How to Beguile a Beauty (10 page)

“She's gone then?” Sarah poked her mobcapped head around the edge of the door to the dressing room, and then skipped lightly across the room, her smile wide. “Oh, milady, ain't it just grand? I heard all about it below stairs. We leave in the morning for the country. And to Great Malvern, no less. I've family there, milady. M'cousin Martha got herself bracketed to the
baker what has his shop straight on High Street. Martha's a wee bit high in the instep now, but we've been chums forever, and no sayin' a person can't take on some airs when they've wed so well, I say.”

“I don't…” Lydia realized she was about to be mean and petty and say something much like
I don't care a fig about your cousin Martha
. But she stopped herself in time. If she was going to shock someone by not behaving as she always did, then let it be Tanner, not poor unsuspecting Sarah. “Great Malvern, you said, Sarah? How intriguing. Is there then by chance a Lesser Malvern?”

The maid shook her head, sending one of the pins holding her mobcap to skittering across the floor. “I don't think so, milady,” she said, screwing up her features, which already had an unfortunate resemblance to a maturing prune. “There's a Little Malvern, I'm thinkin', and another one. Malvern Wells? But they're all much of a piece, I think Martha said, all close together and such. But
Great
Malvern is the most important, just like m'cousin was clear to point out when she told us about her husband's new shop last Boxing Day, when she came to visit. Oh, cooee,” she went on, slapping a hand against her forehead. “And it's the Duke of
Malvern
you've been walkin' out with these past weeks. Well, mark me for a looby. I didn't think of that, not even the once!”

“The duke is a friend to all of us, Sarah, most especially my brother. That's all. I am not walking—that is to say…no, never mind. Tell me more about the greater and lesser Malverns.”

Lydia smiled weakly as Sarah went on and on,
giving her time to collect her scattered thoughts. She'd have to make use of the large book of maps Rafe kept in his library. She rather liked the sound of Little Malvern; it didn't seem quite so overpowering as Great Malvern…

“And the hills, milady? Hills all over, Martha says. She called them the Malvern Hills, like they're so important that they have a name and everything. Why to hear Martha prattlin' on so, you'd think the place to be part of Adam and Eve's own Garden of Eden.”

“Then there are snakes?” Lydia asked at last, hoping to stem the tide of praises for Tanner's ducal home.

“Martha never said.” Sarah bobbed a curtsy and apologized for nattering on so when there was work to be done. “You'll be takin' everything, milady, seein' as how we'll be on our way back to Ashurst Hall once we've quit the mighty Malvern.”

“The mighty Malvern. I like that, Sarah. Suddenly Greater Malvern doesn't seem quite so intimidating. Here, let me help you gather up my things. Is someone bringing my portmanteaus down from the attics?”

Sarah was already heading for the clothespress, clearly intent on cleaning it out with the least possible hesitation. “On their way, milady. You'll be hearing the racket soon enough, as William was sent to do the job, and he's sure to lose his grip on at least one, and send it bumping down the stairs. All thumbs, our William. When will you be wantin' to leave for the shops, milady?”

Lydia looked up at the ceiling as she heard the sound of something being dragged across the floor above her
head. She felt like the lone useless bee in a busy hive. “I'm not planning a trip to Bond Street, Sarah.”

Sarah paused on her way toward the bed, holding an armful of day dresses. “But Maisie, when she told me I was to pack you up, said I should be quick about it, seeing as how you needed to be ready for when His Grace fetched you off to the shops. She was uncommon clear about that, milady.”

“Oh, she was, was she? Was she clear enough as to say
which
His Grace would be accompanying me to these shops?”

Sarah frowned, and then grinned. “Yes, milady, she was. Not your brother. The one with the spring in his step. That's just what she said. And then she winked. Naughty puss, she is, that Maisie.”

Lydia didn't bother to agree or disagree with her maid's assessment. She was too busy wondering why Tanner would think she needed to visit Bond Street. “Thank you, Sarah. I suppose you could set out the bonnet with the blue ribbon, and my gloves. I'll be in His Grace's study if anyone should need me.”

Sarah curtsied, not an easy thing to do with an armful of dresses. “You might be wantin' to wear the bonnet with the cherries on it, milady. That blue ribbon is gettin' all frayed and such, seein' as how you wear it so much. You could mayhap find another blue ribbon whilst you're at the shops, and I can sew it on for you?”

Lydia wrapped her arms around her waist, reacting to what had almost felt like a physical punch to her midsection. Replace the blue ribbon? Discard the ribbon
the captain had said went so well with her eyes?
Fitz's ribbon?

“Or you could think to maybe change the ribbon? Yellow would look very nice, what with matchin' the posies on the brim?”

“No!” Lydia quickly put out her hands, as if to scrub away her near-violent protest. “That is…I think I would rather simply change the ribbon, and not the color. Perhaps if you'd snip off a small length of it, Sarah, I could take it with me to the shops so that I can match it?”

Sarah, looking more than slightly startled—for never did her mistress ever raise her voice—nodded furiously. “I'll do just that, milady. Yes, indeed. Just that. And I'll stick it in your reticule and put it on the table downstairs with your bonnet and gloves.”

“Thank you, Sarah,” Lydia said, more than a little ashamed of her behavior. “I'll…I'll be in His Grace's study.”

She closed the door to her bedchamber and then leaned against it in an attempt to collect her shattered nerves. What was the matter with her? One moment she was thinking about Tanner's kiss, and the next she was ready to indulge in a fit of the vapors because her blue ribbon needed to be replaced.

But she knew the answer to her own question. With or without her permission, Fitz was leaving her, finding a comfortable and permanent spot in her memory, but no longer a part of her life in the way he had been since
the day she'd first seen his unique smile, heard the lovely Irish lilt in his deep voice.

A voice she could barely recall. A smile she'd last seen as he waved to her from his horse and rode off toward glory and his eventual death.

She closed her eyes. She'd been angry with him for a long time. For leaving her. For placing his damnable duty to Crown and country before their own happiness. He'd fought beside Rafe on the Peninsula for six long years. Hadn't that been enough? Even as she'd missed him, longed for him, loved him, deep inside she'd been so
angry
with him for his absence.

The day Tanner had come to Grosvenor Square, ignoring his own injuries and delaying his own home-coming until he had delivered his sad news, Lydia had screamed
No! No!
as she'd beaten her fists against his chest. In denial? Or in fury? Had she been berating Tanner, or lashing out at Fitz for being so heartless as to die on her rather than stay with her?

These were the questions she'd asked herself, over and over again. Questions she'd never shared with Nicole or anyone else. And most especially not with Tanner. She'd never asked him about Fitz's wounds, or how Tanner had found him in the midst of a raging battle, or what the captain's last words had been. Because she'd needed Fitz alive, if only in her memory.

And now she could barely remember the sound of his voice, or conjure up the smile on his face.

And the blue ribbon had frayed…

Lydia used the back of her hands to wipe at the tears on her cheeks. It was so hard to say goodbye.

And more difficult yet to face the future…

Bam-bam-bam—
“William, you ham-fisted buffoon! Who said to let go?”

The sound of what had to be a heavy trunk crashing down the attic stairs, followed by the angry shouts of the head footman, had Lydia lifting her skirts to quickly make her way along the hallway and down to the foyer. Poor William, he of the bandy legs and the grace of a cross-eyed loon.

She could still hear the head footman berating him as she reached the bottom of the stairs, her smile only fading as she realized that the front door had just opened and Baron Justin Wilde was at that very moment stepping inside the mansion.

“Sir Justin,” she said almost breathlessly, dropping into a curtsy.

“Lady Lydia. At last, a reason to draw breath on this dull grey morning,” he responded with a bow, his left hand sweeping outward in order to flourish his hat and at the same time deftly thrust it into the belly of a clearly awed footman.

“It's the volcano, you know,” Lydia heard herself saying. “Somewhere in Tambora? Rafe says we're suffering the effects of smoke and ash sent high into the sky a year ago and half a world away.” She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking she probably sounded as inane, even if at least more widely informed, than Jasmine Harburton.

“So I understand, yes. And, speaking of His Grace, do you know if he is receiving callers this morning?”

“You wish to speak with Rafe?” Honestly, could she be any more silly? Now she was turning into a parrot. But, my, the baron was such a pretty man, and his smile was more than slightly disconcerting, as if he had some secret that delighted him, but that he wouldn't share. Or perhaps he would share…but he'd exact payment first.

Thinking it best not to say anything else, especially with two of the footmen showing themselves to be such an eager audience, she motioned toward the drawing room, inviting the baron to accompany her.

“I've only just come from Portland Square,” Justin said as he waited for Lydia to seat herself on one of the couches at the very center of the room. He neatly spread his coattails and took up his own seat on the facing couch. “It is my layman's opinion that our patient will live.”

Lydia took in a quick, short breath. “You saw his face?”

“The parts not hidden behind a plaster, yes. Nasty hit he must have taken against the edge of that door.”

She nodded her agreement. They had concocted a reasonable explanation for Tanner's injury before he'd seen her back to Grosvenor Square last night. “It was. An errant gust of wind blew along on the balcony just as we were stepping outside. The edge of the door caught him on his cheek before he could protect himself.” There. That sounded all right, didn't it? Maybe fibbing got easier the more you did it?

“Snapped against him like the tip of a whip, Tanner told me,” the baron said, his green eyes steady on her, and not betraying a single thing he might be thinking.

Well, he might know the truth, or he might not. No, he knew the truth; his use of the word
whip
made that obvious. But he wasn't going to get any satisfaction from her! “Um…yes, I suppose it might have felt like that. You say you're here to see Rafe?”

Justin crossed one elegantly clad leg over the other. “To speak to him, yes. It only seems polite to present myself for inspection, seeing as how I will be so much in your delightful company over the next week and more. After all, one never knows when one might have need of prior permission.”

“That's not at all amusing, you know,” Lydia heard herself say a heartbeat after Justin smiled, a bit of the devil perhaps now peeking out of those green eyes. “You only said that to set me off-balance. You'd have more success with Miss Harburton.”

“Ah, but that, with apologies to the lady, presents no challenge. I'd much rather tease you. Now, guilty as it makes me of repetition, is your brother at home to visitors?”

“I'm sure one of the servants has already apprised him of your request to meet with him,” Lydia said formally. And then she ruined it by being unable to resist leaning forward to ask: “You
were
teasing, weren't you? You said you were teasing.”

“Am I a man of my word, you mean, Lady Lydia?”

“You may address me as Lydia, please, as we're
going to be, as you said, so much in each other's company. But if we are to cry friends, you really must answer my question.”

“And you may honor me by addressing me as Justin, please, even if you'd rather I fly to the ends of the earth on a dragon's back rather than be much in your company. And, yes, I was teasing. I very often say things only to elicit a response that may amuse me. It's a failing. But I do not always tease. The problem, if you were to see it as such, is deciding when I am teasing and when I am…deadly serious.”

“Is that a problem for you, as well? Knowing when you are being flippant, and when you actually mean what you say?” Lydia asked, her blood flowing rather quickly through her veins. He did make her feel alive, that was certain. But being alive, at the level or even many levels upon which the baron seemed to operate, would probably be quite fatiguing. She had the feeling she could never quite relax her guard in his company.

He looked at her with such intensity that she had to fight the urge to rub at her nose, as if she had smeared ink on it or something when she was finishing her letter to Nicole.

Ah, Nicole.
She
would know how to handle the baron. She would return his stare, unblinking, that's what she'd do. And she'd outlast him, too.

But she wasn't her twin. Lydia looked down at her clasped hands, unsurprised to see that the knuckles were rather white.

“You and I have only barely met, Lydia,” Justin said
at last, “and yet you may know me better than does the majority of my acquaintance. That's rather unnerving. Ah, and here he is, the Duke of Ashurst.” He stood up, turning to greet Rafe, his bow once more elegant, and only slightly overdone. “May I take it, Your Grace, that you have condescended to meet with me even as I dared arrive without an appointment?”