Whirlwind Affair

Chapter 9

Two hours after leaving Mrs. Brown in Madame Renee's expert hands, Robert reentered the modiste shop, a tinkling chime above the door announcing his arrival. He'd spent the intervening time with his solicitor. Assured that the rebuilt smithy was thriving and Nate's family provided for, eased, just a bit, the vise of guilt squeezing him.

The front of Madame Renee's was empty. Clearly Mrs. Brown and Madame Renee were in the rear, which, as he knew from previous visits with Caroline and Mother, housed the dressing and alteration areas, as well as two large sewing rooms. Removing his hat, he opted to stand rather than attempt to settle himself on one of the horribly uncomfortable chairs. He shot a baleful glare at the tiny lavender velvet seat cushion. He knew from experience that his buttocks would hang over the side. Good God, how did women manage to perch themselves upon such ridiculous furniture? It seemed fashioned more for a canary than a human.

Wandering about the bolts of colorful material, he noticed a deep sapphire-blue satin. Knowing it was Caroline's favorite color, he made a mental note to mention it to her. He'd passed stripes and solids, patterns and prints, when his gaze was caught by a striking coppery-bronze color. Pausing, he ran his hand over the luxurious material. Silk, exceptionally fine and delicate. And the color… bold yet delicate, shimmering with gold highlights. It was truly extraordinary.

An image flashed through his mind… of her… wearing a gown fashioned from the material, the color glowing against her creamy skin, accentuating her golden-brown eyes and the rich chestnut of her hair.

As if the mere thought of her conjured her up, she entered the room through the curved archway leading from the back, Madame Renee directly behind her. The shop owner's sharp eyes glanced down at the silk bolt his hand still rested upon.

"Is eet not tres magnifique? Zee finest silk, and zee color!" Madame Renee kissed her fingertips in dramatic fashion.

Mrs. Brown's gaze wandered to the material, and Robert caught the glimmer of wistfulness that flickered in her eyes. "Gorgeous," she agreed with a sigh. She then appeared to regain herself. "But not for me."

"Were you able to find something to suit you?" he asked, sliding his hand from the soft silk.

Before Mrs. Brown could reply, Madame Renee raised her brows. "Surely you did not doubt zat Madame Renee could assist her?"

He held up his hands in mock surrender. " Not I. Never."

"Actually, I was very fortunate," Mrs. Brown said. "Madame had two black bombazine gowns that someone had ordered, then canceled."

"Most annoying," Madame said, making a tsking sound. "But my loss is Madame Brown's gain. Because zee client cancel, I am forced to sell at a large discount. Zee gowns require only minor alterations and will be sent to her later today."

He was disappointed but not surprised that she'd opted to purchase only black gowns. His glance wandered back to the bolt of coppery silk. She'd look breathtaking…

He gave himself a mental shake. Good God, having her look any more breathtaking was the last thing he needed. Indeed, he'd be wise, and certainly better served, to imagine her with a sack over her head rather than draped in low-cut, sheer material.

After saying good-bye to Madame Renee, they climbed into the carriage. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long," Mrs. Brown said as they settled themselves on the gray velvet squabs. "I'd thought to perhaps purchase one gown, but her prices were so reasonable, I decided to buy two." She offered him a half-smile, and his heart, quite ridiculously, thumped in response. "Thank you very much for bringing me there."

"My pleasure. And don't apologize for me waiting. Indeed, it was a fraction of how long Caroline and Mother normally take. I made good use of the time by attending to some business matters that required my attention. And speaking of business matters… was there anything else besides seeing Shelbourne that you needed to do in London?"

"No. My business here is finished."

"Then I propose we depart for Bradford Hall tomorrow morning. That would allow for the delivery of your gowns, give us both sufficient time to pack our belongings, and allow me to send off some correspondence that needs seeing to. Does that meet with your approval?"

"Yes, that is fine."

"Excellent. And that also gives us the rest of this lovely afternoon to enjoy. Given the exceptional weather, I thought you might like to see Vauxhall."

Mischief flickered in her eyes. "Vauxhall? Is that a breed of hat-nesting pigeons?"

He laughed. "No. It's a pleasure garden across the Thames. Acres of shady walking paths, and particularly nice this time of year with so many flowers in bloom. Would you like to go?"

"I'm very fond of flowers. A visit to Vauxhall sounds… lovely."

Another smile touched her lips, and his idiotic pulse galloped away. Lovely, his inner voice repeated as his gaze roamed her face. My thought exactly.

Strolling along a wide graveled walk, Allie breathed in the cool, earth-scented air, then heaved out a sigh of pleasure. Stately elms lined both sides of the avenue, forming a delightful canopy of shade through which fingers of sunlight filtered. Birds flitted from branch to branch, warbling their summertime songs.

"This is called the Grand Walk," Lord Robert said. "Running parallel on our right is South Walk, with Hermit's Walk to the left. Up ahead we'll come to Grand Cross Walk, which runs through the entire garden. We'll turn there to go to the Grove."

"What is that?"

"A square surrounded by the principal walks." He pointed through the trees. "You can see it over there, where those pavilions are. There's also a colonnade in the event of inclement weather, and dozens of supper boxes."

Intrigued, she mused, "So people come here in the evenings to stroll among the lighted trees and dine… What a delightful thing to do."

"Indeed, but there is also entertainment. Orchestras, singers, fireworks, battle enactments, grand parties. Several years ago I saw a woman named Madame Saqui walk along a tightrope affixed to a sixty-foot pole, all to the accompaniment of a fireworks display."

"It sounds marvelous. And exciting." Looking up, she noted the hundreds of globe lamps placed in the trees. "It must be lovely when the lamps are illuminated."

"Very striking. Elizabeth says it looks as if glowing faeries hover in the trees." He looked down at her and smiled. "Perhaps you'd like to return this evening? To experience the garden's nighttime splendor?"

She hesitated. The thought of seeing the lights, hearing the music, was so incredibly tempting…

Yet she could vividly imagine the intimacy and romance such a setting would induce. And the temptation of the man next to her…

At Madame Renee's, she'd nearly succumbed to the desire to splurge her meager funds on something colorful, or even a pastel-knowing in her heart that even more than wanting to wear something pretty for herself, she wanted him to see her garbed in something pretty. She'd resisted-but barely. The black gowns were the most affordable, and they would serve to discourage male attention, as they had for the past three years. Add to that the fact that her heart's rate tripled at the mere idea of strolling with him through the darkness, the only light coming from the shimmering lit trees… no, it was not a good idea.

"Thank you, that is very thoughtful, but I'll need this evening to prepare for our journey tomorrow."

She fancied she saw relief flash in his eyes at her refusal. Did he feel it, too, this disturbing awareness that held her firmly in its grip? Had he realized the folly of them being alone together in the dark?

They turned a corner, and a large grouping of rosebushes caught her eye. Grateful for the distraction, she said, "I don't know where I've ever seen such a colorful profusion of roses." Attracted by a particularly vivid pink bud, she paused to bend over and breathe in its heady scent.

"Wait until you see the formal gardens at Bradford Hall. They're really quite spectacular, and contain what seems like miles of roses. Whenever I smell the flower, I am reminded of Caroline and my mother. They both wear the scent."

Straightening, she fell back into step beside him, nodding. "I understand precisely what you mean, associating certain smells with certain people. Whenever I smell freshly baked bread, I think of Mama. The aroma of tobacco always brings Papa to mind. And whenever I breathe in lilacs, I think of-"

" Elizabeth," they said in unison, then both laughed.

Lord Robert shot her a quick smile that set her heart to fluttering. "Whenever I smell leather," he said, "especially a leather saddle, I think of my father. My very earliest memory is sitting in front of him on his horse, Lancelot. Father was an expert horseman, not to mention incredibly patient. Taught all of us how to ride. Even Caroline."

There was no mistaking the affection in his tone. "Tell me more about your father."

All hints of amusement slowly faded from his expression, leaving behind an unmistakable melancholy. "I don't know quite how to describe him other than to say he was a great man, and noble in a way that had nothing to do with his title. He was well respected by his peers, adored by his wife, and loved by his children. Strict, yet reasonable. Generous with his time, funds, and affection, and fair with his tenants. Slow to anger, quick to laugh, and unlike many men in his position, devoted to his family."

Her fingers, resting on his forearm, flexed in sympathy. "He sounds like a wonderful person."

He nodded. "William, Austin, and I… even as boys we always strove to emulate him. To this day, I believe we still do. I know I do, although if I'm able to be half the man he was, I'll consider myself blessed." He paused for several seconds, then continued, "His death was so sudden, so unexpected. So horribly shocking. He appeared in perfect health, yet his heart just… stopped."

The husky emotion in his voice swelled something inside her… sympathy, yet something else she could not quite define. Something unsettling. Until this moment, she'd believed that he was not a serious man, that he was merely frivolous and carefree. Yet the way he spoke of his father, of wanting to be like him, bespoke a depth she hadn't considered he'd possess. A depth she found dangerously, disturbingly attractive.

"Do you know," he said, pulling her from her thoughts, "my father asked my mother to marry him, right here in Vauxhall? It was a favorite family story, told every year on their anniversary." He pointed to a stone bench under a majestic elm. "Father swore they were sitting on that bench. Mother, however, always corrected him, saying it was a seat near the north border of the gardens." A chuckle rumbled from him. "It was a continuous source of good-natured ribbing between them, an argument that always ended with Father winking at Mother and saying, 'It matters not where I asked, only that the lady said yes.' "

She couldn't help but smile at the loving picture his words painted in her mind. The wistful sadness in his eyes called out to her, urging her to replace it with the mischievous laughter she was used to seeing there.

"Very romantic. Very unlike my parents." Leaning closer, as if she were about to impart the most confidential of matters, she asked in an undertone, "Can you keep a secret?"

His brows rose. "Of course."

"My mother proposed to my father."

He stared down at her for several seconds, then, as she'd hoped, his lips quirked upward. "Never say so."

She laid her free hand over her heart. "I tell you the truth, sir. Mama and Papa had known and loved each other from childhood. The summer Mama turned seventeen, she waited and waited for Papa to propose to her, but he was waiting for the perfect moment. Deciding she'd grow old before his idea of the perfect moment ever arrived, Mama took matters into her own hands and asked him."'

"Obviously he said yes."

"True, although Papa still claims he was quite disgruntled about her stealing his big romantic moment, to which Mama always replies, 'If I'd waited for you, Henry, we still wouldn't be married. Why, I would have had to marry Marvin Blakely instead.' "

She laughed, then continued, "That's when Papa would mutter something uncomplimentary under his breath about Marvin Blakely. Then he and Mama would share what I called their special smile… the one that made it so obvious that they still loved each other after all these years."

He paused, drawing her to a stop. Surprise flickered in his eyes. "My parents often exchanged that same sort of look. They could have been standing in a room filled with dozens of people, but it would suddenly seem as if they were alone. As if no one else existed."

"Yes, that's precisely the look."

They stood there, in the middle of the path, looking at each other, and once again, as she had the day before, she swore something passed between them. A subtle, unspoken understanding-silent, yet nonetheless real.

Forcing herself to look away from him, she shook her head and sighed. "I'm so sorry for your mother. It must be terrible to lose a husband you love so much…"

She felt him start, and she looked up at him. He was staring at her with an odd expression. "But of course you would understand how that feels…" he murmured. He didn't ask wouldn't you, yet she clearly heard the question in his voice, saw it in his frown.

Heat suffused her face, and she started walking again, turning away from his penetrating, inquisitive stare, afraid that he would read the truth in her eyes.

While she could not deny that she had loved David when he'd died, her discovery of his true nature had extinguished her love like a snuffed-out candle. She tried to conjure David's likeness in her mind's eye, to forcibly remind herself of what she never wanted to suffer through again, but the handsome face that filled her mind wasn't David's.

God, help me. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase Lord Robert's image, but failed utterly. He filled her mind completely. But worse, she suspected that if she let her guard down at all, he would fill her heart.

Grateful to be back at the town house, Robert handed his hat and walking stick to Carters. He couldn't have endured one more minute confined with her in that carriage, breathing in her hypnotic flowery scent, racking his brain without success for something to say. Nearly the entire journey from Vauxhall was made in silence. He'd sat across from her, tongue-tied like a green schoolboy.

Damn it, they'd enjoyed such camaraderie during their walk, but then it had suddenly vanished, replaced with an uneasy tension that emanated from her in waves. Half of him had longed to break that tension, but the other half told him it was better this way. For the more he spoke to her, shared with her, the more enchanted 0he became with her. The more he wanted to know everything about her.

Carters' voice yanked him from his musings. "A package from Madame Renee's establishment arrived for Mrs. Brown while you were out. I placed it in her bedchamber." Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a sealed letter and handed it to Mrs. Brown. "This arrived as well. There's a lad waiting to bring a reply back to Lord Shelbourne."

Robert's shoulder's stiffened. What did Shelbourne want now? With a nod of thanks, she broke the seal and read the contents. A tapping echoed in the foyer, and to his annoyance he realized it was the toe of his own boot striking the marble floor. Nearly a minute passed with her silently reading. What the devil had Shelbourne written her? A bloody novel?

Clearing his throat, he adopted a casual tone in marked contrast to his annoyance and remarked, "Nothing amiss, I hope."

She glanced up from the vellum. "Lord Shelbourne wishes for me to dine with him at his home this evening."

Robert's hands fisted. Bloody hell! Clearly the rogue sought to pursue her in the privacy of his home as she'd refused his invitation to go out publicly. Well, Mrs. Brown was no foolish, naive miss. Of course she would divine Shelbourne's intent and refuse him.

“May I use the carriage tonight?"

He stared at her. Much as he tried to will it away, he couldn't stop the jealousy pumping through him. Nor the hurt. Damn it, she'd turned down his invitation for an evening at Vauxhall. No matter that the instant the invitation had passed his lips he'd regretted it. The intimacy of the setting would be pure torture for him, and he'd been more than a little relieved when she'd declined. But now…

"You intend to accept him?" he asked, much more stiffly than he'd intended. "I thought you required this evening to prepare for tomorrow's journey."

"In truth, I do, but I really cannot refuse the earl's invitation. See for yourself," she said, handing him the missive.

He scanned the few lines, his jaw tightening at the phrase "opportunity to become better acquainted." "Do you have this box he mentions?"

"Yes. I suppose I should have brought it to him this morning, but I never thought of it. Indeed, I most likely would have thrown it away when I packed up my belongings this evening. The box is rusted and dented on the top. I'm certainly happy to give it to him, especially since I cannot return his ring."

"So you wish to accept his invitation simply to return this rusty, dented box."

"Yes. I consider it an errand of honor. Wouldn't you?"

Marginally cheered, he admitted, "Yes, I suppose I would. However, I must warn you that Shelbourne has… something of a reputation with the ladies." He nearly choked on the mild description, but he did not feel the need to prejudice her against the man with the unvarnished truth-that Shelbourne was a jaded libertine without a single scruple in regards to women-although he would if he had to. " Elizabeth would have my head if I allowed you to spend time alone with someone who could damage your reputation. Therefore, I insist upon accompanying you."

She appeared relieved. "Thank you. While I feel I must go, I've no wish to dine alone with the earl."

Hmmm. Clearly Shelbourne was the only one who wished to become better acquainted. Excellent. And while it was hardly polite to invite himself to dinner, under the circumstances, he had little choice. Just knowing it would irk Shelbourne cheered him even further.

"Then I'll send off a reply for him to expect two dinner guests." He consulted his timepiece. "We have almost two hours before we must depart. As we'll be out this evening, I suggest we use this time to prepare for tomorrow's departure."

"An excellent plan." With a nod, she climbed the stairs, disappearing from his view when she turned down the corridor leading to her bedchamber. Turning on his heel, he walked to Austin 's study, intent upon making use of his brother's stationery. He had to send off his reply to Shelbourne.

And then he had another, more important letter to write.

Allie entered her bedchamber, heading directly toward the mahogany dresser. She picked up the rusted ring box, setting it in the palm of her hand.

"I will be very relieved to see the last of you," she whispered to the dented piece. "Once you are returned, I will be free." David and the damage he'd wrought would finally be exorcized from her life, although she suspected that a few demons would always remain.

Still, profound relief washed through her. With her quest completed, she could fully enjoy her visit with Elizabeth. Six lovely weeks in the English countryside, with nothing more pressing to do than to catch up with her childhood friend, and put the last bits of the past behind her. Then she'd return to America and-

Never see Lord Robert again.

The unwanted words popped unbidden into her mind. Thoroughly irritated that he'd once again invaded her thoughts, she set the box back down on the dresser, but clearly with more force than she'd intended, for she heard a slight cracking sound.

Picking up the box, she examined the dresser's polished surfaced, relieved when she noted no damage. Then she held the box up to eye level.

The bottom appeared to be separating. She attempted to gently snap the bottom back into place, but the instant she applied pressure, the entire affair broke into two pieces.

"Oh, dear." She gazed at the pieces in dismay, a feeling that was quickly replaced by surprise. It appeared the one section was a false bottom. With a piece of folded paper secreted in the small space.