The Wedding Trap Read online

  “Your errant chapeau, Miss Hammond.” He extended her hat with a flourish.

  “My thanks, milord,” she said as she accepted. Touching a hand to her hair, she realized why her hat had come lose. “I seem to have lost my hat pin.”

  “Then we shall have to content ourselves with a walk back so that your hat doesn’t fly off again.”

  The pair of them turned their mounts to retrace their path across the park, settling into a very gentle pace.

  “A crime you haven’t been riding,” Kit said. “You have a genuine aptitude for it. By this fall, I bet we could have you ready to join in the Hunt.”

  “Oh, no, not the Hunt. I could never manage the jumps. Besides, I always pity the poor fox. I would be rooting for it to escape the entire time.”

  “Would you indeed? You’d set the Hunt master on his ear, for sure.” Kit’s smile faded as he leaned forward. “Truth be told, I feel bad for the poor creatures too. People call them vermin but they’re only trying to survive. To the fox, eating people’s eggs and chickens is just their version of dinner. No worse than a man would do, only the fox can’t pay in coin for his meal after he’s done.”

  A warmth curled inside her that had nothing at all to do with her recent exertion. She couldn’t begin to name all the people she knew who were incapable of showing so much as a glimmer of sympathy for anything that did not walk on two legs.

  “Still,” Kit murmured in reflection, “I can see the farmer’s dilemma when those eggs and chickens are the only things keeping him and his family from starvation. If there were less poverty in this country, perhaps there would be more compassion for creatures like the fox.”

  “If only our politicians could be half so perceptive.”

  He barked out a cynical laugh. “That would be a miracle indeed. A sorry lot so many of them are, too busy looking out for their own interests to be bothered seeing to the interests of those they purport to represent.”

  “Then perhaps you should change that.”

  He shot her a look of amused surprise. “And how would you suggest I do that?”

  “You could run for Parliament. You would make a fine member of the Commons.”

  “Me? In the Commons?” A full, rolling laugh boomed out of his chest. “You are a wit, my little wren, and I didn’t even know it.”

  Her eyebrows wrinkled. “I was entirely serious.”

  Kit chuckled again, meeting Eliza’s steadfast gaze as he visibly fought to wipe the humor from his features. “Yes, I can see now that you are. Well, my thanks for the vote of confidence but I think I’ll leave such weighty matters as politics to those who enjoy meddling in the affairs of others.”

  “But why should you?” she questioned with great eagerness. “You have a good head on your shoulders, despite the carefree facade you choose to show the world.”

  He sobered. “And why do you imagine my carefree nature is a facade?”

  Her fingers tightened on the reins. “I don’t know. I just…well, I have sensed that you do not always seem perfectly contented with your circumstances. Forgive me if I mistake the matter.”

  He was silent for a long minute. “No, you do not mistake the matter. Not that I am unhappy, mind you,” he hastened to add. “I like my life and take a great deal of delight in the varied amusements in which I engage myself. I lead a blessed existence, filled with privilege and pleasure and yet, as you say, I sometimes…”

  “Yes? Sometimes…?”

  Kit stared at her. At the clear, guileless gray of her eyes, and wondered why he was telling her these things. He never talked of such matters—not to his friends or his family, not even, in large measure, to himself. “Sometimes I grow a bit bored,” he offered without intending to do so.

  “You want more from your life.”

  “Yes, I suppose. Though what more is there? As a younger son I have limited options.” He caught her expression, saw her mouth move and knew instinctively what she was going to say. “And no, I don’t want to run for Parliament. Truly, politics and I would not be a good fit.”

  She shifted slightly in her saddle, then caught one corner of her lower lip between her teeth in contemplation. “What about the foreign service? I have heard you talk of your travels and can tell they brought you great pleasure.”

  “Yes, but I don’t see how a penchant to go wandering could be of any use to the foreign service.”

  “Of course it could. You have an inquiring mind, open to new people and new places. You have a natural affinity for getting along well with just about everyone you meet. I am sure you could put those skills to valuable use. Why, you might even become an ambassador one day.”

  Kit smirked. “Oh, now I’m an ambassador, am I? You are a dreamer. Can you imagine His Royal Highness entrusting me with the responsibility of negotiating important treaties and lucrative trade agreements?”

  He laughed, waiting for her to join in.

  Her features remained serious. “Yes, I can. In fact, if you truly set your mind and your heart to a goal, I suspect you could do almost anything you desire.”

  As they rode past the gated entrance to the park, he used the moment to compose his thoughts. She surprised him, seeing depths, abilities and ambitions in him that others did not. Not that his friends thought him useless, just a little uninspired, perhaps. No better or worse than many of his peers.

  He grimaced. Maybe Eliza was right and he should consider pursuing loftier goals than debating whether to eat kidneys or kippers for breakfast and pondering which color coat would be the best choice for attending a race meeting.

  Blister it, he sounded vain. Vain and foolish. Is that how Eliza saw him? When all was said and done, did she find him lacking, not academically or politically inclined enough for her erudite tastes?

  His jaw tightened in uncharacteristic annoyance as they made their way toward the Raeburn House mews. For all that he was mentoring her, teaching her how to succeed in Society, did she in truth find him absurd? A ridiculous wastrel too full of his own aimless, selfish pursuits to be of any genuine consequence?

  So he didn’t like reading Latin. What of it? Did that make him less of a man? And was it really so terrible that he preferred spending a day at Tattersalls rather than sitting at home reading a book?

  Not that he begrudged Eliza her love of books and ancient languages—her scholarly tendencies had never troubled him the way they would many men.

  Yet what of her? Did she begrudge him his choices? Would she think better of him if he was less a creature of his own whims and passions? And more importantly, why did her opinion suddenly matter so much?

  Side by side, they rode into the stable yard, the horses’ hooves ringing out against the cobbles, the scents of straw and manure and sweet hay mingling like an earthy perfume in the air. A stable boy emerged from one of the outbuildings as Kit swung down from his mount. As the boy led his horse away to be cooled and watered and fed, Kit went to Eliza to assist her from the mare.

  She gazed down at him out of solemn eyes. “Kit, is anything amiss? You turned awfully quiet of a sudden. Did I…did I say something wrong?”

  He reached up and slipped his hands around her waist to lift her down. She was light as a feather, her weight barely enough to register in his grasp. He let her slide a couple inches then held her, her feet dangling in the air, their eyes level with each other’s.

  And in the next moment, as he gazed into the forthright sincerity of her eyes, he knew one thing for certain—he was a fool. Steadfast and unaffected, Eliza was the same gently quiet girl she had always been, open and honest and much too innocent for her own good. Whatever she had said to him today had been said with good intent. He could see that, he didn’t need to ask for proof.

  So she thought he could be an ambassador? The absurdity of the idea made him smile.

  “I have only been doing a little thinking. A very little,” he joked, slowly setting her on the ground. “Nothing is amiss, nothing at all.”

  A relieved smil
e enlivened her face, and for a moment he thought he had never seen anything quite so pretty or quite so appealing in his life. He found himself wanting to draw her closer.

  A groom came forward to take Cassiopeia’s reins. Abruptly Kit withdrew his hands from Eliza’s waist and stepped back. “What do you say we change into fresh clothes, then have some breakfast? I, for one, am famished.”

  She chuckled. “Of course you are. And after our ride, so, my lord, am I.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Which gown would you like me to press for tonight’s festivities, miss?”

  Eliza set down the book she was reading and looked across her bedchamber toward Lucy. Standing before the room’s large walnut armoire—its double doors thrown wide—her abigail held up two evening gowns, each garment as lovely as the other.

  Eliza considered both dresses with a frown. “I don’t know. What do you think, Lucy?”

  “Hmm? If it was up to me, I’d wear the rose one. Then again, this jade green is awfully smart, sure to catch the eye. On the other hand, the rose is very pretty and will put lots of color into your cheeks. It’s a frightfully hard choice, isn’t it?”

  Eliza sent the other young woman an amused yet exasperated smile. “Lucy, you’re even more hopeless than I, and that is no compliment to either one of us.”

  Studying both gowns again, Eliza dithered between the two.

  Just pick one, for heaven’s sake, she thought. What possible difference could it make? Especially since most of the company coming to Raeburn House tonight would be family. Most, but not all, and that was what had her worried.

  At this evening’s gathering in celebration of Violet and Jeannette’s birthday, Eliza would perforce be expected to speak, to carry on—or at least attempt to carry on—an articulate conversation with the other guests before and after dinner, and with those on either side of her during the meal.

  But in spite of her recent lessons, was she ready? What if her mind went blank and she forgot everything Kit had been teaching her? What if she made a dreadful muddle of her sentences and reverted to her old bad habits of hesitant stammering and long, mortifying bouts of silence? If she failed tonight, she would not only embarrass herself, she would embarrass Kit and that would by far be the greatest shame of all.

  Over the past three weeks, Kit had spent literally hours each day with her, striving to teach her how to master the nuances of small talk and general conversation, while also continuing his instruction on how to ride.

  Most mornings now the two of them began their day on horseback, setting out early for the park to exercise Cassiopeia and Mars and to work on improving Eliza’s equestrian skills. She discovered, after their first outing, that Kit was a great deal more exacting an instructor than she would ever have expected. She received scant sympathy from him as he put her through her paces, constantly reminding her to straighten her spine and not slump in the saddle, to keep her hands light and balanced on the reins in order not to bruise her horse’s delicate mouth.

  Once the riding lesson was complete, they would return home to share breakfast before devoting the remainder of the morning to her social lessons—an exercise she could never seem to begin without discovering a stultifying lump wedged inside her throat.

  In the beginning, she thought their efforts were useless, the games of verbal pretend he insisted they try causing her to fall mute as often as they encouraged her to speak. Yet Kit remained cheerfully persistent, refusing to let her give up or grow dispirited, counseling her to have more confidence in herself, suggesting techniques and strategies so her tongue would no longer be her enemy but her ally and friend.

  During the second week, he asked Violet and Jeannette to join them for a few of their sessions so Eliza could practice speaking to ladies and not just gentlemen. Chatting with Violet hadn’t been too taxing, but as for Jeannette—Eliza still quaked to remember. Yet for all her no-nonsense stares and glib-tongued remarks, Jeannette had been surprisingly kind, never once laughing at Eliza’s mistakes, advising her in a patient tone to simply begin again whenever she faltered. During their last lesson, Eliza had actually relaxed enough to forget they were rehearsing and enjoyed several minutes of the conversation.

  Tonight’s small party would be her first real test. A chance for her to “dip her toes into the water,” as Kit put it. If only she could figure out which gown to wear.

  “The green one,” she told her maid. “No, the rose. No, definitely the green. Yes, the green, and put the other one away before I change my mind yet again.”

  Lucy smiled and dipped into a quick curtsey. “Yes, miss. I’ll be ironing in the servants’ quarters if you need me for anything. Oh, and it’s nearly one. You asked me to remind you so you wouldn’t be late for nuncheon with the duchess and her sister.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Thank you, Lucy, or I would indeed have let the time get away.”

  Eliza marked the page in her book, then rose and crossed to the washstand while her maid hung the rejected gown in the wardrobe. Pouring tepid water into a flowered china basin, Eliza washed her hands and dried them on a soft towel, then turned to consult Lucy about her hair.

  “It looks lovely, miss,” Lucy declared. “That Mr. Greenleaf certainly gave you a fine trim and color when he came yesterday. The man’s a tyrant, if you ask me, but he’s a talented tyrant so I suppose we have to abide by his uppity ways.”

  “He does seem to enjoy clapping his hands and ordering everyone around,” Eliza agreed.

  Her abigail hurried off moments later with Eliza’s green evening gown draped neatly over her arm. Eliza followed, walking in the opposite direction toward the family dining room.

  Jeannette paused in her conversation with her twin as Eliza entered the room, the countess’s gaze roving appraisingly over Eliza’s bronze-striped muslin day dress and slippers, a matching ribbon threaded through her hair.

  Jeannette’s sea-colored eyes brightened with approval. “Oh, don’t you look dear in that gown. I knew you would the instant I saw the material at the linen-drapers. And the vandyked sleeves, I simply adore them, don’t you? They are the very latest thing, you know, très de rigueur.”

  “I am extremely pleased with my new wardrobe.”

  “As you ought to be, and you are most welcome. Shopping is always a true delight for me, as Darragh can strenuously attest. He was complaining only this morning about the amount of the shoemaker’s bill. When I asked him if he would prefer to see me go around barefoot, he said it wouldn’t bother him a bit. First thing tomorrow I plan to go out and buy another six pairs just to teach him a lesson. A lady has a need for shoes that no male will ever understand. Besides, the wretched beast bought three new pairs of boots for himself and he has the gall to complain about me. Truly, I don’t know why I adore him so, but I do.”

  Subject exhausted, Jeannette shared a wide smile with Eliza and Violet. “Shall we eat? Impolite of me to say, but I am utterly famished.”

  “Good, then you won’t disappoint François,” Violet declared, gesturing for them all to take their seats at the table. “In honor of our birthday, he has made your favorite tournelles of beef and mushrooms in puffed pastry and my favorite dessert, gâteau au chocolat.”

  “Speaking of birthday presents,” Jeannette said to her twin, a curiously wicked gleam in her eyes, “I have something interesting for you, sister dear. But I shall save it for later, after we eat.” She angled a look at Eliza. “Now, tell me, which of your beautiful gowns shall you be wearing at this evening’s party?”

  The meal passed in convivial harmony, the three of them doing admirable justice to François’s delectable fare. After polishing off the last bites of rich, tender chocolate cake, Violet ordered tea to be delivered to the family drawing room.

  The beverage served and sipped, Jeannette went to collect her reticule before returning once again to take her seat on the sofa. With a secretive little smile playing around her lips, she pulled open her silk bag and withdrew a small rectangular object w
rapped in pretty flowered paper and tied with a bright pink ribbon.

  “I have another present for later,” Jeannette explained, “but I thought I ought to give this one to you now while it was just us girls.”

  Eliza watched as Violet reached out to accept the gift. “Well, thank you, I have a pair of presents for you too. Mayhap I should go—”

  Jeannette waved a dismissive hand. “No, no, I’ll enjoy them more this evening. Do go on and open it.”

  Bowing her head to the task, Violet slipped the ribbon free then pushed aside the paper to reveal a slim, well-worn volume bound in plain green leather. “Oh! A book. How lovely. Is it poetry?”

  Jeannette smirked, leaning forward slightly with unconcealed enthusiasm. “Of a sort.”

  Violet opened the cover to reveal the first page. “Albanino’s Postures. What a curious title,” she mused aloud.

  She flipped through a few more pages before she abruptly stopped, blue-green eyes bulging in their sockets.

  “Oh!” Violet exclaimed, snapping the volume closed with a loud whap, cheeks flaming red as a field of scarlet poppies.

  Enjoying her twin’s astonished reaction, Jeannette let out a merry chortle.

  “Where on earth did you get such a thing?” Violet said, lowering her voice to a sotto voce hiss.

  Eliza darted a look between the two women, wondering what the book contained. Obviously whatever it was, the subject matter was scandalous enough to have shocked Violet to her toes.

  “I found the decadent little gem in a trunk of Darragh’s belongings back home in Ireland,” Jeannette said. “Several months ago, I was having the castle attics cleaned when I happened upon it quite by accident. When I showed the book to Darragh, he told me a friend of his had given it to him as a gift during one of his trips to Italy. Seems he’d packed it away after his return and completely forgotten about it.” She touched her hands to her knees. “Well, always eager for a bit of adventure, I persuaded him to test out a few of the more interesting illustrations. There’s one about halfway through that is well worth the effort despite how improbable it looks.” Arching her delicate eyebrows, she concluded her little speech with a giggle.