Beyond Compare (5 page)

“Yes, of course. Mr. McIntyre.” He nodded pleasantly and strolled away, his hands clasped behind his back, his head turned down.

“Please don’t be offended,” Kyria said. “Papa knows who you are. It’s just that trivial things like names tend to slip his mind, especially when there are antiquities to be considered. I’m sure he is thinking about his shipment. Mother will be lucky if she can keep him here until supper.”

Kyria cast a sideways glance at him, saying, “If you are brave enough, I can introduce you to the rest of our family.”

“Lead on,” Rafe responded lightly. “I dare anything.”

She walked with him over to where a black-haired woman sat deep in conversation with an older man. When Kyria said her name, the woman glanced up vaguely. Then her face cleared. “Ah. Kyria. Oh!” She stood up. “Are you all right? Smeggars said—”

“Smeggars fusses too much,” Kyria said firmly. “I am fine. Thisbe, allow me to introduce you to Mr. McIntyre. He is Lord St. Leger’s best man.”

“His what…Oh, yes, of course, the wedding. I had forgotten. Dr. Sommerville and I were having such an interesting discussion concerning the allotropes of carbon. Did you know—”

“I’m certain I do not,” Kyria interjected hastily. She turned toward Rafe and said in explanation, “Thisbe is a scientist.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Thisbe said, reaching out to
shake Rafe’s hand. She was tall, like Kyria, but her hair was as black as night and pulled back in a no-nonsense fashion, and her clothes were plain rather than elegant. Not as beautiful in the face as Kyria, there was nevertheless a certain arresting handsomeness in her strong-boned features, and her blue eyes shone with intelligence.

“You are the silver magnate, aren’t you?” she went on in the disconcertingly blunt way that Rafe was beginning to expect from the members of the Moreland family. He had thought Stephen’s Olivia unusual, but he was beginning to see that the entire brood was decidedly different.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” he replied. “Or, rather, I was. We sold our mine.”

“And what are you doing now?”

“I decided to take a tour of Europe, and I started by going to visit St. Leger. Of course, when he told me he was getting married, I had to stay on.”

Thisbe nodded. “I hope it was no problem to delay your travel.”

“None whatsoever. My plans are very flexible,” Rafe said agreeably. “I intend to spend a month or two in France, then go on to Italy.”

“You will be going to the museums?” Thisbe asked, looking interested.

Kyria was somewhat surprised when Rafe smiled and said that he would, going on to ask Thisbe what she would recommend. Kyria would not have thought him the type to visit museums—but then, she reminded herself cynically, no doubt he simply recognized the best way to charm her sister.

“Thisbe is the twin of our eldest brother, Theo,”
Kyria told Rafe. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem as if he is going to be able to make it back for the wedding.”

“He was in Australia when we wrote him,” Thisbe explained. “He’s an explorer, you see.”

“Really? Where has he gone?”

“All over, really—Africa, the Amazon, India, Burma, Ceylon, Arabia,” Kyria replied. “He has been doing it for years.”

She looked at Rafe, waiting for the sort of comments that usually followed when Theo’s peripatetic ways were discussed. Some were intrigued, others baffled, but nearly everyone agreed that it was, in the words of Lord Marcross, “a deuced peculiar thing for the heir to a dukedom to be hanging about in deserts and jungles and such.”

“I’m sorry he’s not here,” Rafe said. “I would like to meet him.”

“He is an extremely interesting man,” Thisbe agreed warmly.

“There are those who would say that seeking adventure all around the globe is scarcely a fitting thing for a future duke,” Kyria pointed out.

Rafe shrugged. “Why not?”

“Why not, indeed?” Thisbe smiled at him. “You are exactly right, Mr. McIntyre.”

“I think I am missing something here. What is a future duke
supposed
to do?” Rafe asked.

“Be stuffy,” Thisbe interjected, and Kyria could not suppress a giggle.

“I don’t think that’s exactly how they would phrase it.”

“No, but it’s what they mean,” Thisbe retorted. “People don’t like it that Theo comes back home brown as a nut and full of the most interesting tales to
tell, instead of spending his time in some boring old men’s club or out shooting grouse.”

“I think they would say he should be getting to know the estate he will inherit,” Kyria said in the interests of fairness.

“Yes, but Reed handles all that. He enjoys that sort of thing.” Thisbe’s voice expressed her obvious puzzlement at her other brother’s peculiar interests. “Numbers and farming and the Exchange and all that. Why should poor Theo have to worry about those things when he hates all that and Reed loves it?”

“Reed loves what?” asked a deep, masculine voice, and Kyria turned to see her other brother, who had come up behind them as they talked.

“Handling all the family business for the rest of us,” Kyria said, smiling fondly at Reed.

He was a quiet man two years older than Kyria, not as tall or as devastatingly handsome as Theo was, but attractive in his own, more subdued way. His hair was dark brown, cut tidily, and his gray eyes under straight black brows were direct and clear. He was, Kyria knew, considered the most normal of all the Moreland clan, for he had not been drawn to any of the interests, deemed peculiar by the rest of the British nobility, that had attracted the other Morelands. Though learned, he was not the scholar that his father and great-uncle were, and he preferred to spend his time managing the business of his father’s estate rather than exploring or engaging in scientific research or championing a political cause.

His was a practical nature, and in the midst of his more flamboyant, even eccentric, relatives, this fact made him something of an oddity. It also made him
the person to whom most of the family turned whenever they had a problem.

Kyria introduced Rafe to Reed, and Reed shook his hand warmly. “Ah, I understand I owe you my gratitude for—”

“If another person says ‘rescuing Kyria,’ I think I shall scream,” Kyria put in warningly.

Reed shot her an amused glance and went on mildly, “I was going to say for helping the twins out of their
contretemps.”

“Everyone knows about that, too?” Kyria asked.

Reed shrugged. “The squire sent a servant over with a blistering note about the twins’ conduct. Father gave it to me, of course, as he never reads the squire’s notes.”

“What are you going to do?” Kyria asked.

“Why do anything?” Thisbe inquired. “Fox hunting is barbaric.”

“I’d rather avoid a feud with our neighbor, actually,” Reed said. “I fear I’ll have to send him some of that shipment of cognac I received the other day. Good liquor usually serves to soothe the squire’s anger.”

Olivia and Stephen rejoined them at that point, and Stephen suggested that he show Rafe to his room.

As they strolled out, Stephen murmured, “Head spinning yet?”

Rafe chuckled. “It has been an interesting afternoon.”

He paused at the door to the drawing room and looked back, his gaze going to Kyria. Stephen followed Rafe’s gaze.

“Ah,” he said. “Is that the way the wind blows?”

“She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

Stephen nodded. “Her nickname among the fashion
able blades is The Goddess. She’s been pursued by earls and dukes—and even one prince. She’s turned them all down.”

“Is that right?” A faint smile began on Rafe’s lips.

“Olivia says she is determined never to marry.”

The smile grew broader. “I always like a woman who knows her own mind.”

Stephen cast a narrow glance at his friend. “Rafe, she is going to be my sister-in-law. I know you like a challenge, but this is one woman you cannot—”

“Honestly, Stephen, I am not quite such a cad,” Rafe retorted.

“I know you are not,” Stephen replied. “It is just that I…well, I am a little protective of Olivia—and of her family, I find. I know you’re not the marrying kind.”

“You’re right about that,” Rafe replied easily. The war had taught him how easily and permanently the ties of love could be snapped. The only way to get through life heartwhole was to keep one’s heart to oneself. “Just a little flirtation to pass the time, my friend.” He smiled. “I think your new sister-in-law is probably well acquainted with the art of flirtation.”

Stephen chuckled. “Yes, I imagine she is. You may have just found your match there. Better watch it, or you may end up the one whose heart is in danger.”

Rafe did not dignify his friend’s comment with a reply. His heart had been out of danger for more than ten years. He was, he told himself, quite safe.

But as he and Stephen left the room, he could not resist casting a last glance at Kyria over his shoulder.

T
he next two days were filled with preparations for Olivia’s wedding, and Kyria was so busy that she could almost say she did not notice Rafe McIntyre. It was a trifle annoying, she thought, that had he been any of her many suitors, she would not have even thought about him. Unlike some of the other men there, he did not hang about or try to set up a flirtation, yet she was always aware of where he was and what he was doing.

Kyria spent most of the day on the move, arranging the masses of flowers brought in by the gardener from the estate’s greenhouse, solving household crises with the housekeeper or butler, soothing this guest or the other’s ruffled feathers over some imagined slight and trying to see that all the guests were kept entertained in one way or another. She blessed Lady St. Leger, Stephen’s mother, who was tactful, pleasant and willing to be bored for the sake of harmony in the house. Kyria could count on her to keep the shyest or most longwinded guest occupied.

To her surprise, she found that the other person on whom she could rely was Rafe McIntyre. He did not hover, yet it seemed that he was always there when she
needed someone to keep the male guests busy playing billiards and cards during a rainy afternoon or to say a few words to a shy spinster or to charm Lady Rochester out of a black mood. Kyria was thankful for his being there, and yet she found it somehow irritating, too, that he was able to so easily charm everyone, man or woman, into doing what he wanted. It confirmed her opinion that he was an inveterate flirt.

The day of the wedding dawned crisp and clear, without any of the rain that she had feared would spoil the ceremony. Kyria and her maid, Joan, helped Olivia dress. They were joined by Thisbe and the duchess, and much to everyone’s surprise, the duchess, usually not a sentimental person, began to cry as Kyria and Joan settled the white dress around Olivia.

“Oh, dear,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I vowed I would not do this.” The duchess leaned over and gave her youngest daughter a kiss on the cheek. “Dearest Olivia, you are such a beautiful bride. I have never believed that any of my daughters must get married in order to have a happy and fulfilled life. You know my views on marriage and a woman’s place in society.”

“Yes, Mother, I know,” Olivia said with a smile.

“We all do,” Kyria added.

“Don’t be impertinent,” the duchess said, though she could not keep a smile from flitting across her face. “Olivia, I am simply filled with happiness to see you today. I think your young man loves you very much. I cannot tell you how proud I am that both you and Thisbe married so well. I think a mother cannot help but feel great happiness, knowing that you will be happy, and yet great sorrow to see her daughter leave her home…” She paused and blinked away her tears
again. “Well, I will leave you to your sisters now. I must go or I fear I will be embarrassingly red-eyed at the wedding ceremony.”

She cast a smile around at her three daughters and left the room. Thisbe watched for a few moments as Kyria fastened the long line of tiny pearl buttons that marched up the back of the white-satin wedding dress. Then Thisbe stood up and began to move restlessly about the room, going over to look out the window into the side yard.

“I wonder how Desmond is doing with the twins,” she mused. Her husband, in the absence of their tutor, had taken on the task of keeping an eye on Constantine and Alexander throughout the wedding day.

“They promised Mother that they would behave today,” Kyria said, glancing back to where Joan was occupied laying out the long train of Olivia’s dress. “She threatened them with taking away their menagerie if they did not. And Mr. McIntyre promised to give them boxing lessons if they were good. Of course, the problem with the twins is that they don’t really mean to misbehave. It just sort of happens.”

“Boxing lessons,” Thisbe said in disgust. “They are so bloodthirsty sometimes. Yesterday they were telling me all about shooting a gun. It seems your Mr. McIntyre gave them a lesson in physics, using a gun as an example.”

“All boys are bloodthirsty,” Kyria replied offhandedly. “And he’s not
my
Mr. McIntyre.”

“He always seems to be where you are,” Thisbe replied a little archly. “I think you have made a conquest of St. Leger’s American friend.”

“He would have one think so,” Kyria said coolly. “But I think he is just an inveterate flirt.”

“Kyria! You wrong him,” Olivia protested, twisting around to look at her sister.

Kyria put her hands on Olivia’s shoulders and firmly turned her back around, then finished doing up her buttons. “Do I?”

“Yes. I think he is quite smitten with you. So does Stephen.” Olivia smiled, her large brown eyes lighting up. “I was hoping you might like him, too. I thought the moment I met him that perhaps you would. He is so different from other men.”

“He has that peculiar accent,” Kyria admitted.

“Oh, Kyria! It is more than that. He has done things, seen things that the men we know have not. He fought in a war. His home was burned down. He traveled west to seek his fortune and found it. From what he and Stephen have told me about their mining adventure, it was a great deal of work—and danger, as well.”

“Danger?” Kyria asked. “How was it a danger? You mean, going down into the mine?”

“I don’t think that so much as that the land is so wild. Stephen told me that they were once attacked by a grizzly bear.”

“A what?”

“A huge sort of bear, quite fierce. And they had to defend their claim from men who would have taken it from them. He ‘rode shotgun,’ Stephen told me, when they transported their silver, to fight off any thieves.”

Kyria shrugged, feigning indifference. “I can well imagine that he has been where there is danger. I cannot see that that makes him a particularly attractive candidate as a husband.”

“Husband?” Olivia exchanged a significant look with Thisbe. “Then you have thought about it.”

Kyria flushed. “Well, isn’t that what you meant? I
have not considered Mr. McIntyre as a husband. I have not considered him at all.”

“He is a terribly attractive man not to consider at all,” Thisbe mused. “‘Methinks she doth protest too much.’”

Kyria grimaced at her sisters and stepped back from Olivia, saying crossly, “Just because you two found husbands, that is no reason for you to be scheming to get me married, as well.”

“As if you were not always scheming to find me a mate,” Olivia protested as she sat down at the vanity and let her maid start to work on her hair.

“That was different,” Kyria told her. “I knew that you would be happy married to the right man, just as Thisbe is. But there are some of us who simply are not destined for marriage.”

“And you are saying that you are one of those?” Thisbe asked. “How did you arrive at that decision?”

“It is obvious, isn’t it?” Kyria retorted. “I have been out for nine years, meeting the most eligible bachelors, and I have not yet found a single one whom I would wish to marry.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t,” Thisbe argued.

“It seems to me an indication of it,” Kyria replied.

“You’ve only met all the eligible bachelors in England,” Olivia reminded her. “That is why you should take a closer look at an American.”

“American, English, what difference does it make? Once you marry, your life is no longer your own. Marriage is a completely inequitable institution. You lose control of your money, you promise to ‘obey’ some man, and you even give up your name.”

“Well, yes, of course, and the laws should be
changed,” Thisbe agreed. “But people can scarcely stop marrying until that happens.”

“It sounds like an excellent idea to me.”

“Besides, that isn’t what is keeping you from marriage,” Olivia said. “You just told me it is because you haven’t found the right man. And when you do, all the other things won’t matter.”

“Dear, sweet Olivia.” Kyria went to her sister and leaned down to kiss her lightly on the cheek. “You are happy, and rightfully so. You are marrying a wonderful man who loves you very much. And you have such a sweet, loving nature that I am sure nothing will make you as happy as marriage and children. But as you well know, I am not possessed of your sweet nature. I am willful and headstrong, completely used to having my own way. The prospect of sitting around a fire every evening while my husband snores in his chair and a baby bounces on my knee does not fill me with pleasure. I love to go to parties and flirt. My life is laid out exactly the way I like it. I do what I wish when I wish, and I have no one to answer to. It is the perfect situation for me.”

“But what about love?” Olivia asked, her eyes shadowed with concern as she looked at her sister in the mirror. “How can you be happy without love?”

“I have done well enough without a man’s love for several years. I suspect I shall be able to continue.” She smiled reassuringly at her sister. “Besides, it isn’t as if I have no love in my life. I have you and Thisbe and Reed and the twins and Mother and Papa. I have a busy life. And I am quite happy without a man.”

“So was I, until I met Stephen,” Olivia responded. “Then I realized that there was actually a huge hole in my life. I just didn’t know about it.”

“I will happily remain in ignorance,” Kyria said lightly.

“You are quite sure that you have no interest in Mr. McIntyre?” Olivia pressed her, frowning in concern.

“Quite sure. He is, I will admit, attractive and even charming in an obvious sort of way.”

Across the room, Thisbe made a choked noise, but when Kyria turned toward her inquiringly, she merely smiled and gave a little cough.

“However,” Kyria went on firmly, “I am not in need of rescuing by any man, and I have had enough experience with hardened flirts not to be taken in by one of them.”

“Hardened flirt?” Olivia objected. “Why, Kyria, you scarcely know the man. How can you—”

“I have seen enough of him,” Kyria said. “I have found that there are only a few types of men. One of them is the grave sort who spouts off his admiration of you and his love of your wit, your beauty, your spirit. That sort wants to marry you and spend the rest of his life smothering you with all his care and protection. Then there is the adventurer, who wants to marry you for your money and spend the rest of his life spending it. There is also the flirt who simply wants to have fun and dance and charm you and has no desire to ever marry at all. And lastly, there is the man who sees every woman as a challenge and a conquest, and his ambition is to win your heart—and your body—and when he has accomplished that, he is content and leaves. I am not sure which of the last two categories Mr. McIntyre fits into.”

“Kyria!” Olivia cried, shocked. “What a cynical view of life!”

“Not of life,” Kyria protested. “Only of men.” She
smiled. “Don’t look so appalled, love. I have learned to steer clear of those who want to marry me and simply have fun with the flirts. Even one who wants a conquest can be entertaining to match wits with.”

“Then I would think that Mr. McIntyre is just your sort,” Thisbe interjected.

Kyria looked momentarily nonplussed. Then she shrugged and said lightly, “Well, there are some that are too dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” Olivia asked.

“She means,” Thisbe put in astutely, “that there are some men whom even a cynic cannot resist.”

“I knew it!” Olivia crowed. “You do feel an attraction for him.”

“Certainly not.” Kyria lifted her chin obstinately. “And why, may I ask, are we sitting here discussing that American when it is
you,
my dear, and your love that we should be talking about?”

Olivia smiled, quite willing to be led into a discussion of the manifest superiority of Stephen St. Leger to all other men, and for the next few minutes, she and her sisters indulged in discussing Olivia’s fiancé and the upcoming honeymoon.

Joan put the last pin in Olivia’s hair and stood back, and Kyria exclaimed in delight, “Oh! You look beautiful.”

Kyria and Joan pinned the veil into her hair, and Olivia stood up, letting the others smooth and shake her skirts and train until everything was exactly right. She gazed at herself in the mirror with some amazement. Even Olivia would have to agree that this afternoon, at least, she was beautiful, Kyria thought.

Tears welled up in Kyria’s eyes, and she felt a cold clutch of pain in her chest. She was filled with pride
and happiness for her younger sister, as well as a fervent hope that her married life would be wonderful. Yet she could not help but realize that she was losing her sister, as well. Kyria had not felt the pain of parting when Thisbe had married, for Thisbe and her new husband had returned from their honeymoon to live in the massive Broughton House in London with the rest of the family. But Olivia would return from her honeymoon to Blackhope Hall, the St. Legers’ family seat, and from now on, Kyria would see her only on visits.

Kyria thought of the years of late-night sisterly gossip sessions, curled up on one or the other’s bed, of the countless times that they had turned to each other with a problem or a fear or a joy, and suddenly it was all she could do not to cry.

“Oh, Olivia!” Kyria threw her arms around her sister and hugged her hard. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Olivia replied, her own voice raspy with tears. “I’m going to miss you so. Thisbe…” She turned, and Thisbe joined them, putting an arm around each of her sisters.