“Good-bye, Lady Olmsley, and thank you so much for the invitation to tea. I enjoyed it tremendously.” Deanna shook hands with George’s sister, a vivacious young matron of about thirty years.
Lady Olmsley rose. Her tall, shapely figure showed to advantage in a pink silk gown, and her blond curls—several shades lighter than George’s hair—bounced against an ermine stole draped negligently around her shoulders. “Why don’t you call me Regina?” she asked with a smile, and her blue eyes twinkled just as merrily as George’s were wont to do. “I must have called you Deanna at least a dozen times already, but who can help it when Georgie and Felix are so informal with you?”
“They are quite outrageous, aren’t they?” Deanna responded warmly.
“Indeed. But I find I cannot be angry with them since they facilitated our meeting. For that I must always be grateful, Deanna, and I implore you to come again. Felix—” Regina Olmsley placed her long slender fingers appealingly on Felix’s sleeve. “Promise you’ll bring Deanna back,” she demanded.
“Regina!” George sent his impetuous sister a darkling glance, which she blithely ignored.
Felix chuckled and patted Regina’s hand. “Your wish is my command—as long as I have your promise not to send me away once I’ve delivered Deanna to you. Why else would I have asked George to get me one of your coveted invitations? At Saltash House some minor crisis or other has Deanna scuttling off to the nursery before I’ve spoken three words with her.”
“I do not scuttle!” Deanna pretended indignation to cover the confusion that engulfed her at Felix’s words. He had arranged this delightful afternoon, not George!
“All right. You fly to Robby’s side,” Felix amended, and took Deanna’s arm, leading her from Lady Olmsley’s spacious drawing room.
Intrigued, Regina fluttered after her departing guests. “Sounds as if you’ve come up against a most formidable rival, Felix dear. But I must say it warms the cockels of my heart to see you so put out. You must know, my dear,” she told Deanna in a stage whisper, “that I once had the most violent crush on Felix, but until I was safely wed to my dear Olmsley, Felix would walk wide circles around me; and such he behaved with every unmarried lady. That he actually seeks you out is quite a feather in your cap, Deanna.”
He seeks me out because he feels safe with me! Deanna thought despairingly. Her heart might be breaking, yet no one could guess that her smile was anything but genuine. “It’s not wonderful at all, Regina. Felix knows I haven’t set my cap at him.” Deanna shot him a glance which she hoped was a teasing one and encountered his steady, questioning gaze. For an instant her smile faltered, then she caught herself. I’ll not let you down, Felix, she promised silently. “We have agreed to be friends, haven’t we, Felix?” Deanna said evenly.
His eyes darkened. With relief? she wondered miserably.
An awkward silence hung over the little group. Then the Olmsley’s stately butler flung open the front door, and Regina whirled past and stepped outside where the misty drizzle that had fallen for most of the afternoon had left the marble steps slick and shining and had turned the cobbled street beyond into a treacherous, mud-splattered menace, dangerous for man and beast alike.
“I believe spring isn’t far off,” Regina cried gaily, hugging her fur stole tightly around her shoulders. “Already there is a hint of balminess in the air, and snowdrops and crocuses have been blooming in our little garden behind the house for the past several days. I do love—” She broke off, blushing, when George squeezed her arm in admonition.
“Shall I see you tonight at White’s, Felix?” George asked.
“Yes, and if I can talk him into it, I shall bring Robert.”
“Aren’t you coming back with us, George?” Deanna looked at him with a sinking heart as he stood beside his sister and made no move to accompany her and Felix down the Stairs.
George met the appeal in Deanna’s eyes with some embarrassment. “I feel duty-bound to keep Regina company for a while. She’s been very lonely since Olmsley deserted her for the intrigues of Castlereagh’s office.” Another imperceptible nip of his fingers in the soft flesh of Regina’s upper arm forestalled any arguments that lady might have put forth, but his sister showed him with a speaking look that it had been quite unnecessary to warn her; she had no intention of denying Felix his tête-à-tête with Deanna in the closed carriage.
“I’ve been living the sorry life of a grass widow,” Regina confirmed mournfully. Then she brightened, an excited gleam entering her eyes. “Just between us,” she said in a low voice. “Lord Castlereagh says the war will be over soon. Marshall Blücher is well on his way to Paris.”
“How I wish it were so!” Deanna exclaimed. “But the excerpts from Le Moniteur—”
“I wouldn’t believe everything I read,” George advised, his deep voice firm and reassuring. “Naturally, the Parisian paper would print only the news that is encouraging to the French but will strike terror in the hearts of all Englishmen. The French know that we print their articles in The Times. But rest assured, I, too, have heard that the Allied Armies have made enormous progress in their march on Paris.”
“Oh, isn’t it marvelous?” Eyes shining brightly, Regina clapped her hands together. “No more war … no more killing! And all our young men to be home again soon!”
“Not all, Regina,” George said quietly.
“No.” She sighed, her face sad. “Not all.”
Felix’s voice broke through the gloom that had settled over them. “There’s the coach. Deanna and I had best be going now.”
Deanna waved and let herself be helped into Felix’s crested town carriage. Carefully smoothing her skirt, she settled into the far corner and marveled yet again at the softness of the velvet upholstery and the gleaming mahogany panels lining the inside of the coach. A thick rug in the same deep shade of burgundy as the seat covers and the squabs kept any drafts away from her feet, and for good measure Felix placed a carriage robe over her legs before he took his seat beside her. Smoothly the coach started to roll.
Deanna looked at Felix. “Will we really have peace soon?” she asked.
“The French cannot last much longer. Napoleon’s troops are so dreadfully weakened that he has called up the year ’15 already. Soon he’ll have an army of children to command.”
“Peace—after twenty-one years. Shall we get used to it, I wonder?”
“Undoubtedly. It will be rough at first, I daresay. Hundreds of thousands of men will come swarming back to England. Some will be sent to America, of course, but the others will be discharged and will need to find work.”
“Yes, I see. It will be very difficult. Already we have so many unemployed in the industrial centers. The Luddites—”
“Deanna,” Felix interrupted urgently. “There is time and to spare to discuss the fate of our soldiers; they are not home yet. But we shall be home in a few moments, and I must speak to you about the night at the Clarendon. I wanted to do so that Sunday morning when Robert returned with his rebellious son, and several times since. Only we never have a moment to ourselves!”
“It happened so long ago, Felix,” she said tiredly. “I have all but forgotten.”
“Nevertheless, I wish to explain, to apologize—”
“Why? I don’t recall anything that requires your apology.” Deanna laced her fingers tightly in her lap. She suddenly felt cold despite the warmth of her amber kerseymere gown and the matching, long-sleeved spencer.
“That night you started to withdraw from me, Deanna. And it was right after Talbot spouted his drunken nonsense. Had I but known that he was in his cups—” Felix broke off when he noticed that the slender girl beside him trembled, and he slipped his arms around her, encircling her with his protective warmth. “Shall I pull the carriage robe up to your shoulders?” he asked.
“No.” Astonished, Deanna heard her own quick reply. She must be mad! Snuggling her cheek against the slightly abrasive material of his coat, she compounded her folly with her next words. “This feels quite comfortable,” she whispered, a smile softly curving her lips.
“I agree.”
Felix’s voice was husky, and she wondered if he also experienced a quickening of the pulse, the sudden surge of blood that made her want to mold herself closer yet to his hard body. There was no question any longer of her feeling cold; Deanna was aglow from his touch, and the warmth of his presence melted any wish to stay aloof that she might have harbored.
Felix’s breath came faster—as did her own—and she felt it softly stir her hair, then caress her forehead before his lips touched her brow. If only she were taller—he might have reached her mouth. Her lips felt swollen with desire.
Instinctively she tilted her face up, guiding his mouth across her fluttering eyelid, her cheek, her nose, until it found her lips. Her arms moved around his neck, holding him close, as she drank the sweetness of his kiss.
The sudden halt of the carriage jerked them apart. Felix’s groom opened the door and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about t’bumpy stop, miss. It’s awful wet out, an’ t’wheelers slipped. But here we is, Saltash House.”
“Tell Haslip to drive on!” barked Felix. “Anywhere! Just drive.”
“Aye, my—”
“No!” Deanna scrambled off the seat and approached the door. She had been mad for a brief, blissful moment. But now sanity had returned. “I wish to get off.”
While the groom let down the steps, she turned to Felix. “I had a lovely afternoon. Thank you, Felix. And I should be happy to visit Regina again if you’d care to take me.” Her voice sounded as stiff and wooden as she felt, and like a marionette she stepped down onto the pavement.
Felix stared after her with a bemused expression on his face. “Dash it all,” he muttered. Deanna should know better than to kiss a man like that and then rush off—unless she had suddenly turned into a teasing flirt. But you won’t flirt with me, love, he mused grimly. Next time he’d see to it that there would be no coachman who halted the carriage at precisely the wrong moment.
Deanna watched with envious eyes as Sybil’s needle flashed in and out, in and out, transforming a piece of plain beige linen into a beautiful, flower-decked chair cover. It wasn’t that Deanna did not know how to embroider. Far from it—the few stitches she had set in the damask napkin on her lap were faultlessly executed. But she did not enjoy it. She wanted to do something. Have tea with Regina and Felix? mocked her inner voice. Drive alone with Felix in a closed carriage? Or defy the fates by struggling through another blizzard?
Her eyes strayed to the tall windows in the small salon where bright sunshine teased and beckoned outside for the first time after two weeks of gusting March winds, fog, and rain, always rain. What a perfect day for an outing….
But Felix and George, when they had called at Saltash House at an unusually early hour, had only stopped to pick up Robert—to visit Tattersall’s and some coach builder in Longacre! She and Sybil were doomed to embroider until Lady Saltash would summon the open landaulet to take them to Hyde Park at the fashionable hour of five. It was almost spring; the season was starting; and a drive in the park was de rigueur. Sybil and Deanna must be seen and inspected by eligible bachelors and prospective mamas-in-law; and they must be introduced to and make friends of all the young ladies whose mamas could be counted upon to extend invitations to Lady Saltash’s young ladies for balls, routs, and Venetian breakfasts.
Deanna sighed softly. She should have been glad that Felix was busy escorting Robert around, but like a moth to the flame, she was drawn to Felix and felt sad and bereft when he was not near her. Choosing a strand of brilliant emerald silk, Deanna threaded her needle and set a tiny stitch. She considered her handiwork dispassionately. Yes, she decided, it blended well with the other greens. Mama would be pleased—if the napkin ever got finished. Uneasily Deanna’s thoughts dwelled on her mother. Mrs. St. Cloud had not been pleased at all with her lately; Deanna had made the mistake of suggesting it might be time for her return to Moorfielding.
“Not under any circumstances,” Mrs. St. Cloud had written in reply. “You must find a husband, Deanna! You’ll be twenty-three next month! Sybil will undoubtedly contract a suitable match this season, and since I cannot afford to send you to London again, this will be our last chance for happiness.”
Why “our happiness”? Deanna had wondered, trying to decipher her mother’s crabbed handwriting, which was almost illegible in places where Mrs. St. Cloud had crossed her lines. Of course, Deanna was aware that her mother wished her to marry—she had been reminded of that when Mrs. St. Cloud had first disclosed the plan of the London trip. But Deanna had also believed that if she remained unwed, her mama would show understanding and be satisfied with her daughter’s decision. This had not been the case.
On March 1, Sir Henry Humboldt had overcome his niggling doubts about Deanna’s suitability as Lady Humboldt and had offered his hand and home and children with all due ceremony. She had tried to be objective, had tried to give serious consideration to his proposal, but instantly Felix’s image with its chiseled features and glinting, gray-green eyes had intruded upon her reflections. Deanna had refused Sir Henry politely but firmly and never spared him a second thought.
But, apparently, Lady Saltash had informed Mrs. St. Cloud of the momentous happening, and as a result Mrs. St. Cloud had reopened her just completed letter to Deanna and had crossed her lines with the second message, very much to the point.
“I have already taken steps to sell the cottage here,” Mrs. St. Cloud had written. “Miss Goodwyn has kindly invited me to share her house in Kensington, It is but small, and there would be no room for you, dearest. With the money from the sale of the cottage wisely invested, I can easily afford to share Miss Goodwyn’s expenses and still have enough pin money to take advantage of the entertainments offered in Kensington and London. You know it has always been my dearest wish to live in or near London again …”
Yes, Deanna had known that. But why on earth didn’t Mama tell me that she planned to move to London right now? I could have … Deanna shook her head sadly. There was nothing she could have done. She would still have fallen in love with Felix; would still have committed the folly of kissing Felix—twice!—and would have refused Sir Henry, who offered the safety of marriage and a comfortable life.
“Deanna!”
Startled, Deanna pushed the needle so hard into the damask cloth that it pricked deeply into her forefinger. “Ouch!” She wrapped the injured finger in her handkerchief and looked reproachfully at Sybil. “Must you shout at me, dear?”
“I’ve been trying for ages to get your attention! But you were lost in a brown study, and all you did was stare at the window and shake your head. You’d try the patience of a saint!”
“And a saint you’re not.” Deanna’s eyes twinkled at Sybil, but the younger girl did not respond. “Oh, well,” Deanna said with a sigh. “What did you wish to talk about?”
“I was asking you a question,” Sybil replied with cool dignity. “Do you wish to come upstairs with me? Robby must be bored and in need of some company.”
“No, thank you. I’ve spent a couple of hours with him this morning. And since his papa so cruelly deserted him today—”
“Robert did not desert Robby!” Sybil jumped up and glared angrily at Deanna. “He had urgent business to attend. He’s buying a traveling chaise and perhaps even a team!” She flounced to the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. “Robert is planning to leave on the twenty-first, if you must know,” Sybil flung over her shoulder before hurrying from the salon.
Deanna stared thoughtfully at the open doorway. Sybil had been awfully prickly of late, her moods swinging from up to down quite suddenly and unpredictably. “Gracious!” Deanna said, startled into speaking aloud. “Could the child have fallen in love again?”
But as far as Deanna knew, Sybil had not met anyone new. George had been around quite a bit again lately, but Sybil had been over her infatuation with him for a long time. And surely she hadn’t suddenly discovered a tendre for Felix!
Or—with great care Deanna folded her and Sybil’s needlework and replaced it in the wicker basket at her feet as she cast her mind back to the previous week—or Sybil was still showing her pique over the outcome of that silly chess wager. Robert had paid an unprecedented visit to the small sitting room she and Sybil shared and had handed three golden guineas to Deanna.
“I confess myself beaten, Deanna,” Robert had said. “There’s no one like Sybil for making a knight go straight and a queen go crooked.”
Deanna blinked. “Sybil! You didn’t! Why, you never played that badly when I tried to teach you.” And then Deanna noticed Sybil’s innocent—much too innocent—expression and the lowered eyelashes which, she suspected, had a wicked gleam of mischief.
Slowly Deanna handed the guineas back to Robert. “I did not win. Look at your cousin.”
At that, Sybil could not keep her mirth from bubbling over. She threw her hands up to her mouth to hide her laughter, and giggling and chortling she subsided against the cushions of the loveseat. “I wanted Deanna to win,” she finally managed to say, “and you never noticed, Robert!”
“What a complete hand you are, cousin. Of course I had noticed nothing amiss. How could I have suspected you of cheating?”
Sybil paled; tears gathered in her hazel eyes. “It wasn’t cheating, Robert!” she protested. “Only if I had personally gained something, would it be cheating.”
Robert patted Sybil’s shoulder. “Don’t cry,” he said gruffly. “Of course you didn’t cheat, and Deanna is entitled to the money.”
But Deanna had stubbornly refused to accept the three guineas, and ever since, Sybil had seemed like a changed person—at least when Robert was not present. When he was around, Sybil appeared cheerful, even happy. She teased him, played cards or even a game of chess with him, and more than once brought him to laughter with her chatter….
Deanna sighed and picked up the workbasket. Straightening, she found herself face to face with Robert. “Hello.” She smiled at him, at the same time taking in with concern the lines of fatigue etched deeply into his pale face and the dark shadows under his eyes. “Did you return by yourself?”
“No. Felix and George are upstairs, visiting with Aunt Meredith.” He looked at the basket in Deanna’s hands. “Could you set that down again? I wish to speak to you, Deanna.”
“Of course.” She returned to her chair and sat down, clasping her hands lightly in her lap. “Was your morning a successful one?” she asked when he remained silent and just stood, looking at her intently.
Robert blinked as though coming out of some deep thought. “Do you mind if I shut the door?”
“No, I don’t mind,” she said, raising one brow slightly. “Am I to be made party to some sinister secret?”
“I hope you won’t consider what I have to say as sinister,” he replied, closed the door to the hall carefully, then pulled a chair opposite Deanna’s and seated himself. “You’ve probably heard that I plan to try my luck traveling with Robby once more.”
“Sybil mentioned that you wish to leave next Monday.”
“Well, it may be Tuesday, or even Wednesday, depending when Tilbury can have my chaise delivered.”
Again Robert lapsed into silence, his thick, black brows drawn together in a frown, and his eyes fixed on some point just above Deanna’s head, Uneasily she shifted in her chair. Robert’s behavior was sharply reminiscent of his earlier spells of moodiness, and she hoped he would not take recourse to the brandy bottle again.
“I am glad you found a coach that pleased you, Robert,” she said. “And how was Tattersall’s? Did you buy a team?”
“No,” he said absently. “We have better horses in Ireland. Deanna”—suddenly his eyes were full upon her face—“I wish to ask you a question. A very personal question, and I hope you will oblige me with a frank answer.”
“If I can, I’ll answer.”
“Do you and Felix have an understanding?”
For a moment Deanna simply stared at him, too stunned to say anything. She swallowed, but still could not speak, for she found she was clenching her teeth so hard that they were beginning to hurt. Slowly she shook her head.
The sudden stiffness of her posture, her blanched cheeks, the blind look in her eyes was not lost upon Robert. “I’m sorry if my question hurt you, Deanna,” he said gently. “For a while I believed you and Felix—well, you are not indifferent to him, I think?”
Again Deanna remained mute, but the pain in her wide, gray eyes told him all he needed to know. “I am sorry,” he repeated. Robert leaned forward and looked at her earnestly. “Deanna, I believe we can help each other. I must go to Ireland. I want to have a purpose—want to put my estate in order, breed horses like my grandfather did, and raise Robby. But I don’t want to do it alone. Deanna, are you listening?”
She nodded. Oh yes, she was listening. It was a relief to hear him talk about Ireland and such. It took her mind off Felix. Why had Robert asked about Felix? It was none of his concern.
“Deanna,” Robert said urgently. “Something my aunt said, and Felix too, makes me think—what I mean to say is, come with me to Ireland, Deanna! You’ll like Armagh Moat.”
Her head jerked up. Felix had told Robert that she might consider going to Ireland with him? “Robert, I couldn’t possibly come!” Deanna looked at him in consternation. Surely Felix would not have suggested such. Surely two kisses did not make her a lightskirt to be passed from one man to the next.
Robert wiped a hand across his brow and pulled his chair closer to hers. “I am making a mull of this,” he muttered. “Deanna, I want you to come as my wife.”
“What!”
“I know this is unexpected, but if you reflect for a moment, you’ll realize it will serve both of us very well.”
No! she thought. She wanted to say no, wanted to tell him unequivocally no, but with painful clarity she suddenly remembered herself in Felix’s arms. She remembered the madness that had made her snuggle closer to him and lift her face for his kiss. When Felix was close or—heaven forbid!—touching her, she had neither the will nor the strength of character to keep aloof. One more encounter with Felix like the one in the carriage, and she would offer herself to him on any terms.
Panic gripped her. Propelled by her own wicked thoughts, Deanna shot up and with her hands pressed to her burning cheeks paced the small room restlessly. Snatches of her mother’s letter tumbled through her mind even as another part of her brain tortured her with memories of the sensations she had experienced while Felix held her. She came to one of the tall windows and stopped her perambulations. Leaning her forehead against the cool glass pane, she willed herself to think rationally. She would be three-and-twenty come April. She had already turned down one offer of marriage, and Mama was selling the cottage.
And Robert had said that Felix had given him the notion to ask her to go to Ireland and be a mother to Robby. Felix—Felix, who did not wish to marry; who looked upon some young cousin as his heir….
Deanna caught her breath and swallowed her tears. “You are aware that I cannot offer you love, Robert?” she heard herself asking.
Deanna had not turned around, and Robert could only judge her feelings by the proud tilt of her head, by the rigidity of her slender back, and he wondered why Felix did not forget about his stubborn resolve never to marry. Love was too precious to waste. Briefly the image of Sybil’s face—her hazel eyes laughing at him warmly, and her rosy lips curved in the enchanting smile that brought her dimple into play—flitted through Robert’s mind. Sternly he called himself to order. His attraction to Sybil was but the lusting of a deprived man; it was a betrayal to Caroline’s memory.
“I understand, Deanna. But then, neither can I promise you love. But I like you very well, and I respect you—and Robby loves you. Can you be content with a child’s love, Deanna?”
She heard Robert rise and limp toward her. He came to a halt close behind her, but he made no move to touch her. “I believe we can help each other,” he said.
Slowly Deanna turned around. Yes, she liked him, too. But help each other? No one could help her. No one but—she nodded slowly. “I can be a good mother to Robby. I know I can.”
“It is settled then?”
“Yes.” Eventually, dark blue eyes would mean more to her than glinting, gray-green ones, she assured herself. In time the pain in her heart would numb, and perhaps, she would be able to feel again.
Robert took her hand and raised it briefly to his lips. “You have made me very happy, Deanna. Shall we go and tell Robby?” Suddenly he smiled. “You advised me to speak to him more, remember?”
“You go to him first, Robert. I shall be up shortly.”
“As you wish.” He bowed and left her.
For a long time after Robert’s departure, Deanna stood like a statue, her body as well as her mind frozen into immobility. Then she started to tremble and shake as the full implication of her promise to Robert hit her, and the last ember of hope died in her breast. She was committed now.
Her cheeks felt wet Angrily she dashed the tears away with the back of her hand. Stupid! she chided herself. There is no reason to cry about a wise decision. Deanna dabbed at her face with her handkerchief, and when it proved insufficient, she removed the damask napkin from her workbasket and used it. Mama wouldn’t mind now if the embroidery was never finished; she would be too enraptured by the news of her daughter’s forthcoming marriage to worry about napkins.
Training herself to keep her thoughts on her mother, on Robby, on Ireland, Deanna succeeded in locking away her grief in the remotest part of her consciousness. She had stopped shaking, and the tears were drying up. Soon, very soon, she’d be ready to join Robert in the nursery.
She jumped a little when she heard voices in the hall. Hastily she straightened and had barely composed her face to show outward calm when Felix literally exploded into the small salon.
“So, Billings was right!” he grumbled, and shut the door firmly. “Deanna, this must stop. For an hour I’ve been sitting with Lady Saltash, Sybil, and George, hoping that you would join us. I even looked in the nursery for you!”
“I am sorry you had so much trouble finding me, Felix. I’m surprised Sybil didn’t tell you where I was.”
Deanna’s voice sounded flat and lifeless. Felix narrowed his eyes and studied her pale face. He could feel her distress and berated himself for storming at her. Confound it! None but a dunce would rant at the girl he loved, and at a moment when he should approach her with warmth and tenderness.
“Both Sybil and Lady Saltash know where I am, as does Robert,” Deanna said. “Did they deny me?”
“Nay,” he said, looking a trifle discomposed. “I didn’t ask them. But”—he smiled, and the gleam in his eyes touched Deanna warmly—“now that I’ve found you, I’ll not let you go again. Permit me—” Felix advanced purposefully and, taking Deanna’s hand, guided her to the sofa. “Please be seated, Deanna. I want to do the thing properly.”
The touch of his hand sent a tingle up her arm; the caress of his voice and his look made her blood sing. Everything was forgotten but Felix and her overwhelming need to respond to him. Her lips curved in a smile as she sat down on the sofa, and when she raised her eyes to Felix, he caught his breath, for he seemed to be looking into fathomless pools of love.
“My dearest”—his fingers tightened around her hand, and slowly, gracefully, he sank down on his knee before her—“I’ve lived in purgatory these many days past, Deanna,” he said huskily. “I’ve wanted to speak, yet dared not. But I can wait no longer. I love you with all my heart, Deanna!”
He saw her lips part, curve into the sweetest smile he had ever seen. A small sigh—almost a sob—escaped her, and she slipped off the sofa to kneel as he was doing. She was tantalizingly close.
“I love you, Felix.”
And then she was in his arms, and their lips met in a kiss that sealed their love and promised fulfillment.
“Marry me, Deanna,” Felix whispered hoarsely. “Marry me soon.”
The words hit Deanna like a shower of cold rain. She gasped and pushed herself away from him.
“I can’t! Oh, Felix, I cannot marry you.”