The Wedding Affair (6 page)

“Regarding this remarkable communication,” Ivan Weiss said, “the answer is no.”

“I had assumed as much, sir, since you did not deign to answer.”

Weiss plowed on as if he hadn’t heard. “I will not fund such a misguided venture at this time. My terms have not changed, and since you know quite well what they are, there’s no sense wasting breath in further discussion until you’ve taken the necessary steps to meet my requirements. You understand?”

The earl bowed. “Of course, sir. I pray you will excuse me. I must depart for Halstead sooner than planned, at the request of the duke, so I must make arrangements.”

“Sooner?” Penelope was startled. “Then I must get back to my packing, too.”

Ivan Weiss scoffed. “Why do you think I hired that harridan of a maid for you, Penny? Let her do the work.” He eyed her closely. “I’m getting to be an old man, you know. Time’s a-wasting.” He kissed her cheek, bowed stiffly to the earl, and departed.

Silence descended on the drawing room. But despite what her husband had said about being pressed for time, the earl made no move except to pour himself a glass of port. He sipped and studied Penelope over the rim of the glass.

Penelope felt shivery inside. He hadn’t looked at her like that since… since their wedding night, she thought. And then everything had gone wrong.

“What was that all about?” she asked. “The letter, I mean.”

“Nothing of significance.”

She didn’t believe him, for there was a note of heaviness underlying his voice that said her father’s refusal had mattered very much indeed. In any case, the earl would not have asked for a favor from the father-in-law he detested unless the matter was vital.

Surely Ivan Weiss wouldn’t have rejected a reasonable request… would he? “My father is a good man at heart.”

“Indeed.” The earl’s tone was clipped. “I see you have a new trinket. Have I missed an occasion? Your birthday, perhaps?”

Penelope had forgotten the box she held. “No. It’s a sort of celebration gift… because of the invitation to Halstead.”

“May I see it?”

Reluctantly, she opened the box to display the brooch.

His gaze flickered. “A remarkable piece. Shall I see you wearing it at the wedding?”

Though she had thought she was learning to recognize his moods, this one defeated her. Was there a tinge of humor in his voice? No, it must have been entirely her imagination. She looked down at the brooch. “I think not, for the gown I plan to wear is pink. You said we’re to go early to Halstead, my lord?”

“The duke has requested me to come as soon as I can, but you need not make haste.”

Penelope wondered why he had been summoned ahead of time. If she was really a wife, she could ask what was going on. “When do you go?”

“I will leave tomorrow morning, so I must warn my valet of the change in plans.”

“Tell me what hour, and I’ll be ready.”

“You must not disturb yourself, ma’am. I’ll drive down tomorrow in my curricle, and you can come in a few days in the carriage.”

Along with the rest of the baggage
, Penelope thought. “A drive in your curricle would be quite nice,” she said with determination.

“This is hardly the same as a brief jaunt through the park. The trip to Halstead takes hours, and you would be exhausted and wind-burned long before we arrived.”

“I will manage. In any case, if my father should hear I was staying in town while you have gone ahead without me…”

His eyes went dark. “Do not attempt to blackmail me. I no longer have any reason to fear losing your father’s good will.”

She wondered again what request he had made in his letter. “But
I
do,” she confessed.

For a long moment they stood in silence, gazes dueling. Then he said, “Very well. I leave at nine. If you wish to come, be ready then—and leave any notion of complaining behind.” He set his glass down hard on a nearby table and went out.

Absently, Penelope took out her handkerchief and wiped up the port that had sloshed over the fine finish.

That’s a beginning, at least
, she thought. The trouble was that she had no idea how to go on.

Three

The situation, Simon told himself firmly, could only improve.

As matters stood, the Duke of Somervale was on display in the middle of the village street, being gawked at by every cottager within shouting distance. He was standing next to a termagant who had a tongue so sharp that she could flay a squirrel without using a knife. He had half a gallon of grape juice soaking his buckskins and staining his neckcloth. Even his horse seemed embarrassed to be seen with him, for the gelding tugged at the reins, anxious to be off.

And perhaps most annoying of all, Lucinda Stone had had the brass to laugh at him.

Simon tipped his head back so he could level a cold stare at her. Lady Stone might be his sister’s godmother and his mother’s friend, but she stood in no special place with him, and the sooner she realized it, the better.

“I see you’ve finally learned to appreciate your own consequence, Somervale,” Lady Stone went on blithely. “Your mother will be pleased about
that
. You have quite a nice sneer—though it would be far more effective if you were still sitting on the back of your horse so you could literally look down your nose at me.”

She was right, and her tone was so sly that Simon couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

The woman standing next to him, so close his hand still hovered under her elbow, took a step back as if she was startled by the sound.

“Even dukes laugh now and then,” he muttered, turning to inspect her. At first he had thought this sharp-voiced female must be the child’s nurse, but now that he took a second look, he could see that this woman was no servant, regardless of how she was dressed. Her features were fine and delicate, and her hands were small—though because of her rough gloves, he couldn’t see whether they were as dainty or soft as a lady’s were expected to be. And her accent was an educated one. Perhaps she, like Miss Blakely, fell somewhere in between the nobility and the lower classes.

The finely turned ankle and the slender calf she’d displayed as she jumped down from the wall had caught his eye even in the midst of his concern for the child. And now that the child was no longer in danger, he found himself thinking again of the flash of bare skin, the peek at forbidden territory…

Simon had seen his share of women’s legs, and a good many of them had belonged to well-born ladies. But no ankle had ever seized his attention like this one, making him want to explore. He’d never been much of an ankle man anyway; he was more likely to notice a generous bosom, something this woman did not have. While her shape was pleasantly rounded—so far as he could tell under the almost shapeless gown—no one could call her proportions voluptuous.

He realized he was staring when sparks of gold flared in the hazel depths of her eyes, and he was annoyed. Why was she offended by him taking a second look? She’d gone all soft and mushy as soon as she’d found out who he was, but now she was spitting fire merely because he’d taken her up on her unspoken invitation to pay closer attention to her attributes!

And what was Kate Blakely thinking anyway, being friends with a woman like this one? The soft-hearted vicar’s daughter must have taken up with a wayward acquaintance. But why? For the well-being of the child, perhaps.

He turned his attention to the little girl. She seemed to be all right now, though she was huddled close against the woman’s shoulder. She was, however, peeking at him through long, dark lashes. He had no notion of how old she might be, but she was fine-boned and small, except for what seemed to be very long legs. Her eyebrows had a haughty arch that looked odd against the babyish roundness of her face, but a closer look told him that her brows matched those of the woman who held her. Definitely mother and daughter.

The duchess had not stopped talking—but then, Simon thought, she seldom did. He’d just have to be patient and let her run down. She was rattling on about some sort of letter. He let his gaze drift past the child and back to the woman who held her. She might not be as well endowed as some, but she was well proportioned. A neat little armful, in fact…

“My dear Miss Blakely, how very right you were to move out of the vicarage, regardless of what Mrs. Meecham believes to be your due. What an uncomfortable situation you have been in, since your father’s death.”

The gelding nudged Simon’s shoulder and whinnied, and the little girl’s eyes went wide as she stared at the horse.

“Your letter did not catch up with me until I reached Halstead, but I understand from Mrs. Meecham that you are well settled here at the cottage for the moment.”

Simon’s mystery woman set the child down and stepped forward. “I am happy to have Miss Blakely as my guest, Your Grace.”

“Your Grace,” Miss Blakely said, “may I present my hostess and friend—Olivia, Lady Reyne.”

Lady Reyne?
Simon felt the impact of the title like a blow to his abdomen, for it meant there must be a Lord Reyne somewhere. But of course she would have a husband, for she had a child. Why was that fact something to bother him?

And hadn’t he heard something about a Lord Reyne? From one of the gossips, perhaps?

“Oh, yes,” the duchess said. “My housekeeper mentioned you had moved into the village, Lady Reyne. I hope you will enjoy—”

Lady Stone snorted. “Do get on with it, Iris. My delicate skin has had about all the sun I can stand for one afternoon.”

Delicate skin, my arse
, Simon thought. Lady Stone’s face generally looked as if she was the end product of a tannery.

“Very well, Lucinda,” the duchess snapped. “I must tell you, Miss Blakely, that your letter came to my attention at a most convenient time, for indeed I do know of someone who is in great need of your assistance—me! Daphne has invited a dozen of her friends to be her bridesmaids, and they have already arrived at Halstead. I confess I underestimated how exhausting a houseful of young ladies can be. I would like you to come and help me until the wedding.”

“You must have run mad to even consider it, Iris,” Lady Stone put in.

“Having them all in one place seemed a good idea. Fittings and all.” The duchess gave an airy wave of her hand. “But the dressmakers have been very efficient, and the young ladies are at loose ends. Miss Blakely, I beg you will assist me in keeping them entertained.”

And prevent them from making fools of themselves around the gentlemen
, Simon thought wryly.
Including me, I hope
. He heartily endorsed the idea, though he didn’t have a great deal of confidence in its success. Even Miss Blakely, efficient though she undoubtedly was, would have her hands full with the assignment.

“The gel’s in mourning, Iris,” Lady Stone put in. “She can’t go to parties.”

Simon was still looking at Lady Reyne.
She
didn’t seem to be in mourning. That dress was nothing short of a crime—faded, baggy, and roughly the shape of a sack—but it wasn’t black. In fact, he thought, it might once have been a fetching shade of blue. So Lord Reyne wasn’t recently dead—or perhaps he was not dead at all. How aggravating that he couldn’t remember the casual mention.

The duchess had barely paused. “That doesn’t signify in the least, Lucinda. Being a chaperone is hardly like
enjoying
parties, after all. I shall expect you to take up your duties tomorrow, Miss Blakely, at the earliest time that is convenient for you. I’ll send a carriage for you and your baggage. Of course you’ll remain at Halstead for the duration.”

Simon blinked in surprise. Was his mother going to house her new companion in the attics? Or had Greeley been mistaken when he said she’d filled every single bedroom?

Lady Stone spoke up. “Perhaps, Miss Blakely, your friend will be able to assist you in your duties. I am persuaded that the young ladies would benefit from having Lady Reyne’s undivided attention as well.”

Simon felt his jaw drop. He had always known that Lucinda Stone had a lopsided view of the world, but to ask a woman who couldn’t keep both eyes on her child to help chaperone a dozen lively young ladies and prevent them from getting into trouble…

The duchess’s teeth seemed to snap shut, but she said politely enough, “Of course, Lady Reyne. I am persuaded you would be an excellent influence.”

Simon tried to stifle a snort.

Lady Reyne heard him despite his efforts, for the look she shot at him was so pointed that it should have punctured his throat.

The little girl’s bonnet had been knocked off by her fall and was still lying in the road at his feet. He stooped to retrieve it, dusted it off against his buckskins, and held it out. The child hesitated and looked past him at the horse with wariness in her gaze.

Simon made a funny face at her and was rewarded with a giggle as she edged just close enough to reach for the hat. She was truly unhurt then, he thought with relief.

“The invitation is very flattering, Your Grace,” Lady Reyne said. “But I am afraid I must decline because of my duties at home.”