Page 52 of Nothing But a Rakehell
The next day, tables and chairs had been set up in the shade of the house for the afternoon, right near the croquet course and the netting that Glory had helped set up days earlier. Pretty canopies provided shade and groupings for an afternoon outdoors.
She’d come upon the party after her ride, and joined them, still in her riding habit. She sat with Hope and Miss Myland as the guests enjoyed a light nuncheon, finished off with a wonderful confection of blackberries and syllabub. The elderly lady finished off two helpings of the sweet, slightly alcoholic dessert, then promptly began to doze. Hope was called away—and that left Glory alone.
A game of croquet was currently in play. Glory got up and went to fetch a mallet. She returned with it to her chair and turned her seat to face the field. Croquet was a game she enjoyed and could easily participate in. She could maneuver through the course at her own pace and the entire field here was level. Past the last stake, an incline began. It grew steeper and dropped down over a hill. There was a staircase there, and the netting for battledore had been set up in the pretty, green spot at the bottom, but there should be no need for her to go so far.
Just a few feet away, Mr. Lycett stood with Miss Ruddock. They watched the play, talking low together. Both held mallets as well, and they were clearly waiting for their turn to play.
“Those two saw you take a mallet. They know you wish to play, but they’ll leave you out of it, if they can.”
Glory stiffened. Turning, she found Miss Myland still slumped back in her chair with her hands folded in front of her, but her eyes were narrowly open and watching Glory. “Don’t let them push you out,” she admonished.
“Oh, surely they will not—”
“They will.” The elderly lady’s tone held utter certainty. “The girl’s mother slipped back to the house for something. The pair of them will be trying to get alone out there on the course. Don’t let them exclude you, girl. It will start to become a habit. You need to nip it in the bud, right from the start.”
“I cannot be rude,” she objected. “They are my sister’s guests—”
“That’s right! They are your sister’s guests, and not yours, so you’ve no responsibility and no need to coddle them.” Miss Myland pushed herself up straight and leaned toward Glory, speaking in earnest. “I’ve been watching you, girl, and I speak to you now with the voice of experience. You need to step out more, stop letting them turn away from you, stop fading willingly into the background. Get out there into the light and claim your due.”
Glory couldn’t ever recall seeing the older woman quite so . . . awake. She was intrigued, and a little embarrassed. “How do I know what is my due?” she whispered.
“Bah!” Miss Myland scoffed. “If you see it, and you want it, step out and chase it. Get yourself into that croquet match. It’s the first step. You’ll need a partner. Find that blue-eyed viscount with the jaw like a game trap and that fine, Roman nose.”
Glory blinked.
“I always did like a fine nose,” the older lady said with a sigh. She pointed a finger straight at Glory’s chest. “I’ve seen you looking at the man—and guess what, girl? He looks the same way back at you, whenever he thinks you cannot see. You stop hiding in the shadows and snatch him up. If you don’t, before you know it, you’ll be a drudge in your sister-in-law’s household, fetching and carrying, and taking on every unpleasant task. Your only moment to yourself will be when she takes a tray in her room at meals because she cannot abide to hear anyone chew.”
“Oh, dear, is that why she’s insisting on eating in her rooms at every meal?”
“Never mind!” Miss Myland waved a hand in the air. “It’s only her latest fancy. She’ll leave it behind and find another, soon enough.” She sighed. “I look forward to the day she stops insisting she needs me to sleep near her, in case she needs something in the night. If I must endure such a crescendo of snoring, I’d much rather it come from a husband.” She wiggled her fingers. “It’s too late for me, but not for you. So, quit dallying. If you like that lantern-jawed viscount, then make him yours.”
“I’m not so sure he wishes to be mine,” she admitted.
“Ha! There’s scarcely a man alive who knows what he wants or needs. You decide for yourself, and grab him if you think he’ll suit you. He’ll be damned lucky to have you, if you do.”
“Thank you.” Who would have thought the older woman would be a font of good advice? But Miss Myland was right. She’d pointed out the real question. What did she want? It was time to admit, she’d been lying, just a little. To both Keswick and herself. Yes, she did despise the idea of being left out of the physical side of love—especially after everything they’d done to each other yesterday. She blushed just thinking of it, of the joy and heat of his kiss, of the spark that had blazed through her when he touched her bare breast . . .
She shook her head and reined in her wayward thoughts. Yes, he was the best—the only—candidate she could contemplate asking to teach her such things, outside the bonds of marriage. But also, yes, she had been secretly hoping it would all lead to more.
But now? Now, she had doubts. Tensford had planted them, but Keswick had laid down enough fertile soil for them to grow. He said he was empty. She knew it for nonsense. But something made him retreat from her. He definitely bore unseen, unexplained scars. She might never understand them. But the real question was—would they allow him to feel a real, abiding connection? And if so, would he allow himself to acknowledge it?
Which Keswick was the real man? The distant, cynical rake, fond of gambling and dissipation, low places and women? Or the man who easily looked past her most prominent flaw—and most of her other weaknesses, too? Who told her the truth and treated her with kindness? The same man who leased a farm, ostensibly to enrich his pocketbook, but also to enrich a young couple’s life?
She didn’t know, but she had to find out. She couldn’t make a decision that would affect the rest of her life until she knew.
“Well, girl, here comes your chance to knock two birds with one stone.”
Miss Myland hitched her chin in the other direction and Glory turned to see Tensford and Keswick come around the corner of the house. They were talking and they kept to the path instead of venturing out onto the grass where the party was gathered.
“I doubt he’ll stop. Tensford is busy and Keswick is avoiding me.”
Miss Myland laughed. “Good, that just means you’ve got to him. And we’ll see what we can do about it.” She sat straight up and raised a hand. “I say, Lord Tensford!” she called. “Come over here, lad!”
Tensford looked over and she beckoned imperiously. The earl nodded and started to move toward them. As he was talking to Keswick, the viscount had no choice but to follow.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Tensford bowed. “I hope you are enjoying your luncheonal fresco.”
“Yes, yes. The day is perfect for it and the syllabub is divine. You might tell your countess to use a bit more wine in the receipt, but perhaps that is just my taste. She is a credit to you, my boy. But I do wish to discuss your aunt with you, and there is no time like the present—while the old girl is still inside.”
