Love at the House Party

by Stockton, Kasey

  My next bite paused en route to my mouth and I glanced up at Lord Stallsbury. “I am sorry, my lord. I didn’t know.”

  He smiled perfunctorily. “You are not at fault. It is not a great secret. He was meant to inherit the dukedom, you know. But now it will fall to me when my father dies.”

  Clearly, I did not, for I didn’t even know of his existence. Though now it was beginning to make sense why the Lord Stallsbury before me did not match the reputation I’d heard so much about. Could Geoff be the brother that had lived in such a profligate way?

  “How long ago did he die?” I asked. My Season in London was five years ago. That is when I would have heard the worst of the rumors, to be sure.

  “It has been just four years. It was a duel. Quite reckless, actually. He did not even care overly much for the woman whose honor he had called into question. He was merely too prideful to turn down the challenge.”

  I itched to reach forward and clasp his hand but I knew it was not done. He feigned indifference, and perhaps time had allowed him to distance himself from the pain, but losing a brother and gaining a title at once could not have been an easy thing to bear.

  Mr. Bancroft entered the room then, on the arm of his mother, and I was exceedingly grateful I had kept my hands near myself.

  “A lovely morning,” Mr. Bancroft said, filling a plate at the sidebar and seating himself beside me. “Perhaps we might go for a walk today?”

  “As long as Mrs. Wheeler does not bring the rain,” Mr. Peterson said, entering that moment with Miss Pollard directly behind him.

  “You cannot believe that, man,” Mr. Bancroft said. He was growing irritated, that was evident. Though why it bothered him so greatly was beyond me. I knew Mr. Peterson was exceedingly facetious. Not a fault, entirely. It was nothing more than personal taste in humor, but clearly it was one that Mr. Bancroft did not share.

  “You might borrow an umbrella,” I said to Mr. Peterson, ignoring Mr. Bancroft’s incredulous face. “Then you shall be armed for the possibility.”

  He paused, regarding me. “So you admit that you could potentially bring the rain.”

  I could not help but laugh. “No, sir. I admit that rain in and of itself is a possibility. We do live in England, after all.”

  Mr. Pollard entered the room and the topic moved to more neutral ground, but I could not shake the unease that Mr. Bancroft’s gaze created within me. He was displeased with me, though I knew not why. Yet I had a feeling that I would find out soon enough. He had an uneasy way of watching me whenever I was not quite acting with precise care.

  “I trust you slept well?” I said, veering him onto a more neutral path.

  “Yes, thank you,” he answered. “And yourself, Mrs. Wheeler?”

  “Beautifully, thank you.” After I returned to my room, of course. I had been so tired that I collapsed upon my bedclothes and fell asleep at once, despite the discomfort of my corset.

  “I was hoping to take a trip into Gersham today to search out new ribbons,” Miss Pollard cut in from across the table. She’d claimed a seat beside Lord Stallsbury.

  He shot me a little grin before turning to her. “I should love to escort you into Gersham today, Miss Pollard. The sun looks quite inviting, do you not think?”

  “Very inviting, indeed,” she said, obviously pleased by his attentiveness.

  Mrs. Haley wiped her mouth, setting her napkin in her lap. “I saw the loveliest little cap in the window just last week. Perhaps we should check and see if it is still available.”

  “Certainly,” Mr. Bancroft answered. If the way he cared for his sister was any indication of how he meant to care for any woman in his life, then I had made the correct choice. Even the way he had thoughtfully protected Miss Pollard from the rain, whom he clearly considered to be someone like a sister, and how he weighed his mother’s opinions when choosing a wife, indicated his superior sensitivity to women.

  Charlotte and I would be protected. We would be safe. That was infinitely more important than a decent sense of humor. Mr. Bancroft did not have the rugged nature or dashing scar along his cheek like my novel heroes, but he was real. And that mattered significantly more.

  “Are we willing to risk the rain if Mrs. Wheeler attends?” Mr. Peterson asked.

  Mr. Bancroft harrumphed. “Poppycock, and you know it. Curses are not real.”

  “So you say.” Mr. Peterson turned playful eyes on me. “But mark my words, the outing shall end in rain if Mrs. Wheeler is to come.”

  * * *

  “Do not fret yourself, dear,” Mr. Bancroft said, coming to stand beside me. “No one truly blames you for the rain. You said so this morning, we do live in England, after all.”

  He patted my hand where it sat on the windowsill of the haberdashery. Mrs. Bancroft, Mrs. Haley and Miss Pollard were admiring various lengths of ribbon hanging in the opposite window, but I could not tear my gaze from the panes streaming with rain. It had been a gloriously bright morning when we set out for Gersham. We had hardly made it into town when the clouds rolled in, bringing cold rain with them.

  “Now what shall you choose today?” he asked. “My treat.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t.” I glanced down at the half boots adorning my feet. I had yet to discover the identity of my mysterious benefactor, but Mr. Bancroft was the likeliest and most obvious suspect; until we were engaged, more gifts were far from appropriate.

  “But I insist.”

  “It is kind of you, but I must refuse. I shall help your sister choose a color that suits her,” I said, as though I had any authority on the matter.

  Approaching the women, I regretted my choice immediately.

  “I do not know why she thinks herself worthy,” Mrs. Bancroft was saying, her back securely toward me. I installed myself behind a cabinet stocked with fabric.

  “Mother, please,” Mrs. Haley begged, “now is not the time. If William chooses her then what right have you to say anything on the matter? It is his choice.”

  “As the woman remaining in the house with William and his wife, I should think I have some little say on the matter,” she answered acerbically, turning away from them to look at the ribbons hanging in the other window.

  I stepped back quickly, concerning myself with an array of velvet and doing my utmost not to disturb them. Mrs. Bancroft was not unreasonable in her concerns. I had little to bring to a marriage, in dowry or status.

  “Do not let her bother you,” a deep voice said just behind me. I stilled, his breath so close I felt it on my ear. Lord Stallsbury.

  “Her complaints are valid,” I whispered.

  “Her selfishness is not.”

  I turned my head slightly, trying to mask my surprise when I caught deep brown eyes and a lock of dark hair so close behind me.

  “You possess more qualities than a hundred brainless debutantes. Do not let the musings of that insufferable woman deter you from your goal. Mr. Bancroft would be lucky to have you for his wife.”

  A chill swept over me. I felt Lord Stallsbury’s lack the moment he stepped away. Fingering a lilac colored velvet, I tried to appear as though my emotions had not just been put through a butter churn.

  “That is a lovely color,” Mrs. Haley said, coming up beside me.

  I flinched, dropping the ribbon and wiping my perspiring fingers along the skirt of my gown. “Yes, quite lovely. Though I fear I would have no use for it.”

  I turned away, crossing toward the door where the majority of our party stood in wait. Mrs. Bancroft waited beside Miss Pollard, their arms snugly entwined.

  Mr. Peterson stepped into the haberdashery, forcing the women to back into the room. He lifted two black objects, searching the shop. Grinning when his eyes found my own, he said, “I’ve obtained umbrellas!”

  Chapter 9

  The party was nestled in the drawing room with multiple card tables set up for play, a large fire roaring in the hearth and a table set with hot tea. I ensconced myself at a writing table near the window and began dr
afting a letter to Charlotte I still had not managed to write. I dared not mention the competition or presence of Lord Stallsbury, for fear she would mention it to Miss Hurst. It was not a secret, I was sure, but I had the inclination that he needed his privacy at this time.

  He approached my table. “Can I tempt you in a round of whist?”

  “Perhaps when I complete my letter,” I said, glancing behind him to the rain-strewn window. “I am not quite finished yet.”

  He nodded, though he did not move away. “I could send a servant for some toasted cheese, if you’d like.”

  The thoughtful gesture surprised me. I glanced up, quite expecting to find him grinning, but his guileless face was modest and dull, as though he was affecting that he cared little for my answer. If I had more consequence, I would imagine that Lord Stallsbury was feeling vulnerable.

  “I am quite content at the moment, but I thank you for the regard.” It was pleasant to have one’s insignificant musings remembered by another. I found my heart lightened by his thoughtfulness, small as it might be.

  A loud snore interrupted us and I jumped, blotting ink on the letter. Drat Mr. Pollard and his constant roaring. However did one man sleep so much?

  “I will leave you to it,” Lord Stallsbury said, eyeing my blotted paper before walking away.

  The butler came to the door to announce a guest. I hurried to complete my letter, informing Charlotte of the dashing horses the gentleman rode and the fantastic little duck pond—I could not refrain from adding the anecdote of Miss Pollard’s fear of the ducks themselves. Smiling to myself, I folded and sealed the letter, spinning on my chair in time to see Mr. Bancroft’s guests enter the room.

  “Miss Thornton, Mr. Thornton, welcome! I believed you weren’t going to make it.”

  The note dropped from my fingers, hitting the floor.

  “Thornton?” My voice hardly rose above a whisper. He was busy greeting Mr. Bancroft and the other guests, his face crinkling in pleasant satisfaction. I cleared my throat and tried again, louder this time. “Thornton?”

  He turned at once, eyes widened, his mouth drooping in shock. “Mrs. Wheeler, whatever are you doing here?”

  He approached me and I held my hand out, tears springing to my eyes of their own accord. I dashed them away with the back of my wrist, smiling at the familiar face that brought to surface feelings equal in delight and difficulty.

  Kissing the back of my hand, he held it in both of his. “How have you been?” he asked softly. “You are still Mrs. Wheeler, I presume?”

  “I am.” I nodded. “Have you brought your sister with you? I am delighted. You know I have heard so much about her.”

  He grinned. “Yes, allow me to introduce you.”

  I swallowed, apprehension growing as I crossed the room on Thornton’s arm. This woman was bound to hate me. She was predisposed to despise me. I took a breath to calm my racing heart, clenching my hands to quit their shaking.

  “Sarah, this is Mrs. Wheeler.”

  I curtsied, coming up to look her in her deep green eyes. Light brown hair curled into tiny ringlets and gathered upon her head framed a perfectly heart-shaped face. She smiled beatifically, stepping forward and dipping her head.

  “I am so honored to make your acquaintance,” she said. “I have long wondered what you looked like. My brother’s descriptions are not always reliable. Though he was correct in his assessment of your beauty, to be sure.”

  Warmth flooded my cheeks and I very pointedly ignored Thornton standing beside me. I could not bear to look into his eyes now and see a reflection of the man I had met the day I married Frank.

  “Are you planning to stay?” I asked Miss Thornton, forcing myself to not think of that day, or how Frank had once considered marrying her, but chose me instead. They’d never reached a formal agreement, but I could imagine the disappointment she had felt at the announcement of our engagement, nonetheless.

  “Yes, we’ve come for the house party. We are late, of course, but we were unsure if we would be able to get away from our aunt’s house until the moment we left.”

  I nodded. Suddenly the remaining occupants in the room came into focus. Mr. Bancroft and Lord Stallsbury stood just behind Miss Thornton. Mrs. Bancroft, Mrs. Haley and Miss Pollard remained on the sofa to my left. Nerves raced up and down my spine. It was too much, my worlds colliding in such a manner. I took a breath and found that my lungs would not fill satisfactorily. “If you’ll excuse me,” I said to Mr. Bancroft, willing my voice to sound natural, “I am going to rest for the afternoon. I shall return in time for dinner.”

  I dipped a curtsy and forced myself to walk calmly from the room. The moment I reached the stairs I climbed them with all of the speed I possessed.

  “Mrs. Wheeler!”

  I turned at once, missing the step and falling hard on the stairs. Thundered footsteps raced toward me and I pushed myself up.

  “Are you hurt?” Lord Stallsbury asked, picking up my fingers and pulling me to a stand. I had hit my shin on the wooden stair and it hurt something fierce, but I was not about to say so aloud. I needed to absent myself at once.

  Blinking away tears, I tried to smile, pulling my hand free of his warm grip. “I am fine, sir.”

  I turned to go when he stopped me.

  “Yes?” I asked, glancing down at his hand gripping my own.

  He released me immediately, his brow furrowing. “You are shaking.”

  “I need to rest.”

  “Very well. You forgot this.” He extended the letter I had written to Charlotte. “Shall I frank it for you?”

  I knew what the marquess meant; he was offering to post my letter. But hearing my husband’s name was my final undoing. I nodded, words failing me, and turned away, running up the stairs heedless of decorum or proper manners. I did not stop or curtsy to the Peer, I merely fled. I simply needed to process the recent events and the feelings they brought up.

  One small nap and I would be right as rain once again.

  * * *

  If gathering in the drawing room for dinner was difficult with Miss Pollard in attendance, Miss Thornton made it positively horrifying. I donned the cream gown with embroidered leaves and my pearl earrings. I had felt regal and elegant in my bedchamber, yet dull and shabby when faced with such esteemed beauty. Miss Thornton absolutely shone. Her gown draped over her in waves of luscious silk, and her hair was a precise confection of tight curls and delicate jeweled pins.

  What was more, she sat near the fireplace drawing attention from every ear in the room. When faced with such beauty and charisma, I could not see why Frank chose me over her.

  “Mrs. Wheeler,” she called, her smile revealing a decent set of teeth. She patted the sofa cushion beside her. “Come, sit.”

  I obeyed, settling myself beside her.

  “Are you feeling refreshed?”

  “Yes,” I said, trying to match her smile with one of equal brilliance. I feared I was only baring my teeth at her. “I am feeling much more the thing.”

  “Splendid. I cannot wait to learn more from you. I feel I should have known you before now.”

  “Quite so. Are you familiar with the rest of the party?” I asked, attempting to deflect the attention from myself.

  She nodded. “I’ve known Lord Stallsbury an age, of course.”

  I looked over sharply to where he stood near the fire with Thornton. It was true that he looked comfortable, as if he was speaking to an old friend and not a new acquaintance. “How do you know Lord Stallsbury?”

  “We live near his family home. My brother has been a friend of his for years.”

  I nodded. Of course they lived near one another. I had met my husband in Northumberland. He and Thornton were childhood friends and maintained a relationship close enough to warrant Thornton’s visits whenever Frank came home on leave. The two had spent many evenings playing cards. But that was all in the past. Thornton was a gamester, but he was loyal and caring. He had been a stalwart and surprising support when I
had faced Frank’s death.

  I did not know what I would have done if Thornton had not arrived to handle the business elements of it all. The funeral, burial, and sale of the estate were all far above my reach. He had taken over the duty of obtaining everything he could, and then subsequently using it to pay off Frank’s debts, of which there had been many. I’d hardly had the stamina to dress in my widows weeds and pack my belongings to return to Noah’s house and my dear Charlotte.

  The butler announced dinner then and I moved through the motions as though I watched myself interact with the others from some perch above the room. What would this do to the party, to have Thornton and his sister present? Would Mr. Bancroft begin asking questions that brought up my unsavory marriage?

  I swallowed, feeling the blood drain from my face. I feared I was about to lose everything, and all for the sake of a dratted house party. Mrs. Bancroft would never give her blessing if she knew of my poverty and unsuitable husband, surely. There was little more I could do to secure my place as Mr. Bancroft’s wife, but I needed to do it now. I had no choice if I was to save Charlotte and myself from our deteriorating home and absent brother.

  I simply had to receive a proposal from Mr. Bancroft, and the sooner the better.

  Chapter 10

  “But surely you’ve got plans to invite some of the gentry here. How else will our Mrs. Wheeler acquaint herself with local society?” Miss Thornton positively pouted, her delicate eyebrows drawn together in confusion. She was intelligent, and her knowing eyes left me uneasy. I could not quite make out whether she was mocking me or speaking in earnest. In the end I chose to assume the best, but guard myself against her worst.

  Mrs. Bancroft chortled. “Whatever would the local gentry have to say on the matter? My son has been highly sought after for years. He is a prize regardless of the quality of—”

  “Mother,” Mr. Bancroft cut in, his face flushed beet red. He stood from the plush chair he occupied near his mother and crossed to the fire. The drawing room was nearly stifling and the hour late. The men had lingered quite a while over their port. Due, I am sure, to our newest additions to the party. Thornton likely hadn’t seen his friends in some time.