Chapter 12
As her mother stared out one window of Heath’s park drag, Giselle stared out the other, wondering how to mention the possibility of their staying at Longmead.
When Giselle had arrived home last night, Maman had been in bed and left word she was not to be disturbed.
And this morning, they had been hastily preparing to leave for Bath, with little time to talk about anything, since his cursed lordship had wished to be on the road by the ungodly hour of seven in the morning.
Had he gone quite mad? The sun had just come up! If this was indicative of how early he rose every day, it was probably good that she planned not to marry him.
Even if he ever wished to marry her, which looked more doubtful by the day. Bed her? Yes. Marry her? She did not know if that was possible for him. Even his brothers meant more to him than she did, to be sure.
“Are you well?” Maman asked. “I know you do not feel fully awake until you have had a great deal of coffee, which you did not have the chance to have this morning, but you must endure that if that is what the earl wishes.”
“What the earl wishes?” She gritted her teeth. “At present, Maman, I do not give a franc what the earl wishes. And when did you start caring what the earl wishes? You did not even like him at first.”
Her mother glanced away. “He grows on one.”
That was the trouble. He did grow on one. Rather like a boil.
An image of a boil with Heath’s face on it made her smile. Who was she fooling? She liked the rascal. That was what made this all so hard.
Giselle sighed. “Well, I hope he has grown on you enough that you would spend two weeks with him underfoot. He has invited us to stay at Longmead rather than at our lodgings in Bath.”
Her mother blinked. “He has? But what about—”
“He says he will happily transport us to Bath and back every day.”
Maman digested that a moment. “That is very generous of him. It will probably save us a great deal of money, will it not?”
“Of course. Bath is quite dear, and the more of these trips we do not have to fund ourselves, the more of them we can make.”
Her mother searched her face. “But why does he want us there? I mean, I know that you are his fiancée, but it seems very unnecessary.”
I am not his fiancée, Maman! It is a ruse we are perpetuating so that he could gain his brothers, and now that he has . . .
No, she could not say that to Maman. Because now that he had gained his brothers, there was less need for the ruse. Now that he had, he need not ask her to stay at Longmead.
So why had he? Simply because he did not know how to handle his brothers? Or for some more substantial reason?
She was grasping at straws, of course. She wanted him to need her, but as his wife. Not as a possible mistress. Not as a sort of pretend mother to his brothers . . . or whatever he saw her as at present.
She wanted more. And yearning for more had always landed her in trouble.
She had wanted a deeper relationship with family, so she’d run off to be with the father she’d never known.
She had wanted to know her half sister, so she’d convinced Maman to let them get forged passports when the French government had refused passports to them.
And she had wanted to be around Heath, so when he had asked her to be his fake fiancée, she had agreed. Had that been a mistake?
“I think he wants us at Longmead because he needs help with his brothers,” she told Maman. “He has not been around them in twelve years. It makes sense that matters might be awkward between them.”
Maman sniffed. “Well, I don’t see how you can help. What do you know about taking care of boys?”
“Apparently more than he does,” she said with a shrug.
Her mother digested that in silence. Finally, she said, “I need to ask you about what happened in court yesterday. Who were those women?”
No reason to hide it from her. “The earl’s former paramours.”
“So many?”
“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “I told you from the beginning that he is . . . was a libertine.”
“Then why are you marrying him? Your father was such a one, and you never liked that.”
“Heath claims to have reformed. And I believe him.” She wanted to believe him, anyway.
Her mother leaned forward to lay her hand on Giselle’s knee. “Do be careful, daughter. Such men can be wily. They cannot always be trusted.”
“Yes, Maman, I realize that. But Heath . . . He is like a tuning fork, do you know? Someone strikes him, and I hear his reaction singing through me. I-I do not know how to explain it. We understand each other.” Sometimes. “But I promise to be careful.”
“Good. Because I would hate to see you follow in your mother’s path.”
“Your path was not so awful. Without it, I would never have been born.”
A ghost of a smile tipped up her mother’s lips. “And that would have been a great loss.”
Her mother’s words warmed the cold, dark part of her soul that always craved such kindnesses from her mother. Maman did not bestow them often—or easily—but when she did, it was always lovely.
“So, what do you wish me to tell him about our staying at Longmead?” Giselle asked. “Do you want to stay there or no?”
“I suppose it cannot hurt.” Her mother stared her down. “As long as you observe the proprieties and do not let him persuade you to misbehave.”
Yes, God forbid she misbehave and have some enjoyment for a change.
Knowing better than to say something like that, she murmured, “Of course I will observe the proprieties. I always do, do I not?”
“As far as I know,” Maman said, sounding faintly suspicious.
Oh, dear. She would have to proceed more carefully from now on. Because if her mother ever realized just how often she responded to Heath’s fervent attentions, he would find himself being treated to the rougher side of Maman’s tongue.
And then being forced to marry her. Neither she nor Heath wanted that.
Thus far, the lads had talked about cricket, Heathbrook’s least favorite subject; hunting rifles, Heathbrook’s second least favorite subject; and religion, Heathbrook’s third least favorite subject. So help him, if they started talking about medicine, he might just leap from his landau.
When had boys stopped talking about pirates and horses and the best hand at whist?
Probably around the time his own boyhood had been cut short after he was forced to accompany Father to France.
“Have you really known Giselle for ten years?” Evan asked.
Hah! Giselle was always one of his favorite subjects. “Yes.”
Evan and Kit exchanged glances. “That long?” Kit ventured. “But Cousin Yates said—”
“I can well imagine what our cousin said,” Heathbrook retorted. “But Yates doesn’t always tell the truth.” And, come to think of it, he might not have taken Heathbrook at his word.
“So, when are you getting married?” Zack asked.
Heathbrook stiffened. “We haven’t . . . er . . . set a date for the wedding yet.”
“Why not?” Kit said. “I like her. She’s pretty.”
“You like all the pretty women,” Evan drawled. “They just don’t like you.”
Kit crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t exactly see beautiful ladies tripping over themselves to get to you, Evan.”
“They do often enough,” Evan said loftily. “You just don’t know about it because I’m discreet.”
“What’s ‘discreet’?” Zack asked.
“You’ll find out when you’re older,” Evan said.
Zack slumped in his seat. “That’s what you and Kit always say. But when I’m older, you’ll both be even older than me, so I’ll never find out.”
“Don’t be in a hurry to grow up, Zack,” Heathbrook said. “Sometimes a boy can grow up too fast.” If anyone knew that, it was him.
“Like Kit,” Evan snapped, “swanning around the Isle of Thanet with Jane Gray as if they’re betrothed.”
“Perhaps we are,” Kit said hotly.
“Perhaps you’re not,” Heathbrook interrupted with a scowl. “You’re too young for that.” And he wasn’t about to let any of his brothers make the same mistakes he’d made at their age.
“I’m not really betrothed, Heath,” Kit said with a roll of his eyes. Then he glared at Evan. “And at least I don’t have my heart set on Miss Uppish Uppington who lives in the estate next to Cousin Yates’s.”
“Watch your mouth!” Evan growled. “What you mistake for uppishness is actually Miss Mariah Uppington’s elegance and her superiority to the likes of Jane Gray.”
Damn. In this at least they were definitely his brothers. “Did all of you leave behind sweethearts in Broadstairs?”
“Not me,” Zack said sullenly. “And I don’t want any, neither.”
“It’s either, Zack,” Evan said. “And for your information, some of us do want sweethearts, and we’d rather be near them than live in Longmead, cut off from the world.”
That stabbed Heathbrook right through the heart. “We have plenty of beautiful girls in Somerset, you realize.”
Evan stared out the window. “A man can’t change ladies like he changes his clothes, Heath. Or I can’t, anyway.”
Ouch. Nothing like being forcibly reminded of his reputation. And his age. And how long he’d been out of their lives.
A heavy silence fell on the carriage. Heathbrook was considering what else to say when Zack said, “I’m starving. How much longer until we get there?”
“Six hours, give or take an hour,” Heathbrook said.
“Six hours!” Zack cried. “It never took that long with Mother.”
When that clearly bewildered Heathbrook, Evan sighed. “That’s because Mother preferred to stay the night at Freeman’s Inn rather than go it all at once. So, it was really two shorter trips when we went to London.”
“Oh.” Zack looked at Heathbrook. “We’re not staying the night at Freeman’s Inn?”
“I hadn’t planned on it, no,” Heathbrook said.
“But I’m starving,” Zack complained.
“Yes, I heard,” Heathbrook said dryly.
“I could do with something to eat myself,” Kit said.
“So could I,” Evan said. “And we’re not that far from Freeman’s Inn.”
Heathbrook groaned. Even he could tell when he was outnumbered. “Fine. We can stop for nuncheon at Freeman’s Inn.”
“Yay!” Zack said.