Love in the Afternoon (29 page)

English properties for capital. You'll have to make estimates for what is needed, and set the priorities. We won't be able to do everything at once."

"It's overwhelming," Merripen said flatly.

From the stunned silence at the table, Christopher gathered that

Merripen seldom, if ever, declared that something was overwhelming.

"I'll help, phral," Cam said, his gaze steady.

"I'm beginning to have the unpleasant feeling," Leo said, "that I'm going to be handling the Ramsay estates by myself, while the two of you devote yourselves to saving Ireland."

Beatrix was staring at Christopher, a slight smile on her lips. "It puts our situation in perspective, doesn't it?" she murmured.

Which was exactly what he had been thinking.

Merripen's alert gaze went to Christopher's face. "You're to inherit Riverton, now that your brother is dead."

"Yes." Christopher's lips twisted in a self-mocking smile. "And while John was thoroughly prepared for the responsibility, the inverse is true for me. I know little more than how to shoot someone or dig trenches."

"You know how to organize men," Merripen pointed out. "How to form a plan and carry it out. How to assess risk, and adapt when necessary."

He threw a swift grin in Cam's direction. "When we started to restore the Ramsay estates, we told ourselves the best thing we could do was make a 185

mistake. It meant we would learn something."

It was then that Christopher fully grasped how much he had in

common with the men in this family, even though they couldn't have come from more different environments and upbringings. They were all grappling with a rapidly changing world, facing challenges that none of them had been prepared for. All of society was being tumbled and sifted, the old hierarchy crumbling, power shifting to unfamiliar hands. A man could either let himself sink into irrelevance, or step forward to shape the new age that was upon them. The possibilities were both intriguing and exhausting--he saw that in Merripen's face, and in the faces of the others as well. But none of them would shrink from what had to be done.

Christopher contemplated Beatrix, who was sitting a few places away

from him. Those eyes . . . midnight-blue, innocent and wise, alarmingly perceptive. What a curious mixture of qualities she possessed. She was capable of extraordinary composure and yet she was willing to play like a child. She was intellectual, instinctive, droll. Talking with her was like opening a treasure box to sort through unexpected delights.

As a man not yet thirty, Christopher was only six years older than

Beatrix, and yet he felt the difference between them as a hundred. He wanted, needed, to be close to her, while at the same time he had to close away the worst of what he had seen and done, so that it would never touch her.

He had not made love to her since that afternoon two weeks earlier,

having resolved not to take advantage of her until after they were married.

But the erotic memory tantalized him constantly. Beatrix was an experience for which he had no reference point or comparison. The women he had

known from the prior time in his life had offered easy and sophisticated pleasures. Nothing remotely similar to Beatrix's headlong passion.

She was too innocent, too fine, to be what fate had intended for him.

But he wanted her too badly to care. He would take her, and whatever calamity fate might choose to inflict in return, he would keep Beatrix safe from it.

Or from himself, if necessary.

A shriek came from the drawing room, disrupting all conversation at

the Ramsay House soiree.

"What the devil was that?" Christopher's grandfather, Lord Annandale, asked with a scowl. He was holding court in the family parlor, occupying a settee while various guests came to offer their homage. The long journey to Hampshire had made him querulous and exhausted. As a result, Annandale had demanded that Audrey, who had accompanied him

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from London, stay at his side.

Christopher suppressed a grin as he saw his sister-in-law staring at the doorway of the drawing room with patent longing. Although she had always gotten on fairly well with Annandale, she had spent the entire previous day shut away with the old codger in a private carriage.

"Why would someone scream at a soiree?" Annandale persisted, scowling.

Christopher maintained a bland expression. Since it most likely

involved one of the Hathaways, it could have been anything.

"Shall I go and find out?" Audrey asked, clearly desperate to escape her grandfather-in-law.

"No, you may stay here, in case I need something."

Audrey suppressed a sigh. "Yes, my lord."

Beatrix entered the parlor and made her way through the clustered

guests. Reaching Christopher, she said in a low tone, "Your mother just met Medusa."

"My mother was the one who screamed?" Christopher asked.

"What was that?" Annandale demanded, remaining seated on the settee. "My daughter screamed?"

"I'm afraid so, my lord," Beatrix said apologetically. "She encountered my pet hedgehog, who had escaped from her pen." She glanced at

Christopher, adding brightly, "Medusa's always been too plump to climb the walls of her box before. I think her new exercise must be working!"

"Were any quills involved, love?" Christopher asked, repressing a grin.

"Oh, no, your mother wasn't stuck. But Amelia is taking her to one of the upstairs rooms to rest. Unfortunately Medusa gave her a headache."

Audrey glanced heavenward. "Her head always aches."

"Why do you keep a hedgehog as a pet?" Annandale demanded of Beatrix.

"She can't fend for herself, my lord. My brother rescued her from a fencepost hole when she was still a hoglet, and we couldn't find her mother.

So I've taken care of her ever since. Hedgehogs make delightful pets, as long as they're handled properly." She paused and regarded Annandale with frank interest. "My goodness, you are an eagle, aren't you?"

"A what?" the elderly man asked, his eyes narrowing.

"An eagle." Beatrix stared at him closely. "You have such striking features, and you exude power even while sitting still. And you like to watch people. You can assess them instantly, can't you? No doubt you're always right."

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Christopher began to intervene, certain that his grandfather would

incinerate her with his response. To his astonishment, Annandale practically preened under Beatrix's admiring regard.

"I can," the earl allowed. "And indeed, I am seldom mistaken in my judgments."

Audrey rolled her eyes again.

"You look a bit chilled, my lord," Beatrix observed. "You must be sitting in a draft. One moment--" She bustled off to fetch a lap blanket, and returned to drape the soft blue wool over him.

It wasn't the least bit cool in the room, and there couldn't possibly have been a draft. However, Annandale received the blanket with obvious pleasure. Recalling the overheated rooms in his grandfather's house, Christopher reflected that he probably had been chilled. How Beatrix could have guessed it was a mystery.

"Audrey," Beatrix implored, "do let me sit next to Lord Annandale."

As if it were some coveted privilege.

"If you insist." Audrey leaped from the settee as if she had been launched by a spring mechanism.

Before Beatrix took her place, she bent to rummage beneath the

settee. Dragging out a drowsing gray cat, she settled it on Annandale's lap.

"Here you are. Nothing warms you faster than a cat in your lap. Her name is Lucky. She'll purr if you pet her."

The old man regarded it without expression.

And to Christopher's astonishment, the old man began to stroke the

sleek gray fur.

"This cat is missing a leg," he remarked to Beatrix.

"Yes, I would have named her Nelson, after the one-armed admiral, but she's female. She belonged to the cheesemaker until her foot was caught in a trap."

"Why did you name her Lucky?" Annandale asked.

"I hoped it would change her fortunes."

"And did it?"

"Well, she's sitting in the lap of an earl, isn't she?" Beatrix pointed out, and Annandale laughed outright.

He touched the cat's remaining paw. "She is fortunate to have been to able to adapt."

"She was determined," Beatrix said. "You should have seen the poor thing, not long after the amputation. She kept trying to walk on the missing leg, or jump down from a chair, and she would stumble and lose her balance.

But one day, she woke up and seemed to have accepted the fact that the leg 188

was gone for good. And she became nearly as agile as before." She added significantly, "The trick was forgetting about what she had lost . . . and learning to go on with what she had left."

Annandale gave her a fascinated stare, his lips curving. "What a clever young woman you are."

Christopher and Audrey glanced at each other in shared amazement,

while Beatrix and Annandale launched into a rapt conversation.

"Men have always adored Beatrix," Audrey said in an undertone, turning toward Christopher. Her eyes sparkled with laughter. "Did you think your grandfather would be proof against her?"

"Yes. He doesn't like anyone."

"Apparently he makes exceptions for young women who flatter his vanity and appear to hang on to his every word."

Christopher stole a glance at Beatrix's glowing face. Of course the earl couldn't resist her. Beatrix had a way of looking at someone with undivided attention, making him feel as if he were the most interesting person in the room.

"I'll never understand why she hasn't married before now,"

Christopher said.

Audrey kept her voice low as she replied. "Most of the peerage view the Hathaway family as a detraction. And although most gentlemen are delighted by Beatrix, they don't want to marry an unconventional girl. As you well know."

Christopher frowned at the gibe. "As soon as I came to know her, I admitted I was in the wrong."

"That is to your credit," Audrey said. "I didn't think you could ever view her without prejudice. In the past, there have been more than a few men who were quite taken with Beatrix, but they did not pursue her. Mr.

Chickering, for example. He absolutely begged his father to be allowed to court her, but his father threatened to cut him off. And so he has had to content himself with adoring Beatrix from afar, and flirting madly with her at every opportunity, knowing it will come to naught."

"Those days are over," Christopher said. "If he ever comes near her again . . ."

Audrey grinned. "Careful. Jealousy is quite unfashionable these days.

One must have the sophistication to be amused by the attentions paid to one's wife."

"I'll take great amusement in tossing him through the window."

Christopher paused as Audrey laughed. Clearly she thought he was jesting.

Deciding to change the subject, he said, "I'm glad to see you're out in society 189

again." He meant it. Audrey had spent nearly her entire marriage taking care of John, who had been diagnosed with consumption soon after their

wedding. That, combined with the mourning period, had made it a lengthy and lonely ordeal for her. She deserved to find some enjoyment in life, and most definitely some companionship. "Are there any gentlemen you've taken a liking to?"

Audrey made a face. "You mean the ones my brothers haven't

managed to frighten off? No, there's no one who appeals to me in that way.

I'm sure I could have my choice of nearly any fortune hunter in London, in light of my generous jointure. But it counts against me that I'm barren."

Christopher looked at her alertly. "Are you? How do you know?"

"Three years of marriage to John, and no children. Not even a

miscarriage. And it's always said that women are to blame in these matters."

"That's a belief I don't happen to share. Women are not always at fault for infertility--that's been proven. And John was ill for most of your marriage. There's every reason to hope that you'll be able to have children with another man."

Audrey smiled wryly. "We'll see what fate has in store for me. But I don't aspire to marry again. I'm weary to the bone. I feel like a woman of five-and-ninety, instead of five-and-twenty."

"You need more time," Christopher murmured. "You'll feel differently someday, Audrey."

"Perhaps," she said, sounding unconvinced.

Their attention was caught by the increasingly animated conversation between Beatrix and Annandale. ". . . I can climb a tree as well as any of the Ramsay estate woodsmen," Beatrix was telling him.

"I don't believe you," the earl declared, tremendously entertained.

"Oh, yes. Off with the skirts, off with the corset, I put on a pair of breeches, and--"

"Beatrix," Audrey interrupted, before this scandalous discussion of intimate apparel progressed any further. "I just caught a glimpse of Poppy in the next room. It's been ages since I've seen her. And I've never been introduced to her husband."

"Oh." Reluctantly Beatrix turned her attention away from Annandale.

"Shall I take you to them?"

"Yes." Audrey seized her arm.

Annandale looked disgruntled, his black brows lowering as Audrey

propelled Beatrix away.

Christopher bit back a grin. "What do you think of her?" he asked.

Annandale replied without hesitation. "I would marry her myself, 190

were I five years younger."

"Five?" Christopher repeated skeptically.

"Ten, damn you." But a slight smile had appeared on the earl's time-weathered face. "I commend you on your choice. She's a spirited girl.

Fearless. Lovely in her own way, and with her charm she has no need of true beauty. You'll need to keep a firm hand on the reins, but the trouble will be worth it." He paused, looking wistful. "Once you've had a woman like that, you can never be content with the ordinary kind."

Christopher had been about to argue over the question of Beatrix's

beauty, which in his opinion was unequaled. But that last sentence caught his attention. "You're referring to Grandmother?" he asked.