Gail Eastwood (8 page)

“You have excellent form, Lord Cranford,” he said, a hint of puzzlement in his voice. “You are obviously not a novice. I was surprised that your aim seemed so frequently to be off.”

Gilbey liked the marquess. He hated lying to him, but what other choice did he have? “Yes, well, uh, I suppose if I practiced regularly, I might learn to fix that.” At least he could be truthful about Ashurst’s skill. “You shot splendidly—I expect you’ll win the prize for highest overall score.”

“Hm, yes, so I suppose. Archery is a fine sport for a hermit like me—one can compete against oneself, and no other players are required. I enjoy it.”

Gilbey usually enjoyed it, too. He might have enjoyed the competition if he could have put the entire St. Aldwyn family out of his mind and shot with honest skill.

The Duke of Brancaster came to them, smiling. “Lord Ashurst, you have easily won the prize for the highest score. You appear to be the only archer among us.”

“What is my prize?”

“You shall escort whichever of the Duke of Roxley’s daughters you choose for the rest of the day.”

Ashurst looked dumbfounded.

The duke turned to Gilbey, his smile wavering so slightly Gilbey was not certain if he imagined it.

“Quite astonishingly, Lord Cranford, it seems you, too, have won a prize.”

Gilbey’s heart sank. How was this possible? He had tried so hard.

“It has been determined that you scored the only perfect bull’s-eye of the day. It was your very first shot.”

Fate was playing with him, there was no question about it. “That was only pure luck,” he muttered, although he knew full well it wasn’t true.

Lord Ashurst clapped him on the shoulder. “And what is his prize?” he asked the duke.

“He is to escort whichever twin you do not choose. Congratulations, gentlemen.”

The two younger men stared at each other as the Duke of Brancaster walked away. Then Lord Ashurst chuckled. “This is a fine turn of events. I cannot think of two less likely candidates, can you?” After a thoughtful pause he asked, “Have you any preference as to which of the twins I should choose, Lord Cranford?”

Gilbey was quite certain that Ashurst had a preference of his own, and that it was not Venetia. “No, no, you should choose as you see fit. You earned your prize and should enjoy it. My congratulations. I think I must see what can be done about my own situation, however. I did not come here to court Edmonton’s sisters. Someone else most assuredly should have the advantage of my prize.”

So saying, he moved off in search of Nicholas, leaving a puzzled Lord Ashurst staring after him.

Nicholas was easy to find. He came up to Gilbey moments later in a state of agitation. “My father has done it again,” he said, glancing about.

There was no one within earshot. “What?” Gilbey asked.

“He never told my sisters that their charming company was to be the prize for the competition. Venetia is in a state.”

“I can understand that,” Gilbey said wryly. “I wanted to speak to you about that, actually . . .”

Nicholas hurried on. “I don’t really understand why she is so upset, except that she likes to be consulted. It seems to me that you and Lord Ashurst are perfectly acceptable escorts. As far as I am concerned, in fact, it works out quite well—what better way for you to keep an eye on them for me?

“Congratulations, by the way. What the devil was wrong with your aim? I couldn’t believe that you did not win for the highest score. Ashurst was good, but you should have beaten him easily. Instead you won the prize for best shot with the only good one you fired all morning. Is this the man who earned the school’s archery cup two years running?”

“Shhh, Nicholas! All I need is for someone to hear you.” Gilbey would have liked to have a bow in his hand right then. He would have used it to knock sense into his friend. “Did it ever occur to you that the other gentlemen might not appreciate having to compete with a champion? Or that they might even now resent losing the opportunity to be with your sisters that I have stolen away from them with this prize? I want you to fix this, Nicholas. You can say there was a mistake, and award the prize to someone else.”

“How can I do that? No one else had as good a shot, other than Ashurst, and he can’t claim both prizes.”

“Think up some other prize, then.”

“One might think my sisters were two-headed gorgons, you are so eager to stay out of their company, old man.”

***

Venetia sucked in her breath as if she had been hit in the stomach. She had not meant to eavesdrop on her brother and Lord Cranford—she had walked over to them in good faith, intent on discussing the problem of her father’s Machiavellian choice of prizes. They had failed to notice her and now she retreated hastily.

Vivian looked up expectantly as Venetia approached. “So, did you finally thank Lord Cranford for rescuing you yesterday?”

Venetia shook her head silently. Grabbing her sister by the hand, she pulled her along as she ducked through the evergreen arch and hurried up the path. She sought refuge in the garden they called the sundial court.

“Netia! Whatever is the matter? Gracious, you whisked me away in the middle of a conversation with Lady Marchthorpe.”

“That woman? She might as well be a match for Father, the way she’s plotting with Elizabeth to get their hooks into Nicholas. Right now I wouldn’t care if they succeeded.”

She led Vivian to a stone bench in the center of the garden and sat down. The delicious scent of the wallflowers growing against it failed to soothe her.

“You are upset with Father, I know,” Vivian said. “He should have told us beforehand, I agree, but—”

“Vivi, listen. I overheard Nicholas and Lord Cranford talking. Cranford is a champion archer. He did not want to win the prize—he purposely contrived his poor marksmanship on the archery range.”

“Why would he do that? No one knew ahead of time what the prizes were to be, did they?”

“The very idea of being in our company was so hateful to him, he went to Nicholas and asked him to reaward the prize to someone else!”

“Well, that is certainly not very flattering.”

Venetia felt the pressure of her churning emotions building up to tears, making her chest tight and creating a huge lump in her throat. She had never felt so confused in her life. She had no wish to be with Lord Cranford, yet his rejection hurt like the very devil. She was convinced his dishonesty about his archery skills was just what one might expect from a blackmailer. And why would he have any interest in being in their company? It meant only an extra risk of premature discovery for him. She and her sister were nothing more than a means to an end for him—he cared only for their money.

Sometimes her sister could be hopelessly blind. “Don’t you see how it is? He did not need to know the prize to wish to avoid winning. A blackmailer would want to keep attention away from himself. He would not care about any little prize he might win during the party—he is focused entirely on winning the grand prize at the end.”

“Netia, you are determined to cast the worst possible light on everything he does. Suppose he did not wish to attract attention simply because he is modest? Perhaps he felt it was not fair to the other gentlemen if his skill was so far above theirs. You know, not every man is as insensitive as Father. Someday you will have to trust one.”

“You make Lord Cranford seem such a paragon. Well, he is certainly not the man I will choose to trust. He is altogether too polite, too proper, and too utterly conventional to be true. You’ll see. This business about the archery only proves that he is not honest.”

“I think he is quite attractive,” countered Vivian. Her gentle smile softened the note of reproval in her voice.

“Fine. Let us only hope that Lord Ashurst chooses to spend the afternoon with me. That way you may enjoy the questionable pleasure of Lord Cranford’s company.”

Chapter Eight

The afternoon arrived all too soon.

“Are you certain you will be all right?” Venetia looked at her sister with concern as she positioned her hat on her carefully arranged hair and tied the lavender ribbons under her chin.

They were preparing for the afternoon’s outing, a visit to Sandler’s Hill, an ancient chambered long barrow a few miles from Rivington. Normally Venetia would have enjoyed such an excursion, but she was dreading the coming hours to be spent in Lord Cranford’s company. However, her concern for her sister overshadowed all else.

“If you were to choose an activity to pass, this would be a good one,” she continued. “You have not spent much time resting, Vivi, and remember the climb up the hill is not an easy one.”

“I had no trouble yesterday. Anyway, my afternoon has been promised to Lord Ashurst. How can I not go?”

“That was Father’s doing and can be undone. You could promise Lord Ashurst that he may escort you tomorrow instead.”

Vivian picked up a pair of lilac-colored gloves that exactly matched the shade of both her dress and Venetia’s. “No, it is too late to cry off. We are all ready now! And besides, I want to go.”

The expression on Vivian’s face was quite earnest, and Venetia knew she had best let the subject drop. She smiled. Looking at her sister was often like viewing her own reflection in a looking glass. She did not know how she would have managed to go on if her beloved twin had died in the accident that had claimed their mother’s life. At this moment they were more alike than ever, for they had decided to dress identically to spite their father and their aunt.

Aunt Alice was the one who had insisted they change clothes, “to show your advantage in having a vast collection to choose from.” Aunt Alice deplored the confusion that was inevitable when the twins dressed alike, so they had promptly selected a pair of matching lilac carriage dresses trimmed with white satin and ribbon in a deeper shade of lavender. Since their father had seen to it that the archery prize winners had to choose between the twins, it occurred to them that his plan could be thwarted neatly by this same bit of mischief.

“If I do not go, what will you do, Netia? You would have to face the gentlemen alone.” Vivian grinned and that reassured Venetia more than words.

“All right, then let us go down. You are certain?”

Vivian nodded, and her hat slipped a little.

“A hatpin will fix that. Here.” Venetia took a long ornamented pin from the vanity table and helped her sister adjust the hat. “Retie the ribbons and there you go. Perhaps this day will not be so bad.”

Lord Ashurst was waiting for them in the huge entry hall, looking splendid in a deep burgundy riding coat and fawn breeches. The polish on his boots reflected light like a looking glass. There was no sign of Lord Cranford. The marquess started toward them and then stopped.

Venetia and Vivian exchanged a wary glance, wondering what his reaction would be. Their joke was aimed at their aunt and their father, but how could Lord Ashurst know that?

Then he began to laugh. Walking toward them he said, “Ladies, my heartiest congratulations. What a brilliant solution to a most awkward conundrum, one that was none of our making. I did not know how I could make a choice between you without inflicting offense or disappointment in some direction, whether you welcomed my company or not, and I did not see how to refuse the prize without causing even more offense!”

“Why would you refuse the prize?” Venetia asked tersely, still stung by the conversation she had overheard earlier.

“Why, simply because it was so unfair to you to have no choice in the matter. I realize there are others with whom you might prefer to spend your afternoon.”

Venetia was surprised to hear such a courteous reply from him. “Why, not at all, my lord.”

“If it is agreeable to you, I shall simply have to choose you both, for I admit I cannot tell which of you is which when you are done up so identically. Ahem, exquisitely and delightfully, too.” He added the last almost as an afterthought, as if he were not used to making compliments. “I shall simply have to share your company with Lord Cranford.”

“Where is Lord Cranford?” Venetia asked, her tone a bit sharper than she intended.
Perhaps he will not go through with it,
she thought, but somewhere inside her that hope met an aggravating echo of disappointment.

“He is waiting outside for us. Shall we join him?” Lord Ashurst extended his elbows to accept a lady on either side.

The carriage drive in front of the house was full of vehicles as the expedition prepared to get underway. Lord Cranford stood by the Duke of Roxley’s gleaming landau, pushing gravel about with the toe of his boot.

Why, he looks like a little boy,
was the first thought that popped into Venetia’s head. His hat was pushed back and he appeared to be studying the effect of the dust on his boots. There was something about his absentminded action combined with the way his pale hair fell forward over his downturned face that held all the charm and innocence of a very young man.

A moment later when he raised his head and saw her approaching with the others she reacted quite differently, however. Oh, she was doomed. The intent look he leveled in her direction might not have been meant for her at all, but it made her pulse leap and turned her knees to jelly nonetheless. Heavens, he was tall! He looked extremely handsome in a superbly tailored blue coat and biscuit breeches. Despite his spectacles she could see that his eyes looked very dark as she came to a stop just a few feet from him. He was not smiling.

“As you may see, Lord Cranford, I was unable to choose which lady should be mine for the day,” Lord Ashurst said with a chuckle. “Would you be agreeable to sharing our escort duty?”

Venetia steeled herself to hear Cranford say no. How much easier to simply spend the day with Lord Ashurst! He seemed much more pleasant than she had expected. But Lord Cranford did not say no.

“Clever ladies,” he said. “And I suppose you have given poor Ashurst here no clue as to which of you is which.”

Venetia raised her chin. “No, we have not. Do you suppose you can help him?”

Cranford laughed then, a laugh with a note of triumph in it. “If I had not already been quite sure, I am now, Lady Venetia.”

Vivian would never have challenged him,
she realized, recognizing her mistake. Yet she was surprised that he was perceptive enough to know that.
Is there anything he does not know about us?

Lord Ashurst appeared to be duly impressed. “Confounded if I know how you did that, Cranford! All the same, in deference to the ladies, I would prefer not to have to choose between them. Shall we not simply go along together? We make a fine pair of escorts, the hermit and the scholar. Poor ladies, we will do our very best to entertain you.”

The twins could not help laughing at the marquess’s self-deprecating comments, and Venetia felt somewhat more charitable as she climbed into the carriage. Lord Cranford took the seat beside her, which she thought was preferable to having him seated across from her for the entire trip to Sandler’s Hill. At least she would not have to fight the feelings she might get from looking at him.

What she did not realize was that his close proximity beside her engendered other physical sensations that were perhaps more disconcerting. Only a few inches separated them, and her heightened awareness was palpable. Her blood raced, and when the motion of the carriage occasionally breached that safe space between them, her body burned at the contact. Was he also disturbed? She risked a glance at him, but his profile betrayed nothing, his gaze fixed apparently upon the compartment ceiling.

Struggling to ignore her reactions, she tried to keep the conversation flowing during the drive. She discovered that Lord Cranford was quite knowledgeable about both the chambered long barrows and the round barrows found in the Cotswold hills. He knew more about them than she or Vivian did, although she was not about to let on that either twin had read about or studied such a subject at all.

***

Most of the carriages were left with their attendants at the foot of Sandler’s Hill, and the small party prepared to begin the trek along the winding footpath that led to the summit of the hill. The climb through the woods was steep and required some attention. The Duke and Duchess of Brancaster, who had gamely come along to help Lady Colney chaperon, soon lagged behind. The ladies who had not left their parasols with the carriages quickly consigned these items to the gentlemen accompanying them as they made their way up.

There was, however, another way up the hill: a narrow cart track that gave access to the field at the top. Venetia instructed the coachman to take the twins’ carriage as far up this track as he thought he could get.

“I am concerned about Vivian,” she told the gentlemen, ignoring the black look her sister gave her. “She never will admit when she is tired.” She looked back apologetically as they left the rest of their group behind. “Oh dear, perhaps I should have told Their Graces the duke and duchess about this way up.”

The track snaked through the woods less steeply than the footpath. The horses strained and pulled and the carriage jolted its way almost to the top of the hill. The coachman halted at a gate that opened onto the open field and bid his passengers to alight. Beyond the field the tump, or mound, could be seen at the summit, crowned by a grove of young trees and surrounded by a ditch and a grass-covered bank. The view from the hilltop was magnificent, encompassing Cotswold hills and valleys in several directions.

Venetia pulled Vivian aside for a moment as the gentlemen opened the gate.

“You are not going to go into the barrow, are you, Vivi?”

“Do not worry. I shall be fine. When are you going to thank Lord Cranford for rescuing you? You had the perfect opportunity while we were in the carriage.”

“I know.” Venetia had not wished to bring up the subject while she and the viscount were so close to each other. She had battled enough distressing feelings without bringing to mind the ones she had felt in his arms the day before. She suspected the intimate subject might make him uncomfortable, too, in front of others. “I promise I will find a time.”

Vivian started toward the gate before she could say anything more. Venetia followed, more worried now than before.

The rest of their party was just coming up from the footpath as the twins arrived. In the open field the parasols reappeared, sprouting like flowers although a light cloud cover veiled the sun.

“A shame someone let those trees grow up there,” said young Lord Lindell, Lady Elizabeth’s brother. He nodded at the mound. “Over time those roots will work in and destroy something that’s been here for thousands of years.”

For a moment there was no sound or movement except the breeze as a hushed reverence fell over the little group. Then the duke and duchess came huffing up to the company, quite unaware of breaking the spell.

“Well then, are we going in?” asked the duke between gasps. His face was quite red, but he appeared to be recovering. “Have we lanterns?”

“Wistowe and I have them,” Nicholas answered, holding them up. “Just give us a moment to light them, and we’ll see who wishes to go in first. There’s really only room for two or three inside at a time.”

“How do we get in?” asked Lord Newcroft, who had already climbed up onto the banking and examined what appeared to be the entrance to the barrow. “This way is blocked up with a huge stone.”

“That is a false entrance,” Nicholas explained. “There is a smaller, less obvious one at the back.”

The group crowded around, stepping back when the lanterns flared to life. Venetia looked at her sister nervously, but Vivian appeared to be all right.

Two by two, the more adventurous members of the party went into the barrow with Nicholas and Lord Wistowe. As they came out again, they gathered in little knots to discuss what they had seen and to wait for the others. Venetia thought it was interesting to see who paired off with whom. Elizabeth went in with her own brother—probably because Nicholas was busy. The duke and duchess went together, of course. She was surprised to see Cousin Adela go in with Lord Chesdale, while Georgina Whitgreave went with Lord Newcroft. Aunt Alice never went in at all, and neither did Lady Caroline, who said she didn’t like enclosed spaces and preferred to admire the view.

Venetia tried again to dissuade Vivian from going into the barrow but she could not insist with so many people around them to hear. The only concession she won from her twin was an agreement to go in together instead of with Lords Ashurst and Cranford.

The barrow was interesting, Venetia had to acknowledge when the twins finally had their turn. The scent of smoke from the lanterns and the smell of damp stone and earth assailed them when they got inside. They had to step carefully to avoid some patches of mud and a puddle from the recent rains. Several tombs opened off a central passageway with walls made from large slabs of stone mixed with sections of neatly fashioned drystone work. But only two of the tombs were open, it was dark and a bit spooky, and Lord Wistowe kept positioning himself where she and Vivian had to brush up against him. The lanterns flickered and threw shifting patches of light and shadow on the walls. She felt relieved to crouch down and make her way back out into daylight—until she turned and looked at Vivian coming out behind her.

Vivian was shielding her eyes from the bright daylight and she had turned very pale. When Venetia saw her licking her lips, she recognized it as a warning sign that a seizure might be starting.
What do I do now?
she thought in momentary panic. The unsteady lantern light and the abrupt change from darkness to daylight were more than enough to trigger a seizure—it was just what she had feared. Vivian’s eyes met hers, and she knew by the misery she saw in them that her twin was feeling the onset of the other initial symptoms they had come to know in six years: dizziness, nausea, buzzing in her ears, and the beginning of trembling that would soon overtake her.

I have to get her away from these people.
Venetia thrust her head back into the barrow entrance and called to Nicholas in a low, urgent voice. She could not say anything that Lord Wistowe might hear. However, her brother appeared in an instant, almost as if he, too, had expected trouble. “Vivi’s starting a seizure,” she whispered. “You must keep Ashurst and Cranford in here to give me time to get her away. I don’t think the others will notice us.”