How to Beguile a Beauty (21 page)

Lydia wanted her bed, and to be away from Jasmine, perhaps the latter more than the former. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

Jasmine sniffled, bottom lip trembling. “I suppose it must.”

“Oh, all right. What do you want to ask me?”

The trembling lip reformed into half of a pleased smile. “People often say things and don't mean them, don't they?”

Lydia tilted her head, wondering where on earth that question had come from. “Yes, I suppose they do.”

“Then if someone says they'll do something if someone else says they won't do something—then they probably won't really do it?”

Lydia considered this. “I…I imagine that would depend on the person doing the saying. Are you talking about someone issuing an ultimatum?”

Now Jasmine frowned. “An ultimatum?”

Really, the girl was exhausting. “Yes. That would be like saying that if you don't stop asking questions and let me go to bed, I shall box your ears, and you then saying you'll ask more questions anyway.”

“So you'd be angry if I asked more questions?”

Lydia resisted the impulse to roll her eyes, which she really shouldn't do, because everyone else could see her disgust when she did that. Not, she supposed, that Jasmine would notice. “Yes, I'd be angry if you asked more questions. As, I feel the need to point out, you just did.”

“But you won't really box my ears.”

“No, I suppose not. Jasmine, what do you want to know? Really.”

“Oh, nothing,” the girl said, smiling brightly once more. “You answered my question. People say things, insist on things, but then don't do what they said they'd do if you refuse to do what they want you to do. Especially if you do.”

Lydia was beginning to think she wasn't awake at all, but trapped in some bizarre nightmare. “Especially if you do what?”

“Do what they said you had to do so that they don't do anything else, of course. Then they won't do it—what they'd said they'd do, I mean. I feel much better now. Thank you.”

“I suppose you're welcome. Goodnight, Jasmine,” Lydia said. Closing the door to her own chamber, she leaned against it, happy to be away from Jasmine's ridiculous ramblings.

But she couldn't forget that Jasmine had lied to her, and that she'd been outside. She had to wonder at what she had discovered. And, if her conclusions were correct, what did it all mean?

Worse, how could she possibly tell Tanner? After all, this was his cousin. And, if she provided him with Mr. Beattie's name, she'd also have to admit that she'd been, for lack of a more comforting word, snooping.
Before
Tanner had come to her, loved her. When it could still be believed that he would eventually honor his father's last wish and wed Jasmine.

Then she remembered what she had decided earlier last evening. Justin. She would tell Justin, and he would tell Tanner. At least then her embarrassment would be from a distance.

A slight knock on the door had her nearly crying out, and when the door began to open, she jumped back out of the way, fearful that Jasmine had come to confront her about the letter in her reticule.

But it was Sarah, rubbing one eye as she yawned open-mouthed, then blinked at the sight of her mistress. “My lady,” she said, dropping into a curtsy, her aging knees creaking. “I thought I could just sneak in and build up the fire before you had to put your feet on a cold floor.”

Lydia was suddenly very aware of her bare feet beneath the hem of her dressing gown. “Why, thank you, Sarah, that's very considerate of you. But as you can see, I'm already awake. We're to make an early start of it, are we?”

Sarah was already kneeling in front of the fire, adding two small split logs to the grate. “Yes, my lady. We should be at His Grace's before noon, if we set off within the hour, or so says his man, Hawkins, when he roused me from my cot. It's still dark, I told him, but he said that's the rain, and we don't want too much of it laying on the roadway between here and the better roads up ahead. Mr. Wigglesworth is already in the kitchens, causing an unholy ruckus. I'm about terrified to go asking for a cup of hot chocolate for you.”

“You've seen Mr. Wigglesworth, Sarah?” Lydia
asked, curious about this man who ran about making Justin's life comfortable and everyone else's a horror.

“Only the once, and that was enough.” Sarah got to her feet with an
ummph
to help her up, and headed for the rumpled bed. “I shared my room with Mildred, my lady. Miss Harburton's maid? Now there's a woman could talk the buttons right off a coat. I'd never be one like her, talking about you the way Mildred does her mistress.”

Lydia forgot about Wigglesworth. “Really, Sarah? What sort of things does she say? I mean, not that I should be asking you, or you should be telling me.”

Sarah shot her a smile and a wink as she began plumping up the pillows. “Oh, this and that. About how Miss Harburton never gives her any of her castoff finery, or any of her candle stubs neither. Real tight-fisted she is, and her papa along with her. And the same with whatever comes out of the kitchens. Never once a
have a bun, Mildred,
or even a
you can have the rest of this lovely cheese for yourself, Mildred.
That sort of thing? Not that there's much of anything left when Miss Harburton gets through, Mildred says. Mildred was hoping for a bit of a taste of Mr. Wigglesworth's fine joint of beef last night, but Miss Harburton didn't leave so much as a crumb for a mouse on that tray His Grace sent up to her. I told Mildred, I told her you always give me a taste of anything that's sure to never make it to the servant's hall. It's just polite, I told her, and what
real
ladies do.”

Lydia didn't hear the compliment as she was already mentally going over her conversation with Jasmine.
She hadn't eaten a thing off that tray Tanner had sent up, she'd said. The fib supported her reason for supposedly going in search of Mildred, but she had delivered that particular part of the lie so quickly, so easily, so glibly, that Lydia hadn't questioned it.

That ease bespoke a quick mind for mischief and extensive experience in the art of lying, the practice of deception. Why, she'd make Nicole seem a raw amateur.

I can never believe another word the girl says,
Lydia decided silently.
Not another single word.

“Oh, dear,” Sarah said, her hand holding up the coverlet, clearly in the act of making the bed look less rumpled—Sarah believed a person left a room as she found it or else her carelessness would reflect badly on her mistress. “I didn't know it was coming on to your time, my lady. Weren't we just done with that? I could have—”

The maid's mouth snapped shut and her fair face turned nearly beet red. She quickly began stripping the sheets from the bed. “Never you mind, my lady. Probably just a little something left over, and riding up on Daisy stirred it up a mite. I'll just take these downstairs and give them a wash myself, if you don't mind waiting a bit on that chocolate? Save the maids here a bit of work. And I'll order up a nice tub for you, as well. Lots of hot water to soothe you where you're a little sore, love…riding on Daisy, that is.”

Lydia waited until Sarah had bustled out of the room, the betraying sheets bundled under her arm, before sinking against the edge of the bed, overwhelmed with embarrassment.

And then she laid back on the mattress, trying not to giggle, thinking how lucky she was that she didn't treat Sarah as Jasmine did Mildred, or the whole inn would know within five minutes that Lady Lydia Daughty had waved farewell to her virginity last night at the Crown and Sugarloaf…

T
ANNER WAS LINGERING
at the bottom of the stairs, hoping he appeared no more than a man at loose ends, yet fairly certain he more resembled a lovelorn youth waiting for a glimpse of his beloved.

Leaving Lydia had been the most difficult thing he'd ever done. Warm with sleep, her soft, even breathing invaded his soul.

They hadn't spoken. With their passion spent, it had been enough for him to draw her close, kiss her hair, feel her cheek against his chest, glorying in the knowledge that he hadn't hurt her more than necessary. She'd found his hand beneath the covers and brought it to her lips, kissing his fingertips before sliding her fingers through his and holding his hand that way as she fell asleep.

He'd never felt so powerful, never known himself to be so vulnerable. She trusted him. If anything ever happened to her, his life would be over. Love was wonderful, but also terrifying. And he wouldn't trade how he felt for all of the riches of the Orient…

“Nothing else to do save prop up that wall?” Justin
said, popping the last of a sweet roll into his mouth, clearly having just quit the private dining room. “If I'd known we had all this time to be leisurely, I wouldn't have chanced insulting Wigglesworth by all but bolting down my breakfast. The man suffers from a delicate disposition, you understand.”

“My apologies to Wiggleworth's disposition. We're merely waiting on the ladies,” Tanner told him, mentally shaking himself free of his thoughts. His mind had to be sharp around Justin; only a fool would think otherwise. “They've breakfasted in their chambers and should be down shortly. Last night's rain has probably made a mess of the road. If we'd ever see the blasted sun, we could wait for the mud to dry, but there's little hope of that. Now, is that explanation enough, or must I go grovel at Wigglesworth's feet for you?”

“He'll survive. Ah, and here comes your lovely cousin. Whoops, and there she goes again. She must have forgotten something. Well, in any event, when she returns, I shall escort her to the coach. Or would you rather I waited for Lydia? No, no,” he said, holding up one manicured hand, “I believe I know the answer to that one.”

“I don't believe I like your smile,” Tanner said warily.

“Really? And here I thought you enjoyed my company. Why, I even came to your chamber last evening, on about midnight, to share some thoughts I'd had—brilliant, all of them—on how we might go on after I've inspected the remainder of the Malvern collection. But
you must have been fast asleep, because you didn't answer my knock. Imagine that, a soldier who has learned how to sleep soundly in an unfamiliar place. You must tell me how you've managed that.”

“You don't sleep well, Justin?”

“In unfamiliar places? Truthfully, no. And there have been too many of them over the years. Perhaps I will go home once our small investigation at Malvern is complete. I doubt there will be any reason for me to linger.”

“You know you're welcome to stay as long as you wish. I didn't invite you just to have you look at the damn jewelry. To tell you the truth, I haven't thought about those stones since we spoke yesterday.”

“And one can only wonder why,” Justin drawled, his smile all-knowing.

“Never mind that. Please, I want you to stay with us at Malvern. You're my friend.”

“Yes, I know. That friendship is one of the great gifts of my life. I wish to preserve it.”

“Now what the bloody hell does that—”

Tanner sensed Lydia's presence at the top of the steep stairs even before he turned to see her slowly descending them, carefully lifting the hem of her riding habit as she held tightly to the railing. Her eyes were on the steps, but as she neared the bottom she raised them, looking directly into his.

The expression in those beautiful sky blue eyes came like a punch to his ribs, for he saw nervousness, shyness…and joy.

“Lydia,” he said quietly as he approached the stairs,
his hand held out for her to take it. She slipped her fingers onto his palm and he closed his over hers before raising their joined hands. His gaze never leaving hers, he kissed the smooth skin on the back of her hand.

How long they stood there, Lydia slightly above him on the stairs, speaking volumes to each other without uttering a single word, Tanner didn't know. Because nothing else mattered; nothing and nobody.

“Tanner? Yoo-hoo, Tanner. I can't get past you and Lydia if you're going to persist on standing here like this. Is there something wrong? Did she trip, hurt her ankle or something? I vow these staircases are so steep, it's no wonder we haven't all come to grief on them—oh, not that anyone
has,
of course.”

He would have missed it if he hadn't been looking at her so intently, but Tanner saw the quick roll of Lydia's eyes as Jasmine pushed past them.

“Oh, good morning, Justin,” Jasmine went on, once she'd paused to take in her surroundings. “Goodness, and here we all are, all muddled together in this small hallway. Have you all been waiting for me?”

“All of our lives,” the baron drawled, bowing in her direction before holding out his bent arm to her. “It would be my esteemed pleasure to escort you through the raindrops to the coach, whilst your cousin takes care of Lydia. Friend? You will take care of her for me, won't you?”

The two men faced each other across years of friendship.

“Always,” Tanner said quietly.

Justin inclined his head slightly, and then smiled
that enigmatic smile of his. “Yes, I believe you will. Jasmine, shall we two be off? Wigglesworth awaits without, armed with an umbrella.”

Tanner watched them go.

“Is the baron all right?” Lydia asked as Tanner helped her lift the hood of her cloak up and over her hair.

“Yes, he's fine,” he assured her. “I think Justin's taking a new look at his life, possibly at life in general. There's more to both, I believe, than he's ever before taken the time to see, or even believed existed. I only hope he finds some of it for himself.”

“I don't understand,” Lydia said, slipping her hand into his. The gesture was so simple, yet so symbolic of their new easiness with each other, their intense awareness of each other.

“I know. But he does. I'll explain later. Much later, or else you'll feel sorry for him, and he would sense that in a moment.” He tipped up her chin. “Are you all right?”

Her cheeks turned a becoming pink. “I'm fine, yes. Tanner, I—”

He touched his mouth lightly to hers, unable to resist any longer; a quick, stolen kiss, but with clinging lips and a soft sigh from Lydia when it was over. “I can't wait to show you Malvern. I want you to love it.”

“I'm sure I already do,” she said quietly.

And both of them knew what they were really saying.

“We, um, we need to go now. They're waiting for us.”

“Yes, I—oh my goodness.”

Tanner looked past the just-opened door to the hulking shadow standing outside the doorway, a large black umbrella clutched in one ham-sized fist and held above his head. The man was clad all in black, a long cape swirling about his tree-trunk legs that were spread wide apart, as if he was keeping himself steady on the deck of a ship tossing on a stormy sea.

He stood nearly as wide as he was tall—and he was inordinately tall. His massive head and considerable cheeks seemed to shine by dint of the wall mounted candlelight reflecting off enormous quantities of rain-speckled black frizzed hair. His black eyes were impervious to the candlelight, however; they were flat and so devoid of expression that a fool would know there were no cheery thoughts going on anywhere inside that colossal head.

In short, the newcomer had all the jolly air about him of an undertaker come for the body of the deceased and determined to be paid in advance for the courtesy.

No wonder Lydia was now clasping his hand so tightly.

“Ah, Wigglesworth,” Tanner said, attempting to keep a straight face, for he had been witness to this reaction many times. “Thank you for coming back for us.”

“You're most entirely welcome, Your Grace,” Wigglesworth said, delicately stepping out from behind the giant and entering the small foyer. Clad all in impeccable light grey, down to his hose and kid shoes, not a raindrop marred the thick silk or wilted the masses of lace at his throat and wrists.

Wigglesworth was the picture of sartorial perfection, albeit one that would have been painted two decades previously. The only impediments to perfection were his size (bantam roosters might be taller, or at the least, carry more weight), and the fact that he possessed the high-pitched voice of a lady who has just discovered a mouse in her pudding.

He swept off his wide-brimmed hat—the one with the snowy white plume curling about it—displaying a finely powdered periwig, and made an elegant leg toward Lydia.

“My lady, your servant.”

“We'll go with you now,” Tanner said once Justin's servant had turned and made another elegant bow in his direction.

“How very gracious. Only at your convenience and in your own good time, Your Grace,” Wigglesworth trilled. “Brutus and I are content to await your pleasure. Brutus, having delivered our invitation to His Grace and his lady, I am ready to make progress to my coach, if you please. He'll return directly for you, Your Grace. Tell them you'll be back directly, Brutus.”

The giant grunted low in his throat and then smiled a smile that would make lesser men—perhaps even dozens at a time, and all well-armed—call out for their mothers.

“Very nicely done,” Wigglesworth complimented the man. “And now—Brutus,
up!
”

Brutus flung back one side of his cloak and picked up Wigglesworth at the waist as if he weighed no more
than a feather. His plumed hat now in his hand, Wigglesworth disappeared beneath the cloak and Brutus turned away from the doorway.

“No wonder his pretty slippers are so clean.
Brutus?
” Lydia said, her eyes wide as if she'd just seen something very singular. Which she had.

“Hmm, yes,” Tanner said, believing he needed to explain Brutus to her. “He doesn't speak. He may be able to, but no one has ever said. Probably because no one has ever dared to inquire. Justin may know, as Brutus is his discovery, but it would be impolite to ask.”

“What an odd pair the two of them are. Or should I say the
three
of them?”

“Justin would be the first to tell you he doesn't like being thought ordinary.”

“Yes, that's rather obvious. I like him very much, but I will confess that I don't truly understand why he's chosen to be the way he is. I'm convinced there's so much more driving him than that unfortunate duel and having to be gone from England for so long.”

“The duel and banishment weren't enough? He's got some other deep, dark secret? No, there's nothing. He's simply Justin. Someday, hopefully, he'll find someone who will force him to not just laugh at the vagaries of life, but to become a part of it,” Tanner said thoughtfully. “He deserves that, and I think he's made his beginning. In the meantime, we'll just enjoy him for the good friend he is. In any event, for now you'll admit the partnership between Brutus and Wigglesworth is a good one. Would
you
listen to Wigglesworth if he
strutted into your kitchen, demanding he be allowed to commandeer it for his master?”

“He hasn't a very commanding appearance, no,” she said, smiling.

“Ah, but then Brutus enters behind him, and everyone in the kitchens is suddenly all smiles and how may I assist you. Justin thinks he's a genius to have thought of it, which he did after the first time Wigglesworth found his lovely suit of clothes with himself inside it deposited on the dung heap. He also told me that the only person who doesn't realize what's going on is Wigglesworth, who believes it is his own consequence that opens all doors for him. Now, quickly, as it's still raining fairly heavily, do you want Brutus to carry you to the coach?”

“Would it be terrible of me to admit that, even if the man is relatively harmless, I'd probably rather drown than to disappear inside that cloak?”

“I was hoping you'd say that.” Tanner bent and scooped her up into his arms as the very large Brutus and the equally large umbrella stood once more just outside the doorway. She clung to his neck and he carried her across the innyard to the coach, Brutus trotting along beside him, the umbrella covering them.

Justin pushed the door open and Tanner deposited Lydia inside, then entered the coach himself, a rather ungainly move, as Brutus had decided to give him a helpful boost that nearly sent him headfirst into the other door.

“Lose your footing?” Justin asked, outwardly all concern.

“No, I always enter my coach on my knees,” Tanner grumbled as Lydia grinned down at him.

“How odd. But, if it makes you happy, who am I to cavil?”

“We've got more than five hours to be packed in here together unless the rain stops, Justin,” Tanner pointed out as he picked himself up and deposited himself on the seat beside his friend, across from the ladies, who would be allowed to ride in the forward-facing seats. “Don't make me have to shoot you before we're out of the innyard.”

“Ah, touché! Lovely day for a drive,” Justin went on quickly. “I must come to the country more often. It's so…bucolic.”

“I can't wait to be back at Malvern,” Jasmine said, oblivious to Justin's facetiousness, as she was lamentably oblivious to most anything that didn't affect her directly, Tanner had decided. He shot her a look as she launched into a tangled mass of description of his home that wouldn't have had him recognizing it if he hadn't known the subject of her ramblings, and held up a hand to interrupt her.

“Jasmine? What's wrong with your face?”

“My face?” she responded in shocked tones, raising a hand to her left cheek, which was just where he had been looking. “Nothing's
wrong
with my face. What a horrid thing for you to say to me, Tanner.”