When Merrick arrived at Portland House, it was already late afternoon, and he could see at a glance that several members of his family must be there before him. The huge double doors of the main entrance stood open, and several liveried footmen were busily carrying inside large trunks and boxes that had just been unloaded from an ancient traveling carriage that still stood before the entry. Some female was in the rose arbor: probably his second cousin Constance. She looked too fair and too small to be the older sister, Prudence. Freddie Lynwood was outside among the boxes, looking quite painful to the eye with a large expanse of canary-yellow waistcoat showing beneath an unbuttoned coat. He was good-naturedly trying to help the footman by gathering three bandboxes into his arms.
Jack Frazer was also outside, and obviously newly arrived. He stood with one shoulder indolently propped against the side of the carriage, one Hessian boot crossed over the other, a whip swinging idly from his hands. He grinned when he saw Merrick.
"You must have been riding in our dust, Alex," he said. "I have just succeeded in conveying Mamma and Hortie safely here, though Mamma must have had thirty fits of the vapors on the way, so convinced was she that we would be attacked by highwaymen. It is a good thing for you, old boy, that you did not come up on us a little sooner. I might have been forced to shoot you just to put her mind at rest."
"I should not have enjoyed that at all," Merrick commented dryly as he swung himself to the ground and patted his horse's flank.
"I see, at any rate, that you were as little able to come up with a previous engagement for these two weeks as I was," Jack said, still grinning. "Grandmamma is not to be denied when she has her heart set on something, is she?"
"Ah, but then I was not looking for an excuse," Merrick said, nodding a greeting to Freddie, who had set down his bandboxes at the top of the stone steps leading to the door, not knowing where he was to take them. "You look as if you are thoroughly settled in, Freddie. I suppose you arrived a few days ago?"
"Hello, Alex," Freddie said, beaming. "Arrived yesterday. Thought I would be late. Expected to see Grandmamma in a lather. But was a day early. She was pleased to see me, though. No other man except Grandpapa to keep the ladies company."
Merrick's attention was taken at that moment by the arrival on the scene of the duchess. She descended the steps and extended both hands to Jack, who pulled himself upright at her approach.
"Jack," she said, "you are just as handsome as ever, I see. And still breaking female hearts by the dozen, I should not wonder. Do go inside and join your sister and your mamma for refreshments in the blue salon. Stanley and Celia are there, too. They arrived more than an hour ago, but they had to take their children up to the nursery and could not get away. They did not bring their own nurse, you know, and the little devils have been throwing tantrums every time their mamma tries to leave the room. However, all seems quiet now."
"Grandmamma," Jack said, kissing dutifully the cheek that was offered him, "how can this possibly be your fiftieth anniversary? You do not look a day over fifty yourself. You must have been an infant bride."
"Shameless flatterer!" she said. "Go inside immediately, and take Freddie with you so that the servants can get something done out here."
She turned to Merrick when the other two men finally disappeared indoors. "Alex," she said, "it is about time you put in an appearance, dear boy. You have become quite the stranger." She offered him, too, her cheek, but he ignored it and caught her around the waist, lifting her from her feet and twirling her completely around. She shrieked. "Put me down immediately," she ordered. "Have you completely lost your wits?"
Merrick grinned. "Grandmamma," he said, "if you intend to scold for the next two weeks, I shall mount this horse and turn its head for London again. Am I not going to be offered tea with the Frazers and Stanley and Celia?"
"In a little while," the duchess said. "First, be a dear boy and go fetch whoever that is in the rose arbor."
Merrick turned his eyes in the direction of the distant female again. "Who is she, anyway?" he asked. "Constance?"
"Oh, go see, dear boy," she said vaguely, beginning to waft her way back to the house. have a thousand and one things on my mind."
"What a greeting!" Merrick said with a grin, handing the reins of his horse to a waiting groom, and his hat and greatcoat to a footman who happened to pass with a free hand.
He strode toward the rose arbor, which was still looking pretty bare at this time of the year, he noted. But there was certainly something to add attraction to the area. She had her back to him, her fair head, clustered with curls at the back, bent over a book. She was seated on a bench, one leg crossed over the other, a rose-pink slipper swinging from side to side beneath the hem of a matching dress. She had a white lace shawl over her shoulders.
Merrick was intrigued. It was true that he had not seen some of his cousins for quite some time, but he had thought that he would recognize them. It was hard, he supposed, to remember that those girls he had known from infancy had grown into young ladies, and possibly attractive ones at that. This one was very attractive, if one might judge from behind.
She turned as he stooped to pass through the trellised arch that formed the entryway to the arbor, and he realized that she was not one of his cousins. Grandmamma had said nothing about inviting anyone from outside the family, and he was momentarily annoyed that she had not told him who the girl was. On second thoughts, he blessed his good fortune that he could meet her thus in private. She was an exquisite little beauty-and a shy one too, if one might judge by the color that suffused her cheeks and the urge that caused her to leap to her feet and drop her book.
He smiled, stepped forward, and retrieved the volume. "Jane Austen," he said, glancing at the title. "Do you enjoy her works?"
"I have read only Mansfield Park," she said in a tight little voice.
He tapped the book against his other hand as he examined her. She was a light little creature with a good figure. And she was pretty too, her heart-shaped face made appealing by hollowed cheeks, high cheekbones, and large gray eyes that looked at him now anxiously, almost fearfully. She was not as young as he had at first thought. Her face had character. He was aware finally that the silence was lengthening between them.
"Alex Stewart," he said, holding out his right hand, "the duke's grandson." He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
Heaven help her, he had not recognized her. At first she had thought that the duchess had sent him to her and that he had decided to be fair and friendly about the whole business. She had been sitting here for longer than half an hour, reading and rereading the same paragraph without absorbing any of its meaning, wondering when he would come and what would happen when he did. The duchess had sent her after she had taken tea with two batches of newly arrived family members. But he had not been sent. He did not know her. Alexander. So much more powerfully attractive than she remembered.
"Alexander," she said, not taking the proffered hand, "do you not know me?"
He frowned and looked at her closely for several seconds. His face noticeably paled as his hand dropped to his side. "My God," he said, "who are you?"
She grasped the sides of her dress and twisted the fabric in her hands. His eyes followed the gesture.
"Anne," he said. His eyes lifted to hers, and his own suddenly blazed. "Anne? What is the meaning of this, madam? By what right have you dared present yourself here?"