1. She was the sister of the man he had betrayed.
2. She was a lady
3. She was in this fragile predicament due to his bloody error.
And 4. She was a female trying to elude, and he, being of the male persuasion, could not help but give chase.
There might be another reason lurking, he feared, but it was too hard to see. Point four was most likely the driving force. He’d seen a legion of gentlemen fall to that inherent jungle trait, and he should know better. And yet why could he not ignore that itch to conquer? It had been his undoing in the past.
And so it was with his natural black wit and charm, and unnatural trepidation, that the first Duke of Abshire opened his great house and vast gardens to a horde of two hundred eighty-six neighbors possessed of a curiosity that only a fourteen-year absence could foster. The chase was on.
“May I say, Your Grace, that Rutledge Hall is the very finest property in Derbyshire?” Baroness Littlefield inquired.
“You may, madam, however, I would not say it in Lady Fitzroy’s hearing for I should like to impress her, and your comment may have the opposite effect.”
The large-bosomed lady tittered, while her neighbor, the tall plain wife of Sir John continued. “Boxwood is extraordinary, Your Grace, but it is cold and imposing—especially that forbidding maze and lake of theirs. Rutledge Hall evokes romance and mystery.”
“I’m delighted to hear it, madam.” He smiled benevolently. “For there will be mystery and romance here today if I have anything to say about it.”
The ladies’ jaws dropped, and he suggested they help themselves to the wine and the duck canapés.
He did not have to say another word for he knew it would take all of a quarter of an hour to get back to her. If there was one thing he had learned, the art of gossip in England was even more efficient than in France.
Precisely one hour later he bored through the crowds to pursue his main objective. And while the guests appeared to avert their gazes, he knew that every person within a five-mile radius had their beady eyes upon him.
Verity had fortified her position by protecting her buttresses with Lady Haverty on one side, and on the other, her cousin Esme, now the Duchess of Norwich. Norwich, himself, stood next to his new bride, looking much like a man who just discovered he had made a deal with the devil, and a lifetime spent with these ladies in Derbyshire was the price. It had been three weeks since Rory’s fellow member of the royal entourage had mysteriously reappeared without a word of explanation for his hasty, hushed-up marriage.
“Delighted to see you again, madam, after all these years,” Rory said to Esme, and then nodded to Norwich, using his moniker, “Seventeen.”
The duchess curtsied while her gray eyes examined him in a way that made Rory feel as if she could read his every thought.
“Lady Fitzroy was just saying she is not impressed,” Norwich stated.
“Nor is she interested in anything the guests here are circulating,” Esme added, moving closer to Verity.
Rory bowed to the other two ladies. “Your servant, Lady Haverty, Lady Fitzroy.”
He grasped V’s hand before she could say a word and pressed his lips on the back of her gloved fingers. His nose touched her bare wrist and the unmistakable scent of violets flooded his senses. He immediately released her hand.
“Are you now,” Verity began, a bit out of breath. “Since when does a
servant
inform guests there will be mystery and romance in the still of the afternoon?”
“Since today,” he murmured. “You’ve forced me to up the ante, Lady Fitzroy.”
Mary Haverty laughed, a deep, throaty melodic sound to most gentlemen’s ears. To Rory, it was a sound reminiscent of disaster.
He offered his forearm to Verity. “I beg you to join me for a stroll to the water’s edge. I’ve been given to understand that it is superior to Boxwood’s. Less forbidding.”
“And romantic,” Mary inserted, still smiling.
“Romantically mysterious,” he replied, looking only at Verity.
The Duke of Norwich sighed heavily. “Frankly, I don’t care if it’s where the eternal Lady of the Lake lurks. Either way, we shall,
all of us
, play nursemaids to the both of you. Candover would demand it.”
“Candover would not, I assure you,” Rory retorted. “Mind your own debacle, Norwich. Pardon me, Lady Haverty, Esme—”
“No offense taken,” Esme replied quickly.
He pointedly regarded Norwich. “I trust you will manage here well enough without us”—he offered his arm to Verity—“and in case you haven’t noticed, there are
fowl
lurking in the shallows down there.”
The odd comment drew a black glare from Norwich. Everyone in England knew his family had been cursed by a witch two centuries ago to die by duck—yes,
duck
. It had proven to be a most effective curse for the sixteen Norwich dukes who preceded Seventeen. The latter was known to avoid all bodies of water larger than a copper bathing tub—for good reason.
Verity cleared her throat and cut in before the fur on Norwich’s back rose another inch. “Do remember our neighbors’ talents at lip-reading. And, while I appreciate your effort, Your Grace”—she looked toward Norwich—“I assure you spinsters are perfectly capable of strolling with gentlemen without raising any alarm.”
She refused to take Rory’s arm, but moved forward to stroll down the wide lawn to the lake in the distance. Already, a bevy of energetic young ladies and gentlemen were rowing several small rowboats or strolling beside the willow trees edging the water.
“Rory?”
“Yes?”
“You are going to have to try a new tactic.” She smiled up at him, to confuse anyone looking at them, he was certain.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I know your game, and it won’t work.”
“Game?”
“Yes. The one where you allow everyone in the neighborhood to think you have lost your mind and suddenly developed a
tendre
for me.” She held her hands behind her back, her aristocratic profile tilted proudly despite yet another confirmation of her atrocious taste regarding hats. “But, you see, it won’t play out that way, Rory. Instead, everyone will wonder why you are in such need of a dowry in excess of fifty thousand pounds since you were just lavished with a title and an extraordinary surplus of riches by the prince. Or it will positively confirm any possible future reports that you ruined me. This isn’t the solution and you know it.”
They came to a stop close to several beached boats at the sandy edge of the lake. A small boathouse was adjacent.
“Let them wonder the former,” he said, leaning closer. Under the brim of her hat, a tendril of her dark brown hair fluttered in the light breeze. “Do we really care what they think?” A part of him filled with ill-ease at his actions. He guided her toward the deeply shaded corner of the boathouse, nearest the lake’s edge. She was hidden from the vast crowd on the rise behind them, but he was in plain view.
“I just don’t understand why you are behaving so gallantly and against your nature,” she insisted. “It isn’t like you. Since when did you become so determined to play the knight in shining armor to the damsel in distress?”
Since when, indeed
.
“It will all blow over, you’ll see,” she insisted. “You know it,” she continued in a whisper.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head until his forehead touched the rim of her hat. “Of course it
might
in time. Anything is possible, if not likely. But, you see, I find I cannot deprive myself of a chance to marry into the Fitzroy clan.”
“I refuse to live a lie,” she insisted, not meeting his eyes. Her dark lashes were fanned against the perfection of her smooth, even complexion.
“My dear V, everyone lives lies of some sort. Until the day someone devises a way for others to see another’s true thoughts, we will all of us only see truth in the privacy of our own minds.”
“Thank God for that,” she murmured.
It was the last thing he could have imagined she would utter. “We are of like mind, I see.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, turning serious. “More importantly, I’ve always believed the character of a person can only truly be discerned by their actions when no one is watching.”
“Ah,” he murmured, leaning his arm against the corner of the boathouse and moving even closer to her. “I don’t need to spy on you or your thoughts to know you are a good and honest person.”
“Not always.” Her dark hard-to-read eyes finally met his. “I have many flaws—some more severe than others—like everyone else. Actually, I know of only one person whose flaws I’ve never been able to perceive.”
“And who is this paragon?”
“A loyal friend who has more courage, character, intelligence, and innate good sense than anyone else in Christendom and beyond. She is also the most stunningly beautiful creature alive.”
“Lady Mary Haverty?”
She shook her head. “But Mary is in some ways like her.”
Lord, it was this way she had—of always saying the unexpected—that surprised him. She would not behave as the other ladies he had known, who drew attention to their own sterling attributes. “She sounds like a product of your vivid imagination, V. No such lady exists.” His smile belied his words. “So I don’t believe you.”
“Have you ever trusted anyone, Rory?” She tilted her head and gazed at his face. “Have you ever
loved
someone with all your heart . . . Unreservedly?”
“So serious, suddenly.” Bold honesty never led to anything good. “By the by, the ribbon on that, ahem,
hat,
matches your eyes to perfection. But, why in the name of God of all bonnets are you wearing grapes and kumquats on one side and a trio of crows on the other side?”
“They are lovebirds, you idiot. And everyone knows fruits on hats are all the rage right now.”
“But not an entire fruit stall. Are those violets tucked in back?”
She studied him silently for a moment. “I’ve never known anyone so capable of managing conversations via diversion, wit, or flattery. The last it has not been my privilege to ever hear from your lips, I might add. But, I would advise you to save your breath, for I think I’ve proven I’m quite immune to your ways. Now then, are you going to answer my question or not?”
“The love question?”
“Precisely.”
“Why are ladies uniformly infatuated with the notion of love?”
She studied him without a word.
“Love does not promise happiness,” he said, evading her question.
“I never suggested it did,” she replied softly.
He pursed his lips. Today had obviously been a bloody waste of time, not to mention the cost of the food, and wine, and the effort to arrange the fruit artfully dripping from family crystal. He could have saved a lot of guineas by just using the elements on her hat.
Thank God the unmistakable sound of footsteps intruded.
“Coward,” Verity whispered as he backed slightly away.
A cool breeze fluttered through the swirling leaves of the nearby weeping willow, and two ladies arm in arm approached. One of the females had an expression that promised a knife in the back during the dead of night, whilst the other had that seductive, bemused look he had tried to forget for so many long years. Well at least his effort to provide a show for his guests had worked. Verity would be one step closer to accepting the inevitable by the end of the day.
“Fancy that,” Lady Mary Haverty said, stopping a few feet from them but addressing her walking companion. “I declare that now we’ve come all this distance, Miss Talmadge, I’m sorry to beg off rowing about in the heat of the afternoon with you. But perhaps . . .” She, of the daggers in her gaze, squarely looked at him.
He turned from the auburn-haired lady to the blond beauty.
Phoebe Talmadge smiled at him, her fine expression shimmering like a rose at the peak of bloom compared to Mary, who resembled a cross patch of nettles. Who was he to disappoint? He knew how to retreat, reassess, and regroup with the best of them.
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Talmadge.” He extended his arm.
“Oh, but I am perfectly capable of going it alone, Your Grace,” Phoebe purred. “No need to trouble yourself.”
“I cannot allow it, my dear,” he insisted, as he should. “I must assist you. Especially since I’m not furthering my cause here.”
Phoebe exhibited the same coy smile Catharine had used expressly in his direction and lay her pale, thin arm along the top of his.
He didn’t really want to go, but all his plans, schemes, and other ill-thought-out ideas, which had previously proved successful, needed time to simmer. “It’s my pleasure. Oh, and Lady Fitzroy?” He turned slightly to address her.
“Yes,” she replied, not lifting her head. All he could see was the brim of her atrocious bonnet.
“I was sad to learn from my steward that the signs we discussed are still not in evidence. Why, another collision with a ewe was very narrowly avoided just today.”
She raised her brows. “I am to produce a sign that both people and sheep can read? How singular.”
He winked at her. “I’m certain that superior Fitzroy brain of yours will figure it out. I do, however, pray you are the sort of person whose word once given is their bond.”
She pursed her lips in annoyance. “My word, Your Grace? I rather think you would not care to hear what sort of vow I am making right now in the privacy of my mind.” She turned on her heel and Lady Mary Haverty rushed after her, the dark green silk of her skirting trailed behind.
“I
’m so sorry, Verity,” Mary began, her long strides soon catching up to hers. “Norwich and Esme would not allow me to go to you. They said it would only draw further attention, which was not true.”
“How ridiculous, Mary. No one in Derbyshire cares two sticks about a couple milling about a lake in plain view.”
“Perhaps, but you were not in plain view. The only thing in partial view was Abshire’s back, and his head was quite obviously tilted down to meet your own.”
“What on earth are you suggesting?”
“Exactly what you are picturing in your mind this minute. If all those on the hill above us”—Mary gave a twirl to her pretty parasol and kept a wide smile planted on her face, to have all the world believe they were speaking of nothing more important than the beauty of the day—“had the same view I had, it appeared the duke was taking grave liberties with your person.”