January 4, 1829
Alice carefully cut the individual cards from the large, mass-produced Twelfth Night Character Sheet and placed them in a growing stack. The pictures and descriptions that Lady Pennington had purchased from a stationer would give everyone a good idea of not only what their particular character should look like but also how that character should behave.
The family drawing room was filled with the low hum of activity. All the resident ladies had assembled to work on their assigned tasks for the Twelfth Night Revel. Amazingly, everyone’s supposed illnesses had disappeared with the need to finish the preparations for the coming ball.
Alice wondered whom Lady Pennington would choose to receive each of the characters. Some of the depictions were far from flattering. She certainly hoped she wouldn’t end up with a character like Leticia Littlebrain and have to pretend to be a half-wit all evening.
The choices for the men were even worse. Samuel Strutt. Sir Oliver Ogle. Her lips curled into a smile. It was too bad there wasn’t an Olivia Ogle. Then she would have an excuse to stand around and look at Martin all night. If she were doing the picking, Martin would be Hector Hero. To match the picture he would have to come garbed in something medieval, however, and she doubted any of the costumes available in the Pencroft attics would fit him.
She smiled as she continued her work. She could easily imagine Martin in a short tunic and hose, the material hugging those long, long legs. That was certainly a happier image than looking at the picture of Clarissa Clutterhair who seemed to have a bird’s nest in her tresses. Alice already knew what Martin looked like without his shirt. She mentally replaced his trousers with the medieval hose. If he showed up like that, every woman at the ball would be agog.
How was it that for years she’d never really paid attention to him? That now seemed impossible. She’d become instantly alert to his presence when he’d walked into breakfast this morning. The idea of his arriving to sit at a breakfast table with her for every morning for the rest of her life held definite appeal. She wondered if he felt the same.
Martin had obviously enjoyed her company last night as much as she had enjoyed his. He was witty, wry, and honest—a delightful change from the participants in most of her recent conversations. She was embarrassed that they’d talked so late, but she would do it again. She felt they were in concert with their view of the world. This feeling of connection was a new sensation, and she hugged it to her.
“Oh good, you’ve gotten the first sheet done.” Lady Pennington appeared at Alice’s elbow and whisked away the cut out character cards. Lady Pennington was now all brisk efficiency and bonhomie, as if she’d not been sequestered for days in a fit of either anger or pique. Alice wasn’t sure which it had been. But Beth had been correct in her assessment that her mother would come out of hiding to put on a good face when she needed to.
Alice’s mother had also reappeared, although she stayed away from where Alice was working. Her mother’s ability to pretend was evidently not as well-honed as Lady Pennington’s. Alice doubted that most people would notice the estrangement, since her mother was addressing envelopes at another table rather than working nearby. People from the area around Pencroft had been invited to the Twelfth Night Revel, and Lady Pennington was anxious to get the characters they were supposed to represent into the hands of those coming. They would need a day to organize their costumes.
The house party guests would have their cards delivered to their rooms before dinner this evening. The exact role each was to play was supposed to be a secret, however, so everyone would be surreptitiously trying to locate the pieces of their costumes without others guessing where they were going and what they were doing. This would be a night when everyone was almost expected to camouflage his or her movements, a perfect time to skulk around.
Alice hoped Martin would be interested in sneaking in the direction of the conservatory. Of course, if others discovered them there, it would be difficult to convince anyone that they were looking for costumes. Unless …
Alice picked up a second pre-made sheet, this one from another stationer so the characters were different. She suddenly smiled. Yes, there was the character she wanted—Beatrice Bouquet. The brightly colored drawing showed a young woman in a dress broadened by the panniers of an earlier generation. She knew from past holidays that old clothing was easy to find in the attics. A large garland of flowers, the essential part of the costume for Alice’s purpose, hung around the woman’s neck. In midwinter, these would normally be made from paper, but there was no reason they could not be fresh flowers. Especially when there was a conservatory available.
Alice carefully cut the card from the sheet and pushed it toward where Beth sat. “This is who I want to be,” she said.
“Mother will know if you switched your card,” Beth whispered from across the table. Beth’s job was to check the names against a list her mother had given her and then place the right cards in the appropriate envelopes. “She remembers who everyone is supposed to be every year. It’s uncanny.”
“But couldn’t you have made a mistake?” Alice also kept her voice low.
Beth laughed. “Of course I could. But I’d already decided I was going to switch my card, and two mistakes would seem a bit excessive, wouldn’t they?”
“Don’t you think it’s unfair that you should do this for yourself and not for me?” Alice was not above using Beth’s intrinsic belief in fair play to her own advantage.
“If I make two mistakes, my purpose will be obvious,” the younger woman said.
“What’s so bad about the character you’ve been assigned?”
“I’m to be the Snow Queen.” Beth’s face registered disgust at being the most sought after lady’s character.
“Good heavens. What could possibly be wrong with that? I thought you said your mother was irritated with you. It seems to me she’s assigned you the most glamorous character.”
Beth shook her head. “No. She’s made me the most obvious character. Everyone always knows where the Snow Queen is and who she’s with. It’s like being a belled cat. Every movement is noted. I’d hoped I might, eh, disappear for at least a few moments. But Mother is trying to make that impossible. It’s part of my punishment for being, what she calls, too independent in my thinking. She’s given me this hideous chore for the same reason.”
Alice hoped her face didn’t reveal her skepticism. “What’s so terrible about getting to know who everyone will be beforehand?”
“Well, first of all, I do know, and that takes some of the fun out of the evening. The worst part, however, is that people will ask me who others will be and I can’t tell them, since if I break the vow of secrecy I’ve taken for one, then I’d have to do it for all. And when I won’t tell those who ask, they’ll be angry with me.”
“Maybe no one will ask.”
“You’re not going to ask me who Lord Hayhurst will be?” It was Beth’s turn to look skeptical.
Alice didn’t know what to say. She actually had planned to ask Beth to reveal Martin’s character. “What if I step on your gown and rip it so you have to go to the ladies’ retiring room for an extended visit? That would allow you to disappear for a while. Would you then consider only changing mine?”
“Okay, let’s see who you want to be.” Beth extended her hand across the table and pulled Alice’s chosen card toward her. When she looked at the card, she started to laugh. “I get it. Beatrice Bouquet would have to visit the conservatory.”
“That she would.”
Beth sat and flipped an edge of the card with her fingernail for what seemed like an eternity. “I’ll do it,” she said, “but you have to promise to make a big rip so I’m gone for a long time.”
“I’ll make so many rips you’ll be lucky not to end up naked.” Alice gave her a conspiratorial smile. But she said nothing more, even if she really did want to know which character would be Martin’s.
Martin checked his reflection in the long pier glass placed between the windows in his room. He looked as elegant as Fitch could make him. He felt slightly ridiculous about his concern for the impression he would make. Perhaps his nervousness was just an echo of what he’d felt on a similar mission five years ago.
But he was a different person than he’d been then, and the circumstances were different. The outcome would also be very different. Of this he had no doubt. He gave his waistcoat a final, unnecessary tug and left for his meeting with Lord Tholea.
Martin had requested that they meet in Lord Pennington’s study. It had been the scene of the last debacle, and it was important to him that they revisit the same venue. Martin suspected he silently wanted to make the point that everyone’s life would have been happier if Lord Tholea had given him permission to court Alice all those years ago.
When he arrived, he saw that Lord Tholea had preceded him and had seated himself behind Pennington’s desk. Martin inwardly grinned at the blatant attempt to appear more powerful. He wouldn’t be placed in the position of supplicant. “I think we would both be more comfortable sitting by the fire,” he said, promptly taking one of the facing chairs by the hearth.
Lord Tholea hesitated, but when it became apparent that Martin was not going to budge, he stood and crossed the room to take the chair opposite Martin’s. Tholea was a tall man, but not as tall as Martin, who felt the advantage of his height even when they were both seated.
“I’m sure you’ve guessed the reason I asked to see you,” Martin began without preamble. “I’m courting your daughter and have every intention of marrying her if she will have me.”
“I believe last time you had the good grace to ask.” Tholea’s voice was peevish.
“Last time, Alice was underage. I felt I needed your permission. This is, of course, no longer the case. I am now doing you the kindness of informing you.”
Martin stared at the other man. He maliciously enjoyed the way Tholea fidgeted in his chair. Did the man now realize that he’d harmed his daughter by holding out for her marriage to Drew? “How greatly are you in debt?” Lord Tholea suddenly asked.
“Excuse me?” Martin asked, confused by the odd change of topic.
“I’m asking how much you need Alice’s dowry? I thought I might offer a loan so you did not have to marry my daughter.” The older man looked at him expectantly. “You feckless boys always want her money more than you want her.”
Cold anger surged through Martin. “Well, to begin with, I am hardly a boy. I believe I passed that plateau a number of years ago and am considered a man. Secondly, I am hardly feckless. That title is more appropriate for the man you had chosen for her husband. And finally, my estate is financially solid. I have no need for whatever dowry you’ve managed to scrape together for Alice.”
“Scrape together?” It was Lord Tholea’s turn to look offended. “Don’t you know that Alice is a considerable heiress? My title and entailed properties will go to my nephew on my death, but everything not entailed will go to Alice, and that doesn’t even take into consideration the money and property left to her by her grandmother.”
“I’m pleased to hear that. When we get to the point of discussing the marriage settlement, those funds can be held in trust for the benefit of our children.”
When Martin was a boy, a bee had stung one of his setter pups when the dog had stuck his nose in a flower. Lord Tholea’s expression was very similar. “You mean … you want Alice for herself?”
Martin found himself more offended by this comment than he’d been when Lord Tholea had called him feckless. How dare the man denigrate his own daughter, who was one of the most delightful women to walk the earth. “Any man with half a brain would desire your daughter. Not only is she beautiful inside and out, she has charm and a mind as sharp as a newly stropped razor.”
When Tholea sat there looking shocked, Martin realized he had no more time to waste with the ass. He stood and gave the older man a weak smile. “I wanted to put you on notice of my intentions,” he said. He needed to leave before he told Tholea exactly what he thought of him. At some point, this man would be his father-in-law, and there was no need to cause more animosity.
As he crossed the room, Tholea called after him, “You know you’re just a face-saving substitute for the man Alice really wanted.”
Martin continued out of the room as if that well-placed barb had not found its mark. Alice’s father might be an ass, but he was a clever one who seemed to be able to find others’ weak points and exploit them. God, how difficult Alice’s life must have been. Her parents must have diminished her for her entire life. He was surprised she’d managed to have any self-esteem at all. He was beginning to understand how people could think his being orphaned at an early age might have been advantageous.
He entered his room to discover Fitch in a state of agitation. “The note with your character assignment has arrived,” Fitch said. He seemed to paw the earth like a horse anxious to begin a race.
“So give it here,” Martin said, extending his hand. “Let’s see what impossible costuming Lady Pennington expects us to come up with.”
Fitch gave him the envelope and Martin immediately opened it. Inside he expected to find a character card obtained from stationers. Instead, there was a hand-written note. Martin pulled it out and read the contents.
Martin then threw back his head and laughed harder than he had for some time. What Lady Pennington saw as disaster, he saw as people finally coming to their senses and discovering what would make their lives happy. He saw growth rather than stagnation. He was personally not responsible for any of the perceived problems, although he planned to be the solution for the friend’s unmarried daughter.
But if his hostess blamed him for what had been happening, then he would be the best—or the worst, depending on one’s point of view—Lord of Misrule that could be imagined. That character was no longer included on the stationer’s sheets because it was considered a relic of the past. In the enlightened nineteenth century, no one wanted the normal rules of conduct subverted. But for this one night, Lady Pennington had given Martin the power to do so. Did she realize how foolish she had been?
“Fitch, we have a lot of work ahead of us.” he said. “Do you think you can make me appear a combination of a Tudor jester and a king?”
His valet gave him a broad smile. “With delight.”
As Alice had anticipated, the company immediately dispersed after dinner to begin finding the pieces of their costumes. While everyone was careful to keep their character a secret and not disclose too much information, people asked for the loan of small, specific items. Harriet was seeking a garish scarf. Beth admitted she had one an aunt had given her tucked away somewhere in her room. Paul was looking for a monocle. Unfortunately, no one seemed to have one. Goodness, could he have been given Oliver Ogle? Poor Paul.
Amid a lot of teasing and laughter, most people made for the vacant bedrooms that now held the old costumes that had been stored in the attic. She didn’t immediately leave the drawing room and was gratified to see that Martin also tarried.
“You already have your costume?” she asked him.
“I’ve sent my valet Fitch out to hunt things down. The man is truly in his element for the first time since he’s been in my employ.” Martin’s eyes sparkled as if he knew a secret joke. Heavens, the man was handsome. “Don’t you need to begin assembling yours? Perhaps I could be of some help.”
“Actually, I cheated a bit. Since I was the one to cut the cards from the sheet, I’ve known my character since this afternoon and got an early start. I have nearly everything I require. I am in need of a flowered garland, however. The picture shows one made of paper, but I thought a garland of real flowers would be more interesting. I was considering going to the conservatory to see if anything was in bloom. Would you like to accompany me?” Alice hoped Martin wouldn’t recognize what was a practiced speech.
She’d thought up different ways to suggest they visit the conservatory and had decided this approach made her seem less like a wanton than any of the others she’d considered. Of course, she was feeling decidedly wanton and racy making the suggestion. They both knew she’d be looking for more than flowers. Unexpectedly, she felt a blush stain her cheeks.
Martin gave her a wide smile. “I’d be happy to go with you. A lady shouldn’t wander by herself. I think we would be wise to take an oil lamp to light the way. Let me get one.”
He said something to one of the footmen, who disappeared and returned with a lamp so quickly it was almost as if it had been waiting just outside the door.
“Shall we go?” Martin took her arm and guided her into the hall. When she turned in the direction of the conservatory, he stopped her. “I think this other way will be quicker,” he said, redirecting her steps.
The need for the lamp quickly became apparent as Martin took her through cold and unlit rooms that were not presently in use. Alice wasn’t even sure where they were until she saw the glass doors at the end of the hall. And then disappointment filled her. Light glowed from the conservatory. Some of the staff must be working within. Beth’s suggestion of a good place for an assignation and Alice’s stratagem for the need to visit that location were all for naught.
Martin seemed undeterred, however, and blithely pushed open the door. Warm air and the smell of soil and growing things met them. Although the large glass room seemed empty of occupants, it was obviously a work place. Tables held flats of seedlings, and large pots with mature plants covered much of the floor. Strategically placed oil lamps gave the area a pale glow of light.
“I think what you’re seeking is this way,” Martin said, indicating a pathway between pots of ferns.
Alice wondered how Martin knew where things were. “Do you think the staff should have left lamps burning?” she asked, feeling something was odd here.
Martin’s deep laugh echoed behind her. “I asked them to light the conservatory. I’m afraid we were two minds with a single thought. I’d been unable to come up with an excuse for coming here, so my suggestion would have been less elegant.”
The realization that Martin had planned this sent a shaft of longing through her. She stopped and turned to find him close behind her. “What would you have suggested?”
“I would have whispered, ‘Let’s go to the conservatory so I can kiss you.’”
Before she could tell him she thought that was quite elegantly phrased, he took a step forward, pulled her into his arms, and did kiss her. What started as a tender touching of lips quickly escalated into one of desire. His tongue teased and she reciprocated. His hands roamed her back, pulling her tightly against him. She ran her hands over his shoulders and then up to toy with the hair at the back of his neck. She could feel the humidity had already turned his carefully arranged waves into springy curls. Unable to resist, she ruffled her fingers through his hair, enjoying the way each tendril seemed to vibrant with life.
She rubbed her aching breasts across his broad chest. Heavens, this felt wonderful. Her nipples tightened, increasing the sensation. As if recognizing her desire, Martin moved a hand to the front and palmed her left breast, finger and thumb plucking at the peak. A low groan rose in her throat. This changed into a gasp when Martin suddenly swung her up into her arms.
“Lord, Alice, you’re making a wreck of my careful plans. I had a bench moved in here, and we were supposed to get there before we started kissing.” He sounded out of breath. Well, of course, he did. She was hardly a dainty lady. She was about to tell him to put her down when she realized how easily he held her, how well she fit in his encircling arms. She snuggled against him and kissed the side of his neck that lay tantalizingly close to her mouth.
“If you don’t stop that, I’ll never get us to the bloody furniture,” he said, sounding so delightfully like a grumpy little boy that she laughed.
He avoided some sort of potted tree and there, in an opening in the foliage, was a wrought iron bench like those situated around the outdoor gardens. Material had been draped over the frame, however, so when Martin gently set her down, it was surprisingly comfortable.
He smiled down at her. “Now you are where you’re supposed to be. Well, almost.”
He sat next to her and pulled her onto his lap. She found this even more comfortable, especially when he began kissing her again. This position also allowed more access. He rubbed her back, and she didn’t realize he’d been undoing the hooks there until the front of her dress loosened. He then slipped a hand into the gaping neck of her dress, pushing the material down and freeing first one breast and then the other.
She, plain Alice Caruthers, was half-naked and being fondled by a man—and it was wonderful. Martin broke the kiss and leaned back, looking where his hands played. “You are so incredibly beautiful,” he said. His voice was as thick as treacle.
And Alice knew that to Martin she was beautiful. He lowered his head and took one of her tight nipples into his mouth. A fizzing sensation ran through her body and she arched her back, offering him everything, wanting more. “Yes,” she murmured, clasping his head tightly against her. She never wanted this to stop.
He rucked up her dress and caressed the length of her right leg starting at the calf and ending at the junction of her thighs, a place that throbbed with every beat of her heart. As if he understood her need, Martin pressed a hand against this private place. This action elicited a panting groan from her.
She could feel the hard ridge of his erection under her rear. She wanted to cup it in her hand as he was cupping her. She wiggled in her frustration. There were just too many clothes.
“I have no idea what all these lamps are doing here.” Harriet, Lady Chesterton’s voice reverberated between the glass walls.
“They shouldn’t be left unattended,” one of Harriet’s sisters said.
With amazing speed, Martin lifted Alice off his lap to sit in the seat next to him. “Bloody hell” he muttered, as they both tried to pull her neckline into a semblance of order.
“Lady Chesterton,” he called out to the unseen ladies, “I have just asked Alice Caruthers to marry me and she’s said yes. I’m afraid you find us in a somewhat compromising position and it would probably be best if you immediately departed.”
“Oh, my heavens!” The tone indicated shock, but the words were followed by the sound of giggling and footsteps rapidly retreating.
Alice and Martin looked at each other in consternation. And then they too were both laughing.
“I said yes?” Alice got out between chuckles.
“At this point, I would hope so, although I completely messed up my plan. I was supposed to bring you here, go down on one knee, and ask for the honor of your hand in marriage. But you got me so distracted …”
“It was a wonderful distraction.” Alice hoped that it would continue, but Martin seemed to be intent on righting her clothes.
He stopped his fussing with the hooks on the back of her dress and looked deep into her eyes. “Do you say yes? I want to be the man you choose and not a substitute for Drew. I love you, Alice, and I have for years. But I don’t want to be anyone’s second choice.”
Alice framed his beloved face with her hands and gently kissed him. How could he doubt that he was the man she wanted? She was irritated with her own stupidity in not seeing it earlier. “Of course the answer is yes. It dawned on me a few days ago that you’re the person who makes me happy. I’ve loved you for years, also. I was just slow to realize it. I can think of nothing better than being married to you.”
She pulled his lips back down to hers, but Martin resisted the pressure. “I’ve admitted to our being caught in a compromising position,” he said, “but if we fail to appear shortly, we will be a scandal. And if I kissed you any more, I would not stop. So we will marry in unseemly haste in London as soon as I can get a special license. And then we will never have to stop again. Does that sound agreeable?”
At the moment, Alice thought being a scandal would be a wonderful idea, but she could see Martin’s point. The idea of a small, quiet ceremony and then the rest of their lives did have appeal. A big, showy spring wedding would have been more for her mother than herself—and from now on she was going to satisfy herself. Well, herself and Martin.
“Yes, we can be married as soon as possible.”
“Good. I should have everything arranged by the tenth. Does that sound agreeable?”
So soon. It seemed impossible. No, not impossible. That was a word her mother would use. From now on, everything was possible. She grinned up at the beautiful man who had asked her to be his wife. Between her hands and the humidity, his dark hair was a riot of curls. He would look like a sensual satyr if it weren’t for the impish grin that danced on his face. “I’d like to marry you now, so there would be no more stopping,” she said
Martin took her hand and placed a warm kiss on her palm. “We don’t leave until the sixth, so there is still tomorrow night.” He folded her hand over her palm to make a soft fist. She felt as if she were holding his kiss—a kiss that seemed to be a promise of nights to come.