get your cousin back here and allow me to speak with him. If not, I shall seek him out and thrash him to a bloody pulp."

Taking a deep breath, Sir Gordon tried desperately to control his the anger swelling his breast and the chagrin of being in this position. In a more normal, reasoning tone, he continued:  "Can you understand how I am compelled to this act?"

"Of course you are upset—and so, my dear fellow, am I." Rothburn, his voice reasonable, rose from his chair and went to replenish their drinks.

The earl, having no sisters or aunts or any other eligible young female relatives to arrange marriages for—or be responsible for in general—had no real idea of Sir Gordon's burden. Still, he did have great sympathy.

In all of the years of their friendship they had never crossed swords, but just in the last few weeks there had been several instances of squabbling between them, and all over these damnable women.

"I will send him a summons immediately, but I would have your word you will not challenge the boy to a duel. He is a fumbler with fire arms, has not one whit of talent with swords and is in fact a rather gentle fellow. Quite the scholar. Can't see him facing you across a meadow at dawn."

"Well, I would have his intentions made clear and then allow my sister to make a decision as regards her willingness to wait. Not well done of him, giving her no chance to make a choice."

 Calmed by the other man's compliance and sympathetic manner, Sir Gordon came back to a reasonable attitude. "I would not challenge him at any rate. Not my style. Just my damnable temper talking—sorry."

His mumbled apology was heard clearly by Rothburn who grinned at him. The earl held out yet another full glass of Port which Sir Gordon took gratefully, grinning in return.

"Now we have that resolved, let us return to our own—affairs of the heart, shall we?" Rothburn settled back in his chair and continued, "The first thing of course, is to speak with my mother. Once that hurdle has been jumped, we can then concentrate on the ladies in question.

"Tell me, Gordon, has Lady Eleanor given you any encouragement? She has certainly been inattentive to me as of late, and I suspect she has lost her enthusiasm for wedding me."

"Well, actually I have taken her riding in Hyde Park and we picnicked at my estate last Sunday. And—I danced with her several times at Quimbly's ball the other night, caused quite a few raised eyebrows. Had you not heard?"

He looked at Rothburn, surprised that the other fellow had not gotten a whiff of the gossip that incident had caused.

"Actually, I've been out of society for nearly a week. Brooding, as I told you. Haven't heard a thing. Shall I expect a visit from my mother? Is it terribly bad?" Rothburn sounded unconcerned either way—yet curious nonetheless—to know what had transpired during his self-imposed exile from society's numerous entertainments.