My Lady Mischief (13 page)

"Thank you, sir, for the unasked for and, may I add, unneeded advice."

"Very well," he replied, smarting slightly from her setdown. At least she was warned.

He escorted her back to the blanket, then turned to address McCormack and Sir Dudley. "I have an urge to explore the bank of the Thames, gentlemen. Would you care to join me?"

As the men departed, Emma pushed aside Thea's sketching pad and sat beside her. "Oh, men! Look at them, off to explore just like children." Emma leaned back and closed her eyes.

Thea laughed, gathered up her pad and pencil and sketched the pond while Emma napped. Time passed quickly. Her drawing was almost complete, and she was reworking a very tricky shadow on the water, only to be startled by the sound of a disagreement.

"Stop that," said an annoyed masculine voice.

"What?" A woman's voice playfully asked, "This?"

Thea turned to Emma as she sat upright. Their gazes locked as they listened in silence.

"Oh, no, you don't!"

"Whatever can you mean, Hart? Surely you want to kiss me as much as I do you," the female cooed.

"Thank you, but I must decline your too generous offer."

Next they heard a scrambling noise. Thea stood upright, ready to march into battle, but Emma held her back. "Perhaps you should stay out of this."

"Very well, Hart." The feminine voice was now cold as ice. "If I have to do this the hard way, I will. No one will believe your word against mine."

Upon hearing this, Emma released her hold on Thea and scrambled to her feet.

Thea was already off in a frenzied rush. On the opposite side of the copse she spotted Hart and dashed to his side. She arrived just in time to see Miss Cresswell tear her own bodice, revealing an expanse of flesh.

"Setting a new trend, Miss Cresswell?" Thea asked nonchalantly as she took his arm.

Miss Cresswell coldly eyed Thea. "Perhaps you might do better to follow my lead, Lady Althea."

Just then, Emma rounded the shrubbery and joined them, taking Hart's other arm.

"Come, my lord, you promised us a stroll," Thea stated, pulling at his sleeve.

Hart couldn't believe it. Thea was rescuing him. It was at that moment when he understood her point regarding Smythe. It was annoying and rather embarrassing to be rescued when he could have extricated himself from the situation.

He observed Miss Cresswell's face turn a very unbecoming red as she spun to address Thea. "Do you think Lord Hartingfield could seriously be interested in a milk and water miss like you?"

"Is that what you believe, Miss Cresswell?" Hart asked imperially as he disengaged himself from her clutches. "I fear you have been misinformed about the subject. Lady Althea outshines you in every way. I'll summon a servant to help you repair your gown." He nodded his dismissal at the woman, then led Emma and Thea through the trees.

"Thank you," he said bringing each lady's hand to his mouth for a gentle brush against his lips, "for your timely intervention." He laughed. "You see, Thea, not every woman feels that a wedding is uncalled for after she has been compromised, even if it's she who has done the compromising!"

Thea quickly glanced around to make certain he hadn't been overheard. How could he bring this up after she had gone to the bother of saving him from that cold-hearted harridan? Thankfully, no one besides Emma had heard his comments. "Is it your turn to try to entrap me, my lord? It will not work, for Emma is privy to all my secrets."

"To all?"

Thea could only blush. Well perhaps, not
all.

Chapter Ten

The following day, it was late afternoon before Lady Prunella, Emma, and Thea returned home after a productive day of shopping. As Thea walked into the drawing room, she saw a man standing just inside the door.

"Papa!"

Thea flung herself into her father's arms. What a wonderful surprise! "Oh, I am so glad you are here, Papa. When did you arrive? Why didn't you let me know you were coming?"

"Calm down, Thea. Let a father have a look at his daughter." Clutching one of her hands, he stepped back to admire her. "Fine feathers, m'dear." He stepped forward to fold her in his arms.

"I have missed you, Papa. And, you're here. In London. How was your trip?" She wanted all the details about his leaving Steyne. Had it been horribly difficult after so many years? Had he been frightened?

"The roads were much better than I'd been led to believe. And the cattle available at the post house much finer than I expected." He grinned at her. "It's good to be back in town. You were right, m'dear, once I had settled upon the journey my fears evaporated. You see before you a new man."

"Papa, I'm so glad. Welcome to London." A gentle nudge from her aunt forced her awareness that they blocked the doorway. "Aunt, Emma, look who's here!"

Aunt Prunella handed her gloves to a footman as she entered the drawing room. "We heard, dear. Welcome to London, Bremington. What brings you to town so precipitously? No problems, I hope." She signaled that they take a seat.

"You look quite hale, Lord Steyne," commented Emma with a smile which encompassed both Thea and her father.

"Yes, perhaps it's this clean London air?" joked the earl. Then he turned to his daughter. "Thea, dear, I'm sorry but I have bad news. It seems I have misplaced Egbert."

Thea's face lost all expression as Lady Prunella asked, "Uncle Egbert? Didn't he pass away a few years back?"

"No. It's her pet pig. Though why she named him after Egbert is beyond me."

"Her pet pig!" Aunt Prunella's eyebrows disappeared in her hairline.

"Do not be upset, Papa." Thea finally spoke up. "I recovered him, you see."

"You recovered him, Althea?" he asked suspiciously. "How did you know he had gone missing?" Her papa's voice was quiet but she knew he spoke in earnest.

"It is a long, involved story." Could she evade his question? The answer would likely provoke him. "Surely you are too weary from your journey to want to hear it now?"

"No."

"But first, I must ask how Mimsie and Meg are faring, Papa." Perhaps she could distract him from the subject of Uncle Egbert.

"Meg is recovering nicely, Thea. Now, do go on, m'dear." Papa was up on every suit.

Thea capitulated with a sigh. "Very well." It took a moment to organize her thoughts in putting the tale in the most favorable light. "Lord Hartingfield and I recovered him at a country fair where he was being offered for sale by your pigkeeper and Squire Fossbinder."

Lord Steyne bounced off the sofa, outrage evident in his expression. "What? That bast—er...dastard. He stole one of my pigs!"

"Bremington, you require some rest after your journey." Lady Prunella spoke soothingly, for he looked likely to expire of apoplexy at any moment. "I am sure Thea will be more than happy to relate the balance of her tale later this evening."

Steyne took a moment to calm himself before replying, "Very well, Prunella. I do need some rest. But," he directed a stern look at Thea, "I will hear the rest of this story later."

*

Over the next days, Lord Steyne proved to have gained a new zest for life. He had come out of his nine-year, self-protective shell with fervor. Thea watched his transformation with wonder touched with happiness, although she felt a deep sense of loss. It now appeared he no longer needed her to look after him. She chastised herself for being so selfish. His new outlook forced her to take a deeper look at what she wanted for herself.

She wanted love. A love like her mother and father had shared, a love extending beyond this life into the hereafter. She wished to love deeply and be cherished in return. She wanted a husband and family to look after and in turn, to look after her.

And so, with mixed feelings, she watched her father make a new life for himself. In the mornings, he would devour a hearty repast and seek out old friends, visit his clubs, or participate in whatever diversions town had to offer. Additionally, he diligently began refurbishing his own Grosvenor Square mansion. Much shopping and consultation was necessary in order to render it habitable.

At Aunt Prunella's insistence, Steyne remained in residence in her home until the renovations could be completed.

In the late afternoons, he frequently returned to escort them, at the most fashionable hour, on a drive through the park. This day was no exception.

Thea, Emma, and Lady Prunella were in fine fettle that afternoon as they returned from their ride with flushed faces and cheery dispositions.

The late post had arrived, bringing Emma a letter from Charles Fossbinder.

Thea said, "Come along, Emma. We need to change and then you can read it."

Reaching their suite of rooms, they found Jones waiting for them. She'd already laid out their gowns for the evening and stepped forward to help them remove their garments.

Emma was the first to be suitably dressed and she took a seat in the sitting room while Thea finished dressing. Idly, she opened the letter from her betrothed.

When Thea entered the room a few moments later, she found Emma slumped forward on the settee, in a near swoon. "Jones, fetch smelling salts at once," she called out as she ran to her friend's side.

"Emma!" She patted the young woman's hand with her own. "Whatever is wrong?"

Emma's face was completely devoid of color. She handed the letter to Thea.

Thea searched Emma's face before she looked down to scan the letter. Her surprised gaze shot back to her friend's face. "A baroness, Em? You will be a baroness!" For, through a cousin on his mother's side, Charles had come into an unexpected barony. He was now Lord Gibbons.

Why was Emma distraught? Jones returned with the vial of salts. Thea took the vial and waved it beneath Emma's nostrils. The color slowly returned to the young woman's face.

'Thank heavens, Emma. You are feeling better now?" Thea dismissed Jones and helped her friend to sit upright. She could not understand her. "Don't you wish to be a baroness?"

"It isn't that I don't wish to be a baroness, although it does enter into it, Thea," Emma whispered. "I am so confused." A tear slid down her creamy face like a dewdrop captured by a rose petal. She stared into Thea's eyes. "You did not finish Charles' letter. He asks that I reconsider our betrothal."

Shocked, Thea read the rest of the letter.

"You know he would much prefer to marry you. But he simply wasn't eligible. Now he is. Don't you see, Thea? I should release him."

Thea scowled as she finished reading it. She studied it once more, as if expecting its contents to have changed from what she had read seconds before.

Her friend had been created for happiness, for peace, for serenity. How could the scoundrel hurt her this way? She had thought him the kindest of gentlemen, but his actions were neither kind nor gentlemanly. Had she been completely wrong about the man?

"But, Thea! My parents! I know they will disown me if I do release him. Particularly now, with a title within their grasp." Emma buried her head within her hands and began to sob.

"I have quite given up on the idea of marrying Charles. So don't be absurd, Emma." In fact, no thoughts of Charles had entered her head for quite some time and she no longer carried about that heavy feeling in her chest.

"In fact, I am unsure now if I ever truly wanted to." Automatically, she handed Emma her handkerchief. "The inexcusable gall of the man! I always considered him quite godlike in character, yet I now find him sorely lacking." Thea tapped the letter against her jaw. "So you see, Emma, you must not break off the engagement on my account, for I do not love him."

"You may be able to fool other people, Thea, but do not try to fool me. I know you love him."

Thea shook her head.

"You truly do not?"

"Truly."

"I've been wondering if I—" A discreet tap sounded at the door, interrupting Emma.

It was that staid and stately butler, Phelps. "Excuse me, Lady Althea. Lord Steyne requests your immediate presence in the drawing room."

Thea whispered to Emma, "Do you want me to stay?"

"No, Thea. You go on. I feel the need for some time alone, to think matters over."

Thea asked, "Are you sure?"

"Yes." Emma nudged Thea's arm. "Go on, Thea. Don't keep your father waiting."

Thea rose and smoothed her skirts in one supple gesture. "Very well. I'll check on you later."

Her thoughts were in a whirl as she descended the staircase behind Phelps. She was no longer in love with Charles. Had she ever been?

Had she merely been in love with an image of perfect manhood, gleaned from her favorite novels? Charles possessed few of those attributes she and Emma had ascribed to him. No, she was not in love with Charles, had never been in love with him. Papa was right. Dreams of marriage to him had been simply that, childish daydreams.

Entering the drawing room, she saw that her papa was not alone. He stood in casual discussion with that venerable gentleman, Lord Phillingim, who stood upon seeing her. Unconsciously, she crinkled her nose at the overwhelming perfume reeking from his person.

Giving an abbreviated curtsey, she said, "Papa. Lord Phillingim, how do you do?"

He, too, sketched a bow then addressed her father. "Sir, if I might proceed?"

Her father shot Phillingim a dubious look before smiling warmly at her. "Excuse me, dear." He walked to the door. "Lord Philligim wishes speech with you." He nodded to a footman, who discreetly closed the door behind them.

Whatever could he want? They had little in common. She sat on a Sheraton arm chair. "Pray be seated, my lord."

Instead, Lord Philligim's corsets protested as he flung himself at her feet. With enormous fat fingers, he grasped her hand and pulled it to his lips.

Red-rimmed pale blue eyes looked up to watch her expression. "Dare I hope that you are aware of my sentiments, Lady Althea?"

Thea pulled at her hand, saying, "Pray, my lord, get up."

"You are an innocent, my dear. I have sent you many gifts indicative of my regard, specifically the book of poems. Might I hope that you perceive how strongly I feel about you?"