Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Fitz had a plan.
It was a very good plan, he thought, especially for someone who rarely bothered to make a plan of any type. Fitz tended more towards the leaf on the river philosophy of life, letting the currents and eddies swirl him to and fro without worrying overmuch about the ultimate destination.
He was inspired, however. By Miss Caroline Quick and her dedication to their scheme—knocking her own mother into the Serpentine!
—as well as by the fact that it already appeared to be working upon his father.
In the evening following their “chance” encounter with the Quick ladies at Hyde Park, Lord Alfred had been uncharacteristically subdued. Contemplative. Pining, perhaps?
How so ever one characterized it, Father had ignored Fitz over dinner instead of lecturing him on his deficiencies and the necessity of settling down—a marked improvement.
There was no doubt about it, Miss Quick’s scheme was a goer.
That was not Fitz’s only inspiration, however. If he were forced to be honest, he would have to confess it wasn’t even his primary concern.
Miss Caroline Quick and her delectable mouth. Her slim, supple limbs and bright, forthright manner.
Her easy dismissal of future intimacies between them.
Oh, Fitz had plans, all right.
“And you are certain Lady Quick and her daughter will form part of the party at Thornecliff?”
His father’s abrupt question from the other side of the carriage nearly started Fitz into an unwary grin. Schooling his features to bland unconcern, he affected as bored a tone as he could muster. “I’m told so.”
“Not her sort of crowd at all,” Father muttered, glaring out the window at the gently rolling hills of Buckinghamshire. “But I suppose she has been absent from England for a good many years. Doubtless she is unaware of our host’s…reputation.”
Being entirely aware of the Duke of Thornecliff’s reputation given that Fitz had taken enthusiastic part in most of the escapades that had resulted in his best friend being known as the worst libertine and rake in the whole of England, Scotland and Wales, Fitz cleared his throat.
“Remember, Father, Thorne will not actually be present. His sister, Lady Rosalie Maitland, is throwing the house party in his absence. With her friend, the Countess of Winterbury. There will be several gentlemen from your club there. It will all be very respectable and sedate, I am sure.”
He wasn’t. In fact, he was counting on it.
Miss Caroline Quick thought his world boring, did she?
Well, life in the beau monde wasn’t all ratafia and quadrilles.
And once he got her away from the constrictions of Almack’s and amongst his friends, who knew how to have a good time, well.
Fitz thought they might revisit the topic of kissing. And other things.
Not that he would go so far as to actually ruin the girl, he promised himself, cracking the window of the carriage for a bracing blast of fresh country air.
Of course not. He was going to all this trouble to avoid being marched down the aisle; even Fitz wouldn’t be fool enough to let himself in for a forced wedding to a girl he’d compromised. So he wouldn’t compromise her. Easy.
But he would touch her again.
It had been several days since he’d seen her—days filled with belatedly responding in the affirmative to the invitation Lady Rosalie had sent out weeks ago for her house party, while contriving to have her also send an invite to Father, and one to Lady Quick and daughter—and the thought of touching Caroline again was becoming all consuming.
It had only gotten worse since their walk in the park, when he’d learned so much more about her and her outrageous plans. Now she was all he could think about.
The memory of her eager response intruded upon his breakfast. The ghost sensation of the clutch of her fingers in his hair plagued him in the bath.
The idea of how he might draw down the top of her dress next time, revealing the creamy swells of her breasts, came upon him so suddenly while his valet was dressing him that Fitz had to excuse himself to the privy to deal with his cockstand before he embarrassed the poor man into giving notice.
This fixation upon Miss Caroline Quick was rapidly becoming a problem. Probably because she’d kissed him once with all the innocent passion of a nymph cavorting in the woodland, and then said they mustn’t do it again.
He was only fixated because he hadn’t had her yet.
Fitz reasoned that the only way out was in—he would have her, at least enough of her to sate this craving, and then it would be over.
Their parents would wed and Father would be too busy with his new bride to bother about Fitz, who would go back to his normal life of carefree dissipation.
And Caroline would go back to…whatever it was she was so intent upon doing.
Away from England.
Fitz realized he was scowling and attempted to smooth his features. He didn’t wish to confront why the thought of Miss Caroline Quick leaving the country made him want to howl in protest.
Fitz snuck a glance at his father, hoping for a bit of distraction from his troubling thoughts. But having secured, again, the promise that the ladies Quick would also be attending Lady Rosalie’s country house party, Lord Alfred had subsided back to his brooding stare out the window.
The brooding lasted through the final miles of the drive out to Thornecliff, Fitz’s friend’s enormous ancestral estate nestled in the pastoral idyll of one of the prettiest counties in England.
When they alighted from the chaise, they were greeted at once by a phalanx of extremely efficient servants who whisked their luggage and their travel-weary selves up to their rooms to rest before dinner.
If Lord Alfred was startled by the discreet perfection of Thorne’s servants, Fitz was not.
He knew how well his friend paid them for that discretion, and how much more their perfection was usually tasked.
A simple house party without Thorne in residence would be a relatively sedate affair compared to the chaos these worthy individuals were used to.
Avery, Fitz’s valet, appeared on silent feet bearing a washbasin of hot water and a razor. While he shaved two days’ worth of road grit from his master’s face, he related all the choicest tidbits of gossip from belowstairs.
“Most of the guests have arrived for the week.” Avery carefully wiped away the excess soap and cast a critical eye over his work.
“It’ll be Lady Rosalie and Lady Lavinia, inseparable as usual.
Neither of their husbands appear to have been included in the party.
The Honorable Thomas Spottswood, Lord and Lady Kildare and Lord Weatherby, of course.
Mrs. Bingham is here, as Lady Kildare’s particular friend.
Mr. Francis Mowbray, recently returned from Italy.
Sir Anthony brought his latest mistress and is passing her off as his son’s governess, but since since his son is not in attendance and her last job was dancing in the chorus at the Belle Dame, there is every likelihood she will be recognized before the first dinner is over.
I took the liberty of placing a small wager on your lordship’s behalf; the odds were such that I felt confident you would not wish to lose the opportunity. ”
“You are a marvel, Avery, as always,” Fitz replied absently, pulling on his white dress shirt. “Anyone else?”
Fitz could not understand why his blood was surging in his ears. He felt as he did at the start of a hunt, when the horses were stamping and blowing in the crisp pre-dawn light and every sinew was drawn taut, ready to spring to the chase.
“Lady Gemma Lively was originally invited,” Avery said, gathering up the shaving things and turning his attention to the arranging of Fitz’s cravat. “But after everything that happened after the loss of her father…”
“Oh, quite. Poor Gem. That reminds me, I haven’t heard from her in an age. And…is that the entire party?”
“There are a mother and daughter, sir, who have been living abroad. No one seems to know much about them, or why they are here. I can tell you their maids are from London, from the household of the older lady’s mother, a Lady Agnew.
Lady Quick and her daughter seem to have traveled to London from parts unknown, entirely unaccompanied by servants! ”
The undisguised horror in Avery’s voice made Fitz laugh. “I vow you are more scandalized by that little detail than by anything else you’ve seen in my employ—and that is saying something.”
“Certainly not, sir,” Avery sniffed, his dignity affronted. “It’s not my place to pass comment, of course.”
“But if a comment were to slip out…”
“I would say that the word belowstairs is that Lady Quick seems all that is amiable and pleasant, while the daughter is a bit odd. She brought an entire trunk full of books. Books!”
“Perhaps she enjoys reading.”
“I certainly hope so. I helped Paul carry the case up to her chamber and nearly broke my back.”
“Ah. Then you know which room is hers?”
Avery’s gaze sharpened. He’d been with Fitz a long time, long enough that it was hard to get anything past him. Fitz had basically stopped trying. “I do, sir. I should mention that the other word on Miss Quick is that she’s young, pretty, and very innocent.”
“As it happens, I knew that already. And you need not look at me like that, Avery, I do not plan to despoil Miss Quick. When have you ever known me to have anything to do with innocents? Miss Quick and I are embroiled in an intrigue, and I may as well tell you all now in case we have need of your particular talents later.”