The Wolfe Wager (14 page)

“You are misunderstanding me again. I do not condemn your friendship. Quite the opposite. I laud faithfulness in the face of scorn. However, you must see the truth. You may believe Miss Clarke to be an angel, but she is her mother’s daughter. As her friend, you may be considered of the same ilk.”

“I do not judge you by your friends, Mr. Swinton!”

He caught her hand. “As your friend, I think only of your place in Society, my lady. If you want to safeguard that, you must rethink your friendship with Miss Clarke.”

Vanessa blinked back tears that blurred Mr. Swinton’s face in front of her. “I thought you were my friend.”

“I am. That is why I speak of this.” He stepped toward her. “My lady, I am concerned that your gentle heart is ruling you, blinding you to the disaster awaiting you if you do not put Miss Clarke from your life.”

“Although you can do Eveline no harm in my eyes, I find your words hurtful.”

“Nonsense! Words cannot hurt you, especially when they are the truth.”

Settling her parasol on her shoulder, she whispered, “Excuse me, Mr. Swinton. I would like to take a walk. Alone.”

“My lady, you must not ignore my advice. If—”

“Please, Mr. Swinton. If you are truly my friend, please understand I wish to be alone now.” She did not look at him. She could not bear to see his sincerity when she lied as she went on, “I shall think about what you have said.”

He nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

Vanessa struggled to keep her pace slow as she left the rose garden. To perdition with the good intentions of the misguided! Mr. Swinton’s hope of preventing her from being hurt had deeply wounded her soul. Putting her hand to her bodice, she felt the crinkle of Corey’s letter. She could not bear to be parted from it, not even for a short journey into the country. As she touched it, she whispered a vow that she would never allow Eveline to learn of this conversation. She did not want her dear friend to feel the pain she suffered every day.

The sun was reaching toward the western horizon when Vanessa realized she had been walking aimlessly for most of the afternoon. Seeing a gazebo shaped like a bright yellow Chinese pagoda, she peeked inside. Shadowed benches offered a chance to rest her feet. She stepped over the droppings left by squirrels that had gnawed holes about the base of the gazebo.

Sitting on a hard bench, she leaned back against the latticed walls and closed her parasol. She hoped the rest of the sojourn at Swinton Park would go better than its beginning. She sighed.

“Such a sigh!”

Vanessa could not ignore the pulse of pleasure pounding through her as she recognized Lord Brickendon’s voice. Turning, she saw him in the door of the gazebo. The small space fit him poorly, and she saw him glance about with candid distaste as he sat on the bench across from her. She was so grateful he did not crowd his attentions on her as Sir Wilbur had that she almost thanked him. That would label her as ill-mannered as Aunt Carolyn had suggested.

“Am I disturbing you, my lady?” he continued in his lush, deep voice that was appropriate amid the cool shadows. “If so, I will leave.”

“You are disturbing me,” she said, adding hastily when his eyes narrowed, “but I find I would like other company than my thoughts.”

“I was unsure if I would find a welcome. You seemed very displeased at the idea of my company at the musicale.”

She managed a slight smile. Again amazement filled her. She found it so simple to be straightforward with Lord Brickendon. With him, she never felt obligated to produce a false smile. She could be honest about her feelings, whether they were joyous or bleak. “You must forgive me for any curt words that night. I was not myself.”

“May I say that I find yourself more captivating when you are smiling?”

Warmth coursed through her, but she said only, “I had not guessed you to be a part of the hunting party.”

“I always accept an invitation to poaching country, even though Swinton is not at his best as a host.” His smile did nothing to ease the strength of his jaw. “However, he does set a good table, so we should not have a wolf in our stomachs while we are here.”

“I am not sure we shall be staying for supper.”

“No? You are thinking of returning to London when you have only just arrived?”

Vanessa’s exasperation burst forth before she could halt it. “Mr. Swinton took great pains to tell me that he finds my friendships distasteful. He thinks he can blow coals between me and my bosom-bow.”

“With Miss Clarke? I can understand that.”

She leapt to her feet. “Can you? I had thought you more open to thought than that, my lord.” Grasping the handle of her parasol, she pointed its tip at him. “I see you are as shortsighted as our host.”

Astonishment wiped the smile from his face as he slowly stood. He pushed the parasol aside. “You need not brandish such a weapon against me, my lady.”

“No,” she said, hating the fire climbing her cheeks, “I need not. Nor do you need to speak to me again. I shall not listen to my dearest friend being derided by you as well.”

When he put his hand on her arm as she was about to storm out of the gazebo, she quivered. Not just with her rage, but with a sweeter, potent emotion that seared her. She did not resist when he turned her to face him. She was not sure she could have.

Bending, so his eyes were even with hers, he whispered, “What a shame you were not born heir to your father’s title! You would have been another Marquess of Wulfric who is ready to battle with a broadsword or a bunch of fives.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not.” He smiled as he lifted her parasol. “I wouldn’t think of jesting a woman who was ready to spear me with a summer-cabbage.” Before she could retort, he went on, “I meant no disparagement on your bosom-bow. I was only acknowledging that it is no surprise that Swinton would act so coarsely, although I am astounded he would risk your burgeoning friendship with such an attack on Miss Clarke.”

“Perhaps he feels so strongly that he had to tell me.”

“Are you defending him?”

Vanessa started to give him an answer, then realized she had none. When she began to laugh wryly, Lord Brickendon led her out of the gazebo. He waited while she opened her parasol.

“That’s better,” he said as he drew her hand into his arm. “You should laugh more often, my lady. I find a good laugh keeps me from taking myself too seriously.”

“Something I tend to do.”

“Than I must change that. Would you like to walk down to the pond? On the way here, Swinton mentioned something about ducklings that have recently hatched.” He reached under his coat and pulled out a small pouch. “I purloined some bread from the kitchen. A habit left over from my unruly youth, I fear, but I will ease my guilty conscience by allowing you to share in feeding the ducklings.”

“And implicate me in your crime?” she asked.

“You see through my ploy, my lady.”

Vanessa’s heart fluttered like a butterfly she had cupped in her hands. She was grateful that the lace dropping from her parasol and her broad bonnet hid her face, for she was unsure what it might have revealed as they walked across the garden to where a small pond glistened emerald bright in the sunshine.

Voices from the house were muted as they climbed down a steep hill to the pond. She was grateful that Lord Brickendon did not caution her to worry about getting her feet wet as Sir Wilbur would have. Instead, he guided her around a clump of reeds and pointed out the nest hidden inside. She smiled as she saw a quartet of ducklings swimming near the edge of the water.

The duckling were just a few days old, little more than balls of fine feathers. As she tossed bits of bread to them, Vanessa watched Lord Brickendon trying to coax the drake out of the pond to where he was sitting on a white cast-iron bench beneath a stand of oak. The testy black duck snapped at him, and the viscount chuckled. He threw a handful of bread on the ground in front of the drake. As the bird came out of the water and began to eat it, keeping a suspicious eye on the viscount, his mate joined him.

Lord Brickendon wiped crumbs from his hands as he walked back to where Vanessa was standing. “I admire any beast that knows its own mind.”

“You make two of a kind.”

“I would as lief say we were three of a kind.” He leaned against one of the thin trees bordering the pond. For the first time, she noticed he was wearing the riding coat and buckskins that he had worn the day he returned the letter she had sent to his uncle. His high riding boots accented the strength of his legs and were as black as his tall beaver.

She laughed to cover the deliciously unsettled feeling in her stomach as she admired how his coat flattered his shoulders. “Is that so?”

“You seem admirably aware of what you want, my lady. Even a dolt like Franklin must be aware of your intentions to let no one but yourself plot the course of your future.”

“You are correct again. We Wolfes have what others perceive as a nasty habit of being single-minded in our pursuits.” She threw the last of her bread crumbs to the quacking ducklings. When Lord Brickendon smiled devilishly and poured more into her hand, she said, “You are well prepared, my lord.”

“A skill I have found necessary amid the halls of government.”

Bread crumbs dropped, unnoticed, through her fingers. Words fell out of her mind but did not reach her mouth.

“My lady, are you well? You look quite gray.” He put his hand on her arm and drew her to sit on the cast-iron bench.

“Forgive me,” she whispered, not sure she could speak louder.

Kneeling in front of her, he said, “I should be asking you to forgive
me
, for clearly I have said or done something to unsettle you.”

She was astonished at her yearning to smooth the worried lines from his forehead. Clasping her hands in her lap to keep them from reaching out to him, she said, “No, you have done nothing.”

Softly he said, “Perhaps it is nothing more than fatigue from your journey.”

“Yes,” she whispered, glad for the excuse, for she was truly exhausted, “perhaps it is that.” Taking a deep breath, she added in a stronger voice, “Lord Brickendon, I must ask you to excuse me. I fear I have left my aunt and Eveline alone too long.”

“You can rest easily, my lady. I spoke with Lady Mansfield before I decided to wander through Swinton’s gardens.” He stood as she did. “I believe she is quite happily occupied with Captain Hudson, who arrived shortly after you did.”

“Captain Hudson is here?” Surprise sent other thoughts from her head. Aunt Carolyn had mentioned nothing about the captain joining them this weekend, which was indeed curious.

“Yes, and, if my rudely eavesdropping ears garnered their words correctly, they are planning to be partners at the card table this evening.”

Vanessa put her hand on the arm Lord Brickendon offered. She must not think about asking him for help to find Corey until they reached Town. Then she would make a few inquiries to discover exactly what connections he had … and if she could trust him not to laugh at her quest. Until then, she must keep her yearning to be open with him to herself.

In a cheerful voice to prevent him from guessing what she was thinking, she said, “Eavesdropping is a deplorable habit, my lord.”

“But one that can garner much valid information.”

“Or invalid, but I’m not surprised Aunt Carolyn is looking forward to an evening of cards.”

“Does that mean you have changed your mind about returning to Town tonight?”

“I doubt if Aunt Carolyn could be budged right now. There is nothing my aunt enjoys more than a friendly wager.”

His smile was the most genuine she had ever seen on his face. “I can assure you, my lady, that I understand that well.”

Chapter Nine

Eveline liked Mr. Swinton’s book-room with its rows of bookshelves and comfortable chairs. Not, she had to own, for the reason Vanessa would have enjoyed it, for Eveline did not share her friend’s delight in reading. She had chosen this room because it was deserted. Mr. Swinton’s guests were engrossed in card games or had already retired. When she had left, Vanessa had been caught up in conversation with their host, and Eveline had wanted to avoid interfering.

No one else but Vanessa and Lady Mansfield had spoken to her. She was accustomed to that, although she had seen Vanessa’s despair at the cool treatment. Later, she vowed, she would take her bosom-bow aside and ask her not to worry. Censure no longer bothered her. Not since she had met Lord Greybrooke. His genuine acceptance of her, in spite of her family’s shame, convinced her that Vanessa was not the only kind member of the
ton
.

Eveline smiled as she looked at the sheet of paper on her lap desk. Just writing Lord Greybrooke’s name made her feel as if she was going to heaven in a string. Running her fingers over his name, she read what she had written before her thoughts had wandered to Vanessa.

Dear Lord Greybrooke
,

You may have heard that Papa has closed our London house. I write this from the country, but not from my family’s home. I am tonight, as I shall be until the Season’s close, a guest of Lady Vanessa Wolfe. She has urged me to run tame through her home and to welcome you to call on Wednesday afternoons when I shall be at home
.

Pray do not think me presumptuous to write you. I remember your invitation to let you know when we might talk. I hope that opportunity shall come shortly after we return to Town. I look forward to that moment
.

Eveline frowned. How should she sign the letter? She must not be too bold, nor must she be cool. She smiled. Perhaps she was being overly cautious. With her family’s reputation, the earl might expect her to be a bit brazen. Yet her fingers balked when she tried to sign the note “Yours.” Maybe if she wrote—

Her hand froze as she heard voices. Concealed as she was by the shelves of books, the others—she guessed there might be two or three by the sound of their footfalls—would not see her. She stood and was about to announce herself when she heard her name mentioned bitterly.

“Lady Vanessa should know better!” Mr. Swinton grumbled. “Not only does she besmirch her own name, but she threatens to damage my household’s reputation with Miss Clarke’s presence here.”