Mad About the Duke, page 18
“I most certainly meant to. I promised,” he said, slanting a grin at Tia. “And I did send a note around.”
“You did?” Elinor shook her head. “I fear it never arrived.”
Or it had and Mrs. Hutchinson had mistaken it for a dun from the greengrocer and used it to kindle the stove in the kitchen as she was apt to do with such missives—or any missive, for that matter.
“But you appear ready, Lady Standon,” he said. “And as it is, my daughter was unable to come. A mysterious ailment as well,” he said with a pointed glance at Tia. “Besides, it seems a terrible waste of apple tarts and French cheese to cancel our outing because of others’ misfortunes. Don’t you agree?”
Tia appeared unfazed by his skepticism. “I agree, Mr. St. Maur. Elinor, you must go. You cannot be the cause of Mr. St. Maur having to cancel his picnic, especially when he’s gone to so much trouble and expense on my account.”
“Your sister is right. I would be heartbroken to have to cancel our outing.” St. Maur folded his hands behind his back and would have looked completely woeful if it had not been for the sparkle in his eyes.
Our outing. As in the two of them.
“You would like to spend the afternoon in the country, wouldn’t you, Lady Standon?”
“Yes, but—”
“And your dogs would delight in a good ramble, would they not?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then I don’t see any problem at all. You just need your cloak and hat and we can be off.” He held his hand out to her and grinned.
Just like that. Running off with Mr. St. Maur. Elinor’s heart thudded in her chest.
“Sir, this is hardly proper—” Elinor glanced at Minerva for support, but her friend just sat there. Minerva, of all people! A lady who lived her life for propriety hadn’t anything to say about this very improper proposal of his? “That is to say, we cannot just go without—”
“Without what?” he said, completely missing the point.
“Without a chaperone,” she whispered.
He leaned over and whispered into her ear, “I do believe I can act properly, but if you fear you cannot…”
Elinor yanked back from him. Oh, bother the impossible man! For here he was, grinning at her. As if he thought himself a morsel too sweet to resist.
“Of all the—,” she sputtered.
“Of all the what?” he continued to say ever so softly, his warm breath teasing her ear, her neck, her every sense. “I mean to keep my word. But if you are afraid that you cannot keep yours—”
Oh, the audacity of the man to imply that she was incapable of restraining herself.
Which she could. Which she would.
She must.
“Just so we are clear on the matter,” she said, setting her shoulders and tucking her nose in the air.
“Very clear, my lady,” he chuckled. “Now are we going or not? I would very much like your opinion on the renovations.”
“Oh, do go, Elinor,” Tia urged. “For I hate to think of Mr. St. Maur going to such trouble for me, and you know how much you love the country.”
“Yes, I’ve gone to all this trouble for your sister, and if you refuse, it would all be for naught.” He sighed and once again feigned that woebegone look of a lad. A roguish, fully grown one, who chose this moment to wink saucily at her, as if he knew the conflict fluttering about in her breast.
Elinor shivered. He hadn’t done all this for Tia, he’d done it for her. And she would go with him, if only to prove that his teasing glances did nothing for her.
For they didn’t.
But Mr. St. Maur? That was another matter. The man was quite stealing her heart.
James had to admit that he’d never really understood the appeal of a picnic—all the fuss to do what? Eat one’s nuncheon while perched on the ground? Foolishness when there was a perfectly good table in one’s house, but today, he realized why it delighted so many.
It had to do with the company.
As they left the environs of London and crossed into the countryside, the buildings giving way to stone fences and rolling hills, he drew a deep breath of the crisp fresh air.
Beside him, Elinor laughed. “I feel the same way.” She glanced over her shoulder as if bidding London a fond farewell, then looked ahead. “I so love it outside of the city.”
Even the dogs seemed to delight in the change of scenery, perking up and sniffing the air. She had let the greyhounds out of the carriage, and they were now loping happily alongside, while her terrier, Fagus, yipped his encouragement (or taunts, given that the little dog was a regular handful) at them from the tiger’s seat.
“Yes, I do believe I could spend the rest of my life quite contentedly away from all that,” she said, nodding back at the grey streets and buildings.
“Then we have something in common,” he told her.
“That we do,” she said.
“I’ve been told commonalities go far in producing a happy marriage,” he said.
She straightened a bit.
“No, you mistake me, I am not suggesting—”
“Of course not,” she added hastily.
“It is just that my sister-in-law asserts that a good marriage comes when a man and a woman possess a number of commonalities. And I thought to put her advice to good use in helping you.”
“Your sister-in-law sounds quite sensible.”
“More than you know.” Miranda’s sensibility made her an eccentric among the addlepated Tremont clan.
“Did you share a number of commonalities with your wife?” Lady Standon asked.
Now it was his turn to straighten a bit.
“Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to pry,” she rushed to say.
“No, no, it is just that I had always thought we had much in common. But then—” James glanced away before he said, “We were young when we married. Too young.”
It was the platitude he had always used.
Elinor nodded. “I think in such instances it is easy to see another the way we want them to be and not as they are.”
There was so much truth, so much understanding to what she said, that James turned and smiled at her. “Yes, something like that.”
He had the sense she was speaking from her own experience. What little he knew of Edward Sterling wasn’t in the man’s favor. “Did you know much of your husband when you married him?”
The man’s proclivities must have been a shock to his young and all-too-innocent bride.
“No,” Elinor said. “But since my marriage was arranged and I had no say in the matter, perhaps it was better that way.”
“Everyone has some say,” he asserted. Surely Vanessa had had her choice, hadn’t she? It was a notion he’d never wanted to consider. That she’d been bullied and cajoled into a union with him.
“Thus says a man,” Elinor told him. “Daughters are married off every day for a variety of reasons and they have no say in their future. For what is their choice? Spinsterhood? Being tossed to the streets? See their family ruined?” She glanced away, as if suddenly aware of the bitterness in her voice. “No, marriage is more often than not the province of men.”
“Perhaps it is as difficult for a duke to find a wife,” he offered.
She snorted, most indelicately. “Difficult? For a duke to find a bride?”
James remained resolute. “I think his title would get in the way of his finding happiness.”
She shook her head. “Ridiculous. He would have his pick of Society.”
He paused for a second, then took a deep breath, steeling himself to get this out. “However is he to be certain that the lady he has chosen truly shares his affections?”
“Whenever did this become a matter of affections?”
“Don’t you think it should be?” he persisted.
Lady Standon crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you trying to say you find my search mercenary?”
“Isn’t it?” But before she could reply, he rushed to continue, “Believe it or not, I do think your happiness depends on finding the right duke.”
“Exactly,” she said, her stiff stance loosening a bit. “I don’t want to marry the wrong one.” She stopped short of adding “again,” he noticed. “That is why I want you to discover their interests, their inclinations.”
He could tell her where Longford’s lay right this moment, but he doubted she’d believe him.
“Do you want to get married?”
“It isn’t a matter of want, but necessity.” She paused and glanced out over the countryside. “Yet it would be nice if…”
James’s heart clenched. If…It was exactly that word that had held him back from remarrying. For how would he ever know if a lady truly loved him? If her heart belonged to him and him alone? For a man in his position, those things weren’t supposed to matter.
But oh, how they did to him.
The silence between them strung out like the wide blue sky overhead until James helped her out. “If you had something in common?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“So I have my work cut out for me. If I am to find you your perfect duke, then I have to know more about you, what you like and dislike.”
Lady Standon shook her head. “I wouldn’t know where to start. I think sometimes it is hard to truly know another person.”
That wistful note, that bit of longing to her words tugged at James. “Do you?” he asked. “At one time I would have agreed with you. I would have said there is no way to know what is in another’s heart.”
“And now?”
“My sister-in-law asserts that you just know when you meet the right person,” he replied, tugging at the reins, for all of a sudden the carriage and horses seemed to have a mind of their own.
“Like someone who can drive,” she teased.
“I can drive,” he asserted. Not overly well, but he could. “Though if that is one of your criteria, I might suggest that you expand your search a bit, for I don’t believe either Longford or Avenbury are decent whips.”
“They needn’t drive anywhere, they have coachmen and carriages aplenty for that.”
“Still, wouldn’t you like to be able to go on picnics from time to time, like this one?”
“This is delightful,” she confided with a sigh. “But I doubt my future holds such spontaneous outings.”
“Then you should add a few more names to your list.”
“You haven’t even finished with the current ones,” she pointed out.
“What about Parkerton?” he posed, trying to sound convincingly innocent.
“The Duke of Parkerton?” she sputtered. “Oh, no, he is far too old.”
“Too old!” he shot back. “Madame, I have it on good authority, he is the same age as I am.”
She looked at him and shook her head. “He cannot be. He is forty and then some, if he’s a day.”
“And so am I,” he told her.
“Oh, goodness, no. You can’t be that old.”
“You needn’t make me sound like Methuselah.”
She laughed. “No, it is just that you don’t look much over thirty.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. But I am forty. And some.”
“Really?” Lady Standon eyed him again, this time searching for some sign of his impending senility. “I can hardly believe you are so old.”
“Well, I don’t feel old, at least I hadn’t until a few moments ago.”
She laughed. “I am so sorry to have offended you.”
“And you, madame? How old are you?”
The lady bristled a bit. “I don’t see how that is—”
“Of course it is my business,” he told her. “How am I to convey your attributes if they have the same opinion of you?”
“That I am too old?” she sputtered.
“Exactly.”
“Oh, bother!” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I am nine and twenty.”
He glanced over at her and cocked a brow as if he didn’t believe her. Which he didn’t. Because he’d looked her up in Debrett’s.
Lady Standon groaned. “Yes, yes, I am thirty. But just.”
He coughed.
“One and thirty, then,” she huffed. “I am over thirty. Ancient. On the shelf. A veritable Ace of Spades. Are you pleased?”
He nodded and winked at her, and then they both laughed, and in that moment, in a glance, they understood what it meant to share something. To have that moment of commonality that bound two people together.
James felt the wonder of it down to the tips of his toes and knew that whatever had happened to him since Clifton’s blow, he’d been handed a chance to discover something that had eluded him all his life.
And while he knew that eventually he would have to give this all up, right now, he intended to relish every moment of being in Elinor’s company.
Not Lady Standon.
Elinor. His Elinor.
For with her next to him, the world spread out before him ready to be explored, ready to be shared.
They were coming up to a village and James turned to say something to her, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a hole in the road.
He tried to turn the horses, pulling at the reins to slow them down, but it was too late. The wheel hit the hole, jarring the carriage, and the world turned topsy-turvy.
Chapter 10
Elinor heard the jolt, the crack of the wheel. Everything happened at once—the curricle turning over, the horses’ sharp whinnies, the bark of the dogs as they leapt out of the way.
All she felt was St. Maur tugging her up against him, hauling her close as they fell.
How she didn’t break her neck, break something, she knew was the result of St. Maur’s quick actions.
They landed in the hard-packed dust of the road, the wheel bouncing off into the ditch in one direction, the carriage a tangled mess a half a dozen yards ahead of them.
“Are you all right?” he asked, cradling her in his arms.
“Yes,” she gasped, feeling a bit jolted and tumbled, but indeed unharmed. “Yes, I think I am. And you?”
“Alive,” he said, glancing up at the mess before them. “What the devil happened?”
“I believe the wheel fell off,” she said. And then she laughed. For it was all so unlikely. Here they were, in each other’s arms—unharmed—while the carriage looked a wreck. It was a miracle of sorts.
He glanced down at her, then laughed. “Yes, but how did the wheel fall off?”
“You drove into that hole,” she said, nodding at the menace behind them. “But certainly it shouldn’t have dislodged the wheel. Why, you’ve hit three others that were twice its size.” She smiled at him. “Are you sure you aren’t a duke?”
He glanced over at her. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing, it was just that you said most dukes are terrible whips—”
He straightened, “Are you saying—”
“No, St. Maur, I am not saying that. A hole that small should not have forced the wheel off. I think you need to complain to whoever rented you that curricle. It is a menace.”
“Was,” he said, surveying the wreckage.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “They won’t make you pay for the damages, will they?”
“Someone will pay for it,” she swore he muttered as he went over to the horses to settle them down.
Around them, the dogs barked and ran in circles.
The noise of the crash had brought the sleepy village awake, and one and all came running to see the accident.
Before Elinor knew it, the wife of the innkeeper had her bundled off with the help of other women from the village. She was escorted to a warm corner in the public house, where she was cosseted with a cup of hot tea and peppered with a bevy of questions.
“And he saved you?” one of the ladies repeated.
“But of course he did,” another said, nudging the first woman. “Did you see the man? He’s quite a sight.”
Elinor nodded, feeling a sense of pride in St. Maur that she had no right to claim. “He caught me just as the wheel went flying and I was about to be flung out.”
“Gar, you could have gone and broke yer neck,” one of the maids said.
“Or worse,” another added, nodding solemnly.
All agreed with the lass, though Elinor was at a loss to know what was worse than a broken neck.
“Now where were you off to, ma’am?” one of them asked.
“We were going to Colston,” she said. “For a picnic.”
“A picnic?” one of them repeated. “This time of year?”
They shared a glance that suggested that perhaps the crash wasn’t such an accident after all.
“Mr. St. Maur is inspecting the construction at Colston. He thought I might enjoy a jaunt to the country.”
“Do you like the country then, Mrs. St. Maur?” the innkeeper’s wife asked.
“Oh, I am not Mrs. St. Maur,” Elinor said without thinking, and even as she said it, she could feel the good wives of the village pulling back from her as if she had just grown a second head.
“I am Lady Standon,” she told them, though this did nothing to improve her standing with them. “Mr. St. Maur is my solicitor,” she said, trying to find some way to make her unescorted trip into the country without a maid or a companion in her company look better than it truly was.
Just then, St. Maur came bounding through the door. “Excellent news, my lady!”
“The carriage is fixed?” she asked, hoping for a fast getaway before these ladies got out the stocks and enforced some ancient decency laws.
“No,” he said. “It’s an utter ruin. But I managed to salvage our basket.”
The good wives of the village glanced at each other, clucking their tongues and gathering up their skirts, as well as their concern for Elinor.
Any woman fool enough to travel about with such a man deserved her ruin.
Handsome though he was.
“Mad, the pair of them,” one of the ladies muttered under her breath.
“Aye, mad.”
Elinor ignored the whispers, now seeing another point of concern. How the devil were they going to get out of this mess?
More to the point, out of this village of gossips.
