A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (36 page)

Aurora told him of her fear of heights
that had plagued her since falling down a few stairs as a young
girl. She told him how she came to be such dear friends with Lady
Rebecca after her mother’s death—how no matter how forcibly Aurora
had pushed against Rebecca to leave her alone to her misery, no
matter how much she lashed out in anger and sadness and grief, no
matter how deplorable her company must have been for a young girl,
Rebecca stood staunchly by her side. She let him see tiny little
pieces of herself that she normally kept hidden or firmly tamped
down so as not to be discovered: the way she would always say
“Thank you,” whenever a servant assisted her with a task, no matter
how small; the way she would stealthily set aside her embroidery
and begin work on a new gown for her lady’s maid as soon as the
latter left the room; the way she picked up after Jonas so the
maids wouldn’t have to come behind him and do it; the way she would
set about discovering Quin’s favorite meal, or Jonas’s favorite
dessert, and be certain to have Cook prepare them regularly; the
way her eyes would light up when something struck her to write in
her journal, and she would dart to the escritoire or her chamber to
write it down before it was lost.

Quin no longer feared allowing his
wife to write. She had erred in London, in allowing someone to take
some of her pages. But it was just that—a mistake. But here, at
Quinton Abbey, he had no fear that anyone would be able to hurt her
in such a manner again, despite the fact that he still had not
discovered the perpetrator.

At least, no one would be
able to hurt her like that again once he sorted out who was behind
the
Sordid Scandals and Titillating
Trysts
and put an end to the slanderous
rag.

If he were still a betting man (and
sweet Christ, he wished he were), he would wager in the book at
White’s that Lord Griffin Seabrook was behind the deuced pages. But
since he had been forced into a respectable and honorable life, he
could only hold tight to such a certainty. Who else would it
be?

Laughton’s family always took a summer
holiday to his principal seat in Harrogate, so he knew Griffin
would be there soon. If Quin were not to have a houseful of guests,
he’d head over there and confront the bastard on it.

But Rotheby would be in fits if Quin
took off during a house party to either beat the man to a bloody
pulp or call him out to duel. It just wouldn’t do. Doubtless, his
grandfather would take the abbey from him on the spot, leaving Quin
and Aurora not only with their reputations in tatters, but
destitute and homeless, as well.

So he’d have to wait until the
infernal affair was at an end.

Quin hated to wait.

He wished their guests
would hurry and arrive, so they could get started. It wouldn’t very
well
end
if it had
not yet
begun
. And
devil take it, every last invitation Aurora had sent out had been
accepted.

She was so excited about it that she
intended to throw a ball at the end of the fortnight, even inviting
some of the gentry and merchants and workers who lived nearby to
take part in the celebration. Quinton Abbey hadn’t hosted a ball as
long as Quin could remember. Perhaps not ever. The whole town of
Wetherby was abuzz about her ladyship’s ball. Quin couldn’t escape
talk of it anywhere he went.

Not even in his mews.

Quin was just returning to the abbey
from a visit with Carruthers, when his head groom popped around the
corner.“Lovely afternoon, my lord, is it not?”

“
Indeed it is,” Quin
responded. “I was thinking of taking Lady Quinton to explore the
kitchen garden before supper.” And perhaps ravishing her in the
gazebo. Or on the warm grass beside it, just where the sun would be
hitting it. Or both.

Jonas would most decidedly have to
stay behind, this time.

“
I’m sure her ladyship
would appreciate the thought, sir. Indeed, she must be as
appreciative as the townsfolk are for her
thoughtfulness.”

If only the man knew what he was
really thinking. Quin just nodded his agreement as they both turned
to the sound of a carriage coming along the lane.

“
Looks as though some of
your guests have arrived early,” the groom said.

While Quin didn’t particularly care to
have any guests in his home for any longer than they already would
be, he couldn’t help but be grateful that an early arrival meant
that finally, it was starting.

“
That it does,” Quin
responded. “If you’ll please pardon me, I must go and greet them.”
Time to play the happy host. Blast it.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

13 June, 1811

I am more addled by my
husband than ever. His family is delightful. Why would he not want
for me to meet them? Why would he not want them in his life? He can
be so terribly contradictory. Everything that he wants, everything
that he needs, he pushes away. Could that be why he has pushed so
hard against me? He needs to stop pushing, or he’ll lose what he
will hold most dear. Perhaps it is time to tell him.

~From the journal of Lady
Quinton

A woman barreled out of the carriage
and engulfed Aurora in her arms before she had a chance to give a
proper greeting. She was tall, like Aurora, with lovely golden hair
that glinted in the afternoon sun. She even smelled like sunshine,
if that were possible.

But her encompassing embrace made it
out of the question for Aurora to see any more of this woman than
she had in that all too brief moment when she burst out of the
carriage.

“
Let her go before you
strangle her, dear,” came a gruff yet somehow jovial masculine
voice from the direction of the carriage. “Otherwise you’ll have to
explain to your son just how, precisely, you managed to suffocate
his wife upon our arrival.”

Her son? Oh, dear good
Lord. Lady Coulter. She was early. Actually,
they
were early, since the male voice
had to belong to Sir Augustus, and undoubtedly Nia was still tucked
away in the carriage, waiting to be handed out.

She really wished Quin was here. He
ought to introduce them. He ought to greet his mother.

He
ought
to be there to calm
Aurora
down, the blasted
man.

But then Sir Jonas’s voice rang out
from behind her: “Lady Coulter, if you do not let go of Lady
Quinton this moment so that I can have one of those famous hugs,
I’ll have to steal mine from Miss Coulter.”

Finally, Aurora could breathe again as
Lady Coulter released her and swatted playfully at Sir Jonas’s arm.
“Jonas, you rascal. You may be a grown man now and not the little
boy running through my garden in his short dress stealing my
daisies to take home to your mother, but I can still bring you to
heel. Now come and give me a proper greeting,” she said, walking
over to him and taking his face in her hands.

Aurora stepped back to watch the scene
unfolding before her. Lady Coulter still had a jaunt in her steps,
despite her advancing years. The golden hair she shared with Quin
was streaked with grey, but generally looked vibrant. In the years
since the portrait in the gallery was painted, she’d filled in
about the middle just a touch. Enough to further emphasize the
curves she wore very well. She was quite a sight.

Her husband, however, was balding and
ruddy-faced, and rather more portly. But he smiled upon Lady
Coulter with obvious affection—much as she smiled upon Sir
Jonas.

Aurora looked for Nia, but the girl
was still in the shadows of the carriage, peering out through the
window to watch the proceedings. How odd for the girl to be so shy,
with the gregarious Lady Coulter for a mother, and the rakehell to
put all other rakehells to shame, Quin, as a brother. Aurora wanted
to get to know her, to draw her out of her shell. That would be an
excellent project for the fortnight.

“
So very grown up. I
haven’t seen you in an age,” Lady Coulter continued, latching her
arm through one of Sir Jonas’s before turning back to Aurora. “And
you—I could pull my son over my knee for not even sending word that
he’d married, let alone not inviting us to come and meet you
immediately, dear. You are truly a lovely thing, aren’t
you?”

“
I’m pleased to make your
acquaintance, ma’am,” Aurora said, dipping into a brief
curtsy.

“
Ma’am? You may call me
Minerva, dear. I certainly intend to call you Aurora. And of
course, this is my husband, Sir Augustus Coulter,” the older woman
said with a wave of her hand. “And Nia? Nia, come out of the
carriage, dear, and meet your sister.” Lady Coulter lowered her
voice and said into Aurora’s ear: “I fear my daughter has suddenly
turned shy. She’ll warm up to you in no time.”

The young lady climbing out of the
carriage was a vision. Oh, she was young and awkward, to be sure,
perhaps even to the point of bungling. She stood taller than Aurora
(who was on the tall side for a lady) with long, spindly limbs that
made her seem more coltish than graceful. But her golden hair,
porcelain skin, and blue eyes as dark and mysterious as the night
sky held promise for when she would one day grow into her
own.

Nia looked around, allowing her eyes
to linger more on her mother and father than on either Aurora or
Sir Jonas. Then she lowered her eyes to the ground to mumble out a
greeting and dip a curtsy.

The sound of boots on the pea-gravel
lane had them all turning. Finally, Quin was returning to the main
house. Blasted man.

But before Aurora had a
chance to say anything to him, Lady Coulter marched across to him
with her fists planted at her hips. “You are an awful, horrid son
to treat me this way all these years. Your sister has not seen you
in so long that she will not recognize you. You neglected to even
write to inform me of your marriage, which, by the way, I would
have preferred to attend. You have not written to me since before
you ran out on your betrothal to Lady Phoebe, and that was more
than three years ago. If not for Jonas sending us word of your
exploits on the continent, we would not have known if you were dead
or alive. At least
he
behaves as a son ought, sending letters and coming for visits
and generally behaving as a member of a family. I have half a mind
to draw you over my knee right this moment.”

And then she wrapped him in the same
engulfing hug she had given to Aurora moments before. “From now on,
Aurora will keep me informed. Won’t you dear?”

“
Of course she will,” Sir
Augustus replied in his rough gravelly voice. “No one is brave
enough to disobey you. Except Quin. Particularly not Sir Jonas and
me, lass,” he whispered to Aurora conspiratorially with a nod in
Sir Jonas’s direction. “It’s always a better idea to do what
Minerva wants.
Always
.”

Sir Jonas raised an eyebrow and
winked.

~ * ~

Quin spent the rest of the day being
playfully berated by his mother, all while the woman doted upon
Aurora as the three sat in the gilt-edged high-backed chairs near
the windows. Jonas and Sir Augustus sat off near the hearth,
discussing pheasant hunting season and crops and politics. Nia
found a corner to herself near the tapestries where she could read
a book or stitch away at some embroidery, generally lowering her
gaze to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes, though occasionally, when it
seemed no one was paying her any attention, she would glance up and
stare curiously at Sir Jonas.

Which Aurora found to be a very
interesting development, indeed.

The girl was more gangly than
graceful—not quite fitting anywhere, but clearly a beauty in the
making. Given a few more years, Nia would almost certainly be a
diamond of the first water, perhaps even an Incomparable. She’d be
able to snag any gentleman in London that she wanted.

But it seemed the only gentleman she
wanted happened to be in Quinton Abbey at the moment.

“
Do please excuse me,”
Aurora said to Lady Coulter and Quin as she rose and slipped across
the room to where Nia sat off by herself.

The girl colored up profusely as
Aurora drew near, her perfect English rose complexion rising to a
delicate pink. She hastily folded her stitchery to set it aside.
“Lady Quinton,” she said in a soft voice, dipping her head ever
lower.

“
Call me Aurora. And I
shall call you Nia, if I may. We are sisters now, after all.” And
they were about to become co-conspirators, if the truth be told,
but there was no need to worry Nia prematurely. She needed to ease
into the discussion. Aurora slid down onto a plush settee next to
the girl. “I can’t help but notice the way you sneak glances across
at Sir Jonas. He is a very handsome man, is he not?”

Nia’s cheeks flushed to a somehow even
more becoming shade. “Oh, my. I do hope you’ll not read anything
into this. Jonas is…well, he is much like a brother to me. Even
more like one than Quin has ever been.”

That blush made her out as a fraud,
but Aurora wouldn’t call the poor girl out on such a tiny white
lie. The truth would reveal itself in due time. Particularly if
Aurora helped matters along. And she certainly intended to do just
that. Perhaps she’d let Rebecca in on the plan, as well. Having a
third conspirator might be called for in this situation,
particularly since Nia seemed to be so terribly shy. The girl might
not be cooperative.