Chapter 10
Stephen was nervous.
He wasn’t accustomed to being nervous. The fact of the matter was, he was too damned old to be nervous.
His blood pressure might occasionally find itself elevated during a spirited argument over this medieval detail or that, and his pulse might race now and again when seeing one of his competing colleagues sneaking into the back of his lectures to steal his academic discoveries, but a simple case of nerves? Never.
Then again, he had never in his life had the dreams of a woman he was hopelessly fond of riding on his ability to send his valet off with a credit card to see her properly dressed. Even though being unsettled over the potential for sartorial disasters was ridiculous, he was unsettled nonetheless.
Because even though the goods had been delivered, there was still the possibility that the gown would be too long and the shoes too tight.
He suppressed the urge to rub his hands over his face and instead clasped them behind his back where they would be out of his way.
That had the added benefit of rendering himself incapable of flinging either vintage dishes or modern fire irons at the indiscreet Duke of Kenneworth, who had spent the previous night gambling with funds he didn’t have.
Stephen was quite sure Kenneworth planned to spend the night lying in front of them gambling with something quite a bit more precious—namely Peaches Alexander’s heart.
He wished he drank, for he would have indulged in a post-brunch double.
Wasn’t it enough that he was wringing his hands—figuratively, of course—over the possibility that shoes and a dress wouldn’t suit?
Did he also have to face the fact that he might be completely mad for a woman he wasn’t quite sure he should like and definitely shouldn’t love?
He watched Kenneworth walk around the room, attending to his hosting duties, and suppressed the urge to cross the room and plow his fist into the duke’s face.
The man was notorious for finding innocent lassies, wooing them into more than just darkened corners, then dropping them without troubling himself over the mess he’d left behind.
If Stephen had had a sister, he would have forbid her any association with the lout.
As it was, he did have a cousin or two who had had the misfortune of a brush with the man, but he’d nipped that in the bud.
Thinking about Kenneworth plying his trade on that innocent Yank had Stephen grinding his teeth, and not just because he knew what an absolute reprobate the duke was.
It was whom he was planning to ply his trade on, actually, that set Stephen’s teeth on edge.
He looked away before he said or did something he would regret. Unfortunately, the next most interesting thing in the room happened to be his trio of on-again-off-again girlfriends who had apparently banded together to make his life hell. He attempted a polite smile and had hard stares in return.
Well, he perhaps had no one but himself to blame there. He’d brushed off the suggestions for walks, strolls, and ambles through either deserted hallways or wintery gardens with excuses he couldn’t quite remember but was sure amounted to, “have a bit of a headache, sorry.”
He jumped a little when he realized Raphaela Preston had sidled up to him. Actually, the woman didn’t sidle, she glided. The material point was, she was wearing an expression of serenity that he was sure boded very ill for his peace of mind.
“What?” he muttered grimly.
“Why, Haulton, your temper is ferocious tonight.”
“Bad eggs for breakfast.”
She laughed and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I have a few—how is it you would put it?—ah, yes, a few tidings for you, darling.”
He could hardly wait.
“Your harem is plotting your demise,” Raphaela said with the smirk of a cat who had just polished off an entire pitcher of cream and wouldn’t be suffering injuries to its tum anytime soon. “They’ve been huddled together all day discussing their plans.”
“Cut brake lines or ptomaine poisoning?” Stephen asked sourly.
“I believe they would prefer to see you drawn and quartered, but rumor has it they feared retribution from the authorities. I understand they’ve limited themselves to seeing you eviscerated in the press.”
“A pity I never do anything controversial.”
“They’re planning on lying.”
Stephen pursed his lips. “I hope they enjoy it.”
She looked up at him in surprise, then laughed. “Yes, well, I’m sure they shall. Shall I tell you what else I know?”
“Is it possible to tell you to stop politely?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, politely. “Our sweet American was rather curious at the breakfast you couldn’t seem to find your way to this morning about some additions to her bedroom. I told her I thought they might have been sent by my son.” She blinked innocently. “What do you think?”
“That you are far too lovely and discreet to be called meddlesome,” Stephen said, putting his hand over hers. “Unfortunately.”
Raphaela looked at that son prowling around the room, looking particularly loathsome in his perfect evening wear. She studied him for quite some time in silence, then shook her head slowly.
“He should marry.”
“He should,” Stephen agreed. “The sooner, the better.”
Raphaela looked up at him. “Does your mother say the same thing to you?”
“Often.”
Raphaela studied him with the same searching look—he shifted in spite of himself—then went back to her contemplation of her son. “Miss Alexander is not for him.”
“Because she doesn’t have a title, or money, or pedigree?” Stephen asked lightly. “And haven’t we had this conversation before?”
“If we haven’t, we should have, and no, that isn’t the reason. And I phrased it badly. I should have said, he is not for her.”
Stephen remained silent—and to his mind it was wisely done.
“He will break her heart.” Raphaela looked up at him. “But you wouldn’t, would you?”
Stephen started to speak, then shut his mouth because there was nothing to be said. He took a deep breath. “Why do you like her?”
“Because she is charming and honest and laughs at an old woman’s attempts at humor. And she speaks French very well. You should have her examine yours for flaws.”
“That might take a while.”
Raphaela smiled. “And so it might, which I doubt would trouble you. You’re very welcome, Stephen darling, for the idea. Since you seem to be running short of ways to have her to yourself.”
“She doesn’t like me,” he said with a sigh.
“What did you do?”
He laughed a little. “Why would you assume it’s my fault?”
“Because, cher, you are a man,” Raphaela said simply.
“I’m insulted.”
“Not inspired?”
“I was taught from an early age to bite my tongue when so inspired.”
“Your mother is my good friend, in spite of my late husband and hers who has no love for my son. I don’t see enough of her. But I believe you and I were talking about something else entirely. What did you do to my darling Peaches to anger her so?”
Stephen sighed. “I draw breath in and let it out. Unfortunately, that letting out seems to be occasionally accompanied by words.”
“Made an arse of yourself, did you?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.
“Repeatedly.”
“Well, then why don’t you apologize?” She shrugged. “That seems simple enough to me.”
“For what purpose?” he asked very quietly. “There can be nothing between us.”
She made a noise of impatience. “Stephen, you have spent too much time with your head buried in medieval texts. This is the twenty-first century and many things are allowed.”
“You don’t know my grandmother—”
“Do you worry she’ll cut off your allowance if you wed where you prefer?” Raphaela asked lightly. “And yes, I know her very well, the old witch. She terrifies me, and I am not seeking her approval on my choice of spouse. I’m a little surprised you’re allowing her to have an opinion on yours.”
Stephen started to speak, but Raphaela shook her head.
“I understand what you face, for it is a part of my life I would rather do without. But we have our duties, don’t we?
” She turned back to her contemplation of her son.
“His father indulged him too much and I wasn’t strong enough to counter it.
His elder brother would have made a better heir, of course, if he had lived …
” She took a deep breath and smiled. “All behind us now, isn’t it?
The future beckons and David must wed. Not your lady, though.
If Kenneworth is to be saved, it will take a very strong woman to manage him and the house, too.
Money would help, of course, but I would prefer someone sensible to manage what we already have.
” She pulled her hand away and smiled. “I believe I’ll put a stop to the champagne.
It is much too early for that sort of thing. ”
Stephen watched her go and almost wished he hadn’t heard that last bit.
Perhaps his family wasn’t perfect, but they worked hard and appreciated what they had.
He had wondered, when he hadn’t had anything better to do, about David Preston’s lavish lifestyle and how he managed to afford it.
He lived like a man who thought his ship was about to come in, a ship he had already seen out in the harbor and knew was near to docking.
And now to be faced with an evening spent watching that fool slobbering all over a girl without a penny to her name.
Well, she might have had a bit, but Tess had intimated that morning when Stephen had called her to double-check sizes that Peaches had spent a decent amount of her savings on the gown that had been ruined.
He rubbed his hands over his face because it broke his train of thought. He wished he didn’t know anything about David Preston, and wished he hadn’t called Tess to find out details about Peaches that weren’t any of his business.
Really, he was going to have to keep his mouth shut more often.