Never, in his wildest imaginings, did Lucien conceive he’d arrive at Everdene Hall atop a cart full of cabbages. He sat on the hard bench seat beside a farmer who smelled strongly of garlic and sweat, watching the rumps of weary shire horses as they plodded along.
He supposed he should be grateful the man had picked him up at all, since he looked like some unwary traveler who had been set upon by brigands. As it was, one stern glance had put an end to any questions the farmer might have ventured about his identity. The last thing Lucien needed was for word to spread that the fastidious Viscount Everdene had been seen in such a condition. He could just picture Cruikshank’s next cartoon.
The wet stockings in his boots had rubbed his heels raw, his sodden breeches chafed, and the indignity of the entire situation felt like pouring whiskey over a wound.
Grace Elliot.
The expression on her face when she’d recognized him might have been amusing in any other situation. Those large, green eyes rounded with horror, her nose, sprinkled with cinnamon freckles. And that berry-red mouth falling open. Even as a child, she had been a calamity waiting to happen. If possible,the years had only made her behavior worse. And now she had accomplices. No rookery in the Seven Dials could have given rise to a more devilish gang.
The two smaller lads had taken steps back in the face of Lucien’s outrage, but the eldest had met his most blistering glare with sheer defiance. And Lady Grace…she’d sprung between them like a lioness, shoulders squared, hand splayed on his chest.
He’d felt the wildness in that touch, something primitive, infuriating and irresistible that made him want…what? To haul her against him again, feel that unexpected heat.
Of all the distractions he didn’t need right now…or perhaps it was exactly what hedidneed as the cart neared the drive that led up the hill to Everdene Hall. To think of anything but the reunion with his sisters.
The cart rolled to a halt at the foot of the tree-lined lane, the farmer nodding to his passenger. “Whatever business ye have at the manor, Captain Harcourt will take care of ye. A war hero, he is, and the best of men. Built a village finer than any ye’ve ever seen.”
One Lucien was still trying to pay for during a time when too many English landowners were barely keeping their estates afloat.
“Aye,” the farmer continued. “It’d be best for everyone in this borough if he was to be the earl, ’stead of that brother o’ his. Viscount Starch-In-His-Smallclothes.”
The muscles in Lucien’s face tightened. Obviously, the farmer had no idea who he was speaking to. Lucien leapt to the ground, his boots giving an inelegant squishing sound. He pulled a sovereign from his rumpled coat’s pocket, narrowing his eyes. “In the interest of quelling rumors,” he said, placing the gold coin in the farmer’s callused hand, “I don’t require starch in my smallclothes. Only in my cravats.”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked from the coin to Lucien. “Yer—yer pardon, yer lordship,” he managed. “I didn’t—it’s just what other people say…Me wife is always warnin’ me I shouldn’t run off my mouth t’ strangers.”
“A wise woman.”
“Aye. May Gor’ bless ye with such a fine wife one day. I can drive ye the rest o’ the way up to the house, yer lordship. I’d be honored.”
Lucien glanced at the cabbages, then shuddered inwardly at the thought of being seen in such proximity. “I’ll walk.”
Hopefully, he could slip through a rear entrance without anyone being the wiser. Hooking one finger in the collar of his coat, he slung the crumpled garment over one shoulder then strode up the lane, the farmer’s jabbered apologies following him until the sloshing of his boots and the pounding headache behind his eyes drowned out all sound.
Over the years, he’d been forced to visit the estate more often than anyone in his family, conducting business affairs long before Simon had built his stable here. During all that time, Lucien had refused to acknowledge the tightening in his gut whenever he first glimpsed the red brick towers and creamy gold columns of the Tudor era county seat. Echoes of sins past…
But today’s arrival was different. He ground his teeth as he saw two horsemen in front of the sweeping stairs that led to the grand front door. Simon sat astride his cavalry mount, Brutus, while Simon’s best friend and partner in the stables, Jamie MacLeod, rode a golden mare. Lucien’s own winded gelding stood nearby, a village lad holding its reins.
A cluster of women looked on. Lucien didn’t need to draw nearer to know who they were.
Simon’s wife, Penelope, their small son, Christopher, called Kit, in her arms, and two other women, something achinglyfamiliar about their golden curls. His sisters. One of them pointed down the lane.
Simon’s gaze lit on Lucien and he froze, then swung down from the saddle, passing the reins to the village lad. It was the longest walk of Lucien’s life, striding toward them, the dried mud on his body cracking, sticking cloth to his body. He reeked of lake water and fish.
Lucien’s jaw knotted as everyone stared at him.
He’d been bracing for this meeting with his sisters like a man anticipating the surgeon’s knife. When last he’d seen them, Cassandra had been fifteen, Jane twelve. They had been girls. Now they were women. Cassandra had grown, tall, the fine bones of her face reminding him of a cat, her eyes tip-tilted and keen. An edge sharpened her beauty, as if to remind the world that she had claws sheathed beneath velvet.
Jane was her opposite, delicate and ethereal in a petal-pink frock. She stood just a little behind Cassandra, regarding him with the wide, wary eyes of a shy, woodland creature.
Simon’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts. “Luce…We were just about to go out looking for you,” he said. “What the devil happened? Tripp found Atlas running loose and brought him here.”
What could Lucien say?I dove into a lake to save a woman who didn’t need saving? I was duped by three boys bent on deviltry? I made a fool of myself and ended up with a nearly nude woman in my arms? And, by the way, did you know that that scrawny Grace Elliot has the most lush breasts I’ve ever felt?
He cleared his throat, trying to banish that last thought from his mind. “A minor mishap,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Don’t mind it.” He did his best to attempt a somewhat cordial look toward his sisters. “Cassandra, Jane, perhaps we couldpostpone our greetings until I’m properly attired. This is hardly the way I intended our first meeting to go.”
Cassandra looked from the top of his damp hair to his sodden boots. “I don’t know. I rather like it. Considering how long I’ve been waiting to see you again, brother, it seems somewhat fitting, don’t you think? After all, we left Everdene precipitously, and, if I recall…we didn’t get to properly say goodbye.”
The spark of satisfaction in her smile stung.
