A Gamble on Love (16 page)

Nor was she, Relia thought. “All the time we
were in Tunbridge Wells and I told you of my life here at Pevensey
Park, yet not once did you mention their existence.”

“
I thought . . . it seemed we had
enough problems confronting us. It was foolish to add more, if it
were not necessary.”

“
But now it is.”

“
Yes.”

Relia raised her chin. “Please sit down . . .
Thomas.” Mr. Lanning, flipping up the tails of his jacket, though
never taking his eyes off his wife’s face, sat in a chair directly
across from her. “I have made your sister welcome here,” she
informed him coolly, “and I am happy to do the same for your
brother. You are quite correct. This should be their home. I have
loved Pevensey Park all my life, and it is my duty to share it with
them. I had no brothers or sisters, so I fear I am ignorant on the
subject of children, but Gussie is a marvel and will undoubtedly
make up for my mistakes.”

“
You are most gracious,” Thomas
responded with as much formality as if he were speaking to a
duchess, “yet I fear they will be a considerable disruption to the
quiet life you cherish here.”

Relia bent her head, hiding her expression.
Her husband certainly had the right of it, but she was not such an
ogre that she could not feel sympathy for orphaned children, no
matter how difficult they might be. Nor did a Trevor ever shirk her
duty. This was her hired dragonslayer, and even if he had not yet
done as thorough a job as she might have liked, she was honor-bound
to fulfill her part of their peculiar bargain.

“
Aurelia . . . is the renovation of our
bedchambers complete?”

Abruptly, Mrs. Lanning returned from
righteous self-satisfaction to the realities of the moment.
“Nearly,” she responded, plucking an invisible spot of lint from
her gray woolen gown. “I did not expect you back so soon.”

“
Nearly? And pray tell just what
remains to be done?”

“
The sitting room and your bedchamber
are complete. You will find them most comfortable, I am sure. Mr.
Arnold was a most clever man.”

“
But
your
room is not ready, I take it?”

“
Ah . . . no. Mr. Arnold is in London
searching out the precise fabric I require.”

“
I see.” Such innocence in those
gray-blue eyes, Thomas thought. Almost, he believed her. “I see no
evidence of holiday decoration,” he commented casually, as if
dismissing the incomplete refurbishment as of little importance.
“Perhaps you may make use of Nicholas’s services in that regard. He
is one who needs—ah—a good many tasks, preferably interesting ones,
to occupy his time.”

“
Of course,” his wife responded
smoothly, “an excellent suggestion. And now, perhaps you would care
to see what has been done to your rooms?”

An hour later, Thomas Lanning sent for his
wife’s maid. Tilly, as he recalled, had seemed to approve of him
after his rescue of her mistress from almost certain injury. The
tale he pried out of her, however reluctantly, turned him even more
stony-faced than usual. Dismissing the maid, he rang for
Biddeford.

“
You will restore the bedhangings and
draperies Mr. Arnold provided for my wife’s room,” he told the
butler. “Immediately.”

“
I fear there may be some delay, Mr.
Lanning,” Biddeford replied, stoically loyal to his mistress,
though he could not quite hide his apprehension. “They have been
boxed and sent to the attics. The draperies match the bedhangings,
you see, sir, and Mrs. Lanning’s room has a good many windows.
There are a staggering number of boxes, ” the butler concluded,
trailing into silence.

Though still scowling, Thomas, a reasonable
man, nodded, for it was late in the day, nearly time to dress for
dinner. “Very well, you and—what is the housekeeper’s name? Ah,
yes, you and Mrs. Marshcombe will see to the matter in the morning.
And then you may supervise the removal of Mrs. Lanning’s belongings
to her new room. Thomas paused, skewering the butler with his sharp
gray eyes. “I trust I make myself clear, Biddeford?”

The elderly butler drew himself up into a
stance as stiff as a soldier under inspection by a general. “Yes,
sir. Indeed, sir. I assure you, Mr. Lanning, all will be as you
wish it.”

As he reached the hall, Biddeford’s shoulders
slumped. Poor Miss Aurelia. She had married a sharp one. Wasn’t
taken in by her tricks one little bit. And with two more Lannings
come to Pevensey Park—and neither of them with cobwebs between the
ears—it was going to be a lively holiday. Most lively.

For a moment Biddeford allowed his lips to
curve into a smile. It was possible . . . yes, indeed it was, that
they had all become too set in their ways at Pevensey Park. The new
broom had swept clean; a new era had begun. For a short while it
looked very much as if young miss had sacrificed herself, but now
it appeared as if Mr. Lanning had no intention of abandoning his
wife to her own devices in the country. No, indeed. Almost . . .
yes, almost Biddeford could hear a creaking of timbers, the soft
swish of silken hangings as the old house stirred to life. Perhaps
even the patter of little feet on the stairs, childish shouts of
glee, Miss Aldershot’s stern admonitions rising over all . . .

With his shoulders returned to their
customary stately grace and his face to its impassive butlerish
mask, Biddeford pushed open the door and headed toward the
kitchen.

~ * ~

Relia’s steps increased in pace as she moved
down the hallway until, by the time she reached her room, she was
close to a jog. Bursting through the door, she slammed it behind
her, stalking to the center of the bedchamber, where she stood,
breathing hard, eyes squeezed tight and fists clenched. The
serenity of her household had disappeared up the chimney like so
much unwanted smoke. At dinner, Gussie had concentrated her
attention on the two younger Lannings, who seemed to require
constant supervision to keep them from quarreling like toddlers on
leading strings. Which left her husband as her sole conversational
partner. And he—abominable man!—except for assuring her he would
search out a tutor for young Nicholas so the boy did not always
have to eat with the adults, quickly reverted to the dull,
innocuous phrases that had marked their brief sojourn in Tunbridge
Wells. To everyone in the household he turned a face full of
animation, even fire. To his wife, however, he presented nothing
more interesting than a whitewashed wall.

It was maddening.

And now a tutor was to be added to the
mélange. As if her household were not already turned topsy-turvy.
All Pevensey Park needed was yet another bedchamber filled by a
perfect stranger.

With the automatic response of long practice,
Relia shrugged out of the gown that Tilly had just unbuttoned,
allowing it to pool about her feet. Nimbly, she stepped out of it,
then raised her arms to allow her maid to pull her chemise over her
head. Her mind still fixed on the unexpected disturbances brought
to Pevensey Park by her marriage to Thomas Lanning, Relia paid
little attention to the bedgown Tilly was offering, merely
accepting it with gratitude, for in spite of a glowing fire the
room was chill. She would welcome the warmth.

And yet . . . she was still cold. A
fact uncomfortable enough to distract Mrs. Thomas Lanning from her
dire thoughts. She looked down, saw an expanse of transparent lawn,
bare arms. In
December!
“Tilly!”

“
Yes, ma’am?” The maid’s eyes, as full
of romance as they had been in Tunbridge Wells, gleamed
expectantly.

Relia could not possibly say what she wanted
to say. She could not admit she had no need of bridal finery. “The
velvet dressing gown, if you please.” She snuggled into the soft
dark blue fabric, then settled at her delicate French rococo
dressing table so Tilly could braid her hair. Brushing and braiding
were so soothing . . . almost, she could dismiss her sulks.

When Tilly left, leaving the faint
drift of a romantical sigh behind her, Relia, wincing, headed for
the warmth of the fireplace, where she curled up in a comfortable
upholstered chair and forced herself to face a healthy dose of
reality. She
had
been sulking.
And all because her world was changing. Changing in the manner she
herself had precipitated.

She had a husband. An enigma, at best, but a
far better choice than any of the others.

If only Alan Fortescue . . .
Foolish twit!
That was a road down
which she could never go.

And as silly as the barely seventeen-year-old
Olivia seemed at times, she had livened up their lives. Indeed,
Gussie was more animated than Relia had seen her in years. And
Nicholas? Relia suspected the loss of both parents at such a young
age had affected him more than it had his sister. And Thomas seemed
to have sent him to school and to the homes of friends, seldom
allowing the boy into his life. Until now.

And what had happened to Olivia’s and
Nicholas’s mother, who must have been still a young woman when she
died? Childbirth? In spite of the fire, Relia shivered.

A cursory scratching, and her door
swung open, the sudden gust of air from the hallway causing the
candles to flicker wildly and the flames in the grate to whoosh up
the chimney. Aurelia bounded to her feet. “What,” she demanded,
“are
you
doing
here?”

Thomas raised dark brows only a few shades
lighter than his black satin dressing gown. “Visiting my wife? Is
that not what everyone expects—a grand reunion after my long stay
in town?”

“
You cannot come in
here
,” Relia sputtered.

“
I am in,” her husband told her calmly.
“And, I assure you, the entire household would be gabbling in the
morning if I had not come. In fact, I suspect that was Nicholas I
saw just now, peeking round the corner. You would not wish me to
offend his boyish sensibilities.”

His
sensibilities?” Relia gasped. “And what is that?” she added
in ominous tones, as Thomas hauled a flat wooden box out from
beneath his robe.

“
Chess. Do you play?”

“
You come to my room at this hour of
the night and you wish to play
chess
?”

“
In all truth,” Thomas returned after
due consideration, “I would prefer an alternate method of passing
our time. I am aware, however, that you would likely prefer to play
chess.” Mr. Lanning set the box down on top of a small round table,
then carried the table across the room and set it between the two
chairs by the fire. Waving his speechless wife back into her seat,
and taking the opposite chair himself, he began to set up the
chessboard and its pieces.

“
Of course,” Thomas said as he sat back
and surveyed the kings, queens, rooks, knights, and pawns, all
exquisitely carved of ivory and ebony, “it would seem this game may
be superfluous, for I believe we are already engaged in a
surprisingly intricate game of chess.”

“
In which you seem to be playing with
more pieces than I!”

“
Touché, my dear. The point is yours.”
Thomas leaned forward, making his opening gambit with a black
pawn.

Not twenty minutes later he swept his wife’s
queen from the board, adding a soft, almost chiding, “Checkmate.”
He settled himself against the back of the wingchair, his long legs
sprawled in front of him, and drawled, “I do not believe you were
paying attention, Aurelia. I understood that you frequently played
with your father. I expected a better game.”

“
I have never played chess with
anyone
but
my
father.”

“
Ah . . . then he let you
win—”

“
He did not!”

“
Then can it be you are distracted
because playing chess reminds you of your father, as sleeping in
your parents’ chambers offended your tender sensibilities?” said
her husband with a sangfroid that was almost cruel.

Dangerous
ground
. Relia knew a trap when she heard it. “The
renovations are nearly complete, sir. The next time you are
here—”

“
Thomas!” her husband snapped. “And Mr.
Arnold’s draperies and other gewgaws will be back in place
tomorrow. As will my wife. I have given Biddeford orders to move
your things as soon as the hangings are once again in
place.”

“
You
dare
,” Relia raged, “you dare to order me about
when you cannot even get rid of The Terrible Twyford. You fill my
house with—”

“
Stop!” Thomas roared, jerking upright
so fast his knees nearly toppled the chessboard. “Trevor was
here
?”

“
In the drawing room as you arrived,”
Relia informed him with great satisfaction. “Though when I turned
around, the coward had slipped out. Down the back stairs, no
doubt.”

“
And well he might,” Thomas ground out.
“Good God,” he muttered, his fury suddenly distracted by a thought
more horrifying than Trevor’s mere presence. “Did he meet
Livvy?”

“
Yes.”

“
Hell and the devil confound
it!”

“
Mr. Lanning!”

“
Thomas!”

For all of ten seconds the belligerents
glared at each other. Relia found her tongue first. Chin high, she
announced, “Twyford said my abandonment was an
on dit
at a houseparty he attended, and so he had
come to see how I went on.”