Lost Lords: No Longer A Gentleman Part 22

But they'd always had very different temperaments. Grey was outgoing, interested in people and in solving problems. Peter had been more of a dreamer, enjoying art and music and, yes, the plays that were occasionally staged during house parties. He said slowly, "I remember that even as a little boy, you enjoyed taking part in plays. The adults always found your earnestness rather charming. But your interest was serious even at that age, wasn't it?"

Peter nodded. "I fell in love with acting the first time I stepped onto an improvised stage. I love the language, the drama, the larger-than-life characters. It's ..." The flow of words cut off and he sank against the chair behind him. "It's impossible."

"Have you had the opportunity to act in recent years?"

"Not as much as I'd like," his brother admitted. "But last summer I stayed with a friend up in Yorks.h.i.+re. There's a good-sized theater there, and the company manager did a special production of As You Like It with local people acting in many of the roles. That's the play with the "All the world's a stage" speech. The idea was to get friends and neighbors buying tickets to see the show. I auditioned and was cast as Orlando."

Orlando was the romantic lead, if Grey remembered his Shakespeare. With Peter's looks, he was a natural for such roles. "Did the play do well?"

"Most of the acting was dreadful, but the manager, Burke, made pots of money." Peter paused, then said shyly, "After the last show, Burke took me aside and said that if I ever wanted to act professionally, there would be a place for me in his company. He knew I was a gentleman, but I auditioned as Peter Sommers so he didn't realize that I was heir to an earldom." His mouth twisted. "At least, I was then."

"Which would you pick if you had a choice?" Grey asked. "The earldom or being a successful actor?"

"Acting," Peter said instantly. "I wouldn't even have to be well known. A journeyman's career with steady work would be beyond my maddest dreams."

"Then do it," Grey said flatly. "The parents won't be best pleased, but I will support you in this. And if they cut off your allowance, I'll see you don't starve."

His brother's jaw dropped. "You'd do that? You wouldn't be ashamed to have your brother become a common player?"

"I think you'd be an uncommon player." Grey smiled ruefully. "Ten years in a dungeon strip away a lot of ideas about what is proper. You were willing to do your duty as heir to Costain when that seemed necessary. Now that it isn't, I think you should do what you love. Even if you fail, better to try and fail than to spend your life wis.h.i.+ng you'd tried."

"I won't fail," Peter said intensely. "I'm good, Grey. And I'll do whatever is necessary to succeed."

Grey grinned. "Am I forgiven for surviving?"

"Now I have even more reason to be grateful you're alive!" Peter was bubbling with delight. "I'll write Mr. Burke and tell him I'm taking him up on his offer. It will be small roles, I'm sure, but a start."

"I'm glad. Today Yorks.h.i.+re, tomorrow London!" Grey set aside the rest of his drink since it was now daylight, and brandy was a d.a.m.ned odd breakfast. "I suggest you wait a few days till Father is stronger before announcing your plans."

"I'll wait until I hear from Mr. Burke before I speak up. And if he's changed his mind, well, I'll find another theater manager to approach." Peter c.o.c.ked his head to one side. "What about you, Grey? Have you ever had secret dreams of what you want?"

Grey had never thought about it, but his answer was immediate. "This." He made a sweeping gesture with one hand. "Summerhill. For as long as I can remember, I've known that I am Summerhill, and it is me. The land, the people, the responsibilities of the earldom. I'm even looking forward to sitting in Parliament and helping to steer the s.h.i.+p of state. There's nothing else I've ever wanted." Except Ca.s.sie.

"Then it's a d.a.m.ned good thing you've returned from the dead," Peter said with a grin. "Because you'll make a much better earl than I would."

Perhaps, perhaps not. But like Peter, Grey was determined to do what was necessary to succeed.

Chapter 36.

Ca.s.sie was awakened by a maid with a small pitcher of hot chocolate and a note from Grey. "Would you like to go for a ride after breakfast? It's a perfect day to see Summerhill ."

She glanced out the window and saw the pale, clear suns.h.i.+ne of early spring. He'd promised her fine horses. She scribbled, "Yes, please!" on the note and directed the maid to take it to Lord Wyndham. A good thing Kiri had found a riding habit, golden with dark brown trim, for Ca.s.sie's hastily a.s.sembled wardrobe.

After donning the das.h.i.+ng habit, Ca.s.sie headed downstairs for a proper breakfast. News of the earl's recovery had lightened the atmosphere. Lady Elizabeth had been staying at Summerhill since her father's injury, but now she looked forward to going home. Peter positively beamed at Ca.s.sie, and Grey greeted her with proper formality while his eyes made wicked suggestions.

Lady Costain had been with her husband, but she came down to the breakfast parlor to say, "Costain wants to meet you, Miss St. Ives."

"Is he strong enough for visitors outside the family?" Ca.s.sie asked, hoping she didn't have to meet him.

"He is much stronger, and quite firm about meeting you," the countess replied.

No escape there. "Then it will be my pleasure," Ca.s.sie murmured.

As she rose, Grey said, "I'll go with you. I haven't seen him yet this morning."

Ca.s.sie headed for the steps, grateful for Grey's company. As they climbed the wide steps side by side, he said, "You look very lovely in this gold habit."

"Lady Kiri's sister has enough red in her hair that we can wear similar colors," Ca.s.sie explained. Dropping her voice, she asked, "How should I act with your father?"

He gave her a warm smile. "Just be your lovely self, Catherine."

She supposed calling her Catherine was a strong hint. They entered the master's bedroom. For a man who had been tossing the dice with St. Peter the day before, the Earl of Costain was looking very well. He was propped up in bed by pillows and dictating instructions to his secretary.

He was also a remarkably fine-looking man, with the family good looks molded by years of authority. There was humor and intelligence in his eyes as he dismissed the secretary to concentrate on his visitors. Grey would look very like his father someday.

"Come closer to the bed," Lord Costain ordered. "So it really is you, boy. I wondered if I was hallucinating last night."

"Not at all, sir." Grey took his father's hand with heartfelt, wordless emotion. "I surprised myself with my tenacity."

"I can't recall all you told me last night, so I'll hear more about what happened later." There was a glint of moisture in the earl's eyes as he held his son's hand. His gaze moved to Ca.s.sie. "But now I wish to meet your future countess. You're right, she's pretty despite the red hair, but you didn't tell me her name. Introduce us."

"Sir, allow me to present Miss Catherine St. Ives." Grey smiled at Ca.s.sie. "I'm sure you've deduced that this is Lord Costain, Ca.s.sie."

Before she could respond, Costain exclaimed, "Good G.o.d, surely you must be Tom St. Ives's daughter?"

She inhaled sharply. "You knew my father?"

"Indeed I did. We became friends at Eton, and remained so until his untimely death." The earl shook his head. "I was there the night he met your mother. What a stunner she was. We were all madly in love with her." He looked nostalgic for a moment before adding, "Of course, that was before I met my wife, who drove all other women from my mind."

Ca.s.sie pressed her hand to her chest as her breathing constricted. She hadn't expected her distant, half-forgotten past to come to shocking life. "Did you hear what happened to my parents and the rest of my family?"

The earl nodded sadly. "A great tragedy. d.a.m.n the French revolutionaries! I knew some of your Montclair relations, too. Fine people even though they were French. By what miracle did you survive?"

"I was out with a nurse when the house was burned down," she explained. "But I could be an imposter, you know."

Costain laughed. "Nonsense. You've got the St. Ives red hair, and you have a great look of your mother, too." He offered her his hand. "Well done, Grey. I'm honored to see the St. Ives blood joined with the Sommers family. I'm even reconciled to redheaded grandchildren."

Ca.s.sie took his hand as she fought back tears. She barely managed to say, "Thank you, my lord."

"There now, I've made you cry." Costain released her hand and settled back in his pillows, looking tired. "Grey, take her off and make her smile again. And send your mother in. I miss her."

Eyes concerned, Grey offered Ca.s.sie his arm and led her away. Outside the room, he ordered the secretary to send for his mother. Then he led Ca.s.sie downstairs and into the empty salon. As soon as the door closed, he wrapped his arms around her. "d.a.m.n, Ca.s.sie! I'm sorry you were upset like that. I had no idea my father had known your parents."

"It was ... a shock," she said unsteadily as she buried her face in his shoulder. "I feel like ..." she searched for words. "Like my arm was amputated and now it's been reattached. Only this is my life, not my arm."

"Like a foot that's gone to sleep and is beginning to wake up," he murmured as he stroked her back. "Alive but very uncomfortable."

"Exactly." She closed her eyes as she struggled for composure. "My family has been dead to me for so long that it never occurred to me that there were other people who remembered them."

"Maybe it's not a bad thing to be reminded that this is the world you were born to," he said softly. "Your father went to Eton, your mother was an enchanting woman who captured the hearts of young Englishmen. You belong to the ton every bit as much as I do, even though we've both spent years in exile."

"The reminder isn't bad, but it is very uncomfortable." She sighed. "I felt like such a fraud when your father talked about redheaded grandchildren."

"We could make it a reality," Grey said hesitantly. "Or at least try."

She jerked away from him, even more shocked than by his father's reminiscences. "What on earth does that mean?"

He was watching her with enigmatic gray eyes. "You're here as my fiancee, so we could go ahead and get married. We get on well and it would save me having to brave the Marriage Mart."

She rolled her eyes, needing to turn the issue into a joke. "That is the laziest reason for marrying that I can imagine. Let's go for that ride. It's a lovely day and I could use some fresh air."

He smiled, unperturbed by her rejection of his proposal. "And I'm anxious to see Summerhill. I can't tell you the number of hours I spent visiting the estate in my mind."

"And I'm anxious to ride one of those good horses you promised me." She caught up the skirts of her long riding habit and led the way to the door. Life was complicated. Riding was simple.

She wanted simple.

"Race you to the top of the hill!" Grey called.

Ca.s.sie and her mount took off like lightning, her laughter floating behind her. Grey was hard pressed to keep up. She rode as well sidesaddle as astride, and in her flowing golden riding habit, she was far more alluring than as a peddler on a pony.

They reached the hilltop in a dead heat, both of them laughing, and pulled in their horses. "I've saved the best for last," Grey said. "This is the dower house. Sea Grange." He gestured at the hollow below, where a sprawling stone house overlooked the sea.

Ca.s.sie caught her breath. "Look at that river of daffodils pouring down the hill! They're just starting to bloom everywhere else."

"Flowers always bloom here first because the house faces south and it's protected on three sides." He nudged his horse down the hill. "Other flowers come later, but there's nothing to match the daffodil glory of spring."

Ca.s.sie started down after Grey. "The house looks older than Summerhill."

"It is by a couple of centuries. It was a farmhouse originally." He feasted his eyes on the familiar weathered walls. "I don't think anyone has lived here since my grandmother, the dowager countess, died three years ago. I wish I'd seen her again."

"What a waste of a beautiful house."

"I've always thought that when I marry, I'd live here until I inherit," Grey said. "It's only a few minutes from the main house, but it has more privacy. And the view!"

"Wise to put a bit of s.p.a.ce between a lord and his heir," she agreed. "The estate seems as well run as it is beautiful. No wonder you love it so much."

"Though I thought of Summerhill every day of my captivity, I'd still half forgotten just how ... connected I feel to this land." Grey struggled to find the words to explain. "Being here repairs some of the holes in my raveled psyche."

Ca.s.sie gave him a warm, intimate smile. "I can see the difference. You're acquiring more confidence by the hour."

"As long as I also acquire more sanity," he said wryly. "I almost killed Peter this morning. It was horrifying for us both."

Ca.s.sie gasped. "What happened?"

"I'll explain over lunch. I had the kitchen pack food and drink. I don't have a key to the dower house, but there's a porch at the far end where we can eat."

She nodded agreement and didn't ask questions until they'd tethered the horses and he brought their picnic to the side porch. A ma.s.sive stone table and benches sat there, suns.h.i.+ne pouring over them, and there was a splendid view of the sea.

Ca.s.sie sighed with pleasure as she brushed dust and a few leaves from the bench, then sat in a cloud of golden skirts. "I love that the sea is so close. Did you sail as a boy? Dream of being a s.h.i.+p's captain and seeing the world?"

He laughed and handed her a cup of wine. "My dreams were land bound."

"Tell me what happened with Peter."

The memory was painful so he kept his explanation terse. Ca.s.sie listened while she ate a ham, cheese, and chutney sandwich. When he finished, she said thoughtfully, "So he's going to try for a career in the theater. Your parents won't disown him, I hope?"

"No, though they won't be pleased. But they have me back as heir, and they want their children to be happy. Elizabeth could have had a far grander marriage than Johnny Langtry, but he's the one she wanted. If Peter prospers as an actor, they'll probably buy him his own theater."

She laughed. "I can imagine someone making a cutting remark about Peter's acting and your father staring him down with an 'I am Costain' expression on his face."

Grey grinned. "You took his measure well. We Sommerses have our share of pride. The House of Hanover is a collection of upstarts by comparison."

"Pride, yes, but not arrogance," she said. "You'll make a very fine earl, Grey."

"I hope so. It's the only thing I've ever really wanted." Except Ca.s.sie, and he knew better than to say that out loud. Not after she'd recoiled at the suggestion that they could make their betrothal a real one.

He watched the play of light on her richly colored hair, aching to keep her close always. He needed to change her mind. But time was running out.

After a lazy meal in the suns.h.i.+ne, they headed back to the main house. Ca.s.sie had loved the ride, the horse, and the beautiful spring day. Most of all, she loved the feeling of wholeness she sensed in Grey.

Though his captivity had been beastly, she suspected that some of the ways it had reshaped his life were good. Certainly any tendency he might have had toward arrogance had been knocked out of him.

The emotional damage would take more time to heal. She guessed that large groups of people would continue to distress him for some time to come, and the incident with Peter proved that his temper was still dangerously close to the surface.

But the foundation of his character was being rebuilt into a structure that was so solid that she need no longer worry about him. Not much, anyhow.

They emerged from the woods and saw a crowd of people gathered in the courtyard outside the entrance to the house. "Those are tenants and neighbors," Grey exclaimed. "Good G.o.d, my father!"

Chapter 37.

Grey kicked his horse into a blazing gallop toward the house. Ca.s.sie followed only a couple of strides behind, knowing he was right to be afraid. Head injuries were unpredictable, and even though the earl had seemed to be recovering, he might have taken a lethal turn for the worse. This sort of gathering is exactly what might happen when word went out through the neighborhood that a great and beloved man had died.