Cupid's Mistake (Cupid Regency Romance) (13 page)

Did Miss Hathaway expect anything from him? He did not know. She had never hinted at it. . . only perhaps wished for his company, for she had never yet refused an invitation to ride with him in his phaeton. But he could not distinguish this from—

He took a deep breath as his coach came to the door of his house, and it only slightly cleared the ache in his chest. If he were a true gentleman, he would at least offer for her. Her birth was respectable, and he supposed so must her dowry be, if her family could afford to stay in a house in the best part of London. She was not like Chloe, he knew that now. She was too blunt, too ignorant of many of the ton's rules to pretend and hide behind a facade.

An odd twisting pulled at his gut, and he knew he was afraid. He sneered at himself. It was a stupid thing to feel, for marriages for reasons of inheritance were made all the time, and he need not consider a possible marriage to Miss Hathaway to be anything more than that. And if he was worried that she might ever play him false, he could watch her carefully until she bore him his heir.

He opened the door of his coach with a restless movement and descended. Ah, who was he trying to deceive? He was in love with Miss Hathaway, and he was ten times the fool for it. He did not know what had caused him to fall in love with her—the music, or she herself. Perhaps both. He pulled up his shoulders as if against the cold, although his house was warm enough when he entered it. He thought of how Chloe had fooled him and knew he would not be fooled again.

Of course, if he was careful, he could prevent it. If a woman knew his affections were engaged, she
'd take advantage of it. It'd be best if he presented his proposal to Miss Hathaway in a formal manner and said nothing of his love for her. He'd convince her that it was for her own good, for the alternative was more embarrassing whispers, and he was certain she'd not want that. A feeling of relief came over him, and he smiled a little, and of course she'd see the advantage a good position in society could give her. There was much he could offer her, and he'd be rid of his stupid impulses in return. It was really a perfect proposal all around.

He would see what she thought of it tomorrow, and then he
'd approach her father about it—no need to do the thing formally if she was opposed to marrying him, after all. They could announce it at the alfresco luncheon to which he'd invited her and her family, as well as his own family and his friends.

A feeling of relief went through him, and his shoulders relaxed. Well, there it was. All he had to do was propose to Miss Hathaway, marry her, and he could stop thinking about making love to her because she
'd be in his bed soon enough. That should make his life a great deal more comfortable, he was sure.

Chapter
7

"Only think! Lord Blytheland even offered—he insisted!— that I attend the alfresco luncheon with Mama, Papa, and Cassandra next week. Do you not think he truly is a very kind gentleman?" Psyche bounced upon the sofa seat in happiness.

"
Oh, I suppose he is—when he wants to be." Harry sat upon the drawing-room windowsill, his wings pressed against the windows. He shifted uncomfortably, then turned and opened them. He stretched his wings in a contented manner. "There. That's better." He turned to Psyche with a smug smile. "So you see, he is the right husband for her, and she is perfect for him."

"
I cannot feel comfortable about it, though. You said he is in love with Cassandra, and he has always been kind to me—though he need not pay me attention, as Mama has said, for I am not yet out. But you have made him love her, you see. What if your arrows stop working, and he stops loving her? Then they will be miserable."

Harry looked offended.
"My arrows don't stop working."

"
How do you know?" Psyche said instantly. "Have you ever been around long enough to find out?"

A brief uncomfortable expression flashed across Harry
's countenance, but a slow, crooked grin replaced it. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, twirling it deftly around between his fingers. "I could always shoot some more."

Psyche recognized the grin and grew alarmed.
"Don't you dare! You leave Lord Blytheland alone, and Cassandra, too! They are well on their way to marriage, Mama has told me, and need no help from you."

"
'The course of true love never did run smooth,' " quoted Harry. "Besides, if you think the effect of my arrows may fade after a while, then the logical solution would be to apply them again."

Psyche gnawed her lip. What a troublesome thing it was to fall in love! But it was a thing adults did, and she supposed she must do so, too, someday.
"Well, Cassandra's love will be true—if you leave them alone. No doubt even if the arrows lost their effect, Lord Blytheland will still come to love her, for she is the best sister imaginable, you know. Everything will come out for the best, I think, just by themselves."

"
I doubt it. There are too many loose ends left untied."

"
And you are the one to tie them up? I doubt it."

Harry sighed impatiently.
"I wonder when you will understand, Psyche, that I know more about these things than you do? I am much older than you, and have more experience."

"
Oh, really? You don't look more than two or three years older than I. Not much experience there, I should think! And when have you fallen in love, pray tell?"

Harry looked taken aback.
"Fallen in love? It is not at all necessary that I fall in love to know about it. I need only observe."

"
There! That proves it. I admit I have never fallen in love either, but I have read much upon the subject. So I know at least a little!"

"
Read what?" Harry flew over to the sofa and rummaged behind the pillows. He brought out a small volume. "This?"

"
Harry, give it to me at once!" He tossed it in her lap, and then sat next to her. Psyche hugged the book to her chest, then looked at its cover fondly. "Well, yes, it was what I was talking of. It is full of the trials one goes through for love."

"
T
he Tomb of the Accursed
," Harry read, peering at the book. "That does not sound like anything to do with love."

"
Oh, but it does! Only listen: 'Corimunde! Keep true to your virtue and our love! Do not veer from the true course of our affections!' And then she says, 'Though I starve in my dank and gloomy chamber, though my heart and limbs be rend from my body by the evil Orcanto, though demons seize my blood-hued dreams—my soul, my soul, O Gerard, is yours for eternity!' " Psyche recited in thrilling accents, closing her eyes in utter bliss.

There was a long silence. She opened her eyes and looked at her friend.
"Well? Was that not truly moving?'

One comer of Harry
's lips moved upward, but the rest of his mouth twisted in a pursed sort of way. It was as if he had eaten something sour and was politely trying to pretend he had not. Psyche frowned.

"
You must have felt something! What did you think of it?"

"
Well. . . I thought it sounded rather gruesome, actually."

"
Gruesome!" Psyche felt crestfallen. It was her most favorite book. She had hoped Harry would appreciate it, too. "It does end happily, though. Gerard and Corimunde are married after going through horrid trials and adventures, and after Orcanto has a halberd driven through his vitals and dies horribly."

Harry
's wings shuddered. "If that is your vision of true love, then I wonder that you care to have your sister and Blytheland married at all." He looked over the biscuits on the table next to Psyche, selected one, then ate it in a contemplative manner, as if wondering if he should have another.

Psyche laughed merrily.
"No, you goose! Of course, Cassandra and the marquess are not characters in a book, but you must admit they do not have to go through the troubles that Corimunde and Gerard must! That, I am sure, does not happen every day. Now, it is not reasonable to think that if Corimunde and Gerard can keep their love through horrible events, that Cassandra and Lord Blytheland can come to find love far more easily when they do not have to defeat villains like Orcanto? Without your help?"

"
No," Harry replied. He picked up her book and leafed through it. He rolled his eyes and shut the book again, then selected another biscuit.

Psyche let out an exasperated breath.
"You are the most odious boy! How can you say so?"

"
Corimunde and Gerard are made-up people. Blytheland and Cassandra are not, and mortals need more help than made-up people. That is because characters in books are ideals, and mortals are far from that."

Sometimes Psyche thought it quite unfair that Harry did not have someone keeping an eye on his hubris.
"What has that to say to anything? Lord Blytheland and Cassandra still have far fewer trials than Corimunde and Gerard. They will do well, I know."

"
If I help them!"

"
If you don't!" Psyche retorted. "Now promise me you will not shoot any more arrows at Lord Blytheland or any at my sister."

Harry looked at her with an impudent smile and said nothing.

"Harry!"

He made a face at her.
"Very well. I will compromise: I will only shoot an arrow if you wish it." He sighed. "I have shot any number of arrows into Lord Blytheland already, enough to make anyone mad with love, but he is a stubborn case. Besides, I am tired of it anyway."

"
Promise?" Psyche looked at him warily.

Harry sighed again.
"I promise."

The door suddenly opened and Cassandra walked in, holding the hand of a little boy. Psyche cast a warning look at Harry. He had an innocent expression on his face, which she did not quite trust, but she had to be satisfied with it for now.

"Psyche, where is Mama and Papa?" Cassandra looked a little harried, but turned to smile at the boy—quite dirty and ragged, Psyche noticed, so it must be one of Cassandra's climbing boys. "Tim, you must sit here—or, no, perhaps not there. Mama did not like the soot on the damask cushions the last time. Well, here by the fireplace." The boy shrank away from the fire, and Cassandra grimaced. "Oh, dear! No, no, I will not ask you to climb it . . . see, I will even give you something to eat. That is all I wish from you, do you see?" She went over to the dish of biscuits next to Psyche and gave him one. The boy snatched it and stuffed it in his mouth, then cautiously sat down on the floor by the fire, watching Cassandra and Psyche carefully.

Cassandra turned to her sister.
"Have you seen Mama, Psyche?"

"
Yes." Psyche nodded. "She went out only a quarter of an hour ago to Aunt Mary's house, and you know they will talk for hours. And Papa is at one of his scholarly meetings."

"
Oh, heavens! I don't think I can wait until they come back, for it is getting late, and I wish to start out before dark." Cassandra wrung her hands a little and looked worried.

"
Are you going to take the boy home?" Psyche asked. "And may I come with you?"

Cassandra smiled.
"No, not this time. I barely have enough of my pin money left to bring myself home again. And I know Mama does not like it when I keep the boys here overnight."

Psyche nodded. The last boy had wailed loudly throughout the night, and the one before that had broken an imported Chinese vase and a porcelain figurine and had stolen
Papa's pocket watch. "I shall tell them you have gone, then—I suppose you are taking the traveling coach?"

"
Yes, and a footman, an undergroom, and a maid, so Mama need not be worried that I will be unprotected."

"
Mama will not like it, even so, Cassandra," Psyche said.

Cassandra sighed.
"What else am I to do? The last time I let the servants transport one of my boys, he ran off and another chimney sweep caught him! None of them have run away from me, you see."

Psyche looked at the boy sitting on the floor and believed it. Tim gazed at her sister as if she were a goddess, following her every move with his eyes. All of the boys had been this way, and always minded her. A pang of sympathy went through Psyche. She supposed it was because they had no parents to care for them, as she was cared for.

"Well, I will tell Papa first, and I know he will approve of what you have done, and then Mama cannot say anything about it," Psyche said.

Cassandra grinned.
"That should work very well—thank you, love!" She went to her sister and hugged her. "You are the best of sisters." She looked uncomfortable, then said, "But be careful of whom else you tell, please! I cannot like it, but I did promise Mama not to speak of my activities to anyone except those who are family, or close friends."

"
I won't, then," Psyche said. "Although I don't understand why anyone would disapprove."

Her sister smiled at her.
"Some don't, I have found, but I suppose Mama is right in that we should be cautious." She rang for a servant, then turned to Tim. "Now do be a good boy and stay here. I will be right back, and you may have all the biscuits you want until I return."

The boy nodded and looked so bereft and. frightened at Cassandra
's departure that Psyche felt sorry for him and brought the whole plate of biscuits to him. He gave one wary look at her and seized the plate, stuffing the food into his mouth and into whatever available pockets he had.

But Psyche was glad that Cassandra came back quickly, though, for once the biscuits were stowed away inside and upon Tim
's person, he began to stow away other small items in the drawing room, and Psyche was hard put to keep him from doing it. Harry was no help at all! She gave him a meaningful look, but he merely sat on the sofa watching her take one thing after another from Tim, and shaking with silent laughter.

"
No, Tim! Put that back, if you please!" Cassandra said as she entered the room and firmly took a small porcelain shepherdess from the boy's hand. "And the rest of the things you have taken!" Cassandra held her hand out to him. "I have some clothes for you—we will go into the kitchen and you will put them on—and then we will go to the nice place in the country. With horses, Tim!"

The boy
's eyes widened, and he hastily took five items from his pockets, then followed her out the room. Psyche sighed, eyeing the crumbs on the floor. Cassandra was a very good sort of young lady, and the best of sisters, but sometimes her goodness was very untidy and inconvenient.

* * *
*

Lord Blytheland had ruined four neckcloths before he was satisfied with the result this morning. He admitted to himself that he was nervous; one did not go about proposing marriage to young ladies every day after all. It was not that he thought Miss Hathaway would refuse him, of course, for he
'd present to her the problems of being an object of gossip, and she'd not want any of that. Further, there were all the advantages of being a titled lady of wealth and substance. That, no doubt, would have some weight with her. These were solid, practical things, and was she not an intelligent lady of good reason? But he still hesitated before he raised the knocker on the Hathaways' door and firmly knocked.

"
Is Miss Hathaway in?" he asked the butler, giving him his hat and cane.

The butler bowed.
"I believe so, my lord. This way, if you please, my lord." He took the card Lord Blytheland offered him, and led the way upstairs. Blytheland could feel his hands becoming a little damp as the door opened to admit him. He rapidly thought over the words he would say, stepped into the room, and took a deep breath.