A Phantom Affair (19 page)

If he were not so impossibly vain …

“Ah, Miss Dunbar,” he crowed as if he thought everyone in earshot were interested, “how delighted I am to see you!”

She suffered him to kiss her hand lustily, but pulled it back before he could do more. “This is a wonderful day for the fair, isn't it?”

“I had hoped you would seek me out upon your arrival.”

“Me? Seek you out?” She clamped her lips closed. This man was incredible! If he were not so annoying, his self-satisfied affectations would be entertaining.

“Of course.” He drew her hand within his arm. “Did you think I missed the eager glances you gave me during my call at Herrold Hall?”

Mayhap, like Marian, he equated queasiness with falling in love, for she had been eager only to rid herself of his company. Stepping away from him, Ellen smiled. “Mr. Pratt, you should know that Lord Wulfric escorted me and the Herrolds to the fair today.”

“Good of him.”

“Yes.”

He had not been so pleasant about Lorenzo before. She wondered why he was today.

“Lorenzo and Marian have been friends for many, many years,” he said. “What a shame she married Herrold! Lorenzo would have made her a better match.”

Ellen stared at him in disbelief. “Mr. Pratt, you are quite mistaken.”

“I do not make mistakes as a custom.”

She doubted that, even though she was sure he seldom owned to any error. “Mayhap not, but Lorenzo and Marian would have driven each other mad if they were wed.”

His booming laugh made heads swivel in their direction. Seeing the wide eyes and imagining what was being whispered, Ellen wished Mr. Pratt were as invisible as Corey … and haunting someone else.

“You are so amusing,” he crowed. “As if they were not already crazy as it is.”

As I must be to allow this conversation to continue
, she thought. Pasting her most innocuous smile on her lips, she said, “Mr. Pratt, I may be mistaken—”

“How wise of you to own to that. Mayhap you will see that you need a more astute head to guide you.”

Not yours, for only the greatest stretch of the imagination would label you anything but a widgeon
. “I may be mistaken,” she began again, “but I think that young woman over there is eager to speak with you.”

“Really?” His eyes widened as he straightened his lapels. “Which one?”

“That fetching blonde.”

“Really?” he repeated. He took one step away from Ellen, hesitated, then turned back to her. “I cannot leave you here alone, Miss Dunbar.”

“I am not alone. Marian will be looking for me, I am sure. She wished me to speak with your mother.”

“About my call?”

Her stomach twisted at the thought, but she forced her smile to remain in place. “I suspect so.” She looked past him. “Mr. Pratt, that young lady seems very, very impatient to speak with you. I think you would be most gentlemanly to go to her side immediately and ease her anxiety.”

She could guess what he was thinking as easily as if his thoughts were her own. He did not want to risk insulting her, but he was intrigued with the pretty lass.

He cleared his throat and said, “Miss Dunbar, I …”

Ellen had to be pleased he did not trouble himself—and her—with some banger before he strode toward the simpering baggage who must be as want-witted as he to flap her thick lashes at him. She chuckled to herself as she heard his loud voice proclaiming his delight to speak with the girl … repeating the same greeting he had given Ellen. The man was a complete dolt!

Hurrying away before Mr. Pratt took the idea in his head to return to her company, Ellen discovered that Lorenzo was now speaking with the minister. He seemed very intent on what Reverend Stapleton had to say. Intruding would be rude. She glanced across the lawn. Marian and Lord Herrold were debating something with broad gestures before he put his arm around her shoulders and leaned her head against his chest. They would not wish to be interrupted either.

Her reticule struck her leg as she took a step in the opposite direction. Smiling, she clasped the silk bag in her hands. She had promised Lorenzo to read his poems before the fair day. Marian had kept her so busy with plans for a new gown for the assembly at the Pratts' house that she had not had a moment to herself to read them. What better time than now when everyone else was otherwise occupied?

She found a shady spot beneath a tree near the churchyard cemetery's stone wall. Rose vines contorted over the stones and stretched out into the grass, carrying their heady perfume with the blossoms. With her parasol propped behind her, she leaned back to enjoy the poetry.

And enjoy Lorenzo's poems was what she did. No matter how Corey might scoff at his cousin's attempts at writing, Lorenzo had a gift for entwining words to make simple rhymes. These were no grand epics of unrequited love and consummated passions. As lief, Lorenzo penned tales of the changing seasons along the shore and the glories of the gardens coming to life with the first touch of spring.

“Are you having fun?”

Ellen looked up. “Corey! I didn't know you could come here.”

“I didn't either, but I thought it worth a try. I have not been beyond the Abbey or Herrold Hall since I dropped perch. It was time for me to wander farther afield.”

“If you came for the ice cream, I suggest you eat it quickly.”

“My misfortune, but food is not a necessity for me any longer. I never realized how much pomp we put into that simple function and how much time we waste.” He sat beside her. “However, ice cream is one pleasure I miss dearly.”

She lowered the pages to her lap. “I am so glad you tried to come to the fair. You haven't been about much lately.”

“You have been so busy getting that gown made for Pratt's party.” He leaned toward her. “You are a charming sight in your shift with strips of fabric hanging along you.”

“You watched!”

He chuckled. “Edie, don't act so shocked. After all, I have had
carte blanche
to your bedchamber for at least a fortnight now.”

“But this is different.”

“How?” Resting his chin on his fist, he reclined on the grass and gazed up at her. “I have sat in your bed with you, Edie.”

“You make it sound so illicit.”

“Isn't it?” He picked up a corner of the hem of her gown and stroked it slowly. “With your hair soft around your shoulders and your eyes weighted with sleep, you bring the most deliciously illicit thoughts into my head.”

“Please don't say such things.”

“Why? Because they embarrass you?”

“No.” She watched his fingers' gentle caress along her dress. To have him touch her as sweetly, to be surrounded by the warmth of his flesh as his mouth found hers … She shook her head. “Please don't, Corey.”

“But why?”

She pulled her gown away from him. “You know very well why.”

“Do I?”

Taking a deep breath, she counted to ten, then said, “All right, I shall tell you, my late Lord Wulfric. When you say things like that, I wonder how much frostbite I can risk to satisfy my curiosity about how splendid it would feel if you kissed me.”

He stared at her.

Ellen folded her arms over her chest and smiled, astounded that the truth had silenced him. “You wanted to know.”

“Calf-head that I was, I did,” he rumbled as he sat up. “Dash it! Edie, you were supposed to blush and change the subject.” Kneeling, he put his hands out to her. As hers started to rise toward them, he whispered, “You were supposed to tell me you regard me with the same tepid affection as you would a bothersome brother.”

“I don't have a brother.” She gasped as the cold seared her fingertips. Pulling back, she murmured, “That was not a wise thing to do.”

He smiled sadly. “Sometimes wishes take precedence over common sense.”

“You'd think I would learn that, wouldn't you?”

“And that I would.” He cleared his throat and grinned. “If you will not change the subject, I must. What are you doing here by yourself?”

“Reading.”

“What?” He tilted one of the pages and groaned. “You poor thing! Lorenzo's scribblings.”

She folded the pages and put them in her bag. “He is quite good, you know.”

“No, I don't know.”

“You have never done him the courtesy of perusing a single one of his poems?”

He flung out his arms. “By all that's blue, Edie, when do you think I might have found time to exult in such a pastime? While I lay in the French mud, dodging the Frogs' balls as they tried to put an end to us all? Or mayhap, I might have enjoyed one while I was riding about the shire tending to the unending tasks to be done by Lord Wulfric.”

“There is no need for sarcasm.”

“Then be honest.”

“I was. I think he is quite good.”

He set himself on his feet. “This is a fair day, Edie. You shouldn't be sitting here alone. You should be singing and dancing and trying to decide which young buck you wish to have bidding on your basket.”

“I did not bring a basket.”

“You didn't? That is a shame. 'Tis a tradition in the village, you know.” He tapped his chin. “You should not break traditions when you are a guest.”

She stared at him in horror. He could not have—he would not have—he must have, if his grin were any clue. “Blast it, Corey Wolfe!”

Gathering her skirts, she raced toward the table where the baskets were displayed. Corey's laughter followed her, not growing fainter, so she knew he was close on her heels. She saw Mr. Pratt talking with the blonde, and she sped on the other side of a booth where a barrel waited for someone to hit the target set above it and dunk it into the water.

“Ellen, what is wrong?”

She wanted to run past Marian, but that would cause only more trouble. Pausing, she said, “I want to look at the nuncheon baskets.”

“But why in such a hurry?”

“I—” A ball careened toward her.

She gasped when it abruptly dropped to the ground inches from her head. It bounced off the ground and into her hands, which automatically reached for it. The hard rubber was colder than the ice cream had been. Although she could not see him, she knew Corey had halted the ball.

The children shouted for her to toss it back. She threw it. The ball swerved and hit the target. The cask fell into the tank, water splashing upward. The wave crashed down over Mr. Pratt. He shrieked and leaped back into the blonde. The young woman toppled into a gentleman's arms and promptly swooned.

Ellen laughed as Corey appeared. He bowed to her, then toward Mr. Pratt. The children roared their approval.

Marian gasped, “How did that happen?”

“Tell her,” Corey said, “that you are tired of Pratt showering you with insincerity, so you sincerely showered him.”

“'Twas nothing but an ill-tossed ball,” Ellen said, although she was tempted to repeat Corey's words. “I should apologize to Mr. Pratt.”

“Why?” asked Corey. “He deserved the dousing.”

Marian said, “I think you should give him some time to cool his temper.”

“And his ardor.”

Ellen glared at Corey. She had enough problems without him being jealous of a boor. After all, she wanted as little to do with Mr. Pratt as possible.

She went to the table and looked at the baskets. Marian glanced over her shoulder as Ellen read the tags. When she turned over one with her name on it, Marian chuckled.

“Ellen, you have been listening to me! What better way to attract a potential husband than to entice him to join you for a pleasant meal? Why didn't you tell me you were preparing a basket for the auction?”

“I really had not thought about it until a short while ago.” She picked up the basket. “Mayhap it would be better if we just made a donation to the church and ate this ourselves.”

“Nonsense.” Marian took the basket and put it down among the others. “It was a brilliant idea.”

“Thank you,” Corey said with a chuckle.

Ellen scowled at him, but he only grinned more broadly.

“I told you I was going to find you a husband,” he said as Marian turned to speak with a friend.

Motioning toward the area where the carriages were parked, Ellen said, “I need to speak with you.”

“You can thank me right here.”

“Thanking you was not what I had in mind.”

“Then you shall have to wait until another time.”

“Why?”

He stepped back and bowed as Marian grasped Ellen's arm.

“My dear,” Marian cooed, “I want you to meet Miss Appleton. Her brother is visiting at the end of next week.”

“And is unquestionably eligible,” Corey interjected. “If you find Kenneth Pratt unbearable, you will learn he is not the worst of the lot this shire has sired. Eugene Appleton, however, is.”

“How do you do, Miss Appleton?” Ellen asked, trying to smile at the pleasant-looking brunette.

“Very well, Miss Dunbar. You are right, Lady Herrold. She is perfect for Eugene.” She gave a giggle, and Ellen glanced at Corey, who only grinned more broadly. “You must join us for tea next week after Eugene comes home, Miss Dunbar.”

“If possible,” she answered.

“It
will
be possible,” Marian corrected.

Ellen was prevented from adding more when Marian took her arm again and steered her toward a thick-waisted dowager who was holding court on a bench in front of the church. When Corey sat on one edge of the steps, close enough so he could hear everything, Ellen sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Twelve

The crowd gathered for the auction of the luncheon baskets. Marian drew Ellen right to the front of the crowd. Pulling her lace shawl more tightly around her shoulders, Marian mused, “There is a cold breeze today, isn't there? I hope it does not rain.”

Ellen ignored Corey's laugh and Marian's comment as he edged closer to them. If Marian took note of her silence, she made no comment. She waved to her husband to join them.