All the Pleasures of the Season by Lecia Cornwall Page A

admit.
    Marianne clapped her hands, and he flinched. “ Our? Then you love her as well?”
    Gilbert swallowed the lump in his throat, wondered briefly what Miranda had told her sister, and what the countess had assumed by his presence here. She was standing only inches from him now, gazing at him with a kind of goggle-eyed wonder. It reminded him of a dog eyeing a chop.
    â€œCountess, is Lady Miranda here?” he asked, looking hopefully over her shoulder at the door.
    â€œNo. She left for Carrington Castle some hours ago.”
    Gilbert felt his heart sink. “I see. Then I shall take no more of your time.” He sidled along the back of the settee, but Marianne stepped in front of him, matched him step for step, and blocked his way.
    â€œWhere are you going when you leave here, Mr. Fielding? Please say Cumbria.”
    â€œI—”
    â€œDid you know she’s broken her betrothal to Lord Kelton?”
    â€œUh—” he began again, taking another step. She flanked him, keeping him in place.
    â€œIt was my fault, you see. Westlake says that matchmaking gets me into trouble, but I simply wish to see everyone as happy as I am. Especially my own sister. Do you understand, Mr. Fielding?”
    He felt a bead of sweat slip between his shoulders and looked desperately at the bell pull, wondering if he should send for someone, yell for Westlake, or duck around her.
    â€œI imagined Lord Kelton would be perfect for her,” she said, frowning. “I can see now that he is not.” She turned away, pacing, only to turn back. “The Archers are an unconventional family. We are not happy unless we are in love. We cannot help but follow our hearts over our heads at times. Do you understand?’
    He smiled to placate her. She cornered him again. “I was wrong about Kelton, Mr. Fielding. I can see quite clearly now that you are the one she needs.” She grasped his lapels. “You must go to Carrington Castle at once.”
    â€œI see,” he murmured.
    â€œAnd you mustn’t worry about Grandfather. He wants her to be happy, Gilbert. May I call you Gilbert, since we are almost related by marriage?”
    â€œAre we?” He felt a frisson of surprise.
    She smiled as if the dog had indeed won the chop. “How fast can you ride?”
    G ilbert nearly collided with Northcott in the doorway in his rush to leave. The stately servant was guiding another visitor into the salon.
    Kelton.
    Gilbert felt his lip curl.
    â€œYou!” Kelton said, eyeing Gilbert. “It’s you , isn’t it?” he said, parroting Marianne. “You were dancing with Miranda the other night. Do I have you to thank for this?” He held up a note, and Gilbert assumed it was from Miranda.
    Then he noticed the sapphires in Kelton’s cuffs.
    The last time he’d seen them, they’d been earrings.
    Miranda’s earrings.
    Gilbert glared at the earl, took in his perfect face, the foolishly complicated knot of his cravat. Kelton would have destroyed Miranda. He wanted to take her away from her family. He had even taken her mother’s jewels, made cufflinks of them, gave them to his mistress as if they meant nothing.
    Kelton glared at Marianne, who was standing behind Gilbert in the doorway. “I’ve come for my betrothal ring,” he said coldly, not bothering to greet her. “It is a family heirloom, and I want it back. Your sister is a fool, like the rest of the Archers. I’ll see to it that she never makes a decent marriage for this insult.”
    Gilbert didn’t hesitate. He hit Kelton square in the face. Surprise lit in the earl’s eyes for a moment before they rolled back in his head. He crumpled to the tiled floor like a sack of meal.
    Gilbert bent to remove the sapphires from his monogrammed cuffs as Marianne looked on.
    â€œI believe these belong to Lady Miranda,” he said, and held them out. She blinked at them, lying in his palm,