“Touché!” declared Billy, impressed. “Well done, m’brother.”
“I am surprised you doubted me, lad,” his brother said
glibly.
Myriah took a huge bite of Billy’s strawberry tart, concealing the fact another tart lay hidden
beneath
its silver cover.
“Hold there, Titian!” shouted Billy, noting the pilferage.
“It would serve
you
right, odious boy that you are,
if
I ate the entire thing! And so I shall,” Myriah threatened.
“You do and you’ll become a plump little partridge, wench!” Billy reached out for the tart with his free hand, getting it slopped on his palm in the process. He proceeded to busy himself with licking his fingers and regaling both Myriah and his brother on the foibles of females.
Myriah presented him with the remaining tart and sat back in her chair to enjoy herself.
Lord Wimborne, having observed the raucous scene, was hard put to keep from declaring the girl a magnificent woman worthy of his heart. She was regal in spite of their erotic encounter … scarcely displaying that she recalled the event!
He could see she was fond of his Billy and that their play was innocent. Still, she was a creature of contradictions, and now there was the matter of her groom rushing off with a message for someone.
Kit left them abruptly, saying there were matters that needed his attention, and Myriah and Billy looked at each other for a long, silent moment. Then Billy smirked at her and said, “Had a turn-up with m’brother, eh?’
“Hush, slug-a-bed, and eat,” Myriah replied.
“Slug-a-bed!” the affronted Billy exclaimed. “Devil you say—’tis you that has made me so!”
~ Five ~
MYRIAH’S GRANDFATHER AND father eyed one another and sighed heavily. Everything that could be done, had been done. Everything that could be said, had been said. They were at a loss. She had left with her groom and had not contacted either of them.
A serving boy carrying a luncheon tray entered and began setting the covered plates on a stained wood table situated in the curve of a bay window overlooking the lawns of Myriah’s maternal grandfather’s home, Guildford House.
“Lawrence,” Lord Whitney said gently, “come, let us eat together.” He had respected and loved his father-in-law for too many years to allow a few bitter words to fester between them.
Lord Guildford ran a hand through his white and yellow locks and sighed heavily. He said nothing, but his expression told his son-in-law he felt much the same.
They sat down facing one another and began picking at their food.
“Don’t understand Myriah all the time,” her father said sadly. “Sometimes I think I’ve got her way of
thinking, and then she is off surprising me. Never really thought that she held Sir Roland in aversion, you see. Lord … how could I? She was in his arms … kissing the fellow … as though she had her heart in it.”
“Why wouldn’t she marry him if she had her heart in it, Whitney?” grumbled Lord Guildford. “Never knew her not to know her own mind.”
“That’s the thing that has me baffled. Thought at the moment she was just being perverse because I forced her hand. But she balked—ran away. I was so certain she was on her way here, to you, that I didn’t bother chasing after her until the next day.” He shook his head sadly. “Thought we got along, you see. Always believed she could come to me … and if not to me then certainly to you.”
“Well, if that don’t beat all!” her grandfather said, losing his temper again. “How the devil could she come to you? You told me yourself you were in a rage and determined to make the announcement right there and then.” He wagged a finger. “She knew once the announcement was made she was finished.”
“Now, now, Lawrence. After all, she did kiss Roland.”
“Confound it, man, she can’t be expected to make proper comparisons if she don’t kiss a fellow now and then!” Lord Guildford shouted, defending his granddaughter.
The younger man opened his eyes wide but refrained from pointing out to his father-in-law that as
a
grandfather he seemed to hold opinions far different from those he’d had as a father. “Well … the point is … why, then, didn’t she come here to you? Always did whenever she was in a pucker.”
“It’s clear to me … ain’t it clear to you?” grumbled Lord Guildford.
“No,
it
ain’t! Very little of what Myriah does these days is clear to me.”
“Well, she didn’t want this confounded scalawag, Roland, to come after her. Can’t say as I blame her, for he should not have allowed you to bully her into such a position. But that don’t signify. Since Myriah
can
take care of herself, she don’t need defending by the likes of him.”
“Lawrence …”
“Hold! I’m coming to the thing. Now, there she is, on her way to me with Tabby right with her, just as he always was with her mother, and, ‘Whoops!’ she thinks. ‘If I go to my grandfather, Papa will follow, and there’ll be a row over me. Can’t have that,’ says
Myriah
to herself. She changes her plan … goes somewhere else!” his lordship said, solving the problem in his own mind.
“Thank God Tabby is with her, for he’ll see no harm comes to her.
But
even if what you say is true, and she decided to descend upon someone else,
where
is that, I want to know.”
Lord Guildford threw down his fork, put his hands into each other, and leaned heavily upon his elbows. His mind sought other times … happier times. He had survived the death of a wife he had adored, only to be struck a few years later with the death of his only child, Myriah’s mother. His losses had made him a recluse, for he preferred to remain at Guildford House where he could be comfortable, away from society.
Only one person had been able to coax him out of his quiet, protective shell, forcing him to go riding … forcing him to Brighton … even to London
:
Myriah.
She was the image of her mother and her grandmother before her. She was his sole interest, his joy, his only grandchild. How often he had smiled with pleasure to see her riding up his drive—his heart full with the knowledge that she adored him.
How she would tease him. “Do let us go out, Grandpapa—best of my beaux. Come, Grandpapa, the London bucks are naught to you … come with me to London.”
As he remembered her last visit, a guilty pang swept over him. He had noticed she was listless, had seen the sadness in her eyes, and had somehow felt unable to help her quiet desperation. She always confided everything to him … and he could not remember her mentioning anyone with whom she had grown close in the last two years. Indeed, hadn’t she said that she had lost all her best friends to marriage?
“There is no one to whom she could have gone. I know of absolutely no one,” Myriah’s grandfather said.
“There must be
someone
, and at least Tabby is with her,” Myriah’s papa supplied hopefully.
Both men knew that Tabson was devoted to Myriah. The groom had arrived here at Guildford House when he was no older than fifteen, in rags and starving, looking for work. Lord Guildford’s daughter had taken him straight to the kitchen, had him fed, bathed, clothed and taken over to her father’s head groom for training. He’d worshipped his new mistress and had been one of the servants who had accompanied her to her new home when she’d married Lord Whitney. His devotion to her had carried over to Myriah.
“Aye,” Lord Guildford agreed. “He won’t let harm come to her if he can help it.”
~ Six ~
A HEAVY KNOCKING SOUNDED, and Myriah’s ears picked up as she hurried from her bedroom. Going to the ornate wooden railing overlooking the central hall, she saw Lord Wimborne had already reached the front door.
What—had he been waiting there? Why?
He opened the door wide, and she saw him as he raised a brow inquiringly. “Yes, Tabson?”
Tabby fidgeted with his woolen hat and looked
un
comfortable.
“’Tis
Mistress …
I
be needing
a
word
with her if ye please,
m’lord.”
“Of
course,
Tabson,”
Lord Wimborne said. “I will go and—”
“No need,” Myriah said from the top of the stairs. “Tabby, I am coming right down.” Mynah skipped lightly and easily down the stairs, her skirt in hand. She dismissed his lordship with a look, but he had the poor manners to ignore her meaning and remained standing interestedly at her side.
Myriah pulled a haughty face and turned to Tabby, who was still trying to catch his breath. “Let us take a private walk outdoors, Tabby.”
They walked towards the rear of the house, making a very wide circle around the overgrown bushes that lined the buildings’ stone walls. “Whatever has you frenzied, Tabby?”
“I took the note, like you asked—like you wanted me
to
—
though it be just like I told ye it would. Yer papa and grandpa had a set-to over it.”
“Oh, dear,” Myriah murmured. She had hoped the note would help to calm them both down.
“But that not be what ’as me worked up, m’lady! ’Tis that man … the one you be so set on jilting.”
“I am not jilting him, Tabby!” Myriah objected. “How could I be when I have not accepted him?”
“As to that I ain’t one to know … not being in the petticoat line meself … but the cull tried following me, he did!” Tabby said portentously.
“What—are you saying he saw you?”
Myriah
shrieked
.
“Never you fret none, m’lady. I twigged the covey’s rig, I did!” said Tabby, dropping into street vernacular. “Saw him, but didn’t let on, and lost him in Rye!” The glow in Tabby’s leathery cheeks told her how proud he was of himself.
Myriah gave the elderly man a hug, causing even more color to rise to his cheeks. “Oh, you are a dear! Thank you, Tabby. I shall have to be very careful to stay out of sight, for it seems Sir Roland is a determined man!”
Myriah was worried, but she didn’t wish to display this to her groom. Sir Roland had somehow tracked her, if not to Wimborne, to the vicinity. She smiled reassuringly and said, “Now, sir, go and have something to eat, and then I want you to rest for the remainder of the afternoon. Oh and, Tabby, you may not be in the petticoat line, but Cook tells me she has fixed up something special just for you. Hmmm …” she teased. “I hadn’t realized you and Cook had become so … er … friendly.”
Tabby’s eyes dropped, and it appeared he’d discovered the grass beneath his feet looked particularly green, so green, in fact, he was unable to take his gaze from its rich color!
Myriah giggled and gave her retainer a push towards the back door before she turned and made her way to the front entrance, wondering if she was going to have to face Kit. She found the door locked, and her bright eyes narrowed. Now what was he up to? She was obliged to give the knocker a heavy clang and await an answer.
Once again Lord Wimborne opened the door, but no smile lit his gray eyes as he bowed her in. She picked up her skirts, her chin well up as she tried to pass him.
* * *
He reached out and took hold of her arm. “Miss White …”
“Release my arm,
my
lord,” Myriah demanded harshly.
“That is not what you told me last night …” He couldn’t help himself—the words were out before he realized. That was not where he wanted to go.
She sizzled with indignation, and he found himself enchanted. He couldn’t tear away his gaze from her as she stomped her foot and advised him. “You, sir, are a cad … to throw that at me. Last night was evidently a mistake—as much for me as it obviously was for you. Men are not the only ones who suffer natural feelings of …” She bit her lip, and her next words felt like a slap. “…normal, healthy desire! You were there and capable … that is all.”