My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance) (21 page)

Ten days away, Freddie thought. "You must be sure to remind Lord Stacks again of the event."

Throughout dinner Freddie noticed that John Rountree paid her only minimal attention, no more than he gave to Catherine Farraday. It was in marked contrast to his overtures the last night they had dined together. On the other hand, Luke Rountree's interest in her had greatly increased. Was there a pact between the brothers? Had Luke selected her for particular intentions? She thought for a moment on what kind of wife would do for a country cleric with slim financial prospects. She supposed she was made to order for him. John had likely given her up readily. A first son could do better.

She studied her guardian to see if he watched her and Luke. Would the curate be to his liking for her prospective husband? But Lord Stacks hardly glanced in her direction all night.

After dinner the women advanced to the great room while the men stayed behind to drink port and smoke cigars.

"Such a lovely dinner!" Mrs. Farraday exclaimed. "You must enjoy having the opportunity to make your home here, Miss Lambeth."

"Indeed. The abbey is a fine place, and Lord Stacks a solicitous guardian."

"The dining room is positively spectacular," Josephine Rountree said. "I daresay, forty could be seated at the magnificent table."

"The most beautiful thing in the room is the portrait of Lady Stacks," Denise said thoughtfully. "I never met her--being but a child when she died--but Mama said she was the most beautiful woman ever."

Throughout dinner Freddie had avoided looking at Elizabeth's portrait, preferring to imagine she herself was as lovely as Elizabeth, that she had dazzled Lord Stacks. But now she realized with the cool clarity of a country church bell that she could never replace the devotion demanded of the woman in the portrait.

"If the painting captures even part of her beauty, she must have been the most beautiful creature to ever have drawn breath," Josephine Rountree said. "You know, it is said. . ." She stopped abruptly, coloring.

"Well, dear me," Mrs. Farraday said. "What a very fine dinner it was. Should you like to play for us, my dear," she asked her daughter. Catherine Farraday moved gracefully to the pianoforte and played until the men entered the room.

Lord Stacks applauded her play, then asked each Miss Rountree, in turn, to favor the group with a performance.

When they finished, Freddie timidly met her guardian's gaze and said, "I am but a novice, even more so compared to the gifted performers we have heard tonight, but I should like to surprise you with a new piece I have learned."

"Please, Miss Lambeth," he encouraged.

Her heart raced as she moved soundlessly across the Oriental carpet, lowered herself onto the pianoforte bench and began to play by heart. Since her days were no longer filled with sessions with Mrs. Taylor, Freddie had spent hours practicing her music. She had learned from memory a song titled
Bough of Love
. Her guardian had deemed it too difficult for her, therefore, she had learned it on her own to surprise him. She had practiced it hundreds of times while he tended his garden. Eventually, her fingers glided over the keys familiarly, as they did tonight.

When she finished, she met his admiring gaze and smiled.

He clapped, sheer admiration in his eyes. "Well done, indeed, Miss Lambeth."

She looked at Dr. Edgekirth, who also applauded her. "You realize I did not know a piano key from a gate latch when I came here," she said. "Lord Stacks, who is blessed with overwhelming patience, has instructed me on the instrument."

"His efforts have paid off most admiringly," the doctor said.

"I say, a most impressive performance," Luke Rountree agreed. "Surely you jest about not having years of experience."

"It is the truth," Lord Stacks said, watching Freddie. "Now, how about a game of whist?"

"Miss Lambeth shall be my partner tonight," Edgekirth said.

 Her guardian looked from the Rountree Brothers, to the vicar to the squire. "Would one of you men do me the goodness to be my partner?"

John nudged his brother. "Go on, Luke."

Though he had claimed otherwise, Luke Rountree was a better player than his brother, but he was still the weakest player at the table. The doctor's game was better tonight than the last time they had played, but Lord Stacks' play was uncommonly good, his attention riveted almost fanatically on the game at hand to the exclusion of any conversation at all.

The squire stood over Freddie's shoulder and displayed a hearty interest and a better than adequate knowledge of the game.

Despite being paired with Luke Rountree, Stacks won the game. The squire had asked to play the winner, and he selected Freddie for his partner. Now the doctor stood behind her, nodding his head approvingly over each of her moves. Freddie noted with hostility that Denise stood over Stacks' shoulder, lavishing praise at him over each turn of the cards. The woman dressed positively indecently and put forth a disgraceful degree of forwardness.

Lord Stacks won the second rubber but credited Luke with the success.

Before the Rountrees left, Luke extracted a promise from Lord Stacks that he and Freddie would attend the assembly the following week in Landsdowne. Out of what Freddie suspected was kindness, Luke extended the invitation to the Farradays and to the squire and the doctor, all of whom agreed to attend.

After everyone left, Lord Stacks turned to Freddie. "It seems you have captured more than your share of hearts, Miss Lambeth. I wonder which one shall lead you onto the dance floor next Friday. Luke? Edgekirth? Or Mr. Wentworth?"

"Have you not forgotten someone?" Freddie challenged, turning on her heel and leaving her guardian behind.

Chapter 19

Dampness hung in the air. Freddie listened to the rain pelting the cloisters. Her chamber was dark, even though it was but early afternoon. This was the third straight day of rain. The third straight day of not being able to work in the quadrangle alongside her guardian.
Thomas
. She would say his name reverently to herself over and over, as if by evoking it she could recall that special moment when his lips had touched hers, when his arms came around her in a protective cocoon.

Sitting upright on her bed, she pulled Marmalade to her breast and stroked his soft coat. His purr grew louder and within minutes was a steady drone. She held him gently, unconsciously stroking him. She did not feel like sketching. Nor did she feel like practicing at the pianoforte. She would have gladly worked in the library with
him
, but he had not asked. He had barely spoken to her since the day of the picnic. He had taken great pains to avoid being alone with her. That very night of the picnic he had filled the abbey with every bachelor in the county. It was as if he could not marry her off fast enough.

From the apology he had uttered self consciously the day he kissed her, she knew he regretted his action. More than that, he was ashamed of himself. Had she any sense at all at that moment, she should have admitted her joy. Would that have relieved him of guilt? A pity she would never know. She had been unable to find her own voice, to exonerate him of his self-loathing. And now it was too late.

That he regretted his actions was obvious. He had stayed in his library night and day, even in the darkness of these bleak, rainy days that seemed so endless. Would the sun never shine again, she wondered.

Not once had he asked her to join him. Was he no longer intent on the book because it would force him to work with her? Not once had he attempted to resume her instruction on the pianoforte. And not once had nature offered them the opportunity to work in the garden or to ride along the moors, or even to walk the gravel paths of the park.

Freddie thought she would go mad. She was bored. Her mood was as dreary as the skies. Her old companion, Loneliness, had once again visited her. A hopelessness engulfed her. She had missed her opportunity to declare to
Thomas
her undying love.

She swallowed hard. Her opportunity would never again come. She had the feeling she would never again be alone with him. With her
Thomas.

She set Marmalade down on her velvet coverlet. He stretched and yawned, then settled against her and promptly went back to sleep. She barely moved, trying not to wake him as she reached for her sketch pad. She began to draw more flowers, thinking of her guardian all the while.

Was it the weather or was she undeniably drab? Not like the woman in the painting. Not like Elizabeth. Is that why her guardian had fled so promptly after kissing her? That he regretted the act was obvious. But did he regret it because Freddie was so very plain?

She took a deep breath. Marmalade stirred, then went back to his slumber. Lord Stacks had said she was pretty. She had allure.

Now she had nothing.

***

The following morning the rain had stopped, but gray still blanketed the skies. After breakfast--which Freddie ate alone--she gathered up her sketch pad and notes and Marmalade and went to the chilly library.

Lord Stacks looked up from behind his desk, and she perceived a flicker of welcome on his stern face.

"Good morning, my lord. I missed you at breakfast. Are you well?"

"Of course I'm well," he barked.

She noticed there was no fire in the hearth and rang for Eason.

"What do you think you're doing?" Lord Stacks snapped.

"I'm going to order a fire for this room. You won't remain well for long in this frigid chamber."

An amused smile curved Lord Stacks' lips as he watched Freddie tell the butler to build a fire.

After Eason left, Freddie turned her attention to her guardian. "What, may I ask, do you find so amusing?"

"How much you have changed since you've come to Marshbanks Abbey."

"I hope it is for the good," Freddie said, displaying a confidence she was far from feeling.

"Indeed." He quickly looked down at his papers again.

Freddie and Marmalade settled on the sofa closest to Lord Stacks. She had decided to act as if the kiss had never happened. Her guardian was still the most precious person in her life, and she was not willing to give up the relationship they had shared.

"Have you accomplished much during these dreary days?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"Well, today we shall make up for our idleness."

"Yes, Dragon Lady," he said, the sparkle in his eye refuting his words.

She looked up and smiled at him, willing herself to act normally, not to melt over the sensual smile he gave her. "Have you more notes for me to copy?"

He rifled through a stack of papers until he found what he was looking for, then brought them to her. The unexpected movement caused Marmalade to leap from the sofa and trot over to the window, where he leaped upon its sill.

Stacks returned to his desk and took up his pen. A moment later, he said, "I suppose we'll be able to attend the assembly at Landsdowne tomorrow night after all. The rain has let up. Have you something suitable to wear?"

"Oh yes," she said confidently. "Thanks to you, my lord."

"Do quit thanking me."

She continued with her sketching. "Very well."

***

If the girl was going to force him back to working on the book, then he might as well oblige her, Stacks thought as he wrote furiously, referring to notes he had compiled in the last decade.

He hadn't meant to be alone with her again, yet here he was. And it felt right. They could work side by side on any number of tasks, always with a deep sense of contentment washing over him.

The room that had been cold and lonely the past three days now filled with warmth and the rich smell of a peat fire--and most of, with Freddie. Dear, sweet, wonderful Freddie. How had he lived without her? If only he could keep her here forever.

But that was not to be. He loved her too much for that.

***

It was but a short drive to the vicarage where Lord Stacks, accompanied by Freddie, had offered to pick up the vicar's family for the twenty-mile drive to Landsdowne for the assembly Luke Rountree had been promulgating for weeks.

If his sermons were half as fiery as his hardy endorsement of the assembly, Luke must be possessed of powerful persuasive abilities, Freddie mused.

Lord Stacks had barely spoken to Freddie during the short drive to the vicarage. She faced him across the seat from her.

"One is to be grateful the rain has finally come to a stop," Freddie said.

"Indeed," Lord Stacks answered, failing to meet her gaze.

"We should not be too crowded if the three females sit on one side of the coach," Freddie offered.

"Yes, none of you will take up that much of the seat."

"Now, the vicar. . .oh, how very unkind of me!" Freddie said, her cheeks coloring.

Lord Stacks watched her intently, a corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. "I cannot imagine you ever being unkind, Miss Lambeth."

How she wanted to speak of the picnic, but she was too shy. They were soon at the vicarage, and Mrs. Farraday and Catherine squeezed in beside Freddie while the vicar sat next to Lord Stacks.

"How fetching you look, Miss Farraday," Lord Stacks said. His voice lacked sincerity, though the young blonde did look lovely. Freddie noted she wore pink, a color Freddie avoided but which looked good on Catherine.

Freddie wore the cream crepe again. "Your dress is most becoming," Catherine told Freddie with conviction.

"Yes, it is," Mrs. Farraday said. "You must go to York for such fine gowns."

Freddie nodded. "I have been quite pleased with Mrs. Baron. She is the same mantuamaker patronized by the late Lady Stacks."

Mrs. Farraday's gaze locked with her husband's for a few seconds. "Well, well, Stacks," the vicar said, almost in embarrassment, "hopefully we can get up a good game of whist tonight. I daresay you care no more for dancing than I."

"Whist is an excellent idea," his lordship agreed.

Freddie drew in her breath, gathered her courage, then said, "I had hoped for a dance with you, Lord Stacks."