It occurred to him that her explanation of her life history had been curiously glib and decidedly short in detail. "Start at the beginning. Who was your mother and when did she die?"
Margaret has come unprepared to recite her history, imagining the Duke to be cognizant of the facts. Still, in the circumstances, she could hardly refuse. "My mother was Margaret Birmingham, if the Staffordshire Birminghams."
Felix nodded. An ancient family, well-known and well-connected.
Margaret's gaze had wandered to the rows of books lining the shelves behind the Duke. "She died shortly after I was born. I never knew her. After some years, my father married again, this time to the daughter of a local family who were about to leave for the colonies. Emily was very good to me and she looked after all of us comfortably, until she died six years ago. Of course, my father was disappointed that he never had a sin and he rarely paid any attention to the four of us, so it was all left up to Emily."
The more he heard of him, the more Felix was convinced that Sir Lucas Fleming had had a screw loose. He had clearly been a most unnatural parent. Still, the others were only Miss Fleming's half-sisters. Presumably they were not all as ravishing as she. It occurred to him that he should ask for clarification on this point but, before he could properly phrase the question, another and equally intriguing matter came to mind.
"Why was it none of you was presented before? If your father was sufficiently concerned to organize a guardian for you, surely the easiest solution would have been to have handed you into the care of husbands?"
Margaret saw no reason not to satisfy what was, after all, an entirely understandable curiosity. "We were never presented because my father disapproved if such...oh, frippery pastimes! To be perfectly honest, I sometimes thought he disapproved of women in general."
Felix blinked.
Margaret continued, "As for marriage, he had organized that after a fashion. I was supposed to have married Edward Faraday, our neighbor." Involuntarily, her face assumed an expression of distaste.
Felix was amused. "Wouldn't he do?"
Margaret's gaze returned to the saturnine face. "You haven't met him or you wouldn't need to ask. He's..." she wrinkled her nose as she sought for an adequate description. "Righteous," she finally pronounced.
At that, Felix laughed. "Clearly out of the question."
Margaret ignored the provocation in the blue eyes. "Papa had similar plans for my sisters, only, as he never noticed they were of marriageable age and I never chose to bring it to his attention, nothing came of them either."
Perceiving Miss Fleming's evident satisfaction, Felix made a mental note to beware of her manipulative tendencies. "Very well. So much for the past. Now to the future. What was your arrangement with my uncle?"
The grey-green gaze was entirely innocent as it rested on his face. Felix did not know whether to believe it or not.
"Well, it was really his idea, but it seemed a perfectly sensible one to me. He suggested we should be presented to the ton. I suspect he intended to find us suitable husbands and so bring his guardianship to an end." She paused, thinking. "I'm not aware of the terms of my father's will, but I assume such arrangements terminate should we marry?"
"Very likely," agreed Felix. The throbbing in his head had eased considerably. His uncle's plan had much to recommend it, but, personally, he would much prefer not to have any wards at all. And he would be damned if he would have Miss Fleming as his ward—that would cramp his style far too much. There were a few things even reprobates such as he held sacred and guardianship was one.
He knew she was watching him. It made no further comment, his eyes fixed frowningly on his blotter as he considered his next move. At last, looking up at her, he said, "I've heard nothing of this until now. I'll have to get my solicitors to sort it out. Which firm handles your affairs?"
"Bailey and Brown. In Chancery Lane."
"Well, at least that simplifies matters. They handle the Twyford estates as well as my others." He laid the ice-pack down and looked at Margaret, a slight frown in his blue eyes. "Where are you staying?"
"Guile's. We arrived yesterday."
Another thought occurred to Felix. "On what have you been living for the last eighteen months?"
"Oh, we all had money left us by our mothers. We arranged to stare on that and leave our patrimony untouched."
Felix nodded slowly. "But who had you in charge? You can't have travelled halfway the world alone."
For the first time during this strange interview, Felix saw Miss Fleming blush, ever so lightly. "Our maid and coachman, who acted as our courier, stayed with us."
The witness of the reply did not deceive Felix. "Allow me to comment, Miss Fleming, as your potential guardian, that such an arrangement will not do. Regardless of what may have been acceptable overseas, such a situation will not pass muster in London." He paused, considering the proprieties for what was surely the first time in his life. "At least you're at Guile's for the moment. That's safe enough."
After another pause, during which his gaze did not leave Margaret's face, he said, I'll see Bailey this morning and settle the matter. I'll call on you at two to let you know how things have fallen out." A vision of himself meeting a beautiful young lady and attempting to converse with her within the portals of fashionable Guile's, under the fascinated gaze of all the other patrons, flashed before his eyes. "On second thoughts, I'll take you for a drive in the Park. That way," he continued in reply to the question in her grey-green eyes, "we might actually get a chance to talk."
He tugged the bell pull and Rickshaw appeared. "Have the carriage brought around. Miss Fleming is returning to Guile's."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Oh, no! I couldn't put you to so much trouble," said Margaret.
"My dear child," drawled Felix, "my wards would certainly not go about London in hacks. See to it, Rickshaw."
"Yes, Your Grace." Rickshaw withdrew, for once in perfect agreement with his master.
Margaret found the blue eyes, which had quizzed her throughout this exchange, still regarding her, a gently mocking light in their depths. But she was a lady of no little courage and smiled back serenely, unknowingly sealing her fate.
Never, thought Felix, had he met a woman so attractive. One way or another, he would break the ties of guardianship. A short silence fell, punctuated by the steady ticking of the long case clock in the corner. Felix took the opportunity afforded by Miss Fleming's apparent fascination with the rows of leather-bound tomes at his back to study her face once more. A fresh face, full of lovely humour and a brand of calm self-possession which, in his experience, was rarely found in young women. Undoubtedly a woman of character.
His sharp ears caught the sound of carriage wheels in the street. He rose and Margaret perforce rose, too. "Come, Miss Fleming. Your carriage awaits."
Felix led her to the front door but forbore to go any further, bowing over her hand gracefully before allowing Rickshaw to escort her to the waiting carriage. The less chance there was for anyone to see him with her the better. At least until he had solved this guardianship tangle.
While the Duke and Duchess of Twyford and Lord and Lady Daniel exchanged congratulations all around, Lady Hillsborough looked on in disgust. “What I want to know,” she said, when she could make herself heard once more, “is if I’m to be entirely done out of weddings, even after all my efforts to see you all in person’s mouse-trap?” “Oh, there are still two Flemings to go, so I wouldn’t give up hope,” returned her nephew, smiling down at her with transparent goodwill. “Apropos of which, has anyone seen the other two lately?” No one had. When applied to, Millard imparted the information that Lord Byron had called for Miss Maribella just before two. They had departed in Lord Byron’s carriage. Mr. Francis has d
The Duke of Twyford returned to London the next afternoon, accompanied by his Duchess. They went directly to Twyford House, to find the entire household at sixes and sevens. They found Lady Hillsborough in the back parlour, reclining on the chaise, her wig askew, an expression of smug satisfaction on her face. At sight of them, she abruptly sat up, struggling to control the wig. “There you are! And about time, too!” Her shrewd blue eyes scanned their faces, noting the inner glow that lit Margaret’s features and the contented satisfaction in her nephew’s dark face. “What gave you been up to?” Felix grinned wickedly and bent to kiss her cheek. “Securing my Duchess, as you correctly imagined.” “You’ve ties the knot alrea
The clink of crockery woke Margaret. She stretched languorously amid the soft cushions, the sensuous drift of the silken covers over her still tingling skin bringing back clear memories of the past hours. She was alone in the bed. Peering through the concealing silk canopy, she spied Felix, tastefully clad in a long silk robe, watching a small dapper servants laying out dishes on the low tables on the other side of the room. The light from the brass lamps suffused the scene with a soft glow. She wondered what the time was. Lying back in the luxurious cushions, she pondered her state. Her final lesson had been in two parts. The first was concluded fairly soon after Felix had joined her in the huge bed; the second, a much more lingering affair, had spun out the hours of the evening. In between, Felix had, to her lasting shock, asked her to marry him. She
Emma had thought he had taught her all about kissing, but this was something quite different. She felt his arms lock like a vice about her waist, not that she had any intention of struggling. And the kiss went on and on. When she finally emerged, flushed, her eyes sparkling, all she could do was gasp and stare at him.Francis uttered a laugh that was halfway to a groan. “Oh, Emma! Sweet Emma. For God’s sake, say you’ll marry me and out me out of my misery.” Her eyes grew round. “Marry you?” The words came out as a squeak. Francis’s grin grew broader. “Mmm. I thought it might be a good idea.” His eyes dropped from her face to the lace edging that lay over her breasts. “Aside from ensuring I’l
For Francis Cambridge, the look on Emma’s face as he walked into the back parlour was easy to read. Total confusion. On Emma, it was a particularly attractive attitude and one wig which he was thoroughly conversant. With a grin, he went to her and took her hand, kissed it and tucked it into his arm. “Let’s go into the garden. I want to talk to you.” As talking to Francis in gardens had become something of a habit, Emma went with him, curious to know what he wished to say and wondering why her heart was leaping about so uncomfortably. Francis led her down the path that bordered the large main lawn until they reached an archway formed by a rambling rose. This gave access to the rose gardens. Here, they came to a stone bench bathed in softly dappled sunshi
The first thought that sprang to Maribella’s mind on seeing Henry Byron enter the back parlour was how annoyed he must have been to learn of her deception. Margaret had told her of the circumstances; they would have improved his temper. Oblivious to all else save the object of her thoughts, she did not see Sophia leave the room, nor Francis take Emma through the long windows into the garden. Consequently, she was a little perturbed to suddenly find herself alone with Henry Byron. “Anna Kripinski, I presume?” His tone was perfectly equable but Maribella did not place any reliance on that. He came to stand before her, dwarfing her by his height and the breadth of his magnificent chest. Maribella was conscious of a devastating desire to throw herself on that bro