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The Perfect Bride - Бренда Джойс - Читать любовный роман онлайн в женской библиотеке LadyLib.Net
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Джойс Бренда
The Perfect Bride
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CHAPTER FIVE
JOHNSON WAS GLANCING rapidly between them now.
Blanche had almost forgotten his presence. She turned to soothe him, relieved by the distraction. “We are not agents for Lord Bury, Mr. Johnson. And apparently, I do not own this estate.”
He sagged with relief. “I do not mean to deny Lord Bury. But I got five children to feed!”
“I understand.”
“If you see his lordship, please tell him I’m workin’ as hard as I can,” he cried.
“I have never met Lord Bury, but if you wish, I will seek him out in London and plead your case,” Blanche said, meaning it.
Johnson seemed incredulous. “Could ye, please?”
Blanche nodded. “I am more than happy to help.”
“Good day,” Rex said firmly, lightly clasping Blanche’s arm and glancing closely at her. As she walked beside him down the stone path to the coach, she glanced back to see Johnson and his boys staring after them. She waved. They paused beside her coach.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She made up her mind; she shook her head. “I am never well when confronted with those who are so needy.”
“I can see that.” he added, “Most of the families in the parish are impoverished.”
“So that makes it acceptable?” she asked frankly, their gazes locked.
“I did not say that. What do you wish to do?”
“If you do not mind, I wish to proceed to the village. And there, I wish to purchase provisions for them. Johnson seems sincere. Maybe with a little help, he can get Penthwaithe on its feet.” She was distressed for the Johnson family, but kept calm, smiling at Sir Rex instead. “As his landlord is hardly helping by collecting the last of his funds for rent.”
Sir Rex stared as if he knew some anger lurked beneath her facade. “That is what landlords do, Lady Harrington.”
“Not all landlords,” she said seriously. “Would you collect Penthwaithe’s rents?”
He stiffened. “No, I would not.”
Blanche hadn’t thought so.
“My program is different from that of most landlords. I have actually deferred rents frequently, as I prefer to see the farms thrive. In the long term, everyone benefits from such a program. The farms prosper, the tenants can pay rents and I can receive them.”
“Your policy is impressive.” She hadn’t realized he was such a benevolent landlord.
“It is logical.” He hesitated. “And apparently we share some common ground. You are distressed by the plight of the Johnson family. I am often distressed by the same circumstance, which unfortunately, one encounters everywhere in the parish—and in most of Cornwall. But charity only goes so far. Our poorer families need more than charity—they need livelihoods.”
She stared directly into his dark eyes, which she realized were flecked with gold. Sir Rex was a compassionate man. She knew many noblemen and women who were indifferent to the plight of those less fortunate than themselves.
“Most ladies of the ton lack such compassion,” he added. “They are too involved in their own vanities.”
She hesitated. How odd, they had been thinking almost the same thing. He was right—very right—but she wasn’t about to condemn all London noblewomen. “That is a broad indictment.”
“Yes, it is,” he agreed with a slight smile. “Have no fear, I am not asking you to agree with me—you would never throw stones at your friends.”
“No, I should never do so.”
His regard was oddly warm. “I admire your compassion, Lady Harrington, not just for the Johnsons, but for the war veterans.” He hesitated. “I am not sure I have said so. It equals your generous nature.”
Blanche was surprised. Sir Rex had never offered such flattery before. “You are being far too kind.”
“I think not. Let’s make those purchases. I can help you with them, if you wish.” He smiled at her.
He became a very attractive man when he smiled, she thought uneasily. “Sir Rex, I am somewhat involved with the Johnsons, but you are not. Please, I can manage to provide a few necessities for them.” She was certain he could not afford to indulge in the luxury of more charity.
His smile vanished, as if he knew she did not care for him to spend his modest resources on Penthwaithe’s tenants. “I am glad to contribute. I’ll have Fenwick drive the stores over and we can be back at Bodenick in time for a late dinner.” He was firm.
Blanche nodded. He was clearly determined to show her that he was generous, but she already suspected he was just that in spite of his modest estate. Why had he flattered her? He wasn’t a gallant and he did not flirt. And why was she pleased? She was used to flattery and flirtation. She could not enter a salon without some rogue accosting her with his mundane, insincere praise.
Following Rex to the coach, she stole a glance at his strong, classic profile. There was more to this man than met the eye. He was reclusive and he did drink a bit freely, but she could not condemn him for such behavior, as he was industrious, resourceful, honest and astute. It was not as if he wasted his life away; to the contrary, his life was filled with improvements and accomplishments.
She had always been somewhat aware of him. He had a charisma, and whenever he was present and she entered a salon, she had noticed him instantly. She had never thought about it, but now, she wondered if she had always instinctively liked him. He certainly had a strength of character which she found attractive in a man. He was the kind of man one could undoubtedly depend on.
He caught her staring and smiled.
IT WAS THREE in the afternoon when they finally returned to Land’s End. Blanche walked up to the house, pleased with the purchases she had made for the Johnson family. It had been impossible to dissuade Sir Rex from making an equal contribution.
She was at present thoroughly preoccupied. Once, she had had a vague interest in Sir Rex de Warenne. If anything, that interest had been a result of their being family friends. She was thoughtful now. They were becoming well acquainted in a very short period of time. Clearly she was becoming somewhat intrigued with her host. She wasn’t certain what to make of that, as she had always been a bit intrigued, but from a very safe distance. Nothing felt safe any longer, especially when she allowed herself a vivid recollection of the previous afternoon. That tryst was unforgettable. But it wasn’t as shocking today as it had been yesterday.
Meg came running out of the house, followed by Anne, who was walking more slowly. Meg was beaming; Anne sent Blanche an odd, sidelong look. Blanche didn’t quite care for it, but she couldn’t decipher it, either, and she dismissed it.
“My lady, did you have a pleasant day?” Meg beamed. “Did you enjoy your box lunches?”
“It has been an unusual day,” she told Meg. “We will not be going to Penthwaithe after all.” She hesitated. “Sir Rex saved the day.”
Meg’s eyes widened; Anne glanced her way.
Sir Rex, who had been speaking to her coachman, now came forward. “I had Anne pack us boxed dinners, in case we needed them.” He turned to the maid, who had retrieved a wicker basket from the coach. “Please take our luncheon inside to the dining room. Lady Blanche must be famished and we will dine there immediately.”
He was thoughtful, she realized, and meticulous. Blanche stared at his handsome face for so long that his brows lifted. “Lady Harrington?”
Her heart flipped disturbingly. “I am ravenous.” She hesitated. “It’s a beautiful day. Can we dine al fresco? Meg mentioned you have a magnificent view from the tower gardens.” Supper had been awkward last night, the dining hall somehow too small for them both. With her sudden interest in his character, it would be better to dine outside. It wouldn’t be as intimate.
He seemed mildly surprised. “One can see all the way to America, or so the locals claim, but the gardens are dormant now.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Are you certain you will not be cold? You have been outdoors most of the day.”
If she hadn’t intruded on him in his tryst yesterday, she would still consider him a perfect gentleman. “I am enjoying the brisk air.” She smiled, not looking at him.
Had Bess thought to match them because she knew he had the strength and integrity of character to help her manage her fortune?
Sir Rex was staring closely, but she refused to meet his gaze. He said, “Anne, bring Lady Harrington a warm throw.”
He gestured and she preceded him around the castle and past the tower. She paused. He was right. Here, one could see all the way to America, or, it seemed that way.
For the gardens ended where the land vanished into the ocean, and while she knew cliffs were below the final precipice, they could not be seen. Today the Atlantic was as gray as steel, but shimmering with iridescence. Gold and orange sparkled on the water’s surface. “Oh,” she breathed.
“A school of fish has passed. They leave a metallic display in their wake,” he said softly.
And he stood so closely behind her that she felt his breath feather her neck. Blanche leaped away, putting a polite distance between them, her heart suddenly thundering in her chest. His body hadn’t touched hers, but it might as well have, for she had felt his heat.
She was undone. She could hardly breathe and she didn’t understand such an intense reaction to his proximity—which had certainly been a mistake.
“I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you,” he said, turning away. His tone was rough.
She refused to let her mind release her memory of him with Anne. She refused to even begin to consider what that rough tone meant. Instead, she quickly perused the gardens. Blanche saw rosebushes, wisteria and beds for daffodils and tulips. Meg was laying out a plaid blanket; Anne was opening the basket. Rex smiled casually at Blanche and swung over to the maid. “Bring a bottle of white wine and two glasses,” he said.
“This must be beautiful in the summer.”
“As I said, you must return.” He smiled at her.
Blanche felt her heart turn over now. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but he had a beautiful smile and it was a shame it was used so rarely. If he spent more time in London, he would not be single; some beautiful young lady would have snapped him up. She had not a doubt. His fortune was modest, but he had other attributes and not every debutante was a fool for charm. In fact, it was really odd that he had yet to marry.
Had Bess really thought to match them?
She stared at his strong profile as he watched her maid laying out their luncheons, and briefly an image flashed, one of bulging muscles and powerful shoulders, of the wet glistening skin of his back, his chest. Not entirely insistent, a tension began, accompanied by an odd ache. She deliberately looked across the dormant gardens, trying to imagine what she would plant if she lived at Land’s End. She might try lilacs, she thought firmly.
She felt his gaze. She glanced up and caught him staring boldly at her. The look was almost seductive and far too male. For one more heartbeat, as if unaware of her gaze, as if deeply in thought, he did not smile; he simply stared.
He preferred housemaids to ladies; he was industrious and resolute; Bess thought to match them.
He flushed, glancing away. She hurried to the blanket, sitting so swiftly she lost her balance, but then, she felt entirely off balance now. Fussing with her skirts, she felt her cheeks flame. A picnic now seemed to be the very worst idea, but how could she possibly escape?
And what had that direct and potent glance meant?
She had probably imagined it, she thought breathlessly. And damn Bess for her little conspiracy, anyway!
“Lady Harrington?” He sat beside her, laying his crutch carefully on the grass.
She summoned up a bright smile, aware that escape was impossible. She must find a stimulating subject! “Wine is a splendid idea!” And now, too late, she wished to recover her composure and wear it like armor.
He stared searchingly. “Sometimes when I look at you, I see worry written all over your face.”
Her eyes widened. He was not a gypsy and he could not read her mind.
“I would like to take that worry away. The Johnsons will get on nicely until the spring. If you wish, I will make their welfare my personal concern.”
He assumed she was worrying about the family, she thought, relieved. “Thank you. I am worried about their welfare. It would be very noble if you kept an eye cast their way.”
His stare skidded over her and she knew he thought her behavior odd. He handed her a plate of cold chicken and salad. She focused on her food. But it became impossible to eat, because he sat very closely by her. In fact, sharing a small blanket was far more intimate than being seated across from one another in his dining hall.
“I heard that the earl and the countess will be celebrating their anniversary in May,” she managed.
“Yes,” he said, pausing as Anne appeared with an open bottle of wine and two glasses. He thanked her and she left. After pouring, he handed Blanche a glass and lifted his plate. “It will be a family affair. I am looking forward to it.”
“They seem as fond of one another now as they ever were,” Blanche remarked, after taking a small bite of chicken. Her interest in food had waned.
His appetite seemed fierce, however. But he did look up. “They love one another deeply. They were both widowed when they met, so it was a love match—and it remains such.”
Blanche stared. It was impossible not to think about the fact that everyone in his family was happily wed, he being a glaring exception. She could never ask why he remained single. But now, she wished to do just that. “Marrying for love seems to run in your family.”
“Yes, it does.” He glanced oddly at her.
Blanche knew that she was prying and it was inexplicable. Surely, this wasn’t why Sir Rex had yet to marry? He did not seem at all romantic. “Perhaps you will be next.”
He glanced aside, reaching for his wineglass. “A romantic notion.” His gaze lifted. “Are you a romantic, Lady Harrington?”
“No.” She was hardly romantic. She added, “Not only have I never been in love, I will marry for economy and convenience.”
His stare intensified. “Marriage is usually convenient. I am afraid I do not comprehend how economics might affect your choice.”
She breathed. This was a perfectly suitable discussion. “Last month, I began to sit with my father’s agents and lawyers in an attempt to unravel my father’s financial affairs. It is all so terribly complicated! There are overseas ventures, shares in companies I have never heard of and odd partnerships, as well. My mind is not mathematical. I am suited to managing our charitable donations and that interests me. I cannot understand account ledgers, much less his various investments.”
“So you need a husband.” He finished his wine. “I happen to agree. Harrington’s reputation was that he was a brilliant entrepreneur. I have friends who schemed to learn of his latest ventures and investments, in the hopes of copying him. He kept his affairs secret, of course. Why should you have to cope with such a vast inheritance alone?”
He agreed that she needed a husband. That wasn’t odd, as everyone thought so. But now, she kept thinking about how industrious he was. How meticulously he kept his own affairs—and his estate was a shining example. She was uneasy but had to admit that she did need someone with some of Sir Rex’s more stellar attributes. However, Sir Rex was not the right choice for her, no matter what Bess seemed to think. For his mere presence was too disturbing.
“How will you choose?”
She tensed. “How will I choose?”
“How will you decide which suitor will make the best husband? You have just said you will not marry for affection, but for economy and convenience. That requires some standard which your prospects must meet.”
She became uncomfortable. “My best friends are advising me.”
More surprise covered his handsome face. “Lady Waverly and…I cannot recall the brunette.”
“She is Lady Dagwood now. Felicia is newly wed.”
“And what do your lady friends advise you to do?”
Blanche stared, their gazes locked. And this time, she could not seem to look away. She felt warmth creep into her cheeks. She could not imagine telling him what Bess and Felicia advised.
He leaned forward. “They are aware, are they not, that of your two hundred and twenty-eight suitors, two hundred of them are fortune-hunting rascals?”
She wet her lips, for they were terribly dry. “I beg to differ. Of my two hundred and twenty-eight suitors, I am certain that two hundred and twenty-eight are fortune hunters.”
Relief covered his features. And he began to smile. “Thank God you are a sensible woman. So what do your friends advise and how will you choose from such a lot?”
“They hope I will choose someone young and handsome, and they do not care if he is interested only in my fortune.”
“Surely you will not heed those two!”
“I am not really interested in a buck years younger than myself and I do not care if my husband is handsome or not.” She stared at the blanket. Sir Rex was also handsome—sometimes she thought him excessively so.
He calmed. “I hope you will remain this sensible in the face of a charming rake who whispers his undying devotion in your ear—appearing to mean his every word, when every word is insincere.”
“I doubt I will be fooled, Sir Rex,” she said, their gazes once again meeting.
“I must warn you, Lady Harrington,” he finally said.
“Why?”
“Because in spite of what you may think, I am a gentleman.” He flushed. “You are a ripe mark for every scheming rogue. You do not need a husband who will waste your fortune instead of guarding it. And even if there is some amusement the first year or two, he will cause you years of grief afterward. The kind of rogue I am referring to, will spend every cent and penny and then wander when he wishes.”
She stared and he stared back. “I am aware of that scenario,” she finally said.
“Good.” He poured more wine for himself, appearing somewhat angry.
She was aware of how terrible a mismatch could be. “Do you care to offer your advice?”
He did not look away, his dark stare shockingly intense. “I advise you to cast your net outside the current pool,” he said instantly. “The kind of gentleman you are looking for will not step forward. He will consider himself beneath you—and he will consider stepping forward, considering your wealth and his lack thereof, beneath him.”
She had never received better advice, she thought. He was right. She must discard all 228 suitors and find new ones. And was this the reason Sir Rex hadn’t come forward?
Her heart hammered yet a third time, which she could not comprehend. Of course this was the reason—he was not a fortune hunter—and he would never put himself in the position of appearing to be one.
On the other hand, that didn’t mean, had she possessed more modest means, that he would step forward, either. And she hardly wished for him to court her! She had recovered from seeing him in such a private encounter, and she certainly admired a great many qualities he possessed, but he was far too manly for a woman like herself.
Blanche realized she was breathless. This was the crux of the matter. It was far more significant than her being a society hostess, and him being a country recluse. She hadn’t even been kissed and Sir Rex was clearly a man with huge appetites and vast experience. They would never get on.
“You haven’t eaten,” he said.
Blanche picked up her plate, aware that her hand trembled. She was careful to avoid Sir Rex’s regard now. “Thank you. I think I will follow your advice,” she said. “Or at least attempt to do so.”
SHE WAS NEVER going to sleep now.
Blanche stood at the window in her bedroom, the night sky sparkling with stars, the ocean gleaming black and silver. Because of the late luncheon, Sir Rex had taken a light repast in his study while he went over his paperwork, and she had taken a tray to her room. It was almost midnight, and she had been tossing and turning for at least an hour, entirely preoccupied with her host.
She must discard all of her current suitors; she had made up her mind because such advice was inherently right. But then what?
Should she consider Sir Rex as a prospective husband, after all?
And why, at his age, was he still unattached?
She listened to the ocean’s roar, but was not soothed. No amount of cold ocean air could cool her cheeks. So much had happened in the past day and a half, she felt as if she had been gone for a year. Her world felt entirely different now, as if she had been poised on a precipice, and one false step would lead to a vast fall. It was so unnerving.
But hadn’t she dreamed of a day when her heart would race, when she would feel something other than calm and peace?
She just hadn’t anticipated that day ever coming, and then being filled with so much confusion. Sir Rex had somehow tilted her world, making her feel uncertain and unsettled. But it was better than her world being so perfectly flat and even that she never missed a stride, wasn’t it?
If they had separate bedrooms, Sir Rex might be the right choice for a husband. He would honestly and meticulously manage her fortune and her estates. They seemed to enjoy one another and were becoming friends, and Blanche knew that the few successful marriages in town were based on a deep affection. Still, she had many reservations about him. His drinking worried her. That display of arms worried her even more. Whatever had happened in the war, it haunted him and was causing him great unhappiness. She would dismiss his reclusive nature; he could come and go in town as he pleased. The truth of the matter was that his virility caused her the most hesitation.
He obviously had extreme needs. She had none. He undoubtedly required a passionate partner, and Blanche knew that woman was not herself. Many couples had separate bedrooms. However, if they had separate bedrooms, he would wish for a mistress, and of course, she would have to look the other way, with absolute indifference. She would be indifferent, wouldn’t she? And what about children?
She was jumping ahead of herself. She was considering Sir Rex as a candidate, in spite of the reservations she had about him. And she still didn’t know why he remained a bachelor, and she certainly didn’t know if he might be persuaded to enter a union with her even if she decided to ask him for one.
And if she did tender a proposal, and he accepted, then what?
Anne had wept in pleasure in his arms. She had wept in ecstasy and it had been shocking. The rapture on Sir Rex’s face had been even more shocking.
Blanche turned from the window. Not too long ago, she had been immune to a handsome face. But Sir Rex had always made her look up when he entered a room, and now, he made her heart race. Was she finally becoming aware of a man?
Was this desire? Blanche tried to imagine what she would do and how she would feel if he actually touched her, not a polite grasp upon her elbow, but a tender caress. And just considering that made her heart beat harder, made her skin tighten and tingle, and that odd little ache began anew.
Her color had increased. She could feel heat in her cheeks. She wouldn’t mind him taking her hand, or even his attempting to kiss her.
Blanche sat down abruptly, stunned. She was almost twenty-eight years old, and for the first time in her life, she was aware of a man and thinking of his kisses. How had this happened?
She took a moment to clear her mind. Attraction and desire were not good reasons to marry. She was never going to sleep now. She decided she wished for a brandy. She would make a list of pros and cons tomorrow. There was no rush. She had waited this long to marry, and she had to make the right choice.
She opened the armoire and pulled out the dress she had worn that day. She shed her nightclothes, as she was not about to wander about Sir Rex’s home dressed for bed, and slipped on a chemise and the pale gray gown.
As Blanche left her chamber, she glanced at the closed doors she passed. Unless the master suite was in the tower, one of those doors belonged to her host. She realized, as she tiptoed in her slippers down the hall, that she was tense now and straining to hear. But the hall was so silent she could have heard a hairpin drop.
The great hall was empty when she came downstairs, the fire in the hearth dying to a small, flickering flame and glowing embers. Two wall sconces had been left on, but both were by the front door, leaving the great room in dancing shadows. Blanche went to the bar cart, stumbling into a footstool in the process. It clattered as it skidded away from her shin and she winced, hoping she hadn’t woken anyone up.
She saw several decanters on the cart and poured the one she thought was brandy. Then she realized she was being watched.
Blanche turned and saw Sir Rex seated on the sofa, so indolently he might have been asleep. But he wasn’t asleep. In spite of the shadows, his gaze was unwavering upon her and he was very much awake. In the firelight, his dark eyes had turned gold and amber, and were as watchful as a lion’s.
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