The Fleeing Heiress: A funny flight into love. (17 page)

“Of course, Mrs. Owen,”

Cardiff smiled civilly as Mrs. Owen walked away to join
her husband before seating himself beside Miss Stafford on the settee. He regarded Miss Stafford’s lovely upturned
countenance with appreciation. If he had seen Miss Stafford
at some social function, he felt certain that he would have
made it his business to become acquainted with her. She was
possessed of both beauty and intelligence, and for him that was
a potent combination. The image of another lady faded fur
ther away, to be replaced by Miss Stafford’s face and form.

As for her wondrous ability at the pianoforte, the
melodies she had wrought still filled his mind and induced a
seductive languor in him as he looked down at her. He imag
ined himself taking her into his arms and waltzing with her
around and around until they were dizzy.

Cardiff shook himself loose of his entangling reflections,
bringing himself back to the object of his seeking her out. “I
wished to speak with you before retiring for the evening, Miss Stafford, and assure myself that all has turned out as
you had hoped. Your uncle and aunt seem well disposed to
wards you.”

“Yes, and quite more strongly than I ever dreamed possi
ble,” said Thea, her glowing eyes expressing excitement. It never occurred to her that she was breaching etiquette when she confided in Lord Cardiff. He had been her mainstay for
days during a time of complete upheaval in her life, and
frankness with him seemed completely natural to her. “My aunt just told me that she and my uncle wish to give me a
season in London this spring.”

Cardiff was taken aback. “That is something indeed.”
The Owens’ generosity towards their niece was surprising.
He was pleased for Miss Stafford, however, and relieved
that all had turned out happily for her. Of course, he was
pleased on his own account, as well, since it had been the
farthest thing from his mind to acquire a wife when he was
sent home to England.

A queer fleeting regret briefly touched his consciousness.
He supposed it was because another small adventure had fi
nally ended. It was obviously time to move on. His duty and
his honor had both been satisfied by the outcome.

Miss Stafford made some civil remark, and as Lord
Cardiff looked down into her smiling face and responded, it
occurred to him that it might be wise to remain one more day with the Owens. Though Miss Stafford seemed per
fectly content, he thought he would feel easier if he set him
self to observe for a little longer how the Owens dealt with
her. Perhaps Miss Stafford had not quite understood her
aunt’s invitation and had read too much into it. Though he
had never considered Miss Stafford to be fanciful, her own
anxiety could have led her into making a mistake by placing
too much emphasis on a mere civility tossed out by Mrs.
Owen. A London season did seem rather too much for the
Owens to consider doing for a niece they had not seen in
some years,

As for himself, Cardiff began to think about his obliga
tion in London, now to be delayed by several days. His ab
sence had probably already been remarked. There was also
his valet, Potter, still laid up at that accursed inn.

Lord Cardiff frowned. It was unlike him to neglect any
responsibility, and it disturbed him that he had done so, par
ticularly in this instance. Potter had been with him for years and they had shared many experiences, some of them har
rowing. He was ashamed that he had forgotten his injured
manservant. No matter what else of moment had been oc
curring, he should never have lost sight of his valet’s situa
tion.

“My lord? What is it?”

Cardiff was surprised by Miss Stafford’s sensitivity to his
change of mood. The lady was obviously unusually obser
vant. Either that or he had taken to allowing too much of his
thoughts to show on his face. Hardly a desirable trait in either his work in the army or in playing at cards. His friends
would drub him finely one night if he didn’t learn to do better, he thought ruefully.

“My thoughts merely wandered for a moment, Miss
Stafford. You have reason to accuse me of woolgathering, I fear.”

“I would not be so rude as to do so, my lord,” said Thea,
smiling up at his lordship’s handsome face. She realized
how dear that same face was becoming to her and it was a
disconcerting revelation.

“Nevertheless, I apologize for being such poor com
pany,” said Cardiff smoothly.

He turned the conversation, and as the Owens ap
proached them, tossed out a gambit to the elderly couple that took very well. In a few short moments, a card table was set
up and the four sat down to play. Lord Cardiff partnered
Miss Stafford, and he was delighted when he discovered that
she had a certain card sense. The Owens themselves were
formidable opponents and a pleasant hour or so was whiled
away.

Thea’s reflections marched along despite the demands of
the card game. She was naturally disappointed that Lord
Cardiff had not confided in her. However, she was at least wise enough to know that she really had no right to expect
him to reveal his private thoughts to her. Just because she
had discovered she possessed tender feelings towards him
meant nothing at all. Lord Cardiff had come striding into her life, bold and confident and gallant, and would undoubtedly
leave just as he had come and without a backward glance.

Realizing the downward turn of her spirits, Thea men
tally shook herself. It would not do to fall into a melancholy
when everything else was turning out so wonderfully.

Determined to show how happy she was with her new sit
uation, Thea entered the conversation with increased vivac
ity. She succeeded so well that later, in an aside to his wife, Mr. Owen commented, “Thea is a lively girl. I enjoyed her
company tonight.”

“Quite,” agreed Mrs. Owen. However, she did not men
tion how she had observed a shadow in Thea’s eyes when
ever her niece had glanced at Lord Cardiff. Mrs. Owen had formed the inevitable conclusion that Thea was covering a
bruised heart. Truly, it was a pity that Thea had not accepted
Lord Cardiff’s offer, she thought with renewed regret.

Soon afterwards, Mrs. Owen hinted that the evening’s socializing had come to a close, and the company immediately
began to break up for the night. Thea returned to her bed
chamber and thankfully allowed the chambermaid to help
ready her for bed. Mrs. Owen had provided a nightgown and
cap for her niece, and it was not long before Thea was be
tween the sheets. The chambermaid had expertly run a heat
ing pan under the bedclothes so that the sheets were
warmed, and Thea sighed with contentment.

The morrow would undoubtedly bring with it new com
plications and problems, not the least of which was her new
found heartache, but for the moment all that mattered was the soft bed and warm sheets.

During the night a harsh north wind arose. Angrily it rat
tled the shutters and howled around the manor, bringing
with it the first real snow of the season. Without waking,
Thea instinctively snuggled deeper into the covers. The
dying fire glowed ruby red on the hearth.

Sometime during the small hours, Thea became vaguely
aware of a distant disturbance. The muted raised voices
caused her to stir uneasily and turn on her feather pillow.
Groggily she raised her head, her eyes still pressed shut. But
when she heard nothing more, Thea dropped limply back
onto the pillow. Her sleep was dreamless and deep, untrou
bled again until the morning when the chambermaid came in
to the bedchamber to open the curtains.

The morning light broke only feebly through the heavy
snowstorm that was still raging. Upon looking out his
frosted window and seeing the swirling curtain of snow,
Cardiff realized that he would not be traveling that day and
perhaps not for several days. His well-marked brows knit in a frown as he let fall the velvet drape. It was a nuisance, for
he had hoped to say his adieus and make an early start. He
decided to make his way downstairs to the breakfast room in
hopes of finding his host.

Mr. Owen’s valet had brushed and pressed Lord Cardiff’s
coat and breeches and put a new shine on his lordship’s
boots. With the addition of a clean shirt and freshly starched
cravat, Cardiff felt that under the circumstances, he had
made the best he could of his appearance. It was fortunate
that he was not of the dandy set, he thought with amuse
ment. He had never been one to set much store by creature
comforts, but it would be nice to have his wardrobe and his
own valet back. Briefly, he wondered how Potter was get
ting on, and his frown deepened.

Owen’s valet expertly helped Lord Cardiff into his well-cut coat and smoothed the sleeves. Cardiff thanked the manservant for his help, and the valet bowed himself out of the bedchamber.

Cardiff went downstairs to the breakfast room where, as
he had hoped he would, he met his host over the breakfast
table. The ladies had not yet put in an appearance, but
Cardiff had expected that. He was an early riser by habit and
the hour was still too soon in the day for most ladies to
emerge from their bedchambers.

Mr. Owen greeted Lord Cardiff with an expression of friendly sympathy. He set down his fork on his plate, from
which he was partaking of a hearty breakfast. “My lord! I suspect you had it in mind to take your leave of us today, but
I do not think it will be possible.”

“I am afraid not, indeed,” said Cardiff with a laugh and a
careless shrug. He was glad to note that most of the soreness
was gone from his shoulder after the night’s rest he had en
joyed. “I fear that I must beg your hospitality for yet a while, sir.”

Mr. Owen nodded. His cordial countenance held all the
warmth of expression that a host would show to an agree
able guest, “Of course! You are most welcome. I hope you
will continue to accept the service of my man. I will instruct
him to do whatever he can for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Owen. I appreciate your thoughtful
ness,” said Cardiff with a slight bow. He was used to the in
formality of the English country home and he crossed
without hesitation to the sideboard, where there were several
covered dishes, and began to serve himself a plate of eggs
and several slices of ham and beef.

Mr. Owen waved aside his lordship’s expression of grat
itude and casually turned the conversation to hunting when
Lord Cardiff had seated himself at the table. It was not very
many minutes before the two gentlemen discovered they shared a mutual love for the hunt. “Perhaps if the weather
lets up and you happen to be still with us, we will take the guns out,” said Mr. Owen hopefully.

Cardiff expressed his willingness to enjoy such entertainment. “The sport on the plains in Spain is far different from that in England. We mainly course rabbits from horseback with greyhounds. The trick is to watch for holes so that your
horse doesn’t come down with you!”

Mr. Owen chuckled. “I can readily understand how that
might add a bit of spice!”

The ladies came into the breakfast room then, and the
conversation ran in other directions. Mrs. Owen eventually revealed that she proposed to spend the morning with her
correspondence. “It will not go out today, of course, but it
will be ready when I am able to post it,” she said compla
cently.

As a proper hostess, she listed several activities that were available for her two guests, ranging from billiards to taking
exercise in the picture gallery to choosing titles from off the
library shelves. “I apologize that we have not anything more
diverting, but this snow will keep even our most hardened
neighbors from calling on us,” she said with real regret.

Mr. Owen said that he would be ensconced in his study
going over estate business all morning with his bailiff, but that he would be free after luncheon and at his guests’ dis
posal. “Perhaps you might show me a game of billiards then,
my lord.”

“I would be delighted, sir,” agreed Cardiff.

Mrs. Owen turned to her niece. Her kindness showed
through her earnest manners. “Perhaps you would like to see the gallery, my dear. We have quite a nice collection of por
traits. There is a very good likeness amongst them of your
mother when she was a young girl.”

“Yes, I would like that,” said Thea at once, looking up
from putting orange marmalade on a biscuit. “I have a
miniature of Mama when she was young, but I have not seen
a portrait that was done of her before she wed my father.”

“If you would not mind it, Miss Stafford, I shall appoint myself your escort,” said Cardiff. He had thought to merely offer civil company in order to ward off the inevitable bore
dom of a slow morn, but when Miss Stafford smiled bril
liantly at him, he felt at once that he had been accorded a
high treat.

“Thank you, my lord,” said Thea, still smiling at him.
Her large eyes glowed with anticipation. “Your company
will be most appreciated.”

“Then it is settled,” said Mrs. Owen with satisfaction.
“My conscience will be clear now that I am reassured that
you and Lord Cardiff will be suitably entertained for at least
part of the morning.”

Mr. Owen seemed somewhat amused by a private
thought, for he gave a soft chuckle. When his wife glanced inquiringly at him, he merely said, “I like the way the cook has with the kippers today, my dear.”

“I will be certain to send a congratulatory message to the
kitchens,” said Mrs. Owen, still gazing fixedly at her hus
band.

Ignoring his spouse’s obvious desire to know what was
on his mind, Mr. Owen explained to Thea and Lord Cardiff
how to find the gallery and thereafter applied himself to a
hearty serving of kippers and eggs.

When breakfast was over, Thea and Lord Cardiff left
their host and hostess to make their way to the gallery. It was
a very long room, the paneled wall being overlaid with por
traiture of various sizes and styles. The other side of the
gallery was covered by a row of tall, velvet-draped win
dows.

Thea paused before one window to look outside. She
noted an expanse of white-covered lawn that was rimmed in
the distance by dark winter woods. The snow was still
falling. She hugged her shawl close around her against the
chill emanating from the glass panes. “It is beautiful,” she
commented, her gaze on the pristine perfection of snow and
woods.

“Yes. I had forgotten what England looks like during the
winter,” said Cardiff, his eyes also roaming the countryside but with a keenness made sharp by habit. “It is so peaceful
and untouched. One would never imagine for a moment sol
diers emerging from that wood or bivouac tents and cook
fires marring the clean white ground.”

Thea turned towards him curiously. “Is that what winter is like in Spain?”

Cardiff smiled slightly. “It is cold, just as it is here. But
there are not the amenities such as can be found in your uncle’s home. Good food, good wine, a warm bed—these
are things that soldiers dream about and talk about. Then
when summer comes and we are on campaign, we yearn for
cold water to cool our parched throats and we talk incessantly about the green of England.”

“Is it difficult for you to be in the army? Would you
rather be back in England?” asked Thea with ready sympa
thy. She quickly realized that such an emotion as wasted on
Lord Cardiff.

He laughed, his keen eyes gleaming with amusement. “I told you before, I thrive on what others might regard with
dismay. Of course there are things that I dislike, but on the
whole I think the army life suits me very well. There are
long stretches of boredom punctuated with periods of frenzied activity. I fear I was not made for a staid life.”

“I wonder, then, about myself. I lived the most secluded,
protected life imaginable until Mr. Quarles abducted me. It
was a terrible experience and not one I should like to repeat, but in a strange way I have enjoyed myself since then,” said
Thea thoughtfully. She looked up at Lord Cardiff, feeling
suddenly embarrassed. She wondered what he must think of
such an idiotic confession. A smile hovered on her lips. “Isn’t that peculiar of me?”

Cardiff took her hand and raised it to his lips, brushing
her cold fingers with a brief salute. The expression in his
deep blue eyes was intent as he gazed down on her fair
countenance. Quietly, he murmured, “I would say, rather,
that you are an intrepid and brave young lady, Miss Stafford.
I knew it that first moment when I met your eyes.”

Thea felt color rising in her face. Somewhat breathlessly,
she turned away from his lordship. She hastily crossed the
short distance over to the paneled wall. “Shall we look at the
portraits, my lord?”

“As you will, Miss Stafford,” said Cardiff suavely.

Thea felt her heart pounding. She wondered whether
Lord Cardiff was deliberately flirting with her, and hoped
that he was. What a ninny she had been to turn him down
when he offered for her, she thought dazedly as she stared
unseeing at a large painting. She could scarcely hope to dis
cover another such gentleman who embodied the qualities that she most admired.

Cardiff drew her attention to another, smaller portrait and
Thea obediently examined it. She made some disjointed ob
servation, which did not make the least sense even to her. She tried to retrieve her slip. “I do not care for the lady’s equine profile. I hope she was not a direct ancestor.”

Cardiff regarded her with a pronounced twinkle in his
eyes. Very politely, he said, “I believe it is not a particularly
ugly lady, but a gentleman sporting the romantic locks of the
Cavalier period, Miss Stafford.”

Embarrassed, Thea gave a rueful laugh. She glanced up
at him. “Forgive me, my lord! I am not usually so dense, I
assure you.”

“We shall see,” said Cardiff with a playful note in his
voice. He took her arm and walked with her to stand in front
of another portrait. It was a huge canvas framed in heavily gilded wood and depicted a pomaded, much-laced and
beribboned gentleman leaning against a well-formed horse. The expression on the gentleman’s face was one of boredom
and dissipation. “Well, Miss Stafford?”

Throwing his lordship a glance brimming with laughter,
Thea said primly, “Obviously a gentleman of the Puritan persuasion, my lord.”

“I must agree, Miss Stafford. There is an otherworldly earnestness in the gentleman’s expression,” said Cardiff in
mock seriousness. “He was probably a pillar of the church.”

Thea chuckled and drew his lordship on, quite willing to
continue their impromptu game. They slowly made their
way down the stretch of gallery exchanging bits of nonsense
about the subjects of the portraits that became more and
more outrageous the further they progressed. At length,
Thea came to one picture that stopped her short in her
tracks. “Oh!” She stared up at the portrait of a young woman standing in front of a tall window that overlooked a long ex
panse of green lawn rimmed by trees in the distance. Even
if Thea had not recognized the subject’s face, she would
have known the young woman to be her mother simply from
the background painted behind her. Thea had looked out on
just such a scene not an hour before, except that at present
the vista wore the cloak of winter.

There was a long silence, at last broken by Lord Cardiff.
“You look much like your mother,” he said quietly.