Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) (9 page)

Lord Brisbane nodded. “So I believe as well. However, it is always good to have it confirmed, biased though it is.”

“Biased!”

“Yes,” he replied. “It is natural for dependents to think highly of a generous and benevolent benefactor.”

“An opinion he deserved,” she said swiftly.

“Of course. But it can blind one to the realities of a man’s character, and in this case it is best to think as objectively of him—and everyone around him—as possible.”

“Everyone? Do you mean to say that any acquaintance, near or far, might be suspect?”

“Yes. Particularly near.”

Uneasiness washed over her. “But that might mean anyone—the vicar, Sir James, any of the grooms, my mother, myself—”

“Yes,” he said again.

“Then why did you tell me all this? For all you know, I might have done the deed.”

He stopped, and she became still next to him as she watched his face turn grim. “Of course, you might have,” he said slowly. “However, the chances against it are strong. You were not in London when the other accidents occurred, and it would have taken knowledge of his daily habits for anyone to have perpetrated them. You could have hired someone to do it, of course. Your motive? You could have thought you were due some large bequest, and wished to get it. Or perhaps you knew of the requirement that you marry the next earl, and wished to see yourself a countess.”

Diana whirled away from him, clenching her teeth against the nausea that filled her throat. “How
dare
you think such things of me!” she cried at last. “He was like a father to me! I would never,
never
—”

“Stop!” he commanded, and the word halted her in her steps. She did not turn around, however, but stood there, trembling from anger and a strange despair at what he had said of her.

He walked around in front of her and gazed at her sternly.

“Hot at hand, indeed,” he said. Then his expression relaxed, and though his lips did not smile, there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Think, my dear. I did not say you were like that. Your face shows too much, and you blush too easily to hide a lie. I don’t know of anyone who can blush on command.”

Her face grew hot, for she did try to control herself, but it seemed she was not very good at it.

“There, you see? You are blushing now.”

She gave a reluctant laugh. “Very well . . . you are right. And I am sorry for my outburst.” She turned back to the house and he fell in step beside her. “You are a very needling man, you know. Or, not needling, but you have a way of hitting truths, even unpleasant possibilities, about one.”

He grimaced. “Yes, I do, don’t I? Graceless is what I am, and I am sorry for it. You deserve better consideration than that.” He opened the door of the house and stepped aside for her to enter first.

She gazed at him, and suddenly knew she would not like him any other way. “No,” she said. “I would prefer the truth, however badly I may react to it.” She hesitated. “My life has become . . . unsteady. I do not know what to expect from one day to the next, really. But the truth is immovable and sure. I would much prefer to know the truth.” She took in a deep breath, searching for something within herself, something she could hold on to. “That is all I have right now to depend on, I believe.”

Lord Brisbane took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “No, you have more . . . but it is a good start.”

She gazed at him, and felt suddenly a little lighter, and with a small smile, gave his hand a grateful squeeze, and stepped into the house.

Chapter 7

After a fortnight had passed, Mrs. Carlyle suddenly announced, during a short silence at dinner, that they should go to Lady Jardien’s supper and musicale.

“Already?” Diana asked. “It is but two weeks since . . . it has only been two weeks.” The earl said nothing, taking a bite out of a lobster patty instead; his expression was mildly interested and questioning as he looked at Mrs. Carlyle. Diana was glad they were the only ones dining that evening—the vicar sometimes took his dinner with them, particularly on Sundays, and would probably have protested. This time he was attending to some business at home, however. Sir James, as well, was away, probably at some inn near some cockfight or other.

Mrs. Carlyle was silent for a moment, as if inwardly drawing herself together. Then she smiled a little, saying, “A fortnight since your uncle died. Yes.” A mischievous expression grew in her eyes. “But he would never have wanted us to become hermits, and you must admit, it would be beyond cruel not to satisfy our neighbors’ curiosity about the new Lord Brisbane.”

It was true; there was not one day that a neighbor or acquaintance had not called upon the earl to offer their condolences, to introduce him- or herself, and to eye the black-creped walls of Brisbane House and the new earl with curiosity and speculation.

Diana bit her lip; she herself had received some speculative looks, and she was certain at least some word of her uncle’s bequest had been spread about. But she made sure to have an air of indifference about her when anyone mentioned the new earl to her, or at best a polite acknowledgment of his generosity at letting her mother and herself remain at Brisbane House.

“Are you sure, Mama, that we should?” Diana asked. “I would not like our neighbors to think we would stint on any proper observances.”

Mama looked at her in surprise, and Diana winced, thinking perhaps her words were uncharacteristic: she had not ever given the impression she was overly concerned about the proprieties. Then her mother smiled, reaching over to pat her hand.

“You are right to be concerned, and I know you wish only the best with regard to your uncle. But going to a musicale, with no dancing, is perfectly proper, and we shall still be wearing mourning of course. I know your uncle would have wished it.” With a last pat on Diana’s hand, her mother returned to her meal. “I am happy, also, that you have become more thoughtful of society’s ways.” It was a gentle reproof; though her mother never kept Diana from riding as fast or where she wished on the property, she did not like it when Diana had returned so wantonly disheveled, especially in the company of a gentleman.

Diana moved uneasily in her chair, and catching Lord Brisbane’s quick grin, felt a flash of irritation. He probably guessed it was not from a sense of propriety that she did not want to go out into society quite yet, but rather from uneasiness once she went out at last. He seemed not at all moved by it; but she knew local society’s curiosity would hardly affect him. No one would care to hint broadly at or question the Earl of Brisbane. But no one would feel such restraint around her, and she would have to fend off the questions as best as she could. Which was, alas, not easy for her.

There was, also, the question of McKinney, the head groom. She had asked questions sometime ago, and then had stopped at Lord Brisbane’s suggestion, for she had found no information about him at all. Then, too, she had seen echoing questions in people’s eyes, and realized that they, too, wondered about it, especially so close to the last earl’s death. She flicked a glance at the current earl. He had been quite right.

The earl was silent for a moment, then said, “Perhaps it would not be amiss to go to—what is her name? Lady Jardien?” Mrs. Carlyle nodded. “Lady Jardien’s musicale. As you say, it would be good for me to come to know my neighbors.” He smiled. “And it would hardly do to have them expire from curiosity.”

Mrs. Carlyle smiled in return. “It is in about three weeks, time enough for us to procure appropriate evening wear.” She turned to Diana. “We can go to Miss Marling’s in the village and look at the dresses she has, and perhaps we can make up something in those styles.”

Diana nodded. “You will look marvelous, as you always do, Mama,” she said, barely keeping herself from grimacing. She did not particularly like the styles Miss Marling had in her dress shop—they were in fashion, but far too frilly and fussy for her taste. She smiled at her mother fondly, if a little weakly, not quite sure how to reply otherwise. The shop’s gowns suited her mother’s petite and delicate frame very well, making her look as if she were a fairy queen rising out of a mist of lace and frills. Diana looked down at her plate, pushing some green beans about on it. But Miss Marling’s designs only made her look—well, she did not care to think about it. She shuddered. Mama loved her so much that she could not be convinced that her daughter looked anything but lovely in whatever she wore.

“If it would not be too presumptuous,” Lord Brisbane said, with a slight hesitation, “I understand there are more than a few recent magazines at the bookseller’s depicting the latest styles from London. Perhaps you would like to select something from them for Miss Marling to make?”

She glanced up from her plate and caught Gavin—Lord Brisbane’s—knowing gaze. The man was too perceptive. But it was out of the question; both her and her mothers’ stipends together would not cover the cost of any sort of London-designed gown. They would have to save what they had over the course of many months to afford it; three weeks were hardly enough time.

“Oh, no!” Mrs. Carlyle exclaimed, though she smiled with gratitude at the earl. “No, there is no need for that. We shall do very well, I am sure.”

Lord Brisbane frowned slightly. “As you wish,” he said, and turned the conversation to another subject. Diana gazed at him, watching how the set of his chin nevertheless became more firm, and felt somehow that this was not the end of the matter. She shrugged. It did not matter. She had enough on her mind as it was.

For instance, she wanted, badly, to disprove Lord Brisbane’s contention that her uncle had been murdered. But she could not deny that McKinney’s disappearance so soon afterward made it very suspicious. The idea that McKinney had done the deed had come to her—who would not think it? But it made her feel ill—she could remember, clearly, McKinney’s stern but kind face when he had put her up on her first horse, and how his hands had been gentle on hers when he had placed her fingers on the reins. He had never argued with her uncle that she could remember; the groom had always considered her uncle’s requests with respect, and admired his horsemanship. Indeed, McKinney had entered enthusiastically into the many breeding and stable projects her uncle had proposed. She could not see what could cause the head groom to suddenly wish to—kill his employer. She swallowed down the taste of bile at the thought. But she had to try to be objective; certainly McKinney had access to all the horses and all the equipment and could easily have done something to cause the accident.

She gazed at Lord Brisbane, who was listening to her mother and eating in that precise way of his. He was still a puzzle. She had talked to him from time to time, but he revealed little of himself, hardly anything at all, and would turn the conversation to something else before she realized what he had done. Usually it was with a provocative word, said with such levity that she was not sure whether he meant it or not. It kept her off balance, and she was not sure if she cared for it, especially since her life had lost much of its balance already.

And yet . . . a part of her
did
like his levity and the way he hinted at or outright stated his admiration for her. She half despised herself for liking it; she had had so little praise from a marriageable gentleman that she could not help wanting more of it from him. Not that she wished to marry Lord Brisbane, of course! She hardly knew him, and the kiss he had taken—yes, taken, come to think of it—she had allowed only out of curiosity and because it had been so sudden.

Then, too, she realized, she did like him. She watched him say something jokingly to her mother, and how her mother laughed, and Diana felt grateful. Her mother had been pale and listless for the weeks after Uncle’s death, and she was still so every once in a while when she thought Diana was not watching. But Gavin—Lord Brisbane—could make Mama laugh occasionally in her old way, and not reluctantly. Uncle Charles’s death had been a terrible shock to Mama and she had grown so thin that her clothes had hung upon her and she had looked more ethereal than ever. But this evening, Mama did not pick at her food as usual, but ate a decent amount, even though it was not as much as she had in the past.

There was a brief silence, before Gavin cleared his throat, and looked apologetically at them. “I hope you do not mind—I had intended to ask you, but forgot, I’m afraid—but I have invited a friend of mine to stay for a while. He is a good fellow—Mr. Edwin Goldworthy—and someone I have long known.”

Mrs. Carlyle shook her head and smiled. “My lord, you never have to ask! You are the earl now, and this is your home. You may invite whomever you wish.”

He grinned. “Ah, yes. I forget, you know, for I am not at all used to it.”

“You are quite doing well,” Diana said. “Our tenants have already spoken well of you, and that is a good start.” She smiled at him. He
would
make a good landlord—perhaps not as good or in the same way as her uncle, but a good one nevertheless.

He gazed at her, and his smile faded a little while his eyes held a question in them. Diana looked away, remembering his funning declarations of love and the occasional kisses he took when she was not expecting them, and could feel her face growing warm.
That
kind of question she did not feel she could answer, and would not. She glanced up to catch her mother’s complacent and smug expression, and felt a welcome irritation banish the embarrassment.

“Well, then, when can we expect him?” Mrs. Carlyle asked, turning to Lord Brisbane.

“In a little more than a fortnight—ah! A problem: he will be here perhaps a day before the musicale. I should not wish to leave behind a guest.”

“You need not worry,” Diana said. “The invitation no doubt says ‘Lord Brisbane and guests’ so you may bring him, I am sure.” Lord Brisbane looked relieved, and Diana gazed at him curiously. Here was another puzzle: he was a cultured man, widely traveled and widely read. He had good address and good taste in clothes—or at least, as good as any dandy might, and she had to admit, he was not all that extreme in his tastes. Not only that, but he had an excellent seat on a horse. Yet, there were the little things he seemed not to be aware of: not knowing or assuming that he might invite whatever guest he pleased to such an event, and his unease with the title. The latter she could understand, but coupled with the former—a thing most people of good society understood—it seemed odd.

No doubt his upbringing was odd, but there it was again: she knew little of it; he spoke of it only obliquely. Sir James had mentioned something about Gavin being from the merchant class—or worse. Perhaps the earl was ashamed of his upbringing, and so did not wish to speak of it. He was, however, of a noble family, and that was nothing to be ashamed of. Then, too, Diana thought ruefully, his upbringing could not be any more impoverished than hers had been before her uncle had brought her and her mother up from near starvation.

She returned her gaze to him, and when he looked at her this time and smiled, she did not look away, but smiled as well. Her heart warmed to him a little; perhaps they could be friends. If it were true that he had had a difficult childhood, it was something she could understand and that they had in common. She, too, knew what it was to be poor, and more. She turned her mind to Lord Brisbane’s past rather than her own past fears.

And whatever his past misfortunes, it seemed not to have damaged what must surely be a native kindness, however odd he was at times. To see that, she only had to reflect upon his concern when they had first met, and his successful efforts in cheering her mother from time to time.

Perhaps her mother was right. Oh, not that Diana should wed him. But perhaps she should be a little more kind to him, as he had been kind to her mother and herself, and try to know him belter. They could be friends, and certainly that would be a comfortable thing. She had, she reflected suddenly, no friend in whom she felt comfortable confiding, though others often confided in her. It had not bothered her much before, for she had been wholly occupied with her uncle’s concerns about the estate and the stables. Then, too, she knew too well how much she’d been pitied for not having found a beau in London, and knew such things were much talked about in ladies’ circles. Their arch and condescending pity hurt, so she had, therefore, avoided them as much as possible. Gentlemen, too, tended to stare at her, which she disliked. She looked at Gavin again, and decided that she would, indeed, try to be his friend.

Thus Diana managed, almost completely, to ignore her mother’s knowing and very smug expression when dinner was done. And when Lord Brisbane asked if Diana would care to walk about the gardens, she was able to reply without the slightest awkwardness, exactly as a person might who was bent on forming a very platonic friendship with another.

***

As soon as they left the house, Diana was glad that she had agreed to walk with Gavin. It was a warm and beautiful evening, the sun still well above the horizon, and the rosebuds were beginning to bloom at last. A few lilies had begun to nudge their way above the ground, and more primroses lined the pathways than earlier in the month. She did not protest or pull away when the earl tucked her hand in the crook of his arm; she reminded herself that she would try to be a friend to him, and allowed herself to be comfortable.