“That is a grave dilemma, indeed.”
He glanced away, his eyes searching the darkness. “His father is robust. It will likely be years before he inherits, and in the interim he would, essentially, be penniless. Though, that is not the dilemma,” he continued. “The issue he faces is that he would quite prefer to be cut off.”
I had not expected that. “And your friend truly means this? Clearly he’s never struggled to put food upon his table. There are many who would wish for wealth, even if marriage were the qualifying factor. A large part of England would wish it, I should think.”
His face looked at me sharply. “Why, though? What is the appeal?”
Was he mad? Surely he must be mad. Only a man who grew up with immense fortune would not understand the appeal, for he had never had to live with the loss.
He stood, walking into the dark side of the room and then back toward me.
“Lord Stallsbury,” I said softly. “Shall we drop the pretenses?”
He dropped into his chair once again as though in agreeance, so I sallied forth.
“I am sure you realize I am not a young miss and subsequently, that I am quite clever. I am assuming the friend of which you speak is, in fact, yourself. If I am being presumptuous, then do please stop me at any moment.”
I paused, locked on his uncertain gaze. When he said nothing, I continued. “It seems to me that you haven’t a riddle to be solved as much as you have a decision to make. Whichever path you choose, you must do so with utmost certainty, for that is how you will confidently face your trials. And regardless of the path you take, there will undoubtedly be many trials.”
“A pretty speech. And better advice in one breath than I received this afternoon over the course of an hour.”
I chuckled, for he must have been referring to his interview with Mr. Peterson. He had requested the man’s company, had he not? “I have learned through my own mistakes that a lack of certainty will lead to far too much self-pity and unnecessary pain.”
“Though how can you be certain you have made the correct choice?”
I lifted one shoulder in a tired shrug. “You cannot. That is where you must have faith in the logic you follow.” As I did not, when I hastily married the first man who showed me any sort of affection. I had not realized at the time that his was fleeting.
Lord Stallsbury’s gaze took on a contemplative element and I rose, wincing at the pain in my foot as I stepped away.
“Allow me to escort you upstairs,” he offered.
I smiled at him, tilting my head. “Come now, my lord. It is wrong enough that we are alone in this room. If we were to be discovered near our bedrooms it would be detrimental.”
“True. I should not like to make an enemy of Bancroft,” he replied, amusement glittering in his eyes.
I delivered a wry smile. “He is likely the kindest man I know. I would not fear him if I were you.”
“I was referring to his mother.”
I laughed, louder than I meant to. The prim woman was a force to behold, that was certain. I curtsied. “Goodnight, my lord.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Wheeler.”
Floating back up to my room with the single candle guiding my way, I left him in the same darkness in which I had found him earlier. I only hoped that the shadows did not extend to the man’s heart, as well.
Chapter 5
The unfortunate thing about house parties was that regardless of whom was in attendance, one had no other choice but to remain in their presence for the duration. Miss Pollard had so far proved that she was just the sort of female who would delight in being rescued by a scarred highwayman who turned out to be a wealthy earl, or some such fictional fantasy like the heroine in my book. She was exactly the sort of silly female who forced me to use great restraint.
I should have known the moment she fled the archery tournament due to a sprinkling of rain that she was given to hysterics. What I was unprepared for was her deep, abiding fear of ducks.
“It is coming toward me!” she whined, leaping behind me.
It was comforting to know that she valued her safety above my own. “I believe they are waddling that direction,” I said, pointing toward the pond.
Her hands gripped my shoulders, peeking around me. “You are certain?”
“Of course she is not certain,” Mrs. Haley said, watching us with some bafflement. “Who can predict the intentions of a duck?”
“Exactly,” Miss Pollard said with conviction.
The ducks did indeed waddle to the pond, let themselves into the water and swam in the shallows. I stepped away from Miss Pollard’s grip. “Shall we resume our walk?”
“I would prefer to move away from the pond if we can help it.”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Haley said, drawing Miss Pollard’s arm around her own and setting off across the lawn. She shot me a look before saying kindly, “Shall we return home? I am utterly spent.”
I fell into step alongside them. “The wood is lovely,” I hinted. “Have you any wild animals lurking within?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
I listened to the women discuss the ball that was to complete the house party. Miss Pollard had brought with her three gowns for the occasion and could not choose which she would wear. It was a blessing indeed that we had more than a fortnight to help her make her choice.
Three horses appeared in the distance, their course altering in our direction. Lord Stallsbury’s eyes were bright, but the shadows from last night were still evident in the creases beside his eyes and the firm set to his lips.
He sat upon a fine horse which would have caused Charlotte to swoon. I could not help but watch the gentle gait of the superior creature, imagining my sister on such a beast. Oh, how she would grin. When I married, she would be able to have all that she deserved.
“Good day, ladies. It is a fine day for a walk,” Mr. Bancroft said, swinging from his horse and landing on the ground in a graceful thud.
“Any day is made finer on these beautiful grounds,” Miss Pollard simpered, her voice turning high and airy in the presence of the men.
I glanced above me; surely they were joking. The thick, gray clouds hadn’t ceased to cover the sun in ages. While we had enough light to consider a walk outdoors and the clouds were far from ominous, they could turn into the pouring rain we’d been experiencing in a matter of moments. Surely Mr. Bancroft and Miss Pollard were aware that it was not, in fact, a fine day. It might be called a decent one, comparatively speaking, but fine was definitely an exaggeration.
“Mrs. Wheeler, I would very much like to know what you think of it?” Lord Stallsbury inquired, pulling his horse about to face us.
I had been singled out. And judging by the amusement on his lips, he was aware of my inattention. “Of what in particular are you referring, my lord?”
“The ball.”
Had they been speaking of the ball again? I wouldn’t know.
“Your face was carrying quite an array of emotions,” he continued. “I anxiously await your opinions.”
“As do I,” Mr. Bancroft added magnanimously. “I have always valued your ideals.”
Always? We had known each other during the Season, but it was not a lengthy acquaintance. Two months, at best. I straightened my shawl, pulling the soft material higher about my shoulders to ward off the chilling wind. “Forgive me then, for I was not attending the conversation.”
Miss Pollard laughed cheerfully. “I was only saying that I should be delighted if we were to visit the modiste in town. I am sure we have all brought proper ball gowns, of course, but a nice ribbon or new set of gloves may be just the thing to celebrate our enjoyable visit here at Bancroft Hill.”
Essentially, then, Miss Pollard desired an excuse to shop. Far be it from me to stand in her way. “I should love an outing to the village. I was unable to see much on our journey in.”
Lord Stallsbury smiled the grin of a cat on the hunt. “And do you think we shall make an outing of it?”
Thunder sounded in the distance and our heads all turned in unison. Drat. Maybe Mr. Peterson was right.
“Shall we proceed to the house?” Mrs. Haley inquired, a nervous looking Miss Pollard clutching her arm.
“Indeed,” I responded.
Mr. Bancroft jumped from his horse and offered his elbow. “May I escort you?”
Nodding, I slipped my hand around his arm. He led me at a slower pace than that of his sister and Miss Pollard. The men had dipped their hats and rode toward the stables, leaving Mr. Bancroft and I to walk back to the house in relative privacy, our only companion his horse trailing dutifully behind.
“How have you kept yourself busy these last few years?” he inquired.
Did he prefer the long answer or the polite one? “You know I was married.”
“Yes, an army captain, wasn’t it? He died at Waterloo?”
I nodded. “That was it, yes.”
Bancroft watched me and I found I could not return his gaze. “You poor woman, to be widowed so young, and so soon after your marriage.”
“I am not alone in my circumstance. Many women were thus widowed. We lived in a time of war, sir.”
“Glad I am that we are out of it.”
The effects of the war still raged in homes across England, but I was glad we were not fighting any longer. With my husband, or other countries.
“But he was a good man?”
I halted, my body growing tense. I had thought he was, when we married. It was thanks to the war that I was never forced to realize the extent of Frank’s temper. I shuddered.
“You are cold. Come, let us make haste into the house.”
Gray clouds rolled in with slow satisfaction, thunder rumbling behind us as if the weather was laughing at our plight.
“Is this not meant to be summer?” Bancroft asked with irritation. “I’d chosen these weeks to feature Bancroft Hill’s exquisite countryside and beautiful valleys. You shall not even have a chance to enjoy the outdoors if this wretched weather persists.”
He could not control the weather. Rain was simply a part of life. Particularly that of British life. “The weather matters little when surrounded by such excellent company.”
“You flatter me, my dear,” he said, his grin belying the staid response.
If only his words flattered me, as well. I had yet to feel the butterflies of attraction I’d once experienced before marrying Frank. Still, there was something to be said for his consistency of character. I had learned from personal experience that the man you face at the altar on your wedding day can easily change into a different person following the vows. It was encouraging that the years had done nothing to alter Mr. Bancroft. I had a feeling that marriage would do nothing to his personality either.
Chapter 6
The blue silk gown was a particular favorite of mine. I had put extensive effort into embroidering Forget-Me-Nots into the hem and neckline. Wide white ribbon lined the seam under the bust and tied in the back, trailing down the gown. I liked to think it was elegant in its simplicity. I floated down the staircase, my head high under Emma’s superior skill with the curling tongs, confidence flowing through me.
My spirit deflated the moment I stepped through the door. The other women in the party instantly outshone me in the drawing room before dinner. I did my best not to find excessive fault with my gown after facing the superior workmanship and style that graced the other ladies; their gowns were clearly made to fit the latest trends.
Lord Stallsbury looked up from his place near the mantle, catching my eye with an appraising look of his own. I hovered near the door, unsure, before moving toward him, the other women in the room deep in conversation.
“Mr. Pollard does not know how to remain upright without assistance,” he said as I approached.
I stifled my laugh, purposefully avoiding the wide man whose snore reverberated from his chest and through the room.
“He must have been here long before anyone else,” I guessed.
“Wrong,” Lord Stallsbury said. “He entered shortly before you did.”
Mr. Pollard’s snore was particularly jarring in that moment, though it did not seem to bother his daughter whatsoever, who sat in conversation with Mrs. Bancroft and Mrs. Haley nearby. She must be quite used to the sound, it would seem.
Dinner was announced and Mr. Bancroft approached me, bowing over my hand. “You look enchanting, Mrs. Wheeler.”
“Thank you,” I said, dipping a curtsy.
He grinned, his face lighting up. He led me into the dining room, seating me on his right as the guest of honor. If any member of the party had previously doubted Mr. Bancroft’s intentions, those doubts were surely put to rest by his actions.
Mrs. Bancroft sat at the foot of the table, and I felt her beady eyes upon me through the duration of the meal. She had not liked me much in London when we had met years prior during the Season, and I clearly had not grown in her esteem in the interim.
I spent dinner listening to Mr. Bancroft explain his favorite aspects of the house and parish. There seemed to be much to see in the small town nearby and quite a few places in the house in which I had yet to explore.
His few stories from childhood often included Miss Pollard, and it was clear that she was his childhood playmate and dear friend of the family.
“The library is stunning,” he said, “with an extensive collection of books quite unlike anything you’ve previously seen, I am sure. It is unrivaled in the county, for my father was well known for his affinity for reading and collecting books of various types and sizes.”
My thoughts instantly traveled to my foot. Yes, I had experienced the large size of one of Mr. Bancroft’s books myself. Though the size of the library was lost on me as I’d only had an opportunity to see it in the dark, my single candle insufficient light for proper exploration. Thinking on that night brought Lord Stallsbury and his very personal dilemma to mind, but I pushed the thoughts aside. It would do me no good to give the man any extra consideration. He came unbidden into my thoughts often enough as it was.
“I should love to give you a tour of the library tomorrow,” Mr. Bancroft said.
I dipped my head. “That would be lovely, sir. I am, myself, quite an avid reader.”
Lord Stallsbury asked, “And what is it you enjoy reading, Mrs. Wheeler?”
I caught his amused gaze and hoped my pale face confirmed placid interest. “Novels, mostly.”
“You do not enjoy light reading about topics of interest?” he continued, picking up his glass and languidly swirling his wine. “Farming, perhaps? Or irrigation studies?”
Mr. Bancroft coughed, covering his mouth with his napkin to avoid spraying the table with food. “Gads, sir. What purpose would Mrs. Wheeler have reading about farming?”
“None, I suppose,” Lord Stallsbury replied, sipping his wine. He shot me a wink so subtle that I imagined I fabricated it. “I only wondered if her extensive reading expanded beyond novels. Interesting things, to be sure, but quite spoiling for a young woman when consumed in excess, I believe.”
My spine stiffened. I lowered my fork so as not to use it accidentally as a weapon. Novels had been my escape for quite a few years. Through the duration of my stay with my aunt, my marriage and the subsequent loneliness in each of those situations, I read to pretend I was elsewhere. After I had taken charge over Lottie and we were forced to move in with our brother, I read even more. All of these things were circumstances that I had little control over, but not situations in which I had to remain. My novels did much to allow me to travel to other times and places the likes of which I would never know firsthand. I had married a man who held less regard for me than he did his prized hound, a mistake I vowed to never make again. Yet, through all of the heartache, I had survived because I had imaginary worlds to escape to.
“I am no bluestocking, my lord,” I said eventually, defending myself. “And I have long found novels to be an unexceptional form of entertainment for a young woman.�
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“Hear, hear!” Mr. Bancroft applauded. “I should think you’d support reading novels, Stallsbury. Your own brother writes them.”
“I have yet to read Cameron’s books,” he replied, his eyes turning dark. “Though I am fond of his wife, and I am sure they write lovely books, I find my taste runs in quite another direction.”
I attempted to look as guileless as possible. “Farming and irrigation studies, my lord?”
His lips fought a grin, and my heart beat furiously as he said, “Naturally. Useful topics, to be sure.”
Returning my attention to my dish, I felt the faint bruise on my foot call to me. It was a phantom pain of a bruise undisturbed. But the pleasant, forbidden interaction of last evening in the library left a warmth in my heart that I did not comprehend.
“Might I persuade you to entertain us this evening, Mrs. Wheeler?” Mr. Bancroft asked, pulling my attention from my own musings. It was hard not to sit taller when his eager gaze rested on me. “Your voice is quite unforgettable, though I should enjoy the reminder.”
I dipped my head in acquiescence. “I would be delighted.”
He grinned, and I glanced at Lord Stallsbury before I thought better of it. He watched me unabashedly, the smile on his lips teasing me while his shadowed eyes revealed a deeper meaning to his playful banter. Though of a nature I could not understand, the dilemma he laid out for me in the library was nothing to smirk at. I did not envy the decision he had to make, nor did I understand the depth to it. Though I could suppose, given his reputation within Society, that it was a tool his parents were using to attempt to force him to settle down. If only I saw the rake within him to back up the rumors, for now I could not fathom the connection between the man I heard stories of and the one sitting across the table from me.
Miss Pollard on Lord Stallsbury’s opposite side called his attention and I watched them interact, his lighthearted pleasantry giving no hint of his deeper dilemma.
Love at the House Party: A Regency Romance (Women of Worth Book 3) Page 4
