A Gentleman's Honor (32 page)

“A. C.’s?”

“Sssh!” Jack glanced around, but there was no one close enough to hear.

Kit saw her advantage and pressed it, drilling one finger into Jack’s chest. “If you imagine you’re going out skulking tonight
alone
, then you’ll need to promise to inform not just Tony but
all
of us of anything you discover.”

Curling his hand around hers, Jack scowled at her. “You’ll learn soon enough.”

Kit opened her eyes wide. “When you deign to tell us? Thank you, but no—I much prefer to set a time and place for your revelations.”

Tony nearly choked; he was privy to the story of what had happened in the early days of their marriage, when Jack had refused to tell Kit what he was involved in. Clearly, Kit had not forgotten. From the look on Jack’s face, one of chagrin and uneasy uncertainty, he hadn’t either.

When Jack glanced at him, Kit cut in, “And you needn’t look to Tony for support.” She fixed her violet eyes on him. “He already owes Leonora and me a favor. A very telltale favor.”

In her eyes, he read a threat of doom should he fail to capitulate. He sighed and glanced at Jack. “I was going to suggest the club, but let’s make it my library. What time?”

Jack humphed. “I’ll send word first thing in the morning, once I know what I’ve managed to find.”

Kit beamed at them both. “See? It doesn’t hurt.”

Jack snorted. Tony fought down a grin. He chatted for a while, then headed back up the ballroom to Alicia, still safe within Adriana’s circle.

Which circle was growing less and less intent as more of those aspiring to Adriana’s attention
vis à vis
claiming her hand took note of the glances she shared with Geoffrey, and sloped off to pay court to someone else. One gentleman who remained apparently oblivious of the clear firming of Adriana’s intention was Sir Freddie Caudel.

As he drew near, Tony wondered if Sir Freddie was biding his time, perhaps thinking to give Adriana more experience of the ton before making his offer, or if he was instead merely using her as a convenient and unthreatening excuse to avoid all other possible candidates. If the man hadn’t spoken yet…but then, he himself and Geoffrey were of a more direct generation.

Sir Freddie had been conversing with Alicia. He saw Tony approaching, smiled benignly, and excused himself as Tony joined her.

She turned to him, raised a brow. Wariness showed behind the green of her eyes; with an easy smile, he claimed her hand, set it on his sleeve, and inquired if she’d like to stroll.

She agreed, and they did. Because of the many eyes fixed on them courtesy of the story on so many lips, it was impossible to slip away. Resigned, he reminded himself of the true purpose behind their evening’s endeavors and conducted her to chat with the next fashionable lady waiting to have her say.

They caught up with his godmother in the Athelstans’ ballroom. Dispatched to fetch refreshments, he left Alicia seated on the chaise beside Lady Amery and shouldered his way into the crowd.

Alicia watched him go, then drew breath and turned to Lady Amery. “I hope you won’t think me presumptuous, ma’am, but I need advice, and as the person most nearly concerned is Torrington…”

She and Lady Amery were alone on the small chaise; there was no one else close enough to hear—and she might never have another such opportunity to ask the one person in London who held Tony’s welfare closest to her heart.

Lady Amery had turned to her; now she smiled radiantly. Reaching for Alicia’s hands, she clasped them in hers. “My dear, I’d be delighted to help in any way I can.”

Alicia steeled herself to see that sentiment change in the next minutes. Lifting her head, she confessed, “Torrington has asked that I and my household move into his house in Upper Brook Street—his widowed cousin and her daughters will be staying there, too.”

Lady Amery’s gaze grew distant as she considered, then she refocused on Alicia’s face. “
Bon
. Yes, I can see that that would be much more comfortable, especially for him, what with this latest brouhaha.” Her eyes twinkled, then, reading Alicia’s troubled expression, she grew serious. “But you do not wish this? Would it be difficult to move to Upper Brook Street?”

Alicia stared into her ladyship’s transparently sincere eyes. Blinked. “No…that is…” She dragged in a breath. “I just don’t want to do anything to give the gossips food for slander—I don’t want inadvertently to do anything to damage his name or his standing.”

Lady Amery’s concerned expression dissolved into smiles. She patted Alicia’s hand. “It is very right that you think of such things—such sentiments do you credit—but I assure you in this case, there is nothing to concern you. The ton understands such matters—
oui, vraiment
.” She nodded encouragingly. “There will be no adverse repercussions to your moving to Upper Brook Street in such circumstances.”

The assurance with which she made the statement put the matter beyond argument.

Her expression easing, the weight on her shoulders lightening, Alicia smiled and let herself accept it. Despite her worries, her reservations, everyone—absolutely everyone—insisted Tony’s suggestion was not only sound, but an outcome to be desired.

Despite that… she said nothing when he returned bearing glasses of champagne. Lady Amery claimed his attention and chatted animatedly about shared acquaintances, to Alicia’s relief making no allusion to their discussion or her advice.

Finally, the long evening drew to a close, and they headed home. Geoffrey held to his new habit and accompanied them to their door; Tony, as usual, stayed with them beyond it.

In her bedchamber, they undressed—in silence. She felt herself tensing, waiting for him to ask her again, to press his case… instead, he said nothing. She climbed into the big bed; he pinched out the candle, and joined her beneath the covers.

He reached for her, drew her to him, then hesitated. In the dimness, he looked at her face. “You’re still considering?”

There was no hint of a frown, of irritation or impatience in his voice; he simply wanted to know.

“Yes.” She held his gaze. “But I haven’t yet made up my mind.”

She felt him sigh, then he tightened his hold on her, lowered his head. “We can discuss it in the morning.”

When she awoke the next morning, however, he’d already left her bed. She lay staring at the canopy as minutes, then half an hour ticked by, then she sighed and rose.

Washed, gowned, her hair severely coiled, she headed downstairs.

Pausing in the doorway of the dining parlor, she studied the back of Tony’s broad shoulders; she wasn’t surprised to find him there, in the chair at the end of the table.

Her brothers saw her and turned; Tony glanced around and rose as she entered. Going past him, she waved him back to his seat, exchanged greetings with her brothers and Adriana—then, to Adriana’s amusement, remembered to bid their guest a good morning, too.

He returned it with aplomb, recommending the kedgeree. She poured herself a cup of tea, then rose and crossed to the sideboard. She made her selections, all the while conscious of her brothers’ whispers, of the anticipation welling, notch by notch, around the table.

Calmly, she returned to her chair, set down her plate, then sat, thanking Maggs, who held the chair for her.

That done, she picked up her fork—and looked around the table.

At four pairs of expectant eyes. And one black gaze she couldn’t read.

She drew in a deep breath, exhaled. “All right. We’ll move to Torrington House.”

Her brothers cheered; Adriana beamed.

She looked down at her plate, poked at the pile of kedgeree on it. “
But
only when Lord Torrington’s cousin is ready to receive us.”

The cheering didn’t abate, instead it broke up into excited speculation, mixed with whispered plans. She glanced at her brothers, then looked at Tony.

Raised a brow.

Tony knew better than to allow his satisfaction, let alone its depth, to show; looking down the table, holding Alicia’s gaze, he inclined his head. “I’ll send word when Miranda is recovered from her journey and ready to meet you.”

Knowing Miranda, he predicted that would be about ten minutes after she arrived.

A
S HE’D PROPHESIED, SO IT PROVED.
M
IRANDA ARRIVED
agog to meet the lady who had finally, as she put it, snared him.

An openhearted lady of considerable charm, her husband’s early death had left her sincerely bereft.

“Although I doubt that will last forever.” Blond curls framing her heart-shaped face, she looked up at Tony as he stood before the fire in his drawing room. “Meanwhile, I’m on pins, positive pins, waiting to meet this widow of yours. Dare I guess she’s ravishingly beautiful?”

Tony fixed her with a not entirely mock-severe glance. “You will behave. Furthermore, you will not regale Alicia with tales of my youth, nor yet of my childhood.”

Miranda’s grin deepened. “Spoilsport.”

He snorted, and turned to the door. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed—twelve
tings
. “I’ll go and inform her of your great willingness to make her acquaintance.”

At the door, he paused, glanced back. “Just remember—she and I haven’t yet formally discussed our marriage.” By which he meant she hadn’t yet, in so many words, agreed.

Miranda looked both intrigued and delighted. “Don’t worry—I won’t scuttle your punt.”

Feigning disbelief, he left.

The atmosphere reigning in Waverton Street was as close to pandemonium as anything he’d experienced. He stood in the front hall transfixed by the activity. Crates lay open on the tiles; the green baize door stood propped wide, and a hum of noise pervaded the house. The boys were rushing up and down the stairs, calling to each other, ferrying books and toys, clothes and shoes, stuffing them joyously into the crates before, pausing only to flash him wide grins, racing up the stairs once more.

Through the open dining-room door, he saw Cook and Fitchett carefully wrapping glassware. A sound drew his attention to the gallery; he watched as Maggs, a heavy case on one shoulder, slowly descended the stairs.

“Madhouse, it is.” Depositing the case beside two closed crates, Maggs grinned at him. “Almost as bad as one of your mama’s journeys.”

“Heaven forfend,” Tony muttered. “Where’s Mrs. Carrington?”

“In her room packing.” Maggs stepped aside as the boys came whooping down once more. “Think she’s nearly done, but she did say as she’d be out to organize these three devils betimes.”

The boys looked up from where they were carefully squeezing slippers and dressing robes in around their toys. They grinned.

Tony fixed them with a direct look. “Do you three devils still need your eldest sister to organize you?”

“’Course not.” David shrugged. “But she does anyway.”

The other two nodded.

Tony raised his brows. “So if I take her away, you’ll be able to manage on your own? My cousin is waiting to meet her, and I thought it might be easier if Alicia came first, on her own.”

David and Harry exchanged glances, then nodded encouragingly.

“Good idea,” Harry opined. “Then she won’t be here to fuss over us.”

Matthew looked less certain; Maggs lumbered forward and held out a hand. “Here then, I’ll help. We can get you all packed, and meanwhile your sister can go and make Mrs. Althorpe’s acquaintance, and make sure she’s ready to meet you three, heh?”

Nodding, Matthew took Maggs’s hand, but he kept his gaze on Tony’s face. “So we’ll come to your house later?”

Tony hunkered down, lightly squeezed Matthew’s other hand. “I’ll send my coach around for you as soon as I get home. It’s large enough to take all of you at once, and the luggage can follow. That way, you’ll be in Upper Brook Street, in my house, all the sooner.”

“Hooray!” David and Harry turned and raced up the stairs. Grinning, reassured, Matthew dashed after them. Maggs brought up the rear.

Tony watched until they disappeared along the corridor, then he went up the stairs and along to Alicia’s room.

She was bending over a box at the foot of her bed; straightening with a sigh, she shut the lid.

Smiling, he strolled in. “Finished?”

Alicia looked at him, returned his smile, then glanced distractedly around the room. “Yes—I think that’s it for in here.”

“Good.” Halting before her, he reached for her.

Before she realized what he intended, he’d caught her, bent his head, and was kissing her… thoroughly. Her head spun pleasurably… then she remembered and struggled.

He ended the kiss; raising his head, he looked down at her. “What?”

She wriggled from his hands, firm about her waist. “The boys!” She peeked around him at the door, but there was no sign of them.

Tony met her warning look with a quizzical one, then he glanced around. “I came to take you to meet Miranda.” His gaze returned to her. “She’s waiting, so she assured me, on pins.”

“Already? Oh.” She scanned the room, but she had indeed packed everything. “But the boys aren’t yet ready and—”

“The boys assured me they had their packing under control. Maggs has elected to watch over them, and you know Jenkins will as well, and Fitchett and Adriana.” He fixed her with a direct look. “So there’s no reason you can’t come with me now. I’ll send my carriage once we reach Upper Brook Street, so they’ll all be only an hour or so behind.”

She frowned. “But—”

“And don’t forget the engagements we have tonight. You’ll need to settle in, and then we have a meeting at two o’clock in the library—Jack sent word he’s got what we wanted—I’m assuming you still wish to attend?” Innocently, he looked inquiringly at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Of course.”

He inclined his head. “And then we’ve dinner at Lady Martindale’s followed by two balls, so we’ll be out again within a few hours. I think you should look over the rooms before the others arrive, just in case there’s any difficulty, anything you’d like changed.”

Lips setting, she looked into his black eyes; she’d seen that expression of immovable purpose before—knew he wouldn’t change tack, not easily… and perhaps he was right.

She grimaced. “Your cousin—she only has two daughters?”

Tony nodded; taking her elbow, he turned her to the door. “If you’re worried she’ll have the vapors over the boys’ antics, you can rest easy—Miranda was a tomboy to the depths of her soul. We spent much of our childhood together—we were both only children. If anything, she’ll be in her element with your brothers—and, incidentally, so will her daughters. If I’m any judge, they’ll give your three a run for their money.”

That distracted her, enough for him to steer her to the stairs. But—

“I must speak with Fitchett, and Cook, too, before I can leave.”

At least she was going down the stairs. He went with her, resigned yet on guard. Stoically, he stuck to her side, determinedly herding her back to the front hall. Finally there, he picked up the pelisse she’d left lying on a chair and helped her into it.

Taking her hand, he drew her out of the front door, pulled it shut, then led her down the steps to where his curricle stood waiting. One of his grooms was holding his matched bays. He helped her in, waited while she’d settled her skirts, then climbed up beside her. Nodding to the groom, he set the horses pacing. Glancing at her, he saw her watching his hands on the reins, watching the horses, still skittish, coquettish.

He realized she was nervous; he kept the horses to a slow trot. “Don’t worry—they won’t bolt.”

She glanced at him. “Oh—I just…have rarely had occasion to be behind such beasts. They’re very powerful, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but I have the reins.”

The comment took a moment to sink in, then she relaxed. She looked at him. “You haven’t driven me anywhere before.”

He shrugged. “There hasn’t until now been a need.”

But today was different; he wanted her to himself, free of her family. When she first crossed the threshold of his house, he wanted to be with her, just her and him alone, without any distractions. He wanted to have that minute to himself; he refused to waste any time wondering why.

Luckily, she accepted his comment without question; relaxing a trifle more, she looked around as he took her deeper into the heart of Mayfair.

The moment, when it came, was as simple and as private as he’d wished; only Hungerford was there, holding the door as, his hand at her elbow, Tony guided her into his front hall.

She glanced at Hungerford, nodded, and smiled, then looked up, ahead, and around, and paused, stopped.

Hungerford closed the door, but hung back in the shadows. There was no footman hovering in the hall, no one else to intrude.

Pivoting, she looked around; Tony wondered how she would see it, how she would react to his home.

After a moment, she met his gaze. She sensed his waiting, and smiled. “It’s much less intimidating than I’d imagined.” Her smile deepened, softened; she glanced around again. “More comfortable. I can see people here—children…it’s a welcoming house.”

Her relief was transparent. It warmed him, eased a small knot of trepidation he hadn’t until then acknowledged he carried. Joining her, he took her hand. “This is Hungerford. He’s the ultimate authority here.”

Hungerford approached and bowed low. “At your service, ma’am. Should you need anything—anything at all—we are at your disposal.”

“Thank you.”

Hungerford stepped back.

Tony gestured to the drawing-room door. “I’ll introduce you to Mrs. Swithins, the housekeeper, later—she can show you the rooms they’ve prepared. But first, come and meet Miranda.”

Buoyed by her impression of the hall, Alicia went forward eagerly. Entering the drawing room, she glanced around—and was again struck by the house’s warmth. Without consciously considering it, she’d been expecting a house like him, coolly, austerely elegant, but that wasn’t the pervading atmosphere here. The furniture was not new, far from it; every piece looked antique, lovingly polished, the tapestry and brocade upholstery and hangings carrying the rich, jeweled tones of a bygone age.

An age that had valued comfort and convenience as well as luxury, that had expected pleasure and enjoyment to be part of daily life. Hedonistic, but rich, warm, and very much alive.

Like the bright-eyed lady rising from a chair by the hearth. She came forward, smiling widely, hands extended.

“My dear Mrs. Carrington—Alicia—I may call you Alicia, may I not? I’m Miranda, as Tony’s doubtless told you. Welcome to Torrington House—may your stay be long and happy.”

Miranda’s smile was winning; effervescent laughter lurked in her blue eyes. Alicia gave her her hands, smiled back. “Thank you. I hope you won’t be too inconvenienced by our descent.”

“Oh,
I
certainly won’t be, and I doubt anyone could inconvenience Hungerford—he’s terrifyingly efficient— all the staff are.” Miranda looked at Tony. “You may take yourself off—we want to talk, and we’ll do so much more readily without you. I’ll take Alicia to meet Mrs. Swithins, so you’re relieved on that score, too.”

Alicia barely smothered a laugh. She glanced at Tony, saw chagrin briefly flare in his eyes as he sent Miranda a sharp glance, then he turned to her. “I’ll send the carriage around for your family.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

He hesitated, then, reluctant to the last, nodded and left them.

“Now!” Miranda turned to her, curiosity and delight in her face. “You must tell me all about your family—you have three brothers and a sister, that’s all Tony’s told me.” Waving her to a chair, Miranda resumed her seat.

Alicia sank into the velvet comfort of an armchair, felt a solid sense of safety and security reach for her and wrap her about. Meeting Miranda’s expectant gaze, she smiled and assembled her thoughts.

By the time Hungerford brought in the tea tray and she and Miranda had shared a pot, they’d progressed from acquaintances to friends, to newly found bosom-bows. The fictitious nature of her widowhood notwithstanding, they shared many interests—family, country pursuits, household management, and social necessity.

Miranda sent for her daughters; the girls arrived and made their curtsies, then asked polite but curious questions about her brothers. Alicia answered, inwardly heaving a sigh of relief; the girls were well-brought-up, well-bred young ladies, but not in the least sweet, retiring, or weak. They would, indeed, give her brothers pause.

Then it was time to meet Mrs. Swithins and look around the rooms before the others arrived. After performing the introductions, Miranda hung back, letting the housekeeper, a woman of considerable age but imposing presence, softened by a twinkle in her eye, guide Alicia through the house.

“We thought your young brothers would be most comfortable up here, ma’am.” Mrs. Swithins led the way into the schoolroom; she waved to rooms opening off the central room. “There’s three beds in the long room, and two in the next, so they can sleep together or separate if they wish.” She smiled at Alicia. “We weren’t sure, so both rooms are prepared.”

Alicia frowned. “They’re used to being together, but David is twelve.”

Mrs. Swithins nodded. “We can leave it to them to decide what’s most comfortable.”

With a grateful inclination of her head, Alicia allowed herself to be led on to view the bedrooms for Fitchett and Jenkins.

“So they’ll be close enough should the boys have need.” With an airy wave, Mrs. Swithins sailed on.

The rooms on the first floor that had been prepared for her and Adriana filled Alicia, not with surprise, for she’d expected something of the sort, but with a sense of having stepped into a fairy tale, or, more specifically, into her own dreams.

Her room lay in the central wing of the mansion, above the long ballroom and overlooking the rear gardens. A wide, spacious chamber, it possessed a sitting area with two chairs before the fireplace, a delicate escritoire against one wall, a bank of large windows with a padded window seat beneath, a gigantic armoire, and a huge four-poster bed hung with pale green silks and covered with an ivory silk coverlet embroidered in green.

“The master mentioned your maid was not with you, so I’ve assigned Bertha.” Mrs. Swithins beckoned to a young girl, who came forward and shyly curtsied. “She knows her way around a lady’s wardrobe and is quick with her hands.”