Promise Me Tomorrow (13 page)

T
HEY SPENT THE NIGHT AT AN INN IN
the country, where Nicola, Penelope and Marianne had to share a room. As the public room of the inn was filled with locals drinking and there were no private rooms downstairs, the women also took their meal on trays in their bedchamber. Marianne was relieved not to have to spend the evening with either Lambeth or Buckminster, who joined the locals downstairs. The next day, the carriage rumbled on through the countryside to Dartmoor.

It was late afternoon when they arrived at the Buckminster estate, a large, rambling building of yellowish stone, warmly lit by the setting sun. Grooms came running to take Bucky’s and Lord Lambeth’s horses. The front door was thrown open by a footman, and a dignified butler came out to greet Lord Buckminster. He was followed by an older woman, comfortably round, who met Buckminster with considerably less restraint. She threw her arms around the young man and kissed him soundly on both cheeks, babbling and crying all the while. Marianne would have taken her to be his mother by her actions, but she knew from the woman’s plain dress, rolled up to the elbows to reveal red, work-hardened hands, that she could not be Lady Buckminster.

Nicola looked out at the scene and smiled. “Ah, I see Nurse is still here. Whenever Bucky comes home, she cries as if he had been away at the wars instead of living in London for a few months.”

Lord Lambeth came over to help the women down from the carriage, since Buckminster was more than occupied by the greetings of the servants, whose number had now grown to include the housekeeper and the gamekeeper, who came up from the kennels with a variety of dogs frisking around him and adding their voices to the din.

A woman’s voice boomed across the yard, rising above the babble. “Bucky! Egad, boy, bring your guests in, then. Don’t leave them standing out in the sun.”

Marianne looked up to see a middle-aged woman standing on the steps, a whole brood of toy spaniels spilling out the door after her and tumbling around her skirts. Disregarding the fact that she had just told them to come inside, she came down the steps toward the new arrivals, her plain, weathered face wreathed in smiles. Lady Buckminster was a large woman, built along the lines of her son, and she was obviously no slave to fashion. She was dressed in boots and a riding habit of a rust-brown color and a cut at least ten years out of date. Her iron-gray hair was braided and wrapped around her head in a simple coronet, and her skin was not the soft white of most ladies, but tanned and wind-burned, with deep lines scored around her eyes and mouth.

She gave Buckminster a buss on the cheek, then moved on to the carriage and shook Lambeth’s hand in a jovial, no-nonsense manner. “Good to see you again, Lambeth. Carter’s promised me a decent hunt. Too early for it, of course, but we shall make the best of it, won’t we?”

She turned to the women. “Nicola, my girl. It has been far too long since we’ve seen you here. You’re looking thin, girl. We shall have to fatten you up, eh, Mrs. Waterhouse?” She threw the comment over her shoulder toward the housekeeper. “And, Penny, child, so glad you could come.”

“Thank you. I am sorry Mother could not make it, but she had pressing—”

Lady Buckminster waved away the rest of the statement, declaring bluntly, “You will have a far better time without her. I always tell Ursula she’s got you on too tight a rein. But then, she always was cowhanded—horses, and people, too.” She turned toward Marianne. “And you must be Mrs. Cotterwood. Bucky’s note was full of references to you, though half the time I couldn’t make out what he meant. Boy has a terrible scrawl at the best of times. My, but you’re a pretty chit. I can see what caught my boy’s eye. Welcome to Buckminster. Do you ride?”

“When I get a chance,” Marianne equivocated. She had taken lessons a few years ago and had managed to ride decently, but she never had a chance to practice. “I am afraid that I don’t maintain a stable.”

“Hard to, in the City,” Lady Buckminster sympathized. “Terrible place. Never go there myself. Don’t worry. We shall put you up on a good mount. Have you riding like Penelope here in no time.” She grinned at the slight girl beside Marianne. “You wouldn’t think it, but Penny can ride like a centaur. Course, she always stays well away from the kill. Ha!”

She whipped around and strode off toward the house, calling, “Come inside, then. No point in standing around out here like a bunch of ninnies. Might as well have tea.”

They trooped in after her. Penelope looped her arm through Marianne’s and said in a quiet voice, “Don’t worry. She shan’t force you to ride if you don’t want to. Lady B is horse-mad, as you have no doubt guessed, but she is quite kind, as well. She feels pity for those who don’t like to ride, but she doesn’t get angry with them.”

“I don’t mind riding. I just haven’t much experience. I mean, well, of course I rode when I was younger, but I have lived in London—or Bath—for the past ten years, and it is rather difficult to keep a stable there.”

“I know. We don’t, either, except for Mother’s carriage and the team that pulls it.”

“Aunt Adelaide is a dear,” Nicola said warmly. “She’s been very kind to me. After my father died, Mama and I moved in here with them. Our house, you see, was entailed, and I had no brother. It went to my cousin, whose wife and Mama did not get along. Later Mama got a house in London, but I stayed with Aunt Adelaide and Bucky. I was very happy here.” She smiled reminiscently, but Marianne thought there was a certain sadness in her eyes, as well.

Inside they found that two of the other guests had already arrived. Lady Buckminster introduced them as Sir George Merridale and his wife Sophronia. Sir George was a plain, quiet man in his early forties, with blond, thinning hair and the sort of beaky, bony face that bespoke his ancient Norman heritage. His wife, though equally plain, was his opposite in every other way. Where he was tall and thin, she was short and plump, dark to his fair, and incessantly talking. By the time Marianne had known her ten minutes, she knew that they had three children—Alice, Frederick and George, Jr., whom they called for some unknown reason Wiffy—and that only George, Jr., was old enough to go off to school, the others being at home with their governess; that Lady Merridale had a terrible servant problem; and that she was thinking of hiring French help.

When the woman asked Marianne her opinion, she was at a loss for words. “Well…I’m not sure. I have never employed anyone French.”

To her relief, Nicola intervened, “I feel sure, Lady Merridale, that French servants would probably be no better than English ones, I’m afraid.”

“Do you think so?” the woman asked worriedly. She lifted a beringed hand to her head and pushed back a strand of hair.

Marianne had noticed, having nothing better to do while the woman jabbered, that Sophronia Merridale was dripping with jewels. She wore three rings on one hand and four on the other, each one set with some sort of stone, the largest being a flashing diamond. A bracelet of emeralds shone on her wrist, along with a jangling set of bangles, and matching emeralds dangled from her ears, surrounded by a circle of tiny diamonds. It was, Marianne noted, one of the gaudiest displays of wealth she had ever seen, particularly given the more austere style of the present day.

She felt a movement by her side, and a masculine voice whispered in her ear, “Contemplating the removal of some of Lady Merridale’s jewelry?”

She looked up into Lambeth’s dancing golden eyes. She couldn’t keep herself from smiling. “I think it would be an improvement, don’t you?”

“Oh, I agree. Perhaps we could plan it together.”

Marianne had to remind herself that she disliked this man.
How could he be so charming one moment and so despicable the next?

“I was hoping you would do me the honor of letting me show you around the grounds,” Lambeth went on, his lips curving in a way that did odd things to Marianne’s insides. “They are quite lovely.”

“Why, yes,” Marianne acquiesced. At this moment she thought she would have agreed to a stroll with the devil to get away from Lady Merridale’s incessant chatter. “It would be nice to stretch my legs.”

“What a splendid idea!” Lady Merridale cried, hearing him. “Why don’t we all go? George, dear…”

Marianne cast a sideways glance at Lambeth, who was gazing at Lady Merridale in a frozen way. He glanced back at Marianne, and she had to hide a smile.

“I believe that I will stay here and catch up with Aunt Adelaide,” Nicola said, not bothering to hide her mischievous grin.

The others went out to the garden, for Lord Buckminster obviously was determined to go wherever Marianne went, and Penelope could not keep herself from following Lord Buckminster. Marianne took Lambeth’s arm, however, leaving him to squire Penelope.

“I am afraid that I am used to rather brisk walks, my lord,” Marianne said loudly as they walked out the side door. “I find it beneficial to the constitution.”

“I shall endeavor to keep up,” Lambeth assured her gravely.

She matched her words by striding off as fast she could go, leaving Sophronia and the others behind. They rounded a hedge several feet in front of the rest of the party, and Lambeth pulled her off the path.

“This way,” he said, taking Marianne’s hand and starting across the grass almost at a run. They rounded the end of the hedge before the others appeared and stopped to catch their breath, hiding behind the greenery.

They listened to the sound of Sophronia’s voice as the others followed the path in the opposite direction. Marianne let out a sound of relief, part sigh and part laugh.

“Thank heavens! I was afraid they had seen us,” she said, unfurling her fan and beginning to ply it. “I feel terribly guilty for leaving poor Penelope with her, but I could not take it a moment longer.”

Marianne’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled, and strands of her hair had slipped free from their pins in her rush and were curling damply around her face.

Lambeth’s eyes darkened as he gazed down at her, and the teasing words he had been about to speak died on his lips. He reached up and brushed his knuckles down her cheek, his mouth growing softer and wider. “You are beautiful.”

Marianne stepped back quickly. “Sir! You have gotten the wrong idea. I did not come to the garden to be secluded with you. I meant what I said to you the other night. If you mean to badger me—”

“No. I assure you. I did not misunderstand. I am quite aware that it was only desperation to leave Lady Merridale that drove you to run away with me. I did not mean to say that. The words just slipped out, as truth has a way of doing. I will not say anything else about it.”

As if to show his good intent, he held out his arm formally for her to take, and when she did so after a brief hesitation, he set off toward the small rose garden a few yards away from them.

Justin was no fool, nor was he unaware of the ways of women. He knew that he had stumbled badly in his dealings with Marianne at Nicola’s party last week—not once, but twice. He had been entirely too blunt, even gauche. Obviously warning her away from Buckminster had gotten her back up, and then his proposal to put her under his protection had been delivered with a lack of polish that confounded him. He could not remember when he had mishandled an affair so badly. There was something about Marianne that seemed to bring out the worst in him, that turned him into a callow youth again.

He was still convinced that the best way to keep her from getting her clutches on Bucky was to win her favors himself, a goal that also conformed to his own desires. If he exercised better control over himself, he thought, he could still bring it off. But first, he knew, he would have to make amends to her. That it would not be an easy process was clear from the wary look in her eyes.

“Mrs. Cotterwood, I must apologize for my actions the other night, the things I said. Clearly I was mistaken as to your character.”

“Clearly.” Marianne gave him a sideways look that held little belief in his sincerity.

“I said things I should not have. No doubt you think me a fool or a villain.”

“Or both,” Marianne added pleasantly.

He glanced at her in surprise, then lapsed into a grin. “I can see you have no intention of making this easy for me.”

“I see no reason why I should.”

“I understand.” He sighed. “Please accept my heartfelt apology, Mrs. Cotterwood. I spoke precipitously. I see now how wrong I was.”

“Do you?” Marianne asked cynically. “And what caused this great transformation in your thinking?”

He hadn’t expected her to ask him this, and for a moment Justin was set back. “Well…it was the anger with which you rejected me. I realized that I had missaid your character. Obviously your principles were much higher than I had thought.”

“That would scarcely be difficult,” she pointed out dryly. “Since you thought me a thief, an adventuress and a prostitute.”

“I would not put it that way.”

“What other way is there to put it?” Marianne drew to a halt, so that he had to stop, too, and turned to face him. “Lord Lambeth, it is clear that you still take me for a goosecap. Do you expect me to believe that you have actually changed your opinion of me on the basis of nothing more than a few days’ reflection? You accused me of stealing. You accused me of setting out to defraud your friend Bucky. Next you asked me to accept a carte blanche from you. It is obvious that you thought my virtue was for sale. And now you have decided that I am none of those things?”