Mary Southwood was frankly relieved to be rid of her husband, but she worried over her girls. Through personal sacrifice and great frugality she managed to save half of what he gave her each year. Added to a small, secret hoard left her by her late guardians, she slowly built up small dowries for her daughters. She taught them the arts of housewifery. There would be no grand matches, but she would get them all settled. Eventually fate helped her out when Geoffrey Southwood stopped even his yearly visit, delegating that chore to his majordomo.
The “Angel” Earl, as he was known, spent his time following the Court. The young Queen Elizabeth enjoyed his elegant beauty and sharp wit. Even more, she appreciated his astute knowledge of business and overseas trade. Trade was where England’s future lay, and the educated Queen needed all the advice about it she could obtain. Elizabeth had already demonstrated herself to be a working monarch, and nothing escaped her sharp eyes or ears. Geoffrey Southwood might have an appetite for the ladies, but he deliberately went out of his way to avoid her maids-of-honor, and his respect for her was much appreciated by the vain young Queen. Best of all, Geoffrey came to Court without the encumbrance of a wife, and was therefore free to play one of Elizabeth’s gallants.
The next day dawned bright and blue, as perfect an October day as one could wish for. Skye spent the morning indoors overseeing her household, which was finally beginning to run smoothly, then working with Jean and Robert Small in setting up a new trading company. Later she eagerly snatched up her flower basket and garden shears and escaped to the beckoning outdoors.
The gardener and his assistants had done miracles in a few short weeks. Gone were the waist-high weeds and brambles. Brick walks had been discovered beneath the overgrowth, as well as small re- flecting pools and rose bushes. Pruning had brought forth an abun- dance of late blooms, which Skye now clipped. “Damn!” she swore suddenly, jabbing her thumb on a thorn, then popping it into her mouth to soothe it.
A deep, amused masculine chuckle sent her whirling about. To her anger and embarrassment, the handsome Earl of Lynmouth was sitting on the medium-high wall separating her house from the next. He leaped down gracefully and took her hand. “Just a prick, my pet,” he said.
Skye snatched back her hand furiously. “What were you doing on my wall?” she demanded.
“I live on the other side of it,” he answered smoothly. “In fact, my pet, you and I own the wall in common. The building next to yours is Lynmouth House. It was built by my grandfather, who also built this charming little house for his mistress, a goldsmith’s daugh- ter.”
“Oh,” said Skye coldly, shocked. “How very interesting, my lord. Now… if you will please leave?” she managed.
Geoffrey Southwood smiled ruefully, and Skye noticed that the corners of his strangely green eyes were crinkled with laugh lines. ”Now, Mistress Goya del Fuentes,” he said. “I realize that we got off on the wrong foot, and I will apologize now for having stared so rudely at you at the Rose and Anchor. Surely, however, you will not be too hard on me? I cannot be the first man who has ever been stunned by your extravagant beauty, now can I?”
Skye flushed. Damn the man! He really was charming. And if they were neighbors, she could hardly continue to snub him. The corners of her mouth turned up in a small smile. “Very well, my lord. I accept your apology.”
“And you will join me for a late supper?”
Skye laughed. “You are really incorrigible, Lord Southwood.”
“Geoffrey,” he corrected.
“You are still incorrigible, Geoffrey,” she sighed, “and my name is Skye.”
“A most unusual name. How did you come by it?”
“I don’t know. My parents both died when I was young, and the nuns who raised me could never tell me.” It was said so naturally that he was thrown. Perhaps she wasn’t the Whoremaster of Algiers’ widow after all. “And was Geoffrey your father’s name?” she was asking.
“No. He was Robert. Geoffrey was the first of the Southwoods. He came from Normandy with Duke William almost five hundred years ago.”
“How wonderful to know the history of one’s family,” she said wistfully.
“You haven’t yet told me you will dine with me tonight,” he said. Skye bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “I really don’t think I should.”
“I realize it’s a bit unorthodox, asking you to dine late, but I must attend the Queen at Greenwich, and she’ll not let me go till late.”
“Then perhaps we should dine on another day when you have more time,” she replied.
“Have pity on me, fair Skye. I dance constant attendance on Her Majesty, and it is only rarely that I have any time. My chef is an artist, but cooking for one is little challenge. Unless I provide him with a guest soon I shall lose him. And how can I give my famous Twelfth Night revel without a chef? So you really can’t refuse me, can you?”
She had to laugh. He seemed so boyish, and so very handsome in the open-necked cream silk shirt. He was not at all the arrogant nobleman who had accosted her several weeks before. “I should not,” she said, “but I will. I would not like to be held responsible by all of London for the defection of your chef.”
“I will come for you myself,” he replied. Then he caught her hand to his lips and brushed it lightly. “You’ve made me the happiest of men tonight!” Grasping at a heavy vine growing against the wall, he pulled himself up and quickly disappeared over the top.
Shrugging, Skye picked up her flower basket and returned to the house. If she was to be ready when he came this evening, she had a great deal to do. She stopped, and told herself that this was just a simple dinner, not a romantic liaison.
Robert Small emerged just then from the library. “Well, lass, we’re done now. May I treat you to dinner at the Swan tavern up the river?”
“Oh, Robbie. I’m having dinner with Lord Southwood. He is, it seems, my neighbor.”
“That knave! Christ’s toenail, Skye, are you mad?”
“Now, Robbie, he has apologized for his rudeness. I have no friends here in London, and you’ll soon be off again. I must start somewhere.”
“He has a wife,” stated Robert Small flatly.
“I suspected so, but I do not seek a romantic entanglement with Geoffrey.”
Robert Small’s bushy gray-black eyebrows shot up. “Geoffrey, is it? Well, my lass, so you’ll know a bit about the man, attend me. His first wife died when she was a child. His second wife is a woman of no beauty, but much wealth. She’s borne him one son and seven daughters, and for her perfidy she and her daughters are exiled to Lynton Court, her childhood home. He sends his steward each Mi- chaelmas to pay the servants there for the year. Cold bastard, I’d say. He’s rich, though. At least we don’t have to worry about him being after your money.”
His dour concern over fortune-hunting men made her laugh. She ruffled his thinning hair. “Dear Robbie, you’re a good watchdog, and I thank you. You and Dame Cecily and Willow are my entire family. I promise to be very careful in my relationship with Lord Southwood, but it’s only a late supper.”
“I’ll stay the night, Skye. It’s best you have a man in the house.”
“Thank you, Robbie. Now, I’d best prepare myself,” and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek she ran upstairs to her own apartment. ”Daisy!” she called. “Have a footman set up my bath and lay out the peacock-blue velvet gown with the gold thread flowered under- skirt.”
As the footmen lugged the buckets of steaming water up the back stairs from the kitchen, Skye sat at her dressing table sliding neck- laces through her slender fingers. She decided upon a double strand of perfectly matched pale-pink pearls from which hung a teardrop diamond of slightly deeper pink. The necklace had been Khalid’s gift. It no longer hurt quite so much to think about Khalid.