A Baron in Her Bed (15 page)

“It’s excellent, Aunt Emily,” she said warmly, although she found it too flowery for her taste.

Horatia wondered why Aunt Emily had never married. Had the loss of a lover caused her to fill her life with poetry, literature, and art? She must find a tactful way to ask her. Eustace had hinted at a mysterious man in her past. Her aunt tucked the poem into a book. “Stand up, Horatia, and let me look at you.”

Horatia stood and obligingly completed a slow turn, drawing a frown from Aunt Emily. “Your dress is dreadfully outmoded. That style was several seasons ago.”

Horatia grimaced. “Father has been economizing. It’s been a while since I’ve had material to make a new one.”

Aunt Emily bristled. “My brother, dear as he is to me, is parsimonious.” She made a clucking noise with her tongue. “For goodness sake, you are about to marry into the aristocracy.” She crossed the room to sort through a stack of periodicals. “The sooner we do something about it, the better.”

Her aunt selected a copy of the
La Belle Assemblee
magazine and handed it her. “These are the very latest fashions. Leaf through it to decide what you like. We shall have to visit a modiste. Paris fashion has taken London by storm since the war with France ended.”

Horatia admired the elegant gowns featured on every page. Might she have an outfit as beautiful as these? Perhaps one or two, for she would get years of wear out of them. She was struck by a ball gown with a stiff, ruffled collar. Extremely tall ostrich feathers decorated the lady’s headdress. “I do like this.”

Her aunt looked at the page. “Yes, well. One must not go overboard perhaps.”

“What about this sea green turban?”

“We shall discuss it with the dressmaker. She will know what is suitable for every occasion. Fortunately, you have an excellent figure.” Aunt Emily pulled the bell to summon a servant. “You can tell me all during luncheon. I can’t wait to hear how this engagement came about.”

Horatia bent her head to hide her hot cheeks. So much of this plan had not been thought through in advance. “It happened very quickly, Aunt. His lordship is in need of a wife.”

A flicker of disappointment appeared in her aunt’s eyes. “Not a romantic attachment then?”

“No. More of a business arrangement.”

“But…” Aunt Emily’s eyes grew wide. “But if that were the case, Lord Fortescue would choose a more suitable wife from the aristocracy.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t have time.”

Her aunt’s eyes became owlish. “No time? Is he in desperate need of funds?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

“Then what, is he seriously ill?” Her face took on a tragic cast. “Surely you aren’t to be a young widow?”

Horatia twisted her handkerchief. She couldn’t produce a convincing lie to save her life, and her aunt’s understanding seemed a good deal sharper than her father’s. Or were men just easier to fool?

“Horatia?” Aunt Emily’s voice lowered accusingly. “There is a story here. I wish to learn it.” She sat down and folded her arms. “Tell all.”

Horatia’s throat was dry. She had been pleading her case for over half an hour. By the look on her aunt’s face it hadn’t worked. “So that’s it.” Aunt Emily shook her head. “You have made a very bad mistake, indulging him in this, my dear.”

“But, Aunt…”

Her aunt held up a hand. “What will happen when the engagement ends? Tell me that.”

“I’ll return home.”
To live with my dreams
. Her reputation mattered little. She planned to become a spinster poetess with a mysterious past. Horatia blew a loose curl off her forehead. Any whiff of a scandal would only add authenticity to her purpose.

“It must be something from the baron’s past. I don’t know him well, but I can’t believe Mr. Fennimore would stoop so low.” Her aunt shook her head. “I understand your need to protect this man, but I can’t see that it’s wise.” Her brows drew together. “If your father knew—”

“Oh, please don’t tell him, Aunt. I will when it’s at an end, I promise. It shan’t be long, and I don’t want him to worry. I get something out of this too. After all, I’m here with you in London.”

“I’ve a good mind to speak to Lord Fortescue. He has placed you in an invidious position.”

The maid appeared at the door and held out a calling card. “You have a visitor, Miss Emily.”

“Now who might this be?” Aunt Emily said crossly. “I want to talk you out of this silly…” She read the card and looked up. “Just the man I wish to see. Send him in, Sarah.”

Guy entered the room, tall and imposing, a silver-topped cane tucked beneath his arm as he removed grey gloves. He was dressed immaculately in fitted buff breeches, a dark blue superfine coat and spotless linen, a gold fob looped over his embroidered silk waistcoat.

Horatia’s heart fluttered. He looked elegant, poised, and handsome. Aunt Emily rose and bid him welcome in a breathy voice.

“Delighted, Miss Cavendish.” Guy bowed as her aunt dipped into a deep curtsey. “Your niece has told me of your celebrated literary
soirées
. I’ve looked forward to meeting you and hope to be invited to attend when next you have one.”

Horatia rose too, clenching her hands and waiting for her aunt to inform him that the engagement must be at an end.

Guy’s gaze swept Horatia with unveiled appreciation. “How well you look, Miss Horatia. I trust you had a safe and pleasant trip?”

“Yes, thank you.” Horatia was struck by how different he seemed. Back in Digswell he was an attractive man, but here he appeared so much more commanding. Her aunt obviously thought so too. Horatia bit her lip, tamping down her impatience to ask him the latest news.

“Please do sit, my lord. Would you care for a libation?” Aunt Emily said.

“Nothing to drink, thank you.” He removed a small box from his pocket. “I wonder if I might be permitted a moment alone with Miss Cavendish?”

Horatia’s gaze flew to her aunt, who was eyeing the jeweler’s box. “Very well, my lord,” Aunt Emily said. Amazed, Horatia watched her gather up her shawl and leave the room.

She swallowed her surprise and sought answers to the questions that plagued her. “Did you find your portmanteau?”

He shook his head.

“Oh. Have you been to see your solicitor?”

“I’ve just returned from Lincoln’s Inn. A codicil has been added to the will. I plan to see Eustace this afternoon.” Guy flipped open the satin-lined box to reveal a diamond ring, a veritable sunburst of light.

She gasped. “It’s beautiful.” He reached for her hand. Placing it in his, while fighting to control her emotions, she said, “I don’t suppose I could accompany you to see Eustace?”

“No, you may not.” Horatia’s hand trembled in his. A frisson of excitement took hold as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

“It’s a perfect fit.”

He nodded, pleased. “Good, then I guessed the size correctly.”

“How clever of you.” She turned her hand to admire the large diamond set in a cluster of smaller emeralds. She must remember it was only on loan to her.

Before she knew it, Guy had lowered his head and kissed her hard on the mouth.

“To seal the arrangement,” he said with a vulpine look.

His kiss, brief as it was, sent a pleasurable sensation coiling through her. She opened her mouth to protest and then remembered her aunt, lurking, no doubt, somewhere outside the door, and fell silent.

“Do you like what you’ve seen of London?” he asked.

“You hadn’t told me how busy, smoky, noisy, and smelly it is. Someone is always rapping on the door to offer to fix one’s chairs or sharpen one’s knives. And night is little better with the town crier tolling the hour and carts and night carriages passing the door.” She smiled. “I can’t wait to see more though.”

He grinned. “You shall.”

With a discreet cough, Aunt Emily entered the room.

“Would you like to see the ring, Aunt?” Horatia held out her hand.

Aunt Emily nodded approval. “You have excellent taste, my lord.”

“Can I persuade you both to accompany me to the Theatre Royal tomorrow evening?”

Horatia’s heart leapt. The theatre! How thrilling, but would her aunt refuse?

“We shall be delighted, my lord.” Aunt Emily’s eyes took on an excited gleam. “Mr. Edmund Keane performs King Lear. Everyone talks of it. How fortunate that you have obtained seats.”

“Most fortunate,” Guy said. “A friend, Lord Strathairn, has invited us to join him in his box.”

“Indeed.” A pink flush crept to Aunt Emily’s cheeks, and she put her hand to the locket at her throat.

Guy bowed. “Until tomorrow evening.”

Aunt Emily looked pensive as the door closed behind Guy. She came to life, clapping her hands. “We must prepare, my dear. Such an evening awaits us!”

Horatia admired her ring as she followed her aunt upstairs. She was surprised and relieved that nothing further had been mentioned about the unsuitable engagement and could only hope it would remain so. She had given her word to Guy, and she would not break it.

Horatia climbed into Guy’s carriage wearing her white muslin beneath her aunt’s Spitalfield’s velvet evening cloak of rose pink shot through with gold. The gas lamps lighted their way. Covent Garden was ablaze and crowded with people from all walks of life, from strolling prostitutes to flower sellers and the most revered members of the
ton
. In the theatre foyer, Guy introduced her to the Earl of Strathairn, a tall fair-haired man with keen grey eyes, and his two sisters, the married Lady Eleanor Fitzherbert and Lady Georgina.

Lady Georgina Haldane, a vivacious brunette not long out of the schoolroom, gave a graceful curtsy. Horatia returned it with an envious eye on the young woman’s blush pink gown embroidered with rosebuds, so delicate it seemed to float around her. “So you’re the one who has snatched Lord Fortescue from under our very noses,” Lady Georgina said.

“Georgina!” Lady Eleanor chided with an embarrassed laugh. Lady Eleanor, in more subdued saffron silk, was older than her sister by some years and looked more like her brother in appearance. “Welcome to London, my dear. You must forgive my sister; we have become most fond of Guy in the short time we’ve known him.”

“Yes, Georgina, do apologize,” Lord Strathairn said with a frown. “You have offended Miss Cavendish.”

“Not at all.” Horatia smiled and gazed warmly at the elegant brother and sisters. “I can but hope you’ll forgive me, Lady Georgina.”

Guy laughed. “Do not be harsh with Lady Georgina, John. She has become my stalwart friend.”

They climbed the stairs and behind a gold-embossed door found a box with six chairs facing the stage. They settled on gilt legged chairs upholstered in crimson velvet while coffee was brought. There was quite a din. Below the box, and from the boxes opposite them, people gossiped and waved.

Horatia leaned forward in her chair as the curtain rose on King Lear’s palace. The audience didn’t cease in their chatter, and many were still roaming about when Edmund Kean appeared. Then applause broke out. She turned to Guy and saw him watching her with a quiet smile. “Isn’t this exciting?” she whispered.

He gave her that smile that told her little of what he was thinking. “As I told you, life is exciting, Horatia.”

The box cleared at intermission, as everyone other than Guy left to speak to friends. When Horatia’s aunt excused herself, Guy leaned close, seemingly oblivious to the curious gazes around them. “I called on Eustace at his home yesterday.”

She gave him a searching stare. “How is he?”

“Well enough, I thought. When I explained the situation to him, he accepted it without rancor. In fact, he seemed disinterested.”

She widened her eyes. “He said nothing?”

“He said he understood that I was concerned for you as my wife should I die before you, but without proof of my birth, any legal document would be without value.”

“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “You must be angry.”

“I am a patient man, Horatia,” he said. A muscle ticked in his cheek, belying his words. “I expect a reply from my sister any day.”

“You will be careful, won’t you, Guy?”

He smiled. “May I take you out for a drive tomorrow? I’m keen to show you more of London.”

Pleased with the idea of seeing him again so soon, she glanced towards the door of the box. “If my aunt permits it.”

“As an engaged couple, I should think a carriage ride to Hyde Park would be acceptable. It’s hardly clandestine, half the ton will be there.”

“I have an appointment with a dressmaker in the morning.”

“If your aunt permits, shall we say half past twelve?”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

Lord Strathairn entered the box. “Do you enjoy the play, Miss Cavendish?”

“It’s excellent, my lord. Mr. Keane is spellbinding.”

“I’ve always found him rather overrated.”

“Oh surely not. He’s slight in stature, but he portrays the character with such force.”

He gave her a studied look before turning back to Eleanor who had settled beside him.

A thought came from nowhere that Lord Strathairn’s eyes were a steely grey. There was a guarded look to him, which made Horatia shiver.