A Season for Love (12 page)

“
Dear girl, wedding nights are not for
sleeping.”

“
It’s morning.”

“
Dawn,” he corrected, his voice warming
to an insinuating tease. “It’s a chilly May morning, and I am cold.
As a proper wife, I am certain you will wish to do something about
that.”

He wanted her?
Now?
With Gordon she had expected any time, any
place they could snatch some privacy, but with the Duke of
Longville . . .?

After the several long moments it took for
Jenny to digest this startling turn of events, she rolled over onto
her back and waited to see what would happen. Did he mean what she
thought he meant?

He did.

“
Good morning, Huntley,” Viscount
Frayne declared.

“
My lord.” The small boy bowed, then
added. “It is very kind of you to take us on a tour of the
city.”

“
You may call me Uncle Tony, just as
Susan does.” The viscount nodded toward his four-year-old niece,
who was sitting primly upright on the broad seat of the open
barouche.

“
I think not.” Lady Caroline, who was
still reeling from the viscount’s use of her little brother’s
title, spoke sharply.

“
Whyever not?” Tony demanded, reminding
Caroline strongly that he was indeed family and entitled to the
privileges thereof.

How could she tell him she did not want
Laurence to call him Uncle Tony as that could only emphasize that
he was
her
uncle as well? And
she did not want the Viscount Frayne as an uncle.

Not that she wanted him at all, of
course. An absurd thought. Just because he was handsome and
charming and one of the most fashionable leaders of the
ton
. . .

Drat!
She had
only to look at him and she forgot all her mother’s
admonitions.

“
Huntley,” the viscount was saying,
“since your sister remains silent, I believe you may address me in
whichever manner you wish—you do, after all, outrank me—but I give
you leave to call me Uncle Tony when you are comfortable with the
term.

“
Then should you not call me Laurence?”
the young Marquess of Huntley returned.

“
I should be honored.” Tony, grinning,
sketched a bow.

The duke’s heir grinned right back. “Good.
May we go now?”

The viscount swung him up beside Susan, who
stared at her step-brother with unabashed curiosity. Disconcerted,
Laurence lost his aplomb, offered her a scowl, then stared straight
ahead.

“
I fear we are facing backwards,” Tony
said softly to Lady Caroline as they stood, staring up at the
children. “Wasn’t there something about the boy experiencing travel
sickness?”

“
I believe it was mostly nerves,”
Caroline confided, just as softly, “but thank you for thinking of
it.” She leaned closer, frowning. “I had not thought when we were
talking yesterday, but are we in danger of encountering a
mob?”

“
Not where we are going,” Tony
reassured her. “I admit there was trouble not long ago, mostly over
the Corn Laws, but Prinny called out the Dragoons as well as the
Horse Guards and there’s been no trouble recently.”

“
What about the wedding?”

The viscount shrugged. “That was mostly high
spirits. They wanted a good show, a look at Laurence—”

“
Perhaps we should not go,” Caroline
declared, chin firm, amber eyes sparking in a manner highly
reminiscent of her father.

“
You think me some country bumpkin who
does not know his way about?” Tony mocked. “You think I would risk
my sister’s child, let alone the heir to a dukedom?” Eyes dancing,
Viscount Frayne turned on her the full power of his famous
smile.

There was little doubt about who was the
country bumpkin, Caroline thought ruefully. She had little choice
but to bow to his superior knowledge. And yet . . . had she not
read of the mob surging into the West End, attacking, among others,
the homes of the Chief Justice and the Lord Chancellor?

But that was before the Prince of Wales
called out the Dragoons.

Less than two months ago.

A shiver shook her, but she was Lady Caroline
Carlington and she would not be afraid. With a gracious nod, she
allowed Viscount Frayne to hand her into the carriage.

~ * ~

The Duke and Duchess of Longville returned to
London after a wedding retreat of some nine days, during which the
duke had expended considerable time and effort on discovering a
suitable estate manager for Totten Court. He had, however—after
succumbing to his wife’s entreaties—allowed the housekeeper and
cook to stay on, but his wrathful gaze and acid words would
comprise the stuff of legends in the area for years to come.

The duchess had gone about her unexpected
tasks at the Court calmly, making lists of required linens and
plate, color schemes for new draperies and upholstery. Perhaps, the
former Lady Eugenia ventured to suggest to her new husband, he
might wish to offer the house for rent, thus adding to the ducal
coffers?

That remark earned her the sight of the
duke’s back as he strode out of the breakfast room, not to be seen
until the evening meal, when he cleared his throat and conceded
that Totten Court would not have been allowed to fall into such a
state of disrepair if it had been occupied. Possibly, just
possibly, his wife’s idea might have merit.

Not all the duke’s and duchess’s days had
been spent in separate pursuits. They rode together, walked
together—though not through the overgrown gardens where only the
hardiest spring flowers had survived. They talked, each perhaps a
bit surprised to discover the lively wit that had attracted them to
each other had not disappeared with the speaking of their marriage
vows. And returned to town, each encouraged that matters between
them were going better than they had a right to expect.

Since the duke had sent a messenger to Worley
House, Susan was packed and ready, hurling herself at her mother
the moment Jen set foot in the Norville townhouse. After the
necessary polite conversation with Lord and Lady Worley, they were
off to Longville House, the duke suddenly descending from a rather
smug state of euphoria to the reality of his own two children
awaiting him. Children he scarcely knew. Children whose welcome
could not possibly be as ecstatic as little Susan’s greeting to her
mama. What in the name of all that was holy was he to do with a
once-bubbling child who had grown into a beautiful, but sometimes
anxious-eyed, young lady? Or with a son who looked just like him,
but was a total stranger?

Was that not why he had married? Jen would
manage—

If Caroline would allow it.
Hell and the devil confound it!
Surely dukes were supposed to be above difficulties of this
nature.

As they entered Longville House in a flurry
of footman rushing to get their baggage—to the beat of the butler’s
stately orders—Lady Caroline came flying down the stairs. To the
duke’s astonishment, three gentlemen were arranged behind her,
peering over the gallery railing, evidently exiting the drawing
room upon news of the newlyweds’ return. Frayne, Trimby-Ashford,
and Willoughby. Good God, what were they doing here? And was that
Laurence peeking through the balusters? He should be in the
schoolroom, should he not? Inwardly, Marcus groaned. He had not
expected his parental duties to begin quite so abruptly.

Lady Caroline skidded to a halt before the
bridal couple, dropping into a deep curtsy. “Welcome home, Your
Grace,” she intoned, dutifully repeating the greeting to her
step-mother. “And Susan,” she added, opening her arms to the little
girl. “You will like living here, I promise you.”

The duke and duchess blinked as Susan went
straight into Lady Caroline’s arms for a hug. That, in addition to
the array of stylish young gentlemen now descending the staircase
to add their own greetings, seemed to indicate that a great deal
had occurred in London in the nine days since the wedding.

The duke forgot his dignity long enough to
swing his son up in his arms before recommending his duchess go
straight upstairs and get her daughter settled in her new room. If
it occurred to him that nine days of country quiet and marital
intimacy had not been the best preparation for the bedlam of three
children, one of them old enough to have young men dangling after
her, he gave no sign. He was, after all, the Duke of Longville and
was expected to be above the petty annoyances, family distractions,
and the outright difficulties lesser mortals experienced.

The duke allowed his son to slide to the
floor, as his gaze followed his wife’s slow progress up the stairs,
Susan’s hand tightly clasped in hers. With no sign of his inner
turmoil, he accepted the welcome-homes and polite farewells from
Frayne and his friends, who were obviously escaping as fast as good
manners would allow.

Just what had been going on during his
absence? Obviously, he would have to have a talk with his
brother-in-law. Since Tony was also his friend, such a conversation
could prove exceedingly awkward. Suddenly weary, and feeling all of
his two and forty years, the duke turned to his son and held out
his hand. “Come, Laurence, I believe you have escaped Miss
Tompkins. Shall we go find her?”

The little boy made an impish face, bringing
back such a strong recollection of himself at that age that Marcus
found his feet rooted to the entrance hall’s black and white
diamond tiles. Children were wonderful creatures—how could he have
forgotten? How could he have feared what was to come?

They would manage, he and Jen. Somehow they
would manage.

At that moment the Duchess of Longville might
not have agreed with her husband, for she was finding herself in
the odd position of her small daughter introducing her mother to
the newly redecorated room on the nursery floor, instead of the
other way ’round. Obviously, Susan had been here before. But when?
Jen wondered. Lady Caroline and Susan had scarcely been acquainted
when she and the duke left town.

Susan beamed in delight as she ran her small
hands over the great swath of pink muslin, edged in white lace that
created a nearly tentlike enclosure around her bed. The little girl
then patted the coverlet, which was embroidered with cats, dogs,
sheep, cows, and a sprinkling of wild flowers. Even the child-size
china pitcher and washbasin, Jen noticed, were decorated with pink
flowers and green leaves. Cheerful prints framed the walls above
brightly painted cabinets, some for clothes, others for toys.

“
I like it,” Susan declared, as her
inventory of the room ended with pink-and-white-checked curtains
overlooking the gardens three stories below. “Do you like it,
mama?”

“
Indeed I do,” Jen assured her, “but
when did you see it, dearest? You
have
been here before, have you not?”

Solemnly, Susan nodded. “The day I cried,”
she confided.

“
You cried?” Jen dropped to her knees,
taking her daughter’s hands in hers.

“
Uncle Tony took us to see the lions,”
Susan said with seeming irrelevance.

“
And you cried? Were you
afraid?”

“
No,” Susan declared sturdily. “’Course
not. Laurence said they were skinny old things that wouldn’t hurt a
fly.”

Jen opened her mouth, closed it. The picture
of her world-weary, sophisticated brother taking two small children
to the menagerie at the Tower was beyond her imagination.

“
And we saw a lady dancing on a horse,”
Susan added. “I wanted to dance on a horse and Uncle Tony said I
couldn’t. That’s when I cried.”

“
But how did you come here, to
Longville House?” Jen asked. “You said you saw this room the day
you cried,” she prompted.

Susan nodded. “Lady Caroline hugged me and
gave me a sweet and told me you’d be home soon. ’N’ when we brought
her home, we came up here and looked at my new room.”

Merciful heavens, would
wonders never cease?
Jen was stunned. The young lady
who had been little better than sullen in her presence had actually
befriended her daughter. But Tony squiring children about town . .
. the very concept was ludicrous. Unless . . .

The Duchess of Longville, struck by an
startling thought, turned her daughter and the unpacking over to
Susan’s nurse and hurried off. She must consult with her husband at
once.

“
My lord! Tony!” After greeting her
father and his bride, Lady Caroline slipped out the front door of
Longville House and caught Lord Frayne just as he took the reins of
his curricle from his groom.

The viscount offered his lazy smile, allowing
a gleam of admiration to light his eyes as he gazed down at the
young lady standing on the brick drive below. Soft wisps of golden
blonde curls framed her lovely face above a slim morning gown of
azure muslin, featuring a front panel embroidered with a graceful
design in white. This, then, was the young woman who inevitably
turned his steps toward Longville House, even when he had intended
to go elsewhere. “Caro,” he drawled, refusing to succumb to the
insidious attraction, “pray what is so urgent? Have we not been
speaking for the past half hour?”

“
Do not call me that,” the object of
his warm regard snapped.

“
Whyever not? I thought we were
family.” Indeed, had he not suffered from his friends’ quizzing
remarks about what they termed his addiction to the infantry? If he
had been in company with Caroline, with and without the children,
for six of the last nine days, he was only demonstrating his good
manners in welcoming his sister’s step-children into the family. He
had to keep that relationship firmly fixed in his mind.
Family, family, family.