Sally MacKenzie Bundle (24 page)

“We need to get this done today, Andrew.”

“Why? I’m enjoying myself. I think I almost got Westbrooke to throw a punch last night in the billiards room, Fel. Wouldn’t that have been something? The cool-headed Lord Westbrooke losing control so shockingly?”

Felicity frowned at Lord Andrew. “This is not a game.”

“Of course it is. Life’s a game.” He waggled his finger at her. “Don’t be so serious.”

“This
is
serious, you nodcock. I’ve been stalking Westbrooke for going on four years now. I’m tired of the hunt—it’s time to move in for the kill.”

“So romantic, Fel.”

“Romance is for totty-headed poets.”

“What? You don’t want hearts and flowers from Westbrooke?”

Felicity snorted. “What would I do with those? I want a title and pounds per annum—influence and money, precedence and property.”

“So mercenary.”

“As if you are not. Surely it is not merely Lady Elizabeth’s lovely eyes that persuaded you to help me ruin her.”

“No, but I am not motivated solely by filthy lucre—I expect to gain a great deal of enjoyment from the deed. I don’t believe the lady will just stand still and take her punishment. She will struggle. She’ll be angry and terrified. It will be quite a treat. And if I have to wed her afterward, even better. I’ll have a lifetime to mortify her.” He grinned. “I will definitely enjoy flaunting a very public parade of lovers before the bitch’s horrified eyes—and then make her submit to me in bed like a good little wife.”

Felicity felt a moment of compunction, but she ignored it as she would a touch of indigestion.

“You may do what you wish with Lady Elizabeth as long as you take her off somewhere—somewhere other than the dungeon—without raising Westbrooke’s suspicions.”

“Hmm. That might be a little tricky. She does not seem to care for my company.”

“Well, you must come up with some ruse to get her away from the group.”

“And I’m not certain Westbrooke will let her out of his sight. If I just stroll away from the table with her, I wager he’ll be at my throat like a rabid dog.”

“Can’t you be discreet?”

“Sweetings, I don’t think it is possible to be
that
discreet.”

“Well, I can’t think of everything.” She took a deep breath. She was not going to get anywhere if she irritated Andrew. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Perhaps the duchess can help.”

“Perhaps. She’s been oddly distracted today, though.” Felicity shrugged. “With luck there will be general milling around after luncheon and the deed will be accomplished easily. We can only plan so much. We will have to hope luck smiles on us a little.”

The wind whipped by, trying to dislodge her bonnet. She grabbed the brim and squinted up at the sky. “I do hope the weather holds. If the rain comes in, everyone will run for the carriages and our plans will be washed away as well.”

Lizzie grabbed her napkin before it could go sailing across the table. The wind was making the picnic especially exciting.

“Have you had word from home, Lady Elizabeth?” Mrs. Larson saved the end of the tablecloth from covering a dish of sweetbreads. “Isn’t the duchess expected to deliver any day now?”

“Not quite yet—the baby is not due for a few weeks.”

“And all is well?”

“Yes, thank you. Sarah had no trouble when her first child was born, so we don’t anticipate any difficulties this time, though my brother, the duke, will worry.”

Mrs. Larson smiled. “Of course, and so he should.” Her eyes twinkled. “It is his fault the duchess finds herself in such a state, is it not?”

Lizzie smiled back at her. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“I was not blessed with children, but my sister, Lady Illington, often said she thought her husband suffered more than she did when she was brought to bed. He felt so responsible yet so helpless. At that point there was nothing he could do but wait and pray that all went well.”

Lizzie laughed. “My brother was the same, only he made everyone around him suffer, too. He paced his study like a caged animal—like one of the poor lions at the Tower menagerie—until my aunt, Lady Gladys, let him into Sarah’s room. The accoucheur was not happy, but James threatened to have him hanged—I believe he said he would hang him himself—if the man didn’t stop bellowing at him and get back to helping Sarah produce his son.”

Mrs. Larson laughed, and Lizzie smiled. It was funny now—it had not been so amusing at the time. She had never seen James so agitated. He had always been the rock in her life. Even when their insane cousin had threatened Sarah’s life, he had not seemed so beside himself as he’d been when Sarah was in labor. She was almost glad she would miss it this time.

Perhaps his concern wasn’t so surprising. Their mother had died giving birth to her. James did not want to lose Sarah in the same way.

Lizzie glanced down the table. Robbie would never know the anguish of birth nor would he know the joy of holding his own son or daughter in his arms.

If she married him, she would not either.

She turned back to her hostess. Impulsively, she leaned closer. “Mrs. Larson, I do not mean to be encroaching, but, well, I wonder if you would tell me—do you miss having children?” She looked down at her plate. She was appalled at her boldness. What must the other woman think of her?

“I ask because I’m considering the subject myself, you see. That is, it is time I thought of marriage, and, um, thoughts of children follow naturally. I hope you don’t find the question offensive. I apologize—”

Mrs. Larson put her hand on Lizzie’s. “Yes,” she said, “I miss having children.” She smiled slightly. “My sister says she envies me my peace, but I envy her the energy and benevolent chaos of her household.” She sighed. “And I do confess to feeling a bit lonely on occasion. Oh, I have Sir George when his wife allows it, and Edward—Lord Tynweith. But it is not the same as having my own family.”

“No, I can see that it would not be.” Lizzie swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat. She could not bear the loneliness. She’d been so lonely growing up. James had been away at school and then off to war. Her mother was dead; her father might as well have been for all the attention he showed her. She’d had only Aunt Gladys, Aunt’s companion Lady Amanda Wallen-Smyth, and Meg.

And Robbie.

She looked down the table at him again. He’d bent to retrieve Miss Hyde’s napkin from the ground where the wind had blown it. He handed it to her with a flourish and a small bow. Miss Hyde smiled fleetingly and ducked her head as she took the cloth from his fingers.

Robbie’s smile never reached his eyes.

Lud! Lizzie felt tears prick her own eyes and she looked away.

She had not noticed….

How could she not have noticed?

Robbie joked and laughed—he was the clown of any gathering—but she had not seen real joy in his face for years.

How could it have taken her so long to notice?

If she were lonely, Robbie had no one—no parents, no brothers, no sisters. Sarah, James’s wife, was his only cousin. One could not count Theobald.

How lonely must he be?

“Do you ever regret marrying Mr. Larson?” she heard herself ask.

“Oh, no. Edward doesn’t believe it, but I loved my husband. I mourned—I still mourn—his passing.” Mrs. Larson paused, looked down at her hands folded on her lap, and then met Lizzie’s gaze directly. “Really, Lady Elizabeth, who knows if I would have had children had I married another man? Or if those children would have lived past infancy? We have so little control of our destinies, don’t you think?”

Lizzie nodded. “Yes, I suppose you are right.”

“I believe I am.” Mrs. Larson smiled. “I don’t regret for a moment marrying the man I loved. We had twenty-five wonderful years together. Sir George, on the other hand, has two sons but no love.” She spread her hands and shrugged. “I would have liked to have both, but forced to choose, I’d choose love.” She grinned. “My sister says babies are cute, but exhausting, and older children are not so cute and more exhausting. They argue and fight and get dirty and sick. She loves them dearly, but she also loves for me to come play auntie.”

Lizzie smiled. “I think you are very wise, Mrs. Larson.”

Mrs. Larson laughed. “I don’t know about wise. Old, yes. I hope I’ve learned something over the years.”

Mrs. Larson turned to talk to Mr. Parker-Roth on her other side. Lizzie turned to Mr. Dodsworth. He was still strangely subdued, but he could have recited the breeding history of each of the horses in his stable for all she cared. Her heart felt light for the first time in a long while.

She was going to choose love also.

“You know what you are supposed to do?”

Charlotte nodded. How could she not? Felicity had been rattling off directions in her ear all through luncheon. It was giving her indigestion.

She looked down the table at Edward. She wanted to be sitting next to him. He caught her glance for a moment and she felt it low in her stomach. The area between her legs where he had spent so much time the night before began to throb.

Who would have thought the procreative process could be so engrossing? Certainly her activities with Hartford and Lord Peter had given no indication of it. But Edward…A shiver ran up her spine.

“Charlotte, are you paying attention? This is important.”

“Yes, Felicity.” The girl was most annoying. Pushy, petulant, self-centered. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? She would have to cut the connection as soon as they returned to London. “You want me to send Westbrooke to look for you in the dungeon.”

“No! He would never come looking for me. You are to tell him you think that is where Lady Elizabeth has gone. Lord Andrew will have taken her away, so Westbrooke will be anxious to find her. Instead he will find me.”

“Yes, all right. I have it now.”

Would she see Edward in London? They would have to be discreet. Hartford was a trifle possessive. Well, and she could not afford any rumors running through the
ton.

They had discussed this last night, when they were resting between couplings. There could be no indication that they were trysting. If she did become pregnant, she wanted the world to think the child was Hartford’s. She especially wanted Hartford’s odious grandnephew to believe it. That noxious little worm would search for any reason to contest the succession.

She selected a comfit from the dish the footman had just placed at her elbow. She should be charitable. Her child would snatch a title and vast wealth from a fifty-five year old man who had spent his life waiting to be duke.

“And then…?” Felicity could not look more annoyed. She was clearly losing patience. Charlotte admitted her mind had been wandering.

“And then…?” Charlotte repeated. Edward was talking to Lady Dunlee now. He had the handsomest profile. How had she resisted him all these years?

He had frightened her.

She’d been attracted to him the moment she’d seen him enter Easthaven’s ballroom all those years ago. She’d asked her mother who he was.

“Tynweith,”
her mother had said.
“A mere baron—and dangerous. Not a man you wish to know.”

But she had wished to know him. She had been thrilled when Lady Easthaven had presented him. She’d accepted his request to dance before her mother could object.

He was different from the other men she’d met. He was exciting, dangerous—and he spoke to something in her she did not recognize. When she was with him, she did not feel like the good, dutiful daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Rothingham. She felt daring, wild, alive. As if, instead of the predictable, well-planned life her parents had chosen for her, there were exciting possibilities to choose from.

And then he had taken her out into the garden.

She could have stopped him. She thought of stopping him. But she wanted to go with him. She wanted to be daring, to pretend a little longer she was the girl she saw reflected in his gaze.

He had kissed her. It was nothing compared to their activities of last night, but it had been much more than she’d ever experienced. It was her first kiss, and his hands and mouth had been all over her. He had been rough and urgent. It had been too much for her. The fear had overtaken the excitement and she had slapped him. From then on, her mother had seen to it that she stayed far away from him.

If she’d married him instead of chasing after Alvord and marrying Hartford…. But she wouldn’t have. She’d not had the courage then to withstand her parents’ expectations.

“Charlotte!” Felicity shook her arm, her voice sharp. “
Do
pay attention. Once Westbrooke enters the tower, wait about five minutes—not much more, I don’t expect him to stay long, especially if he senses a trap—and gather Lady Dunlee and as many other guests as you can to tour the dungeon.”

“I don’t think Edward—I mean, Lord Tynweith—will approve.”

“Edward?” Felicity’s eyes narrowed.

Charlotte tried not to blush. “I’m sorry. I’ve been speaking to Mrs. Larson—she sometimes refers to her cousin by his Christian name.”

Felicity looked suspicious, but did not pursue the topic. Obviously she had more important concerns.

“I don’t care what Tynweith thinks. If he questions you, point out that all the men have already toured the room and the ladies want to see what the fuss is about. Don’t worry. I didn’t include anything truly shocking when I set the stage for this little play.”

“All right.”

“And be certain Lady Dunlee is at the front of the group. I want her to have a good view so she can report every interesting detail to the
ton.”

“Yes. I will encourage her to lead the way.”

“Splendid. Now you won’t forget what to do?”

“No, I will remember.”

“Good. Look—Mrs. Larson and Lady Elizabeth are rising. Luncheon is over.”

Charlotte stood with Felicity. The wind caught her bonnet, almost tearing it from her head. She put her hand on it. “I do believe the storm is coming.”

“But it is not here yet.”

“My lord,” Mrs. Larson said, “when do you wish to depart?”

Edward looked at the sky. “I believe we can safely stay another half hour.” He addressed the group at large. “If there are any other sights you would care to see, I suggest you do so now and return to the castle entrance in thirty minutes. I will have the carriages ready to take us back to Lendal Park then.”