Promised
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“It is not bad news, I hope,” Lady Williams said.
My father answered. “My son has an overdeveloped sense of humor. And I am afraid he reported less news than the letter yesterday.”
“Well, you must stay as long as needed.”
He nodded his thanks and faced Gregory. “I am ready to finish our tour, if now is agreeable to you.”
“Of course.” Gregory turned to me. “You are welcome to join us, Miss Brinton.”
I shook my head, avoiding looking at him by focusing instead on the lawn beyond the house. “No, thank you. I think I shall go explore the garden some more.”
“Ah, so you have discovered it,” Lady Williams said. “Is it not the gem of the estate? I would join you, only I am afraid I must be from home to visit some neighbors who shall be very much offended if I do not call on them this morning. But it does not do to leave you alone. Gregory, will you not postpone your outing and attend to Miss Brinton?”
Walk with Gregory? That could not happen. “Oh, please do not change your plans on my account. I will be most content in the garden, I assure you.”
“You will not be too lonely?” Lady Williams asked.
I shook my head. “Not at all.”
“I do not mind postponing the tour until tomorrow,” Gregory said.
“But it is supposed to rain,” I pointed out, still avoiding his gaze. “It seems as though we must all go our separate ways today so as to enjoy this last bit of sunshine. For who knows how much longer we will be able to enjoy our stay here before we are called home again? And Father is so much interested in the estate.”
“Are you certain?” Gregory asked in a low voice.
“Yes.” I glanced up and our eyes met.
I was really, truly in love with him.
I tore my gaze away. “I am very certain.”
Sundson emerged from the door. “Your ladyship, your carriage is ready.”
“Oh, thank you. Well, I daresay we shall at least each have stories to share at dinner this evening.”
Not me. I would never share this story.
As I strolled the garden a few minutes later, my mind returned to the conversation of that morning. Gregory did not want to be formal with me. He did not want to be distant.
And I was in love with him.
What if I did let it go? What if I could actually marry for love?
When I retired to my room that evening, I discovered a large vase of flowers from the walled garden had been placed on the desk. Next to them was my favorite book of poetry.
Perhaps Gregory had talents for gift-giving after all.
Thirty-One
I awoke the next morning to the plinking of rain against the windows. Dragging myself out of bed, I trudged to the alcove and pressed my forehead against the cold glass. Heavy drops plopped into the river, the little rippling circles sweeping downstream and out of sight.
I traced a droplet sliding down the window. A day inside. A whole day of Gregory’s company.
I turned from the windows, struggling against the delight rising within me.
Perhaps he was busy. Perhaps he was from home.
But perhaps he wasn’t.
After dressing, I made my way downstairs. A clock sounding through the halls indicated I still had three quarters of an hour before breakfast. I wasn’t ready to face Gregory and the turmoil he created within me. I turned to the music room, rifled through the paper, and chose a few songs that fit the mood of a rainy morning. Near the end of a particularly beautiful song that I was certain Alice would enjoy, someone entered. Grappling against my excitement at Gregory’s presence, I finished the last measure then glanced up and gasped, my hands slamming onto the keys of the piano as I struggled to rise.
“Mr. Northam,” I squeaked. My throat constricted and my stomach twisted into a tight knot. I had forgotten how handsome he was. The images in my mind had not done him justice. Although his clothes were dry, his dark hair was wet, long strands matted onto his chiseled face. It curled over his heavy brows. His dark eyes turned from astonishment to sultry delight.
“Miss Brinton. What a pleasant surprise. I am so much happier it is raining now that I know you are here.” He stepped farther into the room. “I thought an angel was in here playing and came to investigate. It appears I was correct.”
“I am certain it isn’t anything you have not heard before.”
He moved to my side. “Only once. And on that occasion the music was interrupted.” He stood close, close enough that I could see the drops of water running down his face. Close enough that I caught the lingering scent of expensive cologne.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, somewhat breathlessly.
“I might ask you the same thing.”
My mind scrambled for an explanation. “My father came to tour the estate. I accompanied him.”
“I was under the impression you thought Williams the worst of men.”
“He was.”
“And now he is not?”
“I had no choice in coming here.”
“Then perhaps it is fortuitous that I came to end your misery. Though you did not write.” His voice was quiet, no more than a murmur.
“It was impossible for me to write you.”
He took my hand and slowly raised it to his lips. “There is always a way.”
A week ago this was exactly what I had wanted: him, like this, as we played our little games. I should still want him. A part of me—the rational part, the part that knew what was best—still did.
But the other part was fighting, screaming that there was no love where Mr. Northam was concerned, that my days would be lonely, that my life would be unhappy. I didn’t want to be unhappy.
I just didn’t want to be hurt again.
“Perhaps, Miss Brinton,” he continued, still holding my hand, “you will play away the gloom of this rainy day.”
His eyes were perfect. His tone was perfect. He was who I should choose.
“Northam!”
Gregory’s voice resounded around the room. I wrenched my hand out of Mr. Northam’s grasp and spun to face the door. Gregory’s blue eyes seared me with their chill.
“Ah, Williams. You should have told me you were entertaining such a lovely guest. I would have come sooner.”
Gregory’s expression squashed the warmth of Mr. Northam’s words. “Why have you come now?” he demanded.
Mr. Northam shrugged. “I came to see what you were about. And now I am ever so glad I did. Do tell me, am I in time for breakfast? I’m dreadfully hungry.”
His tone was flippantly light, as though he took no notice of Gregory’s dark expression. Perhaps Mr. Northam was used to it. But I was not. Each second under that glare rendered me more uneasy.
“Excuse me,” I muttered, curtsying to Mr. Northam. His answering look, intimate and promising, made my face flame with embarrassment knowing that Gregory watched. I dropped my gaze and moved toward the door. “Good morning,” I mumbled, offering Gregory a curtsy as well. His look was as disapproving as it had ever been at the Hickmores’. I quickly slipped out of the room.
Pausing just outside the door, my hand on the wall for orientation, I closed my eyes. Mr. Northam was here. What was I going to do?
“What are you up to, Williams? What is she doing here?” Mr. Northam’s curious tone drifted into the hall. Would Mr. Northam say something about our time together at the Hickmores’? Would he reveal how close I’d come to kissing him?
I straightened, my fingers splayed against the wall. What if Gregory mentioned our engagement to Mr. Northam? What would Mr. Northam do?
Gregory’s voice, close and cold, replied, “Northam, I do not want you here.”
Mr. Northam’s laughter, mocking instead of jovial, echoed into the hall. “You never did have a good poker face.”
Was that even possible?
I had to get away from their conversation until I could reason this out.
I went to the breakfast parlor. Lady Williams stood in the middle of the room, facing the window, watching the rain fall outside, but she turned at my entrance.
“Good morning, Miss Brinton.”
I curtsied. “Your ladyship. I did not mean to disturb you.” I glanced over my shoulder. No one seemed to be coming yet.
She smiled kindly. “I have not yet seen your father or my son, my dear. But you are welcome to wait for them here, if you would like.”
I could not face those two men again on my own. Mr. Northam had control of my mind, while Gregory had control of my heart. Which one should I trust? “Yes, thank you, I would like that very much.”
“It is a shame your short stay should be marred by such gloomy weather.” Lady Williams turned back to the window.
“The river did look lovely this morning with the rain falling on it.”
“That is quite a beautiful sight, isn’t it?” She glanced at me.
I nodded. “There is something majestic about the rain.”
Lady Williams smiled. “My dear, you are quite correct. I believe my son was very wise—”
Quick, heavy steps sounded in the hall. I froze. When there was no doubt they were headed toward us, I fled across the room, pausing only when I was safe near the window, my body mostly hidden from the doorway by a surprised Lady Williams.
Gregory stormed into the room, his boots smacking against the floor in an angry mutter. Lady Williams turned her astonished face from me to her son. “Why, Gregory, whatever is—” She cut herself off when Mr. Northam entered. “Ahh,” she murmured quietly.
“My dear aunt, how are you on this rainy morning?” Mr. Northam walked to her and bent slightly to kiss her hand. His eyes flitted to me and he smirked.
“Very well, thank you, my dear Fredrick,” Lady Williams responded. “And what an unexpected surprise this visit is. We were just about to sit to breakfast. Won’t you join us?”
How could she be so calm? Of course, she could not realize the predicament caused by inviting her nephew to eat with us. Although with how she’d reacted to Mr. Lundall’s arrival, it may not have made a difference.
My attention darted to Gregory. His expression was hard, his jaw muscle jumping. He stood at the head of the table, his hands gripping the back of his chair, his knuckles white. His gaze turned to me as though he felt me watching him.
I glanced away and focused back on Lady Williams, refusing to look at anyone else, hoping her steady character would still the agitation within me. My father appeared. Lady Williams glanced at her son, but his refusal to make introductions was obvious in his blackened expression.
She sighed. “Mr. Brinton, allow me to introduce my nephew, Mr. Fredrick Northam.” My father’s brows rose. “Fredrick, this is Mr. Brinton. And perhaps you have not yet met his daughter, Miss Brinton?”
Mr. Northam eyed me with a meaningful grin. “Oh, yes, I am already acquainted with Miss Brinton, thank you, Aunt.” Embarrassed at his open flirtation, my face heated despite my struggle against it. He turned to my father and bowed. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, sir.”
My father returned the bow, but his lips drew into a thin line. His gaze turned to me and I wondered if the panic I felt was visible in my expression. Clenching my jaw, I forced a smile. I would have to get through this, though at the moment I coveted the convenient ability of some women to faint at will.
Lady Williams moved to the table. Forcing my feet forward, I mimicked her actions of scooting the chair out and sitting, even claiming some toast though I had no wish to eat. I spent a great deal of attention on buttering it.
“Of course,” Mr. Northam said, his tone cutting through my concentration, “your daughter and I became acquainted at a recent house gathering.” He raised his glass in my direction.
My gaze flew to Gregory. His jaw muscle jumped, though he didn’t look up from his plate. I looked back to Mr. Northam. He continued relaying different events of our time together at the Hickmores’.
My father paid close attention to his every word. What did he think of Mr. Northam now that they had actually met?
As breakfast drew to a close and we stood, a small smile curved Mr. Northam’s lips. “Miss Brinton, perhaps now I could have that song?”
I bit my lip, waiting, but Gregory said nothing. He wasn’t going to rescue me.
Mr. Northam offered me his arm.
This was the way it was supposed to be. It was always supposed to be me and Mr. Northam.
And yet, I couldn’t quite squelch the hope that things would be different.
Thirty-Two
A few hours later, I peeked into the study. Gregory sat behind a desk covered in neat stacks of paper, a ledger open in front of him. Perhaps if I could just have a moment alone with him, I could understand what future would be best.
This plan had to work.
I knocked on the door.
Gregory glanced up, then stood. “Miss Brinton. May I assist you with something?”
Stepping inside, I said, “I was only wondering if you could help me with a passage from this book. It’s . . . difficult . . . to make out.”
The request was silly. I didn’t need help with the passage. I needed help knowing what to do. What his true feelings were. What mine were. And if they should matter.
“What book is that?”
“It’s this book of poetry.” His brows lifted. He probably thought me completely idiotic. I lowered the book. “Or perhaps you had a novel you could recommend?” His resulting frown made me wish I’d never come seeking him. “Or a sermon on conduct?” I lifted my brows in challenge.
Gregory glanced to the side of the room. Mr. Northam sat in a large chair, a different ledger open in his lap, a look of contemplation on his face as he studied me.
“Oh, Mr. Northam. I did not know you were here.”
“And now that you do?” He set aside his ledger. “May I assist you in your selection?”
I stepped back. “I hadn’t meant to interrupt. It is clear you are both about business matters.” I stole a glance at Gregory. He bore an odd, detached expression, as though my presence were indeed an interruption. “I will seek out my father’s recommendation.”
“I would like to assist, if you will allow it,” Mr. Northam said, rising. “I was simply obliging Williams in reviewing estate matters.”
“Oh. But those are important, are they not?”
Mr. Northam smiled his dazzling smile, the one he used to draw people in, the one that failed to evoke any emotion within me. It was the smile that guaranteed I was safe with him because I would never fall for him, especially not now that I had his cousin to compare him with.
“My cousin has developed shrewd methods for establishing what is his,” Mr. Northam said. “It is simply his follow-through that needs assistance—skills to retain what he gains. But those can be taught later; you are definitely of more import. Let’s leave my cousin to his work, shall we?” He gestured toward the door.
I glanced at Gregory and his disinterested expression. “Yes, thank you.” I preceded Mr. Northam out of the room.
Dressed for dinner in a violet evening dress, I fiddled with a hair pin while a maid spent extra time on my hair.
Mr. Northam had escorted me to the drawing room, where we discovered Lady Williams was already reading. We spent the afternoon together companionably with him reading to us for quite a while; he had a magnificent voice and was definitely a man of much talent. He’d been all attentiveness, but that would fade the mo
ment I was secured. I could count on that. And there was no affection, no attraction between us.
With Gregory, there was definite affection and attraction, and he was honest and direct. But he was also refusing to share something with me.
I did not want to be the cast-aside woman, the one people scorned or pitied, as was my future with Mr. Northam.
Neither did I want to be misled like before.
Which would lead to the least pain later?
The answer was no longer clear.
“I’ve finished, miss.”
I blinked at my reflection in the mirror. The maid had put my hair up exquisitely except for one, thick curl at the back, which she draped over my shoulder.
“Thank you.”
She curtsied. “Is there anything else you need?”
I needed advice, someone to tell me what to do, someone who understood enough to help. But that wasn’t what she had in mind. “No, thank you.”
Having a few minutes before we were to assemble for dinner, I made my way to the ballroom. All the curtains were closed, the room dim. I wrenched open the soft but heavy curtains to every window. I needed space and light and options.
The rainclouds had cleared and the low sun streamed through the west windows, dancing across the wood floor. Following its example, I spun slowly once, twice, before pausing in the alcove to survey the grounds. With a start I realized that I loved this place, the grounds and the view. I loved this house. Everything spoke of Gregory’s good management and intelligent hand. I had not seen one disgruntled servant, one aspect of the estate in disrepair.
He was the perfect landholder, the perfect gentleman.
Mr. Northam’s estate was probably just as spectacular. I would probably love it just as much.
I turned and walked down the stairs.
Low voices greeted me when I neared the antechamber. Hearing my name, I paused.
“Is there an understanding between you?” Mr. Northam asked.
“Whatever exists between us is none of your business,” Gregory replied.