HeirAndEnchantress_PGolden-eBooks

by Golden, Paullett

  Not yet the master of his humor, he said between chuckles, “No matchmaking, please, not even with Sir Chauncey’s cousin or whatever gentleman you had in mind.”

  Hazel harrumphed. “I think they would make a stunning couple, to steal his mother’s words. You underestimate my matchmaking skills.”

  “I promise that is one thing I will never do—underestimate you. But let’s leave Patrick to sort out his own love life.”

  On Sunday, their sixth day of marriage and their fourteenth day of acquaintance, Harold searched the house for his wife, eager to devote the afternoon to winning her affection. The morning had been spent at church, but the afternoon would not be wasted with idleness. He had a woman to woo.

  After visiting their shared sitting room, the parlor, the drawing room, the dining room, and every other room he could think she might be, he finally found her in the morning room, hunched over the table with quill and paper. Since his presence had not been detected, he took a moment to admire her heart-shaped face, the pout of her cherubic lips, the pertness of the low and corseted décolletage. Every day since their wedding night, she wore her hair powdered and curled. The contrast struck him each time he saw her. Etched in his memory was the vision of her nestled in the bedding, naked auburn hair fanning against the pillow as a halo. So help him, he would see that sight again. The next time, he hoped to see far more of her than undressed hair.

  Shaking his head of the enticing and distracting vision, he stepped into the room to catch her attention. His heart thundered when she smiled at the sight of him.

  “I wondered,” he said as she returned her quill to its stand, “if you might like to take a boat on the lake with me?”

  Her smile broadened, her emerald eyes brightening. “Row on the lake? With you?”

  Was it his imagination, or did she sound breathless with anticipation? Perhaps that was himself as he waited with bated breath for her answer.

  Task forgotten, she pushed back her chair to stand. “That would be the loveliest of lovelies.”

  He took that as a yes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. We could go after you finish writing your letter. Say in an hour?”

  Hazel waved her hand at the letter. “I’m ready now. The letter can wait.”

  A ray of sunshine, she approached, all smiles, and tucked her hand under his arm. With plots of how he might strike up conversation once in the boat and a hopeless desire to win a kiss, he saw her to the entrance hall.

  They were intercepted by Mr. Quainoo.

  The butler offered an apologetic bow and said, “Your father wishes to see you in the study, sir.”

  “Not now, surely. We’re for the lake.”

  “I’m afraid now, sir.”

  Hazel’s disappointment was palpable. She squeezed his arm.

  “Wait here?” Harold implored. “I won’t be but a moment.”

  The magic of the excursion dimmed.

  When Harold stepped into the study, his father signaled to close the door and waved him over to the desk. Lord Collingwood poured two glasses of brandy, the one in his hand twice as full.

  “Sit, my boy. We’ve plans to make.”

  Harold remained standing. “If we could postpone for an hour, I would be grateful.”

  “Nonsense. Sit.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back. “Mrs. Hobbs is waiting for me in the entrance hall. We’re for the lake. I’ll return in an hour for whatever it is you have in mind to discuss.”

  “Sit. You have all the time in the world for distractions. This, however, cannot wait.”

  Clenching his fingers into fists, Harold pursed his lips. He needed to choose his battles. She would wait, and once his father had his say, they could continue with their plans, only a few minutes delayed. What he wanted to do was command his own time by telling his father he would not be bullied into sacrificing even a second with his wife. But it was senseless to defy his father. Choose his battles. She would wait for him.

  He accepted the seat but ignored the brandy.

  “I’ve prepared everything for you.” Eugene pushed a stack of papers across the desk. “You need only follow the instructions I’ve provided. My solicitor is expecting you.”

  Harold frowned at the stack. “What’s this?”

  “An itemization of the investment amounts. I’ve adjusted the numbers from the capital provided by our guests and figured our own contribution. The solicitor should have received the marriage settlement by now, but I’ll need you to explain to him the adjustments I’ve detailed in these papers, namely the percentage of Trethow’s annual income to be allocated to the investment and the portioning of the dowry.”

  Squeezing his fingers until his knuckles cracked, Harold glowered, burning a hole into the stack with his glare, or so he hoped would happen if he stared at it long enough. “How much of any of these figures has been allocated to the debts? How much to the estate for new supplies? How much to rehire the steward?”

  Eugene leaned back in his chair, resting his glass on his chest and propping his feet on the edge of the desk. “I’ll not waste a ha’penny. All is to be used for this investment. If we go in short, we could lose the deal. The more we’re in, the wealthier we’ll be. This is the making of us, son! Don’t be short-sighted. You’ll leave before dawn tomorrow. The solicitor is expecting you.”

  “You won’t listen to reason, will you?”

  His father snarled. “It’s you who’s unreasonable. Just a pup. You don’t know your head from your arse. When you’re in my position, you’ll understand.”

  Harold pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve not been married a full week, not been home from the last trip to London more than two weeks. This could be delayed.”

  A slap to the desk answered the request. “We need this sorted in advance of the ship setting sail. What if we miss our window of opportunity? What if the deal goes through before our backing arrives? I can’t take that chance. You leave on the morrow.”

  Head bowed, Harold tried not to weep. His father would ruin them before the year ended. His only hope was that he would be proven mistaken and the investment would turn the profit his father anticipated. But then what? The profit, no matter how large, would be reinvested in another scheme, another opium deal, another chartered ship, perhaps a fleet next time. None of it would be used to pay the debts, none applied to the estate. He wanted to believe in his father. He did. Experience taught him otherwise.

  Shoulders rounded, Harold wordlessly swept up the papers before leaving the study in defeat, the day spoiled.

  Hazel greeted him in the entrance hall, her lips frowning but her eyes expectant.

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid we must postpone.”

  She nodded, feigning a half-smile. “I understand. We can go tomorrow.”

  “Two weeks at least. I’m leaving tomorrow for London.”

  “London?” she echoed. “Tomorrow?”

  “It can’t be helped. My apologies.” He regretted the briskness of his tone, but there was little he could offer to assuage the rejection she must feel.

  They stared at each other, each silent, each calculating their next words.

  The idea was farfetched, but what if she traveled with him? At least then they would have more opportunity to become acquainted. He would not feel the trip wasted. She would not be left in an unfamiliar house with his parents. It did complicate matters, as he would need to travel by carriage if she accompanied him, which would slow the pace and delay his arrival by at least a day, perhaps two, if not more, depending on how well she traveled—assuming his parents did not require the use of the carriage, of course. There were other complications. Morals. Conscience. It was her dowry and her family’s income he was required to sort, applying them to an opium shipment, no less. There was naught he could do about it, but it plagued his conscience nonetheless.

  Al
l considered, he wanted her to come. Would she?

  “The trip is business, not pleasure,” he explained, hoping she would understand the situation fully so as not to be disappointed. “No parties, shopping, socializing. Only solicitor meetings and the like.”

  That was not how to invite a bride to accompany him. Would she prefer a lie? Or something more akin to the truth but far more lascivious? He could not very well say, this is an opportunity for me to seduce you.

  Hazel made to speak several times but stopped herself. She tugged at her bottom lip instead. At length, she said, “I’ve always wanted to go to London, but…” She breathed a laugh. “Solicitor meetings sound dreadfully dull. I have much to sort here. My luggage has yet to arrive. Being here to receive it is best. I couldn’t possibly go without my possessions or more clothes. It’s a business trip, not pleasure.”

  Harold frowned. Was she making excuses because she did not want to go with him or because she truly wanted her luggage? Did she not want to be alone with him? The past few days of progress waned. If he were Driffield, she would not have hesitated to express her interest in going.

  He ground his teeth.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “I need to notify my valet and ready for departure. I—I apologize.” Harold bowed then turned to take the stairs two at a time.

  Chapter 13

  Lady Collingwood flicked her wrist. “Greenery. We need more greenery. We can secure more from Lady Winthorp’s hothouse. I must have greenery for the party.”

  Hazel took notes at the escritoire in the parlor. Her mother-in-law had been planning a supper party for the past hour, all of which sounded tedious and expensive, not that Hazel knew anything about finances, and not that the family needed to worry about such matters, but she could not recall her father going to such lengths for a simple supper party. From what Hazel was coming to realize, Lady Collingwood planned supper parties nigh weekly, each ranging from elegant to extravagant regardless of the number of guests.

  “Do you think a soiree would be more appealing?” Her ladyship looked to the window. “The weather can be so dreary this time of year. Music ought to cheer spirits.” Rather than wait for Hazel to answer, Lady Collingwood continued, “Strike out the greenery. For a soiree, I want more lighting instead. Candles. Candelabras filled with candles. Chandeliers filled with candles. Mirrors angled to reflect the light. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

  By the time the list was completed to satisfaction, the longcase clock read half past eleven. Nana would be expecting her at noon.

  Hazel changed into a warm walking dress as quickly as her lady’s maid’s fingers could work then headed for the dower house. Only one day since Harold had left for London, but already Hazel’s schedule was filled. Not for a second would she mourn not being asked to go to London. Rather than invite her, he had insisted it was a business trip. She could see it as a sign that he did not want her there with him, or she could assume he meant what he said—it was a business trip wherein he would spend all day, every day, sequestered in offices with periwigged men. The latter made her feel more confident about staying at Trelowen. Had she gone to London, she would have been bored silly.

  Nana welcomed her with an embrace when Hazel entered the parlor. The dowager baroness had dressed with exquisite perfection for a casual call, her coiffure as immaculate as the dress. The contrast between this version and the version of Nana that had stumbled into the drawing room barefoot and in her nightdress was astonishing. Hardly the same woman.

  “Sit.” Nana’s voice crinkled like tissue paper, the hint of a sensual soprano beneath the cracks. “Tea is on the way. I’ve sent Mildred on an errand; we won’t have her dreary face spying on us.”

  Hazel suspected Miss Mildred Pine would extend her errand overlong. The companion had failed to impress thus far.

  “You’re dressed for royalty, Nana.” Hazel admired the dress’s embroidery. “Are we expecting company?”

  The baroness preened. “I have something special in mind, but it’s not company. Something to show you. If you promise to call on me every day at noon.”

  Not that Hazel had pressing engagements to compete with the offer, but she would not have declined even if she did. She very much liked Nana. “I’m honored to be invited.”

  “Good. But I shan’t show you my secret yet. I shall tease you for half an hour at least. Ah, here’s tea.”

  A footman carried in the tray, bowed to them both, then closed the door behind him. As the leaves steeped, Nana placed two biscuits each onto the saucers.

  “Lady Collingwood and I have been planning a supper party,” Hazel said. “Or maybe it’s a soirée. I’m not certain she settled on one over the other.”

  Nana snorted a laugh. “My daughter-in-law is the least sensible person of my acquaintance. Pretty as a parasol and just as useless.”

  “Nana!”

  “I can say these things because I’m the one who arranged their marriage. I couldn’t resist her for Eugene. Those big blue eyes and simpering sighs. The belle of the county in her day. Still is. But I hate to think of her guiding you. You need a mentor. Allow me.”

  Hazel accepted the teacup with biscuit-adorned saucer, looking wide eyed to Nana who was as lucid as Hazel had ever seen her. “For whatever purpose?”

  Nana tasted her tea, made a face, then added two lumps of sugar. “There’s a great deal to learn about running a household, more so for an estate. Tell me, what has your mother taught you?”

  “Nothing, I’m afraid. She died in childbed with my brother.”

  The baroness polished off both biscuits before adding two more to her saucer. “Then you have a hand in running the household in her stead?”

  Hazel shook her head. “My father runs the household. I’ve never had a part in it.”

  Nana harrumphed. “It’s these modern sensibilities. No one knows how to raise children anymore. Too lackadaisy. Lazy and ignorant children. From the cradle, they must be taught how to manage the household; men learn ledgers and accounts, tenants and farming, and politics, while the women learn leadership of the staff, hosting and entertaining, socializing with other families, and house upkeep.” She took a bite of her third biscuit then waved it in the air. “There’s a great deal more than that, but you understand my meaning. One cannot simply walk into a household and not know what to do. These are important matters! One cannot learn early enough one’s roles and duties.”

  Hazel gulped as her grandmother-in-law finished another biscuit.

  “God willing,” the baroness continued, “it will be a long time in coming before you become baroness, but I’ll not have you unprepared. Helena can’t be trusted to guide you. Head of fluff.” Two more biscuits down. Two more added to the saucer. “Have you met the staff?”

  Nodding, Hazel gave her first biscuit a little nibble—mmm, divine. Nana added two more to Hazel’s saucer.

  “Good. Let’s begin tomorrow. But first, we must establish the most important point. Eugene has an air of self-importance, always has, even as a child, but don’t let that depress you. He can be managed. As his wife, you are in the perfect position to do so.”

  Mid nibble, Hazel stilled.

  Nana continued, “The best way to handle him is just that—to handle him. Don’t let him bully you with arrogance. Stand your ground.”

  “Do you mean Harold? Harold is arrogant and bullying?”

  The baroness’s teacup rattled in its saucer. She looked back at Hazel, startled. “Harold isn’t arrogant or bullying. He’s an angel. Why would you ask such a thing?”

  Setting her tea aside, Hazel shook her head and smiled. It was a subtle lapse, nothing terrible. Nana had slipped into a memory of having this same conversation with Helena. A brief lapse, nothing of concern.

  “Oh!” Nana leapt from her chair, nearly spilling her tea in the process. “The surprise!” Shoving yet another bisc
uit between her lips, she scuttled to an embroidery basket near the hearth, her dress swishing in accompaniment.

  Rather than bring the basket, as Hazel expected, the baroness tossed out the thread and fabric, dug deep into the basket, then carried back with her a stack of paper. However helpful this mentoring sounded, reading lists of instructions was as unappealing as taking notes for her mother-in-law. She glanced around the room for a clock. Nothing. Excuses formed one after the other as to why she would need to return to the main house. Would the baroness require her to memorize the staff hierarchy, study the duties to accomplish between fixed hours of the day, analyze scenarios of what could and could not be said to guests? She grimaced at the stack when Nana returned to her seat.

  With a gleeful sort of smugness, the baroness rifled through the pages then pulled one out to thrust into Hazel’s lap.

  Mouth agape at the paper before her, Hazel’s expression betrayed her shock.

  Nana giggled.

  Oh my!

  Hazel turned the paper one way then another. The image remained the same from every angle. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

  Oh my!

  Sketched in red chalk, a woman reclined on a settee. Nude. The woman, not the settee. Nude. Nothing left to the imagination.

  One leg stretched before her, one bent at the knee. One arm draped over the edge of the settee, one curved over her head.

  Through Hazel’s shock, Nana continued to giggle. “Do you like it?”

  That was not a question Hazel was prepared to answer. Was it too late to wish for the hierarchy of staff? The sketch was painstakingly detailed.

  “Do you see the resemblance?” Nana asked.

  With much effort, Hazel lifted her gaze.

  “It’s me. You see now?”

  Her eyes trailed, unwilling, back to the paper, the fire rekindling in her cheeks. Yes, she saw the resemblance now. Only just. The pucker of the lips. The shape of the eyes. The baroness could not be more than twenty in the sketch.