Suzanne Robinson (21 page)

And torturing him because of it. He could make her respond to him. It would be easy considering how many rimes he’d done it before. But she would hardly look at him, and she hid behind a barricade of proper speech and stiff, Primmy manners. So he spent his days resisting temptations and his nights pacing his rooms, sleepless and nearly succumbing to the urge to go to her.

Once he’d got as far as her door before he’d been able to master himself. He only did that by remembering how she would hate him afterward for robbing her of her precious honor—which she evidently valued above her affection for him.

Affection. Was that what it was? What did he feel? Hell and damnation. No, he couldn’t feel this way. Not when Prim … And Lady Cecilia was coming. He wanted Lady Cecilia and all she meant—home, family, a foundation of security and peace. Everything he’d ever wanted, since he could remember.

“I’m not giving that up!”

Featherstone paused in brushing Luke’s trousers. “Sir Lucas?”

“What?”

“Give up what, Sir Lucas?”

“Nothing. Damnation, Featherstone, that’s enough brushing.”

“Sir.”

“Do I look right?”

“If I may say so, Sir Lucas, there are few gentlemen
as handsome or so well groomed. The tailor has cut that coat to set off your figure, and—”

“Enough about my figure, Featherstone. Leave my figure in the future. I can do without you talking about my figure.”

“Yes, Sir Lucas. Miss Dane said she would await you in the drawing room.”

Luke started out of the room.

“Sir Lucas.”

“What?”

“Stuffing your hands in your trouser pockets will ruin the line of your suit.”

“Choke me dead, Featherstone. I’m never going to learn to be a gentleman.”

“If I may be frank, Sir Lucas? Once Lady Cecilia catches sight of you, she will disregard any minor lapses you may commit.”

“You’re a good bloke, Featherstone.”

“Thank you, Sir Lucas.”

Luke left his rooms and passed bustling servants on last-minute errands in the residential quarters. Lady Cecilia was due in a few minutes from the train station in town. He opened the drawing-room doors and found Prim standing before one of the tall windows. She was looking outside and hadn’t noticed him. Just then a break in the clouds allowed sunlight to flood the room briefly and bathe her in a golden glow. He had lately read the tales of King Arthur and the holy grail, and how the grail appeared in an aura of light. That was how he saw Prim, in an aura of light and magic, a fairy-tale princess in distress.

Only this princess didn’t want to be rescued. She was going to rescue herself, and in the process, take herself far away where he would never see her again. Suddenly, Luke realized how miserable the idea made him.

Prim sighed and hung her head. Luke wondered what was bothering her. Not that she didn’t have things to worry about, but lately she had grown sad. He longed to make her smile, and she could do with a better appetite, too. But what was he doing standing here in a gloom? There wasn’t much time.

“Miss Dane, I’m ready.”

She turned and came toward him, and the sun went behind the clouds again, relieving him of his most disturbing distraction. She inspected him, and Luke had to refrain from thrusting his fists in his pockets.

“Excellent, Sir Lucas.”

“Glad you’re pleased, Miss Prim.”

“You mustn’t call me that when Lady Cecilia is here.”

“Right.”

“And remember to introduce me as your cousin who is a guest of your mother.” He nodded and she went on. “I have given instructions to your parents and to Mrs. Apple. Mrs. Apple is a most unusual woman.”

“Oh?”

“Silver-haired old ladies seldom slide down banisters.”

“Got a lot of energy, she does. Always has.”

“Indeed. I told her not to slide down the banisters while Lady Cecilia was here.”

“Good idea.”

Prim eyed him, but he only grinned at her, and she walked to the fireplace where several logs were crackling in the flames. “Shall we review a few important points? Lady Cecilia’s title derives from the fact that she is the daughter of an earl. If she marries you, she will still be called Lady Cecilia rather than plain Lady Hawthorne.”

“The greater rank,” Luke said.

“Correct. Now, remember, one always dresses for dinner, and everyone goes down to dinner in order of precedence. You as host will take down the lady of highest rank, which is Lady Cecilia. You always converse with the lady on your right at dinner. And never talk to or about servants at dinner.”

“What if one of them spills custard on me?”

“That is unlikely to happen,” Prim said severely. “But if it does, Featherstone will take charge. Now, when you make conversation with ladies, you talk about Society, music, and so on. Do not talk about business or politics.”

“Why not? I talk to you about them.”

“Sir Lucas, this visit will be much more formal than the occasion of our acquaintance.”

“Choke me dead, Primmy. Is this the way it’s going to be after I marry Lady Cecilia?”

Prim turned her back to him. “I cannot speculate upon such a private matter, Sir Lucas.”

“Has someone starched your tongue, Miss Primrose blighted Dane?”

She whirled around and glared at him. “Such rudeness will certainly count against you in Lady Cecilia’s eyes.”

“You don’t look too chirpy. What’s wrong?”

“Ah, here is Mrs. Snow. I asked her to come for your instructions.”

He stifled a groan. “Right.” Summoning his newly learned manners, he greeted the housekeeper. “Thank you for being so prompt, Mrs. Snow.”

Funny how, although she wasn’t as tall as he was, Mrs. Snow always managed to look down her beaky nose at him. At one time Luke would have glared at her or avoided her gaze altogether. This time he ignored her funereal demeanor as if her attitude was something he would never even consider.

“Now, Mrs. Snow, shall we go over my instructions?” He didn’t wait for her consent. “Fresh flowers three times a day in Lady Cecilia’s rooms. Two maids assigned entirely to her. Her favorite foods to be served at each meal according to her requests. A fire always burning in all her rooms. Her things laundered immediately and returned, not put with the household things.”

Mrs. Snow’s meat-clever jaw dropped. She appeared to wake from a daze. “Yes, Sir Lucas.”

“And no running out of stationery in her rooms or allowing fires to die down.”

“Yes, Sir Lucas.” Now the housekeeper was beginning to look like a horse trying to row a boat.

“I know you’ll do an excellent job, as always, Mrs. Snow. Thank you. You may go.”

Mrs. Snow stared at him for a moment, then woke
up and dropped a curtsy before wandering out of the room. When he glanced at Prim, she was beaming at him.

“Well done,” she said softly.

“Thanks to you, Primmy. The old drab is going to have a fit.”

“And?”

“And it is a matter of no consequence to me. A servant does not have tempers and fits.”

“Excellent.”

He heard the clatter of people hurrying in the hall and the rattling of a carriage outside. “She’s here.”

“Go on, Sir Lucas. You should be at the carriage.”

His parents chose this moment to burst into the drawing room along with Mrs. Apple, who was to be known as Mrs. Rosina Longford, a lady relative of Prim’s. Luke quelled Ma and Pa’s fevered questions.

“It’s all right, Ma. I know what to do. Just leave everything to me, and if you’re uncertain, talk to Miss Dane.”

He stopped them from hurrying after him so that he didn’t look like a mother duck with her brood. Instead, they proceeded in a stately manner out to the drive to greet his fiancée. He could hear someone talking inside the vehicle that waited there. The head footman was opening the carriage door. Luke was in time to offer his hand to the elderly lady who emerged first. Mrs. Portloe was a relative of Lady Cecilia’s, whom he’d met on his visits to the earl. Luke saw that Mrs. Portloe was safely out of the carriage and turned back to help Lady Cecilia. It was she who had been talking all this time.

He had heard her described as handsome and had seen her portrait, but artists often flattered their aristocratic subjects. When he grasped her gloved hand, he got his first look at her. In Lady Cecilia’s case, the artist had supplied his subject with a bit more flesh that she really had. The young woman who stepped down from the carriage was slim and angular, with prominent jawbones and a lift to her head that reminded him of Mrs. Snow. She had a high forehead distinguished by a widow’s peak of jet black hair. Her skin was as white as the glaze of the best Chinese pottery, quite fashionable.

As she left the carriage, Lady Cecilia proceeded with a complicated series of instructions to the footmen and a lady’s maid who followed her. The maid held a velvet cushion upon which lay a pug dog so fat Luke would have been surprised if it could walk on its own.

Before speaking to him, Lady Cecilia continued to give orders. “Mind the step, Turnpenny. See that you don’t drop Oswald. Lady Portloe, you minded the step? Good. Footman. Footman! My jewel case. Turnpenny, my jewel case. No, no, no. Put the handle of the jewel case over her arm, you stupid man. She can carry it and Oswald.”

Luke tried to offer the services of the two maids standing by, but Lady Cecilia was too busy sorting out the disposal of her pet and her jewels for him to be able to speak without interrupting her. In a few minutes her maid, Oswald the pug, and the servants all trooped into the house. At last Lady Cecilia turned her attention to him. Luke met her gaze, and he realized
she hadn’t been paying attention when she first looked at him, for she blinked several times as if surprised. Then she did what she hadn’t since getting out of the carriage—she smiled and extended her hand.

Luke took it and bowed. Mrs. Portloe hovered beside Lady Cecilia and spoke in a whisper.

“My dear, may I present Sir Lucas Hawthorne.”

“Sir Lucas.” Lady Cecilia’s voice only seemed loud, coming as it did hard upon Mrs. Portloe’s whisper tones. “I am most pleased.”

“And I am honored, Lady Cecilia, to meet a lady about whom I have heard so many charming reports.”

“Indeed.”

He hesitated. He had expected Lady Cecilia to keep talking as she had since her arrival, but she appeared distracted and was staring at him. To his dismay, he almost blushed, but then he caught a glimpse of Prim, who was standing some distance away at the foot of the steps. She gave him a little smile and glanced in the direction of his parents. His parents! Mrs. Apple—no Mrs. Longford. He was to perform introductions. They would be presented to Lady Cecilia, since she was of higher rank.

To his relief, he made no mistakes, and was soon escorting his guests into the drawing room. Escorting Lady Cecilia was more like being a servant scurrying after a busy monarch. The lady stalked briskly ahead of everyone except Luke, who had to extend his stride to keep up. When he walked with Prim, he always had to shorten his stride in order to stay beside her.

Lady Cecilia swept into the drawing room and headed for the best chair beside the fireplace. It had been intended for her, but Luke had expected to offer it as an attention and a courtesy. The others gathered around the fireplace on a settee and a couch and chairs. Prim stood behind his parents, who sat on the couch opposite Lady Cecilia. He saw her pull on the bell to ring for tea. She caught his eye, and her mouth formed silent words, “How was your journey?”

He walked to the mantel, placing himself between it and Lady Cecilia. “How was your journey, Lady Cecilia?”

“Most tiresome, as rail trips usually are. But I endured. Nobody can say that I complain. I do my best, and everyone knows I’m not one to complain. I do hope my rooms are warm, Sir Lucas. Oswald gets cold easily.”

“Your rooms will have fires constantly tended, Lady Cecilia. I can have the servants bring in braziers if Oswald is uncomfortable.”

“Excellent.” Lady Cecilia glanced around the drawing room. “These old places are always full of poky old furniture, are they not, Sir Lucas?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “Of course if we marry, I shall have to redo this room.”

Luke opened his mouth. Then he shut it. He looked at Prim, but she stared back at him, wide-eyed. They had never discussed a polite response to this type of comment. Luke recovered enough to incline his head.

“Oh?” he said.

“You will find that I am known for my taste,” Lady
Cecilia said. “I am consulted by all my acquaintance in matters of taste, am I not, Mrs. Portloe?”

Mrs. Portloe’s answer was drowned out when Lady Cecilia continued. “I declare I am beset with questions of taste from everyone. The Duchess of Portland wanted my opinion of the tapestries she ordered from Brussels. Lady Carington simply could not make up her mind about patterns for plate, and Mr. Gladstone is still waiting for me to help him fix the design of his new house in London.”

The list of appeals to Lady Cecilia’s taste continued, and Luke found himself growing bewildered from the unceasing discourse. No one else had been able to make a remark. Then he heard it. A moment of silence. He opened his mouth. Too late!

“Well,” Lady Cecilia said. “It’s best to place these things in the open at once, Sir Lucas, as we’re among family and intimates.” Lady Cecilia gave a mannerly nod to Prim and her chaperone. “I am here to make your acquaintance, Sir Lucas, and to see if we’ll do together in marriage. I will be frank. Nobody can say that I’m not frank. I will acquaint you with my opinions and my feelings during this visit, and then we will see.”

This conversation wasn’t at all what Prim had led him to expect. He gave her a desperate glance, but Prim seemed as aghast as he. Again, before he could respond, Lady Cecilia marched ahead.

“As I said, nobody can say I’m not frank. I’m known for my frankness and honest opinions, Sir Lucas. So I might as well tell you that I approve of your appearance.”

Lady Cecilia rose, causing everyone else to stand. Her gaze ran over Luke from his boots, up his legs to his chest and finally to his face, where they settled on his eyes only briefly. Luke felt as if she would like to run her hands over his legs like a stable master inspecting a racing horse. He almost expected her to pry open his mouth to look at his teeth.