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Sky cracked a filbert and offered it to her. “A brother.”
“The eldest,” added Lane. “You see before you the new Earl of Skylar.”
She took the nutmeat from Sky’s palm. “I see a gentleman of few words but deep thought.”
“And very deep pockets,” Lane added with a laugh.
She joined in his laughter. “Tell me, how is the theater in the Indies?” she asked Sky directly this time.
He shrugged. “Not to be compared to London, by any means.”
“Is there a chance for a working girl like me?” she asked.
“I think a girl of your talents would have a measure of success anywhere she chose to reside.”
“A measure only?”
“That probably depends on the efforts she puts forth.”
“I’m a very hardworking girl.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“My dear Miss Spencer,” Lane said, bringing her attention back to himself. Sky watched his friend strive to engage her, wondering if this young woman was anything like the series of dancers his father had enjoyed over the years of Sky’s youth. He hadn’t been back long enough to know whom his father was currently involved with. Sky had discovered long ago his sire was a very private man. He wondered if there was anyone privy to all his secrets.
Sky had hardly seen his father. When the marquess wasn’t at the races, he was at the gaming table or at someone’s house in the country round about London.
The three of them lingered over their table until two in the morning. When at last they rose, Sky gave instructions to his coachman to drop off Miss Spencer first at her residence. She gave him a very pointed look of open invitation, but he ignored it.
When she had left them, Lane closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. “Have you ever seen such an exquisite complexion? And those eyes, they make you feel either you can conquer all or that you’re the biggest imbecile she’s ever come across.”
Sky had to chuckle at that. “She is, after all, an actress.”
“Ah, her talent!”
Sky hadn’t actually seen her act, merely prance across the stage, but he didn’t point this out to his enamored friend. He shifted against the squabs, feeling a vague discomfort. He had already begun to feel it in the restaurant, but now it grew stronger. The meal had obviously not agreed with him.
Just a bout of indigestion, nothing more. Probably bad oysters. He refused to think it could be anything else.
Certainly not a recurrence of the fever that had almost killed him.
“Pity you shall soon be leg-shackled, although I think Lady Gillian is a wonderful girl.” Lane gave a deep sigh. “But I wouldn’t want to miss the delights of a Miss Spencer.” He grinned wickedly at Sky in the darkened coach interior. “Of course, after a suitable period, the proverbial honeymoon, you can always keep an eye out for another such morsel.”
“Except for the fact I’m one of those who believes in the exclusivity of marriage.”
“What? You mean keeping one’s marriage vows?”
Sky pulled aside the curtain, not caring to enter into a discussion on his views of matrimony.
“Oh, come on, man, show me one London couple who keeps their vows after, say, five years of marriage.”
“I daresay one would be hard-pressed,” he admitted.
“Is this some West Indian custom you’ve picked up?”
Sky breathed in deeply, hoping that would ease the queasiness stirring in his stomach. “Let’s just say I would want to know my heirs are my own.”
Lane nodded. “Of course. But say after a time, once your lineage is secure…”
“There’s a small matter of pride. If I can’t satisfy my bride, I probably deserve to be cuckolded.”
Delaney laughed. “If only more gentlemen held that viewpoint.”
They fell silent as the carriage crossed Haymarket. Then Lane ventured once again, “What if, despite everything, your wife should stray?”
“Well, let us hope my marrying a young lady of high birth who knows little of the world will give me someone innocent enough to conform to my way of thinking.”
Lord Skylar appeared at Lady Gillian’s residence promptly at three o’clock the next afternoon. Gillian saw him descend from his curricle, hand his tiger the reins and give him some instructions, before striding toward the front steps. She sat ensconced in a comfortable chair at her bedroom window, having retired to her room with a book at half-past two and neglecting to mention to her mother that Lord Skylar would call.
Twenty minutes went by before she received a summons. During that time, she had paced and stopped in front of her full-length mirror a half-dozen times, wondering why her absence hadn’t been noted sooner.
She smoothed down the jonquil-yellow lawn dress and readjusted the moss-green ribbon tied under the bodice, knowing the colors enhanced her complexion and dark hair. Giving herself one final look in the glass, with a quick rearranging of her curls, she left the confines of her room.
She could hear voices through the drawing room door. Quietly she opened it, wanting to observe before being observed.
Lord Skylar sat forward on the striped settee, with his hands upon a cane, directing himself to Templeton. He looked perfectly at ease chatting with her.
“I know precisely what you mean,” he said to Gillian’s companion in an understanding tone. Gillian stared from his benign demeanor to her tormentor’s parched features, which reminded her of a desiccated fish. Templeton coughed and reddened, stammering something in reply. It was probably the first time someone had agreed with her on anything.
Her mother sat across from them, regarding Lord Skylar with an interested smile.
“Ah, there is Gillian at last,” she declared, turning to her.
Lord Skylar rose in a leisurely fashion and gave her a slight bow. “Good afternoon, Lady Gillian.”
He wore black, and she realized he was still in mourning for his brother. His appearance continued to unnerve her, those dark looks deepened by the dark garments he wore.
She gave him a brief nod. “Good afternoon.”
He waited until she had seated herself as far away from him as possible before taking his seat again.
“Lord Skylar has requested your company for a ride around the park. He was hopeful to find you at home today. I told him of course you would be available to him at any time. He has but to send round a note.”
Gillian gave Lord Skylar a tight smile, conceding him the victory. At least he hadn’t given her away. “Lord Skylar did mention paying a call this afternoon. It must have slipped my mind.”
“Slipped your mind!” Templeton’s disapproving tone intruded. “Good gracious, my lady. You have better manners than that. You owe Lord Skylar an apology.”
“She owes me nothing. I have found her at home and that is all that is required,” he drawled, returning Gillian’s smile with one of his one.
“I believe a ride is a delightful idea. It will give the two of you the chance to get better acquainted with one another,” put in her mother. “It is such a lovely afternoon.”
“As you wish, Mama.”
Lord Skylar rose again. “Then, as we have the duchess’s permission, I suggest we depart.” He approached her chair and held out an arm. “Shall we?”
As they were leaving the room, she turned toward her companion. “Aren’t you coming with us, Templeton?”
Her mother answered for her. “No, my dear. Since you are taking a drive with your betrothed and his groom, you have no need of Templeton.”
Gillian blinked at her mother. Before she could say anything, Lord Skylar led her out the door.
“Don’t forget your parasol and shawl, my lady,” Templeton called out.
Gillian was too amazed at her sudden freedom from Templeton to be aware of Lord Skylar handing her up into the close confines of the curricle. As he took the reins and whip from his tiger, she unfurled her parasol in the open carriage, aware all the while of how closely she sat beside him.
She watched his gloved hands as he maneuvered the curricle around the crowded square and was forced to concede he was a competent whip. He skirted the crested coaches parked in front of the stately residences while avoiding the oncoming vehicles clip-clopping toward them.
“You have a fine pair of grays,” she commented once they were away from the crowded streets of Mayfair and approaching the green expanse of Hyde Park.
“I can take no credit. They were Edmund’s. Not the pair that killed him,” he added.
“I’m sorry. It must pain you to think about your brother…the suddenness of the accident.”
“By the time I was informed, he was long dead and buried, but yes, it still came as a shock. I never expected him to go in quite that manner. An overturned coach…a broken neck…He was still in his prime and always had a strong constitution. I’d always expected him to live to his nineties.”
“You must have looked up to him,” she commented, wondering how it felt to suddenly inherit the place of an elder brother and heir. As an only child herself, she had always thought it would be nice to have a brother or sister, someone to turn to and confide in when there was no one else.
Lord Skylar glanced at her before fixing his attention back on the congestion in front of the park gates. “Everyone admired Edmund.”
She glanced at his profile. The words were spoken as a statement of fact. Before she could comment further, she noticed they were passing the gates without turning in. She sat up. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded as they continued down Knightsbridge.
“Oh, to a little farmhouse in Kensington Village,” he drawled, not taking his eyes off the crowded thoroughfare. “I thought I’d make love to you all afternoon and then return you to your mama in time for tea.”
“Turn this vehicle around immediately!”
He grinned wickedly, sparing her only a glance, and she realized her mistake. She sat back and fumed. “That’s not amusing.”
“My apologies. You are easily repelled by any mention of the physical aspect of our relationship. It seems to bring out the worst in me. I ask your pardon.”
Instead of replying to him, she craned her head around to take a last look at the park gates and gave a little sigh of regret.
“I hope you’re not too disappointed with the change in plans. I have found the park choked with traffic. They’ve turned it into a veritable fairground since the victory,” he said in disgust.
She turned back to settle in her seat. “I have scarcely seen the celebrations. Mother shares your opinion and deems it best to avoid the crowds.”
When he made no comment but continued, focused on the road, Gillian fell silent, deciding to make the most of the outing. Tilting her head back, she breathed deeply of the warm June air, which was filled with the smells of vegetation from the park alongside and baked pastries from a nearby hawker selling meat pies. The sharp tang of leather from the curricle’s seat reminded her of drives with her father.
She wished anew they could ride in the park, where her acquaintances might see her in this smart vehicle. It was well sprung and polished to a brilliant shine. Her hands caressed the supple leather seat. What a difference from riding in the closed landau with Templeton.
Suddenly, she laughed, looking upward past the leafy trees to the powder-blue sky and soft white clouds beyond.
Skylar gave her a brief look. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Freedom from my jailer.”
“The redoubtable Miss Templeton?”
“The very one.”
“If I had to select a companion to guard a young lady’s virtue, I do believe I would have chosen Miss Templeton.”
Gillian gave him a sidelong glance. “She has been my shadow for the last three years.”
“Tell me,” he asked, stepping up their speed as the traffic thinned, “are you in need of such an assiduous guard?”
Her smile disappeared and she looked away. “It is Mama’s desire to protect me. That is why I was astonished she let me go on this ride without Templeton.”
“Your mother trusts the contract drawn up between our solicitors. She knows the Pembrokes won’t renege on an agreement once they’ve given their word. What transpires between now and the wedding date does not unduly concern her.”
“Since you are going to behave with absolute propriety, I suppose Mama’s trust is not misplaced,” she answered with a firmness she was far from feeling. When he gave her no such assurance, Gillian turned to study the scenery along the Kensington Road.
She decided she would enjoy her outing and not let Lord Skylar’s unusual manner unsettle her. He was a gentleman, otherwise her mother would not have agreed to the match. She must believe that.
When they arrived in the village of Kensington on the outskirts of London, he took her to a small tea garden set in the middle of pastures where cows grazed peacefully. Gillian looked about her in delight at the quaint establishment surrounded by flowering gardens. Small round tables covered in pretty linen tablecloths were set up both in the main dining room and out in the gardens.
She readily agreed when he suggested they sit outside.
“Mmm.” She inhaled the fragrance of moss roses, pinks and sweet pea growing in a profusion beside their table.
He helped her into a chair, and a waitress brought her a glass of lemonade and a pot of tea for him. Sky asked her to bring them a selection of their cream-filled pastries.
“What a charming place. I’ve never been here before.” Gillian looked at the man seated across from her, against the backdrop of flowers, the drone of bees and the twitter of birds. “It’s not the sort of place Mother would frequent.” Nor you, she added silently.
“I’m glad it’s still around. I have scarcely had a chance yet to explore all my old haunts. My mother would bring me here as a boy when I was home on holiday. I used to dream of the syllabub made with their cream.”
She eyed him, finding it hard to imagine this austere looking man clad in black ever being a little boy craving sweets.
“These look scrumptious,” she said, preferring to turn her attention to the fruit tarts heaped with whipped cream the waitress set before them. She put one on her plate.
“The place is famous for its cream and butter,” he explained, nodding to the cows grazing in the lawn beyond the garden. “I don’t know how much longer it will be around. Everyone prefers Vauxhall, from what I hear.”
Her eyes lit up. “How I’d love to go there!”
He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t been? In all your three seasons?”
“Mother thinks it vulgar. She believes it is only a place for the lower classes to go for their trysts.”
He sat back, crossing his long legs, his fingers playing idly with a teaspoon. “Some would say the same thing of tea gardens. We have the place practically to ourselves. The lower classes must indeed all be at Vauxhall.”
