One Forbidden Evening (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 25

  “Then you would countenance the match?”

  “Of course. Have I not established to your satisfaction, indeed, to all of Penwyckham, that the man is a paragon?”

  Cybelline could not help but be diverted. “You have.”

  “Well, there you have it. It will be a good match for both of them.” Ferrin watched Cybelline try to make sense of it. She was clearly curious but reluctant to put forth the question. “You will not ask, will you?”

  “It is as you said before. I’m uncertain if I want to know the answer.” She regarded his expression, closed to every inkling of his thoughts save wry amusement. “And you will not offer an explanation.”

  “Not if you do not ask for it.”

  “Then it is a stalemate.”

  “So it seems.”

  They matched stares for several long seconds before Cybelline looked away. While she found his eyes to be impenetrable, she imagined her own revealed her soul.

  “Why are you here, Cybelline?”

  It was the husky, intimate nuance to Ferrin’s voice that brought her attention sharply around again. “You know why. I brought the letter.”

  “So you did, but that also begs the question: Why?”

  “I wanted you to know that Aunt Georgia had only recently written to me. It seemed that you did not entirely believe me when we spoke of it before. I didn’t like it that you thought I might be lying.”

  “And my opinion is important to you?”

  “No,” she said reflexively. Her cheeks pinkened as she realized that in her desire to be less vulnerable she had spoken without thinking. Watching her as closely as he did, he knew it, too. There was precious little that he missed. Feeling cornered, Cybelline lifted her chin. “That is, your opinion is not entirely unimportant.”

  One corner of his mouth twitched. “That is something, at least.” Rather than pinning her back with his cool glance, this time he used silence to wait her out.

  “I had no liking for how things were left between us,” she said at last. When he offered no comment, she continued. “I could not properly express how your gifts touched me. It seemed wrong that I said so little when your gesture meant so much. And when I thought…” She paused, collecting herself. “When I thought that you would leave Penwyckham without knowing the truth of that, it made me…well, it made me sad that I hadn’t the courage to say so.”

  Cybelline’s faint smile was self-conscious. “I don’t know that I could have said it yet if you did not provoke me to it. I suppose I hoped you’d understand without hearing it.”

  “Sometimes it is better to hear it, better yet to hear yourself say it.”

  She nodded slowly. He had gotten to the very heart of it. She had indeed needed to hear herself say these things aloud. “Yes,” she said. “That’s true.”

  “I wonder if you will allow me to say something?”

  This time Cybelline did not respond reflexively. Curiosity and wariness mingled, and she wondered which would prompt the better response. “Of course,” she said finally. “You must speak freely.”

  “That is perhaps more license than you will wish you had given me, but I shall not abuse your generosity. I have been thinking that we might call a truce, you and I. I know, we are not at war, but I believe we have been engaged in a skirmish, if not an outright battle. Has it seemed so to you?”

  Cybelline studied her hands in her lap. “I had not considered it in such a light,” she said quietly, “but there is that aspect.”

  “From the outset, I would say.”

  She nodded, pressing the tips of her fingers together. “I have provoked you.”

  “You have been provocative. It seems a shade different.”

  Cybelline watched her fingertips turn white. “Yes, it does.”

  “Will you not look at me?”

  She slowly lifted her face and returned his regard. Searching his features, Cybelline could find no censure there, no accusation, nor pity. Yet there was something, for he had not shuttered his expression to her this time, and what she thought she saw was hope. “There is no retreating,” she said. “Or at least it does not seem so.”

  “I am not in expectation of your surrender,” he said. “And you must not expect mine. There is no method by which we can undo what has already passed between us. A truce means we agree to cease hostilities and consider how we intend to go on. I think it is the true reason you came today.”

  Was it? Cybelline realized she wanted to believe he had correctly divined her motives. “I would like to think you are right.”

  “I’m always right. It’s my most annoying trait, I’m told.” When Cybelline’s mouth curved upward, Ferrin said, “Do you think I’m making it up?”

  “Oh, no, my lord. I know for a fact that among all your annoying traits, being right is far and away the most galling.”

  Ferrin’s own smile was wry. “Perhaps I did not adequately explain the part about ceasing hostilities.”

  “No, you explained it well enough. I have not the hang of it yet. It will require some time, I think, and a great deal of patience on your part, especially if you mean to bait me.”

  He laughed. “Just so. Is it to be a truce, then?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is.”

  “Good.” He set Lady Rivendale’s letter aside. “Will you have more tea?” When Cybelline declined, he asked, “All is well with your brother and his family?”

  “Yes. I had a letter from Lily just after Christmas. At the time she composed it, she was in anticipation of a peaceful celebration, although how such a thing is possible with the scoundrels underfoot is more difficult to imagine. Lily is invariably optimistic, but I forgive her for it.”

  “You would not describe yourself in the same way?”

  “No. There was a time I confused naivete for optimism, but I understand the distinction now. I am neither.”

  “You are rather severe in your outlook, then.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps I have become so.”

  “Life lessons?”

  “Is there any other teacher?” she asked. “I imagined that a rake would possess a jaded, skeptical disposition, but that is not the case at all, is it?”

  “Are you speaking of me or of rakes as a particular variety of Homo sapiens?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  Raising one dark eyebrow, he gave her a stern, knowing look. “I believe you know the answer to that.”

  Cybelline sighed. He would force her to face the truth she had been denying herself. “You are not a rake at all, are you?”

  “No.”

  “But you have cultivated that reputation and encouraged people to believe it. I am not wrong about that.”

  “No, you’re not wrong.”

  Her brow knit as she frowned deeply. “It seems a queer sort of fraud to perpetuate on society.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? Sometimes the path of least resistance is to live down to the expectations of others, the ton in particular, rather than to fly in the face of them. I have been advised by my own mother, who means well enough and loves me quite to distraction, that I have a lamentable tendency to be bookish and boring. She could accept bookish, I think, but it is unpardonable that I am tedious company.”

  The vertical crease between Cybelline’s eyebrows became more pronounced. “It does not seem that you can have understood her meaning.”

  “I assure you, she has been clear on that account. And she’s right, you know. Left to my own devices I would be closeted in my library or laboratory. It does not matter whether I am in London or at my country home. I enjoy being similarly occupied in either place.”

  “But why is that not acceptable? You are to be much admired for your experimentation and improvements. It seems to me there are many who would applaud your efforts and seek to learn from you. Is your mother averse to you receiving the approbation of a grateful society?”

  “You will understand once I have told you the whole of it.” Ferrin leaned back co
mfortably in his chair and crossed his long legs at the ankles. “Mother is averse to society learning how the family has acquired that perfectly vulgar sum of money your aunt mentions.”

  “But surely that is no secret. You told me at the masquerade, do you not recall?”

  “I remember. I told you about Captain Christopher David Hollings, the privateer and first Earl of Ferrin. That was all perfectly true. What I did not mention is that every Hollings after him squandered some portion of the wealth he amassed. By the time my own profligate sire came into his inheritance there was little enough of it left to support his gaming. He married my mother when he was better than a decade older than I am now, and she was but fifteen.”

  Ferrin was conscious of having Cybelline’s full attention. Her frown had eased, but the cast of her features remained sober, and she was regarding him with those splendid blue-gray eyes that now held both curiosity and compassion.

  He made a steeple of his fingers and rested his chin on it for a moment as he considered how to continue his explanation. “Mother brought a substantial dowry into the marriage. She was the oldest daughter of a baron who’d had a recent reversal of bad fortune. He was desirous of her making a good marriage, hoping it would provide seed money for his own gaming, so he wagered his winnings on his daughter captivating the fifth Earl of Ferrin. She did, but the true state of my father’s financial affairs did not become known until months after the marriage when my grandfather applied to him for funds. I have been told that Grandfather was so furious that he had been gulled, he actually challenged my father.”

  Cybelline’s eyes widened. “It is beyond belief. Never say one of them killed the other.”

  “My father demonstrated a modicum of good sense at this juncture and refused to accept the challenge. To escape his creditors my grandfather booked passage to America for his wife, his three remaining daughters, and his horse.”

  “His horse?”

  “Yes. An Arabian that my grandfather entered in stakes races, which were an exceedingly popular form of entertainment.” He grinned as Cybelline’s lips parted in something like surprise and reluctant admiration. “He won many times. That is, my grandfather won. The Arabian was a mare, I’m told. Grandfather amassed enough winnings to live comfortably, see his three daughters settled, and enjoy some success in the state legislature of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.”

  “Incredible.”

  “It is, isn’t it? He never returned to England and offered no financial support, not even in secret, to my mother, but he maintained regular correspondence with her until he died. He outlived my own father, which I have to believe satisfied him so completely that it hastened his own passing.”

  “You mean he had nothing to live for after your father died?”

  “No, I mean he imbibed so freely celebrating the demise of the fifth earl that he got himself caught under the wheels of a passing carriage as he staggered home.”

  Cybelline’s hand flew to her mouth. “But that is awful.”

  “It is no good, Cybelline, I can see that you are hard pressed not to laugh.”

  “Yes, but it is shock that makes it so, and I know it is very wrong of me.”

  Ferrin did not feel the same urge to compose himself and was quite open in his amusement. “My grandmother, who is the one who communicated the details of her husband’s passing to my mother, died some years back. I never knew her except through her letters. My aunts have never returned to England, so there is an entire branch of the family tree that is America’s problem now.”

  Cybelline had been in the process of lowering her hand, and now she brought it quickly back to her mouth as suppressed laughter became a hiccup.

  Ferrin rose and brought a cup of tea for her. “This will help if you take care not to choke.”

  Thanking him, Cybelline gratefully accepted the tea. “Your grandfather is not the source of your family’s wealth, then.”

  “No, as I mentioned, he made enough to live comfortably but did not settle any of it on my parents.” Ferrin added a log to the fire, gave it a poke, then returned to his seat. “Society was not aware of the declining family fortune. There were still lands in abundance and the rents from them were substantial. My father had to work very hard to empty the coffers, but he was nothing if not dedicated.”

  This last was said without any trace of bitterness, merely as a statement of fact. “My mother, who values the look of things above practical considerations, was determined to maintain appearances. It is not clear to me that she ever understood how much Father lost to bad investments, gaming hells, and the occasional mistress. Her own society demanded entertainments and fine clothes, patronage of the arts and support of popular charities. Her devotion to these things was the equal of my father’s attachment to his own interests.”

  Ferrin caught Cybelline’s slightly bemused expression and stopped his recitation to make an inquiry of her thoughts. “You perhaps think I am too harsh a critic of my parents and should not speak so frankly.”

  “Pardon?” She belatedly realized that he was in expectation of a reply. “Oh, no. That is not at all what I am thinking. I am wondering if you are quite certain these people are in fact your common sires?” The inappropriateness of this remark was not borne home to her until she heard it aloud. An apology came quickly to her lips only to be silenced by the roar of Ferrin’s laughter. Cybelline could do naught but stare and wait him out.

  Ferrin’s self-possession was hard-won. Each time he was on the point of composure, Cybelline’s perfect, pithy observance would tweak his humor again. “My mother has often entertained the very same question,” he said when he could speak. “But she also assures me she was present at my birth and that my paternity is not in doubt.”

  “So she recognizes you are an anomaly.”

  “An aberration, but I like your description better.”

  Cybelline was no longer disposed to feel kindly toward Lady Gardner, but she did not voice this to Ferrin. He did not seem to find his mother’s remarks in any way exceptional. “How old were you when you became earl?”

  “Fifteen. Although I had not yet reached the age at which I might legally manage the estate, my mother simply could not. There were solicitors to direct the trust, but she relied on me to advise her. Eventually the solicitors dealt with me. It is difficult to say what she really understood about the financial ruin we were facing and what she simply refused to understand. I did not press this subject with her. I knew what must be done, and her comprehension of the matter was of no account.”

  Cybelline warmed her hands around her teacup. “What did you do?”

  “I was tinkering with a printing machine at the time and found a way to improve the speed at which the type might be set. It involved some simple modifications to the blocks that allowed them to be arranged and exchanged more quickly, then I added a compound to the ink that gave the print more clarity and allowed for a greater number of copies with the same amount of ink.”

  “Of course.” Cybelline would have clapped her hands together if she had not been holding the cup. “Oh, but that is splendid. You applied for a patent.”

  “Two,” he said, holding up a like number of fingers. “One for the type and the other for the ink. The solicitors arranged a demonstration with the London Gazette and a group of investors.” His smile was faint now and self-effacing. “It was a success.”

  “A very great success, I should imagine, if you are accounted to be richer than Croesus.”

  “Yes, well, there have been other patents since then.”

  “Five? A dozen? Pray, do not be modest. It is a most excellent achievement.”

  “I believe the count stands at one hundred eighteen.”

  A rush of air left Cybelline’s lungs. “Oh my.” She set the cup aside before she dropped it.

  “They are not equally lucrative,” he hastened to tell her. “Some have not found their worth, but one is always hopeful.”

  “If one is an optimist.”

/>   “Precisely.”

  “But why are you not known for these things that you have done? Why do you not—” She stopped as her mind finally turned the key to this peculiar lock. “Why, you are in trade.”

  He nodded. “A cit. There, I have said it. Mother prefers that I take the Lord’s name in vain.”

  Cybelline gave him a narrow look, unsure whether she could believe him. “I think you are having me on, my lord.”

  “Only a little. My mother is of the firm opinion that it is acceptable for one’s fortune to be made on the industry of others: the tenant farmers; the ship masters and tea merchants with whom one invests; the piracy of one’s forebears. Wagering on the outcome of a horse race, a boxing match, or a cockfight is also perfectly acceptable for a gentleman, though she does not hold with wagering on the outcome of a duel and believes ladies should place bets only in a most discreet manner.”

  Ferrin paused, allowing Cybelline opportunity to take this all in and compare it to her own experience. “You know she is not alone in her thinking. The ton admires the diligence of the commoner who contributes to their comfort. It arouses comment and praise when a clergyman makes a discovery because of his odd passion for science or a glassmaker perfects a lens because he has had a happy accident while grinding his glass.”

  He uncrossed his ankles and sat up. “Society does not yet know what to make of someone like me. If my interests and contributions were political in nature, they would be unexceptional. Even my tinkering might be considered only eccentric if I did not seek to profit from my efforts. That is what appears to be unacceptable.”

  Cybelline nodded slowly. She was familiar with the attitude he described. “It seems wholly unfair.”

  Ferrin shrugged. “I have never found it helpful to think in terms of the fairness of a thing. It is what it is. I have enjoyed a great many rights because I was born to privilege. That is not fair, either. There is always tit for tat, action and reaction.” He smiled a little then and regarded Cybelline frankly. “Opposites and attraction.”

  “You are being deliberately provocative.” Because Ferrin’s look put her to a blush, Cybelline acknowledged her confrontation was not entirely effectual.