Leslie Lafoy (27 page)

DRAYTON LEANED TO THE SIDE TO BETTER SEE THE FOYER
through the parlor door. “Aubrey, who are those other people?”

Aubrey didn’t even bother to glance over his shoulder. “If there’s four of them, it’s the dancing master, the language instructor, and the dressmaker and her assistant.”

“A dressmaker?” Haywood said, pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey. “We have two of those in residence already. The redheaded one is scrumptious. But you’ll just have to take my word for it because, at the moment, she’s in London selecting wallpaper and more fabric.”

Aubrey rolled his eyes and countered, “Having a wardrobe designed by a well-known couturier is essential for social success. I’m sure Lady Caroline understands that and will be most grateful that Mother thought to bring hers along. And speaking of Mother,” he added, setting his glass aside, “I should be getting up to my room and dressing for tea.”

Drayton watched him leave the parlor, thinking that Simone was right; the man was a prig. No, now that he thought about it,
he
was the prig. Haywood was the fop. Aubrey was the ass. God love the girl, she could so accurately gauge people. Although her opinion of Haywood might be different now, especially since he’d taken over
the fencing lessons the past two days. Not that her opinion was likely all that much higher, he suspected, grinning; not if the cut in his friend’s coat sleeve was any indication of how well he was doing against her.

Haywood polished off his drink and looked as if he were thinking about throwing himself from the roof. “Maybe I should dress for tea, too?”

Drayton shrugged. “Only if you want. I wouldn’t be if I hadn’t come in from the fields just a while ago.” Hell, he wouldn’t be dressed at all if the beautiful woman sailing through the parlor doors had shown him any mercy in his bathing room.

“Hello, Haywood,” she said, giving him a quick glance on her way to the buffet. “I see that you’ve been fencing with Simone again.”

“She’s getting terribly good, you know.”

“It’s more a case of you being terribly bad at it,” Drayton pointed out as Caroline came to his side and picked up one of the crystal decanters.

“Is this sherry?”

He cocked a brow and quietly answered, “You know what happened the last time you drank spirits.”

She tilted her head to look up at him. The slow arch of her brow was a warning. “Would you prefer that I kill Aubrey’s mother before I pour out the first cup of tea?”

“Allow me,” he offered, setting aside his drink and taking the decanter from her. “Just as a point of information and warning, Lady Aubrey brought a dancing fool with her. And a language instructor.”

“She also brought her couturier along,” Haywood contributed. “And the couturier’s assistant.”

“Oh, really,” Caroline drawled, her brow arching even higher, blue fire dancing in the depths of her eyes.

Handing her the sherry, Drayton said, “Please don’t let her turn you into an onion.”

Haywood scrunched up his face. “Onion?”

“That’s the least of your concerns,” she countered, ignoring his friend’s confusion. “She’s invited twenty of her friends to come visit for however long they want.”

“Twenty?”

Seeming highly satisfied by his stunned reaction, she added, “They’ll be here in a week.”

“Well, the day just gets better and better.”

“And the list of things to do gets longer and longer. I don’t know how we’re going to have rooms for that many guests ready in seven days.”

“Maybe,” Haywood offered, “you should have Lady Aubrey uninvite them, saying that Ryland Castle isn’t yet prepared for guests.”

Caroline shook her head and sighed. “I suspect that she’d consider that an act of social suicide.”

She looked so tired, so overwhelmed, that it took everything he had not to wrap her in his arms and hold her close. “Better that,” Drayton posed gently, “than killing yourself trying to paper and paint every bedroom in this house in the next seven days.”

“Don’t forget the draperies, carpets, and bedding. They have to be replaced, as well.”

“It’s impossible, Caroline. Don’t even try. It’s not worth it.”

She stared down into her sherry glass for a long moment. “If we press into service every pair of available and able hands on the estate—”

“No, Caroline.”

“Haywood,” she said, looking up at him, her pale brows knitted in thought.

“I can’t sew,” he pleaded, looking as though he might drop to his knees at any moment and actually grovel. “I would pose a great danger to myself and others if I tried. I’m sorry.”

She smiled. “Yes, I know. But you can go to London, find Jane, and get her back here as quickly as possible.”

Haywood, ever the bounder, did nothing short of sparkle at the assignment. “If it means saving Drayton’s social reputation, no journey is too arduous, no task too odious.”

“I knew we could count on you,” Caroline said, laughing quietly. “You’re such a good friend.”

“That’s toady,” he pointed out happily. “I’m a good toady. I’ll leave right after tea. Toadies can’t travel on an empty stomach, you know.”

“Of course not,” she agreed. She raised the glass of sherry to her lips, tipped it back and drained the full contents in three quick swallows.

Drayton was still blinking in disbelief when she handed the empty glass to him, smiled her thanks, and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” he called after her.

“To tell Mrs. Gladder that we need to prepare for a siege. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Fourteen  

HE LEANED BACK AGAINST THE BUFFET, WATCHING HER
leave and knowing from experience that there was no such thing for Caroline as a short conversation with the housekeeper. One thing always led to another, one decision creating a ripple in the pond that required more decisions to smooth. What his life would have been like without her in the past weeks . . .

Being a duke was nice, he had to admit, watching Winfield roll the tea cart into the parlor. Servants weren’t quite the bane he’d considered them at the start. A large house to call his own wasn’t the burden he’d imagined it would be. Neither was the responsibility for managing an estate and the seeing to the livelihoods of everyone on it. And the wards he hadn’t wanted . . . Fiona could melt his heart with just a smile. Simone made him ridiculously proud. And Caroline . . . Caroline made him happy.

It was odd how he’d never before in his life noticed how a house smelled apart from the scents of a meal waiting on the table. But since coming to Ryland Castle that had changed. Every time he walked through the front door, he breathed deeply and tried to guess from the air what wonders Caroline had accomplished in the hours
he’d been gone. One day it would be the sharp scent of lemons and mellow beeswax. Another day it would be the tang of polished metal. Always it was the crispness of clean air and bright light and the sense that his world had never been as close to perfect as she made it.

He had to be honest, though, and admit that there were times when he resented her devotion to the house. But, he kept reminding himself, there would come a day when it would all be done and their time together could be more patterned and less hurried. They could retire early and lie in bed late, leisurely pleasuring each other all the hours between. He could—

“Will there be anything else, your lordship?”

He could stop staring moonily into the distance and making a cake of himself. “Not that I can think of, Winfield. Thank you.” The butler bowed briefly and departed, leaving him with a grinning Haywood. “And what are you so happy about?” he asked, not quite sure he wanted to know.

“The thought of going to London. I think Jane may be the one.”

Drayton took a drink of his whiskey. It wasn’t difficult to imagine his friend and Jane pledging themselves only to each other for the rest of their lives. Neither was it difficult to see both of them promptly ignoring the fact that they had.

“What do you think, Dray?”

That being honest would ruin a perfectly good friendship.
He took another sip of whiskey, wondering how he was going to get out of the awkward tangle. Deliverance came in the form of Aubrey and his mother sweeping across the foyer and bearing down on him.

Drayton flashed Haywood an apologetic smile, set aside his glass, and stood straight. “Lady Aubrey,” he said
in greeting, noting the woman’s quick and decidedly critical glance around the parlor.

“Your grace,” she replied with a regal dip of her chin. She looked over at Haywood and arched a brow at what struck Drayton as a bit of a disdainful angle. “Mr. Haywood, isn’t it?”

Oh, yes, definitely disdainful. Not that it seemed to bother Haywood in the least.

Smiling, he bowed with a flourish and drawled, “I’m honored and humbled that you remember my name, Lady Aubrey. It’s been an entire month.”

Aubrey turned a bit pale as his mother’s mouth puckered and her eyes bored a hole through Haywood’s chest. Drayton stepped into the breach and gestured toward the newly upholstered chair beside the tea cart and said with all the gentility he could muster, “Please, Lady Aubrey, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

“Where is Lady Caroline?” she asked as her son held her elbow and guided her into the chair.

Rather like a pilot boat putting a man-of-war into a berth. Drayton reined in his smile and answered, “She’s gone off to speak briefly with Mrs. Gladder, the housekeeper, about preparing Ryland Castle for our additional guests.”

“Yes, I can see that much needs to be done,” she said, eyeing the new curtains. “Blue is not the current color of fashionable homes.”

She was suggesting that they be torn down and replaced? After all of Caroline’s work? The staff ’s work? Over his dead and rotting body. “I like blue. Very much.”

“Magenta is the current rage.”

“Magenta?” he repeated, wondering if they were still
talking about the drapes. Magenta sounded like something one drank when visiting a Spanish diplomat.

“It is a dark and rich shade of rosy pink.”

“Pink draperies?” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “No. Not in my house. Not in any room where I might see it, anyway. If Lady Caroline wants to follow fashion in a guest room, I certainly won’t protest, but I must draw the line there.”

“One simply endures the annual fashion decrees with grace, your lordship,” she countered, her tone patronizingly patient, “and hopes that the next one is more to their liking.”

If she thought she was going to walk into his house and dictate . . . “Blue is to my liking and blue the draperies will remain.”

She hesitated for a moment, seemed to check a comment, and then dipped her chin again in her high-toned manner and said, “It is your home, your grace.”

Thank you for finally remembering that.
With Haywood smirking in a most satisfied way and Aubrey looking as though he might pass out, Drayton decided that it would be best if they moved the social occasion toward its end as quickly as possible. “It appears that Lady Caroline is going to be gone longer than she expected. Would you do us the honor of pouring, Lady Aubrey?”

With another imperial nod, she undertook the duties of hostess, saying, “I assume that you will soon be engaged in finding a new housekeeper.”

Drayton frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“If Mrs. Gladder failed to answer the bellpull and Lady Caroline was forced to go off in search of her, then—”

“I don’t believe in using bellpulls.”

Drayton looked up from the tea cart and watched Caroline advance into the room. Her shoulders squared, her chin high, her stride long and certain . . . And her eyes . . . Oh, God, they were the color of tempered steel.

“Why ever not?” Lady Aubrey asked, clearly oblivious to the fact that she was blithely sailing into a contest of wills.

“Mrs. Gladder and her staff are sufficiently busy with their work,” Caroline explained, settling herself on the settee on the opposite side of the tea cart. “That requiring them to leave it to scamper to my side is not only a ridiculous waste of their time, but disrespectful of the contributions they make to the comfort of Ryland Castle and those of us in it. There’s—” She smiled thinly. “There
is
nothing wrong with me and I am perfectly capable of walking across the house to deliver instructions or make a request of them.”