Chapter Ten
“Someone slept in,” Roger said.
Alex observed his smiling, nauseatingly cheerful brother-in-law through bleary eyes. “Go bugger yourself.”
Roger grinned. “Got up on the wrong side of the bed, did we?”
Did the man know how close he was to having Alex’s fist shoved down his bloody throat?
“Why are you still in the breakfast room?” Though if he had to have company, Roger was far better than Mama or Diana or even one of the girls.
He walked over to examine the buffet. All that was left was part of a loaf of bread. Good. His stomach might be able to tolerate bread and butter. He cut himself a slice.
Roger ignored his question. “You can have that toasted.”
“No need.”
“The tea’s fresh. Or I can call for coffee if you prefer.”
“Tea’s fine.” Alex sat down. “Alone is fine too. I’m sure you must have something important you need to do.”
Roger was still smiling, but his damn eyes held concern.
Alex braced himself.
“I’m afraid you’re my important task at the moment.” Roger poured himself and Alex some tea and handed Alex his cup. “Diana’s worried about you.”
Blasted meddling sisters.
He might be able to see Jane’s point—well, he knew Diana loved him and her meddling was motivated from sincere concern—but that didn’t mean he welcomed his sister sticking her long nose in his business. He wasn’t one of her children. He was a grown man.
Though clearly you could use some help with women.
Had he been too passionate with Jane last night? He hadn’t thought so. And she’d gone from pliant to panicked in the blink of an eye.
“I’m fine.”
Even he would admit that sounded like a snarl.
Roger’s brow rose skeptically. “You’re lucky,” he said. “Your sister wanted me to invade your room earlier to see that you were still breathing. I appeased her by promising to wait here instead—and to go in after you if you hadn’t shown up in two hours.” He checked his watch. “You could have stayed abed fifteen more minutes before I came bursting in.” He snapped the watch shut and dropped it back into his pocket.
“Good God, Diana is being ridiculous.”
“Hmm.” Roger took a sip of tea, keeping his eyes on Alex.
Perhaps if he ignored his brother-in-law, he would get bored and go away.
He took a bit of buttered bread. Gah. He’d thought the Manor’s cook quite good, but this tasted like sawdust. It likely didn’t help that he’d consumed far too much brandy last night, but without the brandy, he wouldn’t have slept at all.
Zeus! He’d thought he and Jane had shared something in the garden, something deeper than just physical attraction. He’d felt a connection akin to what he felt for his family but more intense, charged as it was with desire. He’d felt concern and need and protectiveness and—
Oh, why the hell was he torturing himself with this? Miss Wilkinson clearly had not felt any of the same things.
He must have totally misconstrued their conversation and misread the signs that had made him think she’d welcome his touch. Surely the kiss itself hadn’t alarmed her—it had been quite tame.
Well, yes, his tongue and hands had got involved, but compared to what could have happened . . .
He was just thankful he’d kept himself on a short leash. If he’d let his urges run, Miss Wilkinson would have had an apoplexy.
Or murdered him. He couldn’t rule out that possibility.
And she wouldn’t talk to him on the brisk walk from the fountain to the house—though he’d admit he hadn’t said anything either. He hadn’t been capable of rational conversation.
He would just have to put the woman from his mind—and other organs—and mark the experience as one more sign that he should step back from the Marriage Mart until he’d sorted things out and could trust himself again. He would stay in the country, make improvements on his estates, and in a year or two see how he felt. He was only thirty. There was plenty of time to think of marriage and children.
“She’s worried about you,” Roger said.
Alex snorted—eloquently, he hoped.
Roger smiled, but kept on. “She feels the need to look out for you.”
“Roger, I’m not in short-coats any longer. I do not need my sister managing my life.”
Roger laughed. “Yes, but I think in Diana’s mind you’ll always be her little brother, even when you’re eighty.” He grinned. “I had an older sister, too, if you’ll remember, so I do understand.”
Alex grunted. Roger’s sister had been more than ten years his elder and had married when Roger was still a young boy. More to the point, she’d moved out of the neighborhood—Grant’s house was more than a day’s ride away. He doubted that the situations were at all similar.
Roger sat back in his chair, thankfully abandoning that line of conversation. “Since you slept the morning away,” he said, “you might be relieved to know that our other guests have all departed.”
“Ah.” He’d hoped to avoid Miss Wilkinson. Perhaps that was cowardly of him, but he’d prefer to describe it as chivalrous. She could not wish to see him, either.
“Miss Wilkinson and her brother took Imogen with them.”
“Yes, I believe Miss Wilkinson mentioned that was their plan.”
Roger gave him a long look but let that go unremarked upon. “The departure you might not be aware of is Lady Charlotte’s. Apparently, she and Septimus eloped.”
“Ah.” So Miss Wilkinson had been right about that.
“You don’t seem surprised”—Roger’s brow winged up—“or at all distressed.”
He probably shouldn’t mention Jane had told him she thought an elopement was in the off ing. “Roger, Charlotte and I parted ways almost a year ago. What she chooses to do is none of my concern.”
His brother-in-law looked skeptical, but didn’t argue. “That’s good to hear.”
“Has Grant gone off to try to stop the couple? Though if they left last night, it must be too late.”
“No.” Roger shrugged. “He seemed resigned to the situation, though I think he’d been hoping they could persuade Buford to countenance the match and so tie the knot in a less scandalous manner.”
“Not much chance of that.” If he was ever fortunate enough to have a daughter, he hoped he’d not make Buford’s mistake and try to force her to wed a peer over a man she loved.
Jane would probably tell me to let the girl decide for herself—and she’d likely be right. Any daughter of Jane’s would—
Would be none of his concern. And Jane wasn’t going to have daughters. She was the Spinster House spinster.
“Precisely,” Roger said. “So Grant and your mother and Octavius have gone back to Grant’s estate to be there when the newlyweds return. Buford will be furious when he finds out, but there will be nothing he can do then except cut Charlotte off, and she and Septimus seem quite happy to risk that.”
Clearly, he hadn’t known Charlotte at all. He’d never have guessed she’d defy her father like this. “Well, then, I see I’m the last guest to depart.”
“Don’t feel you need to hurry off. Care for some more tea?” Roger held up the pot.
“No, thank you. I should get back to the Hall. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go gather my things.” The relative solitude of his estate would be heaven. “You can enjoy the peace of a guest-free house.” Though Miss Wilkinson had been right about that: Peace was a relative term in a house so filled with children.
He started to rise.
“Don’t go.” Roger filled Alex’s cup. “Have some more tea. I have something to discuss with you.”
Alex could still leave, but there was no point in putting off the inevitable. If Roger let him escape now, Diana would just hunt him down later.
He sat back down. Perhaps the tea would help settle his nerves. He took a sip.
“About Miss Wilkinson—”
And spat it back out. “I do not wish to discuss Miss Wilkinson.”
Roger acted as if he hadn’t heard him. “When you came back from the Lake District in August and then immediately rushed off to Loves Bridge without even stopping in the house, you got Diana—and your mother—worried that something was seriously amiss.”
Remain calm. “Yes, something was amiss. Mama and Diana were lying in wait for me. Of course I ran.” He forced a smile. “I had no desire to face a very pregnant woman.”
Roger’s eyes didn’t waver from Alex’s. “Something tells me there is more to the story.”
Alex looked down at his plate, pushing his leftover bread crust from one side to the other and resisting the urge to fill the silence. There wasn’t any more to say. He had fled Evans Hall to avoid his female relatives, though Diana’s advanced pregnancy hadn’t been the main factor in his decision. He’d wanted to avoid them quizzing him when he was so . . . confused might be the best way to describe his state of mind then—and he’d chosen Loves Bridge simply because it was relatively close and the village fair had been about to begin. He’d not thought of Miss Wilkinson.
At least not consciously.
Roger gave up waiting for Alex to elaborate. “Well, your bolting caused Diana and your mother to ask some questions.”
His stomach cramped. Right. Diana gave birth, had a new baby in the house, and still managed to find the time and energy to meddle in his life.
Perhaps Miss Wilkinson was correct and Diana’s interest was motivated by love and concern, but it was still annoying. Terrifying, too. Was there any place on Earth where he could escape Diana’s and Mama’s reach?
“She remembered that Imogen’s lost love was a solicitor in that village. Letters were exchanged, and Imogen discovered that Randolph thought his sister might have a tendre for you.”
He felt a jolt of surprised pleasure—quickly followed by discouragement. Randolph had been wrong, of course. That had been proved by Jane’s reaction in the garden last night. And—
God’s blood! Diana had spied on Jane.
How dare she? If his sister was in the room—
“Put down the knife, Alex,” he heard Roger say.
He looked to see the butter knife clenched in his fist.
“Though you’ll likely do more damage with your fork,” Roger said helpfully, “if you wish to eviscerate me. The butter knife’s too blunt to be efficient. Fork at least is pointy.” He looked over at the buffet. “There is the bread knife. That would work rather well. Cut my finger with it once. Quite sharp.”
“I am not going to attack you.”
Roger grinned. “That’s a relief.”
“But I make no promises about Diana if she appears.” He took a calming breath. He’d not touch his sister, of course, but he might blister her ears. “How could she pry into my life and Ja—Miss Wilkinson’s to such a degree? Asking Wilkinson about his sister’s sentiments—”
Words failed him.
Roger had the grace to look a trifle sheepish. “She loves you. She worries about you.”
“All right. But there are lines she shouldn’t cross, Roger. Boundaries.” And speaking of lines crossed: “Did you know Diana sent Miss Wilkinson down to the lake yesterday morning when I was swimming?”
Roger looked guilty briefly, but then managed to produce a leer. “And did Miss Wilkinson like what she saw?”
“Bloody hell, Roger!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw a footman start to enter the room and then pivot to beat a hasty retreat.
“Sorry.” Now Roger’s look was merely hopeful. “But did she?”
“I hope she didn’t see me.” Likely a vain hope, but one he would cling to. “Did you know about it?”
Roger examined his fork. “After the fact. Diana said it was a spur of the moment thing. She just took advantage of an opportunity to, er, help foster the connection between you two.”
“There is no connection.”
“Oh?”
Damn Roger. “You said the bread knife was sharp?”
Roger grinned. “Very sharp.” His expression grew serious. “You do look like hell, though. I wager I could take you out long before you reached the knife.”
Roger might have the right of it.
“We will not put it to the test, because I’m going to leave.” This time Alex did stand.
Roger stood, too, his eyes worried. “Diana will want to talk to you.”
“Please dissuade her from doing so. I’ve said all I’m going to say on the subject—which is far more than I wanted to. She will have to be satisfied with your report.”
He didn’t get off scot-free, of course. He had just swung himself up into his curricle, ready to trot off to freedom when Rachel came running up.
“Uncle Alex! Wait!”
For a brief moment he considered pretending he hadn’t heard her, but he knew if he didn’t talk to her now, she’d hound Roger—or, worse, Diana—until they brought her over to the Hall.
“What is it, Rachel? I’m just on the verge of leaving, as you can see.”
Rachel took a great gulp of air—she must have run all the way from the house to the stables—before blurting out, “What happened with Miss Wilkinson? Bea and I thought everything was going to work out when you took her into the garden last night, but this morning she looked so sad.”
Jane had looked sad?
“You didn’t hurt her, did you?”
Good Lord. “Of course I didn’t.” He should have had one of the grooms bring his curricle up to the front of the house instead of going down to the stables himself. There were far too many interested ears in the vicinity.
He looked pointedly at one man who’d stopped abruptly at the stable door.
The fellow flushed and continued about his business.
Alex did not want anyone hearing whatever other outrageous things Rachel was going to say. He quickly reached a hand down to her. “Come. I’ll take you for a short drive.” With any luck, the thrill of riding in the curricle would distract her.
Though . . . Jane had looked sad?
He wasn’t certain what to make of that. She should have been happy, relieved that she was finally getting free of him and his meddling female relatives.
Rachel let him pull her up. She bounced slightly and then settled herself on the seat. “This is a bang-up curricle.”
“I’m not sure you should be using such slang, Rachel,” he said automatically.
She ignored him, as usual. “Papa’s isn’t half so fine.”
Roger would agree with her, but then given his large family, his brother-in-law had little use for a vehicle that accommodated only two people comfortably.
“I’ll take you down the drive and back, shall I?”
Rachel nodded enthusiastically, and he sighed—internally, so she wouldn’t notice—with relief as he gave his horses their office to start. This should work. She’d be so distracted by his vehicle, she’d drop any talk of Miss Wilkinson.
His relief was short-lived. His cattle hadn’t gone more than a handful of strides before Rachel started in again.
“If you didn’t hurt her, why did Miss Wilkinson look sad?”
Why, indeed? A tiny scrap of hope fluttered in his breast.
He squashed it. “I have no idea. You probably misinterpreted things.”
“No, she definitely looked sad.”
How could an eight-year-old read an adult’s expression? “Perhaps she just wasn’t looking forward to her journey. Many people don’t enjoy coach travel. The roads between here and Loves Bridge are rather rough.” Yes, that must have been it.
Rachel was quiet for a moment, but before he could congratulate himself on a narrow escape, she shook her head. “No, Bea agreed she looked sad. Not that Miss Wilkinson ever really looked happy while she was here, but this morning was different. She was very pale and the one time she managed to smile even a little bit, her eyes didn’t.”
Oh, Lord. He hadn’t wanted to cut up Jane’s peace. “Perhaps she had a headache.”
Rachel considered that briefly. “Maybe. But you don’t look happy, either.”
He forced himself to grin. “Oh, now, I wouldn’t say that.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t say it.” She frowned at him. “So what we want to know—”
“Who’s we?” Not that he couldn’t guess.
“Me and Bea, though I’m sure Mama and Grandmamma and everyone else wants to know, too. Why haven’t you announced your betrothal to Miss Wilkinson?”
Lord, protect me from meddling women! “Because I’m not betrothed. Why in the world would you think I was?”
Rachel gave him a look only an eight-year-old girl could that said more clearly than words he was the greatest noddy in all of Britain. “Because you love Miss Wilkinson, of course!”
His hands jerked, causing his horses to toss their heads.
“That was cow-handed of you.”
And now the eight-year-old was critiquing his driving. “Oh? And I suppose you could manage my cattle better?”
“I couldn’t do any worse.” Rachel reached for the reins. “Let me try.”
Aha! A new way to avoid this uncomfortable conversation. “I’ll let you handle the ribbons on two conditions.”
Rachel’s face glowed with excitement—and then her expression turned wary. One couldn’t be the fifth child of eight—now nine—without learning that sometimes one needed to look a gift horse in the mouth in case it proved to be from Troy. “What are the conditions?”
“First, that you let me keep my hands on the reins. Driving a pair is harder than riding.”
Rachel didn’t hesitate—she was a smart, sensible girl. “All right. And the second?”
“That you promise to say no more concerning Miss Wilkinson.”
“Oh.” Rachel’s shoulders slumped and she shook her head sadly. “I can’t do that. I promised Bea if I got to you first, I’d have it out with you.” Then she straightened and her jaw hardened as it did whenever she was determined not to be put off.
Oh Lord, here it comes.
She looked him in the eye. “We think you should offer for her.”
He would try to put her off. It might be rude, but that couldn’t be helped. He used his most earlish voice. “I don’t believe I asked your opinion.”
“Of course you didn’t. I’m giving it to you, though.”
Blast it, he would turn the curricle around and bring this conversation to a close that way.
If only that would work, but he knew from sad experience that unless he found a way to satisfy Rachel, she—and Bea and the rest of them—would keep after him.
“Did you consider that Miss Wilkinson might not wish to marry me? Perhaps I asked and was turned down.”
Rachel made an astoundingly rude, dismissive noise.
That surprised a laugh out of him. “Thank you, but not everyone finds me irresistible.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re a handsome, rich earl.”
“I don’t believe Miss Wilkinson is especially impressed with the peerage. And she’s the Spinster House spinster, remember. If she’d wanted to marry she wouldn’t have pursued that position.”
He should have saved his breath—Rachel paid his reasonable speech no attention.
“You just need to ask her the right way.”
What was it with today’s youth? According to Nate, the new Lady Davenport’s young sons had also tried to instruct him on the proper way to propose to his wife.
“You must tell her you love her.”
He jerked the reins again—his horses gave him an annoyed look.
Do I love Jane?
He certainly felt something for her, but it had become painfully clear to him that he could no longer trust his instincts—which was why he was going to retreat to his estate and eschew any thought of marriage for a while.
That didn’t keep him from asking, “Why do you think I love Miss Wilkinson?”
Rachel rolled her eyes again and hit the heel of her hand against her forehead.
“Must you be so dramatic?” he asked.
“Must you be so cabbageheaded?”
Diana—and Roger—really needed to exert more control over their daughters. “I’m an adult and your uncle. Please show a bit of respect.”
“Respect won’t get you Miss Wilkinson. You have to tell her you love her, Uncle Alex. Women like to know they are loved. Then she’ll marry you.”
His heart gave a most inappropriate leap.
No. This would never do. He had to nip this particular line of speculation in the bud if he didn’t want his life to become unbearable.
“Perhaps I don’t love Miss Wilkinson.” He couldn’t bring himself to lie and insist he had no feelings at all for her.
“Oh, puh-lease!” Another exaggerated eye roll.
He was getting rather tired of Rachel looking at him as if he were a knock in the cradle.
“You should see how you look at her when you think no one’s watching. Your mouth goes all soft and silly like it wants to grin, but you won’t let it. And your eyes go soft, too, and dreamy—when they aren’t staring”—she grinned—“sort of like the way Stinky looks when he’s starving and Mama opens her dress.”
Good Lord! He stared at his horses’ arses and willed himself not to turn a hundred shades of red. Surely Rachel was mistaken.
“And she looks at you the same way.”
His head snapped back toward his niece, blast it. “She does?”
Rachel nodded. “Oh, yes, except she looks more confused because she doesn’t understand what she’s feeling, not having any marital experience.”
His heart wasn’t the only organ to lurch at Rachel’s words. To think Jane—
Wait. Rachel’s words? “Rachel!” Diana and Roger did let the girls run a bit wild, but Rachel was only eight. “What do you know of ‘marital experience’?”
“Nothing,” Rachel said cheerfully. “I just heard Mama tell Papa that.”
“In front of you?”
“Of course not, silly. In back of me. I was reading, curled up in one of the library’s wing chairs, so they didn’t know I was there.”
“And you didn’t let them know?”
“Why would I do that?”
Right. Rachel had already told him she was a skilled eavesdropper.
“But I do know that marital experience leads to babies,” she said, smiling brightly. “And you want babies, don’t you?”
Lord, yes.
It was difficult being around Diana’s family now that he’d started to consider marriage. The girls stirred such a jumbled stew of emotions in him—amusement, pride, annoyance, awe, love, worry, happiness. And holding Stinky—that is, Christopher—had made him ache, literally ache deep in his soul to feel the small, warm body of his own son or daughter in his arms. He wanted an heir, of course, to continue his line, but more, he wanted children to love and protect and guide into adulthood.
He cleared his throat. “This is a completely inappropriate conversation, Rachel.”
“Why?”
“You’re a child.” Not that he’d want to have a conversation about babies with anyone except a wife.
Jane?
No. Jane wasn’t interested in him, no matter what Rachel said. If she was, she wouldn’t have shoved him away last night.
Rachel sniffed. “Children are very smart, you know. Smarter than some”—she gave him a pointed look—“adults.”
Clearly, he needed a distraction. “It’s time to head back to the house. Would you like to try handling the ribbons now that you’ve discharged your promise to Bea?”
“Yes!”
Thank God. He spent the next few minutes concentrating on keeping Rachel from ending them in a ditch.