Once Upon A Dream (19 page)

“All whisky is lethal. They are a handsome team.”

They were, in fact, a gorgeous team, for they confirmed that traveling the length of England with Hardcastle had not cost Sedgemere his few remaining wits.
The coach from which the horses had been unhitched looked familiar because it
was
familiar.

When last Sedgemere had seen that coach, his entire being had yet been humming with the pleasure of having kissed the lady he’d just sent on her way
at a tidy gallop.

“I do not care for that expression, Sedgemere,” Hardcastle said, using a wrinkled handkerchief to bat the dust from his hat. “That
expression is
bemused
, as if you’re plotting mischief unbecoming of a gentleman. The last time I saw that expression, Headmaster nearly wore
out his arm warming our little backsides.” 

“It was worth it,” Sedgemere said. “We agreed the birching was worth seeing Lord Postlethwaite shorn of his flowing tresses for the rest
of the term. Besides, what boy of eleven is vain about his hair, for God’s sake? Poodlethwaite had it coming.”

The nickname had been Hardcastle’s stroke of genius. Sedgemere had been the one to cut off his slumbering little lordship’s hair.

“Let’s greet our host and hostess, shall we?” Hardcastle said. “I’m for a soaking bath and a nap, and I daresay you could use
some freshening as well.”

“Happens you’re right.” For as the handsome blacks were led away for a rubdown and some hours at grass, Sedgemere knew three things.

First, he would not present himself to Miss Faraday in all his dirt, though he would find her, and soon.

Second, he was a gentleman, so he must apologize for having kissed her.

Third, he most definitely would kiss her again, every chance he got.

 “Those are children,” Anne said, half of her weariness falling away. “I didn’t realize the house party was to include
children.”

“Their Graces have thirty-six grandchildren, though the duchess’s goal is one hundred,” Harrison said. “The children are always
welcome at Veramoor House.”

Three little boys came to a halt facing Anne in the corridor. Each had flaming red hair, each carried a small valise.

“Ma’am,” the tallest said, executing a bow. The other two bowed as well, but as a unit. Twins, then, though their looks were not exactly
identical.

“Gentlemen,” Anne said, curtseying. “Hello, I’m Miss Anne Faraday.”

The shorter two exchanged a look. The tallest switched his valise from one hand to the other. “You’re not Lady Anne? We only know ladies and
servants.”

“That was rude, Ryland,” one of the twins said. “We know some commoner women who aren’t servants. They aren’t as pretty you
though, ma’am.”

The footman who’d been herding the boys along the corridor cleared his throat. Harrison twitched at her keys.

“Thank you for the compliment,” Anne said to the shorter boy. “I am a commoner, but I’m also a guest at this house party. I hope
you are too?”

The child who’d spoken not a word yet nodded and blushed, and because he was a redhead, his blush was brilliant, right to the tips of his ears. 

“We’re to help protect Hardcastle from the mamas and debutantes,” Ryland said. “His Grace of Hardcastle told us so. I’m
Alasdair, and this is Ralph and Richard. They’re lords too.”

More bows. Anne would explain proper introductions to them some time when two other adults weren’t looking pained and impatient, and a duchess
wasn’t waiting tea on Anne.

“I am very pleased to meet you all,” Anne said. “I hope our paths cross again soon. Will you stay for the full two weeks?”

“Oh, yes,” Richard replied, “and we’re not to get dirty ever, and we’re to stay out of sight all the time, and we’re to
behave, or Papa will make us write Latin until Michaelmas. I don’t see how we can help protect Hardcastle if we’re doing all this behaving and
staying out of sight.”

The quiet boy, Ralph, spoke up in tones barely above a whisper. “Richard is l-logical. Papa is logical too.”

Alasdair swatted Ralph’s arm. “Ralph is our lexicon, when he talks at all.”

Something quacked in the vicinity of Ralph’s valise. Harrison’s keys fell silent. The footman’s eyebrows climbed nearly to the molding.

“I daresay you’re all three tired and hungry,” Anne said. “Best get up to the nursery soonest.”

“Of course,” the footman said, marching off. “Come along, your lordships.”

“A pleasure to have met you,” Anne said, curtseying as deeply as if they were three little dukes.

Alasdair, who was apparently burdened with a courtesy title already, bowed, followed by his brothers.

“Likewise, ma’am. Have a pleasant stay. Will you help us protect Hardcastle? Papa says friends look out for one another, and Hardcastle is my
god-papa.”

“He’s quite fond of us too,” Richard said. “He said so, anyway, and Papa didn’t correct him.”

For small children, these three could be quite serious, putting Anne in mind of…

Oh, merciful days
. Hardcastle was Sedgemere’s friend, and these were Sedgemere’s boys. The blue eyes shaded closer to periwinkle rather than frozen sky, the
noses were understated compared to His Grace’s, but the earnestness, the gravity was already there.

“Assisting you to look out for the Duke of Hardcastle will be my special privilege,” Anne said. “Do you see that door there, with the two
birds on it? That is my room, and you may seek me there before supper if you have need of me. I’ll know I can find you in the nursery.”

Another quack issued from Ralph’s valise. He clutched his traveling case to his chest, expression panicked. Richard and Alasdair stepped in front of
him, the eldest wearing a scowl worthy of a duke.

“Off with you,” Anne said, smiling brilliantly. “The Duchess of Veramoor is expecting me for tea, and I dare not disappoint her. Very
pleased to have met you, gentlemen, and I look forward to seeing more of you.”

When the footman nearly dashed up the stairs, the boys bolted after him, while Anne stood listening to indignant quacking that boded wonderful adventures
for the next two weeks.

“I ought to see to the boys,” Sedgemere said, though he’d rather accost an underbutler and bribe Miss Faraday’s location out of
him.

At Sedgemere’s side, Hardcastle trudged up the stairs. “You ought to take a damned bath. Your fragrance is most un-ducal, Sedgemere. The boys
will want a trip to the garden after having been cooped up in the coach all day, and they do not need you spouting lectures about
cave quid dicis
—well, hello, Miss Faraday.”

Beware what you say
. Excellent advice at all times. Even knowing Miss Faraday was a guest at Veramoor House, Sedgemere wasn’t prepared for the sight of her right there
on the first landing of the main staircase. He was dusty, disheveled, and, yes, sweaty, while she was comfortably elegant in lavender sprigged muslin.

She was also staring at his mouth and smiling a pleased, naughty smile.

“Your Graces, good afternoon,” she said, dipping a curtsey. “I believe I just had the pleasure of meeting your children, Sedgemere, and
what delightful gentlemen they are.”

Damn and blast. “They are hellions, madam, and don’t be fooled by Lord Ralph’s quiet either. I’ll order them to stay away from you,
not that children should be in adult company if it’s at all avoidable. Veramoor was insistent that the children be brought along, and his duchess
likes children, if you can credit such a thing.”

He was babbling, and he stank, and Hardcastle was looking amused. Worse than all that, Miss Faraday’s smile had disappeared.

“I like children,” she said. “Like them better than most adults, and longed for siblings when I was growing up. I still wish I had a
brother or a sister. Your sons are perfectly charming, and you should be proud to show them off.”

Charm. Why the devil did women set so much store by charm? “If you say so,” Sedgemere replied.

“He’ll be taking the boys for a romp in the garden in about an hour,” Hardcastle said, the wretch. “Perhaps you’d care to
join them? This far north, the roses last a bit longer, and the light is lovely.”

That was not Latin. That was Hardcastle meddling, though thank goodness, his bumbling had restored Miss Faraday’s smile.

“A walk in the garden would be just the thing,” she said. “From my window, I can see a fountain in a knot garden. Shall I meet you and
the children there in an hour?”

Gardens and Miss Faraday were a lovely combination. “I’m not sure if the children—”

Hardcastle coughed, sounding like Sedgemere’s own grandmama, then muttering something that sounded like
ducal dumbus doltus
.

“An hour,” Sedgemere said. “Give or take. The boys struggle with punctuality.” Also with manners, proper dress, deportment, French,
Latin, sums—they were terrible with sums, the lot of them—and with anything resembling civility.

And yet, Sedgemere couldn’t bring himself to send Alasdair—Ryland—off to Eton. Not just yet.

“I’ll look forward to joining you.” Miss Faraday patted Sedgemere’s arm and bustled off, sending a whiff of lavender and loveliness
though Sedgemere’s tired brain.

“
Non admirentur
,” Hardcastle said. “And particularly don’t gawk at the lady on the main staircase, when anybody might see
you.”   

Sedgemere took the remaining stairs two at a time. “I’m to meet her in the garden in one hour, Hardcastle. That leaves me only thirty minutes
to bathe, shave, and change, and thirty minutes to lecture the boys. Ten minutes per boy is hardly sufficient for putting them on their manners.”

Hardcastle ascended the stairs at a maddeningly decorous pace. “The point of turning children loose in a huge garden is so they can for one quarter
of an hour forget their manners.
You
certainly did.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Hardcastle marched right past Sedgemere, heading down the long corridor on the side of the house overlooking the stables.

“You heard me,” Hardcastle said. “At The Duke’s Arms. I thought to retrieve you from the garden because Miss Faraday’s coach
was ready to leave the yard, and what do I find, but a peer of the realm accosting an innocent young lady in the shade. I withdrew quietly in deference to
the lady’s sensibilities
and my own
.”

“She gave as good as she got, Hardcastle. You mustn’t be jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” Hardcastle said, counting doors as they strode along. “I am firmly in Miss Faraday’s camp, and shall do all in
my power to further her interests. I am confident the boys can be won to that cause as well. If your intentions with respect to Miss Faraday are
dishonorable, I shall kill you. This is my room. Yours is the one with the rose carved on the door.”

“You intrude on one kiss, and you’re ready to call me out?” Sedgemere said, oddly touched.

“I’ll shoot to kill. I’ll take good care of the boys,” Hardcastle replied. “You needn’t worry on that score. I might
marry Miss Faraday too.”

Hardcastle was a bloody good shot, and he wasn’t smiling, but then, Hardcastle never smiled.

“One kiss does not a debauch make,” Sedgemere said. “I must away to my bath.”

“Elias, for God’s sake, be careful,” Hardcastle said, jamming a key into the lock on his door. “You married young, and thus were
spared the dangerous waters of infatuation and flirtation. Miss Faraday is decent, and your kisses could ruin her. You don’t want the ruin of a young
lady on your conscience, particularly not that young lady. Moreover, I do not want to raise your children.”

Hardcastle’s admonition was appropriate. A desire to kiss a woman wasn’t that unusual, but Sedgemere’s regard for
this
woman was
something altogether more substantial.

“I won’t ruin her,” he said, fishing his own key from his pocket. “I like her, I like her father, and I have reason to hope she
might like me. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

Because tempus was fugit-ing, and a gentleman was punctual. Sedgemere had told the boys as much on hundreds of occasions.

“Be off with you,” Hardcastle said, pushing his door open. “Perhaps later I’ll explain to you the peculiar circumstances under
which Lord Ralph asked me how to say ‘duck’ in Latin.”

“Ralph is a quiet fellow with two brothers, both of whom are quick with their fists,” Sedgemere said, fiddling the key in his lock. “Of
course he needs to know how to duck in several languages.”

Hardcastle shook his head and disappeared into his room.

The key turned in Hardcastle’s lock, an appreciated reminder that cut through Sedgemere’s sense of urgency. House-party rules meant bedroom
doors stayed locked at all times. He’d make sure Miss Faraday grasped that thoroughly the next time he had enough privacy with her to kiss her
senseless.

Tea with the duchess had been forty-five minutes of stories about Anne’s mama, stories her own father hadn’t seen fit to pass along, or perhaps
Papa didn’t know them.

Mama had apparently been an accomplished flirt, including foreign princes among her entourage, though she’d been the mere daughter of a baron. The
idea that she could have married anybody, but had chosen Papa was… touching.

Anne had barely five minutes to stop by her room for a straw hat before finding her way to the knot garden, which was deserted. She forbade herself to
check the time, and instead opened the first of the dispatches from Papa that had been waiting for her at Veramoor House.

The news was not good, but then, Papa was a worrier, taking the welfare of each client very much to heart, though he never,
ever
mentioned clients
by name. Anne was mentally composing her reply when a shadow fell across the page.

“The Vandal horde will descend in less than five minutes. If that correspondence is valuable, you’d best tuck it away or they’ll use it
to start a conflagration and tell you they’re re-enacting the burning of Moscow.”

Sedgemere stood glowering down at her, though Anne hadn’t heard his approach. She stashed Papa’s epistle in her reticule and rose.