Promise Me Forever (17 page)

T
om wanted out of London. He wanted time with Lauren. And he was desperate enough that he swallowed his pride, put on his best clothes and his best manners, and made a morning call on Lydia as soon as it was fashionable—which he knew meant early afternoon, although he had yet to determine why it was referred to as a morning call when it didn’t take place in the morning.

Having handed his card off to the butler, he stood in the entryway, knowing there was a good chance that she wouldn’t receive him, not blaming her if she didn’t. He knew he had a whole round of apologizing to do, and he had plans for all of it, but just then his main concern was having a little more
time with Lauren. She’d managed to sneak away to be with him the previous night, but he needed more than that. He thought they both did.

The butler returned. “Her Grace will see you, if you will be so kind as to follow me.”

Tom followed the butler down a hallway that he hadn’t walked before and into the drawing room, where Lydia was sitting on a settee, pouring tea into a china cup, while Rhys stood nearby at a window, ever watchful as though he expected Tom to pounce on his wife. Lydia glanced up and smiled sweetly. “My lord, please join us. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you. First, I want to apologize for last night. My temper got the better of me.”

“We accept your apology. I assume Lord Whithaven did the same.”

He grimaced. “I haven’t apologized to him yet. I think my apology to him needs to be more public.”

She arched a brow as though expecting him to elaborate.

“I’m working on the particulars,” he said.

“I see. Please do have a seat. I’m getting a crick in my neck staring up at you.”

He took the heavily brocaded chair next to her, so he could keep an eye on Rhys while letting the man keep watch on him. He suspected the Duke of Harrington wasn’t a man he’d want to meet in a dark alley alone. While he had the veneer of civi
lization, Tom suspected there was a bit of the savage in him as well.

“I’m assuming it was more than offering an apology that brought you here this afternoon,” Lydia said, effectively turning his attention away from Harrington.

Tom nodded. “I purchased your book this morning.”

She smiled with obvious delight. “Really? How are you enjoying it?”

“I don’t think it was really designed for enjoyment.”

“I suppose not. Did you need something clarified?”

“Chaperones. You wrote that a married cousin rather than a mother usually serves as chaperone.”

“That’s correct.”

“You’re Lauren’s cousin, and you’re married.”

“Exactly. Which is the reason that I’ve accompanied you and Lauren on your outings around London. Well, that and the fact that I simply adore being out and about.”

“What about a longer outing?”

She gave him an impish smile. “You mean go out of the city for the day?”

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and clasping his hands, transferring the strength in his grip to his words. “More than an outing and more than for a day. I want to take Lauren to
Sachse Hall for a spell. A week or so…I know it’s asking a lot, but I’ll compensate you.”

“And what exactly do you think my cousin’s happiness is worth?”

He studied her, trying to determine exactly where her question was leading and what it was he heard in her voice: censure or approval. “Name your price.”

Laughing lightly, she lifted her cup, becoming silent only as she began to sip her tea, watching him over the rim. When she set the cup down, she said, “A pity you didn’t arrive sooner.”

“Why? You already have plans?”

She nodded. “Afraid so. Lauren was here quite early this morning to ask me to serve as chaperone. It seems she has a desire to accompany a certain lord to Sachse Hall. And I agreed out of love for my cousin with no financial benefit to me.”

“She was already here?”

“Mm-uh. Aroused me from slumber yet again, quite eager to enlist my aid in getting her out of London for a bit. Since Rhys and I desire a little time away as well, I was only too glad to accommodate her request.”

With a deep breath, he sank back against the chair. “So you’re going to be our chaperone?”

“Quite.”

“You might have said something sooner.”

“But I like to see you squirm a bit. However, make no mistake, I shall take my duties most seri
ously. I’ve seen cartoons in
Punch
depicting young people striving to elude their chaperones. I won’t be made a mockery of by being easily evaded.”

“I won’t take advantage.”

Rhys coughed and cleared his throat, as though he no more believed Tom’s words than Tom did. Tom had no plans to take advantage of Lydia, but if Lauren were available to him…

“We can be ready to leave in the morning,” Lydia said.

“I’ll have my carriage brought around at seven.”

“Good God,” Rhys barked. “Have pity, man, and select a more reasonable hour.”

“Ten?”

“Noon.”

“Eleven.”

“Eleven it is.”

Lydia reached over and patted Tom’s knee. “Now, if Lauren can just have success convincing Aunt Elizabeth that I’ll make an acceptable chaperone during a country visit, we should be all set.”

Lauren watched as her mother dug the trowel around her precious rosebushes, loosening the soil, removing the few scarce weeds that had dared to invade her domain. She suspected the next few minutes were going to be very difficult, but she was all of twenty-four, old enough to make
her own decisions. She was ready to exert her in dependence.

So why was she trembling? Because she knew she was on the cusp of a battle she might not win, even though she had her arguments lined up in a row like good little soldiers. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she knelt beside her mother, reached out, and pulled up a weed, tossing it aside. “The roses have made a wonderful showing this year.”

“Indeed they have. I’ve been quite pleased.”

“As well you should be. You work so hard on them. I swear I’ve never seen a more beautiful garden.”

“It’s been a while since you’ve given me this much flattery.” Her mother sat back, laid the trowel on the ground, clapped her gloved hands together to rid them of the excess dirt, and slowly peeled them off. “Guilt is an awful burden to bear.”

The heat suffusing her face, Lauren wondered if her mother could look at her and know exactly what she’d done with Tom last night and how many times. “I’m not feeling guilty.” She grimaced at the squeaky sound of her voice. She sounded like an out-of-tune violin.

“I was referring to myself,” her mother said.

“Oh, of course.”

“I keep thinking if I dig up the garden enough times, it’ll make everything right again, that perfection here is perfection everywhere, but I don’t
know if everything will ever be perfect again.”

“I’m not sure everything was ever perfect. It was simply not quite so bad as it might have been.”

Her mother turned to her. She looked remarkably young, incredibly vulnerable, with dirt smudged along the side of her nose. Lauren resisted the urge to wipe it away, but in the end, she couldn’t leave it alone for the servants to see—her mother looking less than countess-worthy. “You have a bit of a mess here.”

Using her thumb, she rubbed away the offending dirt.

Her mother laughed lightly. “Sometimes I think I like the smell of the earth more than the smell of the roses.”

“I think it’s the farm girl in you.”

“Probably. So what brings you to my corner of the garden?”

“Tom invited me to Sachse Hall, Lydia has agreed to serve as chaperone, and I want to go.” The words rushed out, one right on top of the other, as though she thought if she spoke them fast enough her mother would miss the true meaning of the message: that she was going away with Tom.

“Do you think this is a wise course of action?” her mother asked softly.

Lauren studied her dirty thumb. “Probably not.”

“Well, then be careful while you’re away.”

Lauren jerked up her gaze, but her mother had already turned her attention back to the soil, using her ungloved hands now to loosen the dirt.

“You’re giving me permission to go?”

Lauren wondered if her mother had indeed guessed about last night’s excursion.

“At least this way,” her mother continued, “I’ll know where you are and I can pretend to believe that Lydia will prove an adequate chaperone. And having her there gives the appearance of propriety. It’s the best I can hope for.”

“Lydia will be an excellent chaperone,” Lauren said, feeling a need to stand up for her cousin. “She, more than anyone, knows the price of scandal.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” her mother said. “Go with my blessing.”

A battle won so easily was certain to be a battle not yet finished.

“We’ll leave tomorrow,” Lauren said warily, waiting for some sort of indication that her mother was playing a spiteful prank on her.

Her mother’s hands stilled their seemingly frantic movements. “Take care with your heart.”

Lauren wrapped her arms around her mother, hugging her tightly, not caring that she might end up equally covered in dirt. “Thank you for not making this moment difficult.” She kissed her mother’s cheek, only then noticing that another smudge had appeared on the side of her nose as
well as a damp trail left by a passing tear. She whispered, “I love you dearly,” then rose to her feet and went to prepare for her journey.

Because Tom and Rhys were good-sized men and because the ladies, even for a short stay in the country, required two trunks of clothing each, they traveled in two coaches, and while it might not have been entirely appropriate, Lauren traveled alone in the coach with Tom.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Tom said, once they were beyond the boundaries of London.

“My mother was too agreeable about my coming. I don’t quite trust the ease with which she capitulated.”

His laughter easily traveled to where she sat opposite him. “Maybe she thinks a little time in my company will convince you that you no longer have an interest in me or in Texas.”

Studying him sitting there with his gray tailcoat with the black velvet collar and gray trousers, the blue waistcoat, and the red cravat, she realized that she no longer expected him to appear in his cowboy garb, that she hardly ever thought of him as being a cowboy any longer. The realization somehow surprised her, saddened her, and in an odd sort of way also satisfied her. Not that she could take complete credit for his transformation. Much of it had begun before she’d agreed to help him, but if he reshaped his mustache just a bit and
never spoke, one would never realize that he hadn’t been raised in England.

“You might consider trimming your mustache a bit,” she offered. “It looks decidedly Western.”

He placed his thumb and forefinger at the center of the mustache right above his lip and slowly outlined both sides. “You mean make it so it twists up at the end?”

She nodded. He grimaced. She laughed. “It was only a suggestion.”

“I like my mustache the way it is.”

“I suppose you could remove it completely.”

“I’d look too young.”

“You are young.”

“In years, Lauren, not in experience. In some ways, I’m older than a lot of the gentlemen I meet. They’ve had pampered lives.”

“Lives of excess can age one as well.”

“True enough.”

She let the silence ease in around them, before saying, “I’ve never been to Sachse Hall.”

“It needs a good deal of work.”

“I didn’t realize it was in need of repair.”

“Not repair so much as redoing. My father seemed to like…” He looked out the window as though searching for the right words, and she could see the red of embarrassment darkening the skin beneath his chin. Or perhaps it was a reflection of his red cravat, but she didn’t think so.

“What did he seem to like?”

“Naked statues, that sort of thing. I thought about fixing the place up, but I decided that I should leave that to my wife, let her redo the house to suit her tastes.”

Lauren’s stomach knotted up at yet another mention of his having a wife. Were his continual reminders deliberate or unintended? Was he hoping to gain some sort of reaction from her, some spark of jealousy? Dear God, as much as she was loath to admit it, she was envious of the woman who would marry him. And surely he would marry.

“That’s very thoughtful,” she said, striving not to let the moment ruin the collection of wonderful memories she’d hoped to gather so she would have them to carry away with her when she left.

“I thought it a rather…civilized decision.”

His perfectly delivered English accent astounded her. She stared at him. “My goodness, Tom, you can speak quite convincingly without a drawl.”

“Only when I concentrate on it.”

“I think you’ve learned the secret. All aspects of this life require concentration.”

He laughed again, and she realized that he laughed much more easily than most of the men she’d been around for the past several years. “It’s more than just getting rid of the slow talking,” he said. “It’s using words in ways I never have before.” He gave her a pointed look. “It’s a…bit of a bother.”

She smiled warmly. “Frightfully so.”

“I daresay you’re right.”

She released a light laugh. “I should be happy as a lark if you learned the proper speech.”

“Happy as a lark,” he repeated. “It creates a different image than pig in slop.”

She laughed harder. “Oh, Tom, that’s atrocious! They’re not the same at all. One is refined, the other is crude.”

“Which is which?”

“You know damned well which is which. If you’re not careful, I shall become very cross with you.”

He shook his head. “Very cross isn’t much of a threat. Angry, mad, infuriated, now that might give me pause.”

“Don’t underestimate the unpleasantness of dealing with a woman who is very cross. I assure you the words used may give a more civilized impression, but they can mask a beastly temperament.”

“I always thought speaking English was speaking English.”

“Not quite, but you do speak remarkably well, and you’re picking up on all the small things rather easily.”