The Princess and the Pea Read online

  Jared strode toward the lane and the long walk back. He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “I’m returning home. Are you coming?”

  “I don’t see that I have much of a choice,” she muttered and scrambled to catch up with him.

  Cece fell into step beside him and attempted to match his long strides with her own. She was unused to men being more than an inch or so taller than she. Jared’s height and the length of his gait was both pleasing and a challenge. The return trek to Graystone Castle was a long one, and a silence Cece considered anything but companionable lay between them.

  She fumed to herself. Obviously she had vastly underestimated Jared. Oh, certainly, the man had grudgingly acquiesced to her insistence on learning to drive, but at this rate she’d be in her dotage before she ever set a course at the helm of an automobile. This was not going at all well.

  She stole a glance at Jared. The satisfied smile on his face was more than enough to confirm her suspicion that he had no intention of placing his precious automobile in her feminine clutches. No doubt he planned to stretch out his so-called lessons until she threw up her hands in despair and resignation.

  What would Nellie Bly do?

  The question hit her like a thunderbolt, and the answer came just as swift. Nellie Bly would never let a mere man get in the way of something she wanted. Why, she’d competed with men throughout her career and emerged triumphant as often as not. No, Nellie Bly would not give up, and neither would Cece.

  She mirrored his smug smile with her own. The Earl of Graystone might have generations of history in his corner, but Cecily Gwendolyn White was a product of a country young, strong and dedicated. This was one American determined to show this one Englishman that in a battle of wits, she was far better armed than he.

  She cast him another quick glance. Jared again wore the same kind of casual garb he’d had on when they first met, clothes more suitable to a penniless inventor than a lord of the realm. In this guise he was rugged and earthy, and her heart melted with the look of him. This was no earl beside her now; this was the passionate man who’d captured her imagination the moment he launched into his first speech about the benefits of gas power versus steam.

  A thought struck her abruptly. “Do you still wish to manufacture automobiles?”

  He laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound. His expression was set, resolved. “I told you in Paris, that was a foolish dream.”

  “I don’t see why,” she said stubbornly. “I don’t see why you can’t do anything you want to if you work at it hard enough.”

  “You are an innocent.” He cast her a rueful glance. “Are you typical of Americans in general, or are you completely unique?”

  “Both. My countrymen are very ambitious and truly believe in the benefits of labor.” She tossed him an impish grin. “I admit I happen to be a tad more…shall we say opinionated than others. Now,” her tone turned brisk, “you are avoiding my question.”

  He blew a heavy sigh and gazed at the road winding ahead of him. It was a moment before he spoke, his words thoughtful and resigned. “I can no longer spend the time I once did working on the automobiles. Moments here, these days, are stolen hours. When I was merely the younger son I was not expected to occupy my time with anything considered worthwhile. I was more or less left to my own devices.”

  “Which, in part, explains the rather impressive reputation you’ve achieved with the fairer sex. Or so I’ve heard,” she said wryly.

  He flashed her a quick grin and nodded. “But I spent as much time, if not more, developing the vehicles. Quentin and I have worked together for a number of years.

  “Now all has changed.” He waved at the land spread out before them. “With James’s death, all this became my responsibility. Management of the estate, juggling of finances, even social position now falls to me.”

  His voice softened and his eyes reflected a pride that brought a lump to her throat. “I love this land. I never dreamed someday I’d be charged with its custody. We have tenant farmers here. Free men, of course, who walk the same land trod by their fathers and their grandfathers before them. Men whose heritage here is as great as mine, whose roots go as deeply into the soil here as the ancient oaks. Just as their ancestors did, they look to the castle for leadership and direction. To me.

  “When I took over I initiated the most modern, up-to-date methods of land management possible, but with agricultural prices being what they are these days, the estate still barely brings in enough to break even.

  “When my father was a young man ownership of property was all one needed to ensure life would be prosperous.” His eyes narrowed. “Things are very different today.”

  “But couldn’t your idea to produce and sell automobiles return that prosperity?”

  “Perhaps someday.” He shook his head. “But I no longer have the luxury of time.”

  At once she understood his need to marry a wealthy wife went far beyond mere monetary benefits to the survival of a tradition of life tied to the very foundations of this venerable country itself. He carried a commitment to this land and the people who lived here that had been forged long before his birth. Her stern attitude toward men who married for money did not fade, but for this man she could make an exception.

  She walked beside him silently, pondering how to help him achieve his dreams and live up to his obligations at the same time.

  “I still don’t see why you insist on keeping your involvement with the motorcars a secret. Quentin doesn’t.”

  “Quentin makes his own rules.” Jared laughed. “He uses his claim of being half-American to excuse every outrageous thing he’s ever done. I am the silent partner in our venture.” He paused thoughtfully. “Actually, it was James’s idea to keep my work on the automobile quiet.”

  “Really?” Surprise coursed through her.

  “Indeed.” Jared nodded. “I frankly did not care one way or the other, but it was James’s opinion that my activity would cast a bad light on the family name—a Grayson working with his hands and all that, you know.”

  “God forbid,” she said sarcastically.

  He pointedly ignored her comment. “At any rate, James was the head of the family and I had always trusted his advice. He was clever and competent. James never lacked for confidence either. He always seemed to know the correct thing to do, the right path to take.”

  “You miss him, don’t you?”

  Jared sighed. “I miss his counsel and his guidance. I can’t help but think, if he were still alive, he would not have to resort to marriage to solve the family’s woes. Although,” he threw her a mischievous grin, “I can’t help but be grateful it has come to this.”

  He glanced at her and she tried not to smile. It wouldn’t do to let him know she shared his gratitude. Not yet.

  “There is a race at the end of the month,” he said in an offhand manner. “Outside London to Bath and back, a mere two hundred miles. A trifling compared to the Paris–Bordeaux race. Still, even if we can match the pace set there, and that will be difficult at best, the contest should take at least a day.”

  Cece stopped short and stared in astonished delight. “Don’t tell me you’ll drive in the race?”

  He shook his head. “I am the silent partner, remember?” Jared smiled ruefully. “I’ll be there to cheer Quentin on, nothing more.”

  She narrowed her eyes in annoyed disbelief. “I don’t understand you at all. Doesn’t it bother you to let someone else take credit for your work?”

  He studied her for a long moment. “I know what I’ve accomplished,” he said quietly and shrugged. “I daresay that’s all that really matters in life.”

  He turned and strode down the path. For a moment she stared motionless at his tall, retreating figure. With each new day she learned more and more about this man. And nearly each new facet of his personality, every unsuspected nuance of his character, only served to endear him to her. Even his reasons for marriage were quickly paling beside the nobler aspects of his nature.r />
  Still, there was that bothersome attitude of his about teaching her to drive. Cece grinned abruptly and dashed to catch up with him. That was one character flaw she would neither forgive nor forget. She was more than willing to pit her determination against his. The more she thought about it, the more delightful the prospect. Jared might well have kept her far removed from his automobile today, but Cece would drive the motorcar, sooner or later, with or without his help.

  “What do you think of Graystone Castle?”

  Cece hadn’t even noticed the turn in the lane that brought the castle into view. The massive structure loomed in the distance, a benevolent stone giant guarding over the green fields, hills and valleys. The building was not exactly what she’d pictured in her mind. She’d imagined the kind of fantasy creation that graced the pages of children’s fairy tales, all turrets and spires, white marble walls and blue tile roofs. No, Jared’s seemed a very practical sort of castle.

  With a fair amount of concentration, one could dimly identify the original building, constructed in the 1300s, according to Lady Olivia. Succeeding generations, in the name of progress and modernization and remodeling, had added addition upon addition, wing upon wing, until the castle seemed more a title of endearment than a definition. Nonetheless, every new builder must have cared about the old place. Each annex matched in material if not necessarily in style. Today, the castle squatted comfortably like an ancient wise woman, with her own secrets and knowledge, in silent observation of the world around her.

  “I like it,” she said decisively. “It’s very much a home and not at all what I expected. I find it quite charming.”

  “Oh?” He raised a skeptical brow. “I thought surely you would dislike it. It’s so—what is that phrase?—oh yes, ‘cold, ugly and out-of-date.’”

  “Jared, if we are to get along together now and in the future, you must remember one thing about me.” She leveled him her best no-nonsense look. “I simply hate it when people throw my own words back in my face.”

  A smile quirked the corners of his lips. “Even when you’re wrong?”

  She lifted her chin and cast him a pleasant smile of her own. “Especially when I’m wrong.”

  “An interesting assortment of people you’ve collected here, Olivia,” Millicent said.

  “Do you think so?” Olivia murmured.

  Millicent studied the assembly gathered in the grand parlor to await the announcement for dinner. Henry and Phoebe chatted near the fireplace with Jared and Sir Humphrey Cresswell, a rotund, aging widower with an inflated opinion of his effect on the fairer sex. His daughter, Sofia, a somewhat overblown blond creature with a penchant for the type of seductive flirtation that would no doubt lead her to trouble one day, perched on the edge of a sofa perilously close to an obviously flattered Quentin. Emily stood beside the couple with a polite, strained smile on her lovely face.

  Millicent narrowed her eyes in consideration. Could Emily be at all interested in Quentin? What a charming idea. She would have to pursue that thought at a later time.

  In another corner of the room, Cece appeared to be in an animated discussion with Lady Linnea DeToulane and Lord Nigel Radcliffe. The red-haired beauty, now in her third widowhood, was notorious for choosing husbands extremely old, extremely wealthy and preferably infirm. Between marriages, in spite of all efforts toward discretion, she was as well known for her enthusiastic pursuit of plea sure as for her discriminating choice in spouses.

  Nigel Radcliffe was rumored to be her latest paramour. A bit older than Quentin, the charming rogue was considered one of the most eligible bachelors in England, and one of the most evasive. He appeared not in the least bit close to settling down, to the chagrin of his family and the disappointment of hopeful young misses everywhere.

  Millicent shook her head. “What is going on here, Olivia?”

  “A simple gathering of house guests, nothing more,” Olivia said innocently.

  “A simple gathering?” Millicent stared in disbelief. “This is anything but simple.” She cast Olivia an assessing glance. “You do know about Nigel and that woman, don’t you?”

  Olivia shrugged. “Gossip, nothing more.”

  Millicent snorted in a most unladylike manner. “You know as well as I do, even the Times is not always as accurate as London gossip. As for your other guests…” She gestured toward the blonde cooing at her nephew. “Have you watched the way that off-spring of Cresswell’s is attempting to sink her fangs into Quentin? And I’ve seen her casting the same sort of hungry looks toward Jared.”

  Olivia shook her head in reproach. “She’s simply an extremely friendly and outgoing young lady.”

  “Friendly and outgoing?” Millicent could scarce believe her ears. “She is well on her way to becoming a genuine tart, if she’s not one already.”

  “Millicent!” Olivia stared, eyes wide with apparent shock. “I cannot believe you would say such a thing about that charming child.”

  “I can say that and more,” Millicent said sharply. “Although I must admit she comes by her manner naturally. That old goat of a father of hers has cast carnal glances at every feminine ankle here, including yours and mine.”

  “Isn’t it nice to know we can still turn a head or two?” Olivia said lightly.

  “Olivia!” Why on earth was the woman so obtuse tonight? “I would not trust him around any of us, especially the girls.”

  Olivia patted her gently on the arm. “You really must keep your voice down.”

  Millicent fairly sputtered with indignation.

  “Did I remember to thank you for encouraging Quentin to stay here with the other guests?” Olivia said. “I thought it would be best, with so many activities scheduled. Why, there is a hunt first thing in the morning, and I’ve planned a formal dinner for tomorrow night with a few additional guests from the neighborhood expected. It should be lovely. To night, of course, we are dining somewhat casually. By the way, do you think a room in the west wing would suit Quentin?”

  “What ever,” Millicent said absently. She still could not figure out exactly what Olivia was up to. It gnawed at her mind like a rat with a crust of bread.

  “With the exception of the Whites, I’ve put the other guests in the west wing as well,” Olivia said casually.

  Millicent barely noted her words, her thoughts too full trying to determine Olivia’s plan. She’d known her friend far too many years not to recognize that she did very little without an ulterior purpose. But this odd mix of guests made no appreciable sense whatsoever. “Yes, yes, I’m sure what ever quarters you’ve arranged will be fine.”

  “With just the barest luck,” Olivia said quietly, signaling her butler to announce dinner, “it should be very fine indeed.”

  “You do see, don’t you, my dear, how marriage can ultimately ensure a woman’s independence?” Linnea DeToulane said.

  Cece leaned forward with interest. “But I thought for a woman to be truly in de pen dent she had to throw off the shackles of marriage and face life on her own two feet.”

  “Her sister says she reads a lot,” Jared said confidentially from his position at the head of the table. Cece sat to his right, Lady DeToulane to his left.

  “Well, she is quite obviously reading the wrong thing,” Linnea said firmly. “And believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”

  Jared leaned toward Cece. “Linnea has recently killed off her third husband.”

  “My, that is impressive,” Cece murmured, not quite sure whether to believe him or not.

  “Who’s killed off whom?” Sir Humphrey said from Cece’s other side.

  “Jared,” Linnea chided, “you will give the poor child a completely erroneous impression of me. I adored each and every one of my husbands. How many did you say?”

  “Three,” Quentin said with a grin, seated between Linnea and that obnoxious Cresswell girl.

  “Are you certain?” Linnea’s brows pulled together in a pondering expression. “Let me think, there was…” She fell si
lent, obviously preoccupied with the count of dead husbands. This woman no doubt lived her life perched precariously close to the edge of scandal. Cece stared with rapt fascination.

  Linnea’s expression brightened. “Three. He’s right, it was three.”

  “I hope you do not plan on counting deceased husbands one day.” Jared growled the words near Cece’s ear. A tremor of delight shivered through her at the nearness of his lips.

  “I don’t know, Jared,” she said lightly. “I have always believed anything worth doing was worth doing to the best of one’s ability. And I can count ever so much higher than three.”

  His eyes sparkled with amusement, his voice weighing heavy with his threat or his promise. “I plan on living a full and very long life.”

  “I shall count on it.” Her words were little more than a whisper. His gaze captured hers. For a moment it was as if there was no one else in the room, in the world, but the two of them. Cece longed to lean forward, cup his chin in her hand and pull his lips to hers. She yearned to lose herself in his taste, his scent, his strength.

  “See that you do.” His eyes reflected her own desire. She wanted nothing more than to be in his arms again. She wanted what she’d sampled, ever so briefly, in Paris. She wanted the excitement of love and the sheer exhilaration of unabashed passion. And she had no doubt that, in that kind of lesson, Jared would be anything but a reluctant teacher.

  Shrill laughter shattered the moment between them, and Cece started abruptly, as if she and Jared had been caught in a scandalous embrace. A knowing smile touched his lips and he glanced away, down the long table. She followed his gaze to the Cresswell girl, fluttering her eyelashes at Quentin, who appeared much more amused than aroused.

  “Your mother certainly has selected an interesting array of guests,” Cece said under her breath.

  “Indeed.” Jared narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and studied his mother at the far end of the table. “One wonders what she is planning.”