Suzanne Robinson (20 page)

What mattered to her was that Percy brought laughter and carefree grace with him. He took her to operas, gardens, exhibitions, and he took her riding in Hyde Park. She was free again. As free as a young lady could be. Prim fell in love with Percy’s charm and effortless refinement, his dashing mustache and blue eyes fringed with golden lashes. She basked in the knowledge that she was important to someone at last, for Percy seemed discontented unless in her company. And he brought her primroses.

Then her father lost his fortune, most of it anyway,
and without leave-taking, hints, or excuses, Percy vanished. Prim remembered waiting for him to call. She would sit in the drawing room and jump each time a servant opened the door, her heart filled with hope. It was all she could do to refrain from rushing to the door. When the visitor was announced and wasn’t Percy, her heart sank. Day after day she waited, bewildered and afraid. Finally her father received a letter in which Percy withdrew his offer of marriage. Apoplectic, her father threatened a suit.

His shouting and threats only worsened Prim’s anguish. At first she believed Percy the victim of family pressure against an unfortunate match. She blamed herself, knowing that if she had been prettier, more charming, he would not have abandoned her. To this day, a secret mean little voice inside her hissed rebukes at Prim for her lack of beauty, saying that it had cost her Percy’s love. As weeks passed, Prim understood that among her kind, marriage was an economic arrangement, a social machine oiled by facile wooing. Percy had been good at oiling. She doubted he would have been good at love.

Her father eventually forgot his ire, and Prim was spared the humiliation of a public airing of her troubles. Her pride and sense would not permit her to contemplate spending her life with a man who didn’t want her and who would resent her for forcing him into marriage. Her reduction in fortune made it unlikely that she would attract a suitor of proper rank. She was not allowed to consider one of lower station, except in one instance. After her father’s death, Lady
Dorothy and her son Newton thought it most advantageous for her to take a wealthy merchant who was Newton’s ally in Parliament. But Prim had had enough of arranged matches.

She busied herself with teaching and doing her duty as Aunt Freshwell’s companion. Now she could admit, however, that she had secretly hoped to find someone for whom she could form an attachment. She had engaged in the idle wish that one of her three self-appointed saviors—Acheson, Harcourt, or Montrose—had not been married. Without telling anyone, she searched among the men at operas, balls, dinners, and country house parties, but in Society, falling in love and then marrying was rare. One married for position and fortune. Then, after producing an heir, one was allowed to fall in love—as many times as one cared to—with someone other than one’s husband.

All the eligible young men, she soon discovered, were looking for girls with fortunes. The married men cared nothing for fortune. They were looking for a lover and companion among the wives of their peers, but they left unmarried girls alone if they knew what was good for them.

So Prim hadn’t married for rank and fortune, and she failed in her quest to marry for love. She retreated to her teaching, her duty, her studies, and she had been content. Until Nightshade.

Why did she have to love him? He was as ruthless as he was beautiful, as likely to mock as to charm. Perhaps he made her feel safe, in spite of her dreams of stifling ballrooms, the woman who danced with a knife in her, and the killer, the familiar, well-bred
murderer. Nightshade’s very ruthlessness chased away such nightmares.

Prim sighed and got to her feet. Brushing her skirts, she returned to the table where the herbal lay and closed the book. Somehow she had to survive the next weeks without making herself ridiculous. She opened a psalter, but the illuminations on the pages blurred and she wiped her wet cheeks. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying.

She couldn’t allow Luke to suspect her true feelings. Luke—Nightshade was ruthless enough to take advantage, amuse himself, and then send her off to America. He had proved that here in the Old Library. No, she had to carry on as she had been. But it would be so much harder now that she’d glimpsed what being with Luke meant. It was like being consumed by starfire.

“Useless to think of it. Don’t think of it.”

All she had left was her pride and the promise of escape. Escape she could count on, but if she wasn’t careful, she would end up humiliated and pitied, too. She had lost enough already without forfeiting the right to hold her head up in the presence of Luke Hawthorne. And she was damned if she was going to be pitied by Nightshade.

A week after the scene in the Old Library, Prim escaped the castle by riding to visit Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne. It was a cold afternoon made heaven-bright by the sun and a nighttime shower. She was grateful for the sun. Too much rain and clouds depressed her spirits. Living with Aunt Freshwell and Newton had made her feel as if she lived in a world of perpetual rain. Being with the Kettles, despite their poverty, and with Luke, had made her aware of the contrast between the households. Aunt was totally absorbed in furthering her son’s social position. And as for Newton—Newton’s most distinguishing attribute was his utter lack of curiosity about anything unconnected with himself. Prim suspected this lack was due to Newton’s not being very intelligent.

How else could one explain the man’s ability to sit in a room and do nothing for hours? He even found counting dance steps a challenge. She remembered the time Robert Montrose had tried to show Newton how to waltz. Montrose had called on the family on a rainy afternoon, and Prim’s aunt had suggested the attempt. In his perfectly tailored suit, with his exquisite manners, Montrose walked Newton through the steps. For an hour. Newton didn’t dip, he stumbled. He didn’t turn, he jerked. Prim finally rescued the man before he was tempted to strangle her cousin.

Sighing, Prim patted her mare and reflected on one of the few advantages to being forced to flee England. She wouldn’t have to endure Newton Freshwell any more. She was trotting down a path bearing a carpet of yellow and orange leaves. Passing beneath the thick branches of an oak, she heard a thud behind her.

Prim pulled up and turned her mare to see a heavyset man wallowing on his back rather like an overturned crab. It was the footman Dinesdale. She walked her horse back to the man.

“Did you fall, Dinesdale? Are you hurt?”

The footman grunted, sat up, and clutched his head.

“Oh, heavens, you’ve already got a knot on your forehead,” Prim said. “You stay there and I’ll fetch help from Vyne Cottage.”

“No!”

“Nonsense.” Prim turned the mare and kicked her. “Don’t try to get up. I’ll return in but a few minutes.”

She went to the cottage, and to her dismay found
Luke there before her. They returned to the oak tree with a gardener, but Dinesdale had gone.

“I told him not to move,” Prim cried. “What if he becomes dizzy and falls?”

Luke surveyed the path and surrounding wood. “He can’t have been hurt badly or he wouldn’t have been able to leave. Still, I’ll search for the poor bloke a bit with the gardener. You go back and assure my mother all is well, or she’ll have the whole countryside looking for Dinesdale. He worries her.”

Prim rode back to tell Mrs. Hawthorne what had happened. Soon they were seated in the parlor drinking tea.

“It was his pa that did it, don’t you know.”

“I beg your pardon?” Prim asked.

“Oh, I know Dinesdale is a large boy, but when he was little, his pa would beat him whenever things went wrong. Lucas says he was throttled in the head too many times.”

“Then falling on his head couldn’t have been good for him.”

Louisa shook her head and sipped her tea. “What was he doing in the tree?”

“I don’t know. I rode under it, and after I’d passed, he fell out.”

Louisa clucked and sighed. “I’m not at all chirpy about this one, Miss Dane. Usually the ones Lucas brings home have a bit of sense. But it can’t be got over. He’s here, and he’s got to be provided with a living.”

“Don’t concern yourself, Mrs. Hawthorne. There
are many tasks suitable for Dinesdale. He may not be as clever as most, but he certainly can do worthwhile work.”

“Oh, I don’t quarrel with that, my dear.” Mrs. Hawthorne frowned as she stirred her tea. “But what was he doing sitting on a branch over the path?”

“Perhaps climbing trees is one of his pastimes.”

“Ah, that must be it, don’t you know. What a clever girl you are, Miss Dane.”

It was a sunless afternoon, and a bank of nearly black clouds was rolling over the horizon. Luke was in his room dressing with Featherstone’s help. The butler’s fingers worked expertly on his tie while Luke strained to look past him at the threatening weather.

“Do you think it will snow, Featherstone? Rot this weather. Why did it have to turn ugly on the day Lady Cecilia is to arrive?”

Featherstone grabbed Luke’s shoulders and turned him so that he could reach the tie again. “I doubt it will snow, Sir Lucas. Please be still while I finish this tie.”

“Remember your promise,” Luke said with a scowl. “No filching Lady Cecilia’s things, or any of her servants’ things.”

“I remember, Sir Lucas. You may trust me.”

“You said that before we went to that house party at Lord Tringle’s.”

“I have endeavored to improve since then, Sir Lucas.”

“If you haven’t, I’ll scrag you meself.”

“Yes, Sir Lucas.”

Luke shoved Featherstone’s hands away from his lapels. “Oy! That’s enough. You’re going to give me a brain fever.”

Featherstone retreated, found a clothes brush, and attacked Luke’s coat with it. Luke groaned but remained still and endured.

“Mrs. Apple is ready, Sir Lucas.”

“Good.”

Prim had insisted that appearances be preserved for Lady Cecilia’s visit. Thus he’d been forced to produce a suitable chaperone for his unwilling guest. She had carried her point by telling him Lady Cecilia would be scandalized to find her in residence without the company of a mature lady relative.

Luke had asked an old friend to play to role. Mrs. Apple, a woman of Mrs. Hawthorne’s age, had been in the music halls and could act. Prim had given her instructions about her role, and now the household was ready for the visit. Ma and Pa had moved to the castle temporarily, and the whole place had been scrubbed. He’d redecorated the rooms assigned to Lady Cecilia. But something was bothering him. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting the lady as much as he had been.

It was because of Prim. From the time she’d come after him with that sword, he had been unable to get near her without wanting her. Rot her! She made him furious with her etiquettey ways and stiff manner
of speech. She hadn’t been near so proper until the day he’d led her on that chase through the castle, and he wished she’d become more like her old self. After all, he knew she wanted him. But after what happened in the Old Library, he recognized that she hated herself for it.

Prim was the first lady he’d ever truly desired. And now he was glad he’d escaped any previous inrimate encounters. Miss Divine Fire, Miss Primmy, she wanted him all right, but she knew too much about him. She knew the truth, and it repelled her. She desired Sir Lucas; she detested Nightshade.

Unfortunately, Sir Lucas was a sham, a ramshackle hut in which he concealed Nightshade. Prim saw through the knotholes and cracks. He couldn’t hide Nightshade from her. She’d met Nightshade before Sir Lucas, and because of that, their relationship was doomed. He might have her desire, but he would never have her admiration, in spite of her kind words about his soul. And he would have liked to have her admiration.

It would be a fine thing to see those gray-green eyes light up with pride when he came into a room. Right now she hardly looked at him. What was worse, she saw through his most accomplished lies and masquerades.

He had only loved one woman, poor Jenny, and she had worshipped him. Jenny had been common, like him. Prim was a lady, and she had made it clear that she thought him lower than a stoat. Which didn’t stop her from wanting him, the little dissimulator.
That was his latest word—dissimulator, which meant liar. Prim was lying to herself.