Read Desire Becomes Her Online
Authors: Shirlee Busbee
Desire Becomes Her (17 page)
“Uncle is right,” said Sophia in her prosaic manner. “Young Bramhall’s suicide was a tragedy, but I suspect that he would have come to a bad end anyway.” She looked at Silas. “This is what you told Stanley?”
Silas nodded.
“Then I think you may be right,” continued Sophia. “Stanley is neither stupid nor unintelligent. It may have taken him awhile, but it appears that he’s taken your words to heart.”
“He hasn’t asked for money since he’s been here, either,” admitted Silas.
Gillian looked stricken. “Oh dear, I feel dreadful. I accused him of that very thing, the first day he arrived. Everything points to him trying to change his ways—right down to his escorting Sophy and me to the village.”
“What I can’t figure out,” said Silas, changing the subject slightly, “is his friendship with a dirty dish like Canfield. Canfield may be Welbourne’s son, but his reputation makes his father look like a saint—and we all know that Welbourne was never a saint, not even in his youth.”
“Have you noticed,” asked Sophia, “that there seems to be an air of constraint between them lately?”
Leaning forward to look at Sophia where she sat on the other side of Silas, Gillian exclaimed, “You’ve noticed it, too? I thought I was imagining it.”
“I’ve noticed,” admitted Silas, moving his broken arm in its sling to a more comfortable position, “but I didn’t want to get my hopes up that they’ve had a falling-out.” Silas frowned. “They didn’t move in the same circles in London. Canfield and his friends were rowdier, wilder, wealthier and always, as I remember, falling into one scrape after another—unsavory incidents at that.”
“I received a letter from a friend of mine, and she says that gossip has it that Welbourne has disowned Canfield,” offered Sophia.
Silas waved a hand. “Welbourne has disowned him at least a half-dozen times that I know of—I wouldn’t pay much attention to that particular on-dit.” He turned over her words in his head for a moment before saying slowly, “But if the gossip is true ... it could explain Canfield’s presence here with Stanley. If Welbourne has turned his back on him, most of the
ton
would follow suit. With many doors closed to him, Canfield might find it prudent to latch on to someone like Stanley... .” Silas shook his head. “Stanley might think he is a man of the world, but truth is, he’s a booby when it comes to sizing up people—one of the reasons he ain’t a very successful gambler. Chances are, Stanley hasn’t heard about Canfield’s disgrace and he was flattered to be sought out by a duke’s son—never suspecting that Canfield is only using him.”
ton
would follow suit. With many doors closed to him, Canfield might find it prudent to latch on to someone like Stanley... .” Silas shook his head. “Stanley might think he is a man of the world, but truth is, he’s a booby when it comes to sizing up people—one of the reasons he ain’t a very successful gambler. Chances are, Stanley hasn’t heard about Canfield’s disgrace and he was flattered to be sought out by a duke’s son—never suspecting that Canfield is only using him.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” Gillian said, frowning.
“I think we’ll find out that Canfield invited himself along and that Stanley was too flattered to say no,” said Sophia. “Or wonder why Lord George Canfield, with supposedly wealthier, titled gentlemen with grander places vying for his presence, chose to visit High Tower.”
Silas nodded. “Perhaps the coolness between them is because Stanley is finally beginning to wonder about that very thing... .”
Chapter 9
I
t may have just been speculation, but Gillian, Sophia and Silas had hit upon the truth. The events leading up to young Bramhall’s death as related by his uncle all those months previously
had
shocked Stanley. Fortunes and estates were lost all the time at the gaming tables and more than one ruined gentleman had taken his life after a night of reckless gambling, but Stanley had never known anyone who had done so. He’d heard stories and shrugged them aside as allegorical tales, not to be taken seriously. Until Silas told him the facts of Edward Bramhall’s suicide he’d had no inkling that High Tower had come into the family by way of the gaming table—or that a young man had killed himself right in front of his uncle’s eyes.
t may have just been speculation, but Gillian, Sophia and Silas had hit upon the truth. The events leading up to young Bramhall’s death as related by his uncle all those months previously
had
shocked Stanley. Fortunes and estates were lost all the time at the gaming tables and more than one ruined gentleman had taken his life after a night of reckless gambling, but Stanley had never known anyone who had done so. He’d heard stories and shrugged them aside as allegorical tales, not to be taken seriously. Until Silas told him the facts of Edward Bramhall’s suicide he’d had no inkling that High Tower had come into the family by way of the gaming table—or that a young man had killed himself right in front of his uncle’s eyes.
The story of Bramhall’s ruin had not immediately caused Stanley to mend his ways, but as the months passed he’d found himself thinking more and more about his frivolous life. After one disastrous night at a gaming hell in June, his uncle’s words ringing in his ears, he realized how easily one could go the way of Bramhall. He realized something else: he didn’t take as much pleasure in all that London had to offer as he once had—and hadn’t for a while.
Even in the midst of the London whirl he was conscious of feeling lonely. He had friends, but friends, he admitted, were not the same as family. It was a bloody shame, Stanley decided, that he and the remaining three members of his family weren’t on warmer terms. His thoughts astonished him. Dash it all, he was fond of Uncle Silas—and not just because of the money! And, he admitted, he wished the situation between himself and Gilly and Sophia was more amiable. He grimaced. Or at least amiable. He acknowledged that he was as much at fault as anyone for the situation in the family, and he determined to institute change. By late summer, Stanley didn’t know how he would resolve the conflicts with his relatives, but he was committed to finding a way—and spending time at High Tower with his uncle seemed a step in the right direction.
Canfield’s advent into his life had thrown him off track and his relatives had been right about that, too. Canfield
had
sought him out, and Stanley, dazzled at being noticed by Welbourne’s youngest son, momentarily forgot all his good intentions. Stanley and his friends, while members of the
ton,
were amongst the lesser lights of that glittering assembly. Content within his own circle, it was a feather in Stanley’s cap to be seen in the company of Lord George Canfield—despite Canfield’s reputation for dissipation.
had
sought him out, and Stanley, dazzled at being noticed by Welbourne’s youngest son, momentarily forgot all his good intentions. Stanley and his friends, while members of the
ton,
were amongst the lesser lights of that glittering assembly. Content within his own circle, it was a feather in Stanley’s cap to be seen in the company of Lord George Canfield—despite Canfield’s reputation for dissipation.
Waking that Sunday morning at High Tower with an aching head and a roiling stomach, Stanley cursed himself for thinking that being friends with Lord George Canfield was something to be desired. He liked to gamble, but not for the stakes that Canfield did—the story of Bramhall’s death a constant reminder to him of the dangers of gambling beyond his means. Stanley liked to drink as much as the next fellow, but he was not the tankard man that Canfield was. He had a healthy appetite for the fairer sex, but he’d never been one for whoring and wenching, and next to gambling for heart-pounding stakes, bedding the nearest attractive woman seemed to be Canfield’s favorite pastime.
Beyond the first few evenings, Stanley had not enjoyed himself at The Ram’s Head. A polite gentleman and not indifferent to his fellow man, Stanley found Canfield’s behavior to others uncomfortable, but it was Canfield’s arrogance toward Nolles that alarmed him. Stanley knew of Nolles’s reputation, and he feared that Canfield would offend the man and bring trouble down on them.
Most importantly, he’d recently perceived that he disliked the duke’s youngest son and wondered why he’d ever been flattered by Canfield’s attentions. He’d also made another discovery that surprised him—during these past weeks he’d been happier at High Tower with his uncle and Gillian and Sophia than he had ever been in his life.
Throwing water into his face from the china bowl on the wooden washstand, he stared at his haggard features in the mirror and winced. Uncle Silas, Gilly and Sophy had every right to look at him with disapproval, and he swore that he had spent his last evening frittering away his time at The Ram’s Head.
After their late nights at The Ram’s Head it was the habit of the two gentlemen to lay abed until the late afternoon, but Stanley broke that routine by forcing himself out of bed well before noon. Once he was dressed for the day, he surprised Silas and the ladies by joining them for a light repast served in the breakfast room.
When he walked into the breakfast room, they all looked at him astonished. He smiled and, approaching the sideboard, poured himself a cup of coffee from the silver pot that sat among the other offerings of food and drink.
Turning back to his relatives sitting at the round table in the center of the room, he said, “Good morning. I trust all is well with everyone.”
“Good morning to you,” said Silas. “We don’t often see you up this early. Is there some reason?”
Stanley flushed. “Er, nothing particular.” He cleared his throat and muttered, “It, um, isn’t often that we are together as a family, and I, ah, felt that I should spend more time with you.”
“What have you done with my brother?” Gillian demanded wide-eyed. “First you escort us into the village without complaint, and now you actually seek out our company. You must be an imposter.”
“Well, he didn’t go with us to church this morning,” Sophia pointed out, “so perhaps he’s not an imposter, but he must not be in his right mind—how else to explain his behavior?”
“He’s mad, do you think?” Gillian murmured with a lifted brow.
“Dash it all, that’s not amusing,” Stanley complained, glaring at both women. “Here I am, trying my best to put out the hand of friendship, and all the pair of you do is slap it aside.”
Silas chuckled and said, “Oh, sit down, boy. Can’t you tell when you’re being teased? May I remind you that we only tease people we like.”
Stanley looked nonplussed for a second, and then a tentative smile crossed his face. “That’s true, isn’t it?” he said as he took a seat next to Gillian.
“Yes, it is,” replied his sister, a twinkle in her eyes. “And we are only rude to people we love. Haven’t you noticed how excruciatingly polite one is to a person they dislike?”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Stanley said and something occurred to him. His family had been
very
polite to Canfield and just as rude as ever to him. It shouldn’t have, but that knowledge cheered him.
very
polite to Canfield and just as rude as ever to him. It shouldn’t have, but that knowledge cheered him.
Glancing around the table, he asked, “So what are your plans for this afternoon?”
Silas spoke up. “We have nothing planned. The ladies usually retire to their rooms and amuse themselves while I take the old man’s prerogative and nap for a few hours in my room.”
Before more was said, Meacham knocked on the door and at Silas’s command entered the room. “Mr. Luc Joslyn has come to call,” he said, looking at his master.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Silas, brightening. “Show him in.”
Stanley frowned. “I wonder if that’s wise. I think Mr. Joslyn is far too familiar with you.”
“Don’t ruin all the progress you’ve made,” Silas warned. “Luc is my friend and I am always happy to see him—and you would do well to remember that.”
“I didn’t mean to criticize,” Stanley muttered, “it is just that ...”
“Oh hush,” said Gillian, hoping no one could hear her galloping heart. Luc Joslyn was here and until this moment, she hadn’t realized that she had been counting the days until she would see him again.
A moment later, wearing a dark blue coat with brass buttons and nankeen breeches, Luc strolled into the breakfast room. After greeting everyone and refusing offers of refreshments, he took a seat between Silas and Sophia. Everyone wanted to know how he was doing, and Luc entertained them with a silly, elaborate tale detailing the fall from his horse and his recovery.
Eyeing him, Gillian decided that he’d never looked more handsome as he sat relaxed across the table from her. There was no sign of the injuries he’d suffered, and with his black hair gleaming in the sunlight streaming in from the window and his azure eyes bright and full of amusement, he was the picture of health.
For a second their eyes met and hers dropped, her pulse thudding. I am
not
a green girl to be bowled over by a handsome face, she reminded herself.
not
a green girl to be bowled over by a handsome face, she reminded herself.
The conversation drifted from topic to topic for a few minutes, until Luc said, “I did have a reason for coming to call today.” He looked at Silas. “I am still not certain how it came about,” he confessed, “but I find myself the owner of an estate: my brother sold me Ramstone Manor. I spent most of yesterday afternoon inspecting the main house and some of the outbuildings, and while I expected nothing less from my brother, I was pleased to find the place in excellent condition.” He grinned. “I’ve already moved in with my two servants—we spent last night settling into the place.” Diffidently, he added, “Since the weather is fine, if it’s not too short of notice, I was wondering if you,” he glanced around the table, “and the others would care to take a drive over and see my new home this afternoon.”
“By Jove! That’s wonderful news, boy!” exclaimed Silas. “Ramstone, as I recall, is a fine estate.”
“You’re familiar with it?” Luc asked, surprised.
Silas nodded. “Knew Coulson slightly. When his wife was alive, dined there a few times. I’d heard that he’d died last summer and that the property had reverted to the Joslyn estate.” Silas looked around the table. “Well? How does a ride in the country sound to you?”
Gillian could have kissed Sophia when her cousin said, “Why, I think that would be most enjoyable.”
Trying to correct any misstep he had made earlier, Stanley said, “Yes, it sounds like a pleasant way to spend the afternoon.” Forcing a smile, he added, “Congratulations. You must be very happy.”
“Thank you. I am ... I think.” Luc grinned. “I had something much smaller and simpler in mind and had not intended to become a landlord.” He pulled on his ear. “It will take some time getting used to.”
Silas motioned to Stanley. “Ring for Meacham. Tell him to have Cannon harness the grays to the barouche and bring them to the front door.”
It wasn’t until the ladies had left to put on their pelisses and bonnets that Stanley remembered Canfield. His face comical with dismay, he said, “Blast! I must withdraw from your kind invitation,” he said to Luc. When his uncle looked at him, he muttered, “I cannot go off and leave Canfield behind to fend for himself. He is my guest and it would be rude.”
“Balderdash!” barked Silas. “If he follows his usual pattern, he won’t come downstairs until four o’clock or later. No reason for you to sit around waiting for him to make an appearance. Write him a note and have his man give it to him when he awakes.”
Since he very much wanted to see Ramstone Manor, and keep an eye on Luc Joslyn, Stanley agreed with his uncle’s suggestion. The note written, he joined the others, like Luc, riding astride, while Silas and the ladies, despite the faint chill, rode in the barouche with the top down.
Ramstone Manor lay about three miles from High Tower as the crow flew, but by the narrow, winding country road it was over six miles. The horses pulled the barouche at an easy pace; Luc and Stanley rode on either side of the vehicle.
Sophia and Gillian insisted upon sitting with their backs to the horses and faced Silas, who sat opposite them. From her position, Gillian had an excellent view of Luc as he talked and laughed with her uncle. The curve of his mouth as he smiled at something her uncle said mesmerized her, and realizing she was staring, she dropped her gaze. It didn’t help. The memory of that mouth moving on hers, the taste of him flooded through her, and to her horror, her breasts tingled and her lower body clenched into a hard knot of desire. Unsettled and embarrassed, she said little for the remainder of the drive, keeping her gaze firmly away from the vicinity of Luc Joslyn.
Luc directed them to a tree-lined lane that branched off from the main road and a scant half mile later, the trees stopped and they entered a circular driveway. A house with a three-storied gable on either end sat centered on the arc of the curve on the far side, and flanked by oaks planted over two hundred years ago, the house welcomed them, the sun glinting off the mullioned windows.
In size, Ramstone Manor was comparable to High Tower and had been built in the sixteenth century. The taller gables were constructed of brick and connected by a two-storied wing of plaster; the steep slate roof gave the house a quaint air. A forecourt with low walls enclosed the front and a wide brick walkway planted with roses and lavender led to a fine two-storied porch.
Luc and Stanley dismounted and helped Silas and the ladies from the carriage. A stable boy hastily hired from Barnaby’s staff raced around the corner of the house and took charge of the horses. Self-conscious in a way he had not thought possible, Luc escorted Silas and the others up the walkway to a pair of stout oak doors with heavy iron hinges dark with age. As they walked toward the house, he found himself wondering what Gillian thought of the place and realized with shock that while he wanted Silas’s opinion, in some indefinable manner, it was her opinion that mattered most. Irritated and just a little alarmed, he picked up his pace. The sprite was affecting him in ways he didn’t understand—or like.
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