An Improper Arrangement

“This may be my first exposure to English Society, sir, but I am far from a debutante. I was presented at a Christmas ball when I was only just past my sixteenth birthday.”

“Young but not unheard of.” Gabriel turned his attention back to his horseflesh. “Two and twenty now, sixteen then. That’s a half-dozen years, Miss Neville. You didn’t take? No wonder your mother was so ready to unload you on Her Grace. You’d about run out of possible suitors in Virginia, hadn’t you?”

He really should be hanged. Or at least gagged. But right now he was not in charity with the young lady, fetching freckles and long legs notwithstanding. She had sealed his fate, and she didn’t even know it.

But she only laughed and asked him what species of trees lined the drive ahead of them. She was too bright not to know he’d insulted her, which put him less in charity with her because she’d ignored his jab and left him feeling lower than a worm and now beholden to treat her better.

“Those, Miss Neville, are black mulberry trees. As opposed to white mulberry trees. A difference we English learned to our disappointment during the sixteenth century. They grow quickly, are easily replaced if one dies and one of the earlier dukes liked them, even though their berries are useless, either as juice or jam. Unpleasant would be putting it mildly. Worse, silkworms don’t like them.”

She looked again at the row of dark-leaved, fairly squat trees. “Silkworms? I didn’t know the English were part of the silk trade.”

“That’s because we aren’t, although certainly not for lack of determination. Our first King James ordered a field, farm, nursery of trees—whatever you’d call it—installed at Buckingham Palace. He followed that planting by ordering landowners all over England to purchase and plant ten thousand more of the trees. We were going to rival China in the production of silk, even sell our silks to France, rather than the way it was—and is—with France smuggling silks across the Channel to us.”

They’d left the black mulberry trees behind them as Gabriel turned his horses to the right, following the carefully constructed circuit that meandered about the estate, for the use and pleasure of ladies visiting Cranbrook Chase.

“The trees look healthy enough,” Thea remarked. “What happened?”

“Nothing, Miss Neville. Absolutely nothing happened. It seems the king was badly advised. Silkworms are attracted by white mulberry trees. Not black.”

“Oh, that is unfortunate. Could they not be persuaded to like black mulberry trees? If they were the only ones to hand, I mean.”

“Apparently not.” Gabriel turned to look at Miss Neville and suddenly realized this was no shallow puss. He could nearly hear the wheels whirling in her head, and she was spinning threads around him, tying him up with his own words. “I suppose one is attracted or one is not. Proximity doesn’t seem to be a factor. With silkworms, that is.”

“Oh, yes, with silkworms. With gentlemen, I suppose it’s different, and ladies should learn to be attracted to the only ones to hand.”

“I should have apologized immediately. You were going to get your own back on me, no matter how long it took. I just happened to give you ammunition with the mulberry trees.”

“Only after I guided you there when I recognized the trees. I know the history of King James’s mulberry trees. There are still some thriving in Saint James’s Park, and I was told to look out for them if one of my suitors were to take me there for a drive. Now I can scratch that off my list of suggested excursions.”

It was his own fault. He wasn’t at his best today, and she had clearly taken umbrage at being told to meet him at one rather than asked if she would care to drive out at one. She had him at a disadvantage, she knew it, and the mulberry trees might not be her only method of torture, meant to remind him that he’d behaved like a perfect ass ever since her arrival.

“We could keep this up, Miss Neville, I suppose, verbally jousting back and forth, save for two things. No, three. One, I’m still paying the price for a poor choice of comfort last night.”

All he did was pause to take a breath, and she was on him. “Yes, I heard, although it was made clear to me that drinking yourself stupid isn’t something you do on a regular basis. My maid, Clarice, is quite accomplished at ferreting out information, and your valet may be loyal, but his tongue is hinged at both ends. Forewarned is forearmed, sir. You may wish to remember that.”

“Jesus,” Gabriel said under his breath. But she’d heard him. They were sitting right beside each other, even as they were miles and miles apart, which is where he wanted her. Of course he did. “Number two, Miss Neville, which should be obvious to us both, you’re more clever than I.”

“And not beneath taking advantage of a man in pain,” she pointed out, smiling. “There’s also that. How is your head, by the way? My stepfather describes it as having one’s head stuck in a vise while the devil jumps up and down on one’s stomach. I’m only amazed anyone, having experienced this torture, chooses to repeat it. Her Grace drove you to it, though. I understand that.”

“That takes care of numbers two and three. Now the question remains—what are we going to do about it?”

There was that smile again, gorgeous in itself, but now he knew better. Perhaps he should be ducking, or jumping from the curricle, putting himself out of the line of fire.

“I don’t know what you’re going to do about it, sir, but if you’d remained in the drawing room, as opposed to making that ridiculous statement and bolting like a rabbit toward its den at the first sniff of the fox, you would have heard me inform Her Grace that I thank her for her thought, but I must decline…for obvious reasons.”

“I admire your sticking abilities, Miss Neville, while condemning my rash reaction, but do you really believe the duchess was at all swayed by your refusal?”

Her smile was sweet enough to sugar ten cups of tea.

“Oh, no, it was rather that she was quite agreeable to the offered solution.”

Now he should be cowered beneath the curricle, his hands wrapped protectively around his head. Had his aunt come to the same conclusion he had, and now this grinning nemesis was going to accept a secondhand proposal of marriage? No, it couldn’t be that. Not after the mulberries. “And what, pray tell—half-certain I’m laying my head on the block—is that solution?”

“Sir Jeremiah offered himself as chaperone, and the duchess immediately took him up on the idea. I agreed, and it’s all settled. You’re no longer necessary to the project, sir—that of popping me off, as Her Grace insists on putting the thing.”

“Sir Jere—Rigby? Has my aunt lost her mind? Is she that desperate? Rigby?” Gabriel had been expecting anything. But that? Never that.

At last her smile faded. “There’s something wrong with the man?”

“You’re damned right there’s something wrong with—No, of course not. Rigby’s a fine man. Solid to the core.”

“Her Grace says she thinks he’s a bit of a loose screw, but that we’ll manage.”

“One would recognize the other, yes. That’s to be expected,” Gabriel mumbled half to himself. “Well, it can’t happen. You’ve got enough on your plate, Miss Neville, without adding Rigby. And you do understand the duchess only agreed because she knew I would have to step in rather than allow Rigby and his good intentions to ruin your chances of ever finding a white mulberry.”

“Oh, but—”

“It’s settled, Miss Neville, as well my aunt already knows, or I wouldn’t have taken my injudicious dive into the bottle last night after she and I spoke.”

He was silent for a few moments, wondering when he’d become so brutally frank with a lady, and then said, “I can’t believe I was taken in like a raw youth. So soft and powdery and…and flouncy. So kind and sweet and none too bright, bless her heart. But a woman is a woman is a woman. Gabe, she was never deliberately fooling you—you were only fooling yourself.”

“Do you always talk to yourself? I do, as well, although I try not to, as my mother worries it’s the sign of an infirm brain.”

“She’s probably right. And, considering the way I feel at this moment, you might well be concerned for your safety until I can be locked up somewhere. In any case, Miss Neville, we will thank Sir Jeremiah for sacrificing himself to the cause when we see him in London, but I will be serving as your chaperone. I might not be the best you can find, but at least I won’t steer you wrong when it comes to suitors. Rigby is less discerning and likes everybody.”

“But you don’t.”

He immediately thought of Henry Neville. “No, I don’t. Some less than others, I’m afraid. Perhaps I’m too judgmental.”

“Or too quick to judge,” she said, shrugging those slim, elegant shoulders. “I may lay claim to a similar failing, and probably should apologize, although I won’t.”

Gabriel shot her a quick look, wondering if they were destined to never have a conversation that wasn’t burdened by layers of meaning.

She’d meant him, had to have meant him, he was certain of at least that much. But why? He was generally considered to be a likable fellow. Then again, she could have dozens of friends in Virginia who thought the world of her.

They just didn’t seem to like each other. Wasn’t that odd. He, as well as she, should have no opinion of each other at this early stage of their acquaintance, yet they’d both seemed to have this need to qualify their instant reactions to each other.

Or deny them?

Considering the force of his reaction, his extreme awareness of her, expressions of mutual dislike were probably the best solution for both of them. Clearly the safest.

“Her Grace told me there’s a lovely stone bridge somewhere along this route, overlooking a picturesque meandering stream. I believe I may have just caught a glimpse of sun reflecting off water. Are there fish in the stream?”

“It’s stocked every spring, yes. Now you’re going to tell me you’re an expert fisherman.”

The head turned, the smile was back, her dark eyes were dancing, and he wondered how long his supposed dislike of the woman was going to save him…or her. “No, not at all. My mother considers the practice unsuitable for ladies. But ladies fish in England? Your question seems to hint as much. You’ll teach me before we leave for London? We’ve got a whole week or more before we go. Please? I’ve watched my stepfather do it any number of times, and I believe I might have an aptitude.”

“I wouldn’t believe I’d be the least surprised if you did. All right, Miss Neville. I’ll teach you. As your chaperone, I’ll teach you most everything I can.”