Secluded with the Rogue

Chapter 5

Five

“A nd it simply wouldn’t do to have the poor things sitting there looking unkempt, as I told your dear wife this afternoon, my lord.”

Ezra snorted into his wine goblet as David winced at Mrs. Faust’s braying tone. The reverend’s wife was a formidable woman and he could see now why Marianne had been so anxious about keeping the woman waiting this afternoon.

She’d dragged Lady Calista off to the parochial house for two hours then returned declaring that her head had never ached so much and she needed to lie down. Lady Calista had merely winced in sympathy before hurrying off to fetch a cold compress for her poor, abused cousin.

She did that a lot, he noticed. Constantly asked to help. Offered to help in the kitchens, even. It was as though she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stay still. He’d watched her all afternoon until she and Marianne had removed themselves to dress for dinner with their unexpected guests.

“ The woman should work for the Crown,” Marianne had complained. “She’d make a wonderful spy. The way she manipulated herself a dinner invitation was quite the fete.”

When the ladies had repaired to their bed-chambers, he’d managed not to ask about Lady Calista for all of five seconds before his mouth was opening. He hadn’t even had his usual finesse, simply blurted out a question as to why the girl seemed to need to be needed all the while.

That was when David had explained Lady Calista’s background a little more. She’d alluded to it during their unexpectedly enjoyable walk that morning. About the illness that had nearly killed her, and the father who wanted a match for her.

“Marianne thinks she’s harboring some odd notion of guilt,” David had explained. “She spent so long bedbound, with people waiting on her, that she feels compelled to return the favor. As though anyone would expect such a thing from her. Her heart is too good, I think that must be it.”

Ezra hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Now that he’d met her, talked to her, and watched the sunlight dance over her golden curls, the idea of her being close to death’s door felt like a lance in his side.

She meant nothing to him. She was sitting right there looking healthy and beautiful. Yet he still felt slightly nauseated at the thought.

And now the reverend’s bloody wife wouldn’t shut up about the list of things she would like the ‘dear lady’ to help with. A list that grew with every course Marianne’s cook sent to the dining room table.

“It won’t take you long, will it, my lady? To embroider new kerchiefs for the children? I should like to have them for the service on Christmas Day. And of course, we shall need volunteers to help decorate the village square for the processional but I’m sure you won’t mind.”

Ezra tightened his grip on the stem of his wineglass, waiting for Calista to speak up and tell the woman that no, she wouldn’t be helping with her damned processional.

But it was Marianne, not Calista, who spoke. “I’m afraid that things will be very busy here at the manor house, Mrs. Faust. We shall be preparing for the Christmas Eve ball, of course. And then there is the day itself, and Boxing Day thereafter.”

“Oh, my dear viscountess, of course. It is an uncommonly busy time for you.” The rotund lady had the grace to seem contrite and Ezra relaxed enough to set his glass down. Until she opened her bloody mouth again. “Nobody could expect you to help more than you have,” Mrs. Faust simpered. “But your cousin, well, she has no husband to dote on, no household to run. I am sure she will not mind being charitable with her time. Tis for the children, after all.”

“Well as to that, she –“

“Idleness is a sin,” the older woman said loudly, drowning out Marianne’s protests. “And a virtuous young lady such as Lady Calista wouldn’t want to spend her time lying about, I’m sure.”

Ezra saw the words hit their mark. Calista flinched slightly before offering a benign smile. But given what David had told him earlier of the girl’s misplaced sense of guilt around her illness and recovery, he knew the words must sting.

He felt enraged on her behalf. The only consolation was that Marianne looked fit to be tied, no doubt equally furious on behalf of her cousin.

“I will do whatever I can to help, Mrs. Faust,” Calista said softly, serenely, her face a picture of calm. But he’d seen it, that flash of hurt in her cornflower eyes.

“Thank you, my lady,” Mrs. Faust said, insubordination oozing from her tone. “There is to be a meeting tomorrow, of the patronesses of the orphanage. Perhaps I might call on you here afterward, with a list to get you started?”

“Do be careful won’t you, my dear? There is talk of a snowstorm tomorrow.” All eyes turned to the dithering old reverend who’d seemed oblivious to the goings on around him up until this point.

“The storm won’t come until the evening, Harold. I shall be well home by then.”

They all awaited a response from the man, but he merely grunted and returned to his pheasant.

After that, the talk moved to various topics in which Ezra had no interest. And even if he had cared about whether or not the magistrate had contracted a severe cold, he’d have been too preoccupied to join in, in any case. No, all his attention was on the lady sitting across the table.

There was a fragility to her, of that there was no doubt. But a strength, too. A boldness that he found enchanting. She’d spoken openly of her father’s expectations, of her girlhood pact about kissing, which was frankly adorable.

And at the thought of kissing, Ezra’s gaze went inevitably to that mouth. It was made for kissing, he realized. Plump, and pink, and looking as though she would taste divine. He almost groaned aloud as her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip and was suddenly, and uncomfortably, aware that he was sitting here with the chit’s cousin-in-law, a veritable gossip monger, and a damned vicar.

David’s whispered voice dragged Ezra’s attention from Lady Calista.

“What’s wrong with you?” his cousin whispered. “You look as though you’re in pain.”

For a brief moment, Ezra wondered if he should tell David the truth. I am in pain. Looking at Calista’s mouth is making things deuced uncomfortable in my breeches if you must know. Somehow, he didn’t think that conversation would end well.

“Just thinking about all the eligible young ladies who’ll be thrown my way in the coming weeks,” he groused. “You and your wife must have invited every single woman under the age of fifty to this ball of yours.”

David’s grin was anything but contrite. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he countered. “There are some over fifty, too.”

“If there wasn’t a reverend here, I’d make a crude gesture,” Ezra said out of the side of his mouth, earning himself a chuckle.

“If it’s any consolation, there’ll be plenty of broken-hearted bachelors, too. As soon as Calista’s father picks her match, the rest will be put out to pasture. All the better to distract the young ladies from a duke’s rakehell son.”

The assurance should have made him feel better, instead, it soured his mood further. Thankfully, before David could question him, Marianna brought the meal to a close. “Ladies, shall we retire to the drawing-room?” Though her tone was everything polite, there was a stiffness there that told Ezra she was still none too happy with the redoubtable Mrs. Faust running roughshod over Lady Calista and his admiration for Marianne went up a notch.

He did the dutiful standing and bowing as he waited for the ladies to glide from the room, Mrs. Faust’s voluminous burgundy skirts rustling as she once again forgot her station and rushed ahead of Calista to the doorway. He was inches from throwing the silly old bat out on her arse, but then he caught sight of Calista’s little smile. She was unoffended by the older woman, rather she seemed to find it entertaining. She glanced up before leaving the room, her blue eyes catching with his and flashing with merriment, and Ezra found himself struck positively dumb by her, though he managed an answering smile.

Her dress, he observed, was almost the exact shade of those eyes. A silly thing to notice and yet he could not seem to stop thinking of it. Even long after she had gone.

L ord, but this evening was interminable.

Calista barely concealed a yawn behind her white satin glove as Mrs. Faust droned on yet again about her precious Christmas processional.

It wasn’t that Calista didn’t want to help poor, orphaned children. But not even an army could complete the tasks Mrs. Faust was expecting her to shoulder. She knew Marianne was growing angrier by the second, knew that Lord Tilton had been furious at the dinner table, that even David had looked as though he were biting his tongue.

But Calista had said nothing, had nodded and smiled, and acquiesced at every ureasonable turn. And she knew it was because she didn’t want to appear weak. She didn’t want to be the girl who’d grown so ill that simple tasks were beyond her capabilities.

Even now, her very limbs were aching with fatigue yet she kept her back straight and what she hoped was an attentive look on her face as Mrs. Faust explained, in great detail, how she would like foliage to be collected, when she wanted it done, and how exactly it should be arranged into decorative boughs for the church pews.

The woman was well in her stride and had apparently forgotten that Calista was the daughter of a peer and not one of the vicarage’s housemaids.

Verging on giving in and allowing her shoulders to slump, Calista could have wept with relief when the door to the drawing room opened, signaling the arrival of the gentlemen. Her heart stuttered when she looked up and saw Lord Tilton watching her. He flicked his steely gaze to Mrs. Faust before returning to her and raising a brow, rolling his eyes and almost causing her to giggle in the woman’s face.

“Marianne.” Lord Tilton’s voice was loud enough that Mrs. Faust jumped and abruptly stopped speaking. “Seeing your pianoforte, I am reminded of what a talented musician you are. Won’t you play something for us all to listen to? In silence.”

Calista gaped at the man’s audacity, but it seemed none of them accounted for Mrs. Faust’s thick skin, for if she noticed how pointedly he’d added that last bit while glaring in her direction, she gave no indication, merely lent her enthusiastic request for Marianne to play.

The saving grace of it was that she moved to sit closer to the pianoforte, all the better to fawn, and pulled her half-deaf husband right along with her.

David swiftly offered to turn the pages and so it was that somehow, Calista found herself sitting close enough to Lord Tilton that should she wish to, she could lean over and brush against him. She wouldn’t. Of course, she wouldn’t. But knowing that she could send shivers down her spine.

Marianne began to play, her fingers deft and light over the ivory keys. She’d always been talented when it came to music. Calista could sing but was clumsy on the keys of the instrument. As girls, they’d spent hours putting on concerts for their family, with Calista warbling away and Marianne banging the keys in accompaniment. Hopefully, Marianne wouldn’t get it into her head to suggest they do the same now, though it was sure to be a lot more refined than it had been in their formative years.

Calista tried to concentrate on Marianne’s playing but it was difficult. Every time Lord Tilton shifted in his seat or turned his head, she was aware of it. Just as she was intensely aware of the clean, masculine scent of his skin; smokey and citrusy and altogether too tempting for her peace of mind.

For the first time in her life, she felt a stirring desire to burrow against another person and just – breathe him in. It would likely earn her an extended stay in Bedlam but she was sure it would be worth it.

Thankfully, before the mad urge could overpower her, Marianne’s song drew to a close and he turned away to pay his compliments, leaving her some much space to breathe. Mrs. Faust leveled Calista with a look over her teacup and she just knew the woman was about to restart her list.

But once again, Lord Tilton seemed to anticipate the lady’s intentions and cut her off before she could start. “Another, Marianne. I’m sure we all insist.”

Marianne scowled at him before pasting a smile on her face and magnanimously agreeing. “Calista, will you join me for a song, dearest? I do so enjoy when we perform together.”

Calista could have cried. She was so tired, so drained from almost an entire day of Mrs. Faust. But if she claimed exhaustion, Marianne would worry, and if Marianne worried, everyone would notice and think there was something wrong with her.”

With no choice but to agree, Calista rose from her seat and swept toward the pianoforte, shooting daggers at her cousin once she was beside her. Marianne merely smiled serenely in response. “Something festive, Callie?” she asked innocently.

After a quick discussion, they settled on God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen. Something they’d performed together as girls. Calista felt an attack of nerves as Marianne played the opening chords of the hymn. She wasn’t particularly shy about singing usually, it was quite common for young ladies to do so, after all. But singing in front of Lord Tilton felt odd. Still, there was nothing for it now, and so, taking a deep, steadying breath, she sang.