The Peculiar Pink Toes of Lady Flora Page 21

  "It is not like you to be anxious and twittery about a man. You generally get directly to the point and put them in their place. It does not take you long to either make a conquest or cut them ruthlessly adrift. You have never been so unsure."

  "I am not anxious. Twittery! The very idea!" she scoffed, putting her chin up.

  "I hope you're being very cautious, my friend. Here, all alone, so far from anybody, with a man like that under your roof."

  "And the Greys. Do not forget the Greys. Besides there would never be anything between that man," she pointed out toward the yard, "and I. We settled that a long — as soon as he came here."

  Persey's gaze traveled over her face with unguarded wonder. "What's the matter? Does he resist your charms? I never thought to see the day when—."

  "What makes you think I find him at all attractive in that way? I said he is pleasant, hard-working and capable. That is all."

  Her friend merely looked at her, lips pursed, brows arched high.

  She finally lost her patience. Seething with it, she had to tell somebody. "If you must know— I rejected him. This will surely prove to you that there is nothing of that nature between us, because there cannot be. That man out there—" she paused for a deep breath, "is the Duke of Malgrave. So there. Now you know. Kindly keep it to yourself, of course. I only tell you because I know you can keep secrets."

  Persey's eyes grew very large and round as her lips parted in a gasp. "Malgrave? The man himself? You're teasing! You must be, wicked woman! This is another of your games."

  "No, it is not. He thinks he's playing a trick upon me. As if I could be fooled! As if I would not know him almost instantly. Almost." She shook her head. "For approximately two minutes I believed his little act. The beard, the hair and the outrageous accent."

  "Why would he pretend to be somebody else, for pity's sake? What cause would such a man have to do that?"

  She thought about it for a moment. "Don't we all put on an act sometimes?" After all, she'd been pretending since she was seventeen, plucked out of the fog to wear Lady Flora Chelmsworth's shoes. While she kept them on her feet, of course.

  A new look passed over her friend's face, those elegant green eyes turning glassy. She looked away. "Yes, I suppose so. We all have to be somebody else from time to time. To get away. To escape something."

  Occasionally Flora wondered about her old friend's secrets. There were many of them, she was sure, but Persey kept her cards close to the chest. A wise lady should no more confess her age at any particular moment in time, than she would tell what she has spent on shoes, what she is truly thinking, or where the bodies are buried, as she would say.

  Quickly changing expression again, her friend exclaimed, "But the Duke of Malgrave! After all this time. I can scarce believe it. Still, they say war changes a man."

  "I daresay he had to come back eventually. He is a creature of duty and he has an estate to run. He is not the sort to leave that in the hands of a steward for too long." No, he liked to be in control and manage people.

  "What about his wife?"

  Yes, there was that, she thought glumly. He was still married, no matter who he pretended to be. No matter how he looked at her. Or how he made her pulse race. "I can hardly ask him about that, can I?" There were many reasons why she could not.

  How long could he keep up the masquerade? While he was not the stiff and pompous arse, he was good company. In a mischievous way. But it could not last, could it?

  A man who once shrank from her touch had just placed his hand to her face with something like...tenderness? Her heartbeat quickened again as she thought of his kisses. Shocking that he would take that chance, when they might have been caught.

  Perhaps the moment had swept him away, as it had done to her.

  As her friend said, war changed men, and he was certainly altered in many ways, not the least of which was his inattention to grooming and that risqué sense of humor. She used to imagine it would be good for him to loosen his seams and have his hair ruffled. Now she did not know what to think. It might be good for him, but it felt very bad for her. The last thing she needed, in her new state as a mature, hard-working woman, was temptation and distraction of this sort.

  "Please be wary, Flora," her friend whispered. "Folk do like to talk, as we both know. The lively widow and a tall, handsome fellow, living and working here together? It is dangerous grist for the gossip mill."

  "Gracious, Persey, you advised me to hire the fellow!"

  "I didn't think he would be the only laborer here, or that he would be quite so...so...well, you know! He is not the uncomplicated fellow we expected, is he? Something tells me that he has surprised you in more ways than one."

  She blinked innocently. "I have no inkling of what you might mean."

  Persey's lips bent in a slow smile. "That was a man's thumbprint on your cheek, and I'm quite certain it was not left there by Grey."

  "It does not—"

  "You regret rejecting the duke's proposal," she stated flatly. "Admit it, woman."

  "Why? Why would I regret anything?" Just because she'd thought about him almost every day since that fateful encounter, did not mean she would do anything any differently. Some things simply were never meant to be.

  "I always knew there would be a fellow one day to upset your merry, carefree applecart, Flora. But I did not know he would come out of your past. I had no suspicion of it. You hid it so well."

  "Oh, for pity's sake, for the last time, there is nothing whatsoever like that between us. There cannot be, can there?"

  Persey merely looked, her eyes gleaming saucily, lips quivering with restrained amusement.

  Finally Flora added with a gusty sigh. "I daresay you want to meet him."

  "Now that would be fun!"

  "But you must not give the game away."

  Her friend smiled. "You know that there is nobody on earth who can hold her tongue better than I. His secret is quite safe with me." The smile broke into a grin. "As is yours, darling."

  * * * *

  It rained hard that afternoon. Maxim enjoyed a rare moment of rest in the hayloft when his mistress came to find him.

  "I think you should come inside for dinner," she called up to him. "My friend Persephone Radcliffe cannot stay long, but she is very keen to meet you."

  He sat up, boots dangling over the edge of the loft. "Would that be proper, my lady?"

  "I believe in most societies it would not be, but here in the Republic of Flora we are lax about our dining company. Besides, I don't want to hear you complaining again that you were overlooked by my guests."

  When he leapt down to join her, she held up a hand and frowned.

  "And don't think I have forgotten your earlier impertinence. I shall address the incident as soon as my guest has gone."

  He put on a wounded face. "You did not like the kiss?"

  "Like it? What has that to do with anything? You took without asking and in complete disregard for my opinion of the matter."

  "But I thought you wanted thrilling adventure, madam."

  She stared.

  "I guessed that you did," he added hastily. "Being a pirate, etcetera..."

  "Did you indeed? If you must know what I thought of your kiss...I found it ..." she pointed at his beard, "prickly."

  Maxim scowled. "That is all?"

  To that she gave no reply, but took his waistcoat from a nearby hay bale and handed it to him. "Try to look respectable for my guest. We eat tonight in the great hall."

  He bowed, taking the garment from her outstretched hand. "Then Massimo shall be on his best beehivier."

  * * * *

  He had never met the former Marchioness of Holbrooke, but he had heard how she enlivened the final years of the old marquess. It was not unusual, of course, for elderly men to take much younger brides, but it was rare for the arrangement to be mutually agreeable. In their case, it seemed, it had been. Persephone spoke fondly of her deceased husband, of his kindness and generosity.
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  "I know my friend Flora was not so fortunate in her marriage," she said. "I was one of the lucky few. What about you, Massimo? Do you have a wife and family in Italy? A sweetheart, perhaps?"

  "I do not have sweethearts," he muttered, avoiding the other half of her question. "I left nothing behind that I would miss." He turned the conversation to his work in the vineyards, not eager to hear more about Flora's marriage. It still turned his stomach to think of it, and he was certain the distaste would show in his expression.

  A lively discussion then followed about wine-making, for it turned out that Persephone Radcliffe had knowledge of medicinal, herbal recipes and she and Flora had an idea to combine their efforts and produce wines capable of providing healthy benefit. It seemed as if Flora had put more thought into her endeavors than he first realized. He should not have underestimated her.

  As he watched his "mistress" chatter with her friend, occasionally turning her eyes to him for a nod of approval or a word of advice, or merely to include him in the conversation, he felt a great warmth steal through his body. It was like the sun coming out after a grim, rainy day. How determined she was, full of ambition and passion. He told her he had never met a woman like her and he meant it.

  He understood now why he had come back there to her. She felt like home.

  The two women seemed almost to forget about his presence after a while, laughing and talking excitedly together about their business plans. The words flew off their lips, finishing each other's sentences and anticipating the joke before it came. He had never had such a friendship, and he envied it.

  She'd given him a chance before to be her friend, and he had foolishly disregarded the offer. His mistake.

  "You see," she said proudly, turning to him again at last, "if the grapevines fail to flourish, I shall still make my wine, Massimo. I am undaunted."

  "Of course. I believe you can do anything, Flora." Then, realizing that the other woman watched them with great curiosity, he corrected himself. "Lady Flora."

  "You were doubtful when you first came," his mistress teased.

  "With your hard work you proved me wrong."

  "You? Wrong?" She chuckled. "Gracious. I never thought to hear you admit it."

  "Not about all things was I wrong, my lady. "

  "Oh?"

  "One thing in particular I have known for a long time and my opinion has not changed. Nor will it ever. It is a fact I feel in my very bones."

  She was flushed, perhaps from the wine. Perhaps not. That twinkle under her auburn lashes might just be the reflection of candlelight. "What thing might that be, Massimo the Magnificent?"

  "You are so clever, madam, can you not work it out for yourself?"

  She faltered, looked down, both hands gripping her wine glass.

  "The English weather," he said, sitting back with a grin, "is the worst, most abysmal, damp climate in the world. And of that, I am now beyond doubt in my certainty."

  * * * *

  Persey climbed up into her carriage, shut the door and leaned out. "You know, of course, that he's in love with you."

  She caught her breath in a shattered laugh. "Don't be ridiculous."

  "You've known men smitten before. It cannot be so strange an idea to comprehend."

  "But not him. Not Malgrave."

  "Just why do you suppose he would go to these lengths? As he says, you are clever, Flora. You know why he's here."

  "But he wouldn't. He can't."

  "Oh, but he is." Her friend nodded earnestly. "I like him. Despite all the terrible things you ever told me about his grace, the Duke of Malgrave, I find him quite delightful, even charming."

  "He's changed."

  "So have you— or so you told me not so long ago. I seem to remember something about you being level-headed, judicious and forgiving these days. Oh, and chaste." Persey smiled.

  "He has a wife."

  "Who, while he went away to war, was indiscreet, unfaithful, and finally ran off with her lover, treating the duke and her son abominably!"

  "Perhaps Malgrave treated her just as badly."

  "Do you truly believe those stories? Does he strike you as a man who could be dishonorable? Now that he's here, do you think him capable of all those vile things that are said of him in regard to his marriage? That man who holds out chairs for you and gets up to tend the fire every time he thinks he sees you shiver? Do you, in all honesty, think him a potential villain?"

  No. She did not. She always knew he was a difficult man, awkward, often arrogant, but he was not deliberately unkind or cruel.

  "Regardless of what happened, or how he might regret it now, he is a married man with a wife still living." Flora had enjoyed her lovers in the past, but never a married man. She held fast to that rule. A promise must be kept and that went for marriage vows too.

  Persey patted her knuckles where they rested against the carriage door. "Well, I must go, dear friend, and leave you to your dilemma. I shall say just one thing more. Life is short and unpredictable; happiness is rare. We both know that, after all the lives we've lived. As you always say, our time is measured in sighs and gasps."

  "That's three things, perhaps four. I lost count."

  "And you, my dear friend, are overdue the love of a good man. One who is not just a playfellow. Not just a man for whom you feel only lust, neither great esteem nor enduring admiration. You need a man worthy of all that you are."

  "Five things! Are you yet done? There is nothing worse than a woman so stupidly content in her own life that she rides about the countryside preaching grandiose ideas to the less fortunate."

  Laughing, the other woman, waved and sat back in her seat. "I think you are afraid, Flora darling. Since I've known you, your affairs have been brief, casual, never too deep and meaningful. Safe, unchallenging and uncommitted. I think, despite your brave talk of seizing life and opportunities, you fear falling in love."

  "I have always believed in love," she protested. "I have waited for it all my life."

  "And now it is upon you." Her friend gasped dramatically, leaning forward again, fingers to her lips, eyes wide and shining with amusement. "Your bluff has been called. Sakes! Whatever shall you do?"

  She watched the carriage depart as dusk fell and with it more rain. For several moments she barely thought of how wet she was getting. It did not occur to her that she should seek shelter, for there was too much on her mind and her heart.

  Persey was usually very perceptive when it came to people and their motives, but surely this time she was mistaken. Surely.

  Of all the people in the world, it would be just her luck to fall in love with Smug-Bob Prim-breeches.

  Not Smug-Bob, she corrected herself, but Smug-Fred.

  Otherwise known as Fortitudo Maximilian Fairfax-Savoy.

  But was he in love with her? She would not have imagined him capable of falling in love with anybody, for that would require the man to concede those tightly clasped reins of his self-control.

  Love must be as fearsome a prospect for him, as it was, suddenly— after all her fine talk—for Rosie Jackanapes.

  Otherwise known as Lady Flora of the Pink Toes.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When she returned to the hall, he was still there, all the candles extinguished and only the fire left to provide light.

  "Now I know where your neighbors came by the idea of a coven," he said wryly. "Two ladies of mischief meeting here alone to discuss their wicked plans and laugh. So much laughter." Then he saw how the rain dripped from her clothes and hair. "Good God, woman, come here by the fire."

  "I like the rain," she said softly. "It makes the flowers grow and feeds the earth."

  "You're soaked through." He reached for her sleeve, urging her closer to the fire's glow.

  "Don't fuss, Fred."

  Silence. He kept hold of her sleeve, but stilled. Firelight danced over his face as he looked down at her, vaguely annoyed. Uncertain. "You knew?"

  "Did you really think I would not recogniz
e you?" she said. "I knew it the first day."

  The frown deepened. "I've been sleeping in that damn hayloft for no reason these past few weeks?"

  "I decided it would do you good. Teach you a lesson for trying to trick me."

  In a huff, he released her sleeve, went to a chair and dropped heavily into it. Oh dear, would he now revert to the stiffness and arrogance she had seen in him before?

  "Why did you come back here like this, pretending to be Italian? Did you think I might burn your house down, so you came to keep an eye on me in disguise?" she teased gently, walking over to stand before him. "I am not the clumsy fool I used to be, you know."

  Finally he looked at her again. "The ever-devious Plumm urged me to come home. Lured me, perhaps, would be a better word, when he told me you were here at Darnley."

  "Plumm?"

  "I begin to see that this was all his doing," he muttered. "No doubt the grapevines gave him the idea."

  "But why?"

  "As my loyal retainer I once asked him to help in a certain matter that proved beyond our control. To this day, it seems, he has not conceded defeat. Plumm does not care for dangling threads."

  "I'm a dangling thread?"

  He nodded, his lips bent in a wry smile. "That's one term for it."

  Flora knew that the solicitor, Plumm, had paid a visit to Wyndham after the duke's letters stopped all those years ago. It was Francis who told her what happened, otherwise she would never have known. Unfortunately, Flora, confined to her room as punishment for some misdemeanor, was forbidden visitors at that time and her great aunt was out, leaving Sir Roderick to lay down the law.

  "Lady Flora is indisposed," the smelfungus was reported as saying when told of the solicitor's arrival. "She will see nobody. Send him on his way, whoever he is. He clearly is not a worthy suitor. He dresses like a costermonger who lost his wares on the way to market."

  "But he is in the employ of the Duke of Malgrave, sir," the butler had replied.

  "Ah. No doubt he seeks some monetary compensation for the damage she caused in Suffolk this spring. Tell him we are not at home."