A Gamble on Love (7 page)

Nausea swept over her. Relia’s stomach
cramped. She bent forward, arms locked over her mid-section,
rocking in pain.

“
Poor Cuz, have I come at a bad
time?”

The worst
possible
. The only good thing about the arrival of Mr.
Twyford Trevor at the rotunda was that the shock of seeing him
stiffened Aurelia’s spine, transforming her acute attack of nerves
into cold defiance. For if Lord Hubert resembled his brother Ralph,
Twyford was nearly his uncle’s image. Indeed, he might have stepped
straight out of the portrait of the young Lord Ralph, which was
prominently displayed at the head of the great front staircase.
This, of course, could only add to Miss Trevor’s general disgust at
the thought of marriage to her cousin, making an alliance with The
Terrible Twyford seem like incest.

There were few, however, who would deny
that Mr. Twyford Trevor was a well-favored man, even though lines
of dissipation were beginning to mar his classically handsome face.
His figure was still slim, his clothing the work of Weston, his
boots by Hoby, and his hats by Locke. Sandy hair, styled in the
latest Brutus cut, topped eyes of the Trevor blue-gray. His mouth
was, perhaps, a shade too thin, the lips of a man more given to
petulance than to smiles. Grandson to a marquess and heir to a
comfortable estate, if not a title, Mr. Trevor was generally
considered a most desirable
parti
.

He made his cousin Relia’s skin crawl.

“
Good morning, cousin,” Aurelia replied
calmly enough, having managed to close a shell around her
pain.

Hands behind his back, Twyford towered over
her, looking thoughtful. “I believe we need to come to an
accommodation, Relia. I have no more liking for the parents’
ordering my days than you do. Set a wedding date, and we shall be
rid of them.”

“
You forget—I am still in mourning,”
Relia murmured, eyes downcast, so her cousin could not see the
turbulent emotions that hovered there, threatening to burst
forth.

“
Six months of mama ordering your
household? I think not. You forget, Relia. I have known you all
your life.”

Clever of him, this attempt to put them on
the same side, with Lord and Lady Hubert as the enemy. Was it
possible her uncle and aunt were truly concerned about propriety
and held only some vague hope propinquity would bring about the
desired match between Twyford and herself? Or was their
appropriation of her household all part of some diabolical plot to
seize Pevensey Park?

How long did she have? Was her imminent
birthday forcing their hands? Did they fear her legal right to say
no? And did Gussie have the right of it when she declared Twyford
was truly to be feared? And, if so, how long would he wait before
he cornered her somewhere—perhaps here and now—and dragged her off
into the woods, a deserted bedchamber, an empty cottage?

“
I will consider the matter,” Relia
temporized. “You are quite right, cousin. The situation is
untenable. A solution must be found.” She managed a faint, but
appealing smile, reaching out a hand, as if in supplication. “I
know you understand what a surprise this has been—coming home to
find you all in residence. I am certain you will grant a poor
female time to gather her wits and decide what must be done.” She
fluttered her long thick lashes and allowed her voice to trail away
to a whisper.

Twyford, who was far from gullible, gave her
a sharp look. “Try your die-away airs on someone else, Relia. Three
days only, and then we must set a date. You know quite well my
father is a dreadful skinflint. There’ll be no money from Pevensey
until the reins are in my hands. No, no, dear heart, spare me your
protests. I’m well aware you’ve no taste for female fripperies, but
just think, m’dear—if Lord Hubert has his way, cottage roofs may
fall around your tenants’ ears, dams give way, the stables go to
rack and ruin, the gardens grow up to weeds and the park remain
unscythed.” Twyford leaned down until his solid bulk blotted out
his cousin’s view. “You would not care for it, Relia, I promise
you.” Abruptly, Mr. Trevor straightened. “Three days, Cuz. Do not
forget.”

As Twyford turned on his heel and strode back
across the park, air whooshed back into Relia’s lungs.
Somehow—oddly—she trusted his word. She had three days of grace
before he settled the matter by more nefarious schemes.

Three days. Whether Lord and Lady Hubert were
part of a plot or merely greedy bystanders, she could not count on
them for help. Her need for a dragonslayer was immediate. Which was
why she had dashed off her urgent note to Sir Gilbert. But Mr.
Lanning was busy with his own affairs. He did not really want her.
He would not come.

And that left Harry Stanton. She would ride
to the Stanton’s at once! But when Aurelia reached the stables, the
head groom, abjectly apologetic, informed her that Lord Hubert had
given orders she was not to ride or drive out until further notice,
a punishment for her headstrong jaunt to London.

Once again, James, the footman, was called
upon to smuggle out a note. But, that night after supper, the tick
of the ornate brass and mahogany clock on the mantel in the drawing
room seemed to grow louder with each passing minute, counting down
to her moment of doom. She hated being female, Relia decided. She
hated Pevensey Park. In Medieval times she might, at least, have
gone off and joined a nunnery. Men were the very devil. That she
should be dependent on one to rescue her was intolerable.

No matter whom she married, she would hate
him forever. Because, by an accident of birth, the world considered
him superior. Not only in strength, but in wisdom, education,
training—

Impossible!
Miss Aurelia Trevor threw the embroidery hoop Lady Hubert had
thrust into her hands after dinner halfway across the drawing room,
where it came close to knocking over an Imari vase of which she was
quite fond.

Nonsense!
When
Harry called on her in the morning, she would throw herself into
his arms and beg him to save her. She would grovel. She wanted
Pevensey Park, and she wanted children. Since not only the laws of
England but the laws of nature decreed that a man was necessary,
then a man she would have. And to the devil with the Hubert Trevors
and all their machinations.

But Miss Trevor, caught up in the desperation
of her plans, had forgotten she no longer had the ordering of her
household. When Mr. Harry Stanton rode up the driveway, promptly at
ten the following morning, and handed his hat, his gloves, and his
riding crop to Biddeford, before waving the butler away with the
hearty assertion there was no need to announce him, Aurelia’s
anticipation of a private interview with her old friend was
immediately quashed.

“
You may show our guest to the drawing
room, Biddeford,” Lady Hubert declared as she paused, with regal
stance, on the gallery above the entry hall, her nose almost
visibly aquiver as she sensed a challenge to her fondest wishes.
“You may then inform Miss Trevor we have a visitor.”

Mr. Stanton, agog at this high-handed
usurpation of rights at Pevensey Park, followed blindly on
Biddeford’s heels, where he was relieved to find Relia and Miss
Aldershot eagerly awaiting his call. But before he could do more
than utter polite greetings to the ladies, Lady Hubert swept into
the room. Harry, who had just taken a seat close to Aurelia, shot
back to his feet.

“
Good morning, Mr. Stanton,” Lady
Hubert declared. “To what do we owe the honor of so
early
a call?”

Harry, who had been up since seven, gulped,
shot a desperate look toward Relia, swallowed hard, and stammered,
“Was out and about, ma’am—my lady. Thought I—I’d drop by. Known
Relia—Miss Trevor—since she was in the cradle, don’t y’know.”

Lady Hubert, after an audible sniff, waved
Mr. Stanton back into his chair. After the necessary pleasantries
about his parents’ health were accomplished, an awkward silence
descended. Miss Aldershot, sitting as straight as the
uncompromising lines of her Chinese Chippendale chair, exchanged a
significant look with Miss Trevor. A look Aurelia ignored, as she
and Gussie had found themselves in strong disagreement that
morning, with Miss Aldershot insisting that Mr. Lanning would not
let them down, and Miss Trevor insisting he would. And, besides,
they did not have time to wait on Mr. Lanning’s pleasure. Far
better Harry Stanton than cousin Twyford.

“
Harry,” Relia burst out, “you will
recall the matter we discussed the last time you were
here?”

For a moment Mr. Stanton looked puzzled, then
his gaze sharpened, focusing on Miss Trevor’s anxious face. “Is it
possible you have changed your mind?” he inquired, Lady Hubert’s
inimical presence forgotten.

“
Indeed, I—”

“
Ah, here you are!” declared Twyford
Trevor, striding into the room with the supreme confidence of the
grandson of a marquess defending his turf from the upstart son of a
squire. “Young Stanton, is it? Haven’t seen you in years, m’boy.
How are things in the countryside? As bucolic as ever, I
trust.”

Once again, Harry bobbed to his feet.
“Trevor,” he said with a cool nod.

“
Oh, do sit down, man. Mustn’t stand on
ceremony with old friends, what? Must make m’father’s apologies, I
fear. Too early for him. A two bottle man, don’t y’know,” Twyford
added, tapping the side of his nose.

Harry, still stiffly erect, said, “No doubt
it takes a while to become accustomed to country hours.”

“
Now what may we do for you?” Mr.
Trevor inquired, settling onto the striped gold and cream settee
next to his mother, where he leaned back and stretched out his
feet, very much the picture of the master of the house.

“
I merely stopped by to pay my respects
to Re—Miss Trevor and Miss Aldershot. Now that I know your family
is visiting, Trevor, I will make the squire aware of your
presence.”

“
We are not visiting,” Lady Hubert
pronounced with considerable emphasis. “We are here to provide the
proper background for Aurelia as she returns to society, now that
she is out of her blacks.”

“
You are going to
live
here!” Harry exclaimed in a tone his dear
mama would have deplored.

“
Indeed.” Twyford crossed his long legs
at the ankles. And smiled at Mr. Stanton.

“
Mr. Thomas Lanning,” Biddeford
intoned.

Thomas was never quite sure why he had
insisted on leaving London late the previous afternoon, thus
sentencing himself to a night at a hostelry which in no way met his
standards. But, somehow, there had been such a note of urgency in
Sir Gilbert’s communication . . . almost as if the cousin the
solicitor referred to as “The Terrible Twyford” would actually
stoop to coercion. Or worse. So he had set out immediately, even
though more than a little chagrined by his urge to charge to the
lady’s rescue. It was only as his coach drove through the vast
Pevensey acres, past the pointed cones of the oast houses, past
fields of fall vegetables and orchards full of fruit, and finally
turned into the long drive toward the great house itself, that Mr.
Lanning wondered if he was off on the most egregious wild goose
chase of his life. The owner of all this could not possibly need
his help, and, even if she did, he did not belong here. This was
not his milieu, by God. No, indeed!

And then he saw the house. And groaned. It
was too much. If he married her, the arrogant young chit was
welcome to it. No wonder Pevensey Park had as many productive arms
as an octopus. It must take them all to support the blasted house
and grounds!

Fortunately, the butler seemed to recognize a
man of substance when he saw him, even as his slight frown
indicated he could not quite place Mr. Thomas Lanning on the
customary ladder of precedence assigned to callers. But he had
heeded Thomas’s wave to silence as they stood in the doorway,
catching the last part of the conversation in the drawing room.

Two suitors already on the scene, Thomas
noted. Perhaps Miss Trevor needed him, after all. Certainly, if the
look on her face, when she saw him, was any indication . . . Thomas
cast a hasty glance over his perfectly fitted jacket, waistcoat,
pantaloons, and boots. Was it possible Miss Trevor had caught a
glimpse of shining armor beneath his conservative London
attire?

“
Mr. Lanning,” Miss Trevor breathed, as
she dropped into a curtsey worthy of His Majesty
himself.

“
And who might you be?” roared a voice
from a doorway at the opposite end of the imposing drawing
room.

“
Good morning, uncle,” Relia trilled,
her fears and desperation unaccountably flown on the breath of
fresh air that accompanied her latest visitor’s arrival. “Mr.
Lanning is an expert from the City. He is here to offer advice on
the business of running Pevensey Park.”

“
Advice? I asked for no advice,”
snapped Lord Hubert as he stalked across the deep pile of the
Axminster carpet. “Nor need it,” he added on a decided
grumble.

“
It was Miss Trevor who consulted me,”
Thomas responded in his most conciliating tone, the one he used
while finalizing negotiations that always seemed to end to his vast
benefit.

“
My niece had no right to do so.” Lord
Hubert made violent shooing motions with his hands. “So go back
where you came from. We’ve no need of you here.”

Mr. Lanning, evidently a trifle slow-witted,
did not seem to take offense. “But I am vastly interested in the
workings of Pevensey Park, my lord, and Miss Trevor promised to
show me the many enterprises under her command—”