The Convenient Arrangement (23 page)

And Lorenzo would have the serenity that he craved. It was the best solution for all of them.

But, if that were so, why did she fight back tears when Tilden called at Moorsea Manor the next day and got down on one knee to ask her to be his wife?

“Yes,” she whispered as he gazed up at her, as handsome as a Greek statue and leaving her heart as lifeless as marble, “I will marry you, Tilden.”

Fourteen

“Tell me it isn't true!”

Valeria put down the letter she had been writing to her best friend Emily and looked at David who was wearing what seemed to be a habitual scowl. “If you mean that I'm marrying Tilden, then I cannot tell you it is not true, because it is.”

“Why?”

“It is the time for me to marry again.”

David sat on the bed so hard it bounced under him, almost tossing him off. “But you don't love him.”

“Love is only one ingredient necessary for a satisfactory marriage.”

“That's not true.”

She stared at him. When had her nephew become such an expert on the topic of love and marriage? By all that's blue, she was certainly no expert herself. A second arranged marriage was her destiny, and she could only pray that this one would turn out as well as her first one. Her eyes were caught by the words she had penned.

He is a fine man, Emily, the very sort of man you have long pestered me to leg-shackle myself to instead of a quiet man like Lorenzo. He is agreeable in temperament, not like Lorenzo who can be so moody. His family is welcoming me with open arms, so I need not feel I am a bother as I have been here for Lorenzo. He shares my interest in the Polite World and seems to be highly anxious to start breeding racehorses. You know how I enjoy taking a horse for a run, and a ride with Lorenzo has been a leisurely event while we stop to admire the incredible scenery of Exmoor
.

Almost every line mentioned Lorenzo by name, and—She scanned the page in astonishment. She had not written Tilden's name once. She balled up the page and tossed it in the basket.

“Aunt Valeria!” David cried impatiently. “How can you marry him if you don't love him? Sleeping Beauty loved the prince who woke her with a kiss. Snow White was the same way. Cinderella wouldn't have married Prince Charming, even if the shoe fit, if she hadn't loved him. How can you?”

“Those are fairy tales.” She stood and put the stopper back in the ink bottle. “Real life is different.”

“It shouldn't be.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at her.

Her breath caught as she caught a glimpse of Lorenzo's stubborn expression on David's face. Even though they were not related by blood, the two had the same recalcitrant nature.

“Mayhap not, but that changes nothing. I'm going to marry Tilden in three weeks.”

He threw himself off the bed. “I won't go to that ugly house to live.”

“You haven't seen it.”

“Gil took me by there last week. It's a boring house, just like all the ones in London. This house is—” He flung out his hands, unable to find a word to describe the manor.

“I thought you hated it here.”

“I did, but I don't anymore.”

“You'll get accustomed to Oates's Hall, too.” She knew she should have more sympathy for the boy, but she could not lower the wall around her heart or all her grief would come spilling out.

He stormed out almost running into Earl who was bringing wood into the room. The old man watched the boy cross the room, then jumped aside as David came back and slammed the door.

“I'm sorry you had to see that,” Valeria said as he set the wood by the hearth. “He didn't strike you with the door, did he?”

“If he did, it didn't hurt.” Earl's smile disappeared for the first time since she had met him. “My lady, you are looking very sad. Did the boy say something to you?”

“Only the truth.”

“And that hurts you so?”

“Yes.” She sat at her table again and looked up at him. He was once again carrying his candle, although the hour was not late. She wondered how he managed to tote that and an armload of wood. “Forgive me, Earl. I should not burden you with this.”

“These shoulders have carried plenty of burdens over the years. Some were real. Some were ones that I built for myself out of fretting. It did not matter which, because they both ached when I carried them with me.” He sat on the edge of the raised hearth. “I hear you are to be congratulated, my lady. I must say I shall miss seeing your smile about Moorsea Manor.”

“I shall not be far away.”

“But it will never be the same. Your life will be with the baronet, not with Lord Moorsea.”

She smiled fleetingly. “My life was never
with
Lorenzo. He tolerated me as a burden he had to shoulder. Now he will be relieved of that.”

“Relief may not be the word I would have chosen.” He came to his feet and walked toward her. Coolness came from his bark-encrusted clothes, surprising her, for the day beyond the walls was warm. “Are you certain this is what you wish to do?”

“I know it is what I must do.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“In this case, it must be.”

She had thought he would add something more, but he simply nodded and went to the hall door. It closed behind him, then opened again almost at once when a maid came to tell her that Tilden was waiting to take her for a ride. As she gathered her bonnet and spencer, she practiced smiling past her pain. She suspected it was a skill she would need for the rest of her life.

“Valeria?”

She put down the guest list she had been making for Mrs. Oates as Lorenzo peeked past her door. “Yes?”

“Can I steal you from your work for a few moments?”

“Of course.” She dropped the list to the table. Mrs. Oates was being exacting in how the wedding would be arranged, and Valeria would have gladly left all details in her hands. That, however, would have suggested that Valeria was not the happy bride everyone must believe she was.

Everyone, but Lorenzo, she realized as she walked with him along the corridor toward the older section of the manor house. He knew the truth. With him, she could be honest, as she had wanted to be for so long. Only one small fact must she keep hidden, for to speak of how her heart beat more fiercely at the sound of his voice was certain to cause complications she could not afford—literally, because otherwise she might be obligated to marry Lord Caldwell.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He laughed and threw aside the doors to the hall where the bats had attacked them. “What do you think?”

Valeria could only stare, open-mouthed. What had been half ruins was now completely restored. Lost in her concerns about Lord Caldwell and David before that, she had not followed the progress of the workmen here. The change was incredible. Not only had the bats and their droppings been banished, but the windows had been repaired and the painted walls redone to their former magnificence. Two bronze chandeliers which must have come from another room in the house, because there had not been time to have them made and shipped to Moorsea Manor, hung from the highest rafters and could be lit with scores of candles. Beneath them, the stone floor glistened as if with a recent rain, but it was not damp. The stones had been polished to glimmer under the colors cast by the stained glass windows.

“So what do you say?” he asked, taking her hands and drawing her into the room. “Will it do for a ball?”

“A ball? You're agreeing to have a ball here?”

He released her hands and clasped his behind his back as he walked to one of the windows where he could watch the rain falling, hiding the distant curve of the moor. “It is the duty of a guardian to hold a betrothal ball for his ward.”

“But you are not really my guardian.”

“This argument I shan't miss after you are married.”

She stood and edged toward him. Wishing he would face her, she asked, “And what will you miss?”

“Your enthusiasm for life.” He turned toward her, and she was astonished that he was smiling. “It is unquestionably infectious, Valeria. I may have inherited this old house and the obligation of bringing it back to its onetime grandeur, but you have brought it life. I do hope I can retain a bit of that when you leave to live in Oates's Hall. You are, of course, welcome to call whenever you wish.”

“Except when you are doing your reading.”

“Yes, there's that.”

“And when you are writing your poetry.”

“You know I do not like to be disturbed, especially on those days when the flames of inspiration burn brightly.”

“I know.”

“You do know, don't you?” He closed the distance between them with a single step, then another.

“Yes.” She gazed up into his eyes which were afire with emotion. For his poetry, or did she dare to believe it might be for her? Raising her hand, she brushed it against the sharp angles of his narrow face.

With a groan, he captured her face between his hands. She stared up at him, not daring to move, fearing that even a single breath could ruin this moment that had come to life right out of her dreams. When he brought her mouth toward his, she did not close her eyes. She wanted to savor every sensation of this wonder that she had feared was lost to her forever.

He released her and turned and walked out of the hall. She took a step to follow, then stopped. Lorenzo was being, for once, the sensible one. No matter what yearnings might draw them to each other, she had promised to speak her vows of love and fidelity to another man.

Valeria went to the window where Lorenzo had stood. He was being kind, as always, to offer to host a ball for her here when she knew how he loathed such gatherings. From the moment she had arrived at Moorsea Manor, she had been pleading for the chance to entertain their neighbors.
Their neighbors
. When had this dreary lump of a house become home? When had she begun to think of Lorenzo as a part of her life? When had she begun to want him to stay in her life?

She shook her head. She was being a fool. Lorenzo did not want her and David in his life. He had made that obvious in every possible way, although his generosity had been unparalleled. And Tilden had written to her only this morning, vowing that he would love her more every day of his life. He had agreed to pay off her brother's debts and accept David as if he were Valeria's son. Tilden longed for her to acquaint him with the excitement of a London Season and to help him fire-off his sister, a fact that should please Lorenzo who would not feel obligated to call on Mary. That would give her the opportunity to play hostess to the
ton
once more. And, in London, David would have companions of his own age, not have to depend on a footman for company.

This had been the best choice she could have made, considering all that. So why did it seem so wrong?

Lorenzo collected congratulations as he walked about the ballroom that was aglow with light and conversation and music from the orchestra that had reluctantly come here from Bath. Some of the felicitations were for his inheritance of his title, some for the work he had supervised on bringing Moorsea Manor a bit of its former glory, but most were for how quickly and conveniently he managed to deal with the problem of his late uncle's ward. A convenient arrangement had been his plan from the beginning, and he had fulfilled that goal with an efficiency and dedication to detail that deserved congratulations.

Valeria was receiving the same congratulations, he noted as she stood with Tilden and his mother at the entrance to the room. In her elegant, brocaded gauze gown of the palest cream, she was undoubtedly the pink of the
ton
. Its modest bodice was decorated with ruffles that emphasized her gentle curves and matched the flounces on her sleeves. Netting dropped over the skirt to the embroidery on the vandyked hem. She had dispensed with the bright colored paisley shawl, but wore a large hat with a quartet of plumes that flowed over its top and had been dyed the same purple as her eyes.

Her clothing caught the attention of each of the guests she was greeting. They would be coming to Oates's Hall next week for the wedding party after the ceremony in Winlock-on-Sea. Oates's Hall had no chapel, and Mrs. Oates insisted that she would not have her only son married in the dusty ruins of the one here at Moorsea Manor.

“Be wary of that one,” Mrs. Oates murmured as Valeria turned to welcome yet another guest. “She is eager to advance herself socially.”

Valeria smiled as she had each time her future mother-in-law made a similar disparaging comment. If she were to believe Mrs. Oates, half of the guests were here only to see how they could turn this marriage to their own advantage. She was relieved when the dancing began, and she could go with Tilden out to the middle of the floor and enjoy the music.

“My lady,” a maid said as the second set of country dances began. “Forgive me for intruding, but I have been asked if you might speak in private to one of your guests.”

“About what?”

“I believe he wishes to congratulate you in private.”

Valeria's heart did a somersault as she scanned the room and did not see Lorenzo. She was quite mad, she knew, but she could only hope he was the one who had sent the maid to her.
But she would have said my lord
. She ignored the voice of common sense. She had been sensible for too long, doing as her guardian had suggested, buckling under when confronted with her brother's moonshine because she did not want David's name ruined along with his father's, trying to change to fit into Lorenzo's life to insure them a home. She wanted to be want-witted tonight, throwing aside caution and her arms around him.

Just one kiss to take with her as a memory into her marriage, one kiss that would warm her when she was on the other side of the moors. She must be addled, but, for once, she did not care.

“Will you excuse me, Tilden?” she asked. “I shan't be long.”