Mistletoe and Mayhem: A Regency Holiday Romance Anthology, page 38
He cleared his throat, and she realized she’d been stewing in silence, which was ill-mannered. Despite his calm demeanor, perhaps he was embarrassed too, for not only had he listened to a private conversation—not that it was truly private, with Mother’s maid in the room—but they were practically strangers. Yes, he’d been ordered by Papa to keep an eye on her quite often, but they had never spoken before today.
She should make polite conversation. “I wonder if—”
“If I understand correctly—” he said at the same time. “I beg your pardon. Pray continue.”
She shook her head. “I merely tried to break an uncomfortable silence with an irrelevancy about the weather—whether it will snow and so on. What were you about to say, Mr. Hale?”
He had such a kindly smile. “I believe it will snow tomorrow, so you are stuck here for at least a few days, if not more—and if I understand correctly, you arranged for the coach to break down because you prefer to spend Christmas here rather than at Lord Forle’s estate.”
She felt her color rising again. “Yes, because my mother would have tried to force me to marry Lord Forle.”
“And now she threatens to try the same ploy with Lord Restive.”
“Yes. He’s not as wealthy as she hoped for, but—” She shouldn’t discuss such personal matters with him. On the other hand, he was Papa’s minion and already knew more about her than he should—and was proving far too easy to talk to.
“She is in a rage and wants to punish you,” he supplied. He was too perceptive as well.
She sighed. “I think she is just fed up with me. She is afraid I will say or do something that will mortify her. Understandably so, for I dispute with her at every turn and am impatient with society’s rules and standards, while she values nothing but titles and wealth.” Dorothea sighed again. “Which reminds me, I beg your pardon for her rudeness to you.”
“You are not responsible for her actions,” he said, “and I have a thick skin, as well as a comfortable notion of my own worth, which I believe to be equal to that of any other rational being.”
“How forward-thinking of you, Mr. Hale.” They had reached the head of the stairs. It occurred to her that he wasn’t much like Papa’s other minions, but since he hadn’t brought up the connection with her father, she hesitated to do so. She’d had to think quickly earlier, when she’d betrayed herself by recognizing him, but his response had been smooth and competent. “Mother will attempt to trap Restive and me in a compromising situation.”
“Surely you can avoid that.”
“I shall try, but you don’t know my mother,” Dorothea said darkly. “She is relentless in trying to marry me off. She wants me to become a dutiful wife with no mind of my own. I have told her that I will not wed Restive—or anyone at all, if I so choose.”
“No one?” he blurted.
She huffed again. So much for forward-thinking. “Why must men believe women are good for nothing but marriage?”
They began to descend the stairs. “I don’t think that, but most women do want to marry, so it’s a reasonable assumption.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Well, I don’t wish to marry, or at least not the titled sort of candidate my mother chooses.” Again, she didn’t want to discuss such private matters—but she did anyway, because the very thought of Mother made her clench her fists and blurt what she shouldn’t. “I shall not let her threats of ruin affect me, even if I am caught in a compromising situation. I am determined to oppose her regardless of the consequences.”
She waited for him to say something obvious about how horrid it would be to be ruined, which she already knew.
When he said nothing, she gave him a covert glance. He looked thoughtful and said at last, “Courageous of you.”
“More likely foolhardy,” she admitted, “but one should stand up for one’s principles. It seems frightfully unfair that a gentleman can’t simply deny any wrongdoing and refuse to be forced into marriage.”
“I daresay, but it’s a question of honor,” Cecil said.
“A question of male stupidity,” she muttered. “Honor has to make sense. I shan’t flirt with Lord Restive anymore, but—”
“Good,” he said. When she stopped to stare, he chuckled. “That was the worst attempt at flirtation I have ever seen.”
She couldn’t help but laugh in return. “I know, I know, I have never been able to flirt. In any event, avoiding flirtation will not suffice. For Lord Restive’s sake, I must warn him.” She bit her lip. “I cannot allow Mother to destroy his reputation as an honorable man, which is so absurd, as she would be the dishonorable one, not he or I.”
Cecil shrugged.
It was always a waste of energy to discuss honor with a gentleman. “Nevertheless, I dare not speak with him privately for even two minutes. Mother will notice and cause an outcry.”
“I’ll let him know to avoid you like the plague,” Cecil said. “I don’t suppose the Contessa will object if he confines his attentions to her.”
“Oh, is she his lover?” Dorothea asked.
An innocent young lady shouldn’t know about illicit love, much less speak openly of it, but Cecil wasn’t surprised. She was the daughter of a spymaster and a close friend of young Lady Boltwood, who had once been a smuggler. She attended meetings where the talk was frank and open. She couldn’t help but know a little about life outside the restricted world of an unmarried lady.
One who refused to wed. Did she find gentlemen distasteful? No, she hadn’t indicated that. She wanted to choose for herself, and why shouldn’t she?
Ideally, she would choose him. He should use this opportunity to get to know her better, and vice versa.
When Sir Frederick Darsington had assigned Cecil to keep an eye on her at various meetings—gatherings of avid reformers at which he played the role of a quiet, somewhat grim down-and-out—she was almost always accompanied by another lady and a footman, so he wasn’t really needed for protection. Cecil’s role was to ensure she didn’t develop a tendre for someone unsuitable, without becoming infatuated with her himself. Apparently, all the other fellows assigned this role had failed. God only knew why Sir Frederick had entrusted the job to Cecil; evidently, he was as susceptible as the next fellow. He had fallen in love with her bit by bit, with her intelligence and courage and kindness, while she hadn’t been aware of him at all.
She wasn’t likely to fall in love with him now—but it was worth a try.
“I beg your pardon,” she said stiffly. “I shouldn’t have asked something so improper.”
“Why not? It’s a valid question, particularly if it will save you from being compromised by Lord Restive. Such liaisons are commonplace at house parties…so I expect either she is his lover or soon will be.”
Dorothea sighed. In distaste? Or…some other emotion? He glanced at her profile, but they had reached the drawing room doorway, and she removed her hand from his arm to precede him into the room.
A roaring fire and the voice of Lord Wellough greeted them. “We cornered the little fellow, and my hounds tore him to bits.”
Now her expression was definitely one of distaste.
“It was the best run I’ve ever—” He broke off. “Well, well! Who have we here?”
Lady Alice came forward and performed the introductions. Charles Dufair turned to a new page in his sketchbook and eyed Dorothea with intent; the ruddy-faced Lord Wellough, who was Restive’s cousin, surged forward. “My dear Miss Darsington! Such exquisite beauty!” He grabbed her hand and bestowed a smacking kiss upon it.
The poor girl reddened, but Wellough didn’t notice her discomfort. “How fortunate that you have joined us. Come, ignore that French artist fellow—he sketches everyone—and sit with me. Your Papa is an old friend of mine, you know.”
He would have towed her away, but Lady Alice intervened. “And here is our vicar, Mr. Kelly. Mrs. Kelly will join us later.”
“The parishioners are decorating the church for Christmas,” Mr. Kelly said, “and my wife intends to supervise them to the bitter end or dinnertime, whichever comes first. Welcome to our little village, Miss Darsington.”
She thanked him, but Lord Wellough nudged the vicar aside. “Come now, tell me what your rascally father is doing nowadays. Still catching spies, I hope. But of course he doesn’t discuss such matters with his lovely daughter.” He tugged her to sit next to him on a settee near the fire.
Politely, she complied and accepted a cup of mulled cider from the hovering footman.
“Hard to believe that such an unprepossessing fellow produced a diamond like you, Miss Darsington,” Wellough said. “Where is your mother? I was told she’s here. Not that she’s much to look at either.”
“Wellough, mind your tongue,” Lady Alice said, adding apologetically, “My cousin never had the least bit of tact.”
“My mother will be down shortly,” Dorothea said. “Perhaps someone could escort her?” She looked about, perhaps expecting Cecil to comply, but he had retired to a far corner of the room to pour a cup of punch. He hadn’t the slightest intention of fetching the battle-axe from upstairs.
Lady Alice motioned to the footman to escort Lady Darsington, and Dorothea gazed down at her glass of cider, while Wellough ogled her, talking constantly.
“Poor girl,” Lord Restive murmured. “It serves her right, though.”
“It does not,” Cecil retorted.
“My, my,” Restive said. “You are besotted.”
“I spoke to her,” Cecil said softly. “She didn’t come here to trap you, but to avoid being forced into a compromising situation with Lord Forle.”
“Ah. That explains her execrable attempt at flirtation. Quite a contrast from her usual demeanor, which is aloof and reserved.”
She’d been neither with him, Cecil noted with pleasure. He shouldn’t hug that knowledge to himself, since she’d shown no sign of personal interest in him, but he did so anyway. “However, her mother is incensed and intends to substitute you for Lord Forle.”
Restive eyed him. “She confided all this to you in the space of a few minutes? Impressive work.”
Since he had already complimented himself, Cecil counteracted this with a shake of the head. “She stormed out of an argument with her mother. I merely calmed her down. She asked me to warn you to never, ever be alone with her even for a few seconds.”
“Or all hell will break loose,” Restive muttered. “Perhaps I should move her and her dreadful mother to the nearest inn.”
“No,” Cecil protested. “She deserves our help.”
Restive’s mocking glance met his. “If only one could dispose of the mother and keep the daughter, eh? Her father’s not such a bad sort, though.”
Cecil shrugged, unwilling to confirm or deny his acquaintance with Sir Frederick Darsington. “If you confine your attentions to the Contessa, all will be well. I’m sure that will be no hardship.”
Restive grinned. “What is the purpose of a house party, if not illicit liaisons?”
Or meetings with a fellow spy.
“I have an excellent notion,” Restive said. “You must pay court to the delightful Dorothea.”
Startled—since he had already decided to further the acquaintance—Cecil said, “What?”
“You’re itching to rescue her from my tedious cousin.” He jutted his chin in the direction of Lord Wellough. “You needn’t worry about compromising her. You could probably seduce the chit and still avoid marriage—as long as the old bat doesn’t learn too much about you.” He eyed his friend with an evil twinkle. “Don’t worry, I shan’t reveal your secret. But you wouldn’t want to avoid marriage with her, would you?”
“She shouldn’t be forced to marry anyone,” Cecil retorted.
“Not even you?”
“No one,” Cecil said. “Since I intend to protect her, the question of seduction doesn’t arise.”
“So noble,” Restive said. “You’ve always been an admirable fellow, an example to us all. Still, think what fun to make her ghastly mother fear the worst—that her daughter will be obliged to marry a nobody.”
Cecil couldn’t help but chuckle at that.
“Pay her assiduous court, my friend. Enjoy it while you can.” He shook his head. “With a mother-in-law like that, I pity the poor fellow who ends up marrying the girl.”
Chapter Four
Dorothea sipped her cider, doing her best not to cringe. It would be rude to shy visibly, but she was squished up against one arm of the settee, and Lord Wellough took up what was left. Not that he needed to; he was large, granted, but he sat with his knees spread, so his leg brushed her gown. She was accustomed to being ogled, but not so closely. Ugh!
Then his beefy hand brushed her thigh, and she sprang to her feet, almost slopping cider down her gown. “Oh, dear,” she said, thinking to claim that she had indeed stained her dress. Anything to get away from this odious old man—but before she could get another word out, Cecil Hale was there in front of her.
“I’ll carry that for you, shall I?” He appropriated her glass. “Let me show you those books, as promised.”
She tucked her hand in his arm. He whisked her from the drawing room, across the Great Hall, and under the staircase to Lord Restive’s library. It was truly magnificent—shelves upon shelves of volumes, some of them clearly used, not just placed there for show. What a pity she couldn’t remain in here for the duration of their stay.
She released his arm. “Thank you very much.”
“My pleasure,” Cecil murmured.
“Usually I can handle odious men, or Mother does it for me. We are always at odds, but I do recognize her abilities. She is excellent at fending off suitors she disapproves of.” Or mere lechers like that old fogey.
“Then my work is cut out for me,” Cecil said.
Dismay assailed her. Surely he wasn’t another suitor!
“Restive and I decided he will make it plain that he desires the Contessa, while I pretend to be smitten with you.”
Oh. Did that mean Cecil didn’t find her attractive?
“She won’t be able to catch you with him, because he will always be at the Contessa’s side. Your mother will not only realize that her plan won’t work, but she’ll be further occupied with fending me off.”
“I see.” It was a clever plan, so why did she feel slighted?
“If you agree to the deception,” he added. “Since she considers me ineligible, there’s no harm in it.”
Dorothea almost blurted that she didn’t care a jot for eligibility, but that wasn’t the point. He wasn’t actually going to court her, nor did it matter what he really thought of her.
Nevertheless, she was again a little chagrined—perhaps because on the many occasions when he had surreptitiously guarded her, she had been a little attracted to him.
Or, if she were to admit it to herself, perhaps a great deal. He had figured more than once in bedtime fantasies. Now that she was acquainted with him, that would have to stop.
She took a decisive breath. He would make a show of desiring her, and she… “What is my role? Should I pretend to encourage your advances?”
“Only if you wish to, but I expect it would infuriate your mother.”
She laughed—but ruefully. She didn’t like angering her mother and wished there were another option. “I shall tell her that you and I have many ideals in common. She will hate that, as she disagrees with all my radical notions. I shall say that I find your conversation most stimulating. That I simply can’t get enough of it.”
“Excellent,” he said, a little drily, “and now we had best find a book or two to discuss.”
Awkwardness came over her. She resorted to commonplaces. “What a magnificent library.” She strolled about, running her hands over the spines. “I never thought of Lord Restive as a great reader.”
Cecil fingered a few volumes. “He inherited most of this, but he enjoys poetry—everything from Shakespeare’s sonnets to William Blake.”
“I like Blake’s poems very much. They are so different to anything I’ve encountered before.”
“They are indeed.” Did that mean he liked them, or not?
She didn’t care—the measure of a man was not the tastes they shared—but she had to say something. “I also enjoy Mr. Wordsworth’s poetry, when it’s not too mawkish, that is.”
He didn’t respond—because he was perusing the titles on a shelf, or because he felt it would be rude to disagree?
He removed a few slim volumes. “How about the first two parts of Tom Jones?”
“I’ve already read it, but Mother doesn’t know.” She felt herself reddening. An innocent girl shouldn’t be aware of such an improper tale—not that it seemed particularly dreadful to her; the behavior of real people was often far worse. “She will be appalled if she thinks you are recommending it to me.” Dorothea couldn’t help but laugh again. “Poor Mother.”
“She deserves it for cutting up your peace.”
“Dorothea! Whatever are you doing in here?” Mother stormed into the library with Lady Alice behind her. “Lord Wellough claims you deserted him mid-sentence.”
“I can never resist a library, Mother.” She smiled at Cecil. “Thank you for showing me, Mr. Hale. I have heard fascinating things about Tom Jones, but I fear my mother would not approve.”
“My pleasure, Miss Darsington,” Cecil purred, sounding not at all like himself. He sketched a wink, returned the books to the shelf, and left.
“What an ill-mannered man.” Mother glared at Cecil’s retreating back. “How could you go aside with him?”
“I rather like him,” Dorothea said. “He reads poetry.”
“And scandalous novels,” Mother retorted. “Speaking of ill-mannered, how dare you disrespect Lord Wellough? Your behavior mortifies me.”
“He probably deserved it,” Lady Alice said in her blunt, no-nonsense way. “He has had far too much punch for so early in the day, and when he drinks, he loses all discretion.”
