A Season for Love (11 page)

“
O-oh.” Lady Caroline Carlington’s
small murmur of pleasure drew a sharp-eyed look from Miss Sarah
Tompkins, who was engaged in something well outside her duties as
governess; namely, the mending of a hole in young Laurence’s
second-best pair of breeches. “Lord Frayne,” Caroline explained,
looking up from the note she was perusing, “has invited me for a
drive in Hyde Park this afternoon. He is the duchess’s brother.
Family,” she emphasized hastily.

Sarah Tompkins, a gentlewoman of impoverished
family, who had endured much since she had come to the late duchess
as governess when Caroline was five, merely nodded and agreed that
a drive with Lord Frayne would be quite unexceptional. “Perhaps the
rose muslin, my dear, with the embroidered spencer and matching
bonnet,” she suggested. “I do believe that is the most fashionable
of the gowns Miss Clemens created for you.”

In the waning weeks of her year of
mourning Caroline had had the seamstress in Little Stoughton make
up a few gowns which might best be described as plainer, more
modest versions of the sometimes outré designs found in
La Belle Assemblé
. Since Caroline had
had time for only one brief visit to a London modiste, the rose
muslin—whose sole decoration consisted of pintucks and a narrow
lace insert on sleeves and hem—would have to do. And, truthfully,
she felt more comfortable in the rose muslin than she would in most
of the gowns the London modiste had assured her were the latest
fashion.

“
Perhaps,” Miss Tompkins ventured, her
needle poised over the brown-ribbed fustian, “but . . . no.” She
shook her gray-streaked dark head and fell silent.

“
My dear Tommy, what is it?”

For a moment Sarah Tompkins, unaccustomedly
reticent, hesitated. “I had thought . . . if you find Lord Frayne a
kindly man, not too high in the instep, you might ask if he would
invite Laurence to drive out as well. Not today, of course,” she
amended as a look of dismay swept her charge’s face, “but perhaps
another day this week. He is so anxious to see everything there
is—”

“
I am the veriest wretch ” Lady
Caroline burst out. “How could I have been so selfish. I shall send
a note ’round to the viscount—”

Miss Tompkins’s words stopped Lady
Caroline’s rush toward the escritoire in the corner. “Not today, my
dear. This is
your
day. You
are a lady born, and it time you took your place in society. You
will drive out with Lord Frayne, view the
ton
on parade, as they will view you. And you
will enjoy yourself,” she added on an admonitory note. “It is right
and proper that Lord Frayne should do this for you. I am told he is
top-of-the-trees, a fitting escort for such an outing.”

Because Caroline had been only ten when
they left London for the Lake District, she occasionally forgot
that Miss Sarah Tompkins had spent most of her life among
the
ton
and was familiar with
its cant as well as its idiosyncrasies. Caroline did not, however,
forget that she owed the surprisingly high polish on her social
manners to none other than her long-time governess. “Yes, ma’am,”
she responded meekly, although her sparkling eyes revealed her
personal pleasure in Miss Tompkins’s dictum. The governess nodded
serenely and returned to her mending. Caroline, however, found she
could no longer concentrate on the epic poem she had been reading.
For some ridiculous reason Tony Norville’s handsome face kept
dancing over the pages of Byron’s
Corsair
.

When Lord Frayne arrived promptly at four
o’clock, he found his passenger ready. Beyond a few words of polite
conversation with Miss Tompkins, he was not forced to keep his
lively chestnuts waiting. “They are beautiful,” Lady Caroline told
him with unfeigned admiration when she saw his matched pair.

“
They meet with your approval then?”
Tony teased, with a flick of an eyebrow.

Unaccustomed to masculine badinage and
always a bit disconcerted in Lord Frayne’s company, Caroline stuck
her chin in the air, moving past the viscount to his curricle,
where she was forced to pause. There was no way she could scramble
up on her own without totally sacrificing the ladylike dignity she
knew she must maintain. And then his hands were on her waist and
somehow she was seated on the high bench seat. Just as if she were
a child, Caroline fumed. A lady should be
handed
up, not thrown like a sack of coal! Head
down, she nursed her indignation while Lord Frayne climbed up
beside her, took the reins from his groom, and gave his horses the
office to start.

The viscount, evidently sensing her
annoyance, was content to confine his conversation to pointing out
a few interesting architectural details during the short blocks to
the Stanhope Gate. And—drat the man—Caroline had to admit she was
so delighted with their entrance into a world of green grass, trees
and bushes, picturesque paths, and a carriage road of good English
soil set down within the smoke-filled, noisy, cobbled streets of
London that she promptly forgot her pique.

Hyde Park was teeming with life. Men
and women walking, on horseback, driving in landaus, barouches,
phaetons, high-perch phaetons, and curricles. For the most part the
gentlemen were nearly as perfectly turned out as Lord Frayne; the
ladies, positively dazzling to the eye. Even as echoes of her
mama’s derogatory remarks about the
ton
flitted through her head, Caroline’s eyes
shone with eagerness and curiosity. Was it really so terrible to
parade about the park, gossip over tea, or dance the night
away?

Game away a fortune?

Set up a mistress?

That was her mother talking, Caroline told
herself firmly. Her mother who had fallen into a melancholy from
which she never recovered.

Lady Caroline welcomed the interruption to
her confused reverie as Viscount Frayne stopped for the first of
many times in their drive through the park. Although she made a
valiant effort to remember names, Caroline realized she would
recall few of the viscount’s introductions except Sir Chetwin and
Mr. Trimby-Ashford, whom he termed his particular friends.

Tony was, in fact, quite proud of
himself. Here he was, sitting next to the most delectable young
lady to grace the
ton
in the
past several years, yet the conscience he hadn’t known he had was
dictating that his behavior remain avuncular. In addition, he had
been introducing Caroline only to those whom he knew the duke would
approve. It was most fortunate Lady Caroline’s lovely features were
hidden away behind that blasted rose bonnet with the ridiculous
flowers that bounced with every beat of his horses’ hooves.
Otherwise . . . well, otherwise, he would find his role even more
difficult to play.

As the Serpentine came into view, Caroline
exclaimed in delight. “I remember this!” she cried. “Papa used to
bring me here. Sometimes we sailed a little boat. All the others
with boats were boys, but there I was among them.” She looked out
over the modest pond, obviously seeing sights to which Tony was not
privileged. “I had the biggest boat,” she sighed. “Painted bright
blue and white. I wonder what happened to it . . . do you think it
might still be in the attic?” she asked wistfully.

“
Very likely,” Tony replied. “I imagine
your brother might enjoy it?”

“
Oh, yes, what a good idea.” The eager
face turned up to his suddenly sobered. “It was most kind of you to
invite me today, my lord,” she declared primly. “I feared you might
have taken me in dislike after our . . . our . . .”

“
Our anonymous moments in the library?”
Tony supplied.

“
Yes.” Her face was suddenly lost to
him again as she ducked her head to examine her white kidskin
gloves. “I was wondering”—Lady Caroline’s voice emanated from
behind the rose bonnet and bouncing flowers—“would you be quite
terribly put out if I asked you to take Laurence on a drive ’round
the city? One would expect him to be overawed by his changed
circumstances, but, truthfully, he is so eager to be out and about,
I can scarce believe it.”

Tony drew his horses to the side of the
carriage path. Placing his index finger under Caroline’s chin, he
turned her to face him. Anxious eyes looked up to meet his. “You
want me to bear-lead a seven-year-old around London?” he asked with
mock severity. “Anthony Norville, the elegant Lord Frayne—escort to
one of the infantry?”

“
I beg your pardon,” Caroline burbled.
“I cannot believe I was so forward. ’Tis only that you are family
now, and I saw how kind you were to your niece and—”

“
Foolish girl,” Tony grinned, “do you
think me an ogre? Of course I will drive your dratted brother
about, even if he has cut up my sister’s peace. But only on one
condition, mind.”

Lady Caroline’s eyes took on a knowing look.
“And that would be?” she challenged.

“
That you accompany us, of course,” he
responded. “I shall borrow mama’s barouche, and we will take Susan
as well.”

“
That,” Caroline declared, “is two
conditions.”

Tony grinned, cheerfully conceding his guilt
while silently condemning her protest to the realm of the merest
quibble. “Shall we say tomorrow at one, followed by ices at
Gunter’s?” he inquired blandly. “Unless, of course,” he added, sky
blue eyes gleaming with barely hidden mirth, “you feel you cannot
manage two children of that age?”

“
Do not be absurd,” Caroline told him
grandly.

“
You know,” the viscount added,
furrowing his brow as if in deep thought, “London is a large city.
It may take more than one outing to cover all your brother might
wish to see.”

But Lady Caroline was gone yet again, hidden
behind her bonnet, back straight, shoulders squared. Perhaps she
was wise not to comment, Tony thought. It was quite possible one
outing with two small children would be more than enough for both
of them.

On the morning after her wedding the Duchess
of Longville came awake slowly, wriggled luxuriously against the
warmth next to her . . . became suddenly, shockingly, aware she was
not alone. Jen’s eyes flew open, then squeezed tight shut as every
moment of her wedding night came rushing back in a outpouring of
fragile emotions and strongly carnal sensations.

She couldn’t have!
She could not possibly have been so forward.

Carefully, Jenny inched away from the warmth
that had enchanted her when she was half-asleep, away from the
strong back, the tangle of toes; out from under the well-muscled
arm. Reaching the edge of the vast bed, she paused, suddenly aware
she had nowhere to go. With the fire burned down, the room was
distinctly chilly, and there was nothing to cover her nakedness but
the wispy silk of that ridiculous dressing gown. How she longed for
her sturdy wool robe, her warm slippers . . . And even if she had
them, what would she do? She was trapped in this room. If she so
much as poked her nose out the door, the entire household—indeed,
the entire village nearby—would know within the hour that a second
duchess had run from the Duke of Longville’s bed.

Jenny stifled a moan, inching onto her side
so close to the edge of the bed she was in danger of tumbling off.
She had given the duke a disgust of her, she was certain of it. She
had actually put her arms about the Duke of Longville, touched his
flesh, stripped off his shirt. Dear God, what had she been
thinking?

That it was her wedding night and, quite
incredibly, it seemed to be the groom who had the most doubts and
fears. So she had done what any sensible woman would have done—and
sensible, she knew, was a word frequently applied to the former
Lady Eugenia Wharton. She had offered comfort, the only comfort she
knew how to give on a bridal night.

And, truly, he had not seemed offended. Or
disgusted.

But now it was morning, the sun creeping in
past the edges of the heavy velvet draperies, bringing reality to
the union between the Duke of Longville and his second wife.
His—ah—enthusiasm of the night before could be attributed to the
truth of his statement that he had parted from his mistress several
months ago. Very well, Jen told herself, she had performed her
primary marital duty well, though she refused to look too closely
at her own enthusiasm of the previous night. And now, this morning,
she could fulfill the other function expected of her—that of
chatelaine to the ducal households. Directly after breakfast she
would begin to make lists of the refurbishments necessary at Totten
Court. She would keep very busy and not think of the night to come.
Except to reaffirm her determination never to take the initiative
in the bedroom again.

Once again, vivid memories of her wedding
night intruded on her sensible intentions. Jen could feel a flush
which started at her toes and rose all the way up her naked body to
stain her cheeks and creep into the very roots of her tumbled dark
hair. The unfashionably long mass that Marcus had so enjoyed
playing with . . . running his fingers over her scalp, down the
lengthy fine strands, touching her ears, her cheeks, her breasts .
. .

Fool, thy name is woman!

Jen gasped as long fingers cupped her
bottom.

“
What are you doing way over there?”
her husband demanded, giving her nether cheeks a
squeeze.

“
I—I did not wish to disturb your
sleep.”