Woo'd in Haste (8 page)

“Why not?”

“Bea! A stupid question that is and you know it. Do you want to be like my third-cousin Rosalind, who ran off with a gypsy?”

“He isn’t a gypsy.”

“He might as well be.”

“I thought you’d be thrilled. Want all the salacious details.”

“You didn’t really. What sort of a friend do you think I am? If you want to kiss him, I won’t be the one to say stop, but please, don’t let him think it’s going anywhere and don’t get caught.”

They sat in silence a moment.

“That being said,” Alice began again, picking up her reticule-in-progress and settling back on the sofa. “Tell me the details.”

L
uc would never have thought that on his afternoon off he would choose to go fishing. True, he had come to enjoy the sport when in the company of Bianca (everything was more delightful in her company), but he preferred distance between his food and the animal it had once been. Yes, it was a bit of a squeamish, unmanly thing to admit, and he would never actually admit it to anyone outside of his own head, but it was true. Yet, Reggie had met him at the door with angler-rods at the ready.

“I’m very glad you have an afternoon off,” Reggie said, running a careless hand through his curls as they trekked across the estate. “Gives me an excuse to get away from the estate. Peter’s back home and it’s all I can do to avoid him.”

“What did you do this time?” Luc asked, laughing.

“It’s expensive living in London. It’s expensive
living
. Living well, at least. And what’s the point of being a Colburn if one cannot live well? Take you, for example. Imagine as an earl’s son being refused that Grand Tour of yours?”

“The way Bianca has been refused her Season.”

“Exactly. Imagine having to account for every single little expense. You know, you should be grateful she hasn’t had a Season. I’m certain she wouldn’t still be available otherwise. Nor susceptible to the advances of a lowly tutor.”

“Has Peter refused you?”

“No, but he insists I do not exceed my allowance. That is all very well and good August through February, but March through July, there must be some flexibility. How is your romance going, by the by?”

Luc flushed.

“That well?”

“I think I should speak to her father. Explain who I am. Ask to court her. Certainly before this house party.”

“Yes, it could be exceedingly awkward if anyone you know is there.”

“Exactly.”

“But there is still the matter of Kate.”

“She arrives next week.”

“I think it might be best for your case if we stack the deck. Mr. Mansfield might be irate at the deception.”

“Reggie, it was your idea!”

“I meant it as a way to get you into the house, to be able to spend time with her. No need to keep your identity a secret from the woman who loves you. Right? In any event, let’s find Kate a husband. Or at least a serious suitor who will make it look as though she’s about to be married.”

“Who? From what everyone has said, she is hardly appealing.”

“She’s appealing enough . . . physically. Can you find out the guest list for the house party?”

“I’m not certain.”

“We cannot count on what we do not know. I know! Peter. We’ll ask him to woo her.”

“Peter? They’ve known each other forever, I presume. Wouldn’t they be married already if they were going to be?”

Reggie shrugged. “I’m not suggesting they actually marry. In any event, Kate needs a suitor, and you want a wife. Peter should be in his study about now.”

He made as though to leave and reluctantly, Luc followed him.

“I thought you were avoiding him.”

“You see what a good friend I am? Let’s go.”

T
hrough the open window of the second-floor schoolroom, Luc heard the rumbling of carriage wheels up the drive.

Apparently Thomas heard it, too, because he jumped up from the particularly long problem of division on which he had been toiling and ran to the window. Perhaps a real tutor would have forced the boy back to his work, but Luc followed him, equally eager to see. After all, Bianca was back.

Good. He had to tell her. He had put himself in an impossible situation. Made love to her when she likely thought he was the worst sort of bounder, someone who could not possibly offer for her unless he meant to make her elope with him and live in poverty. Would he do that if he truly were the simple man he pretended to be? For love, perhaps. So then he was a bounder regardless. At least he was a bounder who could tell her the truth. Not woo her under false pretenses. Reassure her that he had the means to take care of her. That she didn’t need to worry about the risks of stolen kisses.

Peter had thought the entire plan ridiculous, and though Luc had had difficulty admitting it in front of the older man, he knew it was. Even Reggie seemed to think Luc should not have kept up the deception so long. But each day it had been harder and harder to reveal himself.

Then she was gone. Now, once again, he would have a narrow window of opportunity. Before her sister and the guests arrived.

The carriage pulled up. The footman, Alex, went to open the door. Luc longed to run downstairs and greet her but at this point it would be unseemly. There would be time enough at dinner and after dinner.

But then he noticed the carriage was slightly different from the one that had departed six days earlier. And the horses were not the Cleveland bays that had departed a week earlier, but instead were hackneys.

Then the door opened and a bare head of brown curls popped out. Followed a moment later by another head of darker brown hair. Henrietta and Catherine. His time had run out.

“Mama!” Thomas cried, and then he ran out of the room and Luc was forced to follow him. Through the hall, down the stairs, into the entry hall, where the two ladies were standing amid piles of luggage and a gaggle of servants.

The woman Luc presumed to be Mrs. Mansfield, though she hardly looked older than Catherine, was talking to the housekeeper when Thomas barreled toward her.

“Mama!” he cried again. She turned with a beatific smile on her face and opened her arms, bending down slightly to embrace him.

“Look how big you’ve grown!” Then she looked up at Luc, her smile no less welcoming. “And you must be Mr. Dore. My husband wrote glowingly of you.”

“Mrs. Mansfield, what a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said.

“My daughter, Catherine.”

He turned his full attention to Kate. She looked nothing like what he had expected: evil personified. Instead she was a young woman of an age with him, petite, with dark brown hair and brown eyes, completely the opposite of Bianca’s golden, voluptuous beauty. She’d be forgettable, really, another “pretty enough” girl, if not for a certain intensity about her.

“Mr. Dore,” she said with a small smile. Then she looked about. “But where are my sister and father?”

“In Eastbourne, to pick up the new horses,” Thomas interjected.

“They are due home any day now,” Luc added. His words were rewarded by a flash of disappointment across Kate’s features. “We thought you would be them.”

“Ah, yes, the horses,” Henrietta said.

“And Bianca, as well?”

Luc looked sharply at Kate. Was there jealousy behind those words or merely disappointment that she could not see her sister? He was fascinated by her, by this woman who had up until now simply been the mythical obstacle in the way of his path to love.

“Yes, Bianca, as well.”

Kate nodded and then turned away. He watched as she and her brother embraced and then the family disappeared from the hall. He stood for a moment, watching the footmen move trunks and packages here and there before he, too, moved on.

“S
urely you don’t think so, Miss Mansfield!” Arthur Latham exclaimed. He looked to his younger sister as if for support but Clarissa Latham
tsk
ed.

“This, dear brother, is where I must side with my own sex. Darcy is the epitome of manliness.”

“But he’s a great bore. Wickham is far more fun,” their younger brother, Gavin, chimed in. “The author is simply moralizing and
that
as we all know is a bore, as well.”

“Heresy,” Bianca decreed, even as she grinned. Unlike her conversations with her sister, the evening’s “disagreement” was all in fun. It hardly mattered what anyone said, there were no undertones of tension and deeper meaning to ruin the evening. Everything was light and fun, and she was having a wonderful time.

A change of scene was good. Bianca hadn’t realized how much she needed it until the first morning she woke up at Featherley, well-rested after a long night’s sleep. The last time she had been away from home for more than a day had been five years ago when they’d all gone to Brighton.

Distance was refreshing. Distance gave perspective. And at night, after a day spent shopping with Lottie all over town (her father had been exceedingly generous, in no small part due to his guilt, and she had for the first time unabashedly exploited that), distance meant a small soiree.

Mr. Latham, he of the excellent stables from which her father was acquiring his new horses, and his wife had two sons and one daughter. All amiable, all exceedingly well-favored. They were horse-mad and lighthearted and the eldest son was a terrible flirt. Or a wonderful flirt, if one preferred to think of it that way. They’d invited their neighbors, and now there was to be dancing. The last time Bianca had danced had been ages ago.

If only life could always be this way. With Luc it almost was, but there was tension there. A heavier undercurrent. A sense that she was living on borrowed time, doing something illicit. That if she let herself feel too deeply, it would only end in pain.

Which was why she refused to think of him at all. And surely that meant she didn’t love him. That those confusing feelings were simply
lust
(the very thought of the word made her blush).

But as she stepped out with Arthur onto the floor, newly cleared of the large carpet that usually graced the drawing room, when his hands touched her waist, she thought of another embrace, of Luc’s. Of his kisses and his scent. A wave of longing swept over her.

Maybe she couldn’t brush him aside. What of it? Love?

As she went through the steps of the reel, as she passed from one partner to the next and back again, her mind was far away, back in Watersham, on lazy summer mornings and afternoons, on stolen moments in empty corridors, on a smile that warmed her soul, that was for her alone.

So what if he was no better than a servant? He was good and kind and yes, he had been forward, but how could she blame him? When one was passionate, propriety, class, indeed, even
pride
and
prejudice
, should all be no impediment.

Although those thoughts were all very fine and democratic. In truth, despite her decision to no longer heed to her sister’s demands, Bianca was not entirely certain she was brave or bold enough to follow her heart’s desire in this matter. It was so very unwise. Lottie would caution her against it. Had cautioned her against Luc, in fact, although she could not have known of the burgeoning affair. Her mother would have warned her, too.

She finished the dance with a much heavier heart than she had begun. Yes, yes, it was love. But no . . . no, it could not be.

A
s they rattled up the drive, Bianca soaked in all the familiar details of her home. Hopford Manor was both haven and prison but at this moment she was happy to return. Eager to see Luc again, even if in just a few days more, Kate would be there, too.

But the instant they descended from the carriage, she knew something had changed. Everything
felt
different.
Sounded
different. She strode across the drive to the house, leaving her father in her wake, and headed inside. There it was clear what had changed. Henrietta and Kate emerged from the sitting room, all smiles even as footmen carried trunks into the house. But the joy Bianca had felt at seeing Luc faded as her gaze fell on Kate, whose expression darkened and then fixed in a smile again, this one obviously false. The precursor most likely to some new cruelty she’d devised.

“Bea!”

Bianca didn’t have to glance toward her brother as he ran down the stairs calling her name to know that where Thomas was, Luc followed.

She could feel his presence the way a summer storm lay on one’s skin. Wild and thrilling and full of expectation.

Luc
.

Whom she couldn’t acknowledge the way she wished to with the whole household looking on. With Kate there. Kate, who would find a way to torment her if she knew.

Why did Kate have to come home now? Why couldn’t she just stay away, marry, and never come home? Everyone would be far happier.

The anticipation of Kate returning always caused anxiety in Bianca’s stomach, but then there was her actual arrival. As usual, a wrenching duality of emotions seized her: an almost joyful longing, as if they were both still children, their mother alive, life good, and also that fear of what this adult Kate would do next. How she would torment her sister. Both feelings were equally unwelcome, and Bianca pushed them away until she was numb and uncaring. Until she could be as politely disinterested in the elegant young woman in front of her as she would with any stranger.

Bianca deliberately turned to Thomas first, hugged him, and spent an inordinately long time tickling him and generally ignoring Kate. Then, she planned to turn to her stepmother, but Henrietta was greeting Bianca’s father with a display of affection that never failed to irritate and embarrass Bianca. After all, if Henrietta truly loved him, she’d hardly gallivant about most of the year without him.

“How was Featherley?” Kate asked. Bianca reluctantly turned to her.

“It was fine.” She didn’t want to admit she’d had fun, to give her sister any room to ruin the experience, even in memory.

“We should tal—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Bianca cut her off, risking
the wrath of Kate
. “I’m very tired, though, from the journey.”