The Shocking Secret of a Guest at the Wedding (Millworth Manor) (17 page)

“Possibly. But then, Mr. Channing . . .” She adopted an overly sweet smile. “You haven’t met my mother.”

He laughed and reached for his wine. “You haven’t met mine.”

She scoffed. “I would match my mother against yours any day.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” A warning sounded in his voice. “You may have won when it comes to who stays here but your mother can’t possibly be as . . . oh . . .” He sipped his wine, then set the glass down. “Devious as mine.”

“Ha.” She smiled in triumph. “My mother wants me to marry someone I don’t want to marry to ensure her position in society.”

“My mother didn’t tell her husband they were still married and he had a son for thirty years. My mother let her son believe his father was dead. My mother—”

“Wait, that’s enough.” She raised her glass to him. “You win.”

“Imagine my delight,” he said wryly. “But we were talking about literature, a much less annoying subject. I suspect you are fond of novels of a romantic nature.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“No, of course not.” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I know any number of men who like romantic novels.”

“Do you?”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “None that I can think of at the moment but I’m sure I know some.”

“Or one?”

“Hopefully.” He grinned.

“Well, I won’t ask you to name him.” She laughed at the relieved expression on his face. “And yes, I do love a good romantic novel but I must confess I share your appreciation of Mr. Verne’s works.”

“You do?”

“Oh my yes.” She widened her eyes. “Why, I can’t think of anything more exciting than the idea of spending five weeks flying in a balloon. Or racing around the world in eighty days.”

“Although traveling to the center of the earth or twenty-thousand leagues under the sea has a certain appeal as well.”

“Or to the moon? Or streaking across the skies on a comet?”

“It seems we have this in common.” He smiled. “A fondness for stories of adventure.”

“Perhaps that’s because I am an adventure.” The words were not as lighthearted as she had intended them.

“Indeed you are.”

His gaze locked with hers and for a long moment something crackled in the air between them. Something bright and electric and inevitable. Something that took her breath away. Her heart thudded hard in her chest and she wondered if he could hear it. Wondered if his heart was thudding as well.

“I thought we were forgoing flirtatious banter in favor of literature?” he said at last.

“Was I being flirtatious?” She forced a casual note to her voice. “Why, I hadn’t noticed.”

He smiled at her again, in that way he had of making her feel he could see right through her.

“Finish your soup, Mr. Channing.” Teddy tried to concentrate on the mock turtle but it was nearly impossible. She was far too conscious of being alone with him. Far too aware of him. “Mrs. Tully will be most annoyed if the rest of dinner gets cold while she waits for us to finish.”

“And we wouldn’t want that.” He chuckled.

“No, we would not,” she said in a prim manner and tried to ignore the annoying voice in the back of her head that was anything but prim.

What exactly did she want?

“Excellent dinner,” Jack said after Mrs. Tully had cleared away the dishes from their meal of roasted beef and replaced them with a platter of cheese and fresh fruit. “Did you know this is Thanksgiving Day in my country?”

“I had no idea.” Theodosia studied him. “Dare I ask what you are thankful for today?”

“Any number of things. I am an extremely fortunate man. Finding my father is probably at the top of my list. But at the moment . . .” He raised his glass to her. “I am simply thankful for good food in good company.”

“Thank you, Jack.” She smiled. “It’s been quite an enjoyable evening.”

“Do you think anyone who might see me leave the house will think the worst?” He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that but the idea was vaguely exciting. “Will we be embroiled in scandal?”

“Honestly, Jack, I have no idea. Probably.” Theodosia picked up an orange and scored it with a knife. “Sometimes, I get so dreadfully tired of obeying all the rules. All the time.”

“Do you? Obey all the rules, that is?”

“I’m afraid so.” She hesitated. “For the most part I always have.”

“Do you? Then having dinner alone, unchaperoned, with a gentleman is not considered against the rules for an unmarried lady here in London?”

“Good Lord.” She stared at him. “That hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

“I believe you were too busy being irate with me.”

“That does explain it. And I did say I followed the rules for the most part.” She grinned in a decidedly mischievous fashion. “When I remember.”

“I’ve never given rules much thought really, simply done what was expected.” He shrugged. “But I have always followed the rules, I suppose. I have no misspent youth. No questionable reputation to live down. No scandalous secrets in my past.” He grimaced. “Rather boring, don’t you think?”

She scoffed. “I don’t believe you for a minute.”

“You think I’m just trying to make myself look good in your eyes?”

“Yes.”

“I doubt that confessing the dull nature of my past is the best way to go about that.” He shook his head. “It’s been my observation that women are intrigued by men who refuse to follow the rules.”

“Men who break rules end up in prison,” she said in a prim manner.

He laughed. “Men who break laws perhaps, but men who break rules, those are the kind of men who tend to have adventures rather than read about them.” He paused to slice a piece of cheese. “I wish I was more like him, you know.”

Her brows drew together in confusion. “Who?”

“My father.”

“Oh.” Theodosia peeled the sections she had scored, curled them, and tucked them into the base of the orange. She glanced at him. “What makes you think you aren’t like him?”

He snorted. “I think that’s fairly obvious.”

“Not to me.”

“For one thing, he’s done all sorts of things I stopped dreaming about years ago. He’s seized opportunity when it presented itself to venture into the unknown. He’s traveled the world, had grand adventures, seen things not everyone does.” He shook his head. “Until I came to England, I’d never left American shores.”

“Anyone can travel, as you said it’s opportunity more than anything else. Besides, he never had any sort of real responsibilities to hold him back. When you think about it, he’s never had to concern himself with anyone other than himself.”

“That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.”

“As for dreams of adventure, it seems to me, until one dies, there’s still the possibility of adventure. One simply has to seize it. Carpe diem and such.”

He raised a brow. “Latin?”

“Miss Bicklesham’s Academy for Accomplished Young Ladies was very progressive.”

He chuckled. “Apparently.”

“Although I am scarcely one to talk about seizing the day.” She studied the orange that now looked more like a work of art than something to eat. “But then I am female and adventures for women in this world tend to leave them ruined and abandoned. Unless . . .”

“Unless?”

“Unless they have a great deal of money. Then they are able to do exactly as they please.” She smiled. “And that, Jack, is my observation.”

“Very astute.”

“I can be quite astute.” She considered him thoughtfully. “But I thought we had agreed you can be anyone or anything you want to be.”

“That’s all very well and good on a terrace under a full moon but in the light of day . . .” He shook his head. “What I am is a thirty-year-old banker.”

“A banker who doesn’t find banking particularly interesting.” She separated the orange segments and set them on her plate.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Odd, he’d always thought his work at the bank was useful and fulfilling. His life was solid and content. It was only since he’d met his father that he’d come to suspect there was little difference between useful and dull, and no difference whatsoever between content and boring. How was it that a few months ago he had thought his life was just fine and now it didn’t seem to suit him at all?

“Yes, you did.” She broke the orange segments apart. “I’ve always thought your father was a remarkable man.”

“When I was a boy and wondered about my father, the colonel is exactly the kind of father I wanted to have. The kind of man any little boy would like to be when he grows up.”

“The kind of man any young girl would dream about.”

“Really?”

“Oh my, yes.” She chuckled. “When I first met the colonel, I thought he was a most heroic figure. Bigger than life. Quite exciting.” She picked up an orange segment and took a bite. “He was the kind of man one could imagine riding up on a stalwart steed to rescue a fair maiden.”

“And you were the fair maiden,” he said slowly.

“Absolutely.” She smiled at the memory. “I was thirteen and it was my first visit to Millworth. The colonel was just back from Egypt, or perhaps he was just about to leave, I don’t remember now. No.” She thought for a moment. “He had just gotten back. I remember because he gave both Dee and me carved scarabs, for luck. Oh, I was quite smitten with him. He was a hero from a romantic novel come to life.”

“I see.” Well, this was awkward. She was smitten with his father?
His father?

“When Dee and I returned to school, I wrote him a long letter professing my undying love.”

“Did you?” How could he ever compete with his father?

“Fortunately, Dee discovered my missive of everlasting devotion and explained to me, quite firmly as I recall, that the colonel had no interest in a thirteen-year-old girl.” She wrinkled her nose. “Especially a thirteen-year-old girl who was entirely too tall and gangly, had no bosoms to speak of, and hair reminiscent of a burnt orange.”

“You changed,” he said mildly.

“Thank goodness.” She took another bite of orange; juice trickled down her long fingers.

He had the almost irresistible urge to pull her fingers to his mouth and lick the juice away. He ignored it.

“She also said the colonel had long ago given his heart away and there would never be room in it for someone else.”

“My mother?”

“I’m afraid not.” She wrinkled her nose. “Dee confessed to me years later that she had made that up. Although in hindsight, given that he never married, I suppose it’s possible. I didn’t see your father again until Dee’s wedding.” She thought for a moment. “He was still handsome and dashing and heroic. But as fascinating as his life was, in spite of Dee’s confession, he struck me as, well, a bit sad I thought.”

“Sad?”

“There was a moment, an expression on his face when he looked at Dee and her sisters. Regret I thought at the time as if, in spite of the exciting life he had chosen, there was something missing.” She shrugged. “As I said, it was only a fleeting instant and I certainly could have been mistaken. It was a very long time ago.”

“And are you still smitten?” he asked in as casual a manner as he could muster.

“Why, Jack Channing.” Her eyes widened with delight. “If I didn’t know better, I would think that was the question of a jealous man.”

“Not at all,” he said smoothly, reached across the table and took an orange segment. “It was simple curiosity. Nothing more than that.”

“Of course.” Disappointment flashed in her eyes so quickly he might have been mistaken. For a long moment she pulled the segments of orange apart, then looked at him. “How much do you know about your cousins’ history?”

“I know that Delilah, Camille, and Beryl were widowed.” He shrugged. “Is there more?”

“Your uncle left when they were very young. According to what Dee has told me, he apparently wanted his brother’s more carefree, adventurous life than the life of responsibility he had. It’s only been since last Christmas that Lady Briston has allowed him back in their lives and even then he was pretending to be his brother. She raised her daughters to marry well and they did. All three married older gentlemen, with healthy fortunes and respectable titles.”

He nodded.

“It’s not the least bit uncommon, you know. Older men marrying pretty young women.”

“It happens all the time.”

“But, and I wasn’t really aware of this until Dee married Phillip, her first husband, I find it . . .” She thought for a moment. “Distasteful, I suppose.”

“Do you?”

“I do.” She nodded. “It seems to me such a marriage is nothing less than a trade, if you will. Beauty and youth for money and position. It makes marriage more of a, I don’t know, a business proposition than it should be.”

“I see.” He studied her thoughtfully. “But then hasn’t marriage always been a kind of business proposition? Historically anyway. The alliance of two families for profit or position or politics?”

For the first time it struck him that that was exactly the kind of marriage he and Lucy had been willing to enter into. Perhaps the reason they had put off their engagement so often was because, deep down inside, they both knew it wasn’t what either of them really wanted. Which made Lucy even smarter than he had realized.

“That doesn’t make it right, especially now.” She shook her head. “Goodness, Jack, we’re on the verge of a new century. Progress is in the very air we breathe. This isn’t the Middle Ages. Women are not chattel. We should be able, indeed, encouraged to pursue our own desires.”

“You mean running a business or membership in the Explorers Club?”

“Indeed I do.”

“You probably think women should vote as well.”

“Absolutely.” She raised her chin in a defiant manner. “I daresay we couldn’t do a worse job of running the world than men have done.”

He laughed. “You have a point there.”

“Of course I do.” She studied him sharply. “Do you think women should vote?”

“Oh no you don’t.” He shook his head. “It’s been entirely too pleasant an evening to spoil it now with talk of social upheaval.”

“It’s a simple enough question.”

“There’s nothing simple about that question but to be perfectly honest, I haven’t given it much thought.” He paused. “But I will admit that you’re right. Women couldn’t do a worse job of it than men have.”

“I shall take that as a yes.” She cast him a triumphant grin. “However, that was a most evasive answer, Jack, and you well know it.”

“An evasive answer is better than none.” He chuckled. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“About being smitten with your father?”

He nodded and held his breath.

“Colonel Channing is a fascinating man and I shall always be fond of him but no.” She shook her head. “I put that infatuation behind me years ago. Besides, as I said, I have no desire to marry a man old enough to be my father. Nor will I marry simply to better my position in life.” She wrinkled her nose. “If I wanted that I could marry my cousin and be done with it.”

“What kind of man do you want to marry?” he said without thinking.

“As we’re being so honest with one another I have to admit, I really don’t know. I suppose I want what all women want.” She shrugged. “As I have already discarded the notion of marriage for many of the usual reasons—”

“Social position and financial security?”

“Don’t misunderstand my words. I quite like the idea of wealth and position, I simply think there should be more if one is going to spend the rest of one’s life with someone.” She thought for a moment. “I suppose I want a man who will, I don’t know, slay dragons for me. Figuratively, of course. Sweep me off my feet. That sort of thing.”

He raised a brow. “You want a hero?”

“What woman doesn’t? Unfortunately, heroes are in remarkably short supply these days.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not especially interested in marriage.”

“Indeed it is. Knights on white horses riding to the rescue of fair maidens may well be the stuff of poetry and romantic novels but real life is a far different matter.” She laughed, then sobered. “He wouldn’t have to be a hero in the strictest definition of the word, as the world sees such men.” She smiled into his eyes and the oddest thing happened to his heart. “He would only need to be a hero to me.”

For a long moment their gazes locked. He resisted the urge, the need, to reach out, pull her across the table into his arms, press his lips to hers . . . sweep her off her feet.

“Goodness, Jack,” she said with a self-conscious laugh. “I am being fanciful tonight. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Obviously too many romantic novels.” He drew a steadying breath. For a moment . . . What had gotten into him as well?

“Yes, that’s it,” she murmured.

“I should probably be going.” Now, before he acted on impulses he’d never known before. He got to his feet. “It’s late and I still need to find a hotel.”

“I don’t know where the time went.” She shook her head and stood. “I have to confess, I’ve never talked to anyone, well, to a man that is, the way we’ve talked tonight. But then I’ve never had dinner alone with a man before either.” She smiled. “You’re remarkably easy to talk to, Mr. Channing.”