Elisabeth Fairchild (8 page)

This young woman meant to attract the earl. He knew that. He had offered to help her in the pursuit, yet somewhere deep within, in a private place he hesitated to acknowledge, Miles had hoped to use his considerable charm to turn her head his way before Walsh could be brought round. He backed away from the window. Perhaps it was best this way. Easier.

Had he continued to observe, Miles would have seen Aurora break away from Walsh and head up the steps toward him while Walsh, laughing at something she had said, pressed on in the opposite direction. But Miles did not see. Gracie interfered, arriving breathlessly at his side with a question, her gaze darting nervously. “You have not seen Walsh have you?”

“Outside smoking,” he informed her.

“Marvelous!” She relaxed. “I have yet to meet the infamous Rupert Ramsay who hides in the library and I mean to beard the bookworm in his den, but I do not want dear Walsh trailing after me, spoiling my--”

“Your what?” Miles raised his brows.

She chuckled shamelessly, cheeks dimpling. “My search for a bedtime story. You will hold tongue as to my whereabouts?”

“If you wish,” Miles agreed, his attention diverted as Aurora Ramsay, alone, passed within a few feet of them, with nary a glance in his direction. Anxiously he tracked her progress as she crossed to the stairs. She did not seem at all aware of his presence, a factor that irked him. He knew her to be incredibly sensitive to Walsh’s every move. He would have been greatly relieved had he known Aurora was making a concerted effort not to look his way for no other reason than that he stood talking to Grace, with whom she supposed him to be infatuated.

When Gracie headed in the direction of the library Miles pushed through a press of guests in pursuit of Aurora. Too late. She had already vanished up the stairs.

As he stood considering the idea of charging up the treads after her so that he might verify the exact time of their meeting on the following morning, he was astonished to observe a gentleman with red hair pulling himself up from a card table in one of the drawing rooms with the aid of a crutch. Rue Ramsay! It could be no other.

“Oh dear. Gracie will be in a pet,” he murmured. Crossing to the card table, he made a point of introducing himself, holding his hand out to Aurora Ramsay’s brother with as much curiosity as Grace had approached the library. “You are Mr. Ramsay, are you not?”

Rue Ramsay shook a lock of deep auburn hair from eyes that were not green, as Miles had expected, but blue. He acknowledged Miles’s introduction in a desultory fashion, as though he suspected some sort of unwanted charity in the exchange of names.

“Are you friend to one of my brothers?ne of my His tone was frosty. He would not be impressed with such a connection.

Miles disabused him of the notion. “I have never had the pleasure of meeting any sibling other than your sister. She impressed me with her riding skills today.”

Rue brightened. There was a likeness in the movements of his mouth to those of his sister. “She’s at her best on a horse,” he agreed. “Few men can match her. Comes from competing with so many rough-riding brothers I suppose.” With the competence of a man grown familiar, if not yet comfortable with his limitations, Ramsay pegged his way to the door and headed in the direction of the library.

Miles followed, and when Aurora’s brother had some trouble maneuvering he resisted the temptation to assist. Ramsay, a former military officer, would not have appreciated the coddling. Instead, his voice never betraying the struggle that went on within, Miles carried on their conversation. “I understand competitive sisters completely. My own competes with me every opportunity fate allows, on the subject of Greek and Roman architecture.”

Ramsay laughed. Conversing amiably, they were within several paces of the door to the library when Walsh intercepted them. He looked even more ruddy and muscularly robust than usual juxtaposed to Rupert. “Excuse me for interrupting,” he said, “but where has your sister gotten herself off to, Fletcher?” Introductions made all the way around, Miles collected himself enough not to blurt out the truth that leapt so naturally to his tongue.

“Off to bed with a book I believe,” he lied, lips thinning as Grace chose that very moment to prove his lie by sticking her head out of the library door immediately behind Walsh.

Walsh was oblivious to her appearance, but Miles was sure Rupert could not help but see Grace as her mouth dropped open and her head swiftly ducked behind the library door again.

“I’m off to bed myself then,” Walsh yawned. “Anyone care to ride with me at dawn?”

Miles was pleased to turn down such an offer. “Terribly sorry. Prior engagement. Your sister, Ramsay, has promised to school me in archery. Another time, perhaps, Walsh?”

Rupert shrugged. “I appreciate the invitation, my lord, but I am not the best company horseback.”

“As you will.” Walsh shrugged and pointed to Rupert’s peg. “I’ve a friend in a similar situation. He has had a saddle specially fitted to his peg. Once he is thrown into the thing, he rides almost as well as ever.”

“I must have the name of this saddle maker, sir.”

“Done,” Walsh said, and with another yawn headed toward his rooms.

Miles politely bade Rupert good-night and wondered what story Gracie might have to tell come morning, when he glanced over his shoulder to observe Ramsay opening the door to the library and maneuvering his crutch within.

Aurora found her brother, Rupert, where she expected to find him on the following morning--in the library.

The library was a golden place. Not golden in a way that spoke only of the guineas that had gone into its construction and the amassing of numerous calf-bound, gold-leafed books and folios--this room bathed in the color. Long, bright, and high-ceilinged, the space was beautifully coffered--as was most of the Hall--with gold leaf and gilt. Carved doorjambs, window frames and bookcases were delicately trimmed out in gold leaf as well. One wall boasted a golden gray-veined Sienna marble fireplace, in which crackled a fire that added just the right note of warmth to the room’s gilt-edged comfort. Above the fireplace hung a particularly fine antique mosaic of a golden lion devouring a gold-and black-spotted leopard.

Aurora knew she would find Rue ensconced in this glittering respite most hours of the day scribbling away at the manuscript he allowed no one to examine. He was a most obliging brother in every other way she had to admit, to come with her all the way to Holkham as her escort, when he had not the slightest interest in sheep, their shearing, cattle or farming implements. He was, he told her, content to explore terrain of quite a different kind, in the gilt-edged pages of the books that the masters of Holkham had collected. He even stayed relatively current on the latest agricultural news by perusing the periodicals Thomas Coke subscribed to, without ever setting foot in field or barn. But, this morning Rupert was not engrossed in a book or scratching feverishly away with his pen. He was standing before one of the windows, leaning on his cane and staring at the view.

Aurora got the feeling she interrupted a profound state of reflection so intent was his concentration.

“Rupert?”

He started and swung his auburn forelock out of eyes the grey-blue color of Wedgewood in turning to look at her. He would bewitch a female some day with those eyes. Aurora was sure of it. Despite his missing leg, Rupert was an engaging fellow.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said unnecessarily. Of course it was she. Who else knew to seek him out, here, in Coke’s private sanctuary?

Feeling far too green in this golden room, dressed as she was in her Bowman’s colors, she plumped herself down on a comfortable gold damask sofa that faced the fireplace and the antique mosaic above it. Aurora found the lion devouring the leopard an intriguing subject choice for the quiet comfort of a library. It added an edge of violence, of adventure, to the still peace of the place.

“I have come to tell you what I mean to do today.”

Strange, how she felt compelled to do so. Aurora was not in the habit of informing anyone of her whereabouts now that mother and father were gone. Her brothers had never required it of her. But today she felt the need to tell Rupert of her intentions.

Rupert looked as baffled as she by this sudden accountability for her whereabouts. With a shrug he returned his attention to the view. “Yes?”

Aurora gazed at him a moment, as if she gazed at a stranger. Rupert was not the most handsome of her brothers, but there had always been a contained steadiness, a physical self-possession, and a level of unruffled intellectual strength about him that she found attractive. These admirable characteristics had served him well in the military. Perhaps, too well. They had taken him to Wellington’s battlefront at Vitoria and lost him a leg.

Rue had dealt quietly, almost unemotionally, with the loss of his limb. Reserved and studious to begin with, his introverted tendencies were magnified. As for his physical self-confidence, he got around well enough on his peg with a crutch to assist him. His staggered gait was not so distracting as to offend, but Rupert would never be graceful in what was left of his body. He was not yet comfortable with the looks that turned in his direction whenever he limped into a room. Crowds, noise-making and shows of high emotion were an anathema to him. He tucked himself, instead, into still, quiet corners, writing and reading, the lion in the library.

Aurora did not understand such a continuing contentedness with separation. She enjoyed crowds and grew desolate without human companionship in some form every day.

Not Rupert--not since the loss of his leg.

“I don’t suppose you mean to sit placidly on the lawn doing watercolors,” he drawled.

Aurora laughed. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

He shrugged, still transfixed by the view. “Some young ladies are content with such pastimes.”

“Not my style, Rue, and well you know it.” She returned her attention to the wildcats above the mantle. “No, it is just that I mean to spend a great deal of time with a gentleman I have become acquainted with, and I did not want you worrying that he meant to seduce me, or some such nonsense.”
What was it Miles Fletcher had said? She snapped at men before they had any opportunity to devour her?

Rue’s peg creaked as he shifted into a more comfortable stance to look at her. “You are far more capable of defending yourself against rogues who would take advantage than I.” His words gave uncanny echo to her thoughts. “Besides, this fellow hasn’t a chance in Hades unless you’ve given up your mad notion to hook Walsh and his land. Who is this poor, misguided fool who wastes time wooing you?”

Aurora frowned at the open-mouthed lion. Was she really so single-minded? Was there no one who could stray her course now that she had set out to capture Walsh’s attention? She shook her head. “He is an amusing, dandified sort of fellow. Exquisite manners and an odd inclination to teach me the social niceties I have so long ignored. Who knows, he may even teach me watercolors. Miles Fletcher is his name.”

“Fletcher?” Rupert perked up. “Yes, the fellow introduced himself to me last night. Mentioned archery. I have met his sister as well. They both seemed nice enough.” Rupert was intent in his perusal of the view again, “ Does anyone accompany you in these archery lessons, or have you come begging me to suffer that role?”

“No. Fletcher said his sister means to tag along.” Aurora stood up from the sofa and crossed to the window. A young woman in an attractively beribboned straw bonnet was set up on the lawn with easel and palette, her head and hand moving in a painter’s ballet as her brush dipped from palette to paper and back again.
Oh ho!
So it was she held Rupert’s attention fastened to the view. Aurora wondered how long he had been standing at the window. The painter had turned her head. The fetching face beneath the bonnet brim’s shade was none other than the lovely coquette who with no more than a crook of her finger had Miles Fletcher bounding from his chair.

“Do you know Fletcher’s sister?” Rue shifted his weight again. “She was in here yesterday, evading Walsh.”

“Evading him?” Aurora had no idea Rue was referring to the young woman they observed through the window.

Rue laughed softly. “She said she was looking for a book, but I am certain she was hiding from Walsh, for she ducked behind the door when she saw him. I asked her what title she required, being familiar with the library. She said she had not a particular book in mind. Said she wished to be quiet for a few moments, away from the crush. Quiet she was.” He sounded as if he might have enjoyed more noise from Miss Fletcher.

The painter on the lawn packed up her paints. Aurora directed a piercing look at her brother’s profile. Was it disappointment she saw in his eyes? Was he, along with every other gentleman she came into contact with, enamored of the mysterious dark-haired swan?

Aurora closed her eyes against the brightness of the sun, the beauty of the young woman and the anguish of knowing that her brother, who had shown no interest whatsoever in any fele since his injury, should be interested now by a pretty creature who was sure to break his heart and then glide away.