Chapter Seven #2
‘He began by apologising for the trouble at the protest meeting. Also—’ and she hesitated just a fraction ‘—he must have heard that you came to my assistance, because he assured me once more that you were on no account to be trusted.’
Dan folded his arms across his chest. ‘And then?’
‘I answered, my lord, by saying I believed he was the one not to be trusted. I also explained everything you said, about my aunt’s debts to him and how he had tried to force her into agreeing to his plans for a hotel.’
Dan found himself glowing with unexpected pleasure. Well done, Kate Summerby. Aloud he said, ‘What was his reaction?’
‘He was not pleased, so I told him to leave the house. He was reluctant, but I resorted to an old trick of my Aunt Jemima’s if she was ever troubled by unwanted callers.
You see, she kept a large handbell by the door to summon help if required, which I rang vigorously, and by the time both Harriet and Joseph had rushed to see what was the matter, he was on his horse and riding away as fast as he could. ’
Dan suddenly felt more light-hearted than he had for a long time. ‘An excellent tactic,’ he said. ‘Might I also suggest that if you are seen in my company, it will make it even clearer to Melling that he needs to stop pestering you?’
‘Ah, but would it be as effective as Aunt Jemima’s handbell, I wonder?’
He grinned. ‘I very much doubt it.’
She had been fiddling with the ribbons of her brown bonnet, and now she pulled the thing off.
Without it he was able to register her features anew, noting those high cheekbones and the soft curve of her lips.
She was what the ton called an original, unspoiled and unaffected.
She was brave too; neither he nor Melling had daunted her.
‘My lord,’ she said at last, ‘I came here, of course, to discuss your proposition. I have no real wish to leave Clematis Villa, so in order to make my position in the town more bearable, I feel bound to accept your offer. But I must be honest with you.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I can’t imagine you are ever anything but honest, Miss Summerby.’
‘I tend to express my thoughts too readily, I agree.’ She nodded, frowning. ‘But I need to tell you that I have no liking for society. No skill. I find it awkward making light conversation with other ladies, and as for gaining the admiration of gentlemen—well, I have no interest in that either.’
Her candour tugged at him again and he longed to ask why.
Instead, he said, ‘I can see you are a woman who values her independence, which I respect. Our outings will, of course, be suited to your tastes. If you wish, for example, we could go to a lecture in the town. Or,’ he added manfully, ‘perhaps a musical concert.’
Oh, that really shocked her. ‘You?’ Her eyes were wide. ‘A musical concert?’ He saw that she’d put one hand to her mouth, maybe to smother a laugh. ‘I’m sorry, my lord. But I did not imagine…’
‘I don’t mind the occasional musical event,’ he protested. ‘I’ve even been known to attend the opera.’
Once, and that had been quite enough, but he didn’t say that.
‘I suppose then,’ she said, ‘that a concert might be appropriate. And you did say, too, that having me at your side might keep you safe from unwanted female attention—although I don’t think anyone will believe for a moment that you have serious intentions towards me.’
He was silent a moment before saying, ‘Have you ever thought that you underestimate yourself, Miss Summerby?’
‘Oh, never!’ She spoke cheerfully. ‘My Season taught me quite a few lessons in life, you see.’ She looked serious again. ‘But Lord Rivington—I know you’ve said you have no intention of marrying for a good while. But what if you met someone next week, let’s say, who forced you to think again?’
He spoke curtly this time. ‘I don’t believe in romantic love, if that’s what you mean. It can lead to mistakes.’
She said nothing, and he guessed she was thinking about his broken betrothal, for the gossip must surely have reached her by now.
But her response, when it came, was brisk enough.
‘Then you and I will be in perfect agreement,’ she said, ‘and since everyone knows that by the end of summer you will be returning to London, there can be no suspicion that we are serious about each other. What could be better?’
She looked so satisfied that Dan was taken aback, since most ladies would be almost swooning in delight at an invitation from the Earl of Rivington. Miss Summerby was certainly going to be a restraint on his vanity.
He realised she was still speaking. ‘The other day,’ she said, ‘I saw a poster in Donaldson’s library advertising an operatic recital next Thursday evening. Should we make that our first outing?’
Dear God. Squawking females. ‘Very well,’ he said, gritting his teeth. ‘I shall reserve tickets and contact you to make the final arrangements. Is that acceptable?’
‘Perfectly, thank you. And now—’ she was glancing at the clock standing in the hallway ‘—I really must go.’
‘Why?’
She hesitated. ‘Harriet has decided we should bake our own bread,’ she said at last. ‘In our kitchen there is a constant battle between her and the oven, and I’m afraid the oven often wins.’
He began to laugh, he couldn’t help it, and he saw her give a slight smile too. But then she said, ‘Good day to you, my lord,’ pulled on her plain bonnet once more and darted off.
After that he went back to Oliver’s room to find that his brother was up, dressed and sitting in the window seat, reading.
‘You see? I’m fine,’ said Oliver cheerfully. ‘I told you there was no need for the quack to be called. You look out of sorts though, brother. Surely you’re not missing your atrocious guests?’
‘Glad to be rid of the lot of them,’ said Dan. ‘You’re positive you’re quite well?’
‘I am, and I’ll be down for our meal later. You go off and sort out whatever it is that’s bothering you.’
Dan went slowly down the grand staircase to the drawing room, where he sprawled in an armchair and considered what he had just done. What bothered him, or rather who, was a very determined lady who wasn’t his type at all—but nevertheless, she intrigued him.
Of course, there could be no danger at all of him falling for Miss Summerby.
He’d meant it when he told her he didn’t believe in romantic love—Cecily’s betrayal and his mother’s abandonment of her family had made him immune to such sentimental nonsense.
Yes, Cecily had managed to reel him into the delusional notion of married bliss, but he’d been lucky enough to discover her trickery in time.
Kate Summerby was perfectly safe from him, and besides, she’d made it clear in return that she wasn’t the least bit interested in him either.
No way would she lower her defences to a man who hosted drunken garden parties and wore ladies’ ribbons on his coat.
No, there was no need at all to worry that she might try to seduce him, and hence no need to regret his offer to be her temporary escort.
Besides, an operatic recital was enough to dampen anyone’s ardour, wasn’t it?
It was only on rare occasions that Kate cursed her weak ankle, but this was one of them.
She had wanted to leave the Earl’s house as quickly as possible, but the encounter had left her shaken and she faltered anew when she passed that dratted life-size statue of Hercules, hung with intimate items of ladies’ apparel and covered with scrawled messages she really did not want to read.
So his guests had all gone, but that still left the main cause of her discomfort—the Earl himself.
Coming to greet her unshaven and not properly dressed—did he not realise the effect he’d had on her?
Unbuttoned shirt, tight breeches—oh, yes, she’d noticed those—and a darkly stubbled jaw.
Oh, goodness. All through their meeting she’d felt hot and bothered, and also absolutely furious with herself for her wildly distracted thoughts.
She pressed on through the woods, troubled now by the fear that Harriet might have set the kitchen on fire. But Harriet called merrily from the kitchen the moment she was through the door. ‘Kate! You must try some of this fruit bread I’ve made. Tilly gave me a marvellous recipe!’
Harriet had no idea she’d been to see the Earl, and Kate was surprisingly hungry, so she devoured two thick buttered slices of the still-warm fruit loaf in no time at all.
Thank goodness Harriet’s skills in the kitchen were improving, because her own skills in managing her new life were proving woefully inadequate.
After drinking the mug of tea Harriet had poured, she went up to her room to change her outfit.
But once she’d unbuttoned her green jacket and flung it aside, she paced the room.
Bother, bother. What had she just done? Had she really agreed to be seen with the Earl, in town?
It was the occasional hint of sympathy he’d shown that was the problem.
Sympathy always weakened her, because she’d experienced it so rarely.
The Earl had told her he wanted to help restore her reputation in Brighton society, but now that she was away from his dazzling blue gaze, she doubted his sincerity more and more.
She stopped her pacing to gaze at herself in her mirror and found nothing to console her there. Her cheeks were unfashionably rosy from walking in the fresh air and her hair had mostly fallen from its pins, as usual. Almost fiercely, she twisted it into a tight topknot and jabbed the pins back in.
She supposed she would have to make an effort to look her best for the musical evening with him.
But why? Did she really want to look good for the Earl?
How pathetic would that be, for heaven’s sake?
Suddenly, she remembered a hat that her sister had given her for her twentieth birthday, which had made Kate burst out laughing when she saw it, because it was bright red, with artificial cherries around the crown.
‘It will make me look like a fruit bowl,’ Kate had told her sister, thus offending Monica mightily. But she had kept it, chiefly to amuse herself, and now she pulled it out of her wardrobe and put it on just as Harriet came bursting in.
‘Kate,’ Harriet exclaimed, ‘Wherever did you get that hat?’
‘My sister gave it to me. Hideous, isn’t it?’
‘I think,’ said Harriet slowly, ‘that it actually looks rather good on you. But why have you put it on? Where are you going?’
‘Nowhere at all at the moment. But the Earl has offered to take me to a concert in Brighton on Thursday. The Earl of Rivington,’ she added quickly, just in case there were other Earls in Brighton at the moment.
‘Really?’ Harriet was round-eyed. ‘How wonderful!’
Kate shook her head forcibly. ‘It isn’t wonderful at all. The Earl’s offer was made as a neighbourly gesture, nothing more.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t be able to sleep,’ said Harriet rather dreamily, ‘at the thought of an outing with that man. He is divine.’
‘Then it’s as well I’m going with him and not you, isn’t it?’
Harriet laughed. ‘Do wear that hat, Kate. It will make everyone stare at you and besides, His Lordship likes bright colours, doesn’t he?’
Kate took the hat off and inspected it. ‘I’ll think about it.’
But as she put that hat away, her mind was already wandering.
There was something about his tousled brown hair and the way his blue eyes crinkled when he smiled that made her feel quite odd, and she could not forget the night of the fireworks party when she had found herself in his arms, because ever since then she had wondered what it would be like to…
To be kissed by him?
She reminded herself that he’d only grabbed her that night to stop her tumbling to the ground, and the moment of magic had been a figment of her imagination. But all the same, every time she thought of it, an odd little quiver fluttered low in her body.
‘Kate?’ Harriet was still watching her. ‘Kate, I really think you should buy a new gown to match that hat. Wouldn’t you like something more flattering, more fun?’
‘I imagine the Earl would be hugely embarrassed if I did.’
‘Are you quite sure?’
‘I am,’ said Kate. ‘Now, Harriet, I think we definitely should go into town this afternoon. The sun is shining, and a walk along the Parade would be most pleasant.’
‘We could maybe look in some dress shops…’
‘No,’ said Kate. ‘No new dress. Absolutely not.’