Gail Eastwood (6 page)

Following along at the rear, Gilbey spotted a peacock feather lying on the grass beside the flagstones and picked it up, absently twirling it in his fingers. He had been observing the members of the party as they chose companions and jockeyed for position in the line, but now the thought of peacocks in the garden distracted him. He had always admired the beautiful birds. Hoping for a glimpse of one strolling on the side paths, he failed to notice that ahead of him Lady Norbridge had stopped to let the others in the group pass by her. The next thing he knew she had fallen into step beside him.

“I was very disappointed that you chose to abandon us so early last night,” she said in a low voice, casting a sidelong glance at him that quickened his pulse despite his sense of dismay. She took the feather from his hand, brushing her fingers against his quite deliberately, he was certain.

Botheration!
This was not what he needed. It did not help that her choice of words was so similar to Lady Venetia’s at breakfast. Twice in one day he was being accused of abandoning an attractive woman. How much self-control was a man expected to have?

With relief he noticed that the twins’ cousin, Lady Adela, had stepped aside from the line and was waiting for him and Lady Norbridge to catch up to her. Talking to her should be safe enough. At least there was no wine anywhere about.

“La, there you are, Lord Cranford,” she gushed, tipping her chin up and looking directly at Lady Norbridge instead of at him. “I felt so terrible about what happened at dinner last night, I just had to speak with you.”

The line of walkers had progressed through a gate at the back of the garden and had begun to ascend a fairly steep hill following a path through the ancient beech woods. Just after Adela spoke, she slipped on some leaves on the path. Gilbey reached out and steadied her by her elbow. Had she done it deliberately?

He risked a glance at Lady Norbridge and could have sworn that she bristled. There were certainly sparks in her eyes. She looked very beautiful and quite displeased.

Botheration.
Now what was he supposed to do?

“You mustn’t concern yourself about last night,” he told Lady Adela gallantly. “Accidents happen. I hope you escaped the reach of the wine? That was an exquisite gown you were wearing.”

Lady Adela positively beamed, and beside him Lady Norbridge glowered. Perhaps he had gone a little overboard?

“Naturally, both of you looked splendid last night, as you do this minute. I’m sure I have the envy of all the other gentlemen, walking here with the two most handsome ladies in the group.”

Of course, it was a lie. Lovely as they were, neither lady could compare to the twins. Probably all three of them knew it. Whatever made Nicholas think that he, Gilbey, had learned how to handle women? He was saved from further conversation however, as they came down the other side of the hill to find the rest of the group standing about in the hollow. A somewhat winded Lord Amberton was seated on a stone bench, puffing and blowing between complaints.

“Bless me, but no one said we were going mountain climbing! I thought this was meant to be a pleasant stroll to the picnic site.” The path ahead led up another steep, wooded hill.

While the twins and Nicholas endeavored to reassure him, the other members of the party were using the opportunity to regroup. Gilbey desperately looked for someone else to walk with, and finally discovered Lord Ashurst, who appeared to be keeping apart from the group.

“Lady Vivian and her sister are stuck with Amberton, now,” the marquess observed bluntly. “He is like a bulldog they will have trouble shaking loose.”

Gilbey nodded. “He is not the only one.” The twins were surrounded by Lord Amberton, Lord Wistowe, Lord Newcroft, and Lord Chesdale. Georgina Whitgreave and Lady Caroline walked together behind them, looking neglected, while Lady Elizabeth was keeping very close to Nicholas. Gilbey noted with relief that Lady Norbridge had sought out Lord Munslow and that Lady Adela had been reined in by her mother and now walked dutifully between that good lady and the very young Earl of Lindell.

Their route wound through the woods, up and down hill, until finally it descended a long slope to an open meadow beside the River Coln. There the intrepid foot travelers found long tables set out, clad in snowy linen and laden with all kinds of dishes. Rugs had been spread upon the grass, and soft pillows offered comfortable seating. The guests who had come by carriage were settled and already eating.

With appetites sharpened by exercise, the new arrivals clustered around the tables, waiting to be served, and then joined their cohorts. Gilbey and Lord Ashurst were the last to be served. They took their loaded plates and slipped off to one side, where they could observe the scene before them.

The twins had, with applaudable tact, plunked themselves down in the midst of the group of young ladies, forcing their admirers to dance attendance on all of them. Gilbey noticed that Venetia was the one who kept the gentlemen hopping, sending one back to the table for one thing and directing another to the carriages to fetch something else.

“Not one of them is worth so much as the littlest toe of either of the twins,” Lord Ashurst muttered.

Surprised by this comment, Gilbey smiled. “Perhaps we should be in there offering our own services, sir?”

The marquess shook his head. “I wouldn’t be so presumptuous.”

“Presumptuous?”

“Certainly. Do you think we are any better qualified to attend them than the rest?” He shook his head again. “I would not wish to inflict myself upon them. I cannot fathom what Roxley thinks he is about. If this sorry group of suitors is the best he can do for his daughters, then he is a fool.”

Gilbey could hardly believe his ears. Cynical the marquess might be, but that comment did not come from a man who was cold or aloof. It appeared that Lord Ashurst was exceedingly modest, perhaps even to the point of being shy. He clearly held Nicholas’s sisters in high esteem.

Gilbey decided that he rather liked the marquess. “We may cause more offense by staying away than if we join the throng, I regret to say,” he replied. “I see that we are observed, and I suspect we are judged neglectful.”

Ashurst looked around. “By whom?”

“Lady Venetia. She has cast several dark looks in our direction.”

“Has she? I didn’t notice.” Ashurst sighed. “I suppose we have no choice, then. It simply won’t do to offend our hostesses.”

***

Later, after all the guests were fully sated, the company prepared to scatter about the meadow to enjoy the fine afternoon. Equipment for quoits, battledore and shuttlecocks, ninepins and trap-ball had been brought along for any who wished to play, and sketching materials were available. For a little while, however, Venetia insisted that the men compete in the games, while the ladies watched. It seemed to Gilbey that she singled him out particularly, perhaps in retribution for his earlier inattention.

He allowed Lord Amberton to beat him at trap-ball, and the Viscount Newcroft, a small, agile fellow, beat him handily at battledore and shuttlecocks. Despite his dandyish ways and the affectation of constantly using his quizzing glass, Lord Chesdale had the competitive spirit to be expected from an ex-cavalry officer, and he was clearly disappointed with his easy victory at quoits. Gilbey, however, was quite pleased with his own undistinguished performance.

Eventually Venetia relented and allowed the guests to do as they wished. Many simply strolled or lounged upon the pillows, indulging in relaxed conversation. Gilbey wandered down to the river’s edge, intent upon investigating its potential for fishing. Everyone else seemed contentedly occupied. The twins had gathered up pads and paint boxes, so he had restrained his own impulse to sketch or paint. Nicholas was caught up in a game of tag that Lady Norbridge had started by tickling people with Gilbey’s peacock feather. Their muted squeals and laughter made a pleasant counterpoint to the gentle murmurs of the river, which was slow enough here to sport masses of water crowfoot in the center of the stream.

Gilbey admired the turquoise bands on a damselfly that hovered near some yellow flag at the water’s edge. The sun was warm and brought out the insect’s jewel colors. The mild breeze was fresh and sweet—in fact, the day was idyllic, all trace of the morning’s mist vanished. Why then did he feel so at odds?

He asked himself all the obvious questions. Was it because he would rather be back at Cambridge with his nose in a book? Or was it because he did not fit in here at Rivington among the duke’s guests? The answer was always no. Still, he could not seem to banish the restlessness and discontent that plagued him.

He was lost in thought, still watching the damselfly above the surface of the water, when the sound of voices near him intruded upon his consciousness.

“Netia, you have already made them wait upon us like servants, and the games provided ample opportunities for us to observe their fitness and physical skills. Why is that not enough for one day?”

“I want to see how far they will go. Courtesy is a fine quality, but do you want to marry a man with no backbone?” There was a brief pause, and then Gilbey heard Venetia say, “I expect the river is still quite cold.”

Gilbey knew he should not be shamelessly eavesdropping. A clump of brush and a willow tree with its roots reaching right into the water stood between him and the twins, effectively screening him from their view. But what the devil were they up to?

“What if the current takes your hat too quickly, or what if none of them will go after it?” Vivian asked quite rationally.

Venetia sighed. “Well, it is only a hat, after all. I think it would still be worth the price to see if any of them will go after it.”

So, it was all a plot. Was everything the twins did so calculated? Gilbey did not like the feeling that gave him. He stepped back behind the bushes and the tree trunk and emerged on the other side.

“Lord Cranford!”

“Oh dear.”

Surprise and displeasure registered on their faces. Vivian was properly bonneted and she held a parasol to protect her from the sun as well. Venetia stood bareheaded with her wide-brimmed cork hat in her hands. The sun shone gloriously on her golden hair, which must have come partially unpinned when she removed the hat.

The sight of her fanned Gilbey’s disapproval into anger. How could she be so unbearably beautiful and yet so cold, so self-serving?

“I know Nicholas can be manipulative at times, but I have never known him to be so utterly calculating and heartless,” he said, venting his feelings without the slightest preamble. “I overheard what you are planning to do and I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by and say nothing while you trick your own guests into a cold bath for your own amusement.”

“Oh, please, Lord Cranford, it is not quite as you think!”

“Never mind, Vivi. I shall do it anyway.” Venetia looked at Gilbey defiantly.

In the split second before she drew back her arm and sailed the hat through the air to land in the river, Gilbey realized several things. One was that he had been unpardonably rude to his hostess. It did not matter how justified he might have been. Another was that it had felt good to speak his mind honestly for once, even if he was rude. A third was a sudden revelation that his anger was out of proportion to her mischief and that he would do well to examine it further when he calmed down. But the fourth thing overpowered all the others in that instant, and it was a flash of
déjà-vu
that took him all the way back to Devonshire.

The defiant look. The hat sailing through the air. It was as if his sister Gillian stood there on the riverbank. Gillian, who always got into mischief. Gillian, who so often needed to be bailed out of trouble.

Only it was Venetia who needed to be bailed out of trouble now. Intent on defiance and mischief, she had not paid attention to her footing. At the moment she released the hat she slipped and with a genuine cry of distress tumbled into the river.

Chapter Six

Venetia was not in the water for more than a minute, but to her those seconds seemed like a lifetime. The shock of the cold water quite took her breath away. She struggled to find air and panicked when she discovered that she could barely move. One of her hands was tangled in the tendrils of the crowfoot weeds and her feet could not seem to get clear of the weight of her soaked skirts.

What a horribly embarrassing way to die,
she thought just before she felt strong arms close around her. As her head emerged from the water, she gulped in a huge breath. Relief and gratitude surged through her. For a moment she just savored the secure, wonderful feeling of being held. It hardly mattered that the body she rested against was just as wet as she was or that water from her hair was still streaming down her face and neck. Then she opened her eyes.

Blue-green eyes stared down into hers, the anger she had seen in them just before she slipped now replaced by concern. Lord Cranford. Of course.

“Are you all right?” he asked. His voice was deep and had a rough edge to it that she did not remember.

He helped her to stand, keeping one strong arm around her waist to steady her. The water was still swirling around them, knee-deep, tugging gently at her skirts. She opened her mouth to reply, but what came out was a gurgling, spluttering cough. Gracious! She had not realized she had swallowed half the river.

“Best get it up, if you can,” he said gently, turning her away from him.

She coughed out what she could. Then she began to shiver, and she felt him slip an arm behind her knees and scoop her up into his arms. He carried her out of the river as if she weighed nothing.

There was a crowd awaiting them on the bank, drawn there by Vivian’s cries of alarm, but Venetia had only one thought in the moment before she and Cranford arrived there.
How can he be so warm when he has been in the cold river?
Instinctively she huddled against him, pressing closer to the heat that radiated through his wet clothes and hers.

“What happened?”

“Yes, what happened?”

“By Joseph! Is she all right?”

She heard all the questions, and she heard Cranford answer. “She slipped and fell into the water. She is all right, just frightened, wet, and chilled.”

He forgot to say embarrassed to death,
she thought. Perhaps it would have been better to have drowned. At least he did not say that she had deserved it, although she was certain that he thought so.

“Have you anything to wrap around her?”

He set her on her feet and immediately she was enveloped in a soft pink silk shawl she recognized as the Duchess of Brancaster’s, and a warm red plaid one that could belong to no one but Lady Duncross. Even so, she missed Lord Cranford’s warmth. She had no chance to turn back to him, however; Vivian was fussing about her and suddenly Aunt Alice was there, too, and then Nicholas was there, steering her through the crowd of guests, heading for the carriages.

She did not consider her appearance at all until she saw Lady Elizabeth shrink back as she passed by. Then with a sinking feeling she recognized the awful truth.
No doubt I look like a half-drowned rat. Mayhap Elizabeth fears I will bite her. Or drip on her, even worse!

Behind her she heard shouts and a commotion, but she kept moving steadily toward the carriages. Her teeth were chattering and she had finally realized how thoroughly revealing her wet garments must be. She drew the two shawls closer around her.

After a moment she heard Nicholas laugh. “So that’s what the noise is all about. Colonel Hatherwick has rescued your hat, Netia. He hooked it out with his fishing gear when he saw it come floating downstream.”

Venetia didn’t know whether to laugh, scream, or cry.

***

Gilbey had flung his spectacles on the bank before he entered the water, but once he had found them again, he followed along behind Lady Venetia and her entourage. He had, of course, noticed the coldness of the water when he had first plunged in after her, but it was peculiar that he had never noticed it again until the moment he released her. Now he felt somehow bereft as well as wet and chilled. His wet clothes were sticking to him like a plaster. His hair was dripping water onto his spectacles and more droplets trickled down his neck. He imagined he cut quite a miserable figure. But worse than that, once again he was at the center of everyone’s attention.

Lord Whitgreave shook his hand, sending drops of water in every direction. “Well done, sir, I say.”

Someone else slapped him on the back. “Jolly good show.”

Gilbey noticed a few less-than-congratulatory glances directed his way. Then Lord Wistowe fell into step beside him and gave him a knowing leer. “You sly dog, Cranford. Didn’t know we ought to be keeping an eye on you. Got a good armful, eh? Just how did you manage to be right there when it happened?”

His tone was not particularly friendly. In fact, there was an underlying implication to his words that Gilbey did not like at all. He clenched his jaw to hold in his anger and merely said, “Stroke of fate, I suppose.”

By rescuing Lady Venetia, how many enemies had he made? Had his prompt action compromised her reputation? What else could he have done? Was he supposed to stand back and do nothing while they waited for one of her suitors to play the hero? The water was not dangerously deep, but he had seen right away that she had been in difficulties.

Gad, she had fit so perfectly in his arms. How beautiful she was when she had opened her eyes and stared up into his. Would the memory of those moments torment him forever? How much better for him if he had never touched her!

Up ahead he saw her bundled into the Duke of Roxley’s landau. Lady Vivian climbed in beside her, but not before she touched Nicholas on the shoulder and pointed back toward Gilbey. As the carriage set off, Nicholas trotted back to join him.

“Bit cold for swimming, old man?” he said with a huge, lopsided grin. “Remind me to thank you properly when we’ve gotten you warmed and dried. You look like something the dog dragged in. What the devil happened, anyway?”

How to answer? Nicholas would likely be insulted on his sister’s behalf if Gilbey explained things just the way he saw them. On the other hand, Gilbey was getting very tired of being perfectly polite to everyone, especially when so many of the people around him did not seem to play by the same rules.

“It seems your sister likes to play games,” he said in a clipped tone, choosing his words carefully. “She had some idea of tossing her hat into the river to see who would retrieve it, but she accidentally threw in more than she intended.”

Nicholas laughed, not just a cursory chuckle but a heartfelt belly laugh that lasted at least a full minute. He clapped an arm across Gilbey’s wet shoulders and steered him toward a carriage, signaling to the coachman at the same time. He was still laughing as they climbed in.

“You find that humorous?” Gilbey said stiffly.

Nicholas wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know Venetia, and I know you, my friend. I think I am able to fill in all the blanks you have left in the story. I only wish you knew each other as well as I do! Of course, I can go to Vivian for a full accounting.” He lapsed back into laughter which Gilbey could not share.

Gilbey stared out the carriage window. He saw nothing funny about the situation. He was in danger of falling in love with a woman he was not sure he even liked or approved of. But the woman was not even the worst part! Falling in love at all was unthinkable—utterly ruinous, a disaster of major proportions. He was not a man who could afford to love. Thank God Venetia could never be his. If only he could get her out of his mind. From there it was only a short way to his heart.

***

The remaining guests returned to Rivington from the picnic in small bunches, drifting in almost randomly as they saw fit. The St. Aldwyn carriages made several trips to the picnic site and back, for it seemed that no one felt moved to walk back. As there was no further entertainment planned until dinner, the guests filled the time by wandering through the picture rooms and galleries of Rivington, writing letters in the salons, or wandering in the gardens.

Venetia had chosen to remain in her room, for although she was quite recovered from her dip in the river, she was not in the best of moods. To Vivian, this was an ideal opportunity to slip off and attend to a matter that she knew her sister would disapprove.

Assuming that Lord Cranford was also fully recovered from his unintended bath, where would he spend the hours until dinner? Vivian suspected the library was the most likely place, for his interest in old architecture and his predilection for books would both lead him there.

The library occupied the original hall of the old manor house that formed part of the north wing of Rivington. With its great vaulted ceiling of wooden beams, the room was one of her own favorites. Many times she had curled up in a chair there, imagining the medieval lord of the manor dining with his family and guests on the dais at the far end of the room, proudly showing off the great oriel window he had installed there. His massive carved fireplace with its heraldic motifs seemed to fit comfortably among the much newer wall cases filled with books.

Vivian did not see Lord Cranford in the library when she arrived there, but neither had she seen him in any of the other rooms she had passed through on her way there. Had she guessed wrong? What if he and Nicholas had devised some other amusement for themselves? She decided to settle in the alcove of the oriel window to continue with one of Miss Austen’s novels and wait for a bit.

Anne Elliot had just come to realize her error in sacrificing her romance with Captain Wentworth when Vivian heard voices and looked up to see Lady Norbridge and Lord Munslow enter from the screen passage. She was surprised to see them—they seemed to her the most unlikely among the guests to be interested in books. They looked equally surprised to see her.

“Why, Lady Venetia, we did not expect—we did not mean to disturb you,” Lady Norbridge faltered. Her heavy scent of lilac clashed with the room’s musty scent of old leather. “I hope you are quite recovered . . .?”

“I am Lady Vivian, and it is quite all right. We are happy to have our guests make use of the library.”

Lord Munslow cleared his throat. “No, no, wouldn’t think of disturbing you. Didn’t think there’d be anyone here.” He paused as if uncertain what to do or say next.

Finally it dawned on Vivian that they might have come seeking privacy rather than books. Well, they would have to go elsewhere if they wanted a private tête-à-tête. She had gotten there first and she was not about to relinquish her post. At least she was reading. She lifted her chin and smiled at them sweetly.

Lady Norbridge appeared to have recovered her composure. “I do beg your pardon. It is so difficult to tell you apart. How does your sister do now, Lady Vivian? We were all quite concerned over her mishap.”

Ah, polite conversation. Of course they couldn’t just leave. “She says it was nothing. She is fine now, thank you.” Vivian wondered if she should suggest that they try the solarium upstairs, but she realized they would likely be shocked at her forwardness. Shouldn’t she be the one who was shocked? They seemed to have gotten this backward.

Just as she came to the conclusion that at least Lord Munslow could be removed from the list of interested suitors, Lord Cranford appeared in the arched passage doorway.

“This seems to be a popular spot. Am I intruding?”

Lady Norbridge replied before Vivian could say a word. “Ah, Lord Cranford, the hero of the day. Not at all—do join us.” With a rather exaggerated swaying of her hips and provocative swishing of her soft green silk skirt, the older woman went to him and put her hand on his arm. “Lord Munslow and I were just leaving, but I have something that belongs to you. I would like very much to return it—sometime.”

Lord Cranford looked as if he did not know what to say, and Vivian could not blame him. Now she
was
shocked. The invitation in Lady Norbridge’s tone was quite blatant.

When Lord Munslow and the countess had left the room, Lord Cranford turned to Vivian. “The worst thing is, I cannot even call to mind anything of mine that she might have.”

Vivian could not find a reply. She had wanted to speak with him. Her hunch about the library had proven right, and her opportunity was at hand. But what had seemed so easy in her mind was not so easy to carry out. Finally she blurted, “I hope you suffered no ill effects from the river? We owe you many thanks.”

“No thanks are due. It was but a moment’s work, and I am perfectly fine.” With an odd expression on his face he added. “An early season swim is hardly the worst thing that could happen.”

He began to stroll casually about the room, looking around him. “This makes a magnificent library. What a splendid idea to install it in here.”

She swallowed and nodded. “Yes, I have always loved it.” She wanted to talk to him about Venetia. But how was she to bring up the subject? She felt very stupid.

“I’m sorry, Lady Vivian,” he said, “I can see I have interrupted your reading. I shall be quiet and let you get back to it.”

No!
That was the last thing she wanted. “’Tis only
Persuasion,
a novel that came out this past year. Really, I do not mind.”

“May I ask how your sister is faring now after her ordeal?”

Yes, oh yes.
That was better. “She is fine now, thanks to you. I am certain she will wish to thank you herself.”

“As I said, no thanks are necessary. I was simply the nearest. Anyone would have done the same.”

They might not be so modest about it.
That was another thing she liked about him, beside the fact that he never had difficulty distinguishing between her and her sister. She really did not believe he could be the blackmailer.

“About this afternoon—there was one thing . . .” Oh, why was this so hard to do?

“I know. You have every right to upbraid me. I owe you an apology for this afternoon. I was unspeakably rude.”

“Oh, no. I mean, that isn’t it at all . . .” She set her book down and stood up. Perhaps she would do a better job if she walked around the way Venetia would have.