Lyon's Bride: The Chattan Curse (8 page)

“But you are not
him,
” Thea interrupted. “He is the
only
one who can make the choices for his life. I appreciate that you care enough for him to worry. But
he
isn’t worried. You must respect that.”

“And you do not know what you are playing with.”
The words she threw out sounded as if they’d been torn from Lady Margaret’s heart. She looked wildly around the room as if searching for a way to convince Thea. Instead she turned on her heel and practically raced to the door. “Please, I beg of you,
rethink
what you are doing. I don’t feel good about this. There are signs. She came to me in a dream. She was laughing. It was a hideous sound. Evil.”

“Who is she?” Thea demanded.

“The witch,”
Lady Margaret answered. She drew a great, shuddering breath. “She comes to me,” she said, dropping her voice. “I haven’t said anything to my brothers.” She paused and then repeated, “She comes to me.”

Thea’s first thought was that a madness had gripped Neal’s sister. Her passion, the abrupt change in demeanor, her anger at Thea’s refusal to do as bid were disconcerting.

Then again, Thea’s father had been this sort of person as well. Pleasant when he was pleased and absolutely vicious or whining when crossed.

But Lady Margaret didn’t act vicious. She was frightened.

“Think on it,” Lady Margaret ordered. “Your life is now involved in this as well.” She opened the door and escaped out into the evening. Thea crossed to the door and watched the other woman dash across the street to where a hired chaise and her lady’s maid waited for her.

“What was she talking about, Mother?” Jonathan said from the stairs.

Thea forced herself to smile, then shut the door and turned to her sons. “She had some concerns about Lord Lyon,” she said, giving them part of the truth.

“She was upset,” Christopher declared.

“People often are when they don’t have their way,” Thea said, coming up the stairs. She gathered her boys close to her and gave them a hug. They smelled of the soap they’d used to scrub behind their ears, as well as dirt—a sign that the
only
place they’d washed was behind their ears. She welcomed the opportunity to take her mind off Lady Margaret’s disturbing visit. “You boys haven’t washed your faces and necks,” she accused.

“We tried,” Jonathan said.

Thea gave him a doubtful look. “I believe you did just a bit. I think you washed here, and here.” She punctuated her words by giving each of them a wiggle of their earlobes. Both giggled and she felt her mood lighten.

“How did you know?” Jonathan asked.

“I’m your mother. I know everything about you because I love you so much.” To her surprise, tears filled her eyes.

“What’s the matter?” kindhearted Christopher asked, his expression worried. “Did someone hurt you?”

“No one hurt me,” Thea answered. “I cry because I’m happy.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m very happy.”

“I’m happy too,” Christopher assured her.

“Now let us go and give you both a proper washing,” Thea said. She started up the stairs with Christopher. Jonathan held back. She turned to him. “Come along, Jonny.”

Instead of obeying, he said with troubled eyes, “What did that woman mean about a witch?”

Thea wished he hadn’t overheard. “Eavesdropping is very bad manners.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jonathan answered dutifully. “Are you in trouble?”

“No,” Thea quickly replied. She sat on the step in front of him so that they were eye level. “I’m in no trouble.”

“Is Lord Lyon in trouble?”

This one was trickier. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t believe he is, and, as I said to his sister, what he thinks is all that is important. As to the witch, she was having bad dreams. You’ve had bad dreams before, so you know they can be scary. But we can’t live our lives being afraid of dreams.”

Jonathan digested this a moment and then nodded his head.

“Come upstairs,” Thea instructed. “It’s time for all of us to go to bed . . . after you have rewashed your faces.”

Groans from Jonathan met her demand and she knew he had accepted her explanation.

She thought she was done with it.

But in the wee hours of the morning, Thea found herself staring at the ceiling, reliving the scene with Lady Margaret. The woman was not a fool. Her dreams frightened her.

Either there was madness in the Chattan family, or there really was something to fear.

“I
don’t see anything wrong with this list, do you, my lord?” Sir James asked Neal.

Neal sat in the chair in front of his desk. He’d brought the list to Sir James for his opinion. “No,” he replied noncommittally.

“You aren’t satisfied?” Sir James hazarded.

Neal wasn’t certain what he felt. “They are all from exceptional families. I know many of their extended family members.”

“Do they not meet your criteria?”

They met them too well.
“Yes.”

“Then what is not pleasing you?” Sir James sat back in his chair. “I have known you for many years, Lyon. I know when you are not happy. Do you wish me to convey your thoughts to Mrs. Martin? I will be happy to do so.”

Neal stood, suddenly feeling confined in the chair. “I told her the list was fine. It’s a start.”

“These are high-strung fillies,” Sir James said, indicating the list.

“They are more or less what I asked for,” Neal said, walking over to the window. He looked outside at the overcast day. He’d not been able to sleep the night before. Margaret had spent an hour expressing her strong objections to the endeavor.

She’d told him about her dreams.

Neal wasn’t the superstitious sort. Neither was Margaret. Perhaps that was why he was so unsettled . . . that and Harry had gotten into the laudanum again last night. Neal worried about his brother. There were times he sensed Harry might be trying to take his own life. Harry put up a carefree front, but he seemed more affected by the curse, by the uncertainty of it, than Neal was. Perhaps he drank to fill the emptiness in his life? Neal himself had overindulged many a time as a way of coping with the hopelessness that was the legacy of the curse.

Or could Harry’s weaknesses be connected to the war?

His brother was well respected, yet Neal had noticed the military sorts kept their distance from Harry. He had few, if any, duties with the Horse Guard. His life, once full of purpose, had become aimless.

And, yes, Harry kept a bevy of women around him, but he had few male friends.

Sir James spoke, drawing Neal’s attention back to their interview. “Duruset has let me know through different channels that he is not pleased to hear you are working with his sister. I know for a fact, he does not want her in London. You’ve already made enough of an enemy going against him in the Lords last year. Be careful you don’t cross him again by wooing his sister.”

“There is nothing other than an old friendship between Mrs. Martin and myself,” Neal murmured dismissively. There couldn’t be—about that Margaret was right. In spite of the years that had passed, the bonds between him and Thea were strong.

“Aye, I’m certain that is true,” Sir James said, his voice belying his words. He tapped the list on his desk with one finger. “However, you’ve crossed Duruset more than once. Be wise. Keep your sights on the women on this list.”

“You needn’t worry,” Neal told him.

“And that is why I worry,” was the lawyer’s reply.

Chapter Seven

B
ennington Abbey had once truly been an old abbey destroyed by Henry VIII and converted a century later by one of Mirabel’s late husband’s ancestor into a home. Over the centuries, the Palmer family had built more wings until it had become a huge, rambling place with a great deal of charm and the layout of a rabbit warren.

Lady Palmer was the first to greet Neal when he arrived.

“My lord, we have been waiting for you. I am Mirabel, Lady Palmer, your hostess.”

“Thank you, my lady. It is a pleasure to be here, and I appreciate your willingness to host this unusual gathering.”

“I’m enjoying myself,” she confided, taking him by the arm and steering him inside the house. She led him into a sitting room tastefully decorated in reds and golds. It would have been ostentatious except for the size of the room and the comfort of the furnishings. “I can’t tell you how much fun it is to have one’s name on everyone’s lips. I’ve never had so many friends ‘find’ me again after ignoring me for years.”

“Am I that exciting?”

“A man with your purse? Absolutely,” she told him.

“I was hoping I’d be here before the others,” he said. “I thought it might be best if I were to welcome them—depending on your plans, Lady Palmer.”

“I have no plans except to enjoy my guests and this week,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “And please, call me Mirabel. Lady Palmer is my dull name and reserved for people I don’t like.”

“I’m pleased to be one of those you do like,” he said.

“You should be. It’s a short list. Ah, here is Thea now.”

Thea walked in from a windowed side door, her arms full of daisies, larkspur, and other greenery and posies from the garden. Her cheeks were flushed from being outside, and several curls had escaped from her usually severe hairstyle. Her straw hat had fallen back and was held around her neck by green ribbons that matched the color of her dress. She appeared younger, more relaxed, carefree.

Her step slowed as she realized Neal had arrived. She smiled at him, and for a second, he felt a bit dazzled by her. In this moment, she was the very epitome, in his mind, of English womanhood.

“Welcome, my lord,” she said in her low, melodic voice. “I hope your journey was uneventful.”

Neal knew he should make a comment, but he was having trouble finding his tongue.

“It was uneventful,” he managed to respond and immediately chastised himself for being so prosaic, which led to a beat of awkward silence. “How was your journey?”

If Thea experienced any of the same tongue-tiedness, she hid it well. She walked over to an upholstered divan and laid the flowers on a side table. “It was very good, my lord, thank you for asking.” She began untying the ribbons of the bonnet. “Lady Palmer and I traveled together. Our journey was uneventful as well.”

“That’s good,” Neal murmured, wondering why he couldn’t kick his brain into operation and knowing it was from wanting Thea.

He had to let it go. She wasn’t for him. She could steal his heart.

For the first time, he realized his father might not have had any control once he’d met Cass Sweetling. Neal knew he must be stronger.

He smiled at Lady Palmer. Her arched look let him know she didn’t miss a thing. If Thea hadn’t noticed his halting behavior, she had.

Neal realized he’d best retreat now. There was something potent about being in the country with Thea that stirred all sorts of emotions and desires within him.

For her part, Thea seemed oblivious to him. She was rearranging the flowers, and he sensed he’d already been dismissed.

His intent to put distance between them went by the wayside as he asked, “Where are your sons?”

Thea looked up from the flowers. “They stayed in town at Lady Palmer’s house with her housekeeper, Mrs. Clemmons. I thought it best they not be here. They will be sorry to have missed you. Oh, yes, and thank you for the books you sent over. They are a special treat and a welcome addition to our small library. I should have said something earlier.”

“You wrote a note,” Neal said.

She smiled.

He smiled.

“I should put these in water,” Thea said. “Mirabel, do you want me to use the vase in the butler’s pantry?”

“That would be excellent, dear. Thank you.”

“If you will excuse me, my lord?” Thea said.

Neal nodded and smiled again. Thea left the room, and all he could do was watch her leave in silence. He didn’t know what had come over him. It had to be seeing her in the country, seeing her here, in the atmosphere where there had once been a close bond.

Mirabel said, a touch of sympathy in her tone, “Let me show you to your room, my lord.”

He followed her out into the black-and-white-tiled hall and up the stairs. Mirabel maintained a light, running commentary. “This portrait was of my late husband in his youth,” she said, pointing out a painting at the top of the stairs depicting a handsome young man dressed as St. George slaying a dragon. “I always found it a bit much, but Palmer liked it.”

“It’s very nice,” Neal commented, his thoughts still on how diffident Thea had been to him. It was only then he realized he had been looking forward to seeing her. He’d actually wanted to deliver the books to her sons himself, but he had backed off.

She kept talking. He chided himself for his cowardice over the delivery of the books—

“You poor man,” Mirabel said. She’d stopped at the intersection of two narrow hallways.

“Yes, nice,” Neal muttered, until her words registered with him and he realized she was no longer giving him a tour. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

She looked around as if fearing they could be overheard. “Do you really believe you can continue playing this game of you not noticing her and she not noticing you?”

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “We are friends from long ago. Nothing more.”

“And yet the air fairly crackles between you with attraction.”

“It does not,” he replied, uncomfortable with her accusation.

“Oh, not in the way young people would throw caution to the wind and all but attack each other,” Mirabel said. “But you two are very aware of each other.”

He hadn’t noticed any interest from Thea at all.

“Tell me, Lyon, have you thought of adding our friend Thea’s name to your list of possible wives?”

It was a dangerous question. “Is she interested?” he heard himself ask.

Mirabel gave the complacent smile of a cat with her sights on a mouse. “She didn’t have to come in the house when she did. She knew you’d arrived.”

“She was being polite.” Thea hadn’t given him the impression that she’d been overjoyed to greet him.

“Thea was working very hard not to notice you.”

“She was successful.”

“You know so little about women,” Mirabel whispered. She started down the hall and stopped in front of the first door on the right. “This is your room.”

She opened the door and led him into a room decorated in green and cream accessories. “Ah, your valet has already been here. His name is Whiteson.” Neal hadn’t traveled with his own man, preferring to use one of the house servants instead. He liked traveling light. The valet was not in the room but had already laid out fresh attire for Neal.

“Whiteson has probably gone off to fetch fresh water,” Mirabel continued. “He’ll return momentarily. There will be several male guests, so you will have to share his attention.”

“When I’m in the country, I prefer a more simple life,” Neal answered. “It shall not be a problem.”

Mirabel tilted her head. “I like you, Lyon. I wasn’t certain I would, but you are not as pretentious as I had feared.”

“And what gave you the impression I would be pretentious?”

“It wasn’t Thea, if that is what you are thinking. But usually men like yourself who are statesmen and men of commerce have a vaunted opinion of themselves. You seem a genuinely nice man.”

“I was hoping for a more dashing opinion, my lady.”

She laughed. “Oh, you are dashing. Handsome men always are, but they are sometimes arrogant.”

“I can be.”

“Yes, that is what Thea said.”

“She believes me arrogant?” he said, needled by the thought. Then he decided, “Well, yes, I am. I do like to have things done my way.”

“And you shall have plenty of opportunity to exercise your wishes this week, Lyon.” She started to leave the room but paused by the door. “I wish you a merry chase in your hunt for a wife this week.”

“Thank you,” he said, uncertain if he meant the words.

And yet Neal found himself wondering if what Mirabel said about Thea’s interest in him could be true. The comment about his arrogance aside, Thea had not impressed him as being as aware of him as he was of her.

But if she was, what was he going to do about it?

“H
e’s very interested in you.”

Surprised, Thea turned to see Mirabel leaning on the doorjamb of the butler’s pantry. Thea had brought her flowers in here to arrange them in the yellow and gray pottery vase . . . but Neal had not been far from her thoughts.

She’d believed she’d seen him every way possible, but he’d caught her by surprise this afternoon. He’d appeared more relaxed than he had in a long time. His hair had been mussed; dust had covered his boots. His whole person had given off an air of vitality and masculinity. A dangerous combination.

Thea prayed her face hadn’t betrayed the direction of her thoughts. She’d worked very hard to keep her manner welcoming but distant.

And now here was Mirabel, playing Cupid.

Thea focused on the rose in her hand. Thank heavens for thorns, which made one have to think when handling roses. “Nonsense, Mirabel. He’s here to meet other women, not me. The time for us was long ago. Too much has happened to each of us since then.”

“But he likes
you,
” Mirabel said, inviting herself into the tight space. She leaned her hips against the cupboard where Thea was arranging. “Frankly, I was taken aback by how handsome he is.”

“You’d never met him?”

“I’d seen him from a distance, but he doesn’t go out in society often. He is a fine, fine man.”

Indeed, he was.

“He has good looks,” Thea agreed without enthusiasm as she poked the rose’s stem into her arrangement.

“ ‘
He has good looks
,’ ” Mirabel repeated, mimicking Thea’s tone. “He’s an Adonis. Probably one of the
most
handsome men I’ve ever met, and
you
wish to toss him away on scatterbrained, selfish chits who won’t appreciate him?”

“He
wants
one of those scatterbrained, selfish chits,” Thea said, picking up the vase and escaping out the pantry door.

Mirabel followed, as Thea had expected her to do. Mirabel could be single-minded in the pursuit of an idea. “I don’t believe that is true,” she informed Thea. “He was asking me all sorts of questions about you. He’s very interested, and, I believe, with something more than affection for an old friendship.”

Thea pulled up short. Mirabel almost ran into her. Thea faced her. “Now you are doing it a bit too brown,” she informed her friend. “Lord Lyon is not the curious sort. He wasn’t asking questions.” She set the bouquet on a sideboard in the dining room.

“He was in his mind,” Mirabel insisted. “I thought he would eat you up with his eyes when you came in holding those flowers. You did look quite charming, and I could feel the interest
radiating
from him.”

“I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary,” Thea said, moving a daisy away from a rose in the bouquet, although heat rushed to her cheeks. “If anything, he seemed a bit tired.”

Mirabel hummed her disbelief. “And he likes your sons.”

“He likes
children
. That is why he wishes to marry,” Thea said, making a beeline for the dining room door and away from Mirabel’s tempting suspicions. She couldn’t think this way. She mustn’t. If Neal had been interested in her, then why had he kept his distance this past week when she’d been making arrangements for the house party?

“He gave your sons presents,” Mirabel pointed out, following close behind her. To Thea’s dismissive wave of her hand, Mirabel said, “A book is a very personal gift.”

Thea stopped in her tracks. “Books are not personal. Anyone can receive a book.”

Her words lacked conviction, and Mirabel pounced upon them. “Have you seen the price of books?
Very
personal. Of course, I would prefer rubies, but books would be the perfect gift for you.”

Starting down the hall again, Thea said, “These books had stories that would appeal to young boys.”

“Exactly my point. If a man wants to impress you, he should buy books for your sons, and Lyon knows it. You both might not admit it yet, but he wants to woo you—”

Her voice broke off as they rounded the corner into the main foyer and realized they had guests.

Lady Montvale, her husband, her daughter, and a good sampling of her servants had just arrived.

Any retort Thea had been about to launch at Mirabel caught in her throat at the realization they might have been overheard.

Her ladyship, still in her traveling coat and wearing a velvet cap embellished with rose ostrich plumes, began pulling off her gloves. “Who wants to woo you, Mrs. Martin?” she said.

Thea’s first impulse was to blurt out that Mirabel had been speaking nonsense.

Fortunately, Mirabel had a cooler head. “Yvette,” Mirabel said. “Lady Yvette. She is another option, but Mrs. Martin wouldn’t invite her for the house party. She said she wanted to give your lovely daughter, Lady Susanne—”

“Cynthia,” Thea broke in, realizing Mirabel’s mistake. Mrs. Pomfrey’s daughter was Susanne. “Lady Cynthia.”

“Oh, yes, Lady Cynthia,” Mirabel said, soldiering on. She smiled at the young girl who was truly pretty, save for the petulant set of her mouth and an air of laziness. “Lady Cynthia, what a pleasure to meet you. I am Mirabel, Lady Palmer.”

Lady Cynthia looked Mirabel up and down as if she’d been beneath her.

Oh, yes, here was a woman Neal could not love.

Thea stepped forward, and introductions were made. Mirabel entrusted her servants to show the Montvale servants to their quarters.