Miss Quinn's Quandary (8 page)

The social engagements would last only until tomorrow. After
that, the chaperone would arrive and Randall’s responsibility to Larissa would
be over.

If nothing else, there was an end in sight.

When Larissa awoke from her afternoon rest, the townhouse that
had at first felt so welcoming when she arrived by her aunt’s side seemed
strange and intimidating.

She would prefer to be all alone than alone with Sir Randall.

Where was Sir Randall? Larissa moved down the main hall, her
sweeping gaze alert for his evidence.

“May I be of assistance, Miss?”

Larissa gasped and spun around. She clutched her throat in
fright. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Laurie, is it not?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“I was wondering if Sir Randall was about.”

“No, miss. Sir Randall has gone out.” The news was music to her
ears. “Shall I have Mrs. Drum bring tea into the parlor?”

“Yes, Laurie. That would be quite nice.”

Larissa settled onto the sofa in the front parlor, followed minutes
later by the swift-moving Mrs. Drum, the housekeeper, who, to all appearances,
lived up to her name. The woman was round, wide, and the top of her hat was
flat.

“It’s so splendid to have ladies about the house.” Mrs. Drum set
out a plate and napkin for Larissa and poured a cup of tea. “Since the first
Countess of Rushton passed on, there have not been any ladies in the house.”
She rattled on, “His lordship had hardly spent any time in Town at all.”

Larissa had passed the cakes and opted for tea only. She was
grateful for the housekeeper’s talkative nature, for it kept her from feeling
so alone. Larissa suspected that was one of the reasons the earl kept her.

“Now, not only has his lordship come to stay with his nephew, but
there are two ladies about. Not to mention a new countess!”

“And may I say that no one is more pleased than I.” It was Sir
Randall’s baritone that interrupted the
coze
.

Larissa’s cup skittered on its saucer, clinking about in the most
horrific manner.

“Will you be having tea, Sir Randall?” Mrs. Drum had a cup ready
for him.

“Please, Mrs. Drum.”

Larissa hadn’t heard Sir Randall enter the room, much less climb
the stairs. She really needed to pay closer attention to the goings-on around
her.

“Are you quite well?” he asked Larissa. She had hoped he hadn’t
noticed her nervousness with the china when he entered.

“Yes, thank you. Quite,” she replied in a curt manner. “Quite
well. Why ever would you think not?”

With tea in hand, Sir Randall sat in the adjacent chair. “If I
may hazard a guess.” He regarded her from beneath a raised brow. “I should say
you feel quite peculiar about sneaking up on me last night at Vauxhall Gardens.”

Larissa took great offense at his reminder of such an
indiscretion. “I did not sneak up on you. I’ve already explained that it was a
mistake.”

“As you say, then. However, if you are having second thoughts
about us.” He smiled, teasing.

“Us?” Larissa repeated in alarm. Larissa sincerely hoped he was
teasing. “There is no us to consider.”

“All alone in this big house.” Sir Randall’s gaze roamed about
the expansive room. “Perhaps it is I who should be wary of being alone with
you. After all, you were the one who—”

“Please, Sir Randall. Pray you forget any notion of that sort. As
you well know, I only seek the attentions of Lord Fenton,” she said in hauteur.

“And I, as you well know, only seek the attentions of Lady
Dorothea. After spending a good portion of the afternoon in her company, I can
assure you she has my complete attention. So there is nothing at all to worry
about, is there?”

“No, I suppose there isn’t. We do understand one another then?”

“Perfectly.”

With that Larissa felt confident enough to relax and break into a
smile. “Good.”

At the Pringles’ soiree that night, Larissa left the green parlor
on the arm of Lord Fenton. She erupted into one spasm after another of
laughter, knowing full well such a display was not considered the proper
demeanor of a lady. Lord Fenton was not the least bit helpful with regaining
her composure. He roared in hysterics, causing her to continue despite the
disapproving glances from the other guests. It was just outside the parlor when
they happened upon Sir Randall, who took particular notice of their joyous
condition. The laughter was contagious, Larissa noticed, causing a smile to erupt
on Sir Randall’s normally somber face.

“May I ask what you find so humorous?”

“Sir Randall,” Lord Fenton managed, catching his breath and
slowly exhaled. “We had the most delightful time playing a parlor game.”

“A game?”

“Was it ‘Questions and Commands’ or ‘Cross Purposes and Crooked
Answers’ we were playing?”

“‘Cross Purposes and Crooked Answers,”’ Larissa confirmed.

“One thinks of games as being for children. But, I say, when
played with a dozen or so adults it is ripping good fun. Was it not?”

“Very.” Larissa wiped the remaining tears from her eyes.

“I think I’ve hurt myself, laughing so hard.” Lord Fenton ran his
hand down his green-striped waistcoat and patted his midsection.

“That is a shame,” Sir Randall replied. He did not sound the
least bit sorry.

“Do let me fetch some lemonade for us,” Lord Fenton offered.

“Would you?” Larissa gave Lord Fenton an adoring gaze. “I would
be ever so grateful.”

“Would you mind, Sir Randall, keeping an eye on Miss Larissa?”

“I can hardly refuse,” he said with a smile.

“I shall be back in a thrice, then.” Lord Fenton paddled out of
the room.

And after Lord Fenton had left Sir Randall mumbled, “I have
already promised to do as much.”

Larissa felt quite at ease, even in Sir Randall’s company.

“Are you having a pleasant evening?” Sir Randall queried in ever
so nice a tone, one that Larissa had never before heard directed at her.

“Yes, very. And you, Sir Randall? How goes it with you?”

“It goes very well, thank you,” he said in satisfaction.

“I’m sure you have Lady Dorothea to thank, surely, not me.” His
smile reassured her she was correct on both counts. “By the bye, where is Lady
Dorothea?”

“Have no fear, she shall return momentarily.”

They stood quietly for a moment. “Isn’t life funny, Sir Randall?”
Larissa prattled on, encompassing the concept of grander schemes.

“In what way is that, pray tell?”

“You and I for example.” She took his bewildered expression as
the perfect reason to continue. “Consider the way we met and our unusual
acquaintance. One would think we would be at daggers drawn. But just look at us.”
She gestured to their elegant, peaceful surroundings. “Here we stand, now
related, albeit only just recently, behaving quite civilly, near to genuine
affection, I should think, and resting in the boughs of another. Not with one
another, you understand,” she clarified.

“Of course.” A shallow nod forgave her verbal faux pas. “Are you
taken with Lord Fenton?”

“Why, of course I am,” she stated, insulted that he should even
ask. Wasn’t it obvious? “He is like none other.”

“I do believe you have the right of it.”

“And Lady Dorothea?”

Sir Randall smiled. “I believe she is without equal.”

Larissa sensed affection in his voice. He did care for Lady
Dorothea.

“Miss Quinn, Sir Randall,” Sir Thomas White acknowledged the pair
when he stepped between them in the midst of his jaunt across the room. Dressed
in evening finery, Sir Thomas paused and made a hasty but elegant leg.

“Sir Thomas,” Larissa and Sir Randall chorused.

“A pleasant evening to you both,” was his gracious reply before
he continued on his way.

“My,” Larissa sighed. “He was in a hurry.”

“Apparently,” Sir Randall drawled.

“I say,” Lord Fenton exclaimed, lifting his arms to hold the
lemonade glasses out of the hazardous path of the retreating Sir Thomas,
avoiding a near miss. “Let’s do find somewhere to sit. Such a crush, don’t you
know. It would be such a shame if this should spill onto that fine frock of
yours.” He and Larissa left Sir Randall and found a place to sit.

A few moments later, Lady Dorothea returned to Randall’s side.
Randall felt his heart begin to pound at the sight of her. He could not get
over Dorothea’s ethereal presence. She seemed to float on air, her steps were
so light.

“The heat is becoming quite unbearable.” She opened her fan and
coaxed the air to move. “Would you mind if we took a turn about the garden?”

“Not at all.” Randall led her through the crowded room to the
rear gardens. The air was cool and fresh. From high above, the moon surrounded
them with a dim pool of moonlight.

Dorothea stopped and turned to face Randall. Her arms were bare
and she allowed the fan to dangle from her wrist.

“Where are your gloves?” Randall looked to either side of her.

“It is so very warm. I just want them off for a moment.”

“Where are they? Where did you put them?” Randall moved her
skirts, causing his hands to brush about her legs. Something was still not
right.

She let out a laugh that was more like a string of musical notes.
“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to discern where you’ve placed your gloves. Either
you dabble in magic or you’ve a concealed pocket.”

Dorothea trailed the tip of her finger along his jaw to his chin
and gave him a playful smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She spun, taking a
step away from him and placed her fan between them. Drawing it open, she
allowed Randall time to study the lowering of her full lashes and the pursing
of her delicious lips. “Randall. May I be so bold as to call you Randall?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” he said. Those brilliant blue
eyes looked up at him. Her lips widened into a breathtaking smile.

“Nothing?” Her eyebrows lifted. “I did have one other thought
that might please you.”

“Really?” There was almost nothing he could deny her when she
displayed that enchanting smile. He felt as if he were under a magic spell she
wove by moonlight. “And what would that be?”

“We do rub along well together, don’t you think?”

“Exceedingly well,” he said, still studying her tempting mouth
and taking her hand. As the days passed, he was spending more and more time
with Dorothea. And more and more he enjoyed her company.

“Then you will speak to
Maman
about
paying your addresses, then?”

He was beginning to think along the lines of marriage himself.
And Dorothea was the lady he had in mind. Although he did not yet feel quite
ready to take the step, he did not object to her raising the subject.

“I would not be averse to speaking to your mother about you.” A
grin crept over Randall’s lips and he placed a lingering kiss upon her bare
hand. “I will do so at the most opportune moment.”

If the night at Vauxhall Gardens did not gain her Fenton’s kiss,
Larissa wondered if tonight would. She felt hesitant about making a second
attempt, since the results of the first had not been exactly what she had
planned.

She scanned the room for Sir Randall. The last thing she wanted
was a repeat of last night—not that she did not enjoy kissing him. It was she
who had initiated the kiss, to be sure. For the few seconds it had lasted, it
seemed to her Sir Randall had returned the kiss, thus encouraging her. But of
course she could be wrong. Knowing the way he felt about her, why on earth
would he want to encourage her?

Larissa felt that Lord Fenton was by far more appealing than the
previous three gentlemen she had met during the Season-Mr. Wesley Tyson, the
Right Honorable Robert Egerton, or Mr. Donald Sinclair. Those men she had not
wanted to kiss, she did not feel for them as she did for Lord Fenton. After
taking his arm, they strolled out in the small garden. He slowed their pace to
nearly a standstill.

“You look most becoming when put to the blush, Miss Larissa.”

She raised her hand to her cheek. “Am I blushing?” Little did
Fenton know it was Sir Randall of whom she thought, and the similar
circumstances of the previous night gave rise to her
color.
It was her ardent hope that when Fenton held her she would not think of Sir
Randall.

Lord Fenton’s hand tightened over hers in silent communication,
telling her not to flee—the moment was close at hand. A silent breeze ruffled a
lock of hair on his forehead. It gave the slightest rakishness to his otherwise
perfect appearance.

As they reached the farthest point in the garden behind the
Pringles’ townhouse, they stopped. “I hope to tell you how I feel about you,
Miss Larissa,” he said. He drew her into his arms and Larissa leaned into him,
hoping he would be a man, take the lead, and continue.

Lord Fenton took hold of Larissa’s forearm and turned it gently
behind her back, propelling her closer to him. His long finger trailed from her
chin along her jaw and he took his time to study her face before their
long-anticipated kiss. But he did not kiss her.

This was not Larissa’s only disappointment. Where was the melting
she expected to carry her away? The tingling sensations that coursed through
her body?

Fenton said something, but Larissa hadn’t been listening. She
felt confused, too distracted by what she was not feeling.

“It’s all right, then?” She heard him say.

“Oh, yes,” Larissa replied. “Of course.” She didn’t know to what
Fenton referred. Concentrating on more important matters, she still did not
understand what had gone wrong.

Once again, Lord Fenton settled Larissa’s hand in the crook of
his arm and again placed his hand protectively over the top of hers, continuing
their stroll to the house.

Larissa sat at her dressing table, brushed her hair and looked
into the glass, oblivious of her reflection. The soiree had been splendid. She
adored Lord Fenton, but he did not kiss her as she had wished and on the whole
left her feeling less than warm. She replaced her brush on the table and slid
into bed. Laying her head on the pillow, she continued to ponder the
aftereffects of Fenton’s show of affection.