Lady Beware (34 page)

T
here was a message from Van waiting at the inn, inviting Darien and Frank to dine at his house that night. Van and Maria would want to go over every detail, and he might have liked to avoid that, but there was no point.

They found St. Raven and Cressida there, and also Hawkinville and Clarissa. Maria's plumply pretty niece, Natalie, attended, too. Darien wasn't sure that was wise, given Frank's attraction for young ladies, but he was going to attempt his brother's insouciant approach to life.

Over dinner, without servants, the events were discussed.

“We definitely don't want Lady Thea exposed to additional public attention,” said Cressida St. Raven, who preferred to avoid attention herself.

“Some ladies enjoy notoriety,” her dashing husband teased.

“No lady enjoys notoriety,” Maria corrected firmly.

“And thus a large section of the ton is unnobled,” said Van with a grin.

“Please,” drawled St. Raven, “don't preach that nobility is entirely of the soul or these days we'll have to clap you in irons for treason and rebellion.”

There was a brief, serious discussion of unrest and the sensible and idiotic ways the government was trying to deal with it, but then Frank lightened the mood with an account of Pup's ghostly play, and Hawkinville added a story of a brush with Pup that Darien had never heard.

“It was good of you to take care of him, Canem,” Clarissa Hawkinville said, “rather than passing him on. It must have been confusing and worrying to be him.”

“It was definitely confusing and worrying for everyone else,” Darien said. “Don't make me into a saint. Once he became Canem's Pup, what could I do?”

“Let him drown in the Loire,” Van said, meeting Darien's eyes for a moment before describing another hopeless subaltern he'd encountered.

There was no more talk of death and disorder, so it was a strange end to a dire day—a pleasant evening among, yes, friends.

Before leaving, however, Darien made an opportunity to talk with Maria. “Do you know how Thea is?”

Her eyes were kind but concerned. “It was a horrible experience. She's badly shaken.”

“But her wounds aren't serious?”

“Oh, no. Did no one reassure you on that? They were only shallow cuts, but how cruel to do that simply to terrify her and you. The whole plan was vile. I'm glad you killed him.”

“But is Thea?”

Her look was sympathetic. “I don't know. I haven't intruded. What are your plans?”

Delicately indirect. “When Parliament breaks up, I'll take Frank to Stours Court to look around the old place. He suggested tearing it down, and that might be the right idea. I do need to think of something to do with Cave House. I won't live in it again, but it can't be left empty. I've tried to rent or sell it, but no takers.”

He hadn't answered her true question, but she didn't press him.

 

The next morning Darien sent a message to the Duchess of Yeovil, asking if he should call. He didn't want to put anyone to the inconvenience of turning him away at the door. The reply came swiftly. He was expected, and she and Thea were to begin their journey in an hour.

He dressed with particular care, and then walked the short distance, aware of a ridiculous urge to run. Every minute on the journey was a minute less with Thea. But his interview with her would doubtless be short anyway. When he passed a flower seller he bought a posy of fragrant sweet peas, but then felt foolish arriving with them in his hand.

He was admitted to the house by an impassive footman, but it was the same one who'd admitted him yesterday, with Thea in his arms. Doubtless many reactions were spinning behind the professional gloss.

The duchess came out of one of the reception rooms, smiled at the flowers, and invited him into that room. Not good. He was not to be admitted to the family's part of the house.

Thea was there, however, standing sideways to the empty fireplace, as if braced for something. She looked drawn and tired and he longed to take her into his arms.

“Here's Darien,” the duchess said, and left, closing the door.

Darien looked at the door for a moment in surprise, and then turned back to the woman he adored. The woman he must set free. So why the devil had he brought her flowers? The perfume was rising from them, threatening to fill the small room.

She was dressed for travel in a sensible blue-gray gown that did nothing for her color. The bodice was fairly low, but filled with ruched white that ended with a small frill around her neck. Her hair was dressed in a neat knot on top of her head and she wore small pearls in her ears. He remembered her in red.

He could think of nothing to say other than an inadequate, “How are you?”

“Quite well,” she said.

He had to go to her and offer the flowers. She took them with a slight smile, raising them to her face to inhale. “Lovely.” She gestured toward the sofa. “Won't you sit?”

She did so first, hands in her lap, holding the posy. He took a place at the other end of the sofa, wondering why he hadn't planned this encounter with care.

“Your wounds?” he asked.

“Shallow, but they still sting. And yours?”

“The same.”

She looked at him closely. “How are you?”

“Quite well. It's a blessing that Frank turned up.” He'd found a subject he could talk about. “He's no longer my baby brother and I'm well taken care of.” A few moments later, he realized he was babbling on about Frank like a doting parent. Or like a man desperate not to say what was in his heart. “I'm sorry.”

She was smiling, breathing in the flowers again. “Don't be. I'm glad you have family at last. And he was a godsend yesterday.”

“Yes.”

“So,” she said, still buried in blossoms, “we're engaged to marry.”

“Your father thought it best.”

She looked at him. “And you?”

“It will cover some of the peculiarities. I'm sorry that a bit of scandal will always linger over that event. And that you'll have to jilt me.” He attempted a smile, but she didn't echo it.

“Or not,” she said.

He looked at her wide, defiant eyes, and said what she was braced for. “It won't work, Thea.”

“Don't I get a say?”

“No. You've seen, twice, what I'm like. It's my nature. I've known no true peace all my life and few trustworthy friends. If trouble doesn't come and find me, I'll probably find it and deal with it bloodily. You won't like that.”

“Both times you were saving me.” She straightened out of the flowers to declare, “I
do
get a say.”

“Thea, love—” That was a mistake.

“If you love me it's nonsense to let this go.”

He surged to his feet and put distance between them. “Love is not enough.”

“Love is precious.”

“Love doesn't always survive.”

“But what if it never comes again, like this? For either of us?”

He kept his back to her, resisting her plea.

“Darien,” she said, “I'm holding you to our bargain.”

He turned. “What bargain?”

“That we decide in autumn.”

Hope stirred, that struggling, crippled thing in his chest that he should kill. “It was, I believe, until you returned to London.”

“I'm holding you to the spirit of the original promise,” she said steadily. “To see how our feelings survive. In any case, we have to remain betrothed for some weeks to let the world forget about the origins.” She smiled slightly. “You can't stop me, after all. Unless you plan to jilt me, and that
will
ruin the Cave reputation.”

He stared at her, speechless.

“Since it's uncertain when Parliament will begin again later in the year, shall we say the beginning of autumn? In September?”

“It appears that I have no say.”

She rose, poised and graceful, his flowers in her hands. “You may say no in September. If you wish to.”

“As may you.”

“Of course. Did you remember a ring?” she asked.

It took him a moment to follow her and understand. A curse almost escaped. “I'm sorry. I'll…”

She took one out of her pocket and offered it on the palm of her hand. “You've had many things on your mind. And it really didn't seem fair to have you purchase one on such a hypothetical basis.”

He took it. Five small rubies around a pearl. “From the ducal hoard?”

Her lips curled up in a miraculously mischievous smile. “It belonged to a Debenham lady reputed to be a lover of Rupert of the Rhine. Of course, she failed to win her prince.”

He turned the ring in his fingers a moment, then took her left hand and slid it on. “I'm neither prince nor prize, Thea. You can do much better than me.”

“I'm sure I can, being a duke's daughter with a handsome dowry. Don't forget that dowry when you make your decision, sir. I believe your estates could use it.”

Unwillingly, he was smiling, too. “You are a terrifying woman.”

“Remember that, too. They say daughters turn out like their mothers.”

He sobered immediately. “What if sons turn out like their fathers?”

“Perhaps it wears off after two. I needed only a moment with your brother, Darien, to know the taint wasn't inevitable.”

She stepped closer and kissed him, perfume rising between them with the heat.

He tossed the posy on the sofa and gathered her into his arms simply to hold her close. To his alarm, tears rose to his eyes and thickened his throat. He fought them back before relaxing his hold and brushing his lips against hers. He'd allow himself no more, not even when he saw the glisten in her eyes.

He stepped apart. “I wish you a safe and pleasant journey.”

Despite the moisture on her lashes, she was perfectly composed. “I gather you're going to Stours Court soon.”

“As your father commanded.”

“Don't if you don't want to, but you probably should. You should probably tear it down, too, for its memories if no other reason.”

“How on earth do you know my mind?”

She chuckled. “No magic. Maria sent round a note.”

“Ah. The three Fates.”

She cocked her head. “What?”

“Never mind. If I tear down the house, and if—unlikely in the extreme—you become my wife, we'll be homeless.” Dangerous but irresistible to speak of it.

“There's a Lancashire property,” she said.

“Worse.”

“Ireland?”

“I have no idea yet, but it's an unruly country, and I'm tired of war.”

“Then we simply purchase something new. Canem,” she suddenly added. “I've decided I should call you Canem, as all the friendly world does. Will you mind?”

He had to swallow again. “No.”

“It could be very pleasant,” she said, picking up the flowers and turning toward the door. “Choosing a house, I mean. Few people in our station get to choose exactly where to live. Our home could be close to Long Chart, or near Dare at Brideswell.” She was watching his reaction. “In hunting country, even. Anywhere you wanted.”

He took her hand because he couldn't help himself. “If it happens, it will be where you want.”

“Very well, but you'd better make your wishes clear, because I'll be choosing for you.”

She opened the door and they found the duchess there, supervising servants and luggage—but probably really hovering.

The duchess turned, assessed, and beamed. Then she said, “Darien, about your house…”

“Lord,” Thea muttered. “I forgot to warn you.”

The duchess swept over. “I gather you don't intend to live there. Very wise, my dear boy….”

He'd become her dear boy?

“Could I persuade you to donate it to the cause? I have in mind a refuge for some of the most difficult cases among our wounded veterans, and some of our special cases among the orphans and unfortunate women. They could all live together, you see, assisting one another. It won't be quite what the inhabitants of the square are used to, but it will be quiet. And I think they'd be happy to be rid of Cave reminders.”

She seemed anxious that he agree.

Darien laughed, took her hand, and kissed it. “You are my savior in all things, Your Grace. Consider it yours.”

“Theirs, Darien, dear. Theirs. So kind of you. Now, Thea, we really must be off.”

Thea was swept away to a waiting coach before Darien could come to terms with it. He left the house he had invaded months ago, fighting a new war, one against hope. Time, they said, healed all wounds. He knew that wasn't true, but distance often changed the way things appeared.