Gentlemen Prefer Mischief (17 page)

“And now you are too old for dreams? Too old, at almost twenty-one, to care for beauty and pleasure and anything else you’ve decided doesn’t have a moral value?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t build a folly when there’s so much important work to be done in the world. People are starving and hurt and sorrowing, and you’re spending a small fortune on something with no earthly use.”

“I
like
the idea that it has no use, that it only exists to conjure a smile, a laugh, some pleasure. Beauty has purpose. I would even say it puts us in touch with the divine.”

Her brows drew together. How dared he—of all people—come to be claiming a true interest in the divine?

“In any case,” he continued, “the folly is providing employment for two people, or it would be if you’d surrender the identity of the Woods Fiend. So really, who’s the one stopping people from having what they need? Or do you not believe their work valuable?”

It seemed he never would see her way of looking at things. He took what she said, worked it over, and presented it back to her in such a way that she didn’t recognize herself. “No. Of course honest work is valuable. And art and beauty. Just—in moderation.”

“Where’s the moderation, then, in your own beauty? Because it overflows profligately—the moonlight hair, the blue-lilac eyes, the shape of your hands, the creamy skin of your shoulders. None of it is necessary, and yet it’s there. You are just as beautiful as I am handsome, Lily. It’s one of your gifts, and yet you refuse to enjoy it, to truly accept it.”

His words had a physical effect on her, stirring a heavy flutter in her chest like a bird beating its wings. “I—this is absurd. The issue is not appearances, it’s the calculated
charm
.”

“You’re against charm?”

“I’m against insincerity. The way you have of making women enchanted with you just because you can.”

He laughed, extended an arm against the table and leaned closer to her, a hint of eagerness playing about his mouth. The smooth, clean-shaven plane of his cheek made her envision the everyday domesticity of his valet at work over him with a razor, but she blinked her eyes and sent the image away.

“Are you saying that you’re enchanted, Lily? Just a bit?”

She wanted to scoff, but considering what had passed between them the night before—and the fact that she
was
more than a little enchanted—that would come across but weakly. She moved back from him, ostensibly to stack the pile of books.

“I meant all the women you’ve left in your wake as you’ve made your way from one house party or ball or country to the next. Though I almost think you can’t help yourself, that it’s a compulsion, or even a reflex, that impels you to charm people. Women.”

He crossed his arms, the arrogant nobleman in his domain. She wanted, perversely, to ruffle up his hair, or unbutton his coat and button it again with the buttons in the wrong holes.

“You love to reform a sinner, don’t you, Lily?”

“I’m hardly in a position to do that, am I?”

He waved his hand. “Don’t take yourself so seriously. You know, I do genuinely like women. It’s not an act.”

“Not that you’re aware of, certainly. You like them, as playthings and entertainments. But what about who they are as people? Their hopes and wounds and needs? What about Eloise, who has no parents and is going along with little guidance, now, when her future will hinge on the man she marries?”

“And you would be so much better at helping her pick, simply because your guiding principle is ‘no handsome aristocrats.’”

“It’s not a bad principle.”

“Eloise will be fine—she has a good head on her shoulders, and I won’t give permission for her to wed any fools. Why don’t you admit what this is really about: you’re disgusted with yourself for what we did together yesterday.” His words were strong, but his tone was gentle. “Lily-who-should-have-tea-in-the-garden-and-never-think-about-the-bedchamber.”

She looked down at the Thucydides volume on top of the stack she’d arranged, though she wasn’t really seeing it. It was foolish to stand here with him having this outrageous conversation, but she needed to make sure he understood. “I consider it simply an educational experience.”

His bark of laughter made her look up. “So this was, what, a new window into the ways of men? An experience you’ve had now, and not to be repeated, to be filed under the category of things you can’t learn about men from your brothers.”

That startled a disgusted laugh out of her, just when she shouldn’t be laughing with him at all. “Ugh, what a thought.”

“You know, Lily, you’re clever and beautiful and absolutely wonderful company. But you won’t
let
yourself
go
.”

She didn’t like the way his words made her feel, as if she were sanctimonious, when what she wanted—what she’d always wanted—was to be a good person. He’d succeeded in riling her again, but she reached for calm.

“There, do you see why we don’t actually have anything to say to one another? You want to let yourself go, as you say, for every passing whim, and I don’t. It’s not what I choose for myself. The things each of us cares about couldn’t be more different. There’s simply nothing more to say.”

She moved past him, toward where the boys and Nanny were, aware that she wanted the security their presence would provide without wanting to admit of what it was that she was afraid.

Hal watched Lily go, those upright shoulders stiff as usual, the pale blond, dignified back of her head an austere rebuttal to all the ways he’d tried to make her see. She wanted him to understand that she wouldn’t accept him, no matter how much she might be attracted to him.

He was at sea. Intuition had deserted him, or facility—whatever it was that had allowed him to charm women had decamped, leaving him awkward. What was wrong with him?

He thought of the brilliant smiles she’d given Fforde the night before. Fforde, with his blasted fever hospital. He knew a stab of self-disgust that it had never occurred to him to use some of his now-considerable funds for an undertaking like the hospital. His family had never gone in for that sort of thing because the viscountcy had always only been about the family. His father’s guiding words had been, “
Every
step, every choice must enhance the viscountcy
.”

His father’s emphasis on family had always seemed idiotic to Hal, when it was so evident that most of the
people
in his family meant so little to him. But then, his father had wanted a dynasty, not a family.

He
could
fund a significant project like Fforde’s; in fact, he very much liked the idea of establishing a far better way of caring for ill and wounded soldiers. He had the means now to do something for men like the ones who’d served with him. He’d take it up with his man of affairs.

Lily would respect an undertaking like that.

But he didn’t want her to want him because he could pay for good works.

He felt a strong, sudden urge to forgo wine at meals and talk only to men and spend hours in prayer in his room, simply because she wouldn’t expect it of him.

They were all urges he’d easily mastered by lunchtime.

At which meal he had the uncomfortable sense that his sister was paying rather a lot of attention to Donwell, who seemed smitten with her, and also to Ivorwood, who was ever-oblivious. Something about that situation did not bode well, and Hal supposed he ought to provide Eloise with some brotherly guidance.

But the idea of his giving romantic advice to anyone seemed like the purest hypocrisy. Perhaps Diana could help.

An unusual housekeeping situation came to Eloise’s attention as she walked away from lunch in the company of Donwell. Mrs. Pratt, the housekeeper, had apparently been waiting to speak with him, and she waylaid him in the hallway.

“If you please, sir, there’s been a small accident in your room.”

“An accident?” Eloise said before Donwell could reply. “What sort of accident?”

Mrs. Pratt flicked a rather hard glance at Donwell. “His vermin have escaped.”

“His
what
?”

“Only some harmless beetles,” he said. “And what do you mean they escaped?”

“They are the size of mice, sir,” Mrs. Pratt said with remarkable evenness, “and the maids are terrified of them. Sally accidentally knocked into the box when she was tidying your chamber, and the creatures came out, frightening her to death.”

“Foolish of her. They’re harmless.”

“So you say, but I can’t blame her. She ran shrieking out of the room, and who knows where they’ve gone. Nor do we know how to collect them—”

“Please do no such thing,” Donwell said sternly, start-ing up the stairs two at a time. “You might injure them.”

Eloise ran after him.

“Donwell,” she laughed, “what have you done?”

They reached the corridor, which was carpeted in a Turkey rug, and he said, “We must step carefully—they may have escaped from my room.”

With anticipatory glee, she imagined Mrs. Whyte coming upon a creature in her room, but hardly had she gone five steps when one of the flowers in the carpet pattern moved. She shrieked.

“There,” she gasped, pointing to an enormous beetle with a large pincer scuttling toward the bottom of a guest bedroom door. Donwell dropped to all fours and crawled toward it.

“Dear God,” she breathed, “it looks evil.”

“Nonsense, it’s the gentlest creature,” he said. “Only don’t make any sudden motions, as he may fly if startled.”

She kept very still while he put a hand in front of the beetle.

“Dare I ask how many you brought?”

“Only two,” he said, coaxing the beetle onto his hand. It seemed to accept him, and she thought he even petted it before he stood up. “They were a gift from a friend who was recently in Brazil.”

The beetle really was the size of a mouse, dark and shiny. It was revolting, and yet, perched on the palm of Donwell’s hand, it didn’t look menacing. “And so you brought it to a house party.”

He glanced up from his creature with a puzzled look. “Well, I couldn’t leave them in my rooms in London—who would feed them?”

“Who indeed?”

They walked to his room, the door to which was closed, and he had her open it while he stepped carefully inside. Leaving the door wide for propriety’s sake, she followed him, and he put the beetle in a box that stood near the window. They discovered the other creature feasting on a soft log among a stack by the hearth.

“There,” he said, tenderly collecting it and putting it in the box with the other one, “if only Sally hadn’t made such a fuss and scared him off, he would have been there with the female, eating the wood. It’s what they like.”

“Naturally.”

He glanced up from the box. His cravat, which had not been neatly tied to begin with, had come loose when he was crawling around. He was wearing the same faded, horrible brown coat again—Eloise suspected he didn’t have much else to wear—but it had begun to amuse her, and she grinned. He frowned a bit.

“What’s funny?”

“You. I rather think you’re not ready for polite society.” She tipped her head to the side. “I could help you, you know. Be more the thing.”

Something tightened around his mouth. “No, thank you. I’m not in need of a mother.”

She’d offended him. “Well, of course not. You’re older than I am.” Though in terms of what was required of gentlemen, she thought, he was more like a boy. Unschooled, unaware—whatever it was, he wasn’t masterful like Ivorwood or her brother.

“Eloise,” he said, but then he paused. His brows drew together, and an intent quality in his eyes made her think he was going to say something serious, but she didn’t want to hear serious things from Donwell.

“Come, tell me what else you’ve brought,” she said, glancing around the room. “A snake? Fish? A small tiger?”

He looked peevish. “Nothing else.”

But a box on top of the wardrobe had caught her eye, and she was reaching for it when he said, “That’s only a rat.”

She pulled her hand back. “A
rat
?”

“I didn’t bring it, I found it here.”

“Oh, Donwell,” she said when she could catch her breath from laughing, “you
do
make me laugh. How amusing you are!”

Although Donwell loved to hear Eloise laugh, having her laugh
at
him like this was far from a pleasure.

“Did you still want to walk in the garden?” he asked. She’d mentioned doing so at lunch, and though he had to suppose she’d mostly said it to attract Ivorwood’s attention, last night and this morning she’d been equally attentive to him, and he wasn’t about to squander what chances he had.

“No time now—I’m to meet Delia in a little while and it will take me an hour to change.”

“A waste of time,” he said softly, meaning that she already looked exquisite. But he couldn’t seem to say that part; he felt he’d sound obsequious, or insincere.

She sighed. “You
would
think so,” she said, walking toward the door.

“I’ll see you tonight, then?” he said.

“Right,” she called over her shoulder on her way out.

***

It was a larger party that went to the roof for stargazing that night, and at a more suitable hour for a five-year-old. When Freddy had asked his mother about going to the roof with Donwell and Eloise, Diana had insisted, not surprisingly, that it wasn’t appropriate for a lady and a gentleman to be alone with only a five-year-old for a chaperone. Eloise had advised Freddy not to mention that such a thing had already happened. And anyway, now the issue was resolved, because she’d invited Ivorwood, Hal, Ian, Lily, Delia, and even annoying Mrs. Whyte to join her and Donwell and Freddy.

As the group made their way to the tower in the interval between dinner and cards, Eloise savored the excitement of Ivorwood’s presence ahead of her. Though the house party was not large, she still hadn’t had as many chances as she’d have liked to spend time with him, and they’d hardly talked at all. Being on the roof together would be so much more intimate—hadn’t it felt so when she was up there with Donwell? Surely it would be the perfect time for something—even just a little something—to happen between them. She’d settle for a conversation of more than one sentence, or even his coat sleeve brushing against her arm.

Once on the roof, everyone exclaimed over the sky. The night was cold and clear, and Eloise found it all beautiful again, and listened a bit as Donwell pointed out constellations to Freddy. But most of her attention was claimed by the sight of Ivorwood talking to Delia a few yards away, by a torch near the battlements. Their heads were bent close—what could they be discussing so intently? She felt horribly left out.

She hadn’t noticed that Donwell had stopped talking about the sky until she realized he was standing next to her. It was too dark where they stood to see much beyond the flash of moonlight in his eyes.

“I liked it better when it was just us with a five-year-old chaperone,” he said.

A husky note in his voice plucked a skittish chord in her, and she forced lightness into her voice, the same tone she’d have used with any gentleman. “Oh, a scandalous thing to say, Mr. Donwell.”

He made no reply, and they stood for a few moments in silence. She wondered what he wanted.

“You’re watching Ivorwood,” he said.

“No, I’m not,” she said, irritated.

“He’s a very reserved man,” Donwell observed. “I think what he is for you is a blank slate on which to compose your fancies.”

She felt as if she’d been smacked—not pain, but the shock of his words, and the sense she didn’t want to acknowledge that there was something in them. “I can’t imagine what makes you speak to me this way.”

He was quiet, and she thought that probably they were done speaking to each other, and that was certainly for the best because now she felt horribly peevish. But then he did speak.

“It’s because I fancy you, of course. And that makes me hate to watch you looking at him.”

A shiver ran through her at the masculine directness of his words. How had he said such a thing—Donwell, who made her laugh and hardly knew a cravat from a stocking?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, barely knowing what words she spoke. What was she supposed to say? She didn’t fancy him, she fancied Ivorwood—handsome, mysterious Ivorwood. Her embarrassment sent her on the attack.

“And you’re wrong. He’s not like that at all.”

“What’s he like then?”

“He’s a deep river—I mean, this is ridiculous! I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

“No, you don’t.” He was silent a moment. “I only wonder whether you’re ready to experience something real, or if you’re too afraid to step away from girlish fantasy.”

Afraid?
She wasn’t afraid—she was bold. But she didn’t want to talk about things like this with Donwell, and she was just about to tell him so when he turned away and made his way toward where Hal was crouched down, talking with Freddy. Eloise felt cross and strangely hot and stirred up, and deserted by Donwell, who’d left before she had set him straight.

By the battlements, Delia laughed musically at something Ivorwood had said, and jealousy pricked Eloise. Ivorwood never practiced witticisms on her.
Why
didn’t he? She’d always been sure he was reserved with her because that was his way, because he was a very careful gentleman, and she valued that. Yet there he was, still talking to Delia.

She imagined Donwell with a scornful expression she couldn’t see, and anger prodded her. Something
must
happen between her and Ivorwood tonight. This was her best chance to enable things between them.

She moved closer to Ivorwood and Delia and joined their conversation, which was about the planets. Eloise couldn’t have cared a fig for planets just then; her mind was spinning, trying to find a ruse.

Delia, thank heaven, made it easy for her by going off to ask Ian something, which Eloise suspected was merely an effort to keep him from talking too long to flirtatious old Hyacinth. That left Eloise with Ivorwood. She surreptitiously removed one of her ear bobs and slipped it into her pocket, savoring how bold she was about to be.

“Ivorwood, I wonder if you would help me. I seem to have dropped my pearl ear bob, and I think it fell somewhere on the tower staircase. But I’m rather afraid of the stairs, with all the cobwebs and bugs.”

“I’d be happy to look for it, Eloise. But shouldn’t we ask everyone to help, and multiply the effort?”

“I think not, because that would also be more feet, and someone might step on it.”

“Then I shall go alone.”

The heavy door to the stairs was close by, and it had been left partially ajar. The others were all standing together at the far side of the roof, facing away and up at the sky, and when Ivorwood passed through the doorway, Eloise waited a moment, then slipped in behind him.

“Eloise?”

There was a lantern hanging on a hook in the wall a few feet away, and in its murky light she saw the surprise on his face. He was two steps down from her.

She descended one step.

“I thought you didn’t like it in here,” he said.

“I don’t. But I like
you
.”

There! She’d said it.

He seemed to be contemplating her words, his shadowed face a study in strength and manliness and sheer handsomeness, though was that a leery light in his eyes? But he was everything that was good and desirable and honorable. And that meant he was too constrained by his gentleman’s breeding to take action.

“Eloise,” he began, “you are a lovely, gracious young woman—”

Oh, hurrah! He did love her a bit. Donwell was wrong, he didn’t understand at all. Not waiting for the earl to finish lest she lose her nerve, she leaned closer.

“Wait,” he began, but this was her chance for her first kiss ever, and with the man of her dreams, and she couldn’t let gentlemanly scruples stand in their way. Quickly she leaned closer and pressed her lips to his. Everything in her thrilled for the culmination of this moment she’d yearned for, even if she’d always imagined he’d be the one doing the kissing.

It was not quite as she’d thought it would be, which confused her. He smelled good, and his lips were soft, though prickly at the edges with the beginnings of whiskers. But why wasn’t he kissing her back?

He seemed to be leaning away.

“Don’t be silly, Hyacinth,” came Donwell’s voice just then from the doorway behind her, causing Eloise to spring backward and fall against the steps.

“Of course Eloise isn’t in the stairwell with Ivorwood.”

Eloise’s eyes flicked upward, and there was Donwell just above her, looking down at her sprawled on the steps.

How
much
had
he
seen?

“I’m sure they’re both in there,” came Hyacinth’s eager voice from a slight distance, making Eloise’s stomach drop.

“I don’t think,” Ivorwood began, but Donwell jerked his chin toward the bottom of the stairs.

“Ivorwood’s left already,” Donwell said, staring at both of them.

“I’m certain I heard something in there,” Hyacinth probed, her voice coming closer.

“If Miss Waverly would consent,” Ivorwood began in a grim voice, “to be my—”

“No, don’t!” Eloise broke in, horrified at what she’d done so impulsively. “I’m so sorry. Just go—now!”

With a dark look, Ivorwood disappeared down into the shadows of the lower staircase just as Hyacinth appeared in the doorway.

“Oh. It’s only Miss Waverly,” she said with a note of disappointment, as if she’d been done out of something. And she had—an extremely juicy piece of gossip.

“I was looking for my ear bob,” Eloise said in a tiny voice, getting to her feet.