Two Turtledoves (9 page)

The sound of the door stopped any reply she might
make, and her father re-entered the box carrying a drink for each
of them. His sheepish glance told her he had overheard the
exchange. Concern was etched in his eyes, but he masked his worry
with meaningless chatter.

"The theater is rather crowded tonight. I am
surprised there are so many people still in Town."

So went the conversation the rest of the evening —
her father prattling on about nothing, Baldwyn answering politely,
and Anastasia clenching her fists in her lap.

"Anastasia," her father said the moment they entered
the house and she had turned to retire upstairs. "A word?"

She should have known he would want to discuss the
evening, but the timing made her wonder how much he had heard of
the conversation between Baldwyn and her. "Certainly, Papa."

He closed the study door behind them and gestured to
a seat across from his desk. So it was to be one of
those
types of discussions. She cringed and sat where he indicated.

"The duke seemed… conflicted," he finally said after
a long silence.

"Conflicted, Papa?" He had seemed rather
single-minded to her. If there had been any conflict in him, it was
in the decision on how best to deride her — a fierce lecture on her
responsibilities or a firm set down on her lack of interest in
preserving her reputation.

"You must remember, my dear, Paisley has only just
made the discovery that he is attracted to you."

Anastasia's heart leapt into her throat. Her stomach
dropped to her toes. Surely her father was mistaken. Baldwyn
couldn't stand the thought of her.

"Yes." His answer to her unspoken question took her
by surprise. "He is painfully incapable of expressing it to you, of
course. But you must give him time. Up until now, you were, in his
mind and memory, a little girl who could be trying on a grown man's
patience."

Anastasia winced as the image of her younger self
taking aim with a sloppy mud ball flashed in her mind. She eyed her
father, who seemed to be measuring her reaction to his
assessment.

"The duke is a man unfailing in his duty. Everyone
among the peerage trusts him to do as he says. And, frankly, that
is a rare and inspiring trait." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I
believe I have a solution. Something to give Paisley the push he
needs to… Well, the push he needs."

It was a lovely sentiment, and she was desperate to
believe it. Her own heart had called out for him ever since she
could remember — like a mourning turtledove would call for its lost
mate. The possibility that his heart might not answer had only now
occurred to her, and that thought weighed on her like a pile of
stones.

"I have been wanting to spend a few days at Shepherd
Hall, a respite before the Kringle Ball. We will make it a house
party, invite several guests. Paisley, of course. Perhaps Banbury
and his intended, a few of your friends and some suitable
gentlemen.. What do you say to that, my dear?"

"That would be lovely, Papa. When do we leave?"

"I'll send out the invitations in the morning. We can
leave as soon as you're ready."

****

"Good morning, Grandmother. How are you feeling?"
Baldwyn said as he took his seat at the table beside her.

The dowager looked at him through weary eyes. She
seemed remarkably quiet for so early in the morning.

She answered with a brief nod and lifted a sealed
envelope to him. Two firsts. Silence and an envelope still sealed.
Perhaps she was ill.

He accepted the letter and broke the seal. His
grandmother scrutinized him as he skimmed the missive.

"Well?" she asked, apparently unable to wait out the
suspense.

"An invitation. To Shepherd Hall for a few days." He
tossed the letter onto the table and took up his cup of tea.

"You'll accept, of course." Ah, there she was, the
grandmother he knew and loved.

"What else have I to do? As long as I am not at home,
it is difficult to conduct my affairs effectively."

Her glower sliced through him. "Perhaps you have
forgotten what your business is in Town."

Baldwyn took a long drink of his tea and set the cup
back on the table. "I daresay that is impossible, Grandmother. I
have such tender reminders from you each moment." He rose and bent
to kiss her on the cheek. She inclined her head to accept it, but
stared after him with a dour expression as he bowed and left the
room.

If nothing else, a few days out from under the
dowager's watchful eye would do much to relieve his anxiety.

****

It was nearing late afternoon of the next day when
Baldwyn's carriage pulled up to the front of Lord Marks' townhouse.
He climbed down and strode to the door. When the butler answered
it, there was near silence behind him. As if no one was ready to
depart, but they were all still upstairs in their rooms
packing.

He was shown to the parlor where he waited for what
seemed like an hour. He sat tapping his heel, beating a steady
quick rhythm against the marble floor. The sound of the door
opening startled him, and he rose immediately.

"Do pardon me, your grace," Lady Anastasia said
advancing toward him as if in a rush. "Things have been thrown
together so suddenly, I am quite behind this afternoon."

"Is your father ready? I can have my footman see to
loading the carriages." He glanced around her, hoping to see
someone following close behind.

"No, your grace. I'm sorry. Were you not told?" A
look of distress flashed across the lady's face. "My father had to
see to the arrangements. He left yesterday and has promised to meet
us at Shepherd Hall."

"Your father will not be traveling with us?" Baldwyn
stood paralyzed, frozen to the spot. His worst nightmare come true.
Why had he consented to accompany the lady to the country
house?

"I do apologize, Paisley. I thought you knew." She
furrowed her eyebrows in concern and added, "It's only a couple of
hours. We are betrothed… I am certain no one will consider it
unseemly."

He cleared his throat, hoping to exude some semblance
of confidence and control. "That may be. I would be far more
comfortable, for your sake, if your lady's maid would travel with
us."

Her gaze dropped to her gloved hands. "Of course,
your grace. 'Twas my intention." She glanced back at him with sad
dark eyes. "We will be ready presently."

"I'll alert the footmen."

****

Her father apparently had great faith in Baldwyn to
leave her to travel alone with him. And he thought his little trick
would go unnoticed, but Anastasia knew the staff at Shepherd Hall
was more than adequate to the task of preparing for a small party
on short notice. He had left her alone with Baldwyn on purpose.

But it came as a complete surprise when her maid
suddenly bolted from the carriage just as Baldwyn instructed the
driver to go.

"Pardon me, your grace — my lady! I forgot the trunk
of your unmentionables!" Without waiting for a reply, she leapt
from the carriage and scurried back into the house. The driver
seemed not to notice and whipped the horses into a brisk trot,
jolting the two remaining passengers.

Baldwyn's eyes widened in pure fear. And he pounded
on the wall to get the driver's attention.

Anastasia herself sat in shock for several minutes as
Baldwyn continued his efforts to get the driver's attention to no
avail. Oh, her father was good. A smooth master of engineering the
"push" her intended needed.

The moment Baldwyn realized the driver was ignoring
him, he sat back in his seat and stared at her with what appeared
to be utter disbelief and disgust. When his face grew red, and he
began to pull at his cravat as though it was choking him, Anastasia
knew she was in for another thorough scolding. She closed her eyes,
sighed in resignation, and waited for the inevitable to come.

She waited.

The lecture never came.

She opened one eye and peeked at him.

He looked positively ill and sat staring out the
carriage window, twisting the brim of the black silk hat he held in
his lap.

Come to think of it, she wasn't feeling all that
dapper herself. Traveling backward in a carriage had always
affected her stomach in a dreadful fashion. Of course, drawing
attention to her weakness now would only serve to support his
opinion about her childishness. And it did seem silly. Why should
traveling backward cause distress?

She opened her other eye. If she moved to his side of
the carriage, he would have something to say about her impropriety,
no doubt. What could her reason be?

He did look terribly ill.

She slipped from her side of the carriage to the seat
beside him. Baldwyn swung around to face her.

"Are you well, your grace?" she asked, putting a
gloved hand to his forehead. "You look rather flushed."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Yes, you do. Perhaps I should stay here beside
you… in case you faint."

It was winter, and not overly warm in the carriage,
yet he was perspiring.

He shook his head adamantly.

"I think not, my lady. It wouldn't be proper."

"Oh." Her stomach flip-flopped. Was it possible for
one to turn green? "Are you certain? After all, we are betrothed,
and it would be only for your own health." If he made her go back
to the other side Anastasia was certain to revisit her afternoon
teacakes. And she did feel as though her own pallor had faded to a
ghostly white.

His clear blue eyes looked at her intensely, as
though seeing her for the first time that day. He scanned her face
and a sudden realization seemed to wash over his features. "Oh… I
see." His voice was a mere whisper. "Are
you
unwell, my
lady?"

At first she thought to deny it. He would see it as a
silly childish ailment. But the concern in his eyes gave her reason
to hope. Perhaps he would understand.

Slowly she nodded and cast her gaze at her skirts.
"Yes. I cannot abide traveling backward. I do apologize, your
grace."

"No need for apologies, my lady." He smiled then. The
first she'd seen since he'd arrived in Town. His straight white
teeth, his broad grin, the dimple she had admired since she was
seven. If her stomach wasn't twisting into an unseemly knot, she
might very well have reached out and touched it.

****

Baldwyn had never seen that shade of green on a lady
before.
He
had felt that color once, however, while sailing
for the Continent. It was the most miserable voyage of his life.
The sailors had laughed as he hung his head over the side of the
ship wishing for death to take him.

If the lady felt anything like that, she would need a
distraction. A
distraction
.

A number of possible solutions leapt to mind. Most of
which were
not
aligned with his promise to guard her
virtue.

She moaned in agony and rested her head on his
shoulder.

He held his breath, closed his eyes, and thought of
his grandmother. This was all. Her. Fault.

"Talk to me, Baldwyn, please." Her eyes were closed,
but her face crinkled in tight grimace. "I believe a distraction
might help."

"A distraction?" His voice cracked. He cleared his
throat, taking care to deepen the timbre of his voice.

"Yes. If you don't mind." She slipped her hand around
his elbow and relaxed against him.

"Very well. What do you wish to discuss, my lady?
Art? Music? Politics?"

"No. No. Do you remember when we were young and you
rescued me from being trampled by wild horses?"

"Wild horses? Hardly. It was one old nag moving at a
snail's pace." He chuckled at the memory.

"You pulled me out from under the wheels of a racing
carriage. Do you not remember?"

"I remember you crawled under an idle coach and
muddied your dress. Your mother was very cross. I pulled you out
and helped you to your maid, so you could change."

"Hmmm… I remember that rather differently."

"Do you remember, my lady, when you were a little
girl and would run through the fields and climb the trees?"

She squirmed and protested. A little frown played at
the corners of her mouth.

"I did no such thing."

"Oh, yes, I remember it quite clearly. Hunting for
nests, wasn't it?"

"Turtledoves." Her voice sounded as if she was fading
into sleep.

"Right. Turtledoves. You thought they were sad."

"And do you remember what you told me? About the
turtledoves?"

"They cry for their mates… to remind th—"

"To remind them where they belong," she finished for
him.

They fell into a comfortable silence which stretched
out minute after minute. Until Baldwyn heard a soft snore coming
from the girl leaning against him and promptly started to sweat
once again.

By the time the carriage turned onto the long drive
towards Shepherd Hall, Baldwyn was drenched with perspiration. The
lady had slept against his shoulder the entire way, snoring softly
and occasionally snuggling closer to him, accompanied by all manner
of ungodly noises.

"Lady Anastasia, we approach the house," he whispered
to the angel resting against his arm. When she did not stir, he
shook her arm gently. "My lady."

She blinked twice and lifted her groggy gaze to his.
He could see the sleepy confusion dissipate into understanding in
her dark eyes.

"Are you well?"

"Much recovered, your grace. Thank you." She sat up
slowly and eyed him. The smile of a sweet angel crept across her
soft pink lips.

The growing need to take her in his arms and make her
decidedly his mounted to urgency, and he knew he had to get out of
those close quarters immediately.