Read Desire Becomes Her Online
Authors: Shirlee Busbee
Desire Becomes Her (31 page)
The inhabitants of High Tower, involved in the preparations for the wedding and Gillian’s move to Ramstone, didn’t learn of Canfield’s death until late Friday morning when Luc came to call. Shown into the morning room where the family had been enjoying a late breakfast, Luc showed few signs of his swift trip to London and back.
The azure eyes under the thick black brows were bright and clear, and he had the look of a man who found the world to his liking as he strode into the morning room. Beyond one lightning glance at Gillian, his attention remained on the others.
Gillian’s heart leaped at the sight of him, that swift, possessive appraisal thrilling and terrifying her at the same time. She was glad his attention was on the others, for it allowed her to drink in the sight of that tall, muscular body and the darkly handsome features. From beneath lowered lashes, she stared at him, thinking he looked magnificent in a formfitting dark blue coat with brass buttons, his black hair waving near his temples. Dear God! Tomorrow they would be man and wife.
Even when Luc smiled at Silas and took the seat her uncle indicated, she could not tear her gaze away from him. He mesmerized her. Damn him!
“All went well?” Silas asked.
Luc nodded. “Mathew Joslyn accompanied me to London and smoothed the way. The special license is safely purchased—have no fear of that.”
“Well, my boy, you’re not the only one who has been busy these past few days,” Silas announced gaily. “We have made all the arrangements.” Quickly, he related the plans that had been laid.
Luc found nothing to fault. “
Bon!
You have matters well in hand.” He glanced at Gillian, catching her staring at him. The quick look away and the flush that stained her cheeks pleased him; the dark smudges under her eyes did not. The lady was not sleeping well and he was certain that their coming nuptials were the reason. He sighed inwardly. Their fate was sealed the moment he had taken her into his arms, carried her into her bedroom and made love to her.
Bon!
You have matters well in hand.” He glanced at Gillian, catching her staring at him. The quick look away and the flush that stained her cheeks pleased him; the dark smudges under her eyes did not. The lady was not sleeping well and he was certain that their coming nuptials were the reason. He sighed inwardly. Their fate was sealed the moment he had taken her into his arms, carried her into her bedroom and made love to her.
Sophia finding them abed hadn’t changed anything: he’d known that marriage would be the result of that night of madness ... and passion such as he had never known. They would be married tomorrow and there was nothing he could do about it. Stunningly he realized that even if there had been a way not to marry her that he wouldn’t have taken it. With no little astonishment, he admitted that he
wanted
to marry her.
wanted
to marry her.
The conversation was general for several minutes before Luc begged a private word with Silas. Assuming it had something to do with the business end of the marriage, in particular money, Silas nodded, and a moment later, he and Luc left the others and retired to Silas’s study.
Taking a comfortable chair by the fire, Silas said, “You know, of course, that Gillian will not come to you penniless. She doesn’t know it yet, but I have settled a nice little sum on her and there is the cottage and three acres she inherited from Charles in Surrey.”
Luc didn’t care if Gillian came to him naked as the day she was born, but he understood that Silas’s pride demanded he provide a dowry for his niece.
“That’s very good of you,” Luc said. “I have already set up the accounts for her pin money and household expenses.”
They came to an understanding, and with that out of the way, Luc introduced the reason he wanted a private word with Silas: Canfield’s death. He did not mention that there might be more to Canfield’s death than met the eye.
Hearing the news, Silas stared goggle-eyed at him, exclaiming, “Upon my word! This is shocking. Just last night, you say?” He shook his head. “I didn’t like that young man and I always suspected he’d come to a bad end.” He took in a deep breath. “It isn’t very nice to say, but I am glad he was not staying here when it happened. I was most relieved to see the last of that young rakehell and couldn’t be happier that whatever friendship existed between him and my nephew had ended.” Silas frowned. “He was a stranger to the area, and when he and Stanley had their, er, disagreement, I expected him to head back to London. I cannot imagine what interest our little corner of Sussex held for the likes of him.”
Luc shrugged. “London is rather quiet this time of year. Perhaps Canfield was simply rusticating, seeking peace and enjoying a respite from all the hurry and flurry usually to be found in the city.”
“At The Ram’s Head?” Silas snorted. “If it was a respite he was after, he’d have been better off at Mrs. Gilbert’s Crown. Less expensive, better company and without the lure of the deep gaming I’ve been hearing from Stanley goes on at Nolles’s place these days.”
Canfield’s death worried Silas. Not the young man’s death, although he deplored it, but the whereabouts of those blasted vowels of Charles’s that Canfield had won from Winthrop. Where were they? he wondered uneasily. It wouldn’t do for them to fall into the hands of strangers. Silas moved restively. Once Gillian married Luc those debts became his, and if those damnable vowels surfaced ...
Silas eyed Luc. Should he warn him? He shied away from that. It wasn’t his tale to tell. Yet he was uneasy hiding the existence of those vowels from him. It smacked of dishonesty. His first loyalty, he decided heavily, was to Gillian, but he didn’t like the idea of handing her the problem. It was his duty to shield and protect her, but he didn’t see how he was going to do that.
Luc noticed his introspection and asked, “Sir? Is something troubling you? Your arm?”
Though he still wore the black sling, he barely paid any heed to his healing arm. The physician had said only yesterday that it wouldn’t be long before he could dispense with the sling altogether.
Shaking his head, Silas said, “No, no, the arm is healing fine. I was, ah, just thinking about Canfield’s death. It’ll come as a shock to my nephew and my nieces.”
“Would you like me to tell them?” Luc asked. “It would be best if the news is not delayed. I’m sure by now word has spread through the village.”
“Yes, perhaps it would be best if the news came from you. They’ll be full of questions and I’d have to defer them to you anyway.”
Rejoining the others in the morning room shortly, at a nod from Silas, Luc said gravely, “I’m afraid that I arrived with bad news. I’ve already told your uncle and we determined that there was nothing to be gained from hiding the truth from you.”
Both women stared at him with big eyes and anxious expressions; Stanley regarded him with a frown. Taking a deep breath, Luc said, “It is my unhappy task to inform you that Lord George Canfield died last night in a fall over the cliff near the Seven Sisters.”
The ladies gasped, horror on their pretty faces. Stanley stiffened and stared hard at Luc. “An
accident?
” Stanley questioned sharply.
accident?
” Stanley questioned sharply.
Luc looked at him and nodded. “Yes. He was with Squire Townsend and Mr. Nolles and apparently the three of them had imbibed a bit too freely. Canfield’s horse acted up too near the cliff’s edge and unfortunately horse and rider went over.”
It was very hard for Gillian to work up much sympathy for Canfield, but while she despised him, she hadn’t wanted him dead and she said softly, “Oh, what a sad fate. I’m sure his family is devastated.”
“To be sure,” chimed in Sophia, although she suspected that perhaps only his mother would mourn Canfield’s passing. She glanced at Stanley. Her cousin was trying very hard to put a good face on it, but even a fool could see that while he was shocked, Canfield’s death didn’t affect him.
Unaware of it, Stanley echoed Silas’s remark. “I’m sorry to learn of his death, but I can only be glad that he was no longer staying here.”
Canfield’s death held their attention for a brief time and then the conversation shifted to the dinner at Windmere this evening.
Gillian sent Luc a shy smile and murmured, “Lord and Lady Joslyn and Mrs. Townsend have been most generous in offering to host a dinner for us tonight.” A blush stained her cheeks. “They didn’t have much time to plan it, but I understand that the response has been gratifying.”
Luc laughed, his white teeth flashing in his dark face. “Refuse an invitation to Windmere? No one in the neighborhood would dare—Cornelia would come after them with her cane.”
Silas chuckled. “Indeed, her cane is a great incentive to do exactly as she wants.”
Luc offered to escort them to Windmere, but Silas waved him away. “Oh, pish-posh! With Stanley and myself at her side, your betrothed is quite safe. There’s no reason for you to ride all the way here, then to Windmere and back again before riding to Ramstone. We’ll see you there.” He winked at Gillian and grinned at Luc. “After eleven o’clock tomorrow morning she will be your responsibility. Until then allow an old man that pleasure.”
Gillian’s ruffled look made Luc laugh, and after agreeing with Silas, Luc said, “Until this evening then.” And departed.
Emily and Cornelia had drawn up their list of dinner guests very carefully. It was not to be a large gathering, but they wanted to ensure that Luc and Gillian suffered as little ostracism as possible that the sudden marriage by special license might cause amongst the local gentry. Lord and Lady Broadfoot could be relied upon to treat the newlyweds with friendliness—Luc’s activities with young Harlan that night was not forgotten. Sir Michael and his wife, the parents of Barnaby’s house steward and secretary, Tilden, could be counted upon to do whatever they could to smooth the path of Barnaby’s half brother and his bride. And, of course, Vicar Smythe and his imperturbable wife, Penelope, would do everything in their power to ensure the gentry welcomed the young couple to their ranks. Naturally, Simon and Mathew would be present and neither Emily nor Cornelia doubted that they would close ranks behind Luc and Gillian.
“At least the numbers are even, if not the sexes,” Emily murmured as she went over the guest lists that Friday afternoon.
“Can’t be helped. Sixteen for dinner is enough for a ‘family’ party.” She smiled at Emily. “Especially with you looking as if you could go into labor at any moment.”
Emily giggled. “I don’t look that bad, do I?”
Cornelia stared at her great-niece with deep affection. The pregnancy was well advanced, but except for the impressive mound where her stomach had been, Emily looked as lovely as she ever had. There was sparkle in the gray eyes, her skin glowed and there seemed to be a constant, happy flush to her cheeks. Marriage and pregnancy agreed with her and Cornelia thanked God every day for sending Barnaby into their lives. And Emily, she added with a smile, for having the good sense to fall madly in love with him. It had helped, she thought, that Barnaby had been equally, madly in love with her great-niece.
Thinking of Barnaby and Emily and their happiness, she frowned. She had a soft spot in her heart for the gambler Luc and had suffered some anxious moments since learning he was set on marrying Gillian Dashwood. Hearing he’d bought Ramstone had pleased her and she’d hoped that a suitable wife would appear on his horizon before too long. Her lips twisted. She hadn’t expected one to appear within days and Gillian Dashwood didn’t precisely fit her idea of “suitable.” But Gillian was the woman Luc had chosen, for whatever reasons, and she had her suspicions about
that,
and Cornelia would do her best to accept his choice. All she wanted, she admitted, was for Luc to find the same sort of happiness Barnaby and Emily shared and she wasn’t convinced, not yet, that Gillian was going to provide it. Time would tell and by God, she thought, if she makes him miserable ... Her fingers tightened on her walnut cane and her eyes narrowed. I’ll just have to put a spoke in her wheel, she decided, an unholy smile on her face.
that,
and Cornelia would do her best to accept his choice. All she wanted, she admitted, was for Luc to find the same sort of happiness Barnaby and Emily shared and she wasn’t convinced, not yet, that Gillian was going to provide it. Time would tell and by God, she thought, if she makes him miserable ... Her fingers tightened on her walnut cane and her eyes narrowed. I’ll just have to put a spoke in her wheel, she decided, an unholy smile on her face.
“What are you thinking?” Emily demanded, seeing that smile.
“Oh, nothing, nothing in particular,” Cornelia replied, her expression changing in an instant to one of guileless innocence. “Now what do you think of some hothouse lilies for the table tonight?” she asked, distracting Emily.
Gillian had not been looking forward to dining at Windmere. Not only did she shrink from what she feared would be a gauntlet of critical eyes, the news of Canfield’s death had shaken her. Like her uncle, once the initial shock of Canfield’s demise had passed, her thoughts turned to those damnable,
damnable
vowels.
damnable
vowels.
Even as she bathed and dressed for the evening, her attention was on the whereabouts of Charles’s vowels. Had Canfield left them in London? Or had he brought them with him? At this very moment, was someone going through his belongings at The Ram’s Head and finding them? Misery balled in her chest at the idea of
another
person laying hands on them. Charles might be dead, but the thousands of pounds those vowels represented were still a debt to be paid.
another
person laying hands on them. Charles might be dead, but the thousands of pounds those vowels represented were still a debt to be paid.
As the carriage bumped and rattled its way toward Windmere, she only half-listened to the conversation between Silas and the others, her thoughts on those vowels ... and Luc. The man she was marrying tomorrow. A horrible thought crossed her mind. As her husband, since she did not possess the means to retrieve them, it would fall to Luc to make good on that debt. Compelled by convention to marry her, Luc might now be dunned for payments of her late husband’s vowels. She faced a wicked dilemma. Should she tell him? Before they married? Or wait and pray to God the vowels never surfaced? Her lips drooped. The latter was unlikely to happen. The vowels existed, and someone, sooner or later, would find them. What a wretched coil!
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