Chapter Two
At breakfast the next morning, Laura’s mother tackled her in a purposeful manner. “Lord Lanyon sought permission from your father to take you to the opera.” She studied Laura. “You’ve made it plain that you’re not ready to give up your freedom, as you put it, to marry. May I ask why you’ve accepted his invitation?”
Laura finished buttering her toast and reached for the strawberry preserve. “Because I want to hear the pianist, Paderewski. He’s brilliant.”
Her mother added hot water to the teapot. “Lanyon is a very attractive man, although perhaps a little swarthy for my taste. Your father wasn’t the most handsome of men.”
“Didn’t you marry for love, Mother?”
Lady Parr poured milk into her cup. “What a question. Marriage isn’t about love.”
“Can’t it be?”
“A good marriage isn’t based on passion. It’s a business partnership, which can, if you choose wisely, become one of mutual satisfaction.”
She’d never witnessed real affection between her parents, but she still hoped to one day experience it herself. “Did you never want something more?”
Mother frowned. “I’m not the one we are discussing. You are twenty-two years old. If you manage to lead Lanyon to the altar, the whole of London society will be at your feet.” She topped up Laura’s teacup from the blue-and-white porcelain teapot. “The barony is an ancient one. It goes without saying that Lanyon is an excellent catch. His country seat is in Cornwall, once an abbey, I believe.”
Laura firmed her lips, refusing to revisit the old argument again. She planned to find employment soon and move into lodgings in Bloomsbury with some of the single women from the movement. She pushed away her half-eaten toast and touched a napkin to her lips. “It’s only a concert, Mother.”
“Must you always make things difficult, Laura? Your sister would have welcomed this,” she said with a clash of the silver teaspoon against the dainty floral china. “Eliza would have been pleased.”
Laura took a slow, deep breath. “I am not Eliza.”
“New shoes are definitely in order.” Lady Parr continued, her mind already ticking off an invisible list. “Robb shall drive us into London this afternoon. We’ll go to Worth for a pair of French kid opera slippers.”
Laura was so tired of her mother comparing her with Eliza she wanted to scream. But she’d learned to hold her tongue. Since her twin sister died of diphtheria, Laura had found it difficult to rise above the sadness that still hung over them like a pall. She seemed unable to assuage her own grief, let alone her mother’s. She urgently wanted to break free, to become an independent woman, aware she’d have to fight her parents as well as society’s expectations. But if she didn’t, she’d sink into abject despair.
“Lord Lanyon is a widower,” her mother continued, breaking into Laura’s thoughts.
“I know.”
“He told you?”
“No. Mrs. Courtney-Smith mentioned it.”
“There’s not much that lady misses.” Her mother’s gaze settled on her. “His wife passed away. Two years ago, I believe.”
“How did she die?”
“I don’t know the circumstances, but she was with child. How the poor man must have suffered.”
“Indeed,” Laura said softly. Had she caught a glimpse of sadness in his gray eyes? “Which gown should I wear, Mother? The blue?”
“The pale-yellow silk Charmeuse with the sash at the waist.” Her mother’s tone became brisk like a hound scenting a fox. “And my pearls.”
She must keep on her toes. Her mother planned to have her marry this man. A plot to bring it about would already be in place. While Laura hated to be manipulated, she was confident she could enjoy Lanyon without risking her freedom, and looked forward to seeing him again.
On Saturday evening, Lanyon called for her in a smart black carriage, his own this time, with a crest on the door panel, which her mother took note of, a speculative gleam in her eyes. In his superbly cut evening clothes he looked every inch a peer. His black tailcoat fitted his broad shoulders; pearl buttons peeked from his shirtfront above the white silk waistcoat. An elegant stripe ran the length of his trousers, emphasizing long, strong thighs. His black silk top hat and gold-topped cane completed the picture of sartorial elegance.
“My, he looks well tonight,” her mother said, as she accompanied Laura to her bedroom to fetch her cape. “Such a fine figure of a man.”
Oddly unsettled by his dark good looks, Laura smoothed suede gloves to her elbow. Surely a man such as Lanyon wouldn’t be interested in her beyond a mild flirtation. He would marry a debutante from a family as old and noble as his.
“The most important thing is for the two of you to suit,” her mother said, her eyebrows forming twin peaks. “And I believe you will.”
Laura wasn’t sure on what basis her mother formed that opinion. But for once, they agreed on something: he was handsome. Mary settled the waist-length, sable-collared evening cloak over Laura’s shoulders, and she tucked a scented lace handkerchief in her beaded reticule.
“Perfect.” Her mother tweaked the bow at the back of Laura’s gown. “Don’t spoil the evening with your foolish ideas of women’s independence. I assure you that Lanyon will not find it at all interesting.”
“How can you be sure?” A wave of apprehension swept through her. What if she bored him?
“He is thirty-two and needs an heir.” Her mother smoothed Laura’s fur collar. “His interest in you is not intellectual, but rather in finding a wife, a suitable mother for his children. And after all, that is a woman’s role in life. Especially those of the landed gentry.”
Laura held her tongue. She studied her appearance in the mirror and had to admit her mother was right about the pastel gown. It did suit her.
On the way to the concert, Lord Lanyon’s dark gaze studied her in the gloom of the carriage lights. “You look like an angel.”
“How deceptive of me. I am far from angelic.”
“Such a heated retort.” He smiled. “Perhaps I was clumsy. A lady might wish for a more elegant homage to her charms.”
“I don’t wish for flowery compliments, my lord.” She chewed her bottom lip. She’d been ungracious. She still seethed from her mother’s interference. “I’m sorry. I’m annoyed with my mother. Please forgive me.”
“You and your mother are at odds?”
“We don’t see eye to eye on some things. The world is changing rapidly, but Mother hangs onto a past where women could do little more than be an adjunct to a man. Merely there to give him children.”
“Children are important though, are they not?”
“Well, of course.” And to someone like him especially. She took a deep breath, determined to get her point across. “But there are other roles for women besides childbearing. A woman could juggle more than one, I feel sure. I know I could.”
“Perhaps you would like to follow your father into politics.”
“If it was possible, but it isn’t.”
“I can understand your frustration, my dear.”
Did he mean it? She stared at his handsome face, searching for a sign that he merely patronized her. “Women do achieve great things. But they have to fight every step of the way.”
“A wife of mine would need the skills of a politician. There’s a lot she must deal with.”
“What, for instance?”
“A large staff, tenants, those who look to the baroness to become involved in village affairs. Raising my children, but that goes without saying.” He eyed her carefully. “My wife would be my partner in running the abbey, as well as my partner in life.”
The carriage swung around a corner and threw them together. She felt the warmth of his body through her gown. Laura lost the thread of her argument as a surprising sense of yearning filled her. “I don’t dislike the idea of children,” she said, tentatively.
His smile stretched into a grin, his teeth white against his olive skin. “I’m pleased to hear it.”
The carriage deposited them outside the Opera House in Covent Garden where they joined the milling crowd dressed in their opera cloaks and finery. As they moved through the entrance hall, Laura caught snatches of conversation. Men were discussing the Boer War. She had questioned her father about it. Although he was reluctant to tell her much of the unpleasant details, the broadsheets had filled in the gaps.
She’d read John Stuart Mill who said that although war was an ugly thing, moralists and patriots who think that nothing is worth a war are much worse. She would like to have Lord Lanyon’s opinion.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and they climbed the red-carpeted staircase together. She glanced up at him, curious to discover more about him. “If women were in charge of the country, there would be no wars,” she said, becoming purposefully provocative to draw his response.
A dark eyebrow raised a fraction. “You may be right.”
“If our country was in danger, would you fight?”
“Every able-bodied man would.” His fingers tightened around her arm. “What a solemn discussion. Let’s enjoy the evening, shall we?”
Chastened, Laura wondered if she’d shocked him. Or worse, had he found her immature?
From the lavish opera box, she gazed down on the stage, soaking up every nuance of the music as the pianist created magic. She turned once to glance at Lord Lanyon and found him watching her, a soft smile on his lips.
Later, as they stood awaiting the carriage, she remained deeply affected by the superb virtuoso. “I enjoyed tonight very much. Thank you for inviting me.”
“I enjoyed watching you.” The look in his gray eyes sent her pulse racing.
“You didn’t lose yourself in the music?”
“Music and art are agreeable, Laura. But true passion comes from living.”
“Life would be dry as dust without them.”
The beginning of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “But we don’t have to live without them, do we?” He assisted her into the carriage and sat beside her, taking her gloved hand in his.
She should protest at the familiarity of his gesture, but she liked the firm decisiveness of his hand clasping hers. The carriage rolled away, the horses trotting down Bow Street.
“I suspect you wish for a spirited conversation,” he said. “And I promise we will talk of these things at another time. I have something more important to discuss.”
Laura drew in a deep breath. That meant he wanted to see her again. She had been afraid he might not.
“My estate in Cornwall demands much of my time, as do my parliamentary duties.” His gaze settled on her mouth, causing her pulse to flutter madly. “I don’t have time to court you, Laura. I must return to Cornwall in a week. And it will be some weeks before I can return to London. I’d like this settled between us one way or the other before I leave.”
She blinked. “Settled?”
“I require a wife, someone who can take on a good deal. I’ve come to believe you would perform many of those tasks with grace and competence. I like to think you would enjoy it.”
With a soft gasp, she dropped her gaze to her lap. How could he have made such a swift assessment of her abilities? She couldn’t help being flattered. “My plans don’t include marriage.”
“You’ve made that plain, but I hope to change your mind. Are you sure you want those things above all else? What a terrible waste that would be, and what a half-life you would resign yourself to. You are made for more than becoming a fighter for women’s rights, Laura. You have a great passion for life. Are you going to deny that part of you?”
He undid the pearl button on her glove and peeled it back, exposing the skin on the underside of her wrist. The warm touch of his lips made her tremble.
She eased her hand away. He was so sure of himself, and of her, apparently. She swallowed her annoyance at how much he unsettled her, wishing he wasn’t quite so intriguing. “You feel you know me on such a short acquaintance?”
“I know enough. And the rest, I look forward to discovering.” There was a wealth of experience in the depths of his eyes. Sadness too, which was not surprising.
If she did contemplate marriage, she doubted he’d have the qualities she sought in a husband. He was rather enigmatic. Would they share true intimacy, love?
“Will you marry me, Laura?”
She stared at him tongue-tied, her thoughts scattering. She’d always felt in control with the men she met, but Lord Lanyon was a very different proposition. He made her question her plans for her future. She’d been drawn to him at their first meeting, but he would not be an easy man to know.
“I shan’t marry for years, if at all,” she said stiffly, dismayed by her response to his charm. “I don’t believe in the institution. Marriage stunts a woman’s growth. It’s the legal subordination of a woman to a man.”
His lips twitched. Was he laughing at her? “That would depend on the husband. And the marriage.”
She bridled. “Then it’s rather a gamble, isn’t it? How would one know for certain until they lived with someone?”
“I agree that one must trust the person they pledge their life to. But there are many delights in marriage you are discounting.”
“I believe most can be obtained outside of marriage.” She felt bold expressing such a view, but if she hoped to shock him, he merely shook his head.
“Not children.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “Perhaps not. But I also have other pursuits in mind.”
“What are they?”
“I don’t wish to bore you.”
He seemed to enjoy her struggle for composure. “Nonsense. Everything about you interests me.”
Laura wished he wouldn’t look at her like that. As if he found her endlessly fascinating. She was quite sure she wasn’t. If it was feigned, it was a clever ploy, for what woman wouldn’t enjoy it? “I want to continue to work for women’s independence. And I’d like to travel. See the wonderful art and sculptures I’ve only viewed in books.”
“I applaud your desire to fight for women’s rights, but the movement is in its infancy, Laura. These things will come, but it will take years. Join the fight when you really can make a difference. As my wife, I would be proud to assist you with that sometime in the future. In the meantime, we can travel, visit the art treasures of the world. The Louvre in Paris, all the splendor Rome has to offer, the Parthenon in Greece.”
She breathed in deeply, as visions of those wonderful places filled her head. “You have been there?”
“I have visited them all, and more.”
“Then you may not wish to view them again.”
He smiled. “But I would. I’d love to show them all to you.”
She gasped when his hand squeezed her waist, which seemed like an act of possession. Leaning forward, he took her chin in his big hand and gazed into her eyes, his warm and imploring. “Will you think about it, at least?”
His deep voice beguiled her, and she was dismayed at the magnitude of her own desire, even as a warning voice in her head urged her to delay. “I would not want to raise your hopes.”
He lowered his head to hers. “You already have.”
He meant to kiss her. She closed her eyes, inviting his touch. His mouth grazed her earlobe and feathered soft kisses across her cheek, then firm lips claimed hers. He inhaled sharply. His strong arms encircled her, his kiss masterful, practiced. But there was raw hunger in his kiss too, along with intent. She was shocked by the awakening response he stirred within her.
He ended the kiss, his mouth hovering close to hers, his breath warming her lips where the imprint of his remained. “Say yes, Laura. We’ll have a wonderful life together.”
She was annoyed to find herself trembling. She must not forget what such a life could mean. Village life would never equal the excitement of London. She would be isolated from like-minded people. She might feel more trapped than she did now.
Laura pushed him gently away, for when he was close, he consumed her thoughts. “I need time. It’s too soon.”
“Do you believe in destiny?”
“I suppose I do.”
“I believe we were destined to be together.”
She couldn’t discount it entirely, the way she’d been drawn to him from the moment they met. She’d never felt that for any man. She wanted very much to be with him. But she didn’t fool herself why that was. They shared a strong physical attraction. Still, what he offered was exciting. To become his baroness and live in an ancient home. The cost was her liberty. Might she have the romance without marriage?
Laura sank against him, wanting him to kiss her again, her deep breaths failing to calm her. She sought to offer some form of argument, to slow things down, but her mind, usually so clear, became befogged at what she saw as his assault. He rushed her, overwhelmed her, and she suspected he meant to. And he would continue until he got what he wanted. She already knew that about him. Men born into privilege never expected anything less.
He cradled her face in his hands and plundered her mouth again more urgently, his breath deepening. The carriage rocked as it negotiated a corner. Laura had no idea where they were, or who might see them behaving so scandalously. Neither did she care. She slid her fingers through the silky hair at his nape and returned his kiss, desire unfurling, warming her body.
It was he who drew away. “I think it best we stop.” He reclaimed her hand and knitted his long fingers with hers.
Regaining her breath and what was left of her composure, Laura sank back into a corner of the carriage, a heartbeat away from his disturbing presence.
“There’s an exhibition of Art Nouveau style at the Grafton Gallery in Mayfair tomorrow. Is it of interest to you?”
He knew just how to entice her. “Yes. I saw it advertised.”
“Then see it with me. Tomorrow afternoon at two. Your mother might like to accompany us.”
“Perhaps she would. Thank you.”
Her mother would be overjoyed. If Laura sent him back to Cornwall without seeing him again, her life at home would become unbearable. And even though she couldn’t marry him, she did want to spend more time in his company.
***
“I’ve sent Mary to bed.” Mother had waited up for her, and as Laura undressed, she told her about his invitation, but not his proposal. “Lord Lanyon has invited you too, Mother.”
“I’m to arrange the flowers in the church tomorrow. He was the perfect gentleman? He didn’t behave inappropriately?”
“Of course not.” Trying to settle her own rampaging emotions was enough. She could not deal with her mother’s.
“Lord Lanyon’s intentions would be entirely honorable. You have no need of a chaperone.” She hung up Laura’s dress. “Do you like him, Laura?”
“He’s interesting.”
“Find out more about Wolfram. Get to know him.”
“I’m not considering marriage, Mother.”
“It’s what he obviously expects. He’s a busy man. You should not give him a false impression.”
Was she? Laura suffered a wave of guilt. She only knew that she would be deeply disappointed not to see him again.