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Chapter 12
Later that afternoon, Lucas foundLavinia and his mother in the sitting room on the south side of the house. It had always been his mother’s favorite room. It was smaller than the drawing room, with furniture upholstered in a flowery fabric, and large windows that let in the afternoon sun. The conversation he’d interrupted had seemed congenial, even if his mother hadn’t seemed quite her normal, effusive self. But at least he didn’t sense any tension in the air, which was a good sign.
“Mama, with your permission, I believe I will steal my betrothed away from you for a while. I have scarcely seen her since we arrived at Alderwood, and I would like to show her the grounds. Would you care to join me . . . my dear?” In the nick of time, he thought to add an endearment.
Lavinia smiled at him with such adoration that Lucas’s heart nearly stopped, and he very nearly believed what he saw before he remembered she was most likely an actress and was more than capable of playing the part of his betrothed. She was a very good actress, then, as believable as she’d seemed just now.
“I would like nothing better,” she said.
“It’s been lovely getting to know you better, Lavinia,” Mama said. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation later.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Lucas said.
He offered Lavinia his hand as she rose to her feet, and they bid his mother adieu. Neither of them spoke as they walked; for his part, Lucas wanted to ensure that there were no eavesdroppers in their vicinity before saying anything.
They strolled through the house and outside to his mother’s rose garden, and the air was heavy with the pungent fragrance of the summer blooms. He plucked a bud that was just beginning to open and offered it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, brushing it softly under her nose before tucking it into the bodice of her dress. “I ought to be giving you a piece of my mind,calling me your betrothed—although it doesn’t seem quite fair since it’s precisely what I did to you, isn’t it?”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” he said. “I had no intention of speaking those words—I hadn’t even thought them—and then they were in my mind and out of my mouth just that quickly. I’m sorry, Lavinia. In the meantime . . .” He reached into his pocket and removed a simple gold ring. “This isn’t much in the way of betrothal rings, but at least it’s not the monstrous thing you’re wearing.”
Lavinia removed the ruby ring that had been on her finger ever sinceLucas had met her. His family would never believe he’d had the means to give her such a ring. Fortunately, it had been hidden under her glove when they’d arrived.
He slipped the gold band onto her finger, which fit well enough andwould do for the time being.. “It’s not much, but it’s mine, and my family willrecognize it, at least.”
“We are going to have to find a way to end this so-called betrothal without any scandal, you know. I’m not sure how this is to be accomplished, but I feel strongly about it. Your mother has been gracious to me this afternoon. I’m quite sure I’m not what she had in mind when she envisioned you with a wife, but she has been kind and accepting nonetheless. I won’t have her being hurt or embarrassed by any of this. And I’m sorry, too, for dragging you into my own troubles. I never intended for you to do more than get me safely out of the public room at the White Horse.”
“It sounds like we’re even, then.”
She looked around her and lifted her face to the sky. “Oh, but it is lovely here, Lucas. Alderwood—well, a considerably smaller version of Alderwood—is what I had envisioned Primrose Farm being. I was terribly wrong on that score.”
“Lavinia.” He paused to choose his words carefully. “I spoke to my father about the work needed at Primrose Farm. He has offered the assistance of his steward, Finch, and my eldest brother. I thought to show them the farm tomorrow. They have the connections and knowledge that I do not, and it will give us the information we need to proceed with the repairs and restoration.”
“I’m going with you, Lucas. Primrose Farm is mine and my responsibility.”
“That’s true, of course, Lavinia. However, through no fault of your own, my family considers you my betrothed, and, as such, when we marry Primrose Farm will belong to me.”
She drew back at his words, as he’d known she would. “But we are not betrothed, Lucas. Primrose Farm is mine, and I must learn what I can if I am going to have any hope of survival, for me and for the others.”
Her argument was sound, and Lucas felt guilty for creating this predicament for her. But this was something he could do to help her, and he wanted to help her and allow her respite from her troubles. “Lavinia, we intend to go on horseback. It is faster and will allow us to return sooner, which is better for everyone. You have already seen the farm, so there is no need for you to travel uncomfortably to see it all again when you can relax here with the others. And we wouldn’t want to scandalize my father and brother by having my betrothed picking her way through rotting foundations, now, would we?” he joked. “What if I were to promise you that we will wait until we return to discuss our findings so you may be present?”
“Staying here to keep an eye on Delia and Artie is certainly wise,” she conceded grumpily. “And I don’t want to appear scandalous. My hair is scandalous enough.”
He grinned. “Not scandalous. Glorious.”
“Says you. Personally, I have discovered over the years that proper English ladies are born with golden hair, like your Isobel—”
“She is notmyIsobel,” he interjected—rather too sharply.
“I see,” Lavinia said, and Lucas feared she did. “Golden hair,” she continued, “and fair complexion make up the ideal proper English lady. Those features areunpretentiouslylovely.”
“Your hair reminds me of a time when I was in Spain. We were quartered in a small town, Anthony and I and a few of the officers, and we went to a bullfight. A man called amatador del toro—it means ‘bull slayer’—waves a red cape and encourages the bull to charge at him. I don’t know if it is the red color that draws the bull’s attention, but it definitely held the attention of the crowd. I think your hair must be like that.”
“It sounds like a dangerous dance that ends in the death of the bull and perhaps even the matador,” Lavinia said. “I’m not sure I like the analogy, Lucas.”
Thomas’s earlier comments—and even the cautions from his father and Isaac—suddenly sprang to mind. Fearing he’d distressed her, he changed the subject. “I believe I have solved a puzzle, Lavinia. I have concluded that your Miss Weston and Mr. Drake are actors.”
She paused for the barest moment before continuing. “What makes you think so?” she asked. “And, by the way, you may call them Delia and Artie, you know. Everyone does.”
