“What are friends for?” Polly hooked her little finger with Gabby’s.
“Violet?” Gabby’s eyes beseeched her.
Parsnips. This’ll be interesting.
She muttered, “All right,” and sealed the vow.
Chapter Four
Passing the magnificent black iron gates that marked the sprawling lands of Traverstoke, Richard was not in the best of moods. To him, the prospect of being confined in a house for a sennight with several dozen party guests was only slightly preferable to being drawn and quartered. His chest burned as he thought of the ridicule he’d faced in the two weeks since his run-in with Violet Kent.
If anyone dares to bring the subject up…
His gloved hands fisted at his sides. He told himself that the latest gossip—Lady Esterby running off with her groom—had surpassed that concerning his stupid dip in the fountain. He was old news, and anyone who disagreed would answer directly to him.
The carriage jostled its way down a majestic oak-lined drive toward the main house, glimpses of fields and woods appearing between the ancient trunks. Richard made himself focus on the business at hand. He was here to settle Wickham’s future—and perhaps his own. He would approach the party as he would any unpleasant obligation.
The manor came into view, and its grandeur lifted Richard from his brooding. By Jove, Traverstoke was a jewel of a country house. Built of golden Cotswold stone, it struck a kingly profile against the dull February sky. As the carriage rounded the circular drive, which had a grand fountain featuring Triton and a pair of sea nymphs at its center, Richard took in the imposing Palladian entrance of the main building.
Six carved columns held up a pediment worthy of a Roman temple. The large central edifice was flanked by two narrower buildings. The wings extended back farther than the main house, creating, Richard guessed, what must be an ample courtyard. He glimpsed a small wooden dome at the end of one of the wings—the highly touted amphitheatre, no doubt.
Richard shook his head, baffled. He couldn’t imagine being that plump in the pockets. The things he’d do with such funds… the list of improvements that his estate required was a mile long.
His carriage stopped behind a line of other conveyances. He saw the host and his daughter greeting new arrivals at the foot of the grand staircase leading into the house. The latter, Richard saw with a sigh, was short and plump, dressed in a gown that reminded him of an overly decorated cake. Her bonnet was even fussier with floral protrusions that could take a man’s eye out.
Then Richard saw something else that wiped all thoughts of his hostess from his mind. He yanked open the door and jumped to the ground. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he stalked toward the fountain where Wickham stood—flirtingwith bloody Violet Kent.
They made quite the stunning couple, he noted grimly. Young, modern, and charismatic, they were sharing some private joke that made onlookers want to be in on it, to be part of the charming warmth they shared. They turned at his approach, and their laughter faded. Instantly, he felt like an outsider, old and taciturn compared to the dazzling duo.
Miss Kent was dressed in a travelling ensemble the color of her given name. Her carriage dress had those billowing sleeves which looked absurd on most ladies, but she managed to carry them off, Richard noted reluctantly, because she was above average height for a female. The frock also had a saucy buckled belt that drew the eye to her slender waist. From there, the flare of the skirts obscured her slim hips, the bottom he knew to be pert and firm by the way it had wriggled against his—
Devil and damn, man. Concentrate.
He gave a cutting bow. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Miss Kent.”
“My lord.” Beneath the brim of her canary silk bonnet, her tawny eyes were wary. They darted to the right, where—of course—the bleeding fountain stood.
Heat lashed his cheekbones.
“Carlisle.” Wickham made an elegant leg. “I was wondering when you would arrive.”
“Wondering or worried?” Richard said caustically.
“Now why would I be worried?”
Because you’re destroying your future, and you know I won’t let you do it. I won’t let you get ensnared by the likes of Violet Kent.
Richard scanned the crowd. He jerked his chin subtly toward the thin and colorless miss standing by a richly outfitted barouche. “Have you paid your respects to Miss Turbett yet?”
Thunderclouds descended upon Wickham’s brow. His chin rose to a mutinous angle.
It was Miss Kent who spoke. “By Golly, do you always issue orders upon first arrival?” she said smartly. “Can’t you at least wait until the bags are unloaded?”
Fury, already smoldering, ignited in Richard. He faced her, her boldness making his blood burn. “I’ll thank you not to interfere with business that does not concern you, Miss Kent.”
“That’s ironic, isn’t it? Seeing as how you were just telling Wick how to run his life.”
His jaw clenched. “He’s my brother. He’ll be guided by me.”
