Authors: Blair Bancroft
Tags: #romance, #historical romance, #regency, #regency historical, #nineteenth century britain, #british nobility, #jane austen style, #romance squeaky clean
“
The devil you say!”
“
Charles”—Thomas sighed—“are you quite,
quite sure you cannot lend me support when I go down to
Pevensey?”
“
Quite,” Mr. Saunders stated firmly.
“M’mother would have me boiled in oil and served to the poor on
Boxing Day like leftover Christmas goose.”
“
Then God help me,” said Thomas
Lanning.
Pride was a terrible thing, Relia conceded as
she frowned, unseeing, over her ledgers. Her husband could stay in
London forever, she truly did not care. But that he should be
tending to business with one hand and enjoying the favors of
someone named Eleanor with the other was outside of enough.
Terrible man! Did he not recall that he was married?
It would seem he did not. For there had not
been one word about a new steward, nor so much as a line in
response to her letter about his sister. Though he must have
received it, for a trunkful of Miss Lanning’s belongings had
arrived at Pevensey only that morning.
“
Aunt Browning is delighted to be rid
of me,” Olivia had announced provocatively, but Relia thought she
caught a rather woebegone plaint beneath Miss Lanning’s bravado.
Not that she could not sympathize with Olivia’s Aunt Browning, for,
in spite of her promises, the chit tended to be as wilful as her
brother. Prodded by a horrified Gussie, the girl had apologized for
her remark about Mr. Lanning’s mistress, but the words she had
blurted out hung there, refusing to away.
Snap!
Blankly,
Relia stared at the now broken quill she had been holding in her
hand.
Her husband was a rake.
Yet . . . could a Cit be a rake? Somehow
Relia had always thought that a term reserved for gentlemen. Nor
did the Thomas Lanning she had seen so far seem to be in the
petticoat line, as Harry would say. Dear Harry. She should have
taken him while she could and settled for the simple life of a
country mouse.
Which she was, of course, compared to the
grand, sophisticated Eleanor Ebersley.
Scowling fiercely, Relia dug through the desk
drawers, searching for another quill. When would the new steward
arrive? Surely, there had been ample time—
No doubt her dear husband was allowing
her to become heartily sick of ordering supplies, supervising
repairs, keeping meticulous account books, and dealing with all the
daily cares of a vast estate. While he lived royally in London,
chasing courtesans on
her
income!
A second quill snapped in half.
“
Ma’am,” said Biddeford, who had just
entered the room, “Mr. Arnold has informed me that the
refurbishment is complete. If you would be so kind as to inspect
his work? I believe he wishes to set out for London this very
day.”
Grateful for the interruption, Relia made the
long climb from the basement to the bedchambers far above. Her
praise for Mr. Arnold’s handiwork was all that he could desire. The
two bedchambers, their respective dressing rooms, and the sitting
room set down between were truly so transformed that she could no
longer picture her parents living here. Yet a second calculating
look at her own bedchamber turned Mrs. Lanning’s approving smiles
to a frown. “I believe . . . yes, I believe I have erred,” she
mused. “The silk draperies and bedhangings are too light for
winter. I fear I would take a chill.”
“
The satin is very thick, madam,” Mr.
Arnold protested.
“
Nonetheless, I have decided I prefer
velvet. These will do very well for summer, but for winter I must
have velvet.”
“
Ma’am? I fear I have no samples of the
proper color with me.” Mr. Arnold’s strangled tone revealed quite
clearly he saw his return to London for the holiday disappearing on
m’lady’s whim.
“
You are aware of my tastes by now, Mr.
Arnold,” Relia said, taking pity on the poor man. “On your return
to London I trust you to select the correct fabric and send it to
me. Along with your instructions for the seamstress. I am certain
that after managing these”—Relia waved her hand at the silk satin
draperies and bedhangings—“she will have the new fabric done up in
a trice.”
“
Thank you, ma’am,” Mr. Arnold
breathed, with a bow so deep Relia feared he would topple over. “I
shall tend to the matter as soon as I am in town. But . .
.”
“
Yes?”
“
May I say, ma’am, that velvet of that
particular shade of peach may not be easy to find.”
“
I did not think it would, Mr. Arnold.”
Mrs. Thomas Lanning’s lips turned up in a tiny little quirk. “I did
not think it would.”
“
And who is this delightful young
lady?” oozed the latest, and most unwelcome, visitor to Pevensey
Park.
Aurelia gritted her teeth as Mr. Twyford
Trevor whipped up his quizzing glass and examined Miss Olivia
Lanning from the halo of dark curls framing her piquant face down
to the delicate slippers peeking out from beneath her far-too-thin
sprigged muslin gown. Good manners, however, prevailed. The
introduction produced a decided gleam in her cousin’s eye as he
pounced on the young lady’s name.
“
The Cit has a sister, imagine that!”
Mr. Trevor declared with something akin to glee. “How very
fortunate—for me,” he added with a graceful bow in Miss Lanning’s
direction , “that I decided to call and see how my dear cousin was
going on.”
“
Mr. Trevor,” said Miss Augustina
Aldershot with little subtlety, “we are surprised to see you. I
understood that you had business elsewhere.”
The Terrible Twyford gave a negligent
wave of his hand. “A party here, a party there, don’t you
know?
On dits
flying in every
direction. When I heard my dear cuz might be all alone, and she so
newly married, I thought company might be welcome.”
The sly insouciance of Mr. Trevor’s smile was
enough to make Relia long to throw something at him. “Mr. Lanning
has a great many interests in London which he cannot abandon at
such short notice—” Oh, no, she could not have made such a foolish
error!
Mr. Trevor’s brows shot up. “I was under the
impression your betrothal was of long-standing, dear cuz. Surely,
even a Cit such as Mr. Lanning could have arranged his affairs so
he could spend a proper amount of time with his bride.”
“
My brother has a great many affairs!”
Olivia Lanning interjected, sitting very straight in her chair and
glaring at Mr. Trevor, as if she had not spent the last ten minutes
casting simpering glances in his direction.
“
I have no doubt,” The Terrible Twyford
replied, with a distinct smirk. Gussie made a strangling sound,
while Relia turned pale.
“
I trust you are now on your way home
for the holidays,” Miss Aldershot stated when she had recovered her
countenance.
“
Indeed.” Mr. Trevor concurred, once
again turning the full force of his personality on Miss
Lanning.
It was, Relia thought, rather like a bull
assessing a new-born lamb. How could Thomas Lanning have had the
arrogance to think his dragonslaying permanent? Her cousin Twyford
was turning out to be more like the multi-headed Hydra. Destroy one
head, and two, even more dangerous, took its place.
“
But now,” Mr. Trevor said, continuing
to use false charm like a bludgeon, “I believe I will accept the
invitation to Gravenham after the holidays.”
“
Gravenham?” Relia echoed, surprised to
hear the earl was entertaining as word had come of Captain Alan
Fortescue being wounded on the Peninsula.
“
Yes,” her cousin preened at being the
bearer of significant news, “it seems the captain’s wounds were not
so terrible that a few months at home will not have him right as a
trivet. So Lady Gravenham is planning a party of Fortescue’s old
friends after the holiday. The captain is, I believe, expected home
in time for Christmas.”
The remainder of the conversation flew by
unheeded as Relia clasped her hands tightly in her lap and willed
herself to stay upright on the sofa. Alan Fortescue was coming
home! If only she had waited, she might have—
She was the wife of Mr. Thomas Lanning and
must make the best of it.
Of Mr. Thomas Lanning, the Cit, who had not
even been able to rid her of The Terrible Twyford!
“
Ma’am? Ma’am?”
“
Aurelia!” Gussie prodded.
Mrs. Lanning broke out of her disconcerting
thoughts to see Biddeford standing a few feet away, looking more
than usually portentous. “Yes?”
“
There is a traveling coach coming up
the driveway, ma’am. I thought you would wish to know. ’Tis
possible it is Mr. Lanning, ma’am.”
Olivia, heedless of propriety, jumped to her
feet and ran to the window at the far end of the drawing room.
“Yes, yes,” she cried, “I’m nearly certain ’tis papa’s old coach.
Thomas never uses it, but . . . yes, I see him. It is he! Oh, no!”
Miss Lanning added on something between a shriek and a groan. “He
cannot have brought the Beast. He always goes to the Wilsons for
holidays. Aunt Browning would not have him in the house.”
Beast
. What
beast? Relia wondered. Had Mr. Lanning brought a dog? One thing was
certain, she would not lower herself to ask.
As Gussie ordered Miss Lanning back to her
seat to await her brother as a proper lady should, Relia noted that
Mr. Twyford Trevor had disappeared. Simply vanished without so much
as a farewell. Perhaps she had maligned Mr. Lanning’s dragonslaying
skills a bit too soon. At this very moment The Terrible Twyford was
likely slipping down the back stairs.
And then her husband was standing in the
doorway, framed in ornate plasterwork, and looking larger and even
more intimidating than she recalled. A big man, though lean and
graceful like some giant jungle animal to whom all other creatures
granted a respectful amount of space. He was more attractive, also,
than she had allowed herself to remember, although it had been
quite impossible to forget his strength as he had kept her from
tumbling down those lethal-looking flagstone steps in Tunbridge
Wells.
“
Aurelia, Miss Aldershot, Livvy.” He
nodded to each in turn, then stepped further into the room.
Reaching one hand behind him, he dragged forward a youth of some
eleven or twelve years. Already handsome, if yet an unlicked cub,
the boy gave every evidence of being the image of the man beside
him when he grew up.
Relia, who had been about to rise to greet
her husband, realized her legs had turned to water. Olivia might
have turned out to be Thomas’s sister, but this—the Beast—must
surely be his son.
“
Nicholas, make your bow to your new
sister,” Mr. Lanning ordered.
Sister.
Sister
. Somehow Relia, still seated, managed a
welcoming smile. In his stiffly new high-topped trousers and short
jacket, his cravat tied in a flourishing bow and his hair freshly
combed, young Nicholas Lanning looked anything but a beast. The
expression on his face, however—holding, as it did, traces of
hostility, belligerence, bravado, and something close to
panic—promised a challenging holiday season, to say the
least.
Years
of challenge,
more like, Relia amended, unless she could somehow make friends
with the boy. But Nicholas Lanning gave every evidence of being as
wilful as the other members of his family. If not more
so.
“
Our mother was papa’s second wife,”
Olivia contributed when Thomas remained silent, seemingly absorbed
in studying his wife’s reaction.
“
Then the resemblance is even more
remarkable,” Miss Aldershot noted. “I take it you both look like
the late Mr. Lanning?” she said to Thomas.
“
Peas in a pod, that’s what papa always
said,” Olivia confirmed. “But papa was never a beast,” she
emphasized with a vicious glare at her younger brother. “Nor
Thomas—well, not very often.”
“
Am not!” Nicholas hissed.
“
Are too!”
“
Silence!” Thomas snapped. “Nicholas,
you will go with Biddeford, who will find you a suitable
room.”
“
If you do not mind, I shall accompany
him,” Miss Aldershot declared, leaping at this further challenge
like a firehorse racing to the smell of smoke.
Mr. Lanning gave her a small bow. “I should
be pleased, Miss Aldershot. Thank you. Though you should know,” he
added in a tone that came as close to chagrin as anyone had ever
heard from Mr. Thomas Lanning, “he has been requested not to return
to school until spring term. I fear he will be here for a
while.”
“
Olivia, you will join us,” said Miss
Aldershot in a voice that allowed no room for argument. As the
three left the drawing room, Gussie carefully shut the door behind
her.
“
I am sorry,” Thomas declared stiffly
to the pale stranger, his wife. “Although I confess I had thoughts
of your introducing Livvy to the
ton
at some time in the future, I did not expect to bring either
one of them down upon your head so soon. When Nicholas is not in
school, he spends his time with the families of his friends, who
have been exceedingly kind to him since his mother’s—ah—departure.
I anticipated neither Livvy’s rejection of her Aunt Browning nor
Nicholas being sent down from school. When it happened, only the
day before I received your letter about Livvy, I realized I had no
choice. Although I have a house in London, it is not . . . a home.
It is not equipped to deal with youngsters.”