Miss Thornton had, it seemed, chosen to take me under her wing. When Mrs. Haley informed her immediately of the potential connection between Mr. Bancroft and myself, she had set right to discussing the merits of the merger and how we could group together as women to bring Mr. Bancroft to the sticking point more speedily.
Mrs. Bancroft hadn’t seemed very pleased with the idea at all.
“I believe the quality of society matters little when the marriage match is well enough,” I explained. I’d known nearly no one in the small town in which Frank and I had resided. Though, I couldn’t deny that had added to my loneliness. I chose not to admit as much, however, as it wasn’t exactly a point in my favor in this particular conversation.
“Of course,” Miss Thornton gushed, laying a palm upon her heart. “I would not suggest otherwise. I merely refer to when the marriage does not turn out exactly as one might hope. It helps to have friends.”
I went cold. How much about my marriage did she know? If Frank complained to Thornton, the man easily—and innocently—could have relayed information to his sister.
Mrs. Bancroft eyed me deliberately. “I have not missed a London Season these twenty-five years at least. And our time in Bancroft Hill is restful and rejuvenating. The people here are varied enough for my tastes, and I’m sure it’ll do for any woman that William chooses to take to wife.”
The matter settled, Mrs. Haley said, “Mrs. Wheeler, won’t you sing for us this evening?”
Miss Pollard glanced up quickly, a smile turning her lips. She had been mostly silent and sulky since the moment dinner began and I was sure Miss Thornton was pressing on her nerves. In that, at least, we could be united. “Yes, Mrs. Wheeler, please do.”
Mr. Bancroft added, “I should love to hear you sing once more.”
I stood, nodding acquiescence. “Very well.”
Lord Stallsbury, Mr. Peterson and Thornton had brought their conversation into the drawing room and were yet standing near the piano discussing something amongst themselves. “I apologize,” I said, coming to stand beside them, “but you are blocking my way.”
“Are you to sing for us?” Mr. Peterson asked.
I nodded.
He turned to Thornton. “You are in for a treat, old boy.”
Lord Stallsbury turned to Thornton. “But surely you’ve heard Mrs. Wheeler sing before. You were previously acquainted with her husband, yes?”
“Can’t say that I have.” He shrugged. Turning to me, he grinned. “You never sang for me and Frank together, at least.”
I ignored the final remark, feigning occupation with the sheet music. It was an act, and when the men dispersed, I warmed up my fingers on the keys a moment before delving into another song I knew by heart.
It was a slow ballad I learned in the moments of solitude when Aunt Mary had left me to my own devices. Which, in truth, was very seldom. She had been a stifling, controlling force of a woman who demanded my every moment of time to do her bidding. My young age and Aunt Mary’s oppressive nature combined to push me into Frank’s arms. I liked to think I would have made a different choice in husband had I not been battling grief and feeling such desperation to be rid of my aunt, but Frank had made me believe that he loved me dearly. And what young woman did not want to believe that?
After the wedding, he’d wanted nearly nothing to do with me. The change had been so sudden and direct I had believed myself to be responsible. After years of reflection though, I could not help but wonder what it was that caused the change in him. For surely it could not have been solely my fault.
I delved deeper into the music, allowing my song to carry away the frustrations brought to light by the Thorntons’ appearance.
The room was positively silent when I finished, and I rested my hands in my lap, turning toward the group. They broke into applause at once and I watched Thornton pick up his jaw and join in.
As I stood, Thornton appeared by my side. “Good gads, Mrs. Wheeler, wherever did you learn to sing like that?”
“I’ve sung all my life, sir.”
He scoffed, his eyebrows hitched up like thick caterpillars in the center of his forehead. “Did Frank know?”
“Actually, no,” I answered, avoiding Lord Stallsbury’s burning gaze not far behind Thornton’s shoulder. “I do not believe he did.”
“I have just the thing!” The room quieted, our attention turning unanimously toward Miss Thornton and her outburst. “Why do we not roll up the rugs and have a dance? Mrs. Wheeler, you played the pianoforte superbly, I am sure you could find a little tune to lead us along?”
I gazed into her calculating eyes a moment longer before nodding. “I would love to.” In present company, I much preferred the idea playing over dancing.
A grin spread slowly along her lips. “Splendid.”
A few footmen entered the room, undoubtedly called upon by the butler, and began shifting furniture and rolling up rugs.
“You don’t have to play, you know.” I jumped, turning to find Miss Pollard standing directly behind me.
“It is no matter. I truly do not mind.”
She frowned. “She cannot barge in here and begin controlling us all as though we are her playthings.”
If I didn’t know better, I would have assumed that Miss Pollard was fighting the urge to stomp her foot.
“I cannot like it,” she pouted. “And I do not see how you can either when she clearly has designs on Mr. Bancroft.”
She flounced away and I watched her go, my mouth agape. I shut it quickly and turned for the sheet music, flipping through it to find a song to play. I had not seen a single indication that Miss Thornton had any designs on Mr. Bancroft. But I was determined to watch for the signs now.
The consensus was a waltz, which was easy enough, and the group paired themselves off, forming a circle to begin the promenade as I began playing the music.
I was fairly talented at playing music without watching my fingers and spent a good deal of time observing the couples. Miss Pollard and Mr. Bancroft looked comfortable with one another, her smile positively gleeful. If she felt it necessary to warn me against Miss Thornton’s designs against my potential husband, what did she expect me to make of her? I could only find comfort, I supposed, in the clear evidence that if Mr. Bancroft desired a union with Miss Pollard, it likely would have already occurred. It was my belief that he did not even consider her an option.
Miss Thornton partnered with Lord Stallsbury and they were a positively regal couple, swaying to the music in sync with the rest of the dancers but achieving a mastery that came down to inherent talent. Thornton partnered Mrs. Haley, and Mr. Pollard was kind enough to wake up from his post-dinner nap long enough to partner Mrs. Bancroft.
As the song came to a close, each of the couples bowed to one another and then turned to clap toward the pianoforte.
“Shall we have another?” Miss Pollard asked. She had quickly turned from a concerned friend to an accomplice of Miss Thornton, though that did not surprise me one bit.
“I have done my duty, but I should love to see you young people continue to dance,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “It does this old heart some good to see the younger set enjoying themselves in such wholesome activity. Mrs. Wheeler,” she said, directing her false smile at me, “you are positively unrivaled at the pianoforte, I cannot imagine how we came so blessed to count you in our party.”
I took her hint as clearly as she laid it out for me. She would like me to continue playing so I might not have the opportunity to dance. I did not mind. I usually chose to sit behind the instrument when given the option. But being stationed there by the mother of the man I was intending to marry did rankle some.
“A country dance?” I inquired. The group agreed and formed a set. Mr. Bancroft with his sister, Mr. Peterson with Miss Thornton, and Lord Stallsbury with Miss Pollard.
I played a lively tune, quite livelier than it was intended, and it appeared to tire the company.
“Shall we have a quadrille ne
xt?” Mr. Bancroft asked, his breath coming in heaves.
“Or perhaps another waltz?” Mrs. Haley asked. “Come, Mrs. Wheeler, allow me to trade places with you.”
“I am quite content here,” I said, deferring her concern.
She crossed toward me, her eyes a steel I had yet to see from her. “I insist,” she said through her teeth.
No sooner had I acquiesced than Mr. Bancroft requested to partner me and led me into the small circle that created our dance. Lord Stallsbury was once again with Miss Thornton and Mr. Peterson partnered Miss Pollard.
“You have such musical talent,” Mr. Bancroft said, leading me into the promenade. “I could imagine that one might grow used to hearing your lovely voice every evening.”
“I used to perform for my parents nightly,” I confessed. “Though I have never been fond of public performances and did my best to avoid them in Town.”
“It is such a shame to hide such a lovely talent. It is quite the sort of thing which should be displayed for all to hear.”
I blushed. Perhaps if I had sung more in London then Mr. Bancroft would have proposed before my parents untimely death. We could have been engaged, thus allowing me to stay behind in London and avoid my dreadful time at Aunt Mary’s. I might have had a husband by choice, rather than desperation.
Though if he had come to the sticking point, I likely would have refused him. One tends to see the past through a perfect lens, but without the wisdom I’d gained since, it was impossible to know what I might have done.
“I wouldn’t mind if that became a regular occurrence,” he said quietly.
My singing? Nerves fluttered around my stomach as we danced. I was one step closer to obtaining the husband I sought, and I was a little closer to winning a horse for Charlotte as well.
I glanced at Lord Stallsbury, his rigid posture bending slightly to converse with his partner. She was particularly artful in the dip of her chin and flutter of her eyelashes and I swallowed a scoff before Mr. Bancroft could inquire what it was about.
Turning my attention back to the dance, I performed the familiar steps with a sense of release. Things were going well enough. I had dispatched a letter to Charlotte and thus should be hearing back from her by next week, and Mr. Bancroft had indicated he would appreciate my singing if it were a regular addition to his evenings, which was rather a blessing because I did not think I would be able to refrain from singing for long. Singing was a part of me—something I had missed for quite some time. Though there were periods of my life void of song, I did not think I could refrain forever.
Chapter 11
I stood outside my bedroom door, considering the merits of going down to the study. I was intelligent enough to admit that if I chose to go down, I was choosing to see Lord Stallsbury. While I enjoyed his conversation, I had no other motive, so would it still be considered a secret assignation? I paced the hallway, stopping before the stairs and turning back for my door.
No. No, it would not. My first justification was that neither of us had mentioned meeting together. In order to have a secret meeting, all parties surely had to predetermine a time and location and reveal their intention to meet. Another reason, most obviously, was that Lord Stallsbury and I were not in love. If we met to discuss our trials regarding separate lovers then there could be no real harm, could there?
Unless, of course, we were caught.
I halted. That was the root of my dilemma. If we were caught alone in the middle of the night then we would either be forced to wed, or our reputations would be in tatters. Or, realistically, both. I might be allowed more freedom as a widow, but gossip was gossip, and if we were discovered my name—and Charlotte’s chances at finding a suitable husband—could be ruined.
So why were my feet moving down the stairs, my hand lightly trailing along the banister? I had foregone the candle this evening, choosing not to tempt fate by spilling light under any of the other guests’ doors.
I did not know when my heart sped up, but the sight of light spilling from under the door of the study did something to the nerves within me and caused them to dance. I opened the door before I thought better of it, and at once panicked over my lack of caution.
The light could have been due to any number of men coming together in the evening for a nightcap before bed. I breathed utter relief when I saw Lord Stallsbury sitting alone, his legs stretched forward from his wingback chair. His cravat had been banished to the side table but his attire otherwise remained intact.
“You are late,” he said, a playful edge to his tone, as I closed the door behind me and took my own seat, pulling my feet under me and tucking my skirt around my ankles.
“I did not know I was expected, sir.”
“So says the woman who has been pacing the hallway for the last quarter-hour.”
My cheeks went hot.
He smiled. “I believe the hallway is directly above this room. I have been apprised of your anxiety for the duration and am sorry to report that you’ve caused me a measure of my own.”
“I apologize, my lord. It was not my intent.”
He regarded me closely, his hands clasped over his stomach, his thumbs circling one another in rapid motion. “I also cannot help but wonder what made you choose to come?”
“The truth?” I lifted a shoulder. “I haven’t the faintest.”
His voice lowered. “Would you answer a question for me honestly if I were to ask it?”
My breath caught. “That would depend on the question, my lord.”
He cast his gaze up. “Will you please quit calling me my lord?”
My chin rose and I tried to swallow my surprise, but I had not been effective if the grin on his face was any indication. “You cannot mean that. What am I meant to call you, Stallsbury?”
“Gads, no. Only my friends call me that.”
That stung. I lifted one pale eyebrow. “And I am not your friend?”
“No,” he answered simply. “You are something else.”
Both of my eyebrows lifted. If he strayed in an inappropriate direction, I was ready to shoot out of there faster than a misdirected arrow. I did have the inclination, however, that Lord Stallsbury had more respect for me than that.
“Calm yourself,” he said lazily. “I have no nefarious intentions. I only meant that you are not a friend, exactly. I would consider you a confidant.”
I nodded. “I see. And have you brought me another dilemma to discuss this evening?”
“I suppose I have. I could not help but determine when we were in Gersham earlier that our competition was unfair. You were predisposed to come here and become engaged to Mr. Bancroft, and I had only come with the intention of considering Miss Pollard on the high recommendation from a friend. We did not begin on even ground, and we certainly do not have even ground now.”
“Whatever will put us on even ground, sir? We cannot very well import more women for your choosing.”
He watched me a moment before continuing, rubbing his hand under his chin. “I suppose I cannot complain too heavily. It just became even with the newest arrivals to the party.”
My stomach clenched. He could not be serious. “You are considering Miss Thornton?”
“I suppose I am,” he said, settling further into his chair. “She is beautiful, accomplished, and comes with wonderful connections. I’ve heard she has little dowry, of course, but I do not need wealth. I need a wife who understands her duties and shall leave me to take care of mine.”
His points were valid; Miss Thornton would excel in the position he described. “And now you believe we are equally matched in our competition? Then whatever is the dilemma?”
“I suppose we are. I determined in the haberdashery that I was fooling myself to say I was considering Miss Pollard when I never would have intentionally courted her had I met her in London. The only reason I gave her any thought was the high praise I heard from the man who recommended her. But even then, I knew from the first day she lacks too many of the fine quali
ties I desire in a wife.”
“I am glad to help you come to a decision about your future, sir, and I should think that you will have very happy parents by the end of this house party. Though they will be quite saddened to learn that they must eat the expense of purchasing you a new horse.”
“We shall see,” he said with a grin. “I find my taste for your song only increased this evening. Tell me, how could you marry a man and not allow him to discover your superior talent for music?”
I glanced down. This was a question I would have preferred unasked—something which could have been avoided had not Thornton arrived. “Music was not a part of my life then.”
“I find that hard to believe. You radiate joy when you sing. How could you court and marry a man without any music?”
“Perhaps because I had no joy,” I snapped.
We watched each other as the clock ticked on the other side of the room. I had not intended to explain myself but now I felt I was left with little choice. Neither had I meant to show my anger. I had done a well enough job since the death of my parents to cool my emotions and refrain from outbursts; my marriage to Frank had only solidified that resolve.
“My lord, I—”
“Did I not ask you to drop the my lord? I am sick of the bowing and scraping. I am not even meant to be the marquess. I do not need the constant reminders. Especially from you.”
Shock reverberated through me. “What do you mean, you were not meant to be the marquess? If I cannot refer to you as my lord, then what may I say?”
“As for the first,” he said, looking toward the black window, “I was born a second son, which I believe I have told you. As for the second,” he said, observing me closely, “you may call me Tarquin.”
My spine straightened on its own. “I most certainly will not call you that.”
“Whyever not? It is the name I was born with, the only one I have been able to claim throughout my entire life. It is the only thing connecting my past with the present.”
Love at the House Party: A Regency Romance (Women of Worth Book 3) Page 7
