Page 65 of Miss Determined
“Oh, I suppose most of it was, but I hope a little was also because he enjoyed making me smile and helping me look fashionable.”
“You don’t look merely fashionable in that bonnet and shawl, you look lovely. Beautiful, fetching, delightful. I can see a resemblance to Grandmama when you tilt your head just so, and she was quite a beauty.”
Lissa expected a demurral, a reversion to the brittle testiness Diana favored in Crosspatch Corners.
“That hat would make anybody look scrumptious. If Caroline had a hat like that, she might not be so prone to freckles. The next time we visit that shop, we’re buying new millinery for you. Roger said with your height, you could carry off the boldest styles.”
Roger?“Diana, I’m glad you enjoyed making your selections, and it’s wonderful to have such an abundance of choice, but please be careful. He’s a clerk whose fortunes rise or sink on the strength of his charm.” And Lissa had passed him a generous tip for his efforts.
“Were you careful with Mr. Dorning?”
Not careful enough.Lissa debated strategy and decided if Diana was old enough to flirt with shop clerks, she was old enough to hear the truth.
“He’s not Mr. Dorning, Diana.”
“Well, he’s certainly not Mrs. Dorning. Who is he?” Diana stopped outside the shoe shop and all but pressed her nose to the glass. “Oh, Lissa. Just look. Every color, and the buckles!”
To Hades with the buckles, which sparkled in the afternoon sun like so many jewels. “Mr. Trevor Dorning is the current Marquess of Tavistock. His given name is Trevor, and the family name is Vincent.” Debrett’s had confirmed that much. “He might well have been skulking about Crosspatch with a view toward selling Twidboro Hall and Lark’s Nest.” Lissa had been haunted by that possibility through many sleepless nights.
Trevor’s behavior—familiarizing himself with the surrounds, inspecting both houses to the extent a guest could, riding over the tenancies and grounds—supported the theory of an inspection tour prior to sale. Even his wooing could have begun as part of a campaign to acquaint himself with his pretty estates not too far from Town.
“Our Mr. Dorning is a lord?” Diana said, slanting a look at Lissa. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do either. He hasn’t explained his use of a fictitious name to me, but then, I did not ask him for details when I had the opportunity.”
Did she want those details? “He lied to us?” This possibility was of sufficient enormity that Diana ceased goggling at the shoes. “He seemed like a true gentleman, Lissa. The genuine article. Why would he be dishonest?”
“I don’t know. I suspect had he swanned into the village exhibiting the full regalia of his station, we’d have closed ranks against him. St. Nebo’s has been sorely neglected, he raised our rent the moment we’d put off mourning for Papa, he has begrudged us basic maintenance for the Hall, and nobody has anything good to say about the old marquess either.”
A coach clattered by, high-stepping bays in the traces, plenty of gold trim. Crests on the doors and boot.
Not Trevor’s crest. Lissa had been watching the traffic since they’d arrived in Town three days ago. She’d been watching the mail, hoping for a knock on the door. She was on edge and homesick and out of sorts.
Expecting another ambush, spoiling for battle, and—the heaviest burden—hoping Trevor could explain himself.
“I tell you, Lissa, your Trevor is a good, decent fellow. Patience and good humor like his could only be sincere. Are you sure he’s the marquess?”
“He all but told me himself, and when he left Crosspatch, his traveling coach—which was half the size of Crosspatch’s assembly rooms—displayed the Tavistock crest. The former marchioness of Tavistock married a Dorning, and that’s probably where he got the name.”
“You said he left the village because of a death in the family. Was that a lie too?”
“We should choose a pair of slippers for you. The ones on the end—brown velvet—might do. Brown won’t show wear as cream would.”
“Lissa, hang the perishing slippers. Did Mr. Dorn—Lord Tavistock toy with your affections? Is he even in London?”
The lending library was across the street, and they’d left Grandmama there perusing fashion magazines. Crosspatch had no lending library. Trevor had probably thought the place pathetic.
“How would I know if he’s in London or France or darkest Maryland?”
Except that he’d sent her two expresses by private messenger, and the riders had mentioned riding out from Town. The notes had been little nothings.
Safely arrived, hope your upcoming journey is similarly uneventful. T.
Anticipating your arrival, matters here complicated and tedious. T.
Why pay for an express that said nothing? Though the notes also had said that Trever was thinking of her and biding in Town, as he’d said he must.
“Well, whatdoyou know about him?” Diana asked. “He seemed smitten, Lissa. He put up with me and Caroline at supper, he rode out with you all over God’s back pasture, he put some manners on Roland, and he even called on Phillip.”
