and beamed around on them all. 'We are going to Warren Hall, Meg. You will have a come-out Season in London among the /ton, /Kate. And you will be back living with us, Nessie. Oh, this is famous!' He rubbed his hands together and then reached out to hug Katherine.
Vanessa could not spoil the moment for him. But when she glanced at Viscount Lyngate, not even trying to hide her annoyance, she found that he was looking back at her, his eyebrows raised.
She pressed her lips tightly together.
But then she /did /smile and even laugh as Stephen pulled her up from her chair, lifted her off her feet, and twirled her once about. 'This is /famous/!' he exclaimed again. 'Indeed it is,' she agreed fondly. 'We had better go over to Rundle Park,' he said, 'to tell Sir Humphrey and Lady Dew. And to the vicarage to tell the vicar. And to - Oh, Lord.' He sat down abruptly and turned pale again. 'Oh, Lord.' Viscount Lyngate got to his feet. 'We will leave you all to digest the news,' he said. 'But we will return this afternoon to discuss some of the details. There is no time to delay.' Margaret had risen too. 'We will /not /delay, my lord,' she said firmly. 'But you must not expect us to be ready to leave tomorrow or the next day or even the next. We will leave as soon as we are ready. We have lived here in Throckbridge all our lives. We have roots here as deep as those /you /probably have in /your /home. You must give us time to pull them free.' 'Ma'am.' The viscount bowed to her.
He had come here, Vanessa realized, expecting to use his power and consequence to strike awe into them so that he could bear Stephen off to his new life /tomorrow/. Without his sisters.
How foolish men were.
She smiled at Viscount Lyngate when he bowed to her. Country bumpkins, he would discover, were not necessarily as easy to handle as the minions he must be more accustomed to encounter and dominate.
But Stephen, she thought as the gentlemen stepped out of the room and then out of the house. Stephen was an earl. /The Earl of Merton./ 'The Earl of Merton,' he said, echoing her thought. 'Pinch me, someone.' 'Only if you will pinch me first,' Katherine told him. 'Oh, goodness me,' Margaret said, still on her feet and looking anxiously about the room. 'Wherever am I to /start/?' 'At the beginning?' Vanessa suggested. 'If I only knew where that /was,/' Meg said, her voice close to a wail.
And then Stephen spoke up again, his color returned, his eyes burning with intensity. 'I say!' he said. 'Do you realize what this /means/? It means that I don't have to wait until after university and probably years after /that /before I can do everything I have dreamed of doing in life. I do not have to wait to support you all. I don't have to wait even a single minute longer. I am the Earl of Merton. I own property. I am a wealthy man. And I am going to give you all a grand new home and an even grander new life. And as for myself… Well.' Clearly he was lost for words. 'Oh, Stephen,' Katherine said fondly.
Vanessa bit her upper lip.
Margaret burst into tears.
5
IT TOOK /six days/.
Six days of kicking their heels at a modest village inn. Six days of amusing themselves as best they could in a remote country village during February, when the sun did not once shine but a chilly rain drizzled down on their heads almost every time they decided to set foot out of doors. Six days of being wined and dined and called upon at all hours of the day by a persistently cheerful and hospitable Sir Humphrey Dew. Six days of observing the reactions of a sleepy English village to the astonishing news that one of their own had just inherited an earl's title and property and fortune.
Six days of fuming with impatience to be gone - or of /sulking /with impatience if one listened to George Bowen, who was perhaps the most insubordinate secretary any man had ever employed.
Six days of longing for Anna with a gnawing ache of unfulfilled lust.
It felt more like six weeks.
Or months.
They called a couple of times at the cottage, but each time they found everyone so busy getting ready to leave that Elliott hated to slow them down. Young Merton called upon them once at the inn to assure them that they would all be ready in no time at all.
Six days was /no time at all/?
He saw more of Mrs. Dew than of the others. But of course she lived at Rundle Park rather than at the cottage with her own family.
It did not take him long to discover that she was going to be a thorn in his flesh. He had guessed it on the morning of his first visit to the cottage, of course, when she had clearly taken umbrage at his objection to the three sisters accompanying young Merton to Warren Hall without giving him a chance to settle in first and learn a few things about his new life. She had not actually said anything on that occasion, but she had /looked /plenty. Perhaps she thought that marriage to the younger son of a country baronet had equipped her adequately to take on the /ton/.
She was not so silent when he ran into her three days later.
He and George were riding to Rundle Park in response to one of the wining and dining invitations and came upon her walking homeward, presumably from the cottage. Elliott dismounted, directed George to ride ahead and take his horse with him, and then wondered if either he or Mrs. Dew appreciated his impulsive gallantry. They walked for several minutes without saying anything of greater significance than that the weather remained stubbornly chilly, a fact that was made worse by the total lack of sunshine and the abundance of wind, which always seemed to blow in one's face no matter which direction one took. She buried her hands in her muff, and he wondered if they would now move on to predicting what sort of summer they were likely to have - or whether they would have one at all.
It was the sort of conversation that was enough to set his teeth on edge.
The chill air had whipped some color into her cheeks - and nose. As a result she looked quite whole-some in a countrified sort of way, he conceded reluctantly, even if she was /not /exactly pretty.
But she too had tired of the weather as a topic, it seemed. 'You must understand,' she said, breaking a short silence, 'that we are as worried as we are elated.' 'Worried?' He looked at her, his eyebrows raised. 'Worried about Stephen,' she said. 'Why would you worry about your brother?' he asked. 'He has just come into an inheritance that brings with it untold wealth as well as position and property and prestige.' '/That /is what worries us,' she said. 'How will he handle it all? He loves life and he loves to be active. He is also attentive to his studies. He has been working conscientiously toward a meaningful future goal, both for his own sake and for Meg's, who has sacrificed so much for him - as she has for all of us. He is young and impressionable. I wonder if it is not the worst possible time for this to happen to him.' 'You are afraid,' he asked, 'that all this will go to his head? That he will suddenly neglect his studies and run wild? And become grossly irresponsible? I will make it my mission to see that none of that happens, Mrs. Dew. A good education is essential for any gentleman. It - ' 'It is not of any of that I am afraid,' she said, interrupting him. 'His character is good and his upbringing has been sound. A little wildness will not hurt him, I daresay. He has been wild enough even here. It is part of growing up for a man, it seems.' 'What, then?' He looked at her inquiringly. 'I am afraid,' she said, 'that you will try to make him like yourself and that perhaps you will succeed. He is quite dazzled by you, you know.' Well. 'I am not a good enough model for him?' he asked, stopping walking abruptly in order to glare directly at her. He was not good enough for her brother, a country lad turned earl? After all he had sacrificed during the past year and was going to sacrifice for the next four? Anger bit into him. 'And why not, may I ask?' 'Because,' she said, not avoiding looking directly back into his eyes though he was frowning and not even trying to hide his annoyance, 'you are proud and over-bearing. Because you are impatient with all who are beneath you socially and somewhat contemptuous too. You expect to have your own way in everything and become bad-tempered when you do not - just because of who you are. You frown almost constantly and never smile.
Perhaps all aristocrats are arrogant and unpleasant. Perhaps it is an inescapable effect of being wealthy and powerful. But I doubt it. It is /you, /though, who are now effectively Stephen's guardian despite what Meg may say. It is you who will try teaching him what it is to be an aristocrat. I do not want him to become like you. I should hate it of all things.' /Well!/ This little dab of a country mouse certainly did not mince words. 'I beg your pardon,'
