Page 89 of Three Weeks with a Princess
Lia’s head reared back, her gaze furious. “Bugger you, Jack Easton.”
She pulled out of her aunt’s arms and ran up the stairs to the second floor. A few moments later the sound of a slamming door echoed through the stairwell.
“Oh dear,” Chloe said with a sigh. “I’d best go try to calm her down.” She hurried after her niece, leaving Jack and Sir Dominic to glare at each other.
“I trust you intend to bring this unfortunate situation under control, Lord Lendale,” the magistrate said in a soft tone that nonetheless carried a clear threat. “Before I’m forced to do something on my niece’s behalf that I might regret.”
“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?” Jack growled. “If you can’t see that, bugger you, too.”
He turned on his boot heel and stalked down the stairs and out the front door. For once he’d finally gotten the last word.
Chapter Nineteen
“If this is an Italian picnic I’m the man in the moon,” Gillian said as she suspiciously inspected the lobster patty on the dainty china plate in her hand. “For one thing, no self-respecting Italian would dine alfresco in such dreary weather.”
Lia glanced at the sky. It was rather cool for August and the clouds and sun had capriciously flirted all afternoon. But compared to the average late summer day in Yorkshire, it was positively balmy. “I suppose you’re right, but Lord Peckworth’s gardens are truly lovely. And it’s so delightful here by the Thames, don’t you think?”
Gillian cast a jaundiced eye at the beautiful flower beds and the lush, ruthlessly manicured lawns. “It’s too damp, but please don’t tell the countess I said that. She’d probably drag me on another tour of the house to punish my lamentable manners.”
The Levertons, Hunters, and a small group of mutual friends had come to enjoy the day at the Earl of Peckworth’s new villa in Chiswick. Lia and Gillian had spent the first hour trailing along in Lady Peckworth’s ample wake, oohing and ahhing over the magnificent house. Gillian had clearly been bored out of her skull, although she’d hid it fairly well. But when Lady Peckworth insisted on showing off both the modern kitchen range and the newly installed water closets, Gillian had adopted a comically pained expression suggesting martyrdom.
Despite her cousin’s lack of enthusiasm, Lia had enjoyed talking with the older woman about the many thoughtful touches that made the expansive villa a truly comfortable home. But the domestic interlude had also triggered a bout of homesickness. She’d now reached the point at which she would have preferred spending her days tending to Stonefell’s kitchen gardens and searching for newly laid eggs in the henhouse, which was a painful comment on her London misadventures. In fact, she’d much rather shoe a horse than be dragged along to yet another musicale or dinner party where the guests snubbed her, ignored her, or, even worse, tried to make polite conversation while pretending she wasn’t a Notorious Kincaid.
Although, in her case, it might be more accurate to describe her as the Notoriously Inept Kincaid, for all the success she’d had in launching her career as a courtesan.
She dredged up a smile at her cousin’s jest. “You must admit the boat ride on the Thames was delightful.”
Gillian deposited her plate with its untouched lobster patty on the little table between their matching wrought-iron chairs. “Yes, that was rather fun, although the boat cushions and upholstery held the oddest musty smell. I began to wonder if I’d forgotten to take a bath this morning. I knew it couldn’t be Charles because he always smells divine.”
Lia had to laugh. “Poor Gillian. I’m sorry you had to be forced on yet another dreary outing on my behalf. You must be heartily sick of them—and me.”
Gillian patted her hand. “I’m just an old grump. And even though Lady Peckworth is probably the most boring woman alive, she has a good heart, as is evidenced by her kindness to you. That house tour obviously made you happy, which makes me happy.”
“It did make me happy. I suppose that makes me a boring person, too.”
“Not at all. But you do miss your life in the country, don’t you, Lia?”
“Yes, I miss Stonefell and Granny very much. Silly of me, I know, because I’ve gotten to meet you and Aunt Chloe and everyone spoils me rotten.”
“There’s nothing silly about it. After all, Stonefell is your home.”
Lia ignored the pang in her heart. “Not anymore. And the sooner I accommodate myself to my new life, the better.”
Gillian crossed her arms and stretched out her legs, stacking her elegantly booted feet, heel to toe. Leverton, who was standing several yards away with Dominic and Lord Peckworth, glanced over at his wife and raised an eloquent eyebrow.
“Oh blast,” Gillian muttered, correcting her boyish posture.
“It can’t be easy being married to the most sophisticated man in London,” Lia said in a humorous tone.
“Try the most sophisticated man in England.” A sly grin teased the corners of Gillian’s mouth. “But it has its compensations.”
As Lia took in the discreet yet smoldering glance the couple exchanged, she had to swallow a tiny sigh. She felt that same intensity of emotion for Jack, although she doubted he returned it. He held her in great affection and he certainly seemed to find her desirable, but it wasn’t the all-encompassing love Gillian and Leverton shared.
That kind of love was a dream she and Jack would probably never realize. Their torrid encounter had been memorable, but the aftermath had been less so. In fact, it had been downright disheartening because it was clear he’d only offered marriage out of a sense of duty and honor. What had been the most wonderful moment of Lia’s life had quickly become one of the most humiliating. They’d ended up fighting, naturally. And, once home, Dominic and Jack had ended up fighting, too, although both men were in stubborn accord that she and Jack declare their banns or marry by special license immediately.
Fortunately, Chloe had understood her trepidation over forcing Jack’s hand. Her aunt had insisted that they needed a little time away from each other to think about their futures. Dominic had grudgingly agreed, although he’d insisted that Lia be closely chaperoned lest she embark on yet anothermad schemeto launch her career in the demi-monde. Chloe and Gillian had then swung into action, dragging Lia from one social occasion to another so that she might ascertain if she truly wished to marry Jack or preferred to wait for other potential suitors to emerge from the woodwork. It was a demented plan as far as Lia was concerned, and it left them out of sorts and ready to murder each other.
“Yes, I’m sure marriage to Charles Penley has a number of compensations,” Lia said, thinking how splendid it would be to have a husband who adored you.
