A Wicked Pursuit (31 page)

The next three
days passed in an excited blur to Gus, and she was the center of it, an unusual place for her to be. In addition to having a gown made and fitted for the wedding and as well as an elegant merino riding habit suitable for traveling to London, there were prodigious assaults on the ladies’ shops of Norwich with the duchess—who had now given Gus leave to call her by her first name—in command, for shoes and hats and gloves and handkerchiefs and every other garment and gewgaw of silk and lace that a lady-bride of her rank would require.

There were meetings with the minister who was to marry her and Harry, and more meetings with Mr. Royce and Mrs. Buchanan to settle all the ledgers and household accounts before she gave up running the house and left. There were preparations for a wedding tea and a lavish bride’s cake to follow the ceremony. There were long walks in the garden with the duchess, who kindly explained what sorts of new responsibilities Gus would have as Countess of Hargreave, and offering sage, if daunting, advice about how best to take her new place in London society. There were calls to receive from well-wishers around the county, who showed as much curiosity about Gus’s husband-to-be as they did wishing her well. There was, of course, the sizable challenge of lodging and feeding two such important guests as His and Her Grace.

But there was, sadly, very little time spent with Harry himself. Although Gus knew that this enforced separation was likely for the respectable best, she still longed for the old freedom she and Harry had when it had been just the two of them, and they’d done as they pleased about the house and garden. Since the night she’d accepted his offer of marriage, she had only seen Harry over the white damask cloth of a formal dining table, and never alone. The duke saw to that. The kiss they’d shared on the stairs had been the last.

It didn’t seem fair, not at all, and she could see the frustration building in Harry to match her own. But then she’d remind herself that after Saturday, they’d be together always, and it made these few days of forced separation easier to bear. Not easy, but easier.

And then, on Friday afternoon, the day before the wedding itself, everything changed again.

She was in her bedchamber with Mary, sitting on the floor amid open trunks and boxes as she tried to decide which of her belongings to take with her for her new life, and which to leave behind. It was untidy work. Her hair was tucked up under a plain cap, and she wore an old gingham apron over an older petticoat.

“What of these slippers, Miss Augusta?” Mary said, handing her a pair of embroidered silk shoes. “Surely you’ll have use for these in London, and there’s no wear at all to them.”

“They have no wear because I only wore them once, to the Roxbys’ Christmas ball,” Gus said, running her fingers along the embroidery. However pretty the shoes might be, they brought back dismal memories of sitting unwanted and unnoticed in an uncomfortable chair beside the wall while she’d watched Julia and the others on the dance floor. The shoes had no wear because she hadn’t danced that night, not once. Of course that had been long before Harry, but it was still a time she’d no wish to revisit or remember, not even with a pair of shoes. She was determined that her future with him would be different, and she resolutely put the shoes aside.

“I believe I’ll leave them behind, Mary,” she said, putting them in the discard box. She sat back on her heels, listening. “There’s a carriage in the drive. Oh, heavens, who could possibly appear now, when we’re in the middle of this mess?”

“You don’t have to receive them, miss,” Mary said. “Mr. Royce can tell them you’re not at home.”

“Let me see who it might be,” Gus said, wiping her hands on her apron as she went to the window. “If it’s a friend, then of course I’ll—oh, Mary, it’s Papa, come home at last! Send word to His Grace and his lordship!”

She ran down the front staircase, her skirts flying, out the front door and down those steps as well, reaching the drive just as the footmen were opening the carriage door. She flung herself at her father as soon as he stepped from the carriage steps, her arms unable to reach all around his girth in the most familiar way imaginable.

“Here you are, Gus,” he said, laughing happily. “Come now, let me look at you. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you, daughter.”

“Months, Papa,” she said, as she stepped back as he’d asked. She couldn’t keep from grinning as she straightened her cap. “You’ve been gone since the end of April.”

He laughed and blotted at his forehead with his handkerchief, not in the least upset that she’d pointed out his error. “Not that you’ve minded one jot, have you? Little minx! You’ve spared me the cost of tricking you out for a season in London by doing your husband-hunting at home. You always were the clever lass, Gus, and what a prize you’ve claimed for yourself!”

She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, Papa, don’t,” she said, blushing furiously. “I didn’t set out to do anything of the sort. Harry and I simply fell in love.”

His broad face softened. “That is what I wanted most to hear, Gus. That this rascal loves you as you deserve.”

“He does, Papa,” she said, smiling so hard that she was nearly crying, or perhaps that was from happiness. “But you mustn’t call him a rascal, at least not in His Grace’s hearing. His Grace is very particular about such things.”

Papa puffed out his cheeks with jovial bluster to show exactly how much he cared for His Grace’s particulars. “His lordship’s a rascal until he proves to me he’s worthy of my sweet little Gus.”

He pulled off his black cocked hat and settled it on Gus’s head, crushing her cap beneath it, the way he’d done since she was a little girl. It fit her no better now, and, laughing with delight, she had to shove the oversized hat back on her head to be able to see.

The first thing she saw was Julia, daintily stepping from the carriage with a footman holding each hand. She wore a wide-brimmed hat covered in striped silk with several nodding ostrich plumes, a close-fitting red jacket and matching petticoat—but then, everything Julia wore was close-fitting—and an enormous white swan’s-down muff.

“Gus!” she exclaimed, sweeping forward. “Dearest sister!”

She didn’t embrace Gus, nor did she wish it, instead presenting her cheek to be kissed. Gus wasn’t surprised—it was usual with Julia, who didn’t like being disarranged—and she dutifully kissed the offered cheek, with its familiar whiff of bergamot, face powder, and hair pomade.

“Gus, Gus, little Gus,” she said. “So much has changed since last we saw each other!”

“Yes, it has,” Gus said proudly, lifting her chin so she could peek out from beneath the brim of Papa’s hat. “How very fine of you to return home for my wedding to Lord Hargreave.”

“Oh, but look, Gus,” she said. “You see I am now betrothed, too.”

She pulled her left hand from inside the muff and waggled her fingers. Her ring was pretty enough, a sizable yellow topaz surrounded by diamonds, but it couldn’t compare to the ring that Harry had given Gus.

Gus knew that she shouldn’t be vain, and it was never wise to compete with Julia in any matter. But she’d stood in her sister’s shadow for so long that, just this once, she couldn’t help herself.

Slowly she held out her own hand, the cluster of diamonds sparkling brilliantly in the sunlight.

“This is from Harry,” she said shyly. “It was his mother’s.”

“Very handsome,” Julia said with a little moue of annoyance, and swiftly turned back to the carriage. “
Here
is my beloved himself! Lord Southland, my sister, Augusta. Gus, the most gloriously perfect gentleman in London, Lord Southland.”

Possessively Julia seized his arm to draw him forward. Gus curtseyed, looking at him with interest, not only because he’d won Julia and would now be part of their family, but also because she’d heard Harry mention his name as being a London acquaintance. He was tall and blond, his face ruddy and weathered from much time out-of-doors, with heavy-lidded pale eyes and full lips. The warm day must have made him fall asleep in the carriage, because he looked scarcely awake now, yawning widely to show his teeth and cricking his neck to one side as Julia hung on his arm.

“So you’re Julia’s sister, are you?” he asked, looking her up and down and taking in her worn apron and her father’s hat. He blinked drowsily, sticking two fingers beneath the band of his hat to scratch his head. “You cannot be the one who’s to wed Hargreave.”

“I am, my lord, on both counts,” Gus said, determined to be agreeable even if he was not. Now she remembered how Harry had dismissed Southland as amiable if vacuous, a younger son with no ambition to clutter his thoughts, and she had to agree. No wonder Julia thought he was perfect.

“I never should have guessed you were sisters,” he said, and yawned again. “Should I, Julia?”

“Not at all, my darling Southland,” Julia said, gazing up at him with adoration. “You are scarcely the first who cannot believe we are sisters.”

“Where in blazes is Hargreave, anyway?” Southland asked, gazing about as if expecting Harry to pop up from beneath the steps. “I should drink to his health and happiness and all that.”

“Yes, yes,” Papa said, winking at Gus as he plucked his hat back from her head. “High time I spoke with his lordship and asked his intentions regarding you, eh, Gus?”

“Papa, please,” she said. Harry would understand Papa’s humor, but she worried about how the duke—who already held her father in very low esteem—was going to respond. “Let’s go inside so you can refresh yourself, and then we’ll all meet for tea.”

“For tea, hah,” Papa said, climbing the steps. “Gentlemen want something stronger than that, Gus.”

“Hear, hear, Wetherby,” echoed Southland, eagerly following him up the steps. “Nothing like the dusty road to give a gentleman a raging thirst.”

“Isn’t Southland a perfect Adonis?” Julia whispered to Gus. “He’s
so
strong, Gus, and so manly, too. I vow that if he weren’t the son of the Marquess of Otley, he could be a blacksmith, he’s that strong. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose he is,” Gus said, preoccupied with figuring out which bedchamber would do for Adonis. “Though I should wish rather more from a husband than the ability to make horseshoes.”

Julia made her expression solemn. “Oh, of course you’d say that, Gus,” she said as they walked through the door. “Forgive me for being thoughtless. What else
can
you say, under the circumstances?”

It made no sense to Gus, but then that wasn’t unusual with Julia. Besides, the only circumstances that concerned her now were the immediate ones, here in the hall. Harry was waiting there with the duke and duchess beside him, all of them ready to greet her father, for which she was grateful and relieved. As handsome as ever, Harry was standing as straight and tall as he could on his good leg, barely using the crutch for balance at all, a skill she knew he’d practiced, and she was touched and proud of him for making the considerable effort.

Julia was welcome to her empty-headed Adonis. She’d take her Harry any day, who was far stronger than Julia would ever understand.

But while Gus couldn’t look away from Harry, her father was focused on something else entirely. Lolling on the floor at Harry’s feet as usual were Patch and Potch, and they were all that Papa could see.

“Gus, why are there dogs in my house?” he asked, stunned into a frozen state of disbelief and disapproval. “Dogs.
Dogs
. In
my
house.”

“Papa, please,” Gus said quickly, grabbing him by the arm. “Your Graces, my lord, I believe you know my father, Viscount Wetherby. Lord Southland, and my sister, Miss Julia Wetherby.”

The duke nodded curtly, not exactly the picture of cordiality. “Good day, Wetherby. I am glad your affairs permitted you to return home for your daughter’s marriage to our son.”

Oh, this wasn’t good, thought Gus with dismay, praying that Papa would manage to say something civilized in return.

For once, miraculously, he did. “Your Graces, my lord,” he said, lifting his hat and bowing. “I’m honored to have you as guests here at Wetherby, and for such a fine reason, too. I wouldn’t have missed my daughter’s wedding to his lordship for all the tea in China.”

The duke smiled. “Indeed. My wife and I have much to discuss with you before our children are wed tomorrow, Wetherby. Have you a place where we could retire?”

“My library will serve,” Papa said, bowing again as he indicated the way for them to follow. “Gus, will you have Mrs. B. send up some sort of little somethings for us?”

“You’re looking well, Julia,” Harry said once the parents had left. “London must agree with you more than the country air.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Julia said, making languishing eyes even as she clung to Southland’s arm. “I only wish I could say the same to you.”

“Julia!” Gus exclaimed, appalled. “I cannot believe even you would say something so—so
barbarous
.”

“Your sister’s entitled to her opinion, Gus, however ludicrous,” Harry said, outwardly mild, though the glint in his eyes showed something far different. “One cannot change a leopard’s spots.”

Gus remembered this mood well from when he’d first hurt his leg, dark and dangerous with frustration and anger, too. Even his blue eyes turned darker and more ominous. She’d been wary of the signs then, and she was now as well.

But clearly Julia was not. “His lordship understands me, Gus, even if you do not,” Julia said blithely. “I’m only speaking the truth. If he were well, then he wouldn’t be a cripple.”

“How is the old leg, Hargreave?” Southland asked. “Must be the very devil, having to hop about like an old crow.”

“I manage,” Harry said, his voice clipped, the two words razor-sharp.

Not that Southland seemed to notice, either. “You know we’re to become brothers,” he said, slipping his arm familiarly around Julia’s waist. “This lovely creature has finally agreed to marry me.”

“Congratulations,” Harry said, his gaze not leaving Julia. “A small word of advice, Southland, one that you’ll do well to take. Never go riding with the lady.”

“I cannot fathom why not,” Southland said, mystified. “She’s as fine a rider as any lady I know.”