Two Little Lies (9 page)

At that, he laughed bitterly. “I am not surprised you’d wish to cry off now,” he answered. “What an embarrassment this will be! And I believe it is I who owes the apology.”

“You are not listening, my lord,” she said firmly. “I was coming to tell you I wished to cry off the betrothal. I am sorry I interrupted you in…in whatever it was you were doing—”

“Ruining my life,” he interjected. “That’s what I was doing.”

Esmée shrugged. “In any case, it had nothing to do with my decision. I mean to tell your mother so as well. I would not have her think you responsible for my choice.”

It seemed Esmée had indeed noticed his inattentiveness last night. Damn it, Alasdair had not been wrong, had he? He had not meant to wound the girl so. “I will send a notice to the
Times
this afternoon,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. “No one will be surprised. My dear, I am sorry this has ended so badly.”

“Don’t be so sorry,” she whispered. “Trust me, I never should have said yes. Something…something happened last night to convince me of that.”

Yes,
he had ignored her.
That was what had happened. The sight of Viviana had disordered his mind. Quin was barely aware that he had begun to pace the room again.

“I thought it a good match, Esmée,” he said, his tone almost mystified. “I persuaded myself we could make a go of it, you and I. I was a fool to imagine I could—or would ever—oh, damn it, why didn’t I just listen to Alasdair?”

“To Alasdair—?”

“He told me from the very first I was not good enough for you,” Quin admitted. “And I knew, even then, that he was right. I thought perhaps you might make a better man of me. But it isn’t working, is it? Even Alasdair can see it. Last night, he read me the riot act, then threatened to thrash me into a bloody pulp.”

“Alasdair? But…but why?”

“He thought I wasn’t paying enough attention to you,” Quin admitted. “He thought you looked unhappy. He wanted me to call off our wedding, but I refused, of course. How could I? A gentleman may not do such a thing.” He flashed her a crooked, bittersweet smile. “But now you have done it for me.”

Esmée refused to look at him. “Aye, and I think it best,” she said. “We do not perfectly suit after all.”

For a time, he simply watched her without speaking. “Are you a secret romantic at heart, Esmée?” he found himself asking. “Do you believe there is but one perfect partner for all of us?”

“I—yes, I begin to believe that might be so,” Esmée admitted.

He turned again to the window and braced his hands wide on its frame. He stared into the distance, wondering how to make his point without further hurting her. “I do not know, Esmée, what there is between you and Alasdair,” he finally said. “Certainly it is none of my business now.”

She began to interrupt, but turned, and threw up a staying hand. “Please, just let me speak.”

Esmée nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

He lowered his hand and looked her in the eyes. “All I am saying is that if there is even a scrap of sincere regard between the two of you, I urge you not to let it go,” he whispered. “Not until you are sure nothing more can be made of it. For once you let it go of that tiny scrap—by accident or by design—it is sometimes gone forever.”

Esmée was staring at the floor again. “That is good advice, I am sure,” she answered. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and tell my aunt what we have decided.”

“I shouldn’t wish her to be angry with you,” he said hastily. “Tell her the truth, by all means.”

“The truth is that we do not suit,” she repeated. “We never did. We are meant for other things, you and I. We were fools ever to think otherwise.”

He looked at her wistfully and wished to God he wanted her. It would have been so easy. But he didn’t want her, not really. His actions this morning, and the embarrassment he had caused her, could not have made the truth more plain. She was wise, very wise, to be rid of him now, before he got her to the altar and doomed them both to a life of bitter dissatisfaction.

“Little Esmée,” he murmured. “Always the wise one. Why is it that we cannot love one another? It would make life so much easier, would it not?”

She returned the smile ruefully. “Aye, but I begin to think we do not get to choose whom we love,” she answered. “And that life was not meant to be easy.” Then she stood on her tiptoes and lightly kissed his cheek.

Her father was already at the piano in the parlor with Lord Digleby when Viviana returned in a headlong rush from the stables. The men were bent over a piece of music scrawled across a scrap of paper, experimentally plinking out notes.

“Buon giorno, Papà.
Lord Digleby.” She kissed her father on the cheek and hastened out again, barely noticed. The great Alessandri was once again absorbed in his work, and for that Viviana was grateful.

She was not grateful—at least, not initially—when she ran straight into Lord Chesley exiting his library. “Vivie, my dear!” he said, catching her by both shoulders. “You are about to bowl me over—and not with your charm and beauty.”

Viviana felt her cheeks heat.
“Scusi,
my lord,” she murmured, moving as if to pass. “I was not attending.”

Chesley was looking at her in concern. “No, my girl, you were not,” he agreed. “Come into the library, won’t you? Basham has just brought coffee.”

Viviana pulled the pin from her riding hat, and lifted it off.
“Grazie,
Chesley, but I should change first.”

Chesley waved his hand in obviation. “Nonsense! Now come in, sit down, and tell me what is wrong. Did you not enjoy your grand adventure this morning?”

Grand adventure
was not quite the word for it. For an instant, she weighed not telling him, but that would not have done. Better Chesley should hear it from her lips. “I—I rode over to Arlington Park,” she answered, unable to hold his gaze. “I went to see Lord Wynwood.”

Chesley’s brows went up, and he pushed open the library door, motioning her in with a tilt of his head. “To see Quin, eh?” he said when she was seated and he had poured her a cup of strong black brew. “Was he expecting you, Vivie?”

She nodded, and took a fortifying sip of the coffee. “He—he asked me to come,” she said. “Well, ordered me, really. I thought merely to humor him, you see. But…but there was an accident.”

“An accident?” the earl echoed. “Of what sort?”

Viviana shook her head, not entirely sure she could explain. “We quarreled,” she began. “And he—he took certain liberties which I did not appreciate. I was very angry, Chesley, and I struck him. With my crop.”

“Gad!” the earl interjected.

“Indeed,” said Viviana witheringly. “We did not realize Lady Charlotte had come into the room with Miss Hamilton. Oh, Chesley! It was an ugly scene. I drew his blood.”

“As well you should have done, devil take him!”

“Oh, no, I should
not
have!” Viviana cried, leaping from her chair. “Lady Charlotte swooned, and Miss Hamilton—well, I think she saw everything. I am not perfectly sure. And there were servants.”

Chesley groaned and shook his head. Viviana was roaming restlessly about the room now, sliding her hands up and down her arms. She was cold, she realized, despite the fact she still wore a wool habit. It was her nerves, she supposed. She really had suffered something of a shock. She had gone to spar a bit with Quin, and to put him in his place. And now innocent people were left to suffer the consequences of her temper. Would she never learn?

“Damn Quin for a fool!” Chesley finally muttered. “Gwendolyn will likely give herself an apoplexy over this. I’d best get over there and find out which way the wind blows.”

“Oh, it blows very ill,” said Viviana. “Lady Charlotte looked most unwell. The doctor was being sent for when I left.”

“Hmph,” said the earl. “Never mind Charlotte; she’s tough as an old hide. What, precisely, did the servants see?”

Viviana sat down again, careless of her skirts. “I cannot say,” she admitted. “I was in one of my
diva
rages.”

“Yes, yes!” said Chesley. “One can only guess.”

“Still, I think they cannot quite have seen
everything,”
Viviana continued. “But I am not at all sure they needed to.
Dio,
I feel so sorry for that poor girl. And I can only imagine what she thinks of me.”

“Miss Hamilton?” asked the earl. “Yes, there will be gossip. Ah, well! The child did not look resolute enough to keep Quin on a leash anyway. Still, we must endeavor to keep the servants quiet.”

Viviana set down her cup, and pushed it a little away. “I am sorry, Chesley,” she whispered, dropping her face into her hands. “I am your guest here. This reflects very badly on you, I fear.”

“The deuce!” said the earl again. “It reflects badly on my rogue of a nephew, and that is all. He has come to believe every fetching female under the age of forty is his for the taking. I should like to take
my
crop to the handsome devil.”

“Miss Hamilton may beat you to it,” said Viviana mordantly. “I do not believe she is as meek, Chesley, as you seem to believe. And afterward, I expect she will jilt him.”

“And so she ought,” said the earl, rising. “You must pardon me, my girl. I shouldn’t waste any more time. Let me go over to Arlington and unruffle Gwen’s feathers and see how Charlotte goes on. Then I’ll call upon Mrs. Prater, and discover what tittle-tattle the housemaids are passing and what can be done to stop it.”

“Oh, Chesley!” said Viviana, coming swiftly to her feet. Impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek.

He looked at her with a hint chagrin in his eyes. “I only wonder,” he finally said, “what Quin was thinking, Vivie. You did discourage him quite thoroughly all those years ago, didn’t you, my girl?”

Viviana swallowed hard, and hesitated. “Perhaps, Chesley, I ought not answer that,” she finally answered. “I have the right to avoid self-incrimination, have I not? That is the English law, I believe?”

“Hmph,” said the earl for the third time. “It is the letter of the law, yes, if not the spirit. Keep your secrets, my dear, if you must. But I sometimes begin to wonder if you haven’t kept just one or two too many.”

By the early afternoon, Lord Chesley still had not returned to Hill Court. Mrs. Douglass sent plates of cold meat and cheese to the parlor in some hope, Viviana supposed, that her father and Lord Digleby would actually stop working long enough to eat. It had fallen to Viviana to smooth the housekeeper’s feathers when they did not.

Viviana dined in the schoolroom with Miss Hevner and the children. The governess, who was looking rather frazzled, expressed a need to do some shopping in the village. Nurse Rossi could no longer handle all three at once. Viviana offered to take the children to play in the gardens for the rest of the afternoon. Better that, she decided, than simply sitting and stewing whilst she awaited Chesley’s return.

But it was not Lord Chesley who eventually appeared on the path which led from Hill Court to Arlington. The children were playing hide-and-seek in Chesley’s maze when Viviana heard distant laughter. She lifted her hand to shield the low, slanting sun from her eyes. Below the stables, she could see a lady and three children emerging from the trees.

Lady Alice.
Viviana was sure of it. The smallest child Lady Alice carried on her hip. Behind her, the two older children appeared to be wrestling good-naturedly over something. Lady Alice turned around and whacked the smaller of the two soundly across the bottom. Swathed in coats and cloaks as they all were, Viviana doubted the swat had much effect, nor had it been meant to.

Suddenly, something struck her.
Allie.
Alice was Allie—Quin’s elder sister. She had recalled vaguely that Quin had had a sister. But she could not recall his ever having called her Alice. There was yet another small mystery resolved, she supposed. A pity she had not tried to solve them all a little sooner.

When the three saw Viviana by the maze, they hastened toward her, giving every impression of being well-mannered children on their best behavior. “I hoped to find you here,” said Lady Alice brightly as she set her smallest child down. “The day has turned quite clear, has it not?”

“Yes, it is lovely,” agreed Viviana.

“I thought the children might play together,” Lady Alice suggested. “Do your children like battledore?”

By then, Nicolo was tugging at Viviana’s skirts, and the girls were peeping from the maze. “I do not think we know this game,” Viviana admitted, lifting Nicolo to her hip. “My Felise does not speak English perfectly—and this little one, not at all.”

Lady Alice’s children were carrying several wooden paddles, rather like small tennis rackets, but solid and stringless. “This is the battledore,” said the boy, thrusting one of his paddles toward the maze to Cerelia.

“And this is the shuttlecock,” said the girl, balancing a befeathered object in the palm of her hand. Viviana recognized it as the object the children had been squabbling over. “We hit it back and forth with the battledore and try to keep it in the air.”

Lady Alice laughed, and plucked the feathered object from the girl’s hand. “Do not be deceived, Contessa,” she said. “This is really just an old cork stuck full of feathers. Mr. Herndon, Arlington’s steward, made it for my children.” Hastily, she introduced them.

The eldest was Charlotte, so named for her great-great-aunt, a fact which made Viviana inwardly cringe. “But we call her Lottie to avoid the confusion,” Lady Alice went on. “And this is Christopher, who is seven, and Diana, who is four.”

Cerelia had taken the wooden paddle from Christopher’s outstretched hand and was studying it. Hastily, Viviana translated the introductions and presented her own children in turn.

Lady Alice did not appear to need further encouragement. She drew a long piece of red yard from her pocket, went out onto a square patch of lawn, and stretched it out across the grass. Nicolo squirmed his way down and dashed off to investigate it.

“This is the boundary line,” said Lady Alice, pointing authoritatively. “Cerelia, you shall play with Christopher on that side of the line. And Felise, you will play with Lottie. You must not let the cork touch the ground, or the other side will score a point. Does everyone follow me?”