Of course he was far from being the only youngest son who sought a military career—though he was probably the only one being prevented by his own family from doing so. And so what if Edmund Witfeld thought that somehow disqualified him from pursuing any of his daughters? He wasn’t going to marry a Witfeld. On the other hand, if a Griffin, even one who happened to be a captain or a major or a colonel, wanted to marry any chit, most fathers would have no objection at all.
“Lord Zachary?”
He blinked. As consuming as he found it, at the moment this wasn’t about his situation, other than to see whether he could whip the Witfeld girls into proper shape. Patience and responsibility. “So there isn’t anyone in particular who’s engaged your interest in Wiltshire?”
She giggled. “Well, there is one, perhaps.”
Damn. He’d heard that laugh before, and he knew precisely to whom it applied. “Considering that after my visit here I’ll be taking my colors, I sincerely hope you’re speaking of someone more worthy of you than I am,” he offered, hoping it sounded less insulting than it felt.
“You—Oh, blast!” Susan gave a great sniff, then burst into tears. “You’re joining the army? That can’t be so!”
If Zachary needed anything to prove to himself that he wasn’t a hardened rakehell, it was the occasion of a female bursting into tears in front of him. A seasoned rake would undoubtedly have a bon mot or swift kiss or something to at least distract the chit. He, however, had no idea what to do. Awkwardly he patted her on the back. “There, there, Miss Susan. Surely my aunt told you I meant to join a regiment.”
“No! She never did!” She stomped her foot. “This is very unfair.”
A muscle beneath his eye twitched. “I’ve been here less than a week, Miss Susan. You can’t tell me that before my arrival not one gentleman caught your eye.”
She shrugged heavily, nearly poking him in the ear with her parasol. “What do I care about other men?”
“Ah, but I care,” he said smoothly, tucking her free hand around his arm. “Come now, who are my rivals?”
Her sniffling subsided. “Well, if you put it that way, Mrs. Williams’s son, Martin, is just returned from the Crimean. He sold out his commission to help his mama, and I believe they’ve purchased a second shop over in Tellisford.”
“Two shops? They must be well off.”
“Martin works very hard. His father was a barrister, but Martin says he has no tolerance for intricate legalities.”
Well, that sounded promising. Susan didn’t seem to have much tolerance for intricacies of any kind. “So the two of you have chatted?”
“New articles arrive at the shop every Tuesday.” She glanced up at him, her color high. “Last week some new silks arrived all the way from Paris. He promised to hold the blue bolt for me, and let no one else have any of it until I’d made my purchase.”
“Then you should wear blue to the assembly rooms, I think. Will Mr. Williams be attending?”
“Oh, yes, because I don’t think Mama would invite him to our own soir—”
“I would like to see him at both parties,” he interrupted. “I’ll mention that to Mrs. Witfeld.”
She clutched his arm. “You will?”
He shrugged. “I certainly don’t expect to be the only unmarried man in attendance. That would hardly be fair to anyone.”
“You are very good, Lord Zachary. Are you certain you intend to join the army?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I’m certain.”
One down, six—five—to go. That had been easier than he’d expected. Zachary smiled at Susan. At this rate he’d have all the marriage-mad sisters paired off by sunset, and without having to do anything but invite the correct gentlemen to a party. As for the eldest Witfeld daughter, that remained a much more complex proposition, and one he didn’t mind becoming entangled with at all.
Chapter 9
Caroline stepped back from the window. For better than an hour Susan and Zachary had been strolling along the pond in a rather aimless manner. Susan’s plans weren’t aimless, of course—her hand seemed permanently attached to his sleeve. In her mind she was probably already deciding on her wedding guest list.
No, Caroline didn’t need to see that. Nor did she want to see Zachary fleeing for the hills once he realized he’d been divvied up like a Christmas pie. And she’d taken a large share of slices.
What the devil did it matter, though? His coming to Wiltshire was a godsend. For her not to take advantage of his presence was unthinkable. And yet when he’d kissed her, and when he talked with her, he’d been warm and alive and…nice. She looked down at her half-completed and very private sketch. She’d drawn him and touched him, and now she was suddenly wondering what he might be thinking and feeling and doing. And what her sisters were thinking about and doing to him.
Did that really matter, either? Once she’d finished her painting, she didn’t care what he did or where he went. It was just that he kissed so well.
“Damnation,” she swore, flinging her pencil across the room.
Anne slipped in through the conservatory door.
“This is madness,” Caroline said aloud.
“What’s madness?” Her younger sister bent down and picked up her errant pencil.
Hurriedly Caroline closed her sketch pad. “All of this fawning over Lord Zachary. Nothing good can come of it.”
“I’m a bit confused, Caro.” Anne handed the pencil back. “Did Lord Zachary say something ill to you? Did you not get your two hours with him this morning?”
“No, he didn’t, and yes, I did.” She drew a breath. The influx of air didn’t help her confusion any. “You mark my words, Anne. If the lot of you continue encouraging his attentions, he is going to break your heart, and Susan’s, and Julia’s, and Joanna’s, and Grace’s, and Violet’s.”
Anne sat beneath the bow windows. “What about your heart?”
“Mine? My heart has nothing to do with him. I’m only…frustrated. I have under three weeks to submit a finished portrait to Vienna, and my subject is outside wandering about for no good reason.”
“We have as much right to try to realize a dream as you do, Caro.”
Caroline rolled her shoulders. “Yes, yes, you’re right. But I’d like to think—I mean, I have to believe—that my dream is attainable. Yours—”
“Are a foolish waste of your time?” Anne finished with a skeptical look. “You’ve had several hours to sketch him. Have you decided on a pose for the portrait yet?”
Not one she could display in public. “Not yet. I’m still feeling him—the angles and shading, I mean—out.”
Anne looked at her for a long moment while she did her best not to blush. “Don’t worry, Caro,” her sister finally said. “I’ve given you three more mornings this week, and two hours on Friday afternoon. By then you should be ready to have him sit for paint, don’t you think? And we’ll all have a fair amount of time with Lord Zachary.”
She wouldn’t be ready to paint him if she couldn’t get his bare chest out of her thoughts. “I suppose so. I didn’t mean to be selfish.”
“I know. You’re not. You’re just dedicated.” Anne smiled. “And that will give you five days to finish and still have time to post the portrait to Monsieur Tannberg.” Her younger sister grinned. “And I daresay you’ll even have time to attend both the assembly rooms and Lord Zachary’s ball.”
Caroline took another steadying breath. As dire as she considered her circumstances, Anne had a point. Every sister would have a chance at her own dream, however poor Caroline considered their chances. And she did have nine days to complete her work, which would still give the portrait twelve days to arrive in Vienna.
“Yes, you’re right,” she said slowly, forcing a smile. “Perhaps I’ll even dance a waltz.”
Zachary held Sagramore to a walk, mindful of the wobbling Julia Witfeld was doing on her own mount, Daisy. In fact, it appeared that Julia had never ridden before in her life—at least not without a gro
om holding the reins for her or without her being tied or glued into the saddle. “You’re doing splendidly,” he complimented, edging Sag close enough that he could catch her if she should fall.
“I do love to ride,” Julia said, then nearly lost her balance and pulled the reins tightly enough that Daisy backed up. “Drat. Ill-behaved horse.”
“Perhaps Sagramore is making her nervous. Shall I lead her a little to set her at ease?”
“Oh, that would be very thoughtful.”
He leaned sideways and took the reins over Daisy’s head, leading the mare and the chit along the wooded path. A groom hung back several yards, close enough for propriety and far enough away that hopefully Zachary only imagined he could hear the man chuckling.
“You were telling me about the dearth of eligible young men around Trowbridge,” he prompted, giving a glance back to see her clinging to the pommel of the saddle with both hands.
“It’s true; everyone here is so dull. Well, not everyone. Not any longer.”
Ah. Well, he’d learned his strategy during the course of this conversation with Susan. “I’m only sorry that as a future soldier I am ineligible to pay my attentions to any of you.”
“But—”
“I would never defy your father, of course.”
Her mouth gaped a moment, then snapped closed. “Of course,” she grumbled.
“So tell me who your favorite suitor is. I know a girl as pretty as you must have one.”
Julia giggled. “There is one, perhaps. But are you certain you must join the military? Papa would never give an inch about soldiers.”
“I’m certain. I am a third son, after all. Come, now. Give me a name.”
“No. You must guess.”
“I don’t know anyone in Trowbridge. Can’t you give me a clue?”
“Hm. Well, he owns a business in town.”
“A business.” Considering the way the Witfeld sisters seemed to select a male target and then swarm over him, he abruptly had a good idea who the business owner must be. “Could it be Martin Williams?”
“Oh, you’ve guessed! He’s so handsome, and he had a good inheritance from his father.”
Devil take it. “You can’t tell me that no other gentleman has pursued you, Miss Julia.”
“I suppose so. Peter Redford always asks a dance of me at the assemblies. He’s handsome enough, but the vicar’s son. I should never want to be a vicar’s daughter-in-law, or a future vicar’s wife.”
With seven girls, someone was going to have to marry a future vicar. And she obviously liked this Mr. Redford. “Do these gentlemen know of your interest?”
“Heavens, I don’t know. I always try to dance every dance at the assemblies; if a lady isn’t diligent, men may be left wanting a partner.”
Zachary covered his smile. “So you are permitted to dance with officers?”
“Well, Papa could hardly prevent that. It would be rude, don’t you think?”
“Most likely.” And the poor man would probably be overwhelmed, anyway, trying to keep seven—six—daughters from dancing. He wondered whether Caroline danced. Hopefully she did; however odd their relationship, he found that he liked touching her. And he liked her touching him.
Julia shifted in the sidesaddle, then had to grab Daisy’s mane to keep from pitching to the ground. Once she’d righted herself, Zachary pretended not to notice. He’d catch her in a true emergency, but he certainly didn’t want her feigning an accident simply so she could fall into his arms.
“I hope you dance, Lord Zachary,” she prompted.
“Never fear, Miss Julia. Nothing will prevent me from dancing with you. And call me Zachary, please.”
“Oh, yes. Zachary. I think since the ball at our house will have to be even grander than the one at the assembly rooms, we can have as many as four waltzes. You’ll save one of them for me, won’t you?”
“I will.” Surreptitiously he glanced at his pocket watch. Julia had another ten minutes until her hour was finished, and then, according to Susan, he was scheduled for a picnic with Anne. He had no idea what they’d planned for his afternoon, but he imagined it would include Joanna, Grace, and Violet. It would be nice if one of them were to choose fishing, but if they were as proficient at that sport as Julia was at riding, the outing would be more bother than it was worth.
“What time do you have, Zachary?”
He pretended to look again. “Ten before eleven.”
“Blast it. I should get more time, since I had to wait for Steadman to saddle the horses.”
Zachary nearly suggested that next time she plan ahead how best to use her allotted hour, but Julia didn’t have Caroline’s wit where he could tease or chastise. At the same time he remembered that only Susan had confessed about his schedule. For this excursion he wasn’t supposed to know that he was being sectioned and divided. “We have all day, don’t we? Your father said there were some spectacular riding and jumping trails just south of the grazing pasture.” He couldn’t resist a small tease.
“Jumping?” she repeated with a squeak. “You know, I think Anne was planning a surprise for you. Perhaps we should return home, after all.”
Considering they’d only traveled about a mile, and a slow one at that, returning wouldn’t be too difficult. “As you wish, of course.” Turning Sag and Daisy in a wide circle so he wouldn’t dump his companion, he headed them back toward Witfeld Manor, the amused Steadman still following along behind.
At the gap of the stone wall that divided the house, garden, and stables from the rest of the property, the first thing Zachary spotted was a picnic basket. Then the brim of a pink bonnet followed by Anne’s oval face peered around the opening.
“Oh, and there she is,” Julia muttered under her breath behind him. “She might have given me five minutes at the stables.”
He cleared his throat. “Good day, Miss Anne,” he said with a smile, tipping his hat.
Being pursued with this degree of undivided attention by a handful of attractive chits wasn’t so bad, now that he considered it—especially now that they weren’t attempting to overwhelm him in a group attack. If they weren’t so hopelessly obvious about their intentions, and if they hadn’t been sisters he didn’t want turning against one another, he would have enjoyed the situation enormously. As it was, working on making them acceptable to other gentlemen definitely made things more interesting.
“Lord Zachary,” the seventeen-year-old returned, curtsying. “Since it’s nearly eleven, I thought you might enjoy a walk and a picnic by the pond.”
“That sounds charming. Allow me to see Miss Julia back to the stables, and—”
“Oh, go on,” Julia grumbled. “Steadman, take my reins.”
The groom urged his mount forward, and Zachary handed over custody of Daisy and her rider. Rather than risk Julia changing her mind, he swung to the ground and flipped Sag’s reins over to Steadman, as well. He sketched Julia a bow. “Thank you for a refreshing outing, Miss Julia.”
“No, thank you, Zachary. On, Steadman.” Sending Zachary a beatific smile, Julia waved a hand at the groom, then had to grab the pommel with both hands when Daisy lurched forward.
“Good heavens,” Anne breathed as the three horses vanished around the corner. “I hope she doesn’t break her head.”
“She was doing tolerably well,” Zachary put in, surreptitiously toeing the basket. It felt full; always a good thing.
“You should feel honored, my lord. I don’t think she’s ridden a horse in twelve years.”
“Then why—”
“Because you ride.” She picked up the basket. “Shall we?”
“Here.” He took the wicker from her and offered his free arm. “Do we have a chaperone?”
“You and Caro didn’t have one.”
Wonderful. “Her maid was stationed directly outside the door.” He smiled. “My aunt expressly told me to behave. I’m attempting to do so.”
“Very well. I was only checking.” Anne faced the house. �
�Sally!”
A maid trotted into view around the vine-covered wall. “I’m here, Miss Anne.”
With the servant safely following them, Zachary allowed Anne to point out the path to the pond. In just a few seconds of conversation, one thing became extremely clear; Anne was going to require more care than the two previous sisters. As Edmund Witfeld had said, two of his daughters had sense. She was one of them. The other one was probably still ensconced in her tower with her pencils.
“How has your morning been?” Anne asked, brushing her free hand along the top of the low, bordering hedge.
“Interesting. Posing and walking and riding, and now eating. All ending and beginning at either the top or the bottom of the hour.”
“Hm. Really?”
“Yes. In fact, I was worried that if I should throw a shoe or need a glass of water, I would send the whole house into chaos.” He looked sideways at her.
She was eyeing him, her lips pursed. “So you know. We only made up the schedule so we could all be assured of having time with you.”
“Very efficient. I understand that you were the architect.”
“I’m not going to admit it if you’re only going to make fun.”
“I’m not,” he protested. “I wanted to tell you that as much as I enjoy yours and your sisters’ company, it’s easier to have a conversation with one at a time rather than half a dozen at once.”
“No doubt.” She chuckled. “At times I retire for the night with my ears ringing, and I grew up with them.”
“I have three siblings myself, and a six-year-old niece. Until a month ago, we all lived under the same roof.”
“Until your sister married.”
“Yes.”
“But why do you all share a household? Surely the Griffins have several houses in London.”
“Shay—Charlemagne—and I actually do have our own apartments in Mayfair. Melbourne bribed us, though, to move back into Griffin House. I think he feels better with more people to order about.” He shrugged, unwilling to go into the details of his eldest brother’s struggle to move past his wife’s death. That was Griffin business; Griffins didn’t gossip, and certainly not about one another. “The house is large enough to accommodate all of us.”
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