Dawn in My Heart (4 page)

“She owes me nothing. I have found her at home and that is all that is required,” he drawled, returning Gillian's smile with one of his one.

“I believe a ride is a delightful idea. It will give the two of you the chance to get better acquainted with one another,” put in her mother. “It is such a lovely afternoon.”

“As you wish, Mama.”

Lord Skylar rose again. “Then, as we have the duchess's permission, I suggest we depart.” He approached her chair and held out an arm. “Shall we?”

As they were leaving the room, she turned toward her companion. “Aren't you coming with us, Templeton?”

Her mother answered for her. “No, my dear. Since you are taking a drive with your betrothed and his groom, you have no need of Templeton.”

Gillian blinked at her mother. Before she could say anything, Lord Skylar led her out the door.

“Don't forget your parasol and shawl, my lady,” Templeton called out.

Gillian was too amazed at her sudden freedom from Templeton to be aware of Lord Skylar handing her up into the close confines of the curricle. As he took the reins and whip from his tiger, she unfurled her parasol in the open carriage, aware all the while of how closely she sat beside him.

She watched his gloved hands as he maneuvered the curricle around the crowded square and was forced to concede he was a competent whip. He skirted the crested coaches parked in front of the stately residences while avoiding the oncoming vehicles clip-clopping toward them.

“You have a fine pair of grays,” she commented once they were away from the crowded streets of Mayfair and approaching the green expanse of Hyde Park.

“I can take no credit. They were Edmund's. Not the pair that killed him,” he added.

“I'm sorry. It must pain you to think about your brother…the suddenness of the accident.”

“By the time I was informed, he was long dead and buried, but yes, it still came as a shock. I never expected him to go in quite that manner. An overturned coach…a broken neck…He was still in his prime and always had a strong constitution. I'd always expected him to live to his nineties.”

“You must have looked up to him,” she commented, wondering how it felt to suddenly inherit the place of an elder brother and heir. As an only child herself, she had always thought it would be nice to have a brother or sister, someone to turn to and confide in when there was no one else.

Lord Skylar glanced at her before fixing his attention back on the congestion in front of the park gates. “Everyone admired Edmund.”

She glanced at his profile. The words were spoken as a statement of fact. Before she could comment further, she noticed they were passing the gates without turning in. She sat up. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded as they continued down Knightsbridge.

“Oh, to a little farmhouse in Kensington Village,” he drawled, not taking his eyes off the crowded thoroughfare. “I thought I'd make love to you all afternoon and then return you to your mama in time for tea.”

“Turn this vehicle around immediately!”

He grinned wickedly, sparing her only a glance, and she realized her mistake. She sat back and fumed. “That's not amusing.”

“My apologies. You are easily repelled by any mention of the physical aspect of our relationship. It seems to bring out the worst in me. I ask your pardon.”

Instead of replying to him, she craned her head around to take a last look at the park gates and gave a little sigh of regret.

“I hope you're not too disappointed with the change in plans. I have found the park choked with traffic. They've turned it into a veritable fairground since the victory,” he said in disgust.

She turned back to settle in her seat. “I have scarcely seen the celebrations. Mother shares your opinion and deems it best to avoid the crowds.”

When he made no comment but continued, focused on the road, Gillian fell silent, deciding to make the most of the
outing. Tilting her head back, she breathed deeply of the warm June air, which was filled with the smells of vegetation from the park alongside and baked pastries from a nearby hawker selling meat pies. The sharp tang of leather from the curricle's seat reminded her of drives with her father.

She wished anew they could ride in the park, where her acquaintances might see her in this smart vehicle. It was well sprung and polished to a brilliant shine. Her hands caressed the supple leather seat. What a difference from riding in the closed landau with Templeton.

Suddenly, she laughed, looking upward past the leafy trees to the powder-blue sky and soft white clouds beyond.

Skylar gave her a brief look. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Freedom from my jailer.”

“The redoubtable Miss Templeton?”

“The very one.”

“If I had to select a companion to guard a young lady's virtue, I do believe I would have chosen Miss Templeton.”

Gillian gave him a sidelong glance. “She has been my shadow for the last three years.”

“Tell me,” he asked, stepping up their speed as the traffic thinned, “are you in need of such an assiduous guard?”

Her smile disappeared and she looked away. “It is Mama's desire to protect me. That is why I was astonished she let me go on this ride without Templeton.”

“Your mother trusts the contract drawn up between our solicitors. She knows the Pembrokes won't renege on an agreement once they've given their word. What transpires between now and the wedding date does not unduly concern her.”

“Since you are going to behave with absolute propriety, I
suppose Mama's trust is not misplaced,” she answered with a firmness she was far from feeling. When he gave her no such assurance, Gillian turned to study the scenery along the Kensington Road.

She decided she would enjoy her outing and not let Lord Skylar's unusual manner unsettle her. He was a gentleman, otherwise her mother would not have agreed to the match. She must believe that.

When they arrived in the village of Kensington on the outskirts of London, he took her to a small tea garden set in the middle of pastures where cows grazed peacefully. Gillian looked about her in delight at the quaint establishment surrounded by flowering gardens. Small round tables covered in pretty linen tablecloths were set up both in the main dining room and out in the gardens.

She readily agreed when he suggested they sit outside.

“Mmm.” She inhaled the fragrance of moss roses, pinks and sweet pea growing in a profusion beside their table.

He helped her into a chair, and a waitress brought her a glass of lemonade and a pot of tea for him. Sky asked her to bring them a selection of their cream-filled pastries.

“What a charming place. I've never been here before.” Gillian looked at the man seated across from her, against the backdrop of flowers, the drone of bees and the twitter of birds. “It's not the sort of place Mother would frequent.” Nor you, she added silently.

“I'm glad it's still around. I have scarcely had a chance yet to explore all my old haunts. My mother would bring me here as a boy when I was home on holiday. I used to dream of the syllabub made with their cream.”

She eyed him, finding it hard to imagine this austere
looking man clad in black ever being a little boy craving sweets.

“These look scrumptious,” she said, preferring to turn her attention to the fruit tarts heaped with whipped cream the waitress set before them. She put one on her plate.

“The place is famous for its cream and butter,” he explained, nodding to the cows grazing in the lawn beyond the garden. “I don't know how much longer it will be around. Everyone prefers Vauxhall, from what I hear.”

Her eyes lit up. “How I'd love to go there!”

He raised an eyebrow. “You haven't been? In all your three seasons?”

“Mother thinks it vulgar. She believes it is only a place for the lower classes to go for their trysts.”

He sat back, crossing his long legs, his fingers playing idly with a teaspoon. “Some would say the same thing of tea gardens. We have the place practically to ourselves. The lower classes must indeed all be at Vauxhall.”

She looked around at the airy yet intimate surroundings. It did seem ideal as an out-of-the-way place to meet a sweetheart. Her thoughts went unbidden to other times, times she thought long dead and dormant, when she had been desperate for such a place. She turned her attention to the pastry in front of her. She was in a different position in life now. Older. Ready for a home of her own.

She took a bite of the warm tart and savored its buttery crust and rich custard hidden by the sweet strawberries and fresh cream atop it.

“You're not having any?” she asked with a glance at his empty plate.

He shook his head. “You go ahead.”

“I should think you could use some of these pastries,” she commented, remembering her mother's mention that he'd been ill.

“Are you of the opinion as most that I am in need of ‘fattening up'?”

“You are quite thin. Is that just natural or—or…” She hesitated.

“Have I been ill?” he finished for her, taking a sip of his tea.

“Mother mentioned something of it.”

He nodded. “Yes. I was ill.” He did not elaborate. After a moment, he asked her, “Tell me, Lady Gillian, what do you expect from this marriage?”

She washed the taste of strawberries and cream from her mouth with a swallow of lemonade and set down her glass, wondering at the directness of the question.

When she didn't answer right away, he said, “Come, you agreed to this arrangement between our parents. Despite all their interests in our union, I don't believe your mother would force you against your will. You have seemed less than willing up to now.”

“Well, that's due solely to your—your somewhat less than gentlemanly manner.”

“I was somewhat caught by surprise by my father's announcement. I had no more stepped off the ship than he was insisting on my marriage. I beg your pardon if my manner has offended you. I was still adjusting to the notion of having my bride already picked out for me.”

“You objected to the match?” she asked curiously. “You've reached your majority. Surely your father can't make you marry someone you don't know.”

He leaned back in his chair and focused his gaze on a fat
bumblebee hovering over the stalks of blue delphinium. “After considering all his persuasive arguments, I had to concede his point. I am not getting any younger. Edmund's death taught us all that we can depart at any moment. Without an heir—” He shrugged. “Our estates are entailed. If I expire without leaving a male heir, all our lands pass to a cousin. The mere thought brings on an attack of gout to my poor sire.”

“But wouldn't you want to choose your own wife?”

“I am afraid I have neither the inclination nor energy at this point in my life to sort through all the young ladies of marriageable age presently making their debut in society. The mere thought is both exhausting and excruciatingly tedious.”

“You certainly don't believe in flattery,” she replied, not sure whether she should be insulted or amused at his description of the Marriage Mart.

“Since most of the candidates would have been merely after my title and fortune, it makes things much simpler to select a young lady who is already possessed of these assets.”

“But to marry a virtual stranger—” she began.

He gave her a humorless smile. “My father is a philanderer, an inveterate gambler and, above all, a lover of pleasure. Whatever my opinion may be of his way of life, I cannot fault his taste in women. He is a connoisseur of the fairer gender.

“When he promised I would be pleased with his choice, I could not but agree to have a look at you. He sang your praises. I can't say you displease me, fair Lady Gillian.”

Her name sounded like a caress in the softly pronounced syllables, his dark eyes appraising her.

“Is he as good a judge of horseflesh?” she asked evenly, once again inclined to feel affronted.

He looked amused. “He's an excellent judge of horseflesh.”

“Then I should be flattered.”

He shrugged. “That's up to you. I'm merely telling you that my father has an eye for beauty and the finer things of life.”

She squirmed, feeling he could see things she had revealed to no one. When she didn't answer right away, his tone gentled. “I have told you my reasons for agreeing to the match. Can you not confide something to me?”

Not ready to do any such thing, she persisted with the topic. “If you have such confidence in your father's opinion, why were you so ungracious the first evening we met?”

He raised a dark eyebrow in inquiry.

“Oh, come, my lord, you remember perfectly well how you behaved, looking me up and down as if I were a mare. Telling your father I'd do.”

He smiled, his forefinger playing with the contours of his mouth. “That was not against you. My father and I, how shall I put it, don't like to concede the other a point scored. I would no more admit to him he is right than I would wear a spotted waistcoat.”

Not quite mollified, but beginning to understand him better, she nodded.

“That still leaves why you acquiesced to your mother's choice.” His soft tone intruded on her thoughts.

“I want a home of my own,” she finally admitted, looking down at the doily under her glass.

“A home of your own,” he answered, surprise edging the low timbre of his voice. “I would not consider you homeless.”

“I want to be mistress of my own household.”

“Well, you will have ample opportunity as the Countess of Skylar.”

“It is what I have been trained to do. I know I would do it well.” She felt her face warm as she spoke the next words. “I want to have children of my own and bring them up. You are right when you say I am tired of playing the debutante. I would like my life to serve some purpose.”