“Hmm. No doubt you are right.”
His words, no doubt designed to soothe, filled her eyes instead. She knelt at the piano stool, fingering through the music sheets until the moisture was sufficiently blinked away. The earl’s attentions had tickled her vanity: that was all. That was all!
She glanced up to find she remained the subject of her father’s scrutiny. She forced a smile. “I am nothing special.”
“Ah, my precious girl. That is where you are wrong.”
Her heart warmed at his look of tender regard. “You are biased, Papa.”
“Perhaps.”
But his enigmatic look lent wings to fancies already stirred, and words and looks she could not forget, try as she would.
The clatter of hooves brought her to the window. Pleasure mingled with disappointment upon recognition of Sophia’s arrival. She pushed the negative emotion to one side.
“Sophia! How kind of you to come.”
She did her best to focus on her friend who had come rather than the one who had not.
But when he did not appear that afternoon, she began to question her memory. Had he said he would visit, or had he only meant he’d find out how she fared? Had she misread his interest after all? He was difficult to read, and her experience with understanding men of his ilk nonexistent. But surely the light that filled his eyes when he saw her during those last few days must be more than mere relief that she was feeling better.
The questions continued the following day, when morning squalls prevented her attendance in church. As she played the piano and worshipped God with a sadly scratchy voice, she tried to ignore the anticipation underlying her song. Surely he would visit today.
But throughout the long afternoon, she began to feel a disappointing certainty that the earl, after a promising beginning, had once again lost the ability to keep his word. She felt further chagrined at the levels of self-delusion that made her think he cared, evidence of yet more of her over-weening pride! And when dusk fell, the disappointment redoubled upon recognition of just how much she had counted on seeing him, and that, far from possessing a level head, she was just as foolishly susceptible to ridiculous sensibility as girls like Sophia, after all.
“I declare, Lord Hawkesbury, the Hall is everything it should be.”
Nicholas looked with disfavor at the young lady ambling beside him. The Honorable Clara DeLancey, she of overbearing parents, a sizeable fortune, proper manners, that his overbearing parent had invited to stay, along with Clara’s parents, the Viscount and Viscountess Winpoole, at his house. Politeness had prevented him packing them off immediately, but after two days of nonstop chatter from the Winpooles and Winchesters—another family with rank and money his mother evidently deemed suitable for a house party—those good manners were now worn to a thread.
He motioned to the windows. “Tell me, what do you think of my drapes?”
She smiled prettily up at him. “They are wonderfully fine, sir!”
He soon regretted his mean-spirited test as she spent the next ten minutes expounding upon draperies. He stifled a yawn, stifled impatient replies, stifled the impulse to saddle Midnight and head to the parsonage to see the young lady whose conversation held as much interest for him as her eyes.
He missed Lavinia. Missed her smile, her laughter, and how her presence warmed his house in a way a dozen extra bodies could not. The visit he had promised last Friday had been postponed with his unexpected guests’ arrival. Certain she would be present at church, he had routed the entire house party to attend services this morning, only to discover she had stayed at home. Disgruntled guests had demanded his attentions ever since, which was why he stood in the picture gallery with Miss DeLancey, who now fluttered attention at the paintings.
“That is a wonderfully fine building!”
Nicholas dragged his gaze from the twilight shadows lengthening across the park to see Miss DeLancey staring at the picture of his great-grandfather. “That is Hawkesbury House.”
“It looks very grand. Lady Hawkesbury mentioned it is your principal seat, and that we should come for a visit soon.”
“Did she now?”
“Oh, yes. She said you have spent a great deal of time in Gloucestershire recently, though.”
“I find the Hall wonderfully fine,” he replied gravely.
But she merely dimpled up at him. He restrained a sigh.
“Nicholas?”
He turned to see his mother smiling from the door. “I hate to disturb you and your charming guest, but when you have a moment?”
“Of course, ma’am.” He escorted the young brunette back to the yellow drawing room, took his leave, and followed his mother to the study.
As soon as the door shut she said, “I’ve had a marvelous idea!”
“Have you invited someone else to one of my estates? Perhaps got up a Scottish hunting party?”
She sniffed. “There’s no need for sarcasm, Nicholas. I’ve said you’re welcome to invite your own guests.”
“Most magnanimous of you.”
“We shall have a ball.” At his raised eyebrow, she hurried on. “Well, more of an evening party, with some dancing. A proper ball will prove a trifle difficult to arrange quickly here, what with finding suitable flowers, and musicians, and refreshments.”
“You seem to have proceedings well in hand. I’m surprised you require my input.”
“Well, it is your house. I thought our guests would enjoy an elegant evening, and it provides the perfect reason to open the ballroom.”
“For the non-ball?”
She carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Clara is quite a pretty dancer, and I’m sure Harriet Winchester likes to dance. We could invite some of the more select families from the district.”
For the first time since hearing his mother’s suggestion, he felt a flicker of enthusiasm. Perhaps this might provide opportunity to see Lavinia at last.
“Now Nicholas, if you agree, I will take care of all the arrangements. I know you are busy.”
“Thank you, Mother. That is kind of you.”
She returned his smile and departed, no doubt to inform Giles, Mrs. Florrick, and Cook what joys awaited them.
But the excitement kindled. Yes, this evening idea of Mother’s could be just the thing.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING he was surprised by the early arrival of Captain Thornton. “Thornton! Please join me.” He waved to the breakfast table, thankfully devoid of others. “I did not expect you so soon.”
Thornton helped himself to toast and coffee. “Ah, but your missive sounded like you were in trouble. One must do one’s best to help a friend in his hour of need.” He grinned. “And the fact it involves distracting pretty young ladies is a small price to pay for the joy of knowing I am rescuing Nicholas Stamford from dire straits.”
“If you can distract their mamas I would be even more grateful.”
“You can demonstrate that gratitude by telling me how goes Miss Ellison. I trust she is feeling more the thing, poor girl. Since your letter I have kept her in my prayers.”
“She has been in mine, too.”
“Prayers, Stamford?” Thornton’s brows rose. “Does this mean that you now … ?”
“Believe? Yes.” Weight fell from his shoulders as he shared about his new faith to Thornton’s backslapped encouragement. “You’re the first soul I have told, apart from the reverend, of course.”
“So Miss Ellison does not know?”
“She may suspect, but I am trying to show her through my actions. Apparently my words carry little weight. But I must confess, it is dreadfully easy to revert to former ways.”
“Putting off the old man is a challenge, but possible with Christ’s strength,” Thornton said. “I’d like to see her, and Miss Milton, too. Can you manage time this morning?”
But it proved to be rather later in the day before they both were able to escape the clutches of the young female houseguests. He had spoken privately to his mother after luncheon, whe
n the other ladies had retired to their rooms.
“And the Ellisons received an invitation? I will be seeing them today.”
“But Nicholas, you cannot desert your guests!”
He remained patient, calling to mind the verses he’d read this morning, until she calmed. “And the invitation?”
She sniffed. “They were delivered this morning.”
“Thank you.”
Upon entering the stables, their plans were further delayed as McHendricks asked him if they wished to take the pup to Miss Livvie. Thornton’s immediate assent meant a carriage needed to be prepared rather than horses, so the sun was much lower in the sky by the time they finally arrived at the parsonage. He couldn’t help but notice the marked difference between her warm reception of both Thornton and the pup, and the cool gray eyes she turned to him.
“Good afternoon, Lord Hawkesbury.”
“Miss Ellison, I am pleased to finally see you.” He lowered his voice as Thornton spoke with the reverend. “I am sorry my visit has been delayed until now. I have had guests.”
“Miss Milton said as much when she visited earlier today. She was most illuminating about current activity at the Hall.”
Her voice held an edge, but perhaps she was just tired. He offered a smile. “I had hoped to see you yesterday at services.”
“So Papa told me.” She gently stroked the puppy, her expression guarded, as though she waited for him to say something more, but what, he did not know.
He glanced at Miss West, but she, too, held an expression akin to wariness. His heart sank. Perhaps ladies with bluestocking tendencies did not attend balls.
Thornton smiled his easy smile. “For someone so recently in the wars, you look remarkably well, Miss Ellison.”
Lavinia dimpled. “Thank you, sir. I feel better by the day.”
Nicholas frowned.
The reverend drew his attention to recent events in France, and together with Miss West, they were able to converse more easily for the remainder of the visit until it was time to leave.
Lavinia, having deposited the sleeping pup in a basket, took Thornton’s proffered hand and smiled. “I am so pleased to see you, Captain. Please come again soon.”
But when she turned to him, though her lips spoke appreciation for the pup, her eyes told something more akin to disappointment. And her averted gaze at his farewell made his heart sore, his temper short, and caused Thornton to murmur something about the old man.
FOUR EVENINGS LATER, the anticipation fizzing round the Hall the past days had escalated into excitement worthy of a youth’s first visit to Vauxhall Gardens. Mother had certainly been industrious, or rather she had provoked his staff to levels of industry, resulting in lavishly decorated rooms and a mountain of food.
The dinner preceding events was for his house party, so it wasn’t until later, after the Miltons, Winthrops, and several other guests had arrived—including his cousin, Maria Pettigrew, finally making her entrance after journeying from Bath—that he realized the Ellisons had not.
“Nicholas, why are you frowning?” His mother snapped her fan at him in a corner of the room. “This is a lovely evening, is it not? And you know the dancing cannot begin until the host stands up. You must do your duty.”
“Where are the Ellisons, Mother?”
“How would I know?” And before he could question her further she had slipped away to talk to Lady Winpoole.
He gritted his teeth. Excused himself. Scrawled a note and gave it to Martins and then entered the ballroom once more. Tried to dance as though his thigh did not ache, as though he didn’t mind the young ladies’ wearying conversations, as though he wasn’t watching the door. When Martins reappeared, it was all he could do to not gnash his teeth as Lady Milton tried to engage him in further inane chatter. He finally escaped into the hall, where Martins handed him a small cream envelope. He ripped it open and read the neat cursive:
Thank you for your kind invitation. I regret I am otherwise engaged and must decline.
Yours sincerely,
Lavinia Ellison
Dismay flooded his heart. He nodded to Martins and maintained a calm demeanor, but the evening seemed to have lost all sense of purpose. He reentered the ballroom and found his mother, carefully maneuvered her into a corner of the room where they would not be overheard. “You did not invite Miss Ellison, did you?”
She shrugged. “I tried to include the upper echelons of whatever society exists around here. Proper daughters of country ministers do not attend balls.”
His lips quirked, despite his annoyance. Lavinia’s sense of propriety would never meet his mother’s criteria.
“Besides, why would you miss a little church mouse with so many glorious young ladies here?”
He leaned closer. “I fail to understand why one little church mouse would bother you so much. Why is that, Mother?”
Her eyes flashed. “You cannot throw yourself away on one such as she. Understand?”
“Oh, I understand perfectly.”
But recent lessons in forbearance were swallowed by resentment at his mother’s many interferences in his life over the years. He smiled grimly. Tonight he would endure, but he would make amends with Miss Ellison soon, as well as somehow let his mother know her meddling was unwelcome and must cease.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
LAVINIA AROSE LATE on Saturday morning, her eyes reddened with weariness and a few tears she’d been unable to prevent escaping onto her pillow last night. She dressed, patted her face with cool water, breakfasted, and diverted herself from last night’s humiliation by writing a long letter to the Morning Chronicle espousing the benefits of free education. The sound of hooves drew her attention to the drive.
The earl was here to apologize? Well, perhaps she would forgive him for the insult of a last-minute invitation, after all. She peered past the curtains and saw a chestnut horse, not black. Disappointment was swiftly overtaken by fresh indignation, but she managed a polite smile for the captain as he entered the drawing room with her aunt. After exchanging greetings, and her aunt excusing herself to write letters, he seated himself opposite her in the morning room.
“You were missed last night.” He smiled. “By certain people, anyway.”
“Really? I gather the countess was not one of those.”
His lips twitched. “She is a very ambitious woman, with ambitious plans for Nicholas. It may comfort you to know she is not particularly enamored with me, either.”
“No?”
He studied her for a moment. “You must pardon my plain speaking, Miss Ellison …”
“Plain speaking need never be apologized away, Captain Thornton.”
His smile faded. “I fear being the second son of a viscount is not quite who she envisaged as Nicholas’s best friend.” He sighed. “I believe the loss of her husband and James has made her cling to Nicholas and try to control his destiny as she couldn’t the others.”
Her heart writhed. Of course Lady Hawkesbury would feel that way. Of course Nicholas would try to please her. The resentment dimmed a notch.
“I also believe those who have encouraged him to think differently, to have faith, she finds something of a threat.”
She blinked. “He is a believer?”
“Yes. It seems your sickness finally propelled him into faith.”
Her eyes filled with tears and she glanced away. Perhaps she had mistaken everything, and God had used all that had occurred simply so Nicholas could find salvation. Salvation, how truly wonderful! Even if it meant nothing else. She swallowed the pain, concentrated on the good. “That’s marvelous news.”
“He’s only a babe, though, so allowances must be made.”
She nodded. “None of us are perfect.”
“Very true. So we must be patient, even though he might sneer.”
“Or yell.”
“That’s curious. He was always so levelheaded on the battlefield. Nicholas’s clear thinking and courage are why so many of us made i
t out alive. Did you know he got shot in the leg for shielding a group of men whose horses fell? And not once did I hear him raise his voice, even when he was hit.” He shook his head. “He really is a good fellow. It’s a shame his mother holds such pretensions, surrounding him with silly chits she wants him to marry.”
She could say nothing. Her smile felt glued on.
“I’d never seen him so impatient as he was to get here the other day. He told me a little about how much he enjoyed your stay, how you make him laugh, which is more than any other young lady has managed to do.”
She bit her lip to stop the tremble. Mama’s watercolor on the wall grew blurry.
“Miss Ellison, a thousand apologies.”
She blinked, shook her head, and steadied her voice. “I am glad, sir, that you do not stand on ceremony in regards to truth telling. I despise deception.”
“You share that with Nicholas, too.” He grinned.
She fought to keep the smile on her face. “And how long have we the pleasure of your company, Captain Thornton?”
And as he continued to visit, she strove to appreciate his attentions, all the while aware of underlying conflicting emotions that tomorrow at church she would have to face the earl—and the countess.
The relief Nicholas felt when he saw Miss Ellison in church made listening to the sermon something of a challenge. He forced his attention to the front, hiding his anticipation from his guests, who again attended services at his request. He’d been unable to disguise his eagerness from Edwin earlier that day, however, when he’d discarded coat after coat, thus lending weight to Lavinia’s long-ago charge of dandyism.
Edwin had smiled. “I expect Miss Ellison will attend services.”
“Yes.” He frowned, fighting to tie his neckcloth more stylishly than the look his usual carelessness produced.
“You have missed the young lady, my lord.”
“Edwin, I do not pay you to offer unsolicited comments.”
“They come free, sir.”
“You seem to have adopted the incurable impertinence of—” His lips clamped together.
The Elusive Miss Ellison Page 20
