A Kiss for Lady Mary (5 page)

Little Miss Elizabeth Beaumont gazed at him with serious green eyes, but it looked as if she’d have her mother’s auburn hair. She grabbed onto the finger he gave her. “It is my pleasure to meet you, Miss Beaumont.” Turning to Serena, he smiled. “She is as beautiful as her mother. I predict she’ll run Robert ragged.”

Serena gave a peal of laughter. “She already is. I pity the man who falls in love with her.”

He kissed Elizabeth’s brow. A longing for a family of his own suddenly surged up inside him. As soon as he got rid of the doxy living at Rose Hill, he’d make a point of forgetting about Lady Mary and find a woman with whom he could share his life and raise a family.

 

Mary pushed back the wide-brimmed straw hat she wore for gardening, stripping off her gloves before taking the glass of lemonade from Simons. “I think it’s coming along.”

“Indeed it is, my lady. I haven’t seen the garden look so good in a great many years.”

Daniels, the gruff, wiry old head gardener, leaned on a shovel. “Won’t see all of what her la’yship has done ’til summer and next year, but she’s got some talent, she has.”

The warmth rising in her cheeks stopped as she realized she wouldn’t be here to enjoy the fruits of her efforts. If only she could return here after her Season. Glancing up at the sky, she supposed it to be close to five o’clock. Past time she should be dressing for dinner.

She finished the glass, handing it back to Simons. “Daniels, I think we had a good day.”

“Yes, my lady. We’re just about finished for now.”

If only it were simply for now. This would be one of her last days in the garden. Keeping a pleasant expression pasted on her face, she made her way up the back stairs. The closer it came to the time she must leave, the more she wanted to remain. Would Mr. Featherton sell the property to her? Once her birthday had passed, she could well afford it. Yet that didn’t answer the question of her name. He certainly would not allow her to continue to masquerade as his wife.

Hot tears pricked her lids. Taking a handkerchief out of her pocket, she dabbed at the corners of her eyes. There was no reason to become maudlin now. She would go to London and have her Season. She would meet a gentleman to wed. Then she would have a home she could make her own.

“Were you rolling around in the mud?” Mathers stood at the dressing room door, hands on her hips.

Mary gave a watery chuckle. “You might think so. I did remember to wear my gloves. And I have left my shoes by the garden door.”

“Well, that’s something. I’ll get the shoes later. Come along now and get that dirt off you.”

Soon Mary sank into the warm water of her bath. She hated having to deceive the servants, dependents, and all the local people. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about it. She gave herself a shake. Looking to the future would be more productive than moping and wishing things were different.

 

That evening at dinner Mary took a bite of the soup, new pea with just a hint of mint. The freshness practically burst in her mouth. “Give Cook my compliments, Simons.”

The knowledge that once she left she would never see Rose Hill again had dogged her all day, and it hit her particularly hard at that moment. The soup turned to ash in her mouth, but she forced herself to eat it and a few bites of each remaining course as she smiled and did her best to act as if everything was all right.

After tea had been served in the drawing room, Eunice took Mary’s hand. “Try not to be so down in the mouth, my dear. You must trust all will be well.”

Mary blinked back her tears but couldn’t stop her voice from wavering. “Yes, I must continue to believe that.” She set her cup down and rose. “While there is still enough light, let me show you what I’ve done with the garden.”

Once outside, Eunice linked her arm with Mary’s as they strolled on the new gravel paths. “It looks wonderful.”

“Yes. I’m very proud of it.” Mary’s throat closed painfully. “We planted over fifty new rose bushes. I’ve always wanted a rose garden.” She wiped the moisture from her face. She would not cry. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I know, dear.” Eunice touched her head to Mary’s. “Neither do I, but we must look at the bright side. You have not been chased or harassed since we’ve been here, and you’ve improved the property beyond all measure. No one could possibly complain about your residing here for the year.”

Except that it had been based on deception. If she wasn’t to become a watering-pot, it behooved her to think of something else to discuss. “How is the new roof for the church progressing?”

Eunice grinned. “According to Mr. Doust, extremely well. It will be finished before summer.”

Mary slanted a glance at her aunt. She had not asked about a possible understanding Eunice might have with the rector before now. “And you and Mr. Doust?”

“No matter how I feel about him, I’m afraid it cannot be.” Eunice heaved a sigh. “The dear rector would be scandalized by our ruse. Even I cannot come up with a story he would accept. No, I’m afraid I must think of him as a lovely flirtation.” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “Until we began to make friends here, I did not understand your concerns.”

It was a little late for remorse now. Mary repeated Eunice’s words back to her. “Everything will work out for the best.”

It had to.

K
it and his small group of servants had stayed the night in Alnwick and got a late start in the morning. It would not do to arrive at Rose Hill too early. After luncheon should be time enough.

God knew he didn’t want to spend any more time than was necessary under the same roof with the female pretending to be his wife. He’d had a great deal of time over the past week to plan how he would arrive. In the end, he decided to do so in as impressive a way as possible. That ought to convey to the woman that he was serious about recovering his property. All his life he had worked hard to avoid scandal, and he refused to have one touch him or his family now. He would give no quarter. If she would not willingly pack her bags and leave by morning, he’d help her out the door.

He glanced at his pocket watch again. For the past half hour he had been waiting on the outskirts of Rosebury for Piggott to catch up with him. Finally he spied a carriage being led by his father’s coachman. Of all the bad luck. The wheeler had gone lame. At least it wasn’t one of his father’s horses. Since they’d left York, he’d been on his own for cattle. He’d have to get the poor animal looked after. He hoped that Rosebury would have a decent hostelry. He would be damned if Dent had to lead the carriage all the way to Rose Hill.

“Sorry, sir,” Robins, the coachman, said as he approached. “He threw a shoe. Shouldn’t be too bad once we get it fixed.”

“There’s nothing you could have done to prevent it, but time is of the essence. We’ll have to find a replacement.”

After they made their slow way to the center of the town, Kit located the blacksmith, while Dent went off to ask about a stable where he could board the horse and hire another.

Kit stepped into the large stone smithy, peering through the dim light until he located a figure. “Good day. I have a horse that’s thrown a shoe. Can you help me?”

A large, middle-aged man with coal-black hair materialized from the dark interior. “Aye, gimme time t’finish here.” He retreated back into the darkness, and the next sound was the sizzle of hot iron being put in water. “Passin’ through?”

“Here on business. Name’s Featherton.”

The smith stopped what he was doing and turned. “Be ye the Featherton what owns Rose Hill?”

Kit smiled. “I am.”

The other man scowled. “See here, ya not plannin’ on causin’ trouble for our Lady Mary, are ya?”

Good God, what had that blasted female been doing? He wondered if Mary was even her real name. “Not at all. I’m just making sure she is doing well.”

Not exactly a lie.

“We don’t hold wi’ wife beatin’ here aboots.”

“Why would I want to . . . ? No, of course not. I don’t know who would. Can’t a man visit his wife?”

Why the hell had he said that? He should not have given credence to her lie.

“Took yer sweet time,” the smith said in an only slightly less belligerent tone.

Kit opened his mouth to respond in kind, then thought better of it. He had no wish to continue this conversation. “When you’ve finished, my groom will be outside.”

What the devil had he walked into? Had that fraud been slandering him? He paced impatiently as he waited for the man to appear.

Five minutes later Dent ambled toward Kit with a sour look on his face.

“No horses?” Kit asked.

“Nah, he’s got a horse. Interestin’ thing, though. He asked what your plans with your wife are. Last I heered, you ain’t got one.”

Irritation flared through Kit. He wanted to shout out loud that he did not have a wife, but he had the distinct impression that if he renounced her, word would travel and the entire town would rise up against him. Unless, that was, Dent had already let the cat out of the bag. “You didn’t tell him that, did you?”

“Nah, said my master don’t talk about his private doings to me.” Dent speared Kit with the same glare the groom had turned on him when, as a child, he’d attempted to jump his pony over too high a wall. “Ye goin’ to tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Kit could barely stop himself from spearing his fingers through his hair. “Yes, but not here. Do you know the way to the house?”

“My memory ain’t failed me yet. I remember the road.”

“Then tell me we have a wheeler.”

“Aye, we got one, and he’ll see the other gets shod. Gimme a minute and I’ll tell the smithy.”

“Good.” One problem was settled. The sooner he got his conversation with his impostor of a wife over with, the better. “Let’s go.”

As Kit was about ready to climb into his curricle, a gentleman who looked to be in his late forties approached.

“Good day to you, sir,” the stranger said.

Kit put his foot back on the ground. “A good day to
you
. May I help you?”

The man had a pleasant smile on his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m Mr. Doust, the rector. I understand you are Mr. Featherton of Rose Hill.”

Doust. That name sounded familiar. Nevertheless, Kit did not want or like the interference. He inclined his head. “I am, sir, and I am anxious to reach my home. It has been a long journey.”

“I was just on my way there. I shall do myself the honor of showing you the way.”

The hell he would. “I’m sure I can find it without assistance.”

“No problem at all.” A young boy brought over a mare. “You see? My horse is already saddled. I’ll not delay you at all.” The rector put his foot in the stirrup. “We are very protective of our ladies at Rose Hill. Lady Eunice and Lady Mary, your wife”—the man paused as if waiting for Kit’s response, then nodded—“have done a great deal for the town and your dependents. I don’t believe the estate has ever been in better shape.”

“Have they indeed?”
Two females
? There were
two
of them? No matter. They had probably done nothing more than knit scarves for the poor. “I’m sure the credit is due to my steward, Mr. Stuttart.”

Which was deuced odd as it was.

Doust raised one brow. “I would have thought you knew that Mr. Stuttart has been ill since last summer. In fact, if it weren’t for Lady Mary, he would probably have died. He is only now on the mend.”

“Indeed.” How else could Kit respond? Whatever the devil had been going on at Rose Hill, he’d better get to the bottom of it. “Let us be on our way.”

He climbed into his curricle, while the rector mounted his horse. A deuced fine one at that. Doust, horses. Damn, that was the Earl of Marnly’s family name. No wonder the rector had a sweet goer. The family bred some of the best horseflesh in the kingdom.

Ten minutes later, they turned off the main road and onto a well-maintained drive. The windows of the old sandstone house sparkled in the sun. Roses in pink and red climbed in an orderly fashion up the building. Kit noticed that the high stone wall at the entrance was in good condition, as well. He had to admit that the adventuress had maintained the property well, but if she thought to continue passing herself off as his wife, that was another matter entirely.

The front door opened as he came to a stop. Even the knocker gleamed. He tried not to clench his jaw as the rector came up beside him, a moment later, as they climbed the shallow stairs.

A servant—the butler, he assumed—bowed. “Good afternoon, Mr. Doust. The ladies are in the morning room. May I ask the name of your friend?”

Doust slid a look at Kit.

This got worse and worse all the time, Kit thought chagrined. His own servants didn’t even recognize him. Why the devil had he waited so long to come here? He was beginning to feel as if
he
was the wrongdoer. “I am Mr. Featherton. You must be Simons.”

The merest flicker of distaste passed over the butler’s face. “Indeed, sir. I shall escort you to the ladies straight away.”

As they followed the butler down a long corridor, Kit couldn’t help noticing that the carpets were clean and in good repair, the woodwork gleamed, and the wall sconces sparkled. The walls appeared recently painted, as well.

Simons opened a door, and bowed as Kit and Doust entered the room.

“Lady Eunice and Lady Mary,” the rector said, “how are you doing this afternoon?”

The older woman rose. “We are quite well, Mr. Doust.” When her gaze lit on Kit, a line appeared between her brows, then disappeared. She smiled as if she’d been expecting him. “Mr. Featherton, how good of you to bring our dear friend with you.”

A younger woman standing in front of the French windows started, then stared at him with the same silver eyes that had haunted his dreams. Her golden hair was dressed in a simple knot, loose curls framed her oval face, and her countenance had changed from a friendly smile to a mask of fear.

Of all the females in England, she was the last one he expected to see at Rose Hill. Something was vastly wrong with this situation, and he had many more questions than answers. Prime among his concerns was why in the bloody hell she was here in the first place. Almost no one outside of his family even knew he owned this property. A rage he’d never experienced before rose within him. What a fool he had been, spending the past couple of years mooning over a fraud. Had she planned to trap him into marriage?

Keeping his eyes fixed on her, he set a pleasant smile on his face and strode toward her. When he was no more than a foot away, he took her hands, raising one then the other to his lips and placing lingering kisses on each palm. Damn the butler for having left the door open and Doust for being there at all. There was nothing for it but to play his part. “Aren’t you happy to see your husband, my dear?” Lowering his voice so that only she could hear, he added, “And are you prepared for the consequences?”

Mary took in Mr. Featherton’s broad shoulders, his fashionably styled chestnut-brown hair and piercing blue eyes. The most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

Of all the gentlemen who could have appeared, why did it have to be Mr. Perfect?
If only she hadn’t talked herself out of what she knew in her heart to be true.

Featherton
. The one man who had completely ignored her during her only full Season, and here she was posing as his wife. A person of no importance, her foot! What had her grandmother been thinking?

The humiliation of that first Season came flooding back. That no one else knew about it mattered not at all. She knew that he’d danced with almost every young lady except her. She’d even saved dances, hoping he would ask her, but he’d never claimed them, forcing her to make excuses about needing a flounce mended in the ladies’ retiring room, or being too warm and requiring a glass of lemonade.

How could she have been so wrong? More than once he’d been heading straight in her direction, and each time she could have sworn he was finally going to request to stand up with her, but he’d always veered away at the last moment to ask another girl to take the floor or to speak with some gentleman. She must be the last lady he wanted to see at Rose Hill. It didn’t matter. He had never cared about
her
, and she did not want
him
.

Still, she could barely breathe. It was a miracle she was not lying in a dead faint. His tone was soft, but menace and heat lurked in his voice.

She focused on his words.
Husband?
She drew a shallow breath.
Consequences?
Oh, Lord. What would happen to her now?

Remember your breeding
.

She tried to smile, forcing the corners of her lips up. “Yes, of course. If only you had given me some notice, I would have been prepared.”

His body blocked Eunice and Doust from seeing her reaction. Try as she might to remain calm, Mary could not stop herself from trembling. Fear of what Mr. Featherton might do to her warred with anger at her grandmother. Grandmamma must have known whose house this was. Mary raised her chin. If she wouldn’t let Gawain trap her into marriage, she would not allow her grandmother to, either.

Yet perhaps Grandmamma wasn’t aware Mr. Perfect was here. After all, he
should
be in London letting the
ton
fawn all over him, not at Rose Hill threatening her.

She slid a quick look at him. This was a scandal waiting to happen. Being caught by him ended her hope that no one would ever find out what she had done. Still, there had to be some way out of this situation. Surely Mr. Perfect didn’t wish to be trapped into marriage with her, a woman he couldn’t even bear to dance with, on the other hand, he was quite capable of ruining her.

He glanced over his shoulder and addressed the others. “If you could leave us alone for a while?”

“I shall show Mr. Doust out, but I shall not be far. You have only to call if you need me,” Eunice said, casting a meaningful look at Mary.

Every nerve in Mary wanted to scream,
No! Don’t leave me with him
, yet that would cause a scene, something she must not do if she were to escape this mess with her reputation intact. She must remain composed. Giving in to the vapors would not help. Now that he was no longer looking at her she found herself able to take a deeper breath. Unfortunately, that turned out to be a mistake, as she caught his scent. No perfume at all, just pure male musk and leather. His buttery-yellow buckskin breeches were cut to show off his muscular thighs. No padding there. No wonder women vied for his attention.

“Mr. Doust, if you would tell Simons we might want tea, or perhaps something stronger,” Mr. Featherton said.

The words were phrased as a suggestion, but the tone made them a command. Oh Lord, what had she got herself into, all because she had given in to her grandmother?

He slid his arm possessively around her shoulders, and led her to the small sofa in the center of the room. “Sit here and breathe. You must not faint, it would give a bad impression.” He grinned wryly, although the humor did not touch his eyes. “Even worse than the one the townspeople and servants already have of me. Are you responsible for that, or was it merely my absence?”