A Kiss for Lady Mary (12 page)

 

Phoebe, Countess of Evesham, stood on the bottom step of Robert and Serena Beaumont’s home in York with a list in her hand, ticking off items as they were loaded on the six large traveling coaches lined up in the drive. “I think this is the last of it.”

Her husband, Marcus, shook his head. “This reminds me of setting off for France with Serena. Have you warned Lady Mary we’re coming?”

“Of course.” Phoebe pinched the bridge of her nose. “I still cannot believe their grandmothers did this. It was all I could do not to give them a piece of my mind. How unfair to both Kit and Mary. I only wish I had known how desperate the situation with Mary had become. If she wants out of this arrangement, I shall do my best to find a way.”

“What about Featherton?” Her husband’s tone was gentle but firm. “He’s just as trapped as she is, and his reputation is equally at risk.”

Phoebe gazed at Marcus and became distracted by his turquoise eyes. He grew more handsome every year. Tucking her hand in his arm, she said, “We shall help both of them.”

“And pray to God their interests are not opposed.”

Phoebe sighed.
Now wouldn’t that be a pickle.
“Indeed.”

“Mamma, Papa.” Almost two years old, Arthur broke away from his nurse and pelted down the steps.

Marcus caught him, throwing the child up in the air as Arthur squealed. “Are you ready for a journey?”

Arthur burrowed his head in Marcus’s shoulder. “I ride with you.”

“Only if you behave.”

His son nodded. “I be good.”

“You do realize,” Phoebe pointed out, “Ben will now wish to ride with Rutherford.”

Marcus shrugged. “I doubt Anna will object.” A wicked glint shone in his eyes. “In any event, Rutherford probably needs the practice.”

The other two couples who were traveling with Phoebe and Marcus—the Rutherfords and Gervais and Caro, Earl and Countess of Huntley—made their way down the stairs, followed by Robert and Serena Beaumont. Rutherford held his son Ben’s hand. Huntley had his arm around Caro’s ever-increasing waist.

“I so wish we could accompany you,” Serena said, hugging Phoebe. “You’ll let us know if we can help.”

“I shall.” She embraced her cousin. “Take care of my goddaughter.”

Serena glanced over at Robert, who was holding the baby. “I don’t think you need to worry.”

Marcus grinned. “I’m trying to figure out who’s more besotted.”

“You’re jealous,” Robert retorted, “because I have two beautiful ladies and you have only one.”

A few moments later, three horses were brought round. Marcus settled Arthur on a large roan before swinging up behind him and attaching the belt Marcus used to fasten his son securely to him.

“Papa, I go with you,” Ben demanded, holding up his hands.

Rutherford heaved a sigh. “Very well, but I’m not changing your clout.”

Once Anna and Caro were settled in the lead coach, Phoebe allowed herself to be handed up. “Sam,” she called to her coachman, “we’re ready.”

She settled back in her seat, and Caro asked, “Have you heard from Mary?”

Phoebe shook her head. “Only the one letter welcoming us and letting me know all would be ready.”

“Well”—Anna turned from the window—“we shall simply have to wait and see what we have when we arrive. Caro, you know her the best of all of us, do you not?”

“Most likely.” She rubbed her hand over her stomach. “We grew up on neighboring estates and kept in contact after I left for Venice. The two things she always looked forward to were the Season and a love match.”

For at least the hundredth time in a week, Phoebe shook her head. “I cannot believe her grandmother did this.”

Caro raised a brow. “I can. According to my godmother, Horatia, the Dowager Duchess of Bridgewater has arranged all her children’s and most of her grandchildren’s marriages. Albeit she has been extremely cunning about doing so, and many times the couple wasn’t even aware they had been matched.”

“In that case,” Anna said, “I’m surprised at how ill they handled Mary and Featherton.”

“I’m sure it is due to the cousin.” Caro’s brows furrowed. “I remember him as a child and didn’t care for him then. Loose fish doesn’t begin to describe the man.”

Phoebe glanced at her friends. “In that case, we shall ensure that Mr. Gawain Tolliver doesn’t get anywhere near Mary.”

“I do not doubt we’ll have plenty of help from the gentlemen for that.” Caro frowned. “My concern is for Mary and Kit.”

“I am positive,” Anna said, giving Caro a reassuring smile, “we’ll think of something.”

“I hope you’re right.” She rubbed her stomach again. “I have a feeling this isn’t going to be easy.”

T
he next morning, Kit strolled into the breakfast room and found Mary already reading a gazetteer while she dug into a dish he’d never seen before. “Good morning.”

She glanced up, startled, as if she had not expected to see anyone else. “Good morning to you as well. I thought you’d still be asleep.”

Apparently she’d taken him for an idleby. Though in fairness, they had not met at breakfast before. Yesterday, not wishing to spoil their fragile accord, he’d had his valet bring him a tray, and the two previous days, Mary had broken her fast in her room. “No, it’s my habit to rise early.” He took the chair next to hers. There were no dishes set out on the sideboard as he was used to, but a pot of tea was on the table. “Is the tea fresh?”

“Let me ring for more.”

She jiggled a small silver bell and Simons appeared immediately. “My lady?”

“Bring a fresh pot of tea, and”—she turned to Kit—“what else would you like to eat?”

Ah, this was his opportunity to discover what she had. “Whatever you’re having is fine.” He took out his quizzing glass. “What is that?”

Mary grinned. “It’s a bacon floddie. They are usually served with eggs and the local sausage, but I’m not fond of any sausage.”

“I’ll have two of those with their full accompaniment, and toast.”

Her butler bowed again and left. Why he thought of the servant as hers when he’d been paying the man’s wages for years, Kit didn’t know.

A few minutes later Simons returned. “Your breakfast will be ready shortly, sir.”

“Thank you.”

As the door closed behind the butler, he considered opening it again for propriety’s sake, but that would appear odd as everyone thought they were married. Why the devil wasn’t Lady Eunice down here playing gooseberry? He’d have to have a word with her. Craning his neck, he attempted to read the paper over Mary’s shoulder. “Is there anything interesting?”

She swallowed and glanced up. “This is the
Post
. We won’t receive the
Gazette
until later in the day. Are you still interested?”

That was a challenge if he’d ever heard one. Perhaps she didn’t like to share her newspaper, or did not like to be interrupted when reading. “I’m as prone as the next person to want to know what is going on in the
ton
.”

She handed him one of the pages that she’d already read. It was probably good to know she was proprietary over her reading material. “It’s too early in the Season for much to occur, but there is one engagement announcement. A Miss Charlotte Manning has accepted Lord Peter Marshall.”

Simons brought the tea and a stack of buttered toast. Mary poured Kit a cup, adding cream and one sugar. Brilliant woman to have remembered how he liked his tea. Then he focused on what she’d said. “Poor Stanstead.”

She looked over the top of the newssheet. “A friend of yours?”

“Yes.” Kit took a sip of tea. “He is Robert Beaumont’s cousin.”

“Was Lord Stanstead in love with her?”

“I don’t know.” Kit leaned back in his chair. “He was infatuated, and he had hopes in that direction. They met at Robert and Serena’s wedding last year, yet I never thought she was right for him.”

Mary placed the paper on the table, and met Kit’s gaze. “I wasn’t aware men had thoughts on matters of the heart.”

In that case, she had a great deal to learn. Perhaps now he could make some inroads with his lady. “Stanstead has recently attained the grand age of two and twenty. It’s not time yet for him to marry.”

Her brows rose. “I must agree. It is young for a gentleman. Yet he wished to wed?”

Kit cradled his tea-cup, taking a sip and savoring the taste. “Apparently. He had an unfortunate family life, but his mother remarried last year to a man Stanstead admires greatly. She just gave birth to a baby boy shortly before Serena had her girl, and he wants the same type of life.”

“What do his friends think of him wanting to settle down?”

That was an interesting question. Kit shrugged. “I’m not sure how many of his friends are his age. He appears older than two and twenty and takes all his responsibilities seriously.”

“Hmm,” was all Mary said before burying herself behind the newspaper again.

He quickly demolished two pieces of toast before his food arrived. The floddies looked almost as good on his plate as they had on Mary’s. He eyed hers, just as she glanced over her paper, and she gobbled up the last bites on her plate. Apparently she didn’t like sharing her food any more than she did her reading material. Using his fork, Kit cut a piece of the floddie and tasted. “Heaven.”

“I agree.” She eyed his plate. “Aunt Eunice doesn’t like them at all.”

Based on his memory of yesterday’s chicken, he asked, “What are they made of?”

“Potatoes, eggs, onions, flour, and bacon.”

“You are the only lady of my acquaintance who would know that.” He finished the one and made short work of the other. Perhaps he should request more. Kit wondered what it would be like to feed her.

Mary’s chin rose a bit. “I make it my business—”

“No no.” He held up his hand and chuckled. “Don’t pull caps with me. I admire you greatly for it. My great-grandmother used to know all manner of useful things.”

She picked up her cup and sighed. “My great-grandmother did as well. I do not understand what happened.”

“The same thing that occurred with landowners.” He wanted to sigh himself. “There was a time when the typical gentleman knew much more about husbandry than most do now. Although there is a growing movement to recover the knowledge and find new ways of making estates more productive without harming one’s dependents.”

She stared almost longingly at his plate. “Eat your eggs before they become cold.” Mary refilled her cup. “How do you feel about farming?”

He did as he was told before answering. How pleasant it was to break his fast with her. “I believe one should know as much and more than one’s steward.”

She raised the most eloquent and skeptical brow he’d ever seen. Now how would he explain why he hadn’t been here in years? “I am kept busy going to my father’s estates, and I’ve spent time in Norfolk at Pope’s farm. But you are in the right of it. I should not have neglected Rose Hill.”

She took a piece of fresh toast. “No, you should not have, but at least you are learning what you need to know. Are your family’s properties extensive?”

“In a word, yes. I’ve been told the only reason we hold a mere viscountcy and not an earldom or higher is that my ancestors knew better than to curry too much royal attention. Instead, they concentrated on building up their holdings.”

She studied her cup as she asked, “Does that include recent generations?”

Ah, he’d forgotten she was an heiress and had probably been courted for what she could bring to a marriage rather than for herself. Not an intelligent way to treat a progressive-thinking lady. “No. My parents married for love, and my mother expects me to do the same.”

The corners of her lips curved up as she took a drink. “My parents wanted that for me too. That is one reason I know Papa would never have arranged for me to marry my cousin.”

If that was the case, then why the devil did their grandmothers cook up this untenable scheme? Those two old ladies had some explaining to do. Normally he greatly admired and was very fond of his grandmother, but right now, he could wring her neck.

His stomach still rumbled. “Shall I order more floddies?”

“If you wish. You’re sure to get on Cook’s good side if you do.”

Mary discovered she enjoyed having breakfast with Kit. Unlike her father and brothers, he was not at all grumpy in the morning. For a few moments she thought he’d attempt to take the newspaper, but he hadn’t. That had surprised her. And he was interested in trying new foods. She couldn’t imagine most of the gentlemen she knew doing that so easily. Still, she had not trusted him when he glanced at her plate. He was probably one of those people who thought everyone should share. Harrumph. The twins used to think that as well, and learned better. He might get a fork in his hand if he tried to take any of her food.

He rang the bell and when Simons appeared he ordered more bacon floddies. “I take it Barham’s holdings are extensive?”

“Not so much in land as in other investments. My father said my uncle helped build back the family fortunes after my grandfather depleted much of it.”

Kit’s tea-cup hung suspended between the plate and his mouth. “The same uncle who is insisting you marry his son?”

For a moment she’d forgotten about Uncle Hector’s role. Really, Mr. Featherton’s presence had a derogatory effect on her brain. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Which is yet another reason his insistence there was a betrothal agreement does not make sense. He built his own fortune as well. Why would his son have any need of marrying an heiress?”

“I have people looking for your uncle. When we find him, we’ll make a point to ask.” Kit drained the last of the tea.

Mary appreciated his concern, but doubted he would have success where her brother had failed. She glanced up to find his plate already clean. He must have polished off the last of the toast as well. She would have to ensure there was more food on the table to-morrow, or have a few serving dishes set out. That would please Cook. “What are your plans for the day?”

“I thought I’d leave it to you. What would you normally do?”

Simons reappeared with floddies, toast, and another pot of tea.

“Yesterday, I was making assessments. To-day is when I take the tenants items they need or could use. I detest those ladies who ride out bestowing their bounty, never knowing what a family truly requires.” Try as she might, Mary couldn’t keep the hard edge from her voice. But what did it matter? He should know how she felt.

“You make a good point.” Kit cut his eggs, and held the fork out to her. “You looked as if you wanted more.”

She opened her mouth, closing it around the savory dish. “I love this.” As she chewed, he poured her another cup of tea, adding milk and sugar. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“But I like to,” he said, feeding her another forkful.

Soon the floddies, toast, and tea were finished. He put his serviette on the table and stood. “I’ll go with you. Although you have left me little to be concerned with when it comes to the farming. I recently heard of a new plow that might be helpful here.”

Ooh, it would be beyond anything if he really knew about . . . “The one with the self-scouring moldboard?”

He looked almost like a peacock preening. “Exactly.”

Talk about prayers being answered. “I wanted to buy one, but we have not been able to afford them for all the tenants.”

“If you agree”—he gave her the warm look that she was coming to like so much—“I’ll make arrangements to have one delivered for every tenant and the home farm.”

Before she could stop herself, Mary jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. “That would be wonderful.”

He stood, his arm snaking around her waist. When he gazed down at her, she was sure Kit would kiss her. She puckered her lips and . . .

The door opened. “Oh, excuse me, my lady.”

Drat, drat, drat
. She dropped her arms, and Kit stepped away. “It’s all right, Simons. Mr. Featherton and I were just leaving.” All she wanted was a kiss. Was fate scheming against her? “I’ll meet you at the stables, sir.”

“I won’t be long, my lady.”

She hurried out of the room. Somehow, she must find a way to give him another opportunity to kiss her, and she would tell Simons from now on to knock if the door was closed. Especially at breakfast. She remembered Phoebe writing that her husband had accomplished a great deal of important courting at the breakfast table. Caro had told Mary that her husband fed her. Mary might not have croissants and chocolate, but she had floddies and tea.

 

Damn, that was close
. Kit resisted the urge to swipe his hand across his forehead. Her joy had been so real, her lips so tempting, he’d almost forgotten his vow. Kissing and the rest would have to wait until after the betrothal.

Thank God, he knew they would marry. He didn’t think he could manage it if that wasn’t already settled. He had scorned Beaumont for trying to trap Serena, but if it weren’t for Kit’s grandmother’s machinations . . . He could understand why his friend had been so desperate. The more he came to know Mary, the more he liked her. Not only was she intelligent and practical, but she seemed to become more beautiful each day. How that was possible, he wasn’t sure. She’d already been the loveliest lady he knew. Not to mention his desire for her was growing by leaps and bounds. He’d never been so attracted to a woman before. He wanted her; no, he needed her. In his home and his bed. He had one, now he needed to work on the other. How long would it take before she agreed to be his wife?

He made it out to the wagon mere minutes before she appeared. Why it was so important for him to be there first, he didn’t know. Nineteen baskets were already loaded. Strange, he’d thought he had more tenants than that. Not wanting to ask her, he reviewed the names in his head. Twenty-one. She walked out with Cook, carrying two bags.

“Ye tell ’em that was the best batch of barley I ever had,” the older woman said.

“I won’t forget. They will love your spice loaves. Mrs. Davies says you make the best ones in the county and England.”

Cook blushed. “G’an on with ye, ma lady.”

Mary smiled. “It’s the truth.”

Not wanting to disrupt the moment, or, more likely, ruin his cook’s mood, Kit waited until she was next to the wagon before saying, “Do the last two tenants not need a basket?” She gave him “the look.” The very one his mother gave his father when he’d said something dim-witted. He hated having to dig himself out of a hole. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest . . .”