“I think,” his fond mama said, “that we should forgive him for this, Susannah. After all, he said he didn’t discover anything. My son obviously did not get his gift of detection from me. He failed in his mission. He failed because he treated us like sheep and slipped away. Stupid sheep that are good only for making wool.”
“Now that’s an innovative idea, Mama,” he said, suddenly wishing he were in London, where no one would look at him as if he were a sod. Mothers, he supposed, were to keep one humble.
“I agree with your mother, Rohan. You will not do such a thing in the future or else I shall have to take a hand, or something.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh, Susannah? And just what might that hand be? Or that something? Is it interesting?” He rather wished she could have taken a hand or something the night before, but she’d been exhausted. He’d kissed her nose, her left ear, and by that time, she was fast asleep.
Charlotte, on the point of further berating her son, chanced to look at her daughter-in-law and saw that she had flushed scarlet to her hairline. “Goodness, Susannah, whatever are you thinking? Ah, you must be thinking of Rohan. Is that the reason for your embarrassment? But Rohan said nothing untoward, nothing that could have made you think about intimate things or luminous fancies.” She smiled fondly at her son. “Your father, dearest, loved to call me luminous. He rather loved to see me wear luminous nightgowns. Ah, such a pity.” She sighed deeply, then blinked, bringing herself firmly back into the room with them.
“She’s thinking of my hands, Mama. Just my hands—and look at her face.”
“You are splendid, dearest. Just the mention of your hands and you render her speechless. I am impressed with you, and here you’ve only been married such a short time. Not that I’m all that surprised, naturally.”
Susannah, routed, picked up her skirts and fled the room.
A seamstress came to Mountvale House from Eastbourne and remained for four very happy days, for Baron Mountvale was paying her more than she could earn in six months, all for sewing new clothing for his new wife, who was, indeed, in dire need of her excellent services.
The only problem Mrs. Cumber suffered was with the new baroness. She was twitchety. She didn’t enjoy being on the receiving end of such largesse from her husband. Largesse? Goodness, Mrs. Cumber thought, it was only four gowns and two riding habits, not to mention a good half dozen chemises made of the most wicked French silk, which the baron’s mam
a had brought back from Paris.
Mrs. Cumber was there to assist her ladyship on the evening of the party welcoming the new baroness—or rather the newly revealed baroness—to the area as the now emerged Baroness Mountvale. Mrs. Cumber gently smoothed down an errant pleat. Then she stood back to behold her magnificent creation. The young baroness looked so lovely, Mrs. Cumber was impressed at the depths of her own genius.
It was then that the adjoining door opened and the baron strolled into the room. Ah, what a splendid-looking gentleman he was, tall and well formed, a merry sparkle in those lovely green eyes of his and a very nice smile on his mouth, a mouth that made Mrs. Cumber wish she was twenty years younger and not a seamstress. Why, a man of his reputation would never look at a seamstress and think of frolic. She wondered if it was true that he kept at least three mistresses at any one time.
“Ah,” Rohan said, stopping and stroking his chin as he looked Susannah over thoroughly. “The cream. It is amazing what you do to that color, Susannah, along with that delicate Valenciennes lace around your neck, just hinting at all the lovely flesh . . . well, never mind that much detail. It’s all that sinful mink hair of yours that enhances the gown. Sabine did an excellent job. I like all those lazy curls floating over your shoulders and down your back. Mrs. Cumber, you are to be congratulated. You have managed to flatter an already quite perfect figure.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said in a very demure voice, though she wanted him powerfully. This little wife of his likely didn’t know a bloody thing, not that Mrs. Cumber knew much more, but she knew some.
“I do have a token to further enhance your beauty,” he said to Susannah, and opened his hand. Diamonds and sapphires flowed over his palm, sparkling, glimmering in the rich candlelight, snatching her breath away.
Susannah stuck out her hand, then quickly withdrew it. “Oh, goodness, I’ve never seen anything so exquisite. You cannot mean you want me to wear this incredible jewelry? No, I cannot. What if I lost some of it? What if I—”
He merely smiled at her, shook his head, and clasped that incredible necklace around her neck, then lifted her wrist, kissed the inside, and fastened the bracelet on. He handed her the earrings and watched her secure them in her ears. She took a step back and looked at him helplessly.
He stared at her, he couldn’t help it. To him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. And that was all that mattered. From the look on his handsome face, Mrs. Cumber determined that he wanted his wife more powerfully than she, Mrs. Cumber, wanted him. No, she thought just a moment later, that wasn’t possible.
He kissed his wife’s hand. She was looking at him now, not at the luscious jewels. “Look in your mirror and tell me what you think.”
She looked down at her wrist. The brilliance of the diamonds and sapphires nearly blinded her. She made an undignified dash to her dressing table with its wide mirror, sat down, and stared at her reflection. She lightly touched her fingertips to the necklace, then to her earlobes.
She turned around. She seemed oddly vulnerable, sitting there, looking like a princess. There were tears shimmering in her eyes. “I have made you cry, Susannah?”
She could only shake her head and swallow furiously.
He said to Mrs. Cumber, who was looking at Susannah more avidly than Lady Dauntry had that evening when Ro-han had announced that he was Susannah’s husband, “Thank you. My wife is glorious. You may leave us now.”
She left the bedchamber with a lagging step. At her age one had to enjoy such splendid animals as the delicious baron vicariously.
“Now, why the tears?”
She shook her head, her face down. He came down on his haunches in front of her. He took her hands in his, smooth hands now, for she hadn’t scrubbed any floors at Mountvale. “Susannah. Look at me. What is wrong?”
She scrubbed her fist over her cheeks. It made him smile. He should tell her that no female wishful of a man’s regard would do such a thing. How ridiculous. He found it endearing.
She blurted out, “Why are you being so generous to me? I have brought you nothing but pain and heartache and responsibility, even danger. A lot of danger. Because of me you have discovered that George was a rotter. Because of me it’s possible that Tibolt is a rotter as well. It is likely that you would never have known about them were it not for me. That man could have killed us, he could have shot Elsay again. It was all my fault. Truly, I am a trunk filled with rocks, a clinging ivy to choke you, a wasp to bring you incalculable pain, a—”
“A leech to suck my blood? A ringworm to ruin the innards of our racing kitten? A lead-filled pillow to smother me?”