My Lord Wicked (Historical Regency Romance) (15 page)

He offered her his arm. "You do have my sympathy, Miss Lambeth. I found French extremely challenging and never gained any proficiency."

"With Mrs. Taylor as my model," Freddie said with a little laugh, "I fear I will never speak with even a remotely correct accent."

Freddie had determined they would walk the perimeter of the park just one time, then she would beg to return to the abbey.

"I did not at all like to see Mr. Rountree here today," Edgekirth said straight away.

"The man is not objectionable, otherwise my guardian would not have allowed the visit."

"He is objectionable only to me, as is any man who pays you court," Edgekirth said.

Her pulse beat rapidly. Was Edgekirth going to declare himself? She took great interest in watching her slippers slap at the pebbled path. "I hardly think one friendly visit could be called
paying court
."

"I should not like any man to pay you court, you know." He placed a hand over hers.

She quickened her step, hoping to get back to the abbey before he addressed her romantically. "If only my guardian shared your feelings," Freddie said lightly. "I fear he would consider himself blessed were men to fall at my feet, begging my hand. And, I assure you, it is the last thing I should want."

"You do not want to wed?"

"Oh goodness no! I am but eighteen. I am ill prepared to select a life's mate."

"I must say that news distresses me, Miss Lambeth, for I have known for some time that you are precisely the one I would select for a life's mate, but I am prepared to wait until you are ready, my dear."

They were almost back to the abbey. She stopped and peered into his earnest gaze. "I beg you say no more. I don't know if I'll ever be ready."

He raised a brow, a look of concern sweeping across his face. "Is there someone else?"

Was there, she wondered. She compared every man to her guardian. And they all came up wanting. No man could ever measure up to him.

Suddenly, like a meteor streaking through the inky heavens, she realized she was, indeed, in love with her guardian. She loved him as deeply as the need to draw breath. And she had not even a flicker of hope she could ever attach his feelings.

She could not answer Edgekirth.

"Is it Stacks?"

"I assure you, Lord Stacks thinks of me as he would a daughter. He has told me so. He would be angered by your accusation."

"But I didn't ask about his feelings," he said sternly. "I asked about yours."

Freddie could not lie. She had never lied in her life. "I think my guardian is the most wonderful man who ever lived."

Edgekirth's face clouded, a flash of anger in his eyes. "Stacks is a cruel man, and I fear for your very safety while you live under his roof."

Her eyes rounded. "My safety? Pray tell, why?"

"Because of the horrible things that happened to his wife."

Her heart hammered. "What horrible things?"

"When she walked along the lake with her husband, she
fell
down the embankment, bruising herself horribly, before nearly drowning."

"But I am sure Lord Stacks would have pulled her from the water, even at risk of his own safety!" Freddie defended, her chin high, her voice shaking with anger.

"He did," Edgekirth said grimly. "Then another time as Stacks drove his wife in his curricle, she
fell out
and broke several bones."

"Accidents do occur, doctor," Freddie said harshly.

"The poor woman was so horribly abused I cannot but believe her husband was responsible for her death."

By now they had circled the park and had come back to the abbey. Freddie wanted to know how the beautiful Elizabeth had died. Yet she didn't. Placing her hand on the door, she turned to Edgekirth. "Were you in love with Elizabeth?"

He swallowed. "Yes."

She swept open the door that had been cut into the bricks on the rear of the abbey and strode purposely toward the great room, her whole body trembling from Edgekirth's accusations.

***

The girl didn't look anything like Elizabeth, Stacks thought, sitting at his desk, cursing himself for having had sexual feelings for sweet, innocent Freddie. Why had the girl reminded him of Elizabeth? It was the way her touch made him feel. Like when he was young and panting after Elizabeth. Before Elizabeth was his wife and became demanding in bed.

Freddie opened the door to his library. "Would it inconvenience you, my lord, to give me a lesson on the pianoforte now?"

God but she looked innocent standing there with her windswept sable hair gently curling about her youthful face. How young she seemed with faint freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose! Far too innocent for the likes of him.

He rose and walked toward her. "It is a pleasure to witness your progress, Miss Lambeth. You are an apt student. Then, too, I know you spend much time practicing." Watching her progress at her playing had brought him great satisfaction. He felt like a sculptor encouraging his creation to take shape. Knowing he had some small part in her glorious metamorphosis pleased him enormously.

"You said that was the only way to improve."

He studied her with curious intensity. "Do you do everything I say?"

"I try to, my lord."

"Please, my dear, don't! I should not like it at all were you to think I am infallible. I have a great many faults."

They reached the great room.

"Then I look forward to learning them," she said laughingly. "For your vast abilities make me feel most inferior."

They sat on the bench in front of the pianoforte. "Remember what I told you about never feeling inferior to anyone?"

"Yes, my lord," she whispered, her lids lowered.

He demonstrated a portion of a piece, showed her the written music, then asked her to play a few bars. She played very slowly. The tempo was off, but she did not hit a single incorrect note.

When she finished, she burst out laughing.

"And what are you laughing at?" he asked with affection.

"I was remembering the dowdy little woman back in Chelseymeade who gave pianoforte lessons. Of course, not owning an instrument, I was never fortunate enough to patronize her. But I was just thinking how unlikely it is that a baron is giving lessons at the pianoforte."

He laughed, too. "I'm likely the only peer of the realm ever to instruct young ladies on the instrument."

She set a hand on his sleeve. "You are so very giving, my lord. I cannot tell you how indebted I am to you for your many kindnesses to me."

God's teeth, but the girl's touch had the same effect on him again! He fought a strong urge to take her in his arms. He must have been too long without a woman. "You repay me most generously with your adeptness--as well as with your excellent drawings for our book."

"
Your
book," she insisted, "on which I am only too honored to be an insignificant worker."

He was drawn by her sweet, gentle voice and humble ways. But he must think of her as one thinks of a daughter. "Back to the music."

She removed her hand from his sleeve, and he congratulated himself on his resolve not to sully her.

***

When her lesson was finished Freddie remained in the great hall, furiously practicing at the pianoforte, driven by a raging need to cleanse her mind of Dr. Edgekirth's outrageous charges against her guardian. Staying occupied with challenging work was the only way she knew to push away troubling thoughts.

She commended herself on how well she had hidden her distressed state from Lord Stacks. She had even been able to laugh and to make him laugh.

After she finished at the musical instrument, she went to her room and sat at her desk to sketch more flowers. She had long since dismissed trying to sketch on her bed for Marmalade simply could not resist plopping himself squarely in the middle of her pad. Now she set down her pencil and gazed at her cat, curled in a sleeping ball on her bed. She smiled, remembering how well he liked to nestle under the covers with her each night, even resting his head on her pillow.

But her smile vanished when she thought of Lord Stacks. Despite all her efforts to keep so busy she could not possibly think of him, Freddie realized she could no easier forget him than she could cease to draw breath.

Her talk with the doctor had left her shaken. Not only had she realized that she loved Lord Stacks, but she also knew with the clarity of spring water how hopeless a situation hers was. First, Lord Stacks would never consider her as anything but a girl--never a suitable candidate to replace the beautiful Lady Stacks.

Then, too, the man himself had insisted he would never marry again.

This she could accept. All she asked was that she be allowed to stay with him. She needed him as his plants needed soil and water.

But underlying all of today's troubling revelations were the accusations Dr. Edgekirth made against her guardian. Should she believe him or dismiss his charges as the rantings of a jealous man? She knew the doctor to be an honest man. She did not believe Dr. Edgekirth would make up so grave an accusation.

She knew, too, there was plausibility to his accusations. They would explain Mrs. Greenwood's behavior, why she had been so hostile when Freddie first came. And, now that Freddie had Mrs. Taylor to protect her against Lord Stacks, Mrs. Greenwood treated Freddie with civility.

There was, too, Maggie's chance comment about the wicked things said about Lord Stacks. And--most incriminating of all--there were Lord Stacks' own words. Hadn't he told her himself he was not worthy of her adulation? Hadn't he admitted that God himself had turned his back on him?

What was not plausible to contemplate was that in his wildest, bleakest mood, Lord Stacks could ever harm anyone. The very idea rankled every instinct in her being.

Though she knew the doctor's words to most likely be true, Freddie knew, too, there had to be another explanation for Elizabeth's injuries--mere chance perhaps?

Never would Freddie believe her guardian capable of inflicting injury on anyone.

If she asked him for an explanation, Lord Stacks likely would give it. But Freddie wondered if she had the right to demand it.

Perhaps she would.

Chapter  13

As she was standing back to gaze at her work-in-progress — a watercolor of Marmalade playing with a ball of yarn — Eason strode into the chamber. "A package has arrived for you, miss."

Her eyes widened. She had never received a package. Never. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, miss, his lordship said to bring it to you."

"It's from Lord Stacks?"

"From his solicitor, I believe."

Why would Lord Stacks's solicitor be sending her a package? She eyed the box Eason was setting on the table. It was the size of a small desk drawer. Perhaps it had something to do with her father's papers, though she'd thought she had all of them.

After setting down her brush and cleaning her hands, she opened the box. Not papers. Something much more exquisite, a shawl perhaps. No nubby wool, either. Her fingers sank into the incredibly soft, asparagus colored knit. A Kashmir shawl. She had never owned anything so beautiful. Or so costly.

A diamond necklace could not have been more appreciated. Though she had long needed a shawl, she had never thought to have one this fine. Powerful emotions nearly swamped her. More than its beauty, more than the excitement of receiving a gift, she was deeply moved by her guardian's thoughtfulness.

She hurried to drape it over her shoulders, unable to resist stroking its softness. Not normally one to peer at herself in a looking glass, she rushed to the gilt mirror and stared. The color of her eyes perfectly matched the shawl. She had always thought her eyes ugly, but not now.

Her guardian must be thanked.

She bent to scoop up Marmalade, but stopped. His claws might get caught in the fine knit and ruin it. "You're to stay here, Mister Fluff Muffin."

Leaving the cat behind, she rushed to the quadrangle. Lord Stacks, looking devilishly handsome, his muscled arms flexed over his head, stood pruning a rhododendron which had spent the last of its scarlet blooms.

When he heard her approaching, he turned. The sunlight stamped into his tanned face. For the briefest of seconds, his eyes glittered and his mouth curved into a satisfied smile as his lazy gaze fell on her, then his face went somber. "I see you got the shawl."

"Oh, yes, my lord!" She twirled around, lifting the shawl as if it were bat's wings. "It's quite the loveliest thing I've ever possessed. I don't know how I can ever thank you."

"I don't wish to be thanked. As your guardian, it's my duty to see to your needs, and you needed a shawl."

"But not one so fine."

His gaze lit on the shawl. "It's you, Miss Lambeth, who make it look fine. It becomes you."

She shook her head. "A beggar would look like a queen in this."

Despite his stiffness, his mouth eased into a smile. "I had hoped it would match your eyes."

It seemed unfathomable to Freddie that he had ever noticed her eyes. And even more surprising, he must like them, or else he would not have wished to accentuate them! She wanted to reiterate her thanks, but she knew it would make him uncomfortable. "It was very thoughtful of you, my lord."

He returned to his pruning. With his back to her, he said, "I'm glad you like it."

She was clearly being dismissed.

***

The abbey seemed unusually noisy the following morning, Freddie mused as she made her way from the cloister toward the great room amidst the steady hum of busy servants and the sounds of furniture scraping against the stone floors of the great hall. On entering the great hall, she stopped and gazed at the small army of servants scurrying back and forth. Sunlight bathed the normally dark room from windows now bare of their heavy velvet draperies.

One crew of footmen, having shed their lime liveried tail coats, removed the dusty Turkey carpets just after another crew had removed the furniture, stacking it against the north wall. Housemaids in caps teetered on tall ladders to clean chandeliers while others were in the process of polishing the vast stone floors.