Later that afternoon, Lucas found Lavinia and his mother in the sitting room on the south side of the house. It had always been his mother’s favorite room. It was smaller than the drawing room, with furniture upholstered in a flowery fabric, and large windows that let in the afternoon sun. The conversation he’d interrupted had seemed congenial, even if his mother hadn’t seemed quite her normal, effusive self. But at least he didn’t sense any tension in the air, which was a good sign.
“Mama, with your permission, I believe I will steal my betrothed away from you for a while. I have scarcely seen her since we arrived at Alderwood, and I would like to show her the grounds. Would you care to join me . . . my dear?” In the nick of time, he thought to add an endearment.
Lavinia smiled at him with such adoration that Lucas’s heart nearly stopped, and he very nearly believed what he saw before he remembered she was most likely an actress and was more than capable of playing the part of his betrothed. She was a very good actress, then, as believable as she’d seemed just now.
“I would like nothing better,” she said.
“It’s been lovely getting to know you better, Lavinia,” Mama said. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation later.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Lucas said.
He offered Lavinia his hand as she rose to her feet, and they bid his mother adieu. Neither of them spoke as they walked; for his part, Lucas wanted to ensure that there were no eavesdroppers in their vicinity before saying anything.
They strolled through the house and outside to his mother’s rose garden, and the air was heavy with the pungent fragrance of the summer blooms. He plucked a bud that was just beginning to open and offered it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, brushing it softly under her nose before tucking it into the bodice of her dress. “I ought to be giving you a piece of my mind, calling me your betrothed—although it doesn’t seem quite fair since it’s precisely what I did to you, isn’t it?”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” he said. “I had no intention of speaking those words—I hadn’t even thought them—and then they were in my mind and out of my mouth just that quickly. I’m sorry, Lavinia. In the meantime . . .” He reached into his pocket and removed a simple gold ring. “This isn’t much in the way of betrothal rings, but at least it’s not the monstrous thing you’re wearing.”
Lavinia removed the ruby ring that had been on her finger ever since Lucas had met her. His family would never believe he’d had the means to give her such a ring. Fortunately, it had been hidden under her glove when they’d arrived.
He slipped the gold band onto her finger, which fit well enough and would do for the time being.. “It’s not much, but it’s mine, and my family will recognize it, at least.”
“We are going to have to find a way to end this so-called betrothal without any scandal, you know. I’m not sure how this is to be accomplished, but I feel strongly about it. Your mother has been gracious to me this afternoon. I’m quite sure I’m not what she had in mind when she envisioned you with a wife, but she has been kind and accepting nonetheless. I won’t have her being hurt or embarrassed by any of this. And I’m sorry, too, for dragging you into my own troubles. I never intended for you to do more than get me safely out of the public room at the White Horse.”
“It sounds like we’re even, then.”
She looked around her and lifted her face to the sky. “Oh, but it is lovely here, Lucas. Alderwood—well, a considerably smaller version of Alderwood—is what I had envisioned Primrose Farm being. I was terribly wrong on that score.”
“Lavinia.” He paused to choose his words carefully. “I spoke to my father about the work needed at Primrose Farm. He has offered the assistance of his steward, Finch, and my eldest brother. I thought to show them the farm tomorrow. They have the connections and knowledge that I do not, and it will give us the information we need to proceed with the repairs and restoration.”
“I’m going with you, Lucas. Primrose Farm is mine and my responsibility.”
“That’s true, of course, Lavinia. However, through no fault of your own, my family considers you my betrothed, and, as such, when we marry Primrose Farm will belong to me.”
She drew back at his words, as he’d known she would. “But we are not betrothed, Lucas. Primrose Farm is mine, and I must learn what I can if I am going to have any hope of survival, for me and for the others.”
Her argument was sound, and Lucas felt guilty for creating this predicament for her. But this was something he could do to help her, and he wanted to help her and allow her respite from her troubles. “Lavinia, we intend to go on horseback. It is faster and will allow us to return sooner, which is better for everyone. You have already seen the farm, so there is no need for you to travel uncomfortably to see it all again when you can relax here with the others. And we wouldn’t want to scandalize my father and brother by having my betrothed picking her way through rotting foundations, now, would we?” he joked. “What if I were to promise you that we will wait until we return to discuss our findings so you may be present?”
“Staying here to keep an eye on Delia and Artie is certainly wise,” she conceded grumpily. “And I don’t want to appear scandalous. My hair is scandalous enough.”
He grinned. “Not scandalous. Glorious.”
“Says you. Personally, I have discovered over the years that proper English ladies are born with golden hair, like your Isobel—”
“She is not my Isobel,” he interjected—rather too sharply.
“I see,” Lavinia said, and Lucas feared she did. “Golden hair,” she continued, “and fair complexion make up the ideal proper English lady. Those features are unpretentiously lovely.”
“Your hair reminds me of a time when I was in Spain. We were quartered in a small town, Anthony and I and a few of the officers, and we went to a bullfight. A man called a matador del toro—it means ‘bull slayer’—waves a red cape and encourages the bull to charge at him. I don’t know if it is the red color that draws the bull’s attention, but it definitely held the attention of the crowd. I think your hair must be like that.”
“It sounds like a dangerous dance that ends in the death of the bull and perhaps even the matador,” Lavinia said. “I’m not sure I like the analogy, Lucas.”
Thomas’s earlier comments—and even the cautions from his father and Isaac—suddenly sprang to mind. Fearing he’d distressed her, he changed the subject. “I believe I have solved a puzzle, Lavinia. I have concluded that your Miss Weston and Mr. Drake are actors.”
She paused for the barest moment before continuing. “What makes you think so?” she asked. “And, by the way, you may call them Delia and Artie, you know. Everyone does.”
“Not Delia. She refers to Mr. Drake as Arthur.”
“That’s true.” She smiled slightly. “It’s really quite endearing.”
“He’s besotted with her, isn’t he?”
“Yes. He always has been, I think. I’m not sure Delia realizes it; although, how she could miss it I can’t begin to imagine. And your presumption is correct. They are retired actors, with long and storied careers. They were associates of my father, who was also an actor.”
“But not cousins of yours, I’m guessing,” he said with a smile.
“No, but just as dear.”
They had crossed the lawns and were nearing a cluster of willows he’d played under as a boy—he and Isaac and Susan. Lavinia drew the fronds of the first willow tree to the side so she could step under the canopy. Lucas followed. “Delia was quite the rage in her day, from what I understand,” Lavinia said. “She’s small in stature but very powerful when she wants to be. She was quite the leading lady and even performed for the king.”
“Indeed?”
“I saw her play Titania, queen of the fairies, in A Midsummer Night’s Dream when I was very young. I—well, never mind. She was breathtaking—commanding the stage as a queen would, even a fairy queen. She truly seemed a fairy, and I wanted her to be, and I wanted her to have magic, to actually be able to change men to beasts and back again.” She stopped speaking, and Lucas wondered about a little girl who longed for that particular magical wish. Didn’t little girls wish for handsome princes or jewels and such?
She continued. “The others have told me about her performances as Desdemona and Ophelia, and apparently she was a very saucy Viola in Twelfth Night.”
“I’m guessing Artie has similar accolades.”
She actually grinned then, and Lucas’s heart did a somersault. She’d looked so somber just a moment before. “Artie’s specialty tended to be more comedic, although, personally, I think he always dreamt of being a leading man.”
“How long have you been an actress, Lavinia?” he asked as though it were the most normal question he could have posed to her.
She was silent, and Lucas thought she would not answer, but finally, she spoke. “How long have I been an actress? Oh, Lucas, I have acted my entire life.”
A simple reply, but one that held many layers.
Lucas intended to peel away those layers to the real Lavinia beneath them.
* * *
“You have been asking all the questions,” Lavinia said, running the leafy fronds of the willow tree through her fingers. “It’s my turn now.”
“Fair enough,” Lucas replied. “You may question me to your heart’s content—after I ask you one more: Have you ever climbed a tree? These willows are some of the best climbing trees to be found. Susan and Isaac will tell you the same. You could frequently find one of us or all of us here when we were young.”
Lavinia was wearing one of her best day dresses, having changed out of her best traveling gown, so she would feel presentable to the viscount and viscountess. What if she climbed the tree and her dress snagged on a branch and was ruined? Oh, but she’d never had the opportunity as a child to do something as utterly normal as climb a tree. The idea was incredibly tempting . . .
“The woody branches are low enough even for a child,” Lucas said, apparently sensing her initial hesitation. “There is truly nothing to compare with climbing a tree. Children of all ages need to climb trees. It is where the worlds in their dreams become real.”
Lavinia gazed longingly at the willow and at Lucas standing next to it, his hand propped against its solid trunk. There were four willow trees here that looked to be the same age and size, each of them with solid, sturdy branches near the trunk, beckoning to be climbed, and long, slender branches covered in feathery leaves that created a green curtain about them that waved softly in the breeze.
“I’m wearing one of my best dresses,” she said. “If I tear it because I listened to you and ventured up into this tree, I shall consider it your fault and expect you to replace it with something equal or better.”
He grinned at her, a lopsided one that was part rake and part little boy and altogether too charming for her own good, and extended his hand to her. “Deal. Allow me to assist.”
Lavinia puffed out an exasperated breath, placed one hand in his and the other on the tree, and set her foot on a large knot in the trunk about three feet from the ground. Then she boosted herself up, with Lucas’s help, setting her other foot in the spot where the trunk split into two sturdy branches. A couple of feet above that spot, the tree split again, and Lavinia decided to climb up to it as well. In for a penny, in for a pound, as the saying went.
“I’m right behind you,” Lucas said. “I’ll catch you if you fall.”
Lavinia looked over her shoulder. With Lucas standing on the first split, his head was nearly even with hers. Oh, but he was a lovely man, with thick brown hair and clear hazel eyes, and Lavinia was drawn to him, but her growing attraction for him was alarming to her as well.
Ever since she’d reached her adolescence, men in every town the troupe had visited had tended to swarm her. At the age of ten it had been terrifying—the catcalls, the lewd gestures she hadn’t understood, the money offered to her. Her father had at least been a marginally protective parent back then, shooing the riffraff away. “Livvy, my girl,” he’d said to her on more than one occasion. “Your looks are your prized possession and your poison. Have a care.”
As she’d gotten older, her father’s dubious paternal instincts had dwindled as his need for drink had grown, and his advice had changed. “Livvy, my girl,” he’d say—he’d always addressed her as “Livvy, my girl,” come to think of it—“there’s this toff I know. Good bloke, deep pockets. He’d take care of you, good care, mind, and it wouldn’t do me any harm either. Think about it. Then your old papa wouldn’t have to worry about you.”
She’d heard variations of it in nearly every town they visited. If she hadn’t had Hannah by her side all those years . . . She shuddered to think where she’d be now.
But she’d had Hannah, and Hannah had stood up to Lavinia’s father when she was young and had stood by Lavinia when she had gotten older and had been strong enough to stand up to her father herself.
“Why don’t you sit on this branch before you get so lost in your thoughts you fall out of the tree?” Lucas said to her. “Where were you?”
She’d been wishing she’d had parents like other children did, like Lucas and his siblings did, thankful she’d at least had Hannah. What would it be like to share part of herself with him?
Could she trust Lucas enough to tell him about her childhood? Her dreams?
It was a terrible risk. She could barely breathe, she felt such anxiety.
“You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to,” he added gently. “If you’d rather simply sit and enjoy your first tree-climbing experience quietly, that is your choice to make.”
There he was once again, acting honorably. Perhaps she could share part of the truth with him.
“I was thinking about my father,” she said.
“Here, sit, and you may tell me about him, but only if you wish.”
He assisted her as she maneuvered herself into a sitting position on the branch, her back against the trunk. He stood where he was and held on to a branch above their heads. The arrangement put their faces close together, nearly eye to eye.
“He was a handsome man,” Lavinia began, “at least when I was a small child, he seemed that way to me. Tall—though not as tall as you—with deep auburn hair and gray eyes.”
“That explains a few things,” Lucas said.
She smiled wanly. “My hair is much redder than his ever was. He had beautiful hair. Thick and wavy, and he was forever brushing a lock away from his eyes. This one unruly curl . . . I imagine that is why my mother and all the other women, for that matter, were attracted to him.”
“Your mother . . . ?” He left the unspoken question hanging in the air.
“I scarcely remember my mother. Hannah has always been more of a mother to me than she was. I recall blonde hair and the scent of lilies. Snatches of songs she must have sung to me. Kissing my cheek, asking me not to forget her.” Lavinia rested her hand on her cheek and could almost conjure the sensation she’d felt back then. “I have forgotten so much. I’m sorry, Mama,” she whispered.
“She loved you,” Lucas said. He set his hand on her shoulder, offering comfort. How odd it felt to have a man touch her and know it wasn’t because he wanted something for himself. Lavinia’s eyes burned.
“She left me, Lucas. She could have taken me with her, but she didn’t.”
“Perhaps she had no choice.”
“Her name was Sally. That’s all I know about her. Just Sally. I don’t even know if my father was married to her or not. He never spoke of her.” She blinked away her tears and then turned to smile at him. Here, in the willow tree, with his face just inches from hers, she could see a scar, a fine white line that ran along his hairline near his forehead. His eyes, though hazel, were predominantly green. Clear, sober eyes that looked steadily back at her.
She had told him of her parents. It felt freeing somehow. But now she wanted to learn more about him. “We have spent all our time talking about me, even after you said I could question you to my heart’s content.”
“You have only to ask,” he said.
“Good. Tell me about Isobel,” she said. She’d wondered about Isobel since she’d witnessed the woman’s reaction to Lucas’s return.
“Isobel is my eldest brother, Thomas’s, wife, as you already know,” he answered simply.
She stared at him.
He heaved a sigh. “You’re not going to let it go at that. Very well. As children, Isobel and I had an affection for each other that had grown—I mistakenly thought—into something more by the time I went away to university. During my brief absence, she and Thomas formed an attachment and married soon after.”
“Brief?”
“You don’t miss anything, do you? Yes, brief. Shortly after their marriage, which occurred at the end of my first term at Cambridge, I enlisted in the army.”
Isobel had quickly turned her affections from one brother to the other. A single university term was a mere few months. “She broke your heart.”
He snapped a twig near his face and tossed it to the ground. “If so, it has mended.”
“Has it?” she asked him softly.
He looked her in the eye. “Yes.”
“Why did you choose to enlist when you could have asked your father to purchase a commission for you?”
“I was eighteen, nearly nineteen—a foolish young cub whose masculine pride had been hurt. I suppose I enlisted as a way to make everyone suffer guilt—‘See the poor, hurt young man who is now mucking about in trenches and may be shot and killed, all because unrequited love has driven him to extreme measures.’ I don’t know. I didn’t ask my father to purchase a commission for me because he would have talked me out of going, and I was determined to go. I think I also blamed my family for being complicit in Thomas’s courtship of Isobel. It was all rubbish thinking on my part. I learned my lesson the hard way over the course of seven long years.”
“Tell me about Spain,” she said.
“It’s difficult to appreciate the beauty of a landscape when one is on a long march. One simply concentrates on putting one’s foot in front of the other.” Before she could respond, he went on. “Spain is dry and hot. It can be dry and cold. And it can also rain torrents. I had my fill of all three. It is not like England in appearance at all, and I suppose, had I been there under other circumstances, I might have considered it exotically beautiful. But I cannot separate the place from the experiences I had there. At least not yet.”
She reached out and ran her finger down the scar along his hairline. “Did you get this while you were there? Do you have other scars?”
“Yes.” The word was nearly a growl that came from deep inside his throat.
Lavinia had flirted over the years; alienating male admirers wouldn’t have been good for box-office receipts. She wasn’t flirting with Lucas though; her questions were direct, as were his answers. She’d touched his scar impulsively, out of compassion, and doing so had made his experiences in Spain real to her. But the willow tree fairly vibrated now from the attraction between them. She didn’t know what to do, having never allowed herself to feel attracted to any man. It had always been too dangerous before.
She mentally called on Ruby to help her out of her predicament. Ruby would lower her eyelashes and say some sighing, witty thing that would simultaneously encourage and deter the gentleman in question. But Ruby was nowhere to be found.
“Lavinia—” Lucas said, his voice still sounding deep and rough and doing something startling to Lavinia’s insides.
“If I were younger,” Lavinia chirped, interrupting Lucas, afraid of what he would say or do and of how she was feeling, “I would pull on a pair of breeches and climb to the very top of this tree.” She tipped her head back to view the top of the canopy and then pointed. “See? To that branch. It must be a wonderful view up there. I would be able to see all of Alderwood, I daresay, and even to the village beyond.”
“Not quite to the village. I know, because I’ve done exactly what you are suggesting on more occasions than I can count during my childhood and early youth. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Susan herself hasn’t sneaked out here in a pair of our brothers’ breeches to do the same.” He paused. “Lavinia—” he began again.
“I knew I liked Susan, from our first introduction. And Rebecca too; she’s such a lovely girl.”
“I think so too. But before you begin to wax rhapsodic over each of my siblings and start listing all their qualities in alphabetical order—”
“I wasn’t going to do anything of the sort. Don’t be ridiculous. But I can’t help but admire Susan, who is so clever; I quite like that about her, and Rebecca is sweet and gentle. And they have both been kind and welcoming since we arrived.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” he said. “Lavinia—”
“What? What do you want?” she cried, unable to deal with the anxiety any longer. “Do you want to kiss me; is that it?”
His gaze dropped to her mouth at her words. “Well, yes, frankly, but—”
“Then do it! Get it over with!”
“But,” he said with emphasis, “what I was going to suggest is that we spend some of our time alone here discussing how to proceed since my rashness has gotten us into a fix. And what the devil do you mean by ‘get it over with’?”
She froze, her eyes glued to his face. He brought his free hand up, and she flinched and pressed back against the trunk of the tree. But instead of slapping her or grabbing her, as she’d half expected him to do, he laid his hand gently on her shoulder.
“Devil take it—you’re as white as a sheet,” he said, looking stricken. “You can’t think I was going to . . . Lavinia, I would never strike a woman or assault one. Never. I’m appalled that you would think, even for a moment, that you were in any kind of danger with me. Have I not proven myself trustworthy to you so far? There have been plenty of opportunities for me to take advantage, if that had been my intent.
“And furthermore, when I said I wanted to kiss you, that was the truth. But even at that, I would never do so without your permission or your desire to kiss me back. I have sisters, for heaven’s sake! If some man were to . . . to any of my sisters, I would call the bounder out, and my brothers would have to get in line behind me.” He turned and stared out into the distance while he appeared to rein in his emotions.
“Lucas,” Lavinia said once she had found her voice. “I’ve never kissed a man before.”
He turned and looked at her skeptically.
“See? Even you believe I have a history with men. I can see it in your face.”
“I don’t know what you can see in my face. But I do know you have a history with men, and I don’t believe it has been a particularly pleasant one. You reacted with fear just now. I saw that same look on the faces of the women and girls in Spain. War doesn’t always make heroes. It frequently brings out the worst in people.” He cupped her cheek with his hand, and she nearly wept. “Tell me, Lavinia, about these men.”
“You’re right. Must I say more? I have been kissed, Lucas, but I have never kissed.”
“Where was your father when all of this was going on?”
“He was too busy at the pubs and bawdy houses to care, and when he died, I’m sorry to say, it was no great loss to anyone. Even me.” She suddenly felt tired to the bone. The day had begun with such hope and had gone through such highs and lows since then. “Perhaps it is time to return to the house,” she said.
“Very well. I’m truly sorry about the betrothal. Once again, you have been ill-used by a man without your consent beforehand.”
“Oh, Lucas, I did the same to you, did I not? It would be the height of hypocrisy if I were to hold it against you. So, for the time being, I shall be your devoted betrothed. You have joined up with a band of actors, you will recall. We are as comfortable playing characters as we are at being ourselves.” More comfortable, in truth.
He climbed down from the willow tree and then assisted her down, putting his hands on her waist and lifting her from the branches to the ground. “Come then, Lavinia. Let us return to the house and continue our charade.”
“Lucas,” she said before she lost her courage. There was one thing more she wanted him to know, needed to let him know, but Ruby Chadwick’s flirtatiousness and wit were still not to be found anywhere. Only Lavinia remained—and she was terrified by what she was about to say.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I think I may want to kiss you. Sometime. But not today.”
His eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth turned up. “I can wait,” he said.
It was exactly what she’d hoped—no, needed—to hear.
She fell a little in love with Lucas then.