Miss Burloyne had no preference, and Edith settled her in a comfortable chair near one of the windows and slipped out to the kitchen. When she returned, she found Delia Burloyne in tears.
“Good heavens, is it as bad as that?” Without hesitation, she took the chair beside the girl and patted her shoulder. “Come now, dry your eyes and tell me what troubles you.”
Miss Burloyne sniffed and applied a pocket handkerchief to her wet cheeks. “I’m going to end an old maid.”
The husky utterance of despair almost overset Edith’s gravity. She managed to keep her countenance, however, and applied herself to the task of soothing the girl.
“I cannot think that likely. You are young yet.”
“I’m twenty. And I’ve been out for three years already and Mama says I must give place to my sister next Season.”
It might seem a trivial matter to Edith, but she had not taught at Mrs Vinson’s Academy for years without coming to understand the importance of a genteel girl disposing of herself in matrimony.
“But you will still be attending yourself, surely?”
“Yes, but everyone will know I’ve been relegated and no gentleman will look at me when Sophia is by.”
Edith understood at once. “Is she very beautiful?”
Miss Burloyne sighed. “Yes, and I don’t envy her that. At least, I do whenever I am obliged to look in the mirror, but not otherwise. And of course she will contract an alliance in her first season like Jocasta.”
“In which case you will once again be the available female in the family,” Edith pointed out.
“I’ll be past praying for by then. Everyone will range me with the dowagers.”
That proved too much for Edith and she burst out laughing. Miss Burloyne’s look of chagrin sobered her and she took one of the girl’s hands.
“Oh, don’t be offended, my dear, but it is too ridiculous.”
A faint rueful smile curved the girl’s mouth. “Oh, well, perhaps it isn’t as bad as that.”
“By no means.”
She was ready with a morsel of advice, but Mrs Tuffin came in with the coffee, putting an end to the discussion until it had been dispensed. She allowed Miss Burloyne to drink in silence for a moment, noting that the coffee was having a calming effect.
“Miss Burloyne,” she began, and then stopped, shaking her head. “No, Delia — if I may? — do you wish to know what I really think?”
“Yes, but first I must ask you something.”
A note of nervousness alerted Edith and she could not help stiffening. “What is it?”
Delia set down her cup and gave Edith a straight look. “Do you return Lord Hetherington’s regard?”
Shocked, Edith stared at her. “I have no notion of his cherishing any regard for me.”
“Oh, it’s obvious. I’ve seen enough gentlemen turn from me to moon over another female to know it when I see it.”
Edith wanted to refute the observation, but honesty compelled her to admit that Lord Hetherington’s interest lay with herself rather than Delia Burloyne. She did not flatter herself he was attached, but did a man offer protection to a woman to whom he was not in the least attracted? The implication could not be borne and she broke into impetuous speech.
“Whether or not there is liking between us is immaterial. Nothing will come of it, for my situation forbids any such entanglement.”
Delia was sipping her coffee, regarding Edith over the rim. She lowered the cup at this. “Why should it? If he likes you enough, he will not balk at your being the vicar’s niece.”
“The matter is not open for debate,” Edith said, her tone repressive. “And we were discussing your prospects, not mine.”
“But do you like him?”
The girl’s persistence rubbed Edith’s inner wounds, and she had all to do not to burst out against her. But that would not do at all, and she found a compromise.
“Lord Hetherington is an interesting man, and perhaps we share a sense of humour. But I beg you won’t let your imagination run away with you on my account.”
Delia sighed and took another sip from her cup. “Well, I won’t even try since he clearly wouldn’t look at me when you are by.”
Edith seized on this. “But that is exactly where I believe you are doing yourself no favours, Delia. Don’t try so hard. Indeed, you would do better not to try at all.”
“I have to. I had to from the start. I didn’t take.”
“So I gather. But you will not endear yourself to a prospective suitor if you are seen to be desperate, my dear.”
“Yes, but I am desperate,” argued Delia, stating the obvious.
“You need not show it. Feign indifference and disinterest, and you will see how quickly you will gain suitors.”
But Delia seemed determined to think poorly of her chances. “No, I won’t. I’m too plain and too dull and my fortune is but moderate.”
Edith became tart. “Pray don’t recite me a catalogue of your failings. Not every female can be a belle, you know. And not every gentleman wishes for one.”
“Then why do they swarm around the beauties like a parcel of moths?”
“I daresay they do, but that does not mean they will necessarily offer for them.”
Setting down her cup, Delia smiled at last. “Well, one thing is certain. They couldn’t all marry the same female.”
“Exactly so. I suggest you stop trying to interest every eligible man who comes in your way. Be yourself, Delia. Don’t try to emulate your friend Jocasta or anyone else.”
A flush crept up the girl’s cheek. “You noticed.”
Edith patted her hand. “When you behave naturally you show your own attributes. Talk of things that interest you and stop trying to please.”
“You think that will work?”
Edith took a mouthful of her coffee. “Well, it must be worth a try, must it not? After all, it hasn’t worked so far to try to be someone different.”
A gurgle escaped the girl, a far more natural sound than the giggle she generally adopted. “Well, that’s true enough.”
“Do you know what I think, Delia?”
An eager look came into the girl’s eyes. “No, what?”
“You have not yet met the man who will fall head over ears in love with you.”
“Do you think so indeed?”
The hopeful note was reminiscent of so many she’d heard in the tone of a distressed pupil she’d helped, that Edith felt all the poignancy of her own loss.
“I would not otherwise say it. Your prince will likely come upon you when you least expect it.”
Delia bubbled with laughter. “Oh, you have made me feel better, Miss Westacott!”
“Edith, please. Go and enjoy your sojourn with Lord Tazewell’s parents and stop worrying.”
Delia set down her cup and saucer. “I will do my best. And I thank you.” She leaned towards Edith and clasped her arms about her.
“Ede, my dear, are you at leisure?”
Edith emerged from the girl’s enveloping hug to find her uncle hovering in the doorway. She got up. “Indeed, Uncle Lionel. Miss Burloyne is just going. You’ve met my uncle, Delia?”
“Of course, yes. At church. How do you do, sir?”
“Very well indeed, my dear, I thank you. But you must allow me to drag my niece away, for she has a visitor who has travelled many miles to see how she does.”
Edith’s rise of surprise was overshadowed by shock as a man’s face appeared over her uncle’s shoulder. A face too well-known to mistake.
It had been no shadow. It was indeed he!
Her mind rioting in as violent a manner as her thumping heart, Edith rode through the next few minutes like an automaton, a litany repeating on her nerves.
He had come. He was here. It was he.
Before she could gather her wits, Delia Burloyne was gone and her legs had somehow carried her through the hall to the front parlour, the thick menacing shadow following behind like a hawk hovering over its prey.<
br />
Her uncle’s voice penetrated the maelstrom, asking the devil if he had found himself adequate accommodation.
God in heaven, don’t ask him to stay here!
“I have found the most charming inn but a half mile away, my dear Reverend.”
The hated voice, purring with triumph, drew Edith like a magnet. She had kept her eyes lowered but now she raised them, glancing across from the chaise longue upon which she must have placed herself without thinking. He had taken the chair in front of her uncle’s cabinet of curiosities and lounged there, wholly at his ease.
“Ah, you mean The Fox and Goose in Long Itchington? Yes, a pretty place, and you will be well served by Louch and his wife. She is an excellent cook.”
“So I have discovered.” His glance swept Edith in the manner that had ever caused her to feel as if he stripped her where she sat. “And how are you, Miss Westacott? You look much better than when we were last privileged to see you.”
We? What, did he couple himself with her erstwhile employer who had found him in her room the last time she’d seen his hateful countenance?
“I am a good deal more myself, Lord Kilshaw.”
And better able to counter his every move. Edith hoped her repressive tone might tell him as much.
Her uncle, throwing her a look in which question and censure were blended, cut in again. “She is indeed better, my lord, and we are doing our utmost to build up her strength. My housekeeper sees to it that she is given nourishing foods, and I have insisted upon rest and recuperation.”
“A regime that is clearly having a superlative effect. You are looking in great beauty, Miss Westacott.”
“Thank you.”
She could barely bring herself to say it, once more receiving a minatory glance from her uncle, who fidgeted with his spectacles, removing them and putting them back on. With a trifle more than his usual joviality, as if he must compensate for her lack, he embarked upon a conversation that encompassed the rigours of his visitor’s journey and the sights to be found hereabouts while he was here.
Hearing it only in the background of her mind, Edith engaged with it only as it encroached upon her tumbling thoughts.
Uncle Lionel, she surmised, saw only the surface features that Edith had once considered handsome. The full lips that could curl in a leering fashion. The dark, long-lashed eyes with their gleam of sensual promise. The lush fall of black hair he had bequeathed to the daughters consigned to the care of Mrs Vinson’s Academy. No doubt her uncle thought her arrogant to be disdaining the man’s presence in his house. Improvident too, if Lord Kilshaw dared carry his pretences as far as he had tried them on herself.
“I will not deceive you, sir, for although my thoughts have often been with Miss Westacott and her state of health, I have not come far out of my way.”
“Indeed, my lord? What brings you to these parts then?”
“I had occasion to visit an acquaintance who lives near Warwick. I am in fact on my way to Brighton, but I could not leave the area without enquiring into Miss Westacott’s present state of health.”
Liar! If she did not miss her guess, he had used some spurious excuse to find out her whereabouts and followed her here. Dared she challenge him in front of her uncle?
“How did you find me, sir?”
The charm turned on. “But my dear Miss Westacott, I find you returned to your natural loveliness. Have I not already said so?”
Ignoring her uncle’s frown, she threw down the gauntlet. “I meant, my lord, how did you know where I am living?”
“Ede, what is this?”
She glanced at her uncle, who had taken a chair near the fireplace. “I had not supposed Lord Kilshaw to be aware of this place, sir.”
“My dear Reverend, your niece is in the right of it. I did not even know her illness had obliged her to retire from the Academy until Mrs Vinson told me. Naturally I asked her where you had gone, Miss Westacott, for you must know my girls miss you dreadfully.”
Oh, you smooth-tongued villain! But he had answered her question, for of course he would have used Millie and Isabel to discover what he needed to know. Those two were ripe for any mischief and they adored their father.
“You have daughters at the school, my lord?”
Edith did not trouble to listen to his feigned raptures over the girls. He had used them for his own ends more times than she cared to count. Even to pleading his cause for him, though Edith trusted neither had fully understood his intentions.
“Do you make a long stay, my lord? May we hope for your company at dinner perhaps?”
Lord Kilshaw’s face lit and Edith could have cursed. He clearly had not supposed it would be this easy to insinuate himself into her life here.
“My dear Reverend, I should be only too delighted. I have a few days to kill before I must present myself in Brighton. His Highness has made it quite the fashion to spend some weeks of the summer there.”
Edith did not have to look at her uncle to realise the mention of royalty must set the seal on his acceptance. Not that he approved of the excesses reportedly indulged in by the Prince of Wales, but he could not fail to be impressed at the notion of Lord Kilshaw keeping such company. Edith could have told him he was deservedly tarred with the same brush as his royal acquaintance, but she felt too ashamed to tell him the truth. How would he support the knowledge that this man was pursuing her to ruin rather than marriage?
Within a few minutes Lord Kilshaw rose, very correctly, to take his leave. He bowed over her hand, squeezing it in a familiar fashion that made her squirm inside.
“May I hope, Miss Westacott, to persuade you to take the air? Tomorrow morning?” Without waiting for her reply, he turned back to the vicar. “I promise I will take the greatest care of her, my dear Reverend. We might go for a drive perhaps? I came in my curricle, you must know. So much faster and more pleasant than a coach in this weather.”
Her uncle became flustered, removing his spectacles and beginning to polish them. Edith guessed he was torn between propriety and furthering her interests.
“Yes, I dare say. I mean, perhaps a drive? Your groom would be in attendance, of course.”
“My dear sir, I would not for the world subject Miss Westacott to the censure of her neighbours. Naturally my groom will be in attendance. And if you prefer it, Miss Westacott, perhaps a short walk at first, and we may keep within sight of your uncle’s house.”
Her uncle approved this suggestion, and her Nemesis took his leave, neither of the men taking in that Edith had not agreed to either proposal. Indeed, she’d said nothing, unable to think how to counteract this first move in the face of her uncle’s clear delight in his evident supposition that she had a worthy suitor in Lord Kilshaw.
She waited, in an agony of indecision, for her uncle to return from seeing the creature to the door.
He came into the parlour with a brow furrowed in perplexity, his eyeglasses once more in place. “You were not at all welcoming, Ede. What is the matter? Do you dislike his lordship?”
She looked away, shame rising to her bosom. What could she say? If she began upon it, she must follow through with all of it. She shrank from revealing the full story, culpable as she had been in the early part of it. A compromise perhaps?
“There was a time when I liked him very well. At least, I thought so. But no longer, sir.”
Her uncle came to sit beside her, possessing himself of one of her hands.
“My dearest Ede, what of that? Can you not like him again? He seems to be smitten with you.”
But not for the purpose her uncle supposed. She tried again. “If you must have it, I find him overwhelming, Uncle.”
“Overwhelming? Explain, my dear, for I do not understand.”
“His attentions … they became too effusive, too — how can I put it? — too close for comfort.”
Her uncle seemed amused as he released her hand. “My dear, is that all? I had not thought to find you missish, Ede. I suspect the fellow is in love wit
h you. You find his ardour a little frightening perhaps, and that is understandable.”
Terrifying! He had a strength she had no hope of resisting, should he succeed in getting her alone where he might pursue his advantage to her detriment. He had proved as much on that dreadful day. If Mrs Vinson had not come in… Would her uncle even believe that he could attempt to force his desires upon a woman debilitated and weak from illness? That any man of ordinary compassion and sense would do such a thing? She shuddered involuntarily.
“I cannot like him, sir.”
Her uncle’s frown deepened. “Ede, this is foolishness. If I read him aright, Lord Kilshaw might offer you a glittering future. Would you willingly whistle it down the wind?”
“I doubt he has any such intention, Uncle Lionel.”
That much she might say, but it had no effect.
“Then at least allow him the opportunity to prove himself to you. For my part, his coming out of his way to see you argues a strong predilection.”
“I did not say he is not attracted to me. To my person at least.”
“Which is exactly where these things must start, my dear Ede. Goodness me, if all young females were to reject a fellow because he does not at once declare his affection, where should we be?”
Bursting with too much indignation to be able to speak with any moderation, Edith said nothing.
Her uncle rose, patting her shoulder in much the way she had earlier done to Delia Burloyne, and Edith knew at once that he considered her objections trivial.
“I must be off about my duties. Don’t allow prejudice to stand in the way of your good fortune, my dear Ede.”
She watched him leave the parlour and winced as she heard him begin whistling a jaunty tune, just as if he had something to celebrate. Edith remained where she was, the vexation draining as the full force of her endangerment returned.
Without warning, the image of Lord Hetherington leapt into her head. If she could not confide in her uncle in this extremity, dared she instead call upon her knight errant?
Chapter Nine
Edith had slept badly, and the cogitations of the night brought no relief. Her first instinct had been to pack her bags and flee. But where? And how? If anything, she was safer here than on the road where he might catch her faster than she could run.
Knight For A Lady (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 3) Page 7
