Chapter 7

 

 

The guests spent the next day in the usual house party activities. Frederick provided fine fishing for the gentlemen in a rushing river that crossed his land while the women took a pleasant walk to a nearby abbey, where a picnic was provided.

“Ditie, I don’t like strolling,” Athena complained. “The stones scuff my shoes.”

Her sister’s constant grumbling about the state of her clothing and whines about long grass, dirt, rocks on the path and low-hanging tree branches lessened the joy of the excursion somewhat for Aphrodite, but she enjoyed chatting with Susannah and the squire’s wife.

That evening, Terpsi’s voice interrupted the quiet camaraderie that had been growing among the guests—except between herself and Callum—and halted the friendly babble that filled Mrs. Horne’s dark and overheated parlour.

Terpsi rose only a few minutes after the gentlemen had joined the ladies; she shimmered in the gloom, her dark gold hair loose and curling over her shoulders and down her back. Her dress was of finest lawn with an exotic pattern of brilliant jade green, gold, and deep blue. It clung to her breasts and displayed far more of Terpsi’s limbs than Aphrodite considered proper, but Aphrodite also believed she’d never seen her sister looking so lovely. She shivered, wondering what her unpredictable sibling had in mind.

“If I may have your attention.” Terpsi spoke in the husky tones that caused the men to move closer to her. Even Susannah’s devoted husband, James, twisted in his chair so he could see Terpsi better. Frederick kept his position next to his mother, although he, too, leaned toward his future sister-in-law. Only Warwick and Callum acted unaware of her potent charms.

Mr. McReynolds sat next to Gwendolyn, the older of the squire’s daughters, chatting with the young lady. For a moment, when Terpsi began to talk, Aphrodite could see him look up at her, his attention utterly and completely caught and a look of yearning on his strong features before they hardened. Then he settled back in the chair, turned again toward Gwendolyn and continued his conversation, pretending absolute disinterest in Terpsi, neither her words nor her actions.

Warwick settled in the chair next to Aphrodite, a hand touching her shoulder lightly for a moment before he dropped it into his lap and watched Terpsi.

Terpsi twirled, as if to look at those in the other end of the room, but Aphrodite knew that she was showing off the flow of her dress around her voluptuous body. And all the while, Terpsi watched Mr. McReynolds. Not obviously, but she allowed her eyes to slide past him or to glance off him. Or she looked through or around him, but Terpsi knew Callum was there and that he was ignoring her.

Callum was a nice-looking man, Aphrodite mused. His hair was shorter than was à la mode. Nor was his coat fashionable, a serviceable dark wool that was as loose across his broad shoulders as the coat he’d worn earlier. Not handsome. His features showed too much character to be considered handsome. But interesting and arresting and memorable.

Aphrodite had always liked Callum. She’d thought he and Terpsi would marry. Terpsi adored him, and Aphrodite believed he loved her sister. Well aware of Terpsi’s foibles, he never let her cut a wheedle around him, nor did she want to when in Callum’s company. He would have been good for her.

What had happened? Aphrodite wondered as she looked back and forth between the posturing Terpsi and the composed Callum. Terpsi had never talked about it, but when Callum no longer called upon her, when she discovered that he had returned to Scotland without telling her, she lost her glorious vitality for weeks. Oh, she attempted to be Terpsi, vibrant and volatile, but it was feigned. Aphrodite had seen through the pretense immediately, as had even Athena and Aski, the most self-centered members of the family, but none dared to ask her. Terpsi had put on her most brilliant smile when Aphrodite attempted to talk to her, said, “La, it was nothing,” then glared at Aphrodite until she left her alone.

“Who would like to put on a play to entertain ourselves during the house party?”

“A play.” Susannah clapped and laughed. “What a wonderful idea. Just the thing to brighten our days.”

“Do you have a play in mind?” James asked.

Well, of course she did, Aphrodite thought. Terpsi always had something in mind.

“I thought, perhaps, Mr. Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“Oh, I love that play!” Athena clapped and bounced on her sofa where she sat with Geoffrey. “It has fairies. I want to be in it.”

“And so you shall. And so shall everyone who wishes to be.” Terpsi looked at Callum for a moment. When he continued to talk with Gwendolyn, she said, “This is a play for anyone who believes in magic and a love that lives eternally.”

Terpsi threw the words at Callum. They echoed so loudly in the quiet that he was forced to turn and look at her, but his gaze froze her, so full was it of distaste and lack of interest. When he again leaned toward Gwendolyn, words gushed from Terpsi, as if nothing had happened.

“Who would like to play what parts?” she asked.

“As if she hasn’t already decided,” Warwick whispered in Aphrodite’s ear. His breath tickled and warmed her.

“You must play the part of Titania,” Susannah said to Terpsi. “You are perfect for the queen of the fairies.”

“Thank you.” Terpsi bowed. “I would enjoy that. I thought perhaps my sisters could be Helena and Hermia. Mr. Horne.” She turned toward her future brother-in-law. “Perhaps you could be Demetrius to Aphrodite’s Helena.”

“That would be nice,” Frederick said. “Won’t this be fun, Mother?” he asked.

Mrs. Horne snored in response.

Terpsi paused as she looked around the room. “James and Susannah, will you be Theseus and Hippolyta?”

“How lovely. That’s not a big part, so I can help with costumes and such,” Susannah said.

“We’ll have Geoffrey and the squire’s sons, Hugh Ridley and Fothergill play Quince, Bottom, and all those others.” Terpsi dismissed them with a wave of her hand then added, “And Geoffrey’s Italian friend shall make a perfect Puck.”

Aski nodded back to her, then turned his attention to Elsie, the squire’s other daughter.

“But who will play my dearest Oberon?” Terpsi wondered aloud.

When her eyes lit on Warwick, he said, “I believe I will be Lysander who is in love with Hermia.” He bowed toward Athena.

“How lovely,” Athena said. “I will like to be Hermia if you are Lysander.”

“What?” said Terpsi, her voice sharp with disappointment. “Warwick, I thought you might wish to play Oberon. Well, then, who would like to play the part of Oberon?”

“Oh, oh, Mr. McReynolds,” Gwendolyn suggested. “He’s ever so droll and certainly would be a wonderful actor. You don’t have a part yet, do you, Mr. McReynolds?” She lost herself in a fit of giggles.

In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Oberon and Titania fought almost constantly. The feud between Terpsi and Callum seemed too close to the truth, but it would be difficult for either to refuse.

“Yes, I’ll take part.” Mr. McReynolds looked as if he’d sooner throw himself under a carriage. “Although I’m not much of an actor. Now, is there a part for my friend Miss Barlow?”

When Terpsi couldn’t find an answer, Aphrodite suggested, “Perhaps Cobweb, one of the fairies?”

“Oh, yes. I shall dance and fly around.” Gwendolyn clapped her hands and giggled again.

After all the parts were filled, Terpsi said, “Now, that’s all settled. We will practice tomorrow.” Her eyes sparkled, but not with joy. Her cheeks were red, but that could have been from the heat. She returned to her chair between Hugh Ridley and Fothergill, her back straight and chin high, her chest rising and falling with her deep breathing.

Aphrodite recognized the signs of anger in her sister but knew better than to step in and make it worse. In addition, she could hardly force Warwick to play Oberon.

“How shall we learn our lines?” Warwick asked.

Terpsi rose again. “I have some copies of a short version of the play, which I . . .” She looked humbly at her feet. “Which I rewrote from the original.” With a toss of her head that reminded Aphrodite of Aski, she continued. “There should be enough for all of us to have a script. I shall hand them out tomorrow. When and where shall we rehearse?”

“The ballroom is perfect.” Mr. Horne left his sleeping mother’s side. “I can have the workmen build a stage.” He pulled a chair over to sit next to Aphrodite.

“Then shall we meet there at eleven in the morning?” As the group agreed, Terpsi again sat and began an outrageous and masterful flirtation with both Fothergill and Hugh Ridley.

Aphrodite looked for the rest of her family. Athena fluttered her eyelashes at Geoffrey while Aski took little Elsie’s hand. She giggled like her sister.

“I did want to get a chance to talk with you,” Frederick said. “But it’s been so long since I had a chance to sit with Mother.”

“I understand.” She understood that one would wish to spend some time with one’s mother, but she had hoped he would also want to get to know his future fiancée. Was this what marriage would be like? Coming in second to Frederick’s mother? She feared it would be, but she had yet to fight for Frederick’s affection. She glanced at her sisters. Perhaps they could tell her just how to do that.

She turned toward Frederick and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“Are you quite all right?” he asked.

He hadn’t even noted she was flirting. How lowering.

“Now I have to leave and tell the housekeeper that we need the ballroom cleaned before eleven in the morning.”

“Surely your staff keeps every inch of this place clean,” Warwick said. “Certainly you can spend a little time with your charming fiancée.”

“Yes, surely you could,” Aphrodite echoed.

“I must make certain of the arrangement. I would not have it thought that Mother isn’t a good housekeeper.” He patted Aphrodite’s hand. “I will see you tomorrow at the rehearsal, my dear Hermia.”

“Helena,” she corrected.

“Such passion from your beloved overwhelms, my lady.” Warwick leaned back in his chair to observe Aphrodite’s reaction to Frederick’s departure.

“Not all of us are ruled by passion, my lord.”

“Obviously not, but I would think you’d want better than a husband who is tied to his mother. You’re too young to settle for that.”

“Unfair, my lord. He is a devoted son, which means he will also be a devoted husband.”

“Devotion is a poor substitution for passion.”

“You’re a romantic.” Aphrodite scowled at him, then stopped as she felt those confounded wrinkles growing deeper. “I’d never have guessed that. However, given the choice of loving someone I could not trust or marrying a man I do trust, I would chose loyalty every time.” She threw her head back for emphasis, a gesture she just realized she, too, had inherited.

“Must you select one or the other? Certainly, you don’t have to give up affection for the sake of fidelity.”

“Unfortunately, that has been my experience.” She turned away from him, pretending to study a particularly hideous cherub who sat on the table next to her and was engaged in . . . well, she wasn’t sure what the chubby little fellow was engaged in. Possibly something no angel should attempt, but she refused to continue the absurd conversation with Warwick, and everyone else busily chatted with a circle of friends that she was loath to force her way into.

“I never realized you had an interest in poorly carved marble, Aphrodite.” He spoke over her shoulder, also studying the ugly little fellow.

“Oh, he is just terrible, isn’t he?” Mirth overcame her. She had no idea where it came from. Perhaps she was just a little bit of a Herrington after all. She could imagine her father ridiculing the table ornament. “It has to be the most tasteless piece of frippery I’ve ever observed.”

She turned toward Warwick, laughing, only to find his face next to hers, just above hers. He looked down at her, his eyes so serious she feared she’d said something to hurt him. Then a look of warmth, almost of hunger, came over his face.

What was he thinking? His face looked almost as it had two years earlier when he’d lowered his mouth to kiss her, but she knew he wouldn’t do that here. Aphrodite looked around, to assure herself that, yes, there were people chatting in a room that, to her, had become silent.

If she hadn’t seen just that expression before, she might have thought he found her attractive, but she’d seen it and been fooled by it before. Not again.

“You are quite lovely when you laugh,” he said, his voice low and rough.

And yet she had no will of her own to break the intimacy of being held captive by his eyes and feeling his breath on her cheek and the warmth of his body so close to hers.

In the hush of the private moment, he put his hand on her shoulder and rested it there. She tilted her head up, as if waiting for his kiss. Then he touched her cheek with the back of his other hand. Aphrodite stretched toward him, her mouth only inches from his, his gaze holding hers. She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t think. She floated in a hot mist of desire as his fingers caressed her cheek.

“I think I’ll go to bed,” Terpsi’s voice rang out. “Ditie, Athena, are you coming?”

Aphrodite jerked, her head almost banging into Warwick’s chin, while he leaned away from her.

“Yes.” Aphrodite leaped to her feet, gasping for air and fanning herself. “I think—” She paused, attempting to find the words to finish the sentence in her clouded brain. “I think,” she began again, “that would be a good idea. Good night to all.” She started toward the door, then stopped and touched her fingers to the place he’d touched. In wonder, she turned to look back at Warwick, but he had turned to talk to Callum. She followed Terpsi’s rapid stride from the room, almost unaware of what she was doing or where they were going or whom she was with.

“Did you see that?” Terpsi growled when Aphrodite opened the door to her room. Her older sister pushed her way in front of Aphrodite, still grumbling.

Anger turned Terpsi into an Amazon. She stalked around the room, her hair crackling, her eyes sparkling. “Did you see what that man did? He was flirting, actually flirting with that child, that infant!”

“What man, Terpsi? What child?” Aphrodite struggled to grasp what had happened and what in the world Terpsi was babbling about.

She watched as Terpsi dramatically threw her arms open, but instead of being concerned about her sister’s agitation, all Aphrodite could think was, Why doesn’t she go away and let me try to understand what just happened with Warwick?

Could she really have wanted one of her siblings to leave her alone? She never had before. Aphrodite considered. Yes, she really did want Terpsi to go away.

“Callum. He was flirting with the squire’s daughter. She’s a baby but quite the coquette.”

With a sigh, Aphrodite turned her attention back to her sister. “You told me that there was nothing between you and Callum, that the romance was long over. Why are you so overset?”

Terpsi stopped her pacing. She looked sad and weary. Her usual brilliance and energy had abandoned her, and now she looked lost and sad, no longer a virago.

“I don’t care about Callum anymore.” Terpsi’s voice quivered. “I just don’t want him to make a fool of himself, and I don’t want that poor child to be taken in. Her heart could be broken and . . . and, well, who knows what?” Terpsi babbled.

“What are you going to do about it?” Aphrodite sat on the edge of the bed.

“Nothing.” Terpsi’s eyes showed bewilderment and pain. “I don’t know. Don’t you have any advice? What would you do?”

“It is your life, Terpsi. You must decide.” Had she really said that to her sister?

“Oh.” Terpsi tilted her head to consider that. “I see.” Then she sat on the other side of the bed. “I’m just so confused about this, Ditie. You’ve always listened and had such good suggestions.”

“You’re grown up now, Terpsi. This is your life. You’re going to have to make up your mind. You didn’t tell me what happened when you and Callum stopped seeing each other.” She held up a hand when Terpsi would have spoken. “And I think that was correct. You took care of that contretemps, and you can take care of this one.”

“Oh?” Terpsi stood and started toward the door. “I’ll think about it.” With a hint of the Terpsi that Aphrodite knew so well, she swirled and demanded, “But you will help me if I need you?”

“Of course, but right now, I want to go to bed. I have some things to consider.”

“That’s right. You must have a great deal to think about with your wedding to Mr. Horne to plan.” Terpsi stalked from the room.

“Frederick,” Aphrodite said aloud. Oh, my, she’d forgotten all about Frederick, forgotten that she was to marry him—someday. Warwick’s touch had chased everything and everyone else from her mind.

She had more to consider than she’d thought.

With a tug on the cord, she called Mignon, who helped her mistress from her dress and into a white lawn nightgown trimmed in embroidered roses and brushed Aphrodite’s hair until it covered her shoulders and curled down her back.

After she dismissed Mignon, Aphrodite sat on the window seat and stared at the moon. She didn’t love Frederick. She’d never deceived herself that she did, or that he loved her, but they suited. They would be comfortable together.

How good a wife would she be if she were attracted, terribly attracted, irresistibly attracted to another man? Certainly not the wife Frederick or any man needed.

And yet, Warwick had broken her heart once. What was she thinking, to be bewitched by him again? It was more than foolish. It was idiotic. Reprehensible. Absurd.

But it felt so wonderful to be touched by him.

My goodness, she sounded like her sisters. She’d told them they were wantons, and here she was, dreaming about one man in the most inappropriate way while engaged to another. But she couldn’t forget his caress or the feel of his breath on her cheek or the warmth of his body or the unexpected intensity of her response.

Frederick had never made her want to forget propriety, to throw herself into his arms, to run her fingers through his thick hair—not that Frederick’s hair was anything like the thick midnight blackness of Warwick’s.

Stop! she told herself. And with the will forged by years of attempting to influence her brothers and sisters, she forced her thoughts away from Warwick and to the life she would share with Frederick. Safe and comfortable and dull. No, not dull. Satisfying.

She was, after all, the mature, dependable member of the family. She made decisions and stayed with them. Enough of moonlight, she decided. With that, she stood, got in bed and fell asleep as soon as she’d pulled the covers over her.

 

• • •

 

Warwick, however, was not in such an easy state of mind. He observed the same moon in the same sky, but his thoughts were much less sanguine.

He cursed himself for his foolishness, both now and in the past. How had he allowed himself to be attracted to her again? Again? He laughed. Still. Why hadn’t he realized he’d never gotten over the chit, that he still remembered that one kiss and wished he could have done it again both in the garden two years ago and tonight, in the drawing room, surrounded by his family and the man she would marry, once she passed dear Aunt Matilda’s scrutiny. The way he felt, he could not have stopped with a chaste kiss, either.

Devil a bit! He paced from one side of the room to the other, his hand ruining the hairstyle his man would remake tomorrow anyway.

This was not a flirtation and never had been. From the time he’d stolen that kiss, he’d been done for. He hadn’t admitted it, but it had happened. He’d been like a fish on a hook, dead for all practical purposes but still struggling.

What had begun as a game had changed, long ago. He was a perfect block, such a sapskull he hadn’t seen it and had walked straight into love without even noticing. He’d come to Windwillow to woo and win Aphrodite. He simply had not realized it until tonight.

Well, there was nothing for it. He couldn’t very well take Aphrodite away from his own cousin, not even if he thought it was best for her. Dammit, he was a gentleman, and gentlemen didn’t seduce innocent young women or steal fiancées from their cousins.

But when she’d looked up at him, laughter in her eyes, he’d been enchanted. This was the Aphrodite Herrington he’d always thought she could be. Lovely. Delightful. The smile had enthralled him. Amazingly, he’d fallen in love, finally. And, as if the gods were laughing at him, with the most ineligible of women.

She cared for him, too. If she were not so transparent, he could pretend this feeling was only on his side, but it wasn’t. She had looked at him with love, an expression he wagered Frederick would never see.

No, there was nothing for it. Tomorrow he would have to act as if tonight had never happened. As if they hadn’t shared a moment alone in that crowd. As if they hadn’t . . . as if they hadn’t fallen in love at that instant.

Even more absurd, he’d fallen in love with a woman he wasn’t sure really, actually, existed outside his imagination. A woman he’d glimpsed only in one smile and in a long-ago kiss.

And she was engaged to his cousin.

No use going to bed. He poured himself a brandy from the decanter Frederick, the ever gracious host, kept in the rooms of male guests and sat down. It would be a long time before he felt like sleeping.