Caversham's Bride (The Caversham Chronicles - Book One) (46 page)

“Do you remember what Mrs. Pritchard taught us to do in those situations?”

Elise shook her head. With her brain in the barn her entire life, Elise never paid much attention to their comportment teacher. Which was why she was in this predicament in the first place.

Beverly went on. “She said to close our eyes and count to three before we reply. First, you’ll appear more intelligent—as though you’d thought your answer through before replying. Second, it will make you appear less like a bounding colt and more the refined lady you should be. And isn’t that what we all struggle to portray? Images of serene, intelligent ladies?”

“Not everyone,” Elise replied. “I certainly don’t see those Corrigan girls attempting to appear more intelligent, and look at all the bucks circling them each night!”

“We should be so lucky.”

Elise nodded and they both laughed as they followed the bridle path, keeping their horses at a walk, preferring to wait until they reached the far side of the Serpentine to race—away from the prying eyes and condemning glances of the others taking in the morning sunshine. But Elise’s mind wasn’t on the lovely morning, or even the Corrigan girls and all their many beau.

“I cannot believe he said he would actually waltz with me when he comes out of mourning.” She looked over at her friend and smiled. “I now have three months to perfect my dance.”

Elise sighed. She had to change. She had to temper her thoughts, her words, and her actions. It was the only way for anyone to really believe she was different. That she had grown up. Or, as Beverly said, all would be lost, because the new Lord Camden would just marry someone else.

With a slight flick of the wrist, she gave a light tap of her crop behind the girth of her off-side, which sent her mare bounding forward, leaving her friend and her groom staring at her back.

M
ichael Brightman, the new twelfth Earl of Camden, strode into the dining room at Caversham House, an unusual cheer rising within. Likely because it was a weekend, and there was nothing needing his attention until Monday morning. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with seeing the little hellion out front. The fact that she was nervous about the night ahead told him she at least cared enough to present herself in a manner that would make her family proud. Could it be she was growing up?

The little hellion, all grown up. Shocking thought that. Hopefully it meant no more romantic interest in him. He stumbled over the edge of a folded carpet, and caught himself on the door jamb.

Michael laughed at his clumsiness, then smiled and greeted Ren and Lia, as he did most mornings when they were all in Town.

“Good morning Your Grace,” he said to the duchess, “you are looking radiantly beautiful as usual.”

“I’m sorry about all the disarray, my lord,” the Duchess of Caversham replied. “I have been assured all the carpets and boxes from the decorations will be out of the hallway before the festivities begin this evening.”

He turned to his old friend and said, “And you look... just as you always do these days, like you want to strangle someone.” Michael proceeded to pile a plate high with eggs, kippers, and bacon, then took a seat across from the duchess and next to Ren. “So, who is it you want to kill this time?”

“My sister perhaps? She’s been pain in my backside this past week.”

“Leave her be, husband,” the duchess warned. “Her behavior is to be expected considering tonight is
her
ball. Since the season began, we’ve attended everyone else’s parties. Tonight is
her
night.”

Michael knew what a strong-willed chit Elise could be when her mind was set on something, so he had to sympathize with his friend on this. Except she was off this morning. Like a slightly lame horse, where you can’t tell exactly where the thing is bothered, she was just... off.

“She was looking rather piqued just now,” Michael commented. “Hopefully an invigorating ride will settle her.” He swallowed a mouthful of food. “You can tell she’s nervous. She’s snapping like a shrew, and.... Wait, she’s always like that.” He winked at Ren. Michael actually found the whole discourse refreshing. Elise’s discomposure, while not something he’d laugh at, was out of the ordinary for her. So the stress of the night’s festivities was starting to wear on her. At least he was able to calm her before she mounted the mare. He’d hate to see her injured or worse because she wasn’t paying attention while riding her horse. Elise didn’t ride tractable, quiet horses. No. She trained as she rode, so she rode horses that would be problems for most riders.

But the good thing about tonight was Elise was now on the marriage mart. Soon she would be locked away in the country at some poor fop’s estate, bearing offspring to continue that man’s lineage.

He remembered his mother’s departing words yesterday, and it only served to pressure him to fulfill his duty now that he had the title. He was, after all, the last male in a family of eleven women. She reminded him of the fact that the title would not just go into abeyance, it would, in fact die with him if he didn’t see to finding a wife and begetting his own heirs.

Still, Michael smiled. Lucky for him he had a three month reprieve to mourn his uncle before starting his search for a suitable bride. He wondered if this paragon of ladylike virtue, if she even existed, would mind if he continued his tradition of breakfast with his friends before work.

“Like I said before,” Ren replied, “I can’t wait to hand her off to some unsuspecting chap and get her out of my hair. She’s put more gray on my head this past year than I ever gave our father.”

“Husband!” Her Grace chided.

“Oh, you don’t mean that and you know it,” Michael said with confidence. “The gray hairs part might be true, but handing her off to some young, dunder-headed prig? That’s not what she needs. Elise requires someone who will appreciate her spirit and charm.” He lifted a forkful of egg to his mouth. “Not some spineless ninny or worse someone who will break her to his will like a horse to saddle.”

Where did
that
come from? Why was he defending Elise? Looking out for her well-being? The disconcerting, gnawing feeling he’d experienced just now struck a chord in him. An irritating one, at that. He was not going to feel sorry for the girl. She sat a horse better than he, and was almost as good a shot with a pistol as he. Why, she was probably even a decent card and billiard player as well. He already knew she played a fair game of chess and backgammon.

She was a sporting lady. Not one of those simpering women one was compelled to feel sorry for. The chit was, and always had been, a nuisance—fancying herself in love with him since she could string a sentence together. So numerous were the times she had placed herself in his path either to annoy him or, as she grew older hoping to catch his eye, that he could not count. Though in all honesty she hadn’t done so in several years. At least not since her grandmother had moved in with them and Ren married. Her grandmother, her brother’s wife, and her house guest, Lady Beverly Hepplewhite, all seemed to be very good influences on Elise. And Michael had to admit he hadn’t seen much of her since she started on this horse project of hers.

Yes, she would make some horse-mad fop a decent enough wife. And with a dowry as ample as hers, she’d be betrothed before the season ended.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were talking about yourself,” Ren stated, matter-of-factly as he met Michael’s gaze over the rim of his coffee cup. “But we do know better, don’t we?”

Michael turned his attention to the egg and sausage on his plate, determined to explore this peculiar feeling later. “Most certainly, Your Grace. I don’t need any added troubles under my roof. Have enough as it is, what with my mother and now my sisters pushing all these women at me—everything from barely-out-of-the-schoolroom misses to widows older than I.” He shook his head for emphasis. “I certainly don’t need your hellion sister sharpening her claws on my fair heart.” He sipped his coffee, and looked up into the sympathetic face of the duke. “No, my friend, the safe route’s the one for me.”

“Ha! That’ll be the day, you rapscallion.” Everyone turned to the doorway when a silver-turbaned Lady Sewell entered the room leaning on her cane. Michael and Ren stood as the duke’s elderly grandmother came to take her usual seat to Michael’s left.

“Good morning, my lady,” Michael said as he placed a kiss on the older woman’s wrinkled cheek, and assisted her to her chair. A footman brought her a plate with her usual breakfast, then cut her ladyship’s ham steak for her, and stepped back from the table.

“Camden, when your three months mourning are over you had best have a future wife in mind.”

“I thought I’d marry you, darling,” Michael said. “After all, we get along smashingly and I’ve never had a whist partner as sharp as you.”

“If I could give you the heir you need, I’d take you up on it.” The woman’s blue-gray eyes sparkled with mischief as she forked a fluffy piece of egg.

“If it wasn’t considered bad form, you would have every one of my dances tonight, my lady.” Michael said, as he realized their conversation was causing his friend to squirm in his seat.

“I told Elise last night that if I were a young miss again I’d not settle for anything less than a man who’s kiss made my lady parts quiver and my brain turn to mush.” His Grace choked on his coffee, as his duchess serenely scooped the yolk from her egg cup as though the ribald dialogue was a normal occurrence. “Ah Camden.... If I were a few years younger, I’d make you my third husband.”

T
he servants would later say amongst themselves that they all heard His Grace choke on the mouthful of food he’d been about to swallow. A footman stood poised to run for the family physician in case his presence became necessary—which, thankfully, was not.

≈≈≈

Already His
is available now on
Amazon
.

Enjoy a sneak peek from the newest book in the series.

The Caversham Chronicles—Book Three

L
OVING
S
ARAH

Sandy Raven

The Caversham Chronicles
continue with Book Three,
Loving Sarah
, the story of Ren and Elise’s adventurous younger sister Sarah on her path to a Happily Ever After.

Coming, Summer 2013

C
HAPTER
O
NE

Liverpool, June 1835

“W
hat about her? She looks fast doesn’t she?”

“Hmmm...
Aurelia
,” Ian Alexander Ross, grandson of the Earl of Mackeever, mused as he strolled alongside his friend Lucky Gualtiero, brother of Lia, the Duchess of Caversham. “She may look fast, but she’s not built the way I like. Something about her shape... too curvy if you ask me. It looks like she might fall apart before the ordeal is over.”

“What about that one?
Evangeline
,” his tanned, olive-skinned friend asked.

Ian turned his gaze to where Lucky motioned. “Too top heavy, and her bottom’s too narrow to support her. She’ll tip over in a stiff wind.”

“What about that one?”

“Her bottom’s too broad. She’ll be too slow to tack.”

“Well, you can’t say the same about that one over there. She has a nice, well-proportioned hull. At least what I can see of it.”

He didn’t need to consider the vessel in question, for he knew her design well. He should, it was very similar to, if not exactly, a design of his father’s. “Yes. Nice curves, sturdily built, and I think I know her owner. If it is who I think, he has a load of money, but no skill at the wheel.” He gazed at
Ann McKim
longingly. “She was launched two years ago from the very yard my father helped found and has already broken records for fastest crossing times for the Atlantic and Pacific in both directions. But a ship like that could do far better with the right man at the wheel.” Sighing, he turned to Lucky. “What that lady needs is a man with a knowledgeable, soft hand and the experience to coax her on when she wants to give up.”