The Convenient Arrangement (12 page)

“Yes, my lord.” He pulled on a robe and lurched out of the room.

“Thank you, Lorenzo,” Valeria said with a smile.

How could she look so lovely at this hour when he was sure he resembled something dragged back and forth through a knot-hole? Her luxurious hair was pinned primly up for sleep, and her eyes were soft and hooded with not enough sleep. The lace on her wrapper flowed around her face like the petals of a flower.

“I did nothing.” His exasperation at her turned inward, for he should not be admiring her at the same time he was vexed with her.

“Thank you anyway.” She wrapped her arms around herself as she sat on the chair by the desk. “I wonder what she really saw.”

“Mayhap we can get some sense out of her when she is not so frightened.”

“I doubt that. She honestly believes that what she saw was a ghost.”

“And she is wrong.”

“Mayhap, but she saw something. It should be looked into before the rest of the house is scared by tales of a haunting.”

“There's no such thing as a ghost,” he repeated for what seemed like the twentieth time.

Hearing a laugh behind him, he turned to see Earl standing by the hearth. The old man held a candle high, its light stronger than the weak glow of the lamp on Lorenzo's desk.

“I would not be so certain of that when you're standing in a house this old,” Earl said. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat on the raised hearth. “There have always been sounds and sights here that folks couldn't explain.”

“But ghosts?” Lorenzo shook his head with a grimace. “Fear will make folks believe they have seen things they can't explain.”

“True, true.” He chuckled again as he balanced the candle on the knee of his worn breeches.

“Valeria, this is Earl,” he said when the old man looked past him and smiled.

“I know Earl. He has been kind enough to arrange for my hearth always to be well-lit. Good evening.” She gave him a warm smile before scowling at Lorenzo again. “However, Lorenzo, you are ignoring my point completely.”

Egad, she intended to continue this bangle in front of the old man. “I will have someone go out and see what might be on the lawn.” When she began to smile, he added, “In the morning.”

“It might be gone by then.”

“Any self-respecting ghost would be,” Earl said with a chuckle. “Ghosts don't like sunshine.”

Valeria smiled again. “You know a lot about this house, Earl. Have there been other reports of ghosts?”

“Of course. Headless monks, lovers who cast themselves from the walls, all of the customary sorts. Mayhap the lass saw one of them.”

“One of them?” Lorenzo shook his head. This discussion was leading nowhere. “Please do not burden us with more than a single ghost at a time.”

“So you believe it might have been a ghost?” Earl asked, surprising him.

“Of course not. In spite of all you have said, I believe in what's right before my eyes, and that is not a ghost.”

Earl came to his feet and laughed. “I bid you good night, my lord. I hope your dreams are less mundane than your words.”

Rising, Valeria said, “I should return to my bed as well.” She went to the door and opened it. “Good night, Lorenzo.”

He put his hand on the open door. “I hope the rest of it is a quiet one.”

“I'm sure it will be. One ghost a night is sufficient.”

“More than sufficient.”

A dimple he had never noticed in her left cheek teased his fingers to touch it, but he clenched his hand at his side and the other around the door. “Good night, Valeria.” He smiled. “That is, if you don't need someone to walk you to your rooms in case you encounter a ghost.”

“No, I don't think that would be such a good idea.”

“The ghost?”

She raised her hand toward his face, then lowered it quickly to her side. “No, not the ghost.” She whirled and, in a cloud of white, vanished into her rooms.

Lorenzo closed the door and looked across the rooms to where Earl had added wood to the fire. He sat in the closest chair as he stared into the flames. For once, he had understood Valeria completely. Gil and the lass had needed a watchdog to keep them, but Valeria suspected the same could be said for her and Lorenzo, so she wisely had demurred when he offered to escort her.

Dash it! He needed to step up the search to find her a husband before one of them did something that could make this complicated situation even more complicated.

Like surrendering to his overwhelming urge to kiss her.

Valeria sighed as she closed the magazine and set it on the table beside her in the sitting room that was now free of spiders. How much she had taken her years in London for granted! She had delighted in the chance to visit her favorite
modiste
, to chat with her friends during an at home, to enjoy an occasional evening at Almacks's, and especially being a hostess for parties that drew the
élite de l'élite
and luminaries like politicians and poets. It had been such a short time ago that she had introduced the French poet Marquis de la Cour to the Polite World. Now she was on the far side of England, lost in this desolate place where nothing ever happened—no gossip, no fashion, no anything.

She went to look out the window, then turned away. If Lorenzo went for his ride, as he did every day at this hour, and chanced to see her peering out at him, he would think her even more of a problem. She had tried to remain quiet so he could work uninterrupted, and she was thankful that Gil was keeping David amused by taking him through every field and bog on the moors. The two were becoming good friends, because almost every sentence David spoke began with “Gil did” or “Gil said.”

At a knock, Valeria turned. “Come in.” The door opened, and she gasped, “Lorenzo!”

He held the brim of his tall hat in his hands. The well-tailored lines of his riding coat emphasized his lean height. His pantaloons looped beneath boots which wore a recent polish.

“I thought you'd left,” she said before she could halt the words.

“Excuse me?”

She ran her hand along the back of a chair and struggled to smile. “I know, you ride each day. Please don't think that I'm keeping tabs on you.”

“No need.” He smiled and tapped his hat onto his head. “I know I am a creature of habit. However, today I am delayed because I was receiving Mr. Pettit from Bristol.”

“We had a caller, and you did not tell me?” She looked away as heat soared up her face. “Forgive me, Lorenzo. This is your house, and your callers are none of my business.”

He laughed, but gently. “If I had thought you might be intrigued with the discussion I was having with Mr. Pettit, I would have sent for you to join us. I did not think you would enjoy our mutual interest in my uncle's odd collections.”

“Mr. Pettit came from Bath to see the jumble in this house?”

“Apparently he and my uncle were in correspondence about some items that Mr. Pettit has long been intrigued with the idea of purchasing from him. I told him I would give the matter some thought, although I am loath to allow anything to leave this house yet.” He smiled. “But that is not why I came to your rooms. I thought you might want to join me today. Would you like to join me for a ride across the moor?”

“Join you?” She stared at him. “You want me to go for a ride with you?”

“If you prefer not to …”

“No, no!”

When that teasing smile curved along his lips, she wondered why she was acting like a witless child. Mayhap because she never could guess how
he
would act. One moment, he was making it clear that she was a burden he could not wait to rid himself of. The next, he was the most gracious, genial host she could ever imagine. And on the rare occasions when he touched her … No, she did not want to think of that, of how all thoughts of the contemptible turns her life had taken, all thoughts of how she longed to be back amid the whirl in London, even all thoughts of her anger at her brother who had betrayed her and David—everything vanished beneath the craving for him to touch her again.

So why was she agreeing to go with him
alone
as soon as she could change into her dark green riding habit? She did not want to think of that either.

Lorenzo drew back on the reins and looked out across the rolling hills. To the north, waves curved around a headland and crawled up onto the shore, leaving white foam. That foam seemed to be splashed upon the hills as sheep dotted the fields. Taking a deep breath, he could almost believe he was back at Wolfe Abbey, for that house, too, overlooked the sea. Now he understood why his mother had loved her husband's family's home and had not missed her own.

Or had she? He had no idea, because this part of her life had been denied to him. Curiosity taunted him anew. What had driven his mother and her brother so far apart that they had not been able to reconcile years later?

“My uncle never spoke to you of his sister?” he asked.

Valeria glanced at him, and he could see she was startled by the sudden question. With a sympathetic smile, she shook her head. “The few times I saw him, I was very young. As I recall, he spoke to me of things that one would speak of to a child. Not knowing what drove him and your mother apart bothers you, doesn't it?”

“The questions prey on my mind. I knew my mother well, and she was a good, kindhearted woman. Until now, I would have sworn that she would be able to forgive anyone for any crime against her. Yet she could not find it in her heart to forgive her only brother.”

“Mayhap she tried, but he would not allow that.”

“Do you know of some quirk of his that would have prevented a reconciliation?”

Again she shook her head and put up her hand to keep her hat from being carried away by the breeze that was growing more powerful as they followed the curve of the stone wall up the hill and away from the trees clinging to the road. She steered her horse around a prickly bush. “Your uncle offered only the greatest benevolence to me. If not for him, I would never have married Albert.”

“He arranged your first meeting?”

“He arranged our marriage.” She smiled sadly. “Albert had lost his first wife several years before, and he did not enjoy the life of a widower. When he let that fact be known to his tie-mates, your uncle suggested a match between him and me.”

“And you agreed to this?”

“Why are you so astonished? Many marriages are arranged.”

“True, but you are not like other women.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Please explain what you mean by that comment.”

Lorenzo would have been glad to explain his words, if he had an explanation. Or, more honestly, if he had an explanation he could speak. He had been acquainted with many of the ladies who lived near Wolfe Abbey because his cousin and his wife had insisted that Lorenzo steal some time from his writing to attend various functions about the shire. He had had many conversations with them, albeit often stilted ones. He had joined in outings on the beach or near a stream, which he always had considered a worthy use of time because it allowed him to collect ideas for his poetry. He even had danced on occasion, although no woman had been interested in standing up with him again after her toes endured a pummeling by his awkward steps.

None of those women had been like Valeria. He could talk with her, even though much of what she had to say infuriated him. Today he was enjoying this ride, in spite of the fact not a single phrase had found its way out of his mind to be jotted down on the paper stored in the purse hooked to his saddle, so he might use it later in a poem. And, as he looked at her sitting so gracefully on her horse, he could imagine her helping even a heavy-footed chap like him move about the dance floor smoothly.

But how could he say any of that to her? She would think him insane, and he could not fault her. Instead he mumbled something that must have appeased her because she turned again to look down at the pearl gray sea.

“Mayhap,” she said so softly her words were almost swept away by the wind, “your mother and your uncle simply could not own to a mutual mistake. Pride leaves people with nothing else, but they will cling to it at the price of everything else, even their happiness.”

“Were you happy?”

She faced him. “In my marriage? Is that what you mean?”

“If it is not too personal.”

“Too personal?” Her laugh lilted across the hills as they continued along the curve of the moor and through a meadow where sheep grazed. “Lorenzo, you really should come to London at least once for the Season. Then you will learn that nothing is too personal. Yes, many were astonished when I chose to marry Albert, not one of the other suitors who were vying for my hand, but he was a good man and cared deeply for me. We were very happy.”

“Until he died?”

She took a deep breath and released it slowly, and he tried to keep his gaze on her face instead of the enticing motion. “We had three wonderful years together. So many things we had in common. A love of the theater, delight in the company of good friends, the invigorating quality of a fine wine. He introduced me to poetry and contemporary artists and the waltz. I taught him it was all right to be young at heart.”

“I'm glad.”

“So am I.” A smile played across her lips, and he guessed she was savoring memories that would always bring her pleasure. When she reached over and grasped his hand, he stared at her, startled. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For reminding me how much I have to be thankful for.” She squeezed his hand. “I believe it is possible you and I, despite our vast differences, might come to consider each other a friend.”

“Anything is possible.”

“Exactly.” With a laugh, she slapped her horse and rode neck-or-nothing up the hill.

Lorenzo followed, eager to see where this path they were taking might lead. Of one thing he was certain. Wherever it was, it would be more interesting because Valeria was with him. Nothing could alter his determination to make her a match with all possible speed, but he might as well enjoy her company today.