When someone loves you Read online

  He even glanced at his wardrobe with more than mere function in mind, selecting a new riding coat his mother had sent over. He smiled again, knowing his mother had hoped this new garment from his tailor would catch his fancy. The coat was an exquisite shade of sage green linen lined with buff striped silk, the buttons inlaid pear wood—a splendid sight, he had to admit. And it fit to perfection, even with his weight loss, thanks to his mother’s eye and his tailor’s expertise.

  His good spirits must have been obvious, for Eddie smiled as Duff entered the kitchen. “Don’t you look fine this mornin’, sar.”

  “It’s the new coat. Weston did his usual good work.” The marquis picked up the coffeepot sitting on the sideboard and moved toward the table in the center of the kitchen. “Breakfast smells good. I’m hungry.”

  Eddie suppressed his surprise. Darley’s appetite had been touchy at best, his breakfast usually consisting of coffee and little else.

  Taking a seat at the table, the marquis casually remarked, “I think I actually slept last night.”

  “I reckon you did. You was damned quiet, at least.” Eddie grinned. “Except for the fact you was mutterin’ offn’ on about the lady Belle.”

  Duff’s brows rose. “You don’t say. Hmmm… Although, if that was her in my dreams,” he added with a grin, “it was a damned improvement over the usual gore.”

  Eddie hadn’t seen his master grin like that for so long, tears sprang to his eyes. Quickly glancing down at the porridge he was stirring to hide his feelings, he said as casually as he could, “Mebbe you should call on the lady. It must be right boring for her so far from the Ton. She might relish a bit o’ conversation.”

  “Don’t say you’re getting tired of my company,” Duff teased, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  “No offense, sar, but you ain’t exactly been the talkative type lately. You could use a change of scene, efn’ you know what I mean.” That the marquis was actually trading jests with him was incredible. “Mayhap we should ride on over to Shoreham today.”

  Duff shot his batman an amused look. “Since when did you take up pimping, Eddie?”

  “Don’t know as I have, sar. I was jes’ thinkin’ the lady might like to go for a ride on that little mare she didn’t want. Try it out, like.”

  “So you were thinking that, were you?” the marquis drawled.

  “It’s been a while, sar, since we seen any ladies.” Duff’s celibacy had impinged on Eddie’s life as well. And loyal as he was, it had been a major hardship.

  The marquis studied his batman with a narrowed gaze. “Don’t tell me you’ve been playing the anchorite for me.”

  “No, sar,” Eddie lied, not wishing to say he’d been afraid to leave the marquis alone with his demons. “What say I saddle up that pretty little mare after breakfast and we take ourselves a ride over Shoreham way?”

  Duff glanced out the window, hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then nodded his head. “Why not? It looks like a damned fine day for a ride.”

  ———

  It seemed an age since he’d paid a call on a lady. It seemed even longer since he’d experienced the excitement he was feeling as he rode toward Shoreham with Eddie at his side.

  “This has to be one of our better summer days,” Duff noted. “The temperature is ideal—alight breeze, not a cloud in the sky. A person couldn’t have ordered more perfect weather.”

  Eddie could have pointed out that the past fortnight had been of equal perfection weather-wise, but he didn’t. He said instead, “You got that right, sar. It be a right fine day to be out.”

  “Miss Foster may not wish to go for a ride.” Whether he was warning his batman or himself was unclear.

  “It don’t matter none, sar,” Eddie replied. “It don’t hurt to ask.”

  “I suppose I could explain she could have kept the mare without—” Darley’s voice trailed away.

  When it appeared that the marquis wasn’t going to explain further, Eddie said, “Good idea, sar. I expect she don’t get gifts without sumpin’ wanted in return, like.”

  Duff blew out a breath. “Jesus—one forgets all the rudeness and inconsequential rules of the Ton out here.”

  “The Ton don’t ever forget, though.”

  “Well, devil take it—and all the harpies at Almack’s, too, while we’re at it.”

  Eddie smiled. “Yes, sar. Good idea, sar—seein’ how the patronesses kicked you out afor you set out for the Peninsula Campaign anyway.”

  “Lord, that seems a lifetime ago,” Duff murmured.

  “Mebbe nine lifetimes ago, sar. You, me, and the cats.”

  “There were so many who didn’t come back, though,” he said softly. “Elgin and Graham, Tychson and—”

  “When your time’s up, it’s up, sar. You know that,” Eddie interposed, not wanting the marquis to sink into the hell of his memories. Christ, he shouldn’t have mentioned the war. What was he thinking? “We was lucky,” the batman added, talking fast in the hopes of wiping the frown from his master’s brow. “Think of it that way, sar. We was real lucky. Not many men would have survived your wounds, sar. Lady Luck’s bin on yer shoulder.”

  “And for what, I sometimes wonder,” Duff muttered.

  “For this fine day and this pretty mare and the lovely lady we’re off to see,” Eddie replied with forced cheer.

  Duff turned to his batman. “I’ve been a trial to you, haven’t I? How do you keep your temper?”

  “Not a problem, sar.”

  Darley smiled faintly. “Miss Foster is very lovely, isn’t she?” His smile widened. “And it’s a very fine day.”

  “Yes, sar, on both counts.”

  “I am feeling less bedeviled.”

  “I can tell, sar.” For one thing, he couldn’t have coaxed the marquis to call on a lady for love or money a week ago.

  “I actually feel as though a weight has suddenly lifted from my shoulders. One hears such phrases bandied about, of course, but who knew they were based in fact? It’s very strange.”

  “Buying that fine little mare might have done the trick, sar. You ain’t been shoppin’ for no racers in a long time. Mayhap it set you on the right track, so to speak. Mayhap you’re feelin’ better cuz yer back in the racin’ game.”

  The marquis glanced at his batman. “The season’s begun?”

  Two months ago, Eddie thought. “There’s been a few races, sar,” he said, ambiguously. “Your pa took a first at the Spring Meet.”

  “With Sunstar?”

  “None other. By three lengths, too.”

  “Did you bet?”

  “ ‘Course I did. Won a bit o’ blunt on that one.”

  “Maybe we should gear up again, get my stable up and running. Why don’t you see if Harry Landseer is available to ride for me,” Duff said briskly, a new energy in his voice. “Tell him I apologize for inquiring at so late a date, but I’ll triple whatever he’s making with anyone else.”

  “Yes, sar!” Because of a pretty mare and a prettier lady, the marquis had apparently returned from the moribund half-world in which he’d been dwelling for much too long.

  Life was good, Eddie thought. First-rate. And his chances of winning some blunt at the races had greatly improved. The marquis’s horses came in first more often than not.

  Duff was sharing Eddie’s belief in the goodness of life. He felt as though he’d suddenly walked from some dark prison into the sunshine.

  And before long he’d be basking in the glow of the lovely Miss Foster’s smile as well.

  “How much farther?” he asked, as though impatient to get on with his life now that he was once again in possession of it.

  “Jes’ around that bend, sar, and down into the valley. Ten minutes, mebbe less.”

  Chapter 5

  Thanks to Eddie’s foresight, the marquis arrived in Shoreham bearing gifts. A pretty posy of fragrant pinks rested in his batman’s saddlebag, along with a dainty set of pearl hair combs that Eddie had come up with from God-kn
ows-where.

  Duff found himself smiling as they entered the village, sweet anticipation filling his brain. Strange, how pleasure could suddenly take over one’s senses for no apparent reason.

  Not that he was averse to the balmy feeling.

  Nor was he about to take issue with the piquant excitement gripping him. How long had it been since he’d spoken to a lady—other than those in his family? How long had it been since he’d wanted to?

  ———

  Three women and two babes were immediately visible as the marquis and Eddie dismounted at the gate. The small group was seated around a tea table set in the shade of the trees.

  While the women were in full view across the small garden, so, too, were Darley and Eddie as they walked toward the garden gate.

  Annabelle’s spine stiffened at the sight of the two men. Quickly coming to her feet, she casually said, “They must have lost their way. I’ll be right back.” With a nod to her companions, she moved briskly toward their visitors. Apparently, the marquis had not taken her refusal to heart, she reflected. But then, men of his ilk were only familiar with compliance, not rebuke.

  The marquis’s wishes were irrelevant to her, however. She refused to have her mother upset by visitors. Nor did she wish to answer questions that might arise if Darley joined them for tea. While her mother knew she made her living on the stage, she had no idea about the more risqué aspects of her profession. And so Annabelle preferred it remain.

  Some difficult choices had been necessary after her father’s death, and she’d willingly taken up the life of an actress so her mother and sister could survive.

  She’d not regretted her decision.

  But she had taken pains to withhold from her family any notion of what her modish, urbane social life entailed. And while her name was often in the gossip sheets, such papers never reached remote hamlets such as Shoreham, where life went on much as it had for a millennium.

  Before Duff had advanced more than a few steps into the garden, she reached him and arrested his progress.

  “The Marquis of Darley at your service, Miss Foster.” Duff offered her the posy with an exquisite bow.

  “Good afternoon, my lord.” Her bow was less exquisite by design; she didn’t wish to appear in the least friendly. “My mother is ill,” she added coolly. “Otherwise, I would invite you to join us for tea.” Neither a blush nor a blink gave evidence of the real reason she wished him gone. “I trust you understand,” she murmured, playing her role with aplomb.

  “I’m sorry to hear it.” Duff’s expression was solicitous. “I hope your mother’s illness isn’t serious.”

  “She recently had a shock to her system.” Annabelle wasn’t inclined to divulge the details of Chloe’s death. “But I believe she’s slowly improving.”

  “Would you like my doctors to stop by? Both Dr. Carr and Dr. Stewart are excellent.”

  “No, but thank you. Time alone will heal her wounds, I fear.”

  “Then I wish her a speedy recovery. If I might be so bold, Miss Foster,” he went on, all soft-spoken cordiality, “would it be possible your mother could spare you briefly—at some future date, if not now?” The marquis indicated the horses with a nod of his head. “I brought the mare along in hopes you’d go riding with me.” As Annabelle opened her mouth to speak, he quickly interposed, “I understand your nursing duties come first. I just thought you might enjoy a ride on such a fine day. I assure you,” he added with a smile, “my intentions are benign.”

  “Allow me to refuse, my lord,” she replied with equal graciousness. “Although, in my experience,” she added with a deliberately enchanting smile, “men’s intentions are never benign.”

  “What if I were to say I just want to be friends?”

  Her brows rose. “Then you’d be the first man I’ve ever met who did.”

  “Consider me the exception.”

  She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. “As if you don’t know you are, Duff.”

  He looked surprised at being addressed so familiarly.

  Her brows lifted again. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  He smiled faintly. “I admit to being drunk more than sober in my youth.”

  “We met in the green room after my second performance on the Drury stage. You offered me carte blanche.”

  “But you eventually took Walingame’s offer, I understand,” he said, his sisters’ gossipy dinnertime conversation suddenly recalled. “How is he, by the way?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Ah.”

  She could tell he hadn’t heard, but then it was common gossip that the marquis had been in seclusion. “We are estranged.”

  “I should say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

  “At least you’re honest.”

  “What’s the point in subterfuge?”

  “My goodness, Duff, you quite contradict your gender in that regard.”

  He couldn’t blame her, he supposed. A woman of her background was seen only as an object of pleasure. There were rare exceptions to the rule—actresses who married into the nobility—but it was unusual.

  At that moment, a piercing baby cry rent the summer air and Annabelle cast a swift glance over her shoulder. “I really have to go,” she murmured.

  His gaze raked her form. “Is the babe yours?”

  “I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” she replied coolly.

  “Of course. Forgive me.” He should have known better. His tact had been blunted by long disuse.

  “Belle, Belle, darling!” Mrs. Foster cried, waving her arms in a come-hither motion. “Bring the nice man over for tea!”

  No matter her experience on the stage, this time Annabelle was unable to suppress the blush coloring her cheeks.

  “If I promise to behave, might I be allowed?” Darley inquired with a quirked grin, amused by her obvious embarrassment. “I shan’t say a word out of turn.”

  “It looks as though I have no choice,” Annabelle muttered with a grimace. Short of shouting back at her mother—an impossible act of disrespect, considering the fact that her mother continued to beckon them with great vigor—she was obliged to capitulate.

  “I will be on my best behavior—word of honor.”

  That charming smile again, familiar not only to her, but to a great number of ladies in the Ton. The young marquis had cut a wide swath through the boudoirs of London before he’d left for the Continent. “Just don’t stay long,” she cautioned. “And I warn you, my mother’s mind wanders.”

  “I am duly warned on both counts,” he replied pleasantly, crooking his arm in her direction.

  There was nothing to do but place her hand on his arm and follow him down the garden path toward the table set under the shade of the trees. And there was also nothing to do when they reached her mother and Molly but to introduce their illustrious visitor. “Mama, Molly, the Marquis of Darley. Lord Darley, my mother and our wet nurse.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Foster, Molly.” His formal bow was perfection, his smile correspondingly splendid. “Your daughter and I have mutual friends in London, Mrs. Foster. She’s a most accomplished actress, as you no doubt know. And that’s not just my opinion but one with which every playgoer and critic in the land concurs.”

  “Belle is perfect in every way, is she not?” Mrs. Foster cheerfully agreed, beaming at Duff’s fulsome praise. “Come, come, young man, sit down, partake of our rustic tea and tell us of the doings of the great world.”

  Annabelle’s eyes widened at her mother’s sudden animation and polished air, as if she took tea with nobles every day.

  Darley immediately understood from whence the lovely Belle had acquired her looks and poise. Ill or not, Mrs. Foster had the bearing of a countess, a lovely smile, and obvious command over her daughter. A point he not only noted, but intended to exploit. Not for nefarious reasons. He simply wished Belle’s company this fine summer day. And from all appearances, the mother didn’t look seriously ill. Perhaps a
ride wasn’t out of the question.

  It was a habit of long standing—wanting what he wanted. But coming from a family of great wealth and title, how could he have escaped those selfish urges? And it was a perfect summer day.

  Applying the full extent of his charm to the fulfillment of his wishes, he soon had Mrs. Foster laughing at his jests, teasing him back, conversing with him as though they were old friends. And before long, he had both babies in his lap and was making them giggle, too. “My sister has twins,” he noted, gently bouncing the enfants on his knees. “I’ve learned to deal with two babes at once.”

  That admission induced Mrs. Foster to ask him numerous questions about his family, all of which he answered with complete candor. And after Duff had mentioned that he and Eddie had been living rough at his father’s hunting lodge, she insisted Eddie be included in the festivities.

  “I don’t suppose your valet has had a bit of cake for a long time, then,” she declared. “I’ve yet to meet a man who knows much about baking.”

  “I can’t argue there,” Darley replied with a smile, calling over his batman to join them. “Eddie’s cooking is of the most rudimentary.”

  For the next half hour or so, laughter and frivolity became the order of the day. One person no more than pronounced something amusing, than another responded with equal wit. Eddie entertained them with an acceptable ditty or two from his repertoire of camp songs. And whether it was Duff’s accomplished baby-minding or because of Eddie’s lilting voice, the babies soon fell asleep in the marquis’s arms. Without asking, he placed the sleeping babes in their baskets and settled back in his chair with the naturalness of a man who had often cared for children.

  Annabelle found his lack of airs unutterably refreshing and far removed from the noblemen she knew who flaunted their consequence. Even his conversation was simple and ordinary, without the bombast and pretense so common in the Ton. How enjoyable he was. What a pleasure it was to relax and laugh once again.

  As for Duff, he couldn’t remember when last he’d been so pleasantly amused. He would have to reward Eddie for having the foresight to suggest this visit.