This Heart of Mine (11 page)

“Whom did you say?”
Robin suddenly sat up on the bed where he say lounging. “What is the name of your betrothed wife?”

“Velvet. Velvet de Marisco,” came the answer. “Good Lord! Velvet de Marisco!” Robin began to laugh.

“Do you know her?” Alex was now looking curiously at his friend. “Has she become pockmarked or has her nose grown overlong? I remember naught but that she was a pretty child.”

“Aye, I know her! She’s my sister, Alex! My half-sister, and she’s outrageously fair. That’s why you have always looked so familiar to me. We originally met several years ago at your betrothal feast at my mother and stepfather’s estate of
Queen’s Malvern.”

Now it was some six years later, and Robin had married his betrothed wife, Alison de Grenville, had sired three daughters with her, and had buried her almost two years past. He could still not think easily about Alison, that sweet, foolish, and headstrong young girl who had given him his first daughter, Elsbeth, nine months to the day after their wedding; Catherine, ten months later; and then against all advice died while birthing Cecily within a year of Catherine. Alison had been so proud of her children, but she had felt a strong, almost fanatical responsibility to give her husband sons. He had known that it was his responsibility to protect her, for his seed was strong and his wife very fertile. He had tried avoiding her after little Catherine’s birth, but she had mischievously gotten him drunk one night, and in his wine-induced stupor he had thought one time could not hurt.

Robin had used his mourning as an excuse to withdraw from court life and from all social contact in his Devon neighborhood. After a year his sister Willow began to fuss at him to remarry, but he could not be moved. Logic told him he was not entirely responsible for his wife’s death, but his emotions told him another tale. Had he been mature enough to control his baser nature, Alison would be alive today. He had not been in love with her, but they had been good friends.

Now Robin found himself drawn back into the world by a combination of events. The queen’s proposed visit to Devon had necessitated an invitation on his part, for his father’s hospitality had been famous, and as Geoffrey Southwood’s son he could do no less. Then when it was decided that the queen should return to London because of the Spanish threat, he had felt duty-bound to travel to the capital with his troop of men for England’s defense and to entertain the queen anyway. As he had told Velvet, Robin had also received several frantic communications from various members of his family complaining about his youngest sister’s behavior. With their mother and stepfather away, Robin’s siblings, older and
younger, looked upon him as the head of the family by virtue of his high rank.

He had been in London just a short time when he received a rather droll letter from Alexander Gordon, now the Earl of BrocCairn. The earl had arrived at
Queen’s Malvern
to find an apologetic Lord Bliss in place of the blushing bride he had expected. He would need an entrée to the court if he was to catch up with his reluctant betrothed. Would Robin help him?

Robin had answered immediately, telling his old friend to come directly to London to stay with him, and together they would work out the mess that Velvet had made. She wasn’t really like their mother, Robin thought, but still there was enough of Skye in her to make her willful.

Alex had arrived quietly in London riding his own horse and accompanied only by his valet, a rather wicked-looking rogue named Dugald. With one smooth motion, he slid from his mount and turned to greet his host, who had hurried from his house, a smile upon his handsome countenance. Seeing Robin’s face again reminded Alex that in Paris women had called the pair of them the
Archangel
and
Lucifer
, for the contrast between the tall, fair Englishman and the tanned, dark-haired Scot had been that sharp.

“Alex! Damn me, you look just the same. Welcome to London, my friend,” Robin greeted him.

The Earl of BrocCairn grasped and shook the outstretched hand offered him. “I’m glad to be here, Robin. When can I meet yer sister?”

Robin grinned ruefully, remembering Alex’s way of always coming directly to the point. He led his guest into the house, directing Dugald to follow the majordomo. After settling Lord BrocCairn in his library with a large silver goblet of strong Burgundy, he said, “It’s not going to be as easy as all that, Alex. You cannot march into the queen’s court, introduce yourself to Velvet, and carry her off to church.”

“Why not?”

Robin had to laugh. He simply could not help it. Alex had always known how to wield his weapon well with the ladies, but he had absolutely no finesse or tact to use on the fair sex. He knew nothing of how to court a woman, for he assumed his prowess in bed would be enough. The problem, Robin decided, was that his friend had never known a virgin. He spoke carefully. “Alex, my sister is an independent wench by nature. She is very much her parents’ child, and despite the betrothal made between you two, my mother has always promised her that she could marry for love.”

“A damn fool promise, if ye ask me,” came the surly reply. The Earl of BrocCairn cast Robin a black look.

Robin hid his smile. “Perhaps,” he said, “but my mother’s first marriage was arranged when she was in the cradle. They did not suit, and her life was a hell on earth until he died. My mother has never forgotten that. Velvet was born out of a great love and is extremely precious to both her parents. I know that they meant for you to come for Velvet’s sixteenth birthday next year, to spend some months getting to know her, and letting her get to know you. She has been very sheltered her entire life and, in all likelihood, would have easily fallen in love with you. This sudden change in your life, your urgent desire to marry her has frightened her. She doesn’t know you, Alex. You have never even been to see her since the day of your betrothal. With her parents away she felt almost hunted when your message came. Particularly since our Uncle Conn was at a loss as to what to do.”

“I
must
marry, Robin! I am the last of my line, and the thought that my brother-in-law, poor weak-kneed idiot that he is, could inherit
Dun Broc
infuriates me. I cannot wait!”

The strain in his friend’s face was apparent, and Robin’s voice softened. “Listen to me, Alex. I inherited
Lynmouth
when I was barely out of the cradle. My father and my younger brother had died in a late-winter epidemic, and I was the last male of my line. Yet it was almost twenty years before I wed and had children.

“You must cultivate patience, Alex, because if you are to win my sister over, and you must if you want a happy married life, you, my old friend, are going to have to court her properly. My mother and stepfather will return to England in a few months’ time, and I know they will espouse your cause. Unless, of course, Velvet takes a violent dislike to you.”

“By ‘court’ I suppose you mean I shall have to practice yer precious Sassenach ways with the lass.”

Robin chuckled. “Don’t grumble at me, Alex. I’m not the one who sent an abrupt note to
Queen’s Malvern
demanding my bride. You’re bloody lucky Velvet didn’t ask to serve her other godmother. Queen Margot of France! Please, I beg of you, don’t be a pig-headed Scot with me over this. Your King Jamie will one day be England’s king, and then we shall all be united.”

“Hell, Robin, I’ve never courted a woman properly in my life. When we were at the university in Paris and traveling in France and Italy, there was no need to court. There was only the need for ready coin to pay a wench for her favors. At
Dun Broc
I don’t even have to bother with that. Because I was my father’s son the wenches were willing, and now that I am the master they are even more so.”

“Then it’s time, nay, past time, that you learned how to court a respectable lass, Alex. ’Tisn’t really hard, you know. Poetry and posies, clever little gifts and a quick wit, sweet words meant for her alone.”

“She is so very beautiful,” Lord BrocCairn said, almost to himself, as he slipped the miniature of Velvet from his doublet and gazed upon it.

“Aye, she’s beautiful,” Robin agreed, fighting to keep his mouth from breaking into a grin. “She’s also extremely intelligent, independent, and totally spoilt.”

“God’s blood, man, ye’re scaring me to death!” exploded Alex. “How the hell am I, a simple Highlander, supposed to handle that?”

“God almighty, man, don’t let her know you’re afraid of her,” Robin fretted. “She’s a lass, a virgin, an innocent. Court her gently but firmly. She’s not been wooed before, for her mother and her father were most strict with her.”

“I wish she didn’t have to know who I was, Robin. Not at first. If only I could meet her without her knowing that I’m the Earl of BrocCairn.”

Robin’s lime-green eyes narrowed a moment, and then he said, “According to my uncle she didn’t want to know anything about you, she was so panicked by the thought of a sudden marriage. She might remember BrocCairn, but I’ll wager she doesn’t know that BrocCairn is Alexander Gordon. Let me introduce you as Lord Gordon, and if she doesn’t recognize the name, then you’ll be safe to court her for a time. If Velvet doesn’t know who you are, then perhaps she will feel comfortable with you and allow herself to get to know you.”

“But if she doesn’t know I’m BrocCairn, will she allow a man, not her betrothed, to court her?”

“ ’Twill be nothing more than a harmless flirtation, Alex, and all maids enjoy a summer flirtation.” Robin laughed lightly. “ ’Tis good for them to think they are sowing wild oats before settling down. They are then more content in their marriages.”

Now it was Alex Gordon’s turn to laugh. “How in hell did ye get so knowledgeable these last few years?” he teased his friend. “I thought that I was the elder.”

“Aye, you are my elder by three years, Alex, but I’ve been wed, a father, and a widower in the time we’ve been separated.”

Robin sighed deeply. “Experience makes for knowledge.”

“I was sorry to hear about Alison,” Alex said quietly. “I wish I had known her, for she must have been quite a lass that ye mourn her so deeply, Robin.”

“She was a good girl,” his friend replied. “If you hadn’t been in France when we wed, you might have met her.”

“Aye, but my trip to France was for the crown, and I do precious little for the Stewarts as it is.” He smiled encouragingly. “Ye’ll find another lass someday, Robin.”

“Nay, I’ll not wed again,” came the firm but quiet reply.

Alex did not press his friend further, but instead asked, “Are ye not going to show me this London town of yours, Robin?”

“Aye, I’ll show you London, Alex, and once I’ve entertained the queen, you’ll go to court too. In a few days’ time I’m scheduled to give a huge fête. I don’t believe there has been one in this house since my father’s time. He always gave an enormous Twelfth Night celebration, a masque that every dressmaker in London both dreaded and delighted in, for the costumes were incredible to behold. Since his death, though, my mother has rarely used the house. She has one of her own next door that I suspect will go to Velvet one day.”

“When will I meet Velvet?”

“She’s coming to stay with me the day before the queen’s fête. Courage, Alex! I’ve known Velvet to throw things and to shriek, but I’ve never known her to bite.” While his friend glowered at him, Robin chortled mischievously.

Now, a few days later as he ushered his sister into Lynmouth House, Robin wondered if Alex could learn to court her and if Velvet would even give him the opportunity. She was so full of the delights of the court and of London, which was to be expected considering the quiet life she had led heretofore.

Velvet was enchanted by the elegance of her brother’s ancestral house, and her open admiration brought many smiles to the faces of the staff she encountered, most of whom had been there in her mother’s time.

“I have a guest staying with me, Velvet,” Robin said casually.

“Who?”

“Alexander Gordon, my Scots friend from the Sorbonne. You may remember me speaking of him. We met at the university,
shared quarters, and then went on through Europe together.”

“Umm,” said Velvet, not particularly interested in her brother’s friend and far more concerned with the translucent porcelain bowls filled with red damask roses that adorned the main hall of the mansion.

“You will probably meet him tonight at dinner, Velvet.”

“Who?” Velvet suddenly realized that she had not been attending to her brother’s words closely enough.

“Alex Gordon, my friend.”

“I am sorry, Robin. Your house is so beautiful that I cannot stop looking. I promise by tonight I shall be more attentive, and I shall certainly be polite to your friends. Did Pansy come from Whitehall yet?”

“I’ll ask the housekeeper, and then I’ll show you to your apartments.” He led her into the library, poured her a light and fruity pale gold wine, and, ringing for a footman, sent him for the housekeeper. When she arrived a moment later, the housekeeper bobbed a curtsy and assured Mistress de Marisco that her tiring woman had indeed arrived safely with her mistress’s wardrobe, and was even now preparing a bath for her lady.

Velvet arose and, kissing her brother, allowed herself to be led off by the beaming housekeeper who was already regaling Velvet with stories of when her mama was a young bride in this house.

Velvet’s apartments were most spacious, consisting of an anteroom, a lovely light bedchamber that looked out over the river and the gardens, a dressing room, and even a small, separate, windowed room for Pansy. Pansy, though just fourteen, had been well trained by her mother. She was so clever with hair in fact that when her skill was discovered, Pansy became in great demand amongst the Maids of Honor. She would, to their annoyance, do none of them without her mistress’s permission, which meant that those in Velvet’s bad graces could expect no help from the loyal Pansy.

Velvet almost cried aloud in her delight at the sight of the steaming tub. Baths at court were few and far between. Even when she had a little time to herself, which wasn’t often, there was the matter of bribing the queen’s footmen to haul water, hopefully hot, to the tiny cubicle assigned to her when she was not on duty, or to the Maiden’s Chamber.