“He is simply teasing, Mr. Bancroft.”
“I can’t like it,” he growled. His demeanor surly, he led us about the house with clipped descriptions and a lot of silence until the irritation seemed to wear off. By the time we walked through the portrait gallery and upper bedrooms, we were hearing the history of the building and the Bancroft family line.
“You have had quite a few murders in your family, Bancroft,” Mr. Peterson said, impressed or disturbed, I couldn’t quite tell. “I hadn’t any idea.”
“Yes,” he answered, staring bleakly at a frilly portrait of his great grandfather. “It is not a topic Mother tolerates. We do our best not to discuss it.”
“You realize it is through no fault of your own,” I said, prior to considering my comment. Of course his family would wish to hide the dark spot upon their history, but I did not want Mr. Bancroft to view it a detriment to his character. He could not have helped what happened to his ancestors.
“Of course,” he answered, smiling brightly. “Shall I show you the back gardens now? I believe we’ve completed our tour of the house.”
“That would be lovely.” We had seen the back gardens already a few times, but he was clearly uncomfortable and needed an excuse to lead us away from the portrait gallery of sandy, curly-haired Bancrofts with square jaws. The likeness to himself was perhaps jarring.
Mr. Bancroft managed to fully reinstate his pleasant mood and we walked among the perfectly trimmed hedges discussing our favorite pastimes.
“The library is to your satisfaction?” he asked. “You spend a good deal of time reading, I assume?”
Nodding, I halted near a hedge, skimming my hand over the top of the stiff leaves. How were they able to trim them so immaculately? I was quite impressed by the precision. “I once did,” I explained. “In recent years I haven’t had quite the same amount of time to donate to the amusement of reading, but I hope to change that in the future. Life simply isn’t as agreeable without books in it.”
“I shall leave that to you, my dear. I find I cannot quite settle my thoughts long enough to focus on an entire text.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to comment on which preference I hoped our children would inherit when I clamped my lips together. Thank heavens. That was a near miss.
“Mrs. Wheeler,” Miss Pollard called from the other side of the garden. “I just had a marvelous idea! We shall have another archery tournament. What do you think? We never finished the last one due to the rain, and now it shall be even more enjoyable with added company.”
“That would be pleasant.” And give me the opportunity to redeem myself after my last display.
Mr. Bancroft said, “Monday, perhaps? I shall organize it right away.”
Which, he did. Left on my own, I circled the garden once more, giving Mr. Peterson and Miss Pollard privacy to carry on their conversation. The man did not seem inclined to need it, but the woman did. I had already stolen one suitor from her, I was not about to do anything to jeopardize another.
Slipping back inside the house, I snuck up to my bedroom and closed the door, locking it tightly behind me. After checking to ensure that I was very much alone, I slumped onto the edge of my bed, dropped my face into my hands, and sighed.
While things were progressing at an exceptional rate with Mr. Bancroft, the conversation with his mother refused to leave the forefront of my thoughts. What had seemed so ludicrous initially, now held merit.
Noah was a drunk; there was no denying it. Yet, the chance that he could have been responsible in some form for my parents’ deaths was as improbable as it was possible. And that terrified me immensely.
Chapter 16
The sun streamed through the open bed curtains, waking me early. I sucked in a shallow breath and sat up directly, my ribs uncomfortable from the corset. Oh dear, I’d fallen asleep above my coverlet waiting for an appropriately late hour to take myself down to the study.
“Emma,” I gasped when she came in with a prepared gown for church. “Please loosen my stays, I cannot breathe.”
“You’ve slept in them, ma’am?” She dropped the gown on the edge of my bed and rushed to my side. “’Tis sorry, I am. I thought you were going to ring for me when you were ready for bed.”
That had been my excuse, hadn’t it?
She came behind me, unlacing yesterday’s gown and helping me into a new one. She left the back open while she put up my hair, and I breathed deeply while I was able. I could not continue to sleep in my stays. The discomfort was acute and I felt it with every stretch of my lungs.
I first saw Lord Stallsbury just before I entered the carriage for church, his dark gaze piercing me with blame as he sat high atop his glorious horse. I lifted my eyebrows in response. Could he honestly hold me to the midnight meetings so pointedly? Chagrined, I claimed a seat beside Mrs. Haley, watching the men through the window.
Lord Stallsbury did not seem overly bothered, smiling cheerfully with Mr. Peterson. Surely he would understand; I only needed a chance to explain. He would understand and would likely encourage me to try again. I felt fairly certain Lord Stallsbury took pleasure in the secret we had between us.
“Your little parish is quite lovely, ma’am,” Miss Pollard said, as we pulled out of the drive. “It has been so long since we’ve come that I quite forgot how beautiful these country lanes are.”
“They remind me of home,” Miss Thornton said. “Though I’ve spent so long in London I am not quite sure I am able to call Kent home any longer.”
“You may,” Mrs. Haley said with authority. “Your heart will always yearn for the place where you spent your tender years. ’Twas then you did not feel the responsibilities of adulthood.”
Miss Pollard laughed with discomfort, glancing between her father and Mrs. Bancroft. “You make adulthood sound so bleak.”
Mrs. Haley’s bright smile belied her words. “Of course not. I am only reflecting on the differences. I had not realized as a child how very blessed and naive I was at the time.”
Miss Thornton grinned. “Every child dreams of adulthood, and every adult laments for simpler times. Is it not so?”
“Indeed, it is,” Mrs. Haley agreed.
The carriage quieted. I would not answer aloud, but it was a true statement in my experience. I would give almost anything I owned to return to the simpler life before Noah had discovered his affinity for drink and my parents had died in the wretched carriage accident.
But if I did, would I have acted differently as I grew through those experiences? Likely not. Without the experience from which to glean wisdom, nothing could be altered.
I glanced up to find Mrs. Bancroft’s pinched face watching me, and immediately shifted my gaze to the window. She was sour and unfriendly, masking her displeasure less and less with each passing day.
I watched through the window as trees and hills passed by. Lord Stallsbury rode into view and I watched him unabashedly for a stretch. He sat tall and refined, very much like a man who knew his place in the world and was quite unashamed of it. Though his title came to him later, it was evident that he wore it well, in a gracious way, not as highhanded as many men of half his rank.
We rolled to a stop before the church yard and Mr. Bancroft stood by as the step was let down and each of the women—and Mr. Pollard—were handed out of the carriage. Mr. Bancroft escorted me into the church building. When we passed the marquess, his gaze prickled the back of my neck.
It was difficult to focus in church. The time passed horridly slowly and I was not afforded the opportunity to speak to Lord Stallsbury until long after we arrived home again.
Following dinner, the women gathered to letter invitations to the dinner party Mrs. Bancroft had decided quite belatedly to hold. The men joined us some time later and I did my utmost to ignore Lord Stallsbury’s pointed looks and masked inquiries.
He sat idly by, discussing the superior merits of the Bancroft’s fine feather mattresses with anyone pleased to listen. “Who could possibly
avoid falling promptly asleep when faced with such superior comfort?” he said, shooting me a knowing look.
That brought Mr. Bancroft’s gaze my direction, and he studied me, a confused look on his face. He was likely considering my claim to sleeplessness; I promptly dipped my pen and wrote another invitation.
Lord Stallsbury then orchestrated a conversation on the advantages of reading by candlelight as opposed to daylight, consequently sparking a debate about the health of one’s eyes when excessive reading occurs—regardless of the source of light. I received many looks then, as well. It appeared I had garnered something of a reputation as a bluestocking.
Finally, he touched on the consideration due one’s closest friends, questioning the group at large on how he should manage someone who made promises they did not keep. “I simply cannot find it within my heart to let them go,” he said. “Particularly when they contribute something of value which I have grown accustomed to.”
I could not help grinning down at my invitations by the end of his monologue.
Miss Thornton commanded the room, taking it upon herself to explain the proper method for disposing of relationships which did not uphold their end of an arrangement.
Her voice grew authoritative. “If they are your inferior then you must cut them right away. You need not even bother with polite conversation if they are to utterly disregard you so disrespectfully.” Spearing Lord Stallsbury with a look, she said, “I cannot understand why anyone would break a promise to you, my lord. If the person you speak of is a woman, her actions are even more appalling.”
That was certainly brazen of her.
A slow smile formed on his lips, stretching wide before he dipped his head in acknowledgement and then swung his smug gaze toward me. I wanted to scoff at the theatrical nature of his display but I could only applaud—though not literally, of course—for it was quite a performance. One would almost believe he had deeply missed our time together.
“Mrs. Wheeler,” he said, surprising me. He hadn’t spoken directly to me nearly all day, and I was quite taken aback when he did. Our relationship did not seem real, but rather a fantastical dream that only occurred when no one else was around to confirm its existence.
“Yes?”
“You are quite prepared to show us your superior skill at archery tomorrow, I presume? Our last tournament was abysmally cut short.”
There was challenge in his gaze and a set to his jaw that I mirrored. “Of course. If I do not let go of the arrow prematurely, of course.”
My comment earned a round of light laughter from about the room before Miss Thornton took the opportunity to explain how she had only recently learned the proper technique to shoot an arrow and she absolutely could not wait to try once again. Given her excessive explanations on her lack of experience, I fully expected her to do very well.
The hour grew late and I was exceedingly tired. I stood to excuse myself from the group and Mrs. Haley followed suit. My attention was drawn to Lord Stallsbury and I found his direct gaze powerful. He did not need to speak to communicate to me that he expected me in the study that evening, and he would not let it slide a second night in a row.
I did nothing to indicate that I understood the message, but turned and walked from the room, warm from his marked attention. I would do my utmost to be there, of course. As long as I could remain awake.
I had waited longer than necessary, but I needed to be sure that I would not be discovered once again. No light shone underneath the library door, and the light spilling under the study was so faint that I very well could have imagined it. I inched the door open, peering within to check the occupants before I announced my presence, but the dim room made it difficult to define what was furniture and who was Lord Stallsbury. Taking a leap of faith, I let myself in and closed the door quietly behind me.
“Lord Stallsbury?” I whispered, stepping forward quietly. Bringing my candle forth, I made out the slumbering form of the marquess beside his own low burning candle. Slumped to the side in his wingback chair, his arms folded softly over his chest and his cravat discarded on the floor, his face was relaxed, the very picture of calm tranquility. His chin had rolled forward, and I watched him a moment longer before whispering, “Wake up, my lord.”
Nothing. I reached out to nudge his arm but found I could not bring myself to make contact. Regardless of my fully clothed state—though with loosened stays, for I would not make the same mistake twice—and the innocent nature of our arrangement, the one thing I could safely swear to was that I had never once touched Lord Stallsbury while we were alone in the study. I stepped back, softly calling his name a few more times until he began to stir.
He blinked his eyes awake and my heart swooped down to my stomach when he recognized me and a slow smile spread across his face.
“You came,” he said.
I set my candle on a small table before seating myself opposite him, clenching shaky hands in my lap to calm my racing heart. “I did. Though I apologize for keeping you waiting. It appeared to be a hardship, indeed.”
He ignored me, rubbing a hand over his face and then through his hair. He sat up taller, stretching his legs and then his arms.
“Shall we do this another time?” I asked, prepared to take myself up to bed. I was wary of having asked Emma to loosen my stays to allow me to breathe, but not remove them. The behavior was strange, to say the least, and I could not imagine what sort of explanation she’d concocted. I could only hope she was not the sort to gossip with the other servants.
“You appear to be growing closer to your goal,” he said.
“Mr. Bancroft is nearly there,” I agreed. “I have been prepared this whole week.”
His eyebrow hitched up. “You would have accepted a proposal the day you arrived?”
“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. I needed only to imagine Charlotte to remember my reason for being here. Mrs. Bancroft aside, I would do anything for my sister.
Sitting back in his chair, he appraised me. “I did not realize your affection was previously solidified.”
“It was not,” I said without thinking. Regret forced me to add, “I have a purpose in pursuing a husband, my lord. I have done my best to make a good choice for us, but when it comes down to it, I don’t think I would be picky.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Bancroft.”
“No,” he shook his head, regarding me intently. “You said you made a choice for us. Who is the other person?”
“Charlotte, my sister.”
He nodded his head slowly, the confusion marring his brow not quite cleared. “You have responsibility for her?”
“Not in a legal way, no. But I hope it can be arranged. I don’t foresee any difficulty in bringing her with me to Bancroft Hill.”
“Who is her legal guardian?”
He was full of questions. I owed him nothing, yet I was not uncomfortable with answering him. In fact, I did so readily. For whatever reason, I trusted him. “Our brother. She is seventeen, though, and in need of a Season.”
He nodded, though he clearly did not fully understand.
I tried to steer the conversation another direction. “Miss Thornton seems to be captivating you.”
He sat quietly, regarding me through narrowed eyes. I sat in anticipation. Would he allow the topic to change? He did not seem inclined.
I was surprised when he said, “I am not quite sure that captivating would be the correct word, but she does ride rather well, yes.”
“And would hold her own in a group of titled society.”
“Particularly if she was one of the titled society,” he added wryly.
“So you shall be losing your horse, then?” I asked playfully.
He speared me with a look. “I am not sure that Miss Thornton is worth more than my horse.”
My shoulders released their tension and I could not help but smile. I could never dream of obtaining a horse on my own accord for my sister, but to be able to gift her a steed was more
valuable than anything I owned. Even, if it came down to it, my pearl earrings. “So you are implying that I just might have a chance?”
“Mrs. Wheeler, you absolutely have a chance.” He watched me a moment longer through narrowed eyes before adding, “I shall have to call the horse a wedding gift, for I do not know how else I am to explain you riding away on my steed while I leave Bancroft Hill in a carriage.”
“Oh, I shan’t bother riding him,” I said. “The horse is not for me anyhow.”
“I will not let Bancroft have him,” he said with quiet force, shocking me. It was not anger that radiated from him, but pure will.
“Neither will I, my lord. I intend to give the horse to Charlotte.”
“Your sister?” he asked with no little confusion.
“She is positively horse mad.”
Crossing an ankle over the other knee, he leaned back with all of the carelessness of a well-fed hound.
A thought filtered through my mind and I found myself speaking before I could think better of it. “If you do not intend to propose to Miss Thornton, then what excuse do you have for setting up her expectations?”
Evidently, I had shocked the man into silence.
It was on the tip of my tongue to apologize for my forwardness. But this was the nature of our meetings in the study, and I would not beg excuse for that which Lord Stallsbury had, effectually, put into existence.
“Is it not my prerogative to determine whether the lady and I would suit?” he asked.
“Of course it is, but—”
“And have I not, only this evening, declared that I do not value her highly enough to wed?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “Then perhaps allow me the opportunity to act the cad before you so readily place blame at my feet.”
Properly admonished, I dipped my head. My neck burned something fierce. He was correct, and if I was being honest with myself, I had to admit I appreciated his explanation. “Of course, my lord. I hadn’t thought.”
“Tarquin.”
Love at the House Party: A Regency Romance (Women of Worth Book 3) Page 11
