Cupid's Mistake (Cupid Regency Romance) (22 page)

She raised her brows in question, not daring to speak.
"Pretend you are about to be sick in the coach. Make loud retching noises."

She looked at him, wondering what he was planning, but nodded.
"Oh, dear," she said, and covered her mouth with her hand.

Lord Crawforth gave her a sharp look.
"What is it now?"

Psyche closed her eyes briefly, and hoped she looked pale.
"I . . . oh, no! I am afraid I feel very—" She pressed her hands against her mouth and coughed. "Ack! Urp!"

Lord Crawforth looked uneasy and moved away from her.
"If you are trying some trick—"

She looked at him, making tears form in her eyes—an easy thing to do, for she had been so terribly afraid.
"I—I feel ill, my lord, I truly do—Riding in coaches always— Urp!" She lurched forward, as if she were about to give up her luncheon on the coach floor. Lord Crawforth pushed himself into the side of the carriage even more, a look of disgust on his face.

"Tell
him you want some milk because it always makes you feel better," Harry whispered.

"
Milk? Oh, milk!" Psyche exclaimed, and leaned back in her seat, putting the back of her hand over her forehead. "Please, just a little milk, and I shall feel better."

"
Milk? Where the devil would I get milk?" Lord Crawforth said. "I would think water would be better."

"
No! Milk, please. Water makes me feel worse." She widened her eyes and pressed her hands to her mouth again. "Urp!" she said, this time with more emphasis than she had before.

"
Cretin," Harry muttered, looking at Lord Crawforth. "Tell him there are cows and milkmaids in Green Park, though by the gods he should know it, having passed the place every day of his worm-ridden life." Psyche almost giggled, but turned it into another convulsive lurch and another loud "urp."

"
Oh, dear!" she said and heaved a deep, shuddering sigh. "If only we were at Green Park!" She pressed her hand to her mouth and shuddered again. "My mother bought some milk for me there when I felt ill, and I felt better immediately." She gazed at Lord Crawforth as mournfully as possible. "But I cannot hope for that, so I fear I shall be quite—Oh! Urp!"

"
Stop!" Lord Crawforth shouted out the coach window to his groom. He gazed angrily at Psyche. "We are at Green Park now. I shall get you your damned milk, but if I find you are tricking me, it shall go very badly for you indeed." He opened the coach door, then turned back to Psyche. "You shall stay here. My groom will be watching to see if you try to escape."

As soon as Lord Crawforth left, Harry untied the ribbon from around Psyche
's wrists. "What an idiot," Harry said. "He could have had the groom fetch the milk for him."

"
I suspect he wished to get away, in case I should have vomited on him. And I pretended very well, didn't I?" Psyche said proudly.

"
Yes. I was hoping you would." Harry grinned, then sobered. "Now, wait here. He needs to be punished."

Psyche gazed at him warily.
"What are you going to do?"

The dangerous glow flickered around him again, and he stared at Lord Crawforth
's retreating form. "He is a beast, and deserves only the company of beasts," Harry said grimly.

"
Oh, dear." Psyche watched as her friend flew toward Lord Crawforth and draw an arrow from his quiver. He fitted the arrow to his bow, and pulled it back. She could not help herself: she covered her eyes and hoped the punishment would not be too terrible.

A plucking, a singing through the air, and then a gasp from Lord Crawforth.

"I say!" Psyche heard him exclaim. "That's a remarkably fine cow you have there." She peeked from behind her fingers.

Lord Crawforth was peering through a quizzing glass at a brown cow.

"Weeell, I daresay Bessie's a good 'un," the cowman replied proudly. "She dropped twins two year ago, and both of 'em sturdy fellows."

"
Fertile, eh?" Lord Crawforth said, putting out a tentative hand and patting Bessie on the neck.

"
Every year," replied the cowman. "And she never drops 'em bad, neither."

"
How much?" Lord Crawforth asked, now petting the cow with more confidence.

"
That'll be thrippence, sir," a milkmaid chimed in, and presented a cup of milk.

"
No, no!" Lord Crawforth waved the milk aside. "I meant how much for the cow."

"
The cow?" The cowman gazed, stupefied, at Lord Crawforth, and then exchanged a long look with the milkmaid, who shrugged.

"
Yes, the cow," Lord Crawforth replied impatiently. "For how much will you sell it—her—to me? Fifty guineas? Sixty?"

"
Er, well, I dunno," the cowman said, scratching his head, but the milkmaid poked him with her elbow.

"
I think four hundred guineas would be a good price," the milkmaid said. "Prime bit o' blood and bone, is Bessie."

"
Four hundred!" exclaimed Lord Crawforth. "She is a fine animal, I can see, but perhaps one hundred—"

"
Three hundred," the cowman interjected hastily.

They continued haggling over the cow, as Psyche watched, wide-eyed. She turned to Harry, who had returned to the coach.
"Oh heavens! You have made Lord Crawforth fall in love with a cow!"

Harry grinned and twirled an arrow between his fingers.
"He deserved it. At least he will not"—he gazed at Psyche and closed his mouth suddenly, then continued—"frighten girls anymore." He opened the carriage door and took Psyche's hand. "You can come out now. The groom is now madly in love with the milkmaid, and I think she will make him a good wife."

Psyche stepped down from the coach and walked away from it, and still held Harry
's hand. She smiled up at him. "Thank you for coming to my rescue, Harry. I am so sorry I told you I didn't want to see you, because it wasn't true at all! I felt awful afterwards, and missed you terribly. It is a lonely thing to be in London without a true friend."

Harry looked at her and cleared his throat. She was right. However ancient one was, it was a lonely thing to be without a friend. There was nothing wrong with having a friend or two while continuing his search.

"Well. Well, I missed you also. And—" He hesitated. "I am sorry, too. It was my fault, I think—the trouble between your sister and Lord Blytheland. Not all," he said. "But at least part of it. There is no accounting for how a mortal may react, after all."

"
In which case, you should be careful, Harry!" Psyche said severely, but she stopped, smiled, and shook her head. "I will
not
quarrel with you!"

"
Psyche!" cried a voice from behind her.

"
Cassandra!" Psyche cried joyfully. "How glad 1 am to see you! I did not want to walk all the way back home from here, so I am happy you have come and you have brought Lord Blytheland with you, too! How do you do, Lord Blytheland—I hope you are well?"

Cassandra almost tumbled down from the carriage in her haste to take Psyche in her arms and hug her.
"You dreadful girl!" Cassandra cried. "How could you leave the house and not let any of us know where you were going? And to Lord Blytheland's house, too! I am so embarrassed!" She gave Psyche another hug. "But I am glad to see you safe—I was so afraid!"

Psyche nodded.
"I was afraid, too, because Lord Crawforth is a horrid, odious man, but it is quite all right, because Harry rescued me and made Lord Crawforth fall in love with a cow! Was that not clever of him?"

Cassandra hastily glanced at Lord Blytheland, who also descended from the carriage and who looked very grim.
"Yes, my dear, but let us not talk of that right now."

"
If you will excuse me, ladies, I will go deal with Lord Crawforth," Lord Blytheland said.

"
No!" cried Psyche and Cassandra at once.

Lord Blytheland stopped and stared at them.

"Lord Crawforth has been punished already," Psyche said. "My friend Harry did it. He will never bother me again, truly! Or anyone else. He has fallen in love with a cow, you see."

A look of profound revulsion came over Lord Blytheland
's face. "Such a foul monster does not deserve to live," he said.

Psyche gave him a puzzled look.
"But I think he will treat the cow very well. Only see how kind he is with it." She pointed toward Lord Crawforth. He had apparently concluded his negotiations with the cowman, who was holding a bank note in his hands and dancing in little circles on the grass. Lord Crawforth was leading the cow away, petting its cheek and murmuring into its ear.

"
Please, let us go away from here," Cassandra said, touching Lord Blytheland's sleeve. "My sister is not hurt, and it is clear Lord Crawforth is . . . preoccupied." He gazed at her and his expression softened.

"
Very well, if you wish it," he said, and extended his hand to Psyche. "Up you go." He lifted Psyche into his carriage, then assisted Cassandra into it as well.

Psyche sighed happily. This was precisely what she needed, her sister and Lord Blytheland together in the same place. Now she would make everything right between them again. She thought carefully over what she would say for many minutes, for this time she did not want to ruin anything between them.

"Thank you very much for finding me, Lord Blytheland," she began. "I wished to speak to you when I came to your house, but you were not there! But it is just as well, because now you and Cassandra are here together, and it is much easier telling both of you what you need to know at the same time."

"
Psyche!" Cassandra exclaimed, her face becoming very pink. "Please, do not—"

"
No, I will not listen, Cassandra, even though you are older than I. But 1 want to cry, too, whenever I see you weep, and I don't like to cry, you know."

"
Psyche, please—"

Lord Blytheland held up his hand, and he looked curiously at Cassandra and Psyche.
"Do go on, Miss Psyche. I suspect I am the cause of your sister's distress, and if I have been the cause of more, I wish to know how I may remedy it."

"
It is not precisely because of you, my lord," Psyche said. "You see, Cassandra is very much in love with you, I know it. Harry says so, too, so it must be so. But he made a mistake and shot you too full of his arrows, and so you acted in a bad way toward her. But I made him turn you back the way you were before he shot you, and you still love Cassandra anyway, do you not?"

"
Yes, of course I do," Lord Blytheland replied. "But who is this Harry?"

"
He—he is Psyche's playmate," Cassandra said hastily. "You must not mind her, really."

"
I do not understand how your friend can know or do such things, Miss Psyche," Lord Blytheland said, then turned to Cassandra. "But I do wish to know one thing: do you love me, Cassandra?"

He had stopped the carriage, for they were at the Hathaways
' house. Cassandra stared at him, and his eyes were warm and anxious, hopeful and full of pain. She thought of what Psyche had said, remembered Harry's—Eros'—appearance before her. She knew her mythology well: the god of love could turn a man mad as well as make him fall head over heels in love. And love could heal as well as hurt . . . Her heart ached and the words gathered behind her lips, too numerous to choose between.

"
I . . . I . . . Oh, heavens, I don't know!" Quickly, she stumbled out of the carriage and fled into the house.

"
Go after her, please, Lord Blytheland," Psyche said urgently.

"
She may not wish me to," he said.

"
Please
go in! She
does
love you, I know it. There is no other reason for her to feel so low when she does not see you. And if you go away without finding out, how do you know she will not marry someone and then be miserable because she loves you and no one else?"

Lord Blytheland stared at the door through which Cassandra had gone, and knew he could not bear it if she married another man. Miss Psyche had said her sister loved him. Would not a sister know, however young she was? He leaped down from the carriage.

"Here," he said, thrusting a guinea in the Hathaway footman's hand. "Hold my horses." He pushed past the footman and after questioning a few maids in the hallway, went after Cassandra.

He opened a door and found himself in a small flower- and-vegetable garden, next to the mews. Roses climbed one wall, lilies perfumed the air, and pansies crowded the edges of the walkway. He almost did not see Cassandra, for her flower-print dress blended with the colors around her, and she was sitting on a bench, in a shadowed comer of the garden, her face covered by her hands.

He walked to her and sat next to her, feeling helpless. He wished he knew what to do or say, but he had not really ever been a man for words; his music said most of what he had in his heart. But he did not have his violin with him, and he supposed his only recourse was in words . . . though they had not served him well in the past, had they? But she did not move away, and he did the only thing he could think of: He put his arms around her and held her tightly.