Lessons From a Scarlet Lady (14 page)
Colton’s brows went up a fraction. “My childhood?”
“I cannot imagine it is easy, growing up the oldest son of a duke.” She pictured her nieces running amuck in the garden the other day and gales of childish laughter. Her own childhood had been wonderful. “Were you allowed to play and ride a pony and learn to swim . . . all those typical things children love to do?”
“Actually, yes. To a point, I suppose.” Azure eyes regarded her with a look that could only be described as wary. “May I ask why we are having this discussion?”
“It’s hardly a discussion,” she pointed out. “You’ve contributed two words. And the reason I asked is because you allow so little time for enjoyment in your day now. I wondered if you were raised to believe life should be lived in such a manner.”
“I believe you’ve met my brother.” Colton’s tone was dry. “Obviously, we were not raised to disavow frivolity. Not to say Robert is a frivolous man, but he does not deny himself his pleasures.”
But neither was Robert an oldest son, Brianna mused, watching her husband from under the fringe of her lashes.
“I attend musicals, the opera, and other entertainments. I have my morning ride unless the weather is foul. I visit my club.” Colton extolled the list slowly. His voice deepened. “I especially enjoy my nights since I’ve married.”
Whatever reply she might have made to that suggestive observation was arrested by the swing of the carriage into the long drive. The façade of Rolthven Manor was not precisely medieval, but it somehow managed to convey a sense of that time despite elegant lines and clean, gray stone. Maybe it was the turrets on either side of the grand front, imposing and tall, flanking the structure with the grandiose symbolism of an era when the Northfields had been feudal lords. Colton had explained to her on her first visit that only parts of the original castle remained since the main hall had been torn down and rebuilt several hundred years ago. A grand set of wide steps led to a magnificent terrace and the entrance itself was massive, the double doors sporting stained-glass panels and dark wood. The family coat of arms was carved in the portal so no one could possibly think this country seat of the ducal holdings was anything but theirs, through and through.
On a gloomy day, Brianna found the place a bit daunting from the outside despite the trim grounds and well-tended flower beds. However, on a gloriously sunny day, it managed to look warm and inviting, and she hoped her guests felt the same way.
If she was going to do this for Colton, she wanted to do it well.
The equipage rolled up the drive and the butterflies in her stomach fluttered.
His lack of enthusiasm for the event was obvious enough, she thought with only a measure of resignation. Her resolve to make this enjoyable for a man who had no intention of enjoying it was strengthened by the list of her current successes. To bolster her courage, she mentally counted them. Three so far. She’d actually jotted them down and tucked the piece of vellum into Lady Rothburg’s forbidden book.
One wild, erotic carriage ride.
One evening when he . . . well, she felt flushed whenever she thought of it, but when he actually had kissed her in a place she never dreamed any man would kiss and it had felt wickedly wonderful.
One memorable bath and the interlude it had inspired.
On the piece of paper it said: THE OPERA. HIS BEDROOM. MY BATH
.
.
She hardly wanted to take the chance of anyone ever finding the note and interpreting her meaning to both her and Colton’s mutual embarrassment. Of one thing she was certain; he would not be happy about it in the least. On the other hand, she needed to chart her progress because at times like this—when he’d ridden with her in a closed carriage for hours and hours and been so preoccupied he barely spoke until these last miles when she’d prodded him into it—she needed to keep a clear idea of her objectives or she was bound to get discouraged.
He enjoyed his nights. Passion was well and good, but not
just
passion. Friendship, too. And then love.
just
passion. Friendship, too. And then love.
The carriage came to a rocking halt.
She hoped she’d have more triumphs to add to the list after this house party.
“We’re here,” she said brightly.
“I hope so,” her husband replied, a small smile curving his mouth, “otherwise we have stopped moving for no reason.”
He well deserved the withering look she sent him, but he was oblivious to it. Colton got out and offered his hand to assist her from the vehicle.
A line of servants had arranged themselves on the steps, Brianna noticed, but he acknowledged their presence only with a brief nod of his head and a wave as he escorted her up to the front door. The flag flying above the house indicated he was in residence, which she knew didn’t happen often.
Why would he visit this beautiful house in the country and relax when he could bury himself in his dreary study in London, she thought wryly. Not that he didn’t come to Rolthven Manor now and again, but the trips had been fleeting so far, and Brianna had a feeling it was always that way. Certainly his grandmother lamented his absence whenever she had the chance.
“I hope the weather stays fine for our guests,” she commented as the butler swept open the door with a flourish.
Colton made a noncommittal sound and turned to the elderly servant, “How are you, Lynley?”
“Very good, Your Grace.” The man gave a courtly bow, his silver hair gleaming in the late afternoon sun. “It is nice to see you again so soon.”
“Yes, well, you may attribute this repeat trip to my wife.” Colton’s glance didn’t even touch on her. “Tell me, has anyone else arrived?”
“Lords Robert and Damien are here, sir. Perhaps an hour ago.” Lynley was impeccably mannered and dressed in elegant clothes that rivaled an aristocrat’s. He stepped back to admit them into the enormous main hall.
The impact of the space was powerful even on someone who had been there several times before. There were no fewer than six fireplaces, countless ancient and probably priceless tapestries hanging on the vast walls, and mullioned windows, which let in muted light to give the massive room—if one could call such a large space one room—pleasant illumination. The odd thing was it was actually cozy, though Brianna had no idea how that was possible. It could have been the small, intimate groupings of elegant furniture here and there, designed to encourage conversations between guests, or maybe it was the rich rugs on the polished floor—she wasn’t sure. All she knew was she liked Rolthven Manor and wished Colton would deign to spend more time there.
“Shall we go up and change?” her husband asked, clasping her elbow and urging her toward the dual staircases at the end of the hall. If he even noticed their grand surroundings, she couldn’t tell. “I, for one, could use a wash and a brandy.”
Hot water and a change of clothes did sound appealing, and Brianna nodded and let him lead her up the sweep of the left stairs, toward their suite. It was as magnificent as the rest of the house—maybe a little too much so. She wasn’t all that fond of the dark, heavy furniture and abundance of frothy lace in her bedroom. Also, Colton’s mother—now remarried to an Italian count and living in the countryside near Florence—obviously loved the color lavender. Brianna wasn’t nearly as enamored of it, and though Colton had told her with a careless wave of his hand months ago she could redecorate it as she wished, they never stayed long enough for her to start the project. Maybe if he enjoyed this little trip, she could convince him to leave London more often.
She was quite determined he
was
going to enjoy it.
was
going to enjoy it.
Her maid and Colton’s valet had traveled ahead with their luggage, and Brianna found her trunk already unpacked and her brushes and other necessities sitting on the ornate dressing table. The long windows were open to the warm afternoon and lacy draperies floated on the breeze coming in from the verdant park.
“Your hot water should be here shortly, Your Grace.” Her maid, a soft-spoken young Cornish girl, moved to help her undress. “What gown would you prefer for this evening?”
“Nothing lavender,” she muttered, looking around. “Maybe the ice blue silk. Tonight is to be just a quiet family meal. The guests won’t arrive until tomorrow.”
“Very well, Your Grace.”
After she washed the travel stains away and dressed, Brianna brushed her hair and, with Molly’s help, coiled it in a loose chignon. Sitting in front of the elaborate gilt mirror, she wondered just when she should present her husband with the wicked birthday gift she had planned.
The timing needed to be just right.
She intended for him to remember it for the rest of his life.
The frail-looking woman with the rug over her lap and quizzing glass to her eye was, as always, wearing a well-executed disguise. “Nice of you to finally find time for your family,” she said gruffly.
There was nothing weak about his grandmother’s spirit, no matter her age, Colton thought fondly. He did his best to not sound defensive. “I believe I am dutifully here, aren’t I?”
The Dowager Duchess snorted derisively. “Only because that pretty young wife of yours forced you into it.”
Brianna merely smiled. “Colton is very busy. I am so pleased he agreed to come.”
Damien leaned back, one brow raised in his enigmatic way. Robert looked amused. There they were, Colton pondered as he sought something diplomatic to say, three large males, yet he felt outnumbered by one old woman and one young, very distracting beauty. He cleared his throat. “I am looking forward to this.”
His grandmother narrowed her shrewd blue eyes and lowered the glass. “I am not sure I quite believe that, but I won’t argue. You are here, Damien is finally home for at least a short time, and Robbie has forgone the pleasures of London to rusticate in the country. That hasn’t happened since . . .”
She trailed off and Colton saw her suddenly rearrange her cane next to her chair as if it was the most important thing in the world it be at just the right angle, her eyes suspiciously bright. Since his father—her son—had died suddenly of an unexpected fever, he finished for her silently. Colton had been twenty, Damien just barely at Cambridge, and Robbie still at Eton. For the funeral, they’d assembled as a family, and he was damned if she wasn’t right. They’d determinedly gone their separate ways ever since, the three of them pursuing their particular passions. He had an inherited dukedom to learn to manage, Damien had always longed for travel and intrigue, and Robbie was the careless charmer.
Good God, that seemed like a lifetime ago, when they’d all stood by their father’s grave and felt their world slip into another dimension. At least that was how he’d experienced the grief, and he’d sensed a change in Damien and Robert also. Reality had bashed them most unpleasantly over the head and they were forced to deal with the devastation in their own ways.
What was your childhood like?
Did Brianna even realize what that simple question stirred up in terms of memories?
Did Brianna even realize what that simple question stirred up in terms of memories?
After his father’s death, he’d been overwhelmed for a while, but determined to make sure he ran his estates and other financial interests with the same precision and expertise as all the Rolthven dukes before him. He was so absorbed he didn’t even really pay attention when his mother reentered society after her mourning, and consequently was stunned when she announced her intention to remarry. Damien, too, was absent most of the time, and with his grandmother residing permanently in the countryside and his own obligations making London much more convenient, Colton didn’t really realize how much he missed Rolthven and seeing his family. Robert was the only close relative he saw on a regular basis, and that was usually because they crossed paths in the normal course of society’s entertainments and shared the same clubs.
Though he rarely displayed affection in front of other people, his grandmother was one of the few who could inspire him to do it. Colton reached over and touched her blue-veined hand. “It is time we were all together, Grandmama. You are correct when it comes to that point.”
She gave him a fierce stare. “I am always correct, young man.”
Relieved to see her tears had evaporated, he inclined his head. “Yes, madam, you are correct.”
“Always.”
He definitely saw her lips twitch. One of his brothers—he had a suspicion it was Robert—laughed. “Always.”
“Now that that is settled, I shall allow you to escort me in to dinner.”
He did so, offering his arm for support, feeling her slight weight lean on him as she rose and walked very slowly at his side, her fingers tight on his sleeve. Behind them, Colton heard Robert say something and Brianna answer with a musical laugh. Now that he considered the matter, he was ashamed of his initial reaction to his wife’s idea. He wondered for the first time whether he kept himself constantly busy so he didn’t have time to miss his family. Why hadn’t he considered the situation before today?
The dining room could never be called cozy by any standards. The high ceilings boasted decorative frescoes by an Italian master who had been paid a fortune to adorn the house several centuries before, there was dark paneling on the walls below, polished to a rich sheen, and the vast table could seat close to thirty people at one time. Two separate doors on each side of the room allowed for the flow of servants with trays. Several massive chandeliers offered illumination, and fireplaces flanked each side of the room. Five places had been set at one end, comfortably close so they could all converse without shouting. Colton first seated his grandmother and, with a singular possessiveness he hadn’t even realized he felt, turned to pull out a chair for his wife, waving off his younger brother.
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