She was here to retrieve the St. George medallion and would do whatever it took to remain here and do so. She didn’t think a feigned illness would be necessary. Lord Restive seemed perfectly willing to allow them to stay.
She had the feeling Mr. Cecil Hale disapproved of her, judging by a faint distaste in his expression, followed by the haste with which he’d offered to take the horses. She couldn’t entirely blame him, for her behavior verged on shameless. However, why she cared what one of her father’s minions thought of her was a mystery. He’d been assigned to watch her from time to time when she attended meetings of reformers in London. She wasn’t supposed to know about him but didn’t object, for Papa meant well. Mr. Hale was far less bothersome than previous minions. They’d all been gentlemen born, which seemed to make them think catching her interest was their right, rather than keeping to their assigned roles.
Perhaps her mild chagrin was because she’d been strangely drawn to this particular man, despite his threadbare clothing and rough demeanor—a disguise, judging by his faultless manners and appearance now—whereas he’d shown no interest whatsoever in her.
Heavens, surely it couldn’t be vanity. She didn’t expect every man to fall instantly in love with her. In fact, she wished they wouldn’t.
No, more likely it was embarrassment at Mother’s rudeness. That made much more sense.
They walked slowly up the drive, which was lined with immaculately trimmed yews and hollies bright with berries. How festive! Dorothea loved the Christmas season. Unfortunately, she doubted this visit would be a pleasant one. Not because of Mother—Dorothea was accustomed to constant scolds—but because she was here not to enjoy herself, but rather to search the house. More particularly, Lord Restive’s chambers.
What if he caught her there? He might think she hoped to compromise herself, to force him to marry her. Heaven forbid! He was a charming man, but not at all to her taste. Worse, he might think she merely wanted to seduce him. What a ghastly thought that was.
“You’re too quiet, Miss Darsington.” Lord Restive must have tired of making conversation with Mother.
Dorothea couldn’t manage any more of that dreadful coquettishness and gave him a rueful smile instead. “Merely fatigued.”
“Understandable,” he said with an unamused laugh. After several minutes of Mother’s complaints, did he already regret his invitation? She hoped not. She must stay here for Christmas, even if it meant more tittering, simpering, and fluttering of eyelashes.
Through a gap in the yews, she spied Cecil Hale riding one horse and leading the other up a pathway parallel to the drive. “Have you known Mr. Hale long?”
“Since our school days,” Restive said. “He’s a good fellow, and a bit of a radical, like you. He believes titles are meaningless and that every member of humanity is of equal value, whether rich or poor.”
“That’s wonderful,” Dorothea said, surprised. She had assumed he’d feigned interest in societal reform solely in order to guard her. “We need more such thinkers.”
“What utter nonsense,” Mother cried. “I forbid you to speak to him, Dorothea. He disdains titles merely because he is a nobody. His sort of thinking is dangerous. Just look at what happened in France.”
“Please, let’s not,” Restive said. “I have heard enough about France’s woes from Charles Dufair, one of my guests.”
“A Frenchman,” Mother sneered.
“A young, handsome Frenchman of noble descent,” Restive corrected gently, “and a talented artist. He escaped France with his life.”
“And nothing else, I expect,” Mother said. “He will not do for you, Dorothea.”
Dorothea was accustomed to ignoring her mother’s ceaseless prohibitions, but this was too much. “For heaven’s sake, Mother, I haven’t even met him.”
“You always choose the most unsuitable sorts,” Mother grumbled. “Fortunately, we shall leave here shortly.”
A curve in the drive revealed a beautiful brick structure, Jacobean by the look of it, grand but not overwhelmingly so.
“And here we are,” Lord Restive said in his smooth voice. He was a bit rakish, but not dangerously so. The only other mark against him, so to speak, was winning the St. George medallion from her brother Edgar.
And really, that was a mark against Edgar. He shouldn’t have staked something that didn’t belong to him. Restive had won it in fair play.
Nevertheless, Dorothea was determined to steal it back.
Lord Restive escorted them through massive front doors into a Great Hall. Ahead was a massive hearth; to the left curved a graceful oak staircase, while to the right a doorway led to a drawing room.
Two ladies hastened into the Great Hall. The elder, Lady Alice Turlow, was Restive’s aunt. The younger was a tall, voluptuous, dark-haired stranger.
“My dear ladies, how delightful,” Lady Alice said. “The Contessa and I were just bemoaning the lack of feminine company.”
“So kind of you to take us in,” Mother said with grudging politeness. Lady Alice was the daughter of an earl, so her status automatically ensured her a modicum of respect from Mother. “We shan’t inconvenience you for long.”
“It’s no inconvenience at all,” Lady Alice said. “Do please stay over Christmas. My nephew’s travelling carriage is under repair, and I doubt you’ll find anything better in the village than a gig, which wouldn’t be at all the thing.”
Dorothea shivered at the thought of driving ten miles in an open carriage while cold and darkness drew in. She hoped Mother wasn’t furious enough to agree to that. Dorothea certainly wouldn’t. She dreaded the thought of the public quarrel that would ensue.
Actually, she dreaded the quarrel anyway. As a child, she had got along reasonably well with her mother—but since she’d reached marriageable age, they did nothing but argue.
If only they could have a short truce, just for Christmas. She sighed, knowing it was impossible.
Lady Alice twinkled sympathetically. “Are you ladies acquainted with Contessa Tivoli? Her father was one of my most dashing suitors long ago. Bianca dear, allow me to introduce Lady Darsington.”
Mother bristled at this introduction, as she believed that all foreigners, no matter their rank, were inferior to the English gentry, and therefore the Contessa should have been introduced to her, not the other way around.
“And her lovely daughter, Dorothea,” Lady Alice went on.
“Lovely indeed!” The Contessa surged forward, appraising Dorothea with frank admiration. “A diamond of the first water, as they say, which makes no sense. What have jewels to do with water, I ask? No one answers me, but you, signorina, are magnificent. If I were a modiste, I would beg to fashion your gowns.”
“Thank you,” Dorothea faltered, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. The Contessa herself was striking, but it wasn’t the sort of thing one said. Oh, why not? Conventions were so tedious. “You are a jewel as well, Contessa.”
Mother scowled, but Lady Alice laughed, bless her. A male voice drifted from above. “Two jewels of such magnificence, one dark and one fair. How superb! I shall sketch you together.”
Lady Alice smiled. “Come and be introduced, Charles.”