His Heart's Delight (21 page)

With a firm nod Christiana made a
notation.

“Now if my sister Mariel were here”—he
paused, summoning the memory—“it would be different. She can play
both pianoforte and harp with a skill that brings tears to your
eyes. She would be received with pleasure and applause.”

He pulled that thought closer. Could Mariel
come to Town? Would she? He hitched his chair nearer to
Christiana’s and with a quick glance at his still-sleeping
grandmama he spoke. “What do you think of this idea? I write to
Mariel and invite her to come and play at the musicale. Do you
think Grandmama would be pleased?”

“Oh, my lord, that is a wonderful idea.”

She was smiling at him as though he had hung
a star for her.

“It must be a surprise.” He lost his train of
thought for a moment, lost in the pleasure of easing her worry, in
that smile that made him feel equal to the tasks of Hercules.

A soft snore from nearby pulled his thoughts
back from that abyss. “Uh, a surprise, yes, it must be a surprise.
If only because I am not sure I can convince Mariel to leave her
two darlings behind, much less Charles and on such short notice.
Could I rely on you to find some reason to ask that a room be
prepared?”

Even as Christiana began to make notes,
Morgan considered the possibility. It would only be for a few days.
Travel from Kent was easily done in one day. She would be home in
less than a week. And if he wrote now, there would be enough time
to plan it all.

He made to rise. “Excuse me, my dear, I am
going to move to the library and write to Mariel immediately.”
Before she could protest, he was out of the room, already wording
the note. It would be much less distracting if a room separated
them. His side of their friendship was teetering precariously. And
Christiana was completely oblivious.

C
hristiana watched
him leave the room and then glanced toward the duchess, whose
snores were gentle but unmistakable. The list was as complete as
she could make it. Should there be more savories than sweets? Was
her idea for simple greenery intertwined with a white flowering
vine distinctive enough?

Carefully replacing the pen in the holder,
she drew a deep breath and considered what was really on her mind.
Was she the only person in her world who had never known true
heartache? Never known disappointment so deep that it changed your
life? Her grandfather had died not much more than a year ago, but
he was old, ill, in pain. The vicar insisted it was a blessing and
she could only agree.

If she were being completely honest, it would
grieve her more when the dowager duchess was gone. She loved her as
she would have loved her own grandmothers, had they not died before
her birth. Grief was the cost of loving.

Heartache came in other guises as well. The
duchess and Lord Morgan and all the rest of the Braedons shared
loss that was not grounded in death but in one person’s
determination to control his world. Christiana thought of her mama,
who seemed inclined to manage. Then a guilty thought struck her.
Her pretense of courtship with Lord Morgan was nothing less than
their mutual attempt to manipulate the world to their
satisfaction.

There you are,
she thought,
I
suppose all of us are inclined to make the world dance to our
tune.
But for the first time she realized that it was a
dangerous game to play. One could not ever completely control
another or even one’s own feelings.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the
dowager duchess stir. With a guilty start, Christiana considered
the party plans they had been working on before Lord Morgan had
abandoned her.

“All done without me, eh.” The dowager
duchess’s voice was a bit hoarse, but it cleared as she
straightened in her chair. “And where has Morgan run off to the
minute I close my eyes?”

“He is in the library Your Grace, composing a
letter he thought urgent.” Christiana stood. “I can get him for
you.”

“You do that, my dear, and I will order some
tea for us and then we can discuss the lists you have made.” She
drew the shawl from her lap and draped it over her shoulders. “It
will take a few moments for the tea tray to come up, so you need
not hurry. Morgan can finish his important letter and then show you
the artwork.”

Christiana forbore to explain. It probably
did seem as though she was anxious for time alone with him, when
all she really wanted to do was avoid a family argument.

She left the room in such a hurry that she
forgot to ask directions to the library. A footman on duty in the
hallway escorted her up a floor and to the front of the house. He
scratched on the door, but did not wait for permission to enter
before opening the door for her. Christiana stepped into the dimly
lit room and found Morgan seated near a window, impatiently tapping
his fingers on the desk, two ruined sheets of paper before him.

His relief upon seeing her was very
gratifying. “Do come here, Sprite, please, and help me write this
confounded thing.”

“How difficult can it be, my lord?”

He put the quill back in the stand and pushed
back slightly from the desk and made to rise.

Christiana hurried over to him and put her
hand on his shoulder to keep him from standing. He looked at her
hand, then up at her with such a pleased smile that she returned it
with a grin quite unequal to the task.

She looked away for a moment and tamed the
smile to something less tender while a cascade of thoughts crowded
her brain. Was it normal that she should feel such pleasure in his
company, such joy in seeing him when they had only been apart a few
moments? What would it be like when she saw Richard? Why did the
thought bring more worry than pleasure?

She picked up one of the crumpled sheets and
scanned it. “Oh no, I am sorry, my lord, but this sounds like a
royal command. Even a much-loved sister would have to refuse on
principle.”

“Yes, and as you can see I threw that sheet
away.”

“To your credit, sir.” She picked up the
other one. “Much better, sir, but perhaps ‘beg’ is a bit too
abject.”

“And your suggestion would be?”

“Tell her the truth. Your grandmother is
longing to have her family close and has no hopes for a Braedon
reconciliation. If your sister would come for a few days, it would
be a comfort far beyond the effort involved.”

He nodded with grudging approval. With a
fresh sheet of paper he began. Christiana set her lips together so
she would remain silent while he worked. After a moment she moved
to the other side of the room, where she tried to examine a
portrait of the current duke and his family, but the room was in
such shadow that it was difficult to see more than a man in full
court dress and a woman holding a baby against her elaborately
bejeweled bosom.

Were they happy, she wondered. Were they well
matched? Was their world filled with temptation? What kind of loss
had they faced? Did it bring them closer together? More light would
not answer any of those questions. Portraits were so unsatisfying.
They raised questions and could not answer them.

The next painting was smaller. A family
group, all children, which in itself was unusual. There were four,
no, five, if you counted the oldest, who stood nearby with a fond
smile that looked decidedly silly on a young man.

With a spurt of pleased surprise she realized
that the standoffish young man was the viscount and this must be
the Braedon offspring as they were at least fifteen years ago.

Indeed, one of the children held a small
child-sized telescope. That would be Rhys and the girl with the
flute would be Mariel. One more boy and girl sat close together,
looking at a book: Maddie and Morgan. Not twins she knew, but very
close in age.

She stared at young Morgan. There was so much
about his youth she did not know. And she wanted details, hundreds
of them.

“Are they telling you all the Braedon
secrets?” Lord Morgan came up from behind her and turned his back
to the painting.

Despite the question, Christiana realized
that he did not want to talk about it. His arms were crossed and
although he was smiling there was a defensive look in his eyes. She
struggled for the most innocent question.

“Your brother Rhys has been interested in
astronomy since childhood?” She took his arm as she asked her
question and moved toward the windows.

~ ~ ~

Morgan hated that painting as much as he
loved it. They had sat for it only months before his mother died
and their whole world changed.

Christiana looked lovely today. This dress
was definitely new for the Season, a delicate green with twining
leaves around the bodice, sleeves, and border. It was as springlike
as the flowers just arrived from the Braemoor succession
houses.

She let go of his arm as they stopped before
a large globe of the world and he let her step away.

“My brother Rhys has had a telescope in his
hand since he could walk. He could read before he was out of the
nursery. Intellectually, he is quite impressive and the fact that
he uses his brain for something besides his own pleasure is not at
all typical of Braedons.”

“We each have different skills, my lord. And
judging someone else’s particular talent as exceptional does not
diminish the talent of another.”

He looked at her with a little surprise. It
was a compliment worthy of a diplomat.

“That insight is not a truth unique to me.”
With a slightly embarrassed shrug she explained, “I do listen to
the vicar’s sermons on occasion.”

“You actually listen to sermons?” He gave her
a slight bow. “My dear, that is one of your lesser acknowledged
talents. Alas, daydreaming through them is only one of my
shortcomings.”

“But why do you dwell on your
shortcomings?”

There was a touch of indignation in her
question. It was charming and now Morgan was curious. “Let me see,
Rhys is our intellectual, Mariel can claim music as her talent. But
what is mine, I wonder?”

“A generosity of spirit, my lord.”

“Suitably vague.”

“I can give you examples: Your willingness to
help me with my charade, your willingness to dance with all those
least likely to find partners.”

At his surprise, she added, “Oh yes, I have
noticed that.” She thought a bare moment more. “Oh, and your
refusal to fleece the more foolish gamblers. How many times have I
heard you decline play with Peter Wilton because he was foxed?”

“I am beginning to sound positively
virtuous.”

“You have your moments, my lord, but I think
I will stop there, lest you think I hold you in too high a
regard.”

He was grateful for that. Few things were
more annoying than having someone list your admirable qualities.
Usually the list was a figment of their imagination and as accurate
as Cupid’s arrow after a drunken orgy. And generally aimed with the
same intent. This was flirtation and nothing more.

Christiana gave the globe a delicate spin.
“Does your brother Rhys have the use of a telescope?”

Morgan shook his head, remembering. “On this
most recent visit, he and my brother James came close to a physical
fight about some property on which Rhys wants to construct
one.”

“No, really?” She looked shocked, but she
pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “I would imagine
that any argument with the viscount rarely results in a win for the
other whether the fight is physical or verbal.”

“That insight, so obvious to us, my dear, is
something Rhys has not yet grasped.”

This time she did laugh and shook her head.
“But why does the viscount object? Is it valuable property or
cultivated?”

“The thing is the property that Rhys wants to
use belongs to a neighbor, a hilly piece, useless for farming and
not much better for grazing. There is even an old foundation that
he insists he could use for the observatory. The problem lies in
that Rhys wants to trade some prime Braedon land for it.”

“Even if your older brother agreed, would
that be possible? Surely the land is entailed?”

“No, not this parcel. Trust Rhys to research
all this quite thoroughly.”

“And Lord Rhys is hoping to talk your brother
into the trade? I am sorry to sound cynical, my lord, but he is an
incredible optimist to think any man would give up good productive
land for useless, even in the name of science.”

“He is worse than an optimist, he is a
dedicated scholar.” Morgan shook his head. “And right now he is
living in a fantasy world. You are right. James giving up land is
as likely as Bonaparte accepting an invite to dine with the
King.”

“I understand completely. In my family, the
Lamberts and the Wiltons have been arguing over a piece of property
for at least four generations. It is quite unusable land really,
good only for hunting, but you would think they would be able to
mine gold there if only one family or the other could establish
ownership.”

Ah, yes, the property that young Wilton had
told him about so long ago. “Have they ever been close to
agreement?” It was an innocent question, he insisted to himself. He
was only curious to know if Christiana realized how nearly her own
future was tied to the resolution of this dispute.

“It could be. There is some antique proviso
that when a Lambert and Wilton marry the property will go to the
male half of the union.”

“Then, when you marry Richard, his family
will secure the title to the property?”

“I think that the land is the only reason my
father has been so hesitant to agree to our engagement.” She spoke
with a casual nod, totally unaware that this information amazed
him.

She
knew
about the agreement? So much
for young Wilton’s assumption that her sensibilities would be
offended by the knowledge. Not only Wilton, he, too, had been
certain that for Christiana Lambert romance was of paramount
importance in any married relationship. “Forgive me if I am
indelicate, but the pragmatic aspect of this land transaction does
not dilute your own conviction that Richard’s attachment to you is
purely romantic?”