The Rogue and the Rival (39 page)

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Authors: Maya Rodale

BOOK: The Rogue and the Rival
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When the vehicles started to drive off, it was without a second thought that Lucas followed.
They would call upon Emily Preston first, a girl from so long ago that Phillip had trouble recalling anything about her except for her dark eyes, a lively disposition, and a hurried interlude in the gardens of Vauxhall.
He was not looking forward to this visit.
And yet after six hours in the carriage with Lady Palmerston and Angela, he was almost wishing to do anything, so long as he could leave the confines of this box. All he wanted to do was make love to Angela. And she was right there, just across the carriage from him, looking luscious and giving him secret smiles from time to time.
Mostly, however, she was thoroughly engaged in conversation with her aunt. He wondered if their topics of discussion were deliberately chosen to annoy him to the point of wanting to pull his hair out. Women’s fashion was the reigning topic: hairstyles, hemlines, and hats. What was a more flattering cut for a bodice? Which fabrics and colors were the best for each season?
The topic then moved on to the particular fashion choices of nearly every woman of the ton. Their opinions ranged from scathing to adoration, to lamenting that it simply wasn’t done to wear the same dress as someone else. Phillip wondered why but dared not voice the question, lest he endure an hour-long lecture.
After they paused at an inn for a brief lunch and to change the horses, Phillip elected to ride outside, with the carriage driver. The afternoon was spent in the pleasure of debating different racehorses, their lineages, their chances, their winnings, and their losses.
By methods Phillip preferred not to know of, Lady Palmerston had learned that Miss Emily Preston was now Mrs. Emily Andrews. She, her husband, and a small army of brats lived in a rather nice stone cottage on a decently sized parcel of land.
“Tell Mr. Andrews that we have callers,” Emily Andrews née Preston informed a meek servant girl.
“Who should I say is calling, ma’am?” the maid whispered.
“My youthful indiscretion,” Mrs. Andrews replied pertly as her children swarmed around her. “Billy, I said
no
! You may not have cookies before supper. Preston, what did I tell you about hitting your sister?”
“Only to do it if she annoys me,” the young lad answered confidently.
“I said no such thing. Go outside, the lot of you, and try not to injure yourselves. Please don’t mind them,” Mrs. Andrews urged. “Come into the sitting room.”
The sitting room was plain. The furniture was sturdy but slightly worn. The other items were not of the best quality but were very well cared for. The hardwood floors gleamed, and everything else was polished within an inch of its life. Windows looked over the front lawn, and Mrs. Andrews positioned herself so that she might have a view of her children outside. Her husband arrived and sat beside his wife. A servant girl brought a tea tray.
“Tea?” she offered.
“Please.” Angela and Lady Palmerston said at the very same time.
“Well. Phillip Kensington. Lord Huntley. A lord and a lady in my drawing room. Mrs. Smythe is going to be beside herself with jealousy. What brings you here?”
“Mrs. Andrews, I have to come to apologize for . . .” Phillip paused, searching for the right words. He didn’t want to say something too crude, or too specific, because it occurred to him that her husband might not know. The man could see fit to challenge him, and he did not care to duel.
“Ruining me in the eyes of polite society?” Mrs. Andrews supplied.
“Yes. Or in anyone’s eyes. I’m sorry.”
“Why . . . Oh, that is very considerate of you. I accept your apology, though if you must know, I am not entirely sorry as to what happened.”
“Oh?” The three callers all expressed their interest simultaneously.
“I found society altogether too stifling, you see. My father had eight daughters, of which I was the youngest, and he treated the lot of us, me in particular, like the son he had lost in its infancy. That did not serve me well in polite society.”
“Indeed,” Lady Palmerston added to fill the silence as Mrs. Andrews paused for breath.
“I told as much to my sister, Lady Layford—she married Baron Layford. And she said that there were options to deal with it. The first was to develop a tolerance for it. The second was to go home. The third was to marry a duke, because duchesses, she said, can do whatever they wish. So I thought that
duchess
had quite a ring to it, and that I would go with option three.”
“And that is where I come in,” Phillip supplied. Had he been used? Had he been nothing more than a pawn in someone else’s scheme, as with Christine?
“Not quite. Her Grace, Lady Hampton, and I struck up a conversation in the ladies’ retiring room at a ball one evening, and she told me that being a duchess was a rather tedious thing, and that she certainly didn’t have the liberty to do whatever she wished.”
“Did you decide to return home then?” Angela asked.
“Yes. Because my mother, rest her soul, had written and said that John here was asking after me.” Here she paused and patted her husband’s hand affectionately. “I thought he was a fine-looking fellow and not so high in the instep as all the London gents I met. But my sister had other ideas. She would not allow me to go home, because I was to make a splendid match, which would show well upon her. My sister and I never got along, mind you . . .”
It was a long story that might have been summed up as: they never got along. In fact, they despised each other.
But as she rambled along, Phillip looked for the girl he had once known. He saw it in the eyes. Though time was taking its toll, her eyes were still bright and lively. She had been pretty, and that was still apparent. And he could see how a young rake, such as he, would have enjoyed her exuberance. She had an enthusiasm and vitality not often found in gently bred ladies.
He had been a mere lad of eight and ten, and the allure of wenching where he was supposed to was starting to fade. She hadn’t stopped his advances. He was young and due to inherit an ancient and respected title. He thought himself above the consequences.
And in this case, he had been. No one had challenged him to a duel. No one had insisted he marry her. They talked about it behind his back, though, of how he ought to have married her. He couldn’t regret that he didn’t, especially considering just how much she talked. Phillip glanced over at her husband and wondered if the man was ever able to start, let alone complete, a sentence when talking to his wife.
“And then I met you, Phillip. I may call you that, still, right? Well, I still hadn’t made up my mind about being a duchess or returning here, to Oxfordshire. And lud, you were handsome, still are, if I do say so myself. Anyway, we met at some ball or other, and waltzed a time or two. And then it was at Vauxhall that, well, we needn’t go into details about that.”
No, they didn’t, Phillip thought.
“I’m a country girl, you see, so I had a clue what we were doing. And I went straight home and told my sister that I was going to be a duchess, and that I would walk into supper before her. And when I told her about you, well, she went off saying that you would never marry the likes of me. You were too young, thought yourself above everyone—”
“That was true.”
“I was, I confess, rather disappointed the next day when you didn’t call. Or the next day. Because you and I got along, didn’t we? And, well, I shan’t say it in proper company. Well, I was devastated. And then I was sent home. My father was livid at first. Threatened to beat some sense into me, and then to go after you, but he didn’t because your father had sent him a personal letter and a generous settlement, provided he didn’t challenge you, since you are reputedly a terrible shot.”
“He did?” Phillip had known about the money. His father was always more generous with his money than his attention. And Phillip had known a woman would choose a thousand pounds and another man rather than marry him. What he had not known was that his father would plead to save his son in a letter that could have been made public. Too bad that the old man couldn’t have told Phillip this.
“Yes. I saw the letter with my very own eyes. I can’t recall the exact phrasing, but your father appealed to mine about the wretchedness of losing a son for men in their position. My father, having lost his one and only son, understood. That, and the sum your father offered was very generous, and our roof was in need of repair. Furthermore, a small sum was left aside for my dowry, and I could marry John. Now we have this lovely home and five wonderful children.”
“Six,” her husband added gruffly.
“Soon to be six,” she said, resting a hand on her stomach.
“And how old are they?” Phillip asked nervously.
“Billy, the eldest, is seven . . .” Phillip pretended to listen after that. But he was too relieved by the fact that none of her children were his to fully pay attention.
“John, take Phillip for a tour of our land. I wish to discuss London things with the ladies.”
Phillip and John Andrews exchanged looks of obvious relief at being dismissed. Once they were outdoors, Phillip discovered that the man was able to talk, just as long as his wife wasn’t around. He spoke extensively of the condition of the land when he had acquired it, the changes he had made, some of which were failures, and some of which were definite improvements. Phillip made a note to himself to employ some of these strategies at Aston House.
They had just passed through the orchard and were heading toward the barn when Phillip paused.
“I owe you an apology, too.”
“That’s nice to hear,” Mr. Andrews answered. “I was in a bit of a rage when I learned of what had occurred with you and my Emily. Didn’t go with my notions of what my wife would be like. But then, you know, what is one night compared to a lifetime? I wouldn’t have been good enough for her, if that hadn’t happened. Her parents would have never let her marry the likes of me. Broke they were, with all those daughters, but still proud.”
“She seems happy. Quite talkative.”
“You can say that again,” Mr. Andrews said with a grin. “My wife is a chatterbox. I don’t mind, though. Keeps me from having to talk too much. And she doesn’t mind if I don’t really listen, so long as I pretend to. Let that lesson be my wedding gift to you. You are going to marry Miss Sullivan, aren’t you?”
“I plan to.”
“I reckon it was her idea for you to go around apologizing, wasn’t it? Not something that occurs to a man to do.”
“The things we do for women . . .” Phillip muttered, and Mr. Andrews agreed.
They ended up staying for supper, for Mrs. and Mr. Andrews would not hear otherwise.
“The food at the inn leaves much to be desired,” she declared.
“The ale is good, though,” Mr. Andrews added.
When the trio finally took their leave, Phillip noted that the visit had three pleasant consequences. First, Phillip had been forgiven.
One down, three to go,
he thought. Second, Mrs. Andrews had thoroughly exhausted Angela and Lady Palmerston’s interest in discussing fashion. And third, Lady Palmerston claimed exhaustion and retired early.
Phillip and Angela secured a corner table in the main room of the inn. Though it was early, the room was rather dark. It was also starting to fill up with patrons, who were in the early stages of intoxication, and thus still fairly quiet and well mannered. Recalling Mrs. Andrews’s warning about the food, and likely the water, too, they each ordered a pint of ale.
“I’ve never had ale before,” Angela said, looking curiously at the pint set before her.
“After you take a sip, you might decide that you’ll never have it again,” Phillip cautioned. Angela tried it anyway and grimaced at the slightly bitter and definitely strange taste. Phillip laughed. “Look at you now. Sitting with me in a tavern, drinking ale—and without a chaperone, too. You’ve come a long way from your days at the abbey.”
“You are a terrible influence on me. On everyone.” To make her point, she took another sip of her pint.
“Or not. You heard Mrs. Andrews. I may not be entirely innocent, but I was certainly not the only guilty party.”
“You were supposed to know better,” Angela retorted. She took another sip of the ale and found it didn’t taste as strange.
“I was eighteen years of age. I didn’t know my arse from my elbow,” Phillip answered, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “Imagine William Sloan with unlimited funds and no one to knock, or talk, some sense into him, and everything London has to offer just there for the taking.”
“Oh dear God,” Angela said. Her eyes widened in horror as she contemplated that.
“Exactly.” Phillip lifted his own pint to his lips, but then set the glass back down before imbibing. “I never acquired a taste for ale,” he said dismissively. “But you have to admit, she seemed happy. Things turned out all right for her.”
“Yes,” Angela sighed. “All those adorable children.”
“Adorable? One of them flung peas at you from across the table throughout the entire meal. In fact, I think you still have a few stuck in your hair.”

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