“Do go in, Lord Turner,” he said. “My daughter is inside arranging the evening’s dancing.”
Clusters of people stood around the ballroom, and he tugged on his vest. He didn’t know any of them, but then that was the purpose of the evening. He had already gotten to know his tenants, and now it was time to get to know his neighbors.
Miss Abbott approached with the grace of an ice queen with her periwinkle dress and her ash brown hair swept up in a braided bun.
“How do you do, Lord Turner?” Her voice was as morning frost.
“I’m well, thank you, Miss Abbott.” He glanced around the room. “Although I’m afraid I don’t seem to know anyone here aside from you, your father, and your aunt.”
“Then allow me to remedy that.” She took his arm and guided him toward a group of people. “Do you intend to dance this evening?”
“Yes. But I hope you will forgive me if I decide to sit out the second half,” he replied. “An old injury.”
“Of course.”
Had William foreseen this when he insisted on the dancing lessons? It wouldn’t surprise him. What had been an irritation at the time had now become a blessing. Now he could make it through the evening without looking like a bumbling American.
She introduced him to a fair number of people. Not all of them were snobs. Most were welcoming, although some were a tad cool in the face of his American accent. Unless, of course, he asked their daughters to dance. As they walked away from yet another effusive mother, he tugged at his cuffs. It was one dance, but they acted as if he’d all but proposed to them.
“Do not worry, Lord Turner,” Miss Abbott said. “Only one more mother-daughter hurdle. Then I think etiquette will be satisfied.”
“Pardon me?”
“I quite understand why these balls are so tiresome for people like you and me.” She arched a brow. “Not enough people of substance or intelligence to suit either of us. What a pity the concept of the salon is out of fashion.”
“Er, yes, a pity.” Miss Howard had been right. Miss Abbott had a sharp mind. Too sharp for her own good.
After she obtained one last name for his dance card, she guided him over to a side room. Several small tables dotted the space as well as a long table which held a punch bowl and other small finger food. “I must see to more guests, Lord Turner. I hope you will excuse me.”
“Of course, but before you leave, would you do me the honor of dancing with me this evening, Miss Abbott?” He couldn’t help but notice the card hanging from her wrist was not as filled as it should be.
She seemed to glow as she added his name to her card. He would be walking a very fine line tonight. She was a nice enough lady, but marriage was out of the question.
He got a cup of punch and then noticed Dr. Royston approaching. He stiffened but managed to greet him civilly enough.
“I know. You weren’t expecting to see me here,” Dr. Royston said. “Why would Sir James and his sister invite the village doctor to their grand event? Services to the Crown. By rights, I should be referred to as Sir Henry Royston, but I prefer the title of doctor.”
John caught the inference. Then he changed the subject. “Are you familiar with some tenants of mine? The Wilcoxes?”
The doctor nodded. “I am, indeed. You want to speak to me about Arthur Wilcox, don’t you?”
“Yes,” John said. “Has he spoken to you already?”
“No, but I know about his hopes to become a doctor. Lord Renshaw mentioned Arthur’s aptitude for medicine before he passed. He hoped you would see it as well and encourage it.” He drained his glass and set it aside. “He would be pleased.”
“To be honest, I think you would be the best person to see to his education.” John looked out over the crowd. “While I have every intention of funding Mr. Wilcox’s education, I think he would be better off working at the hospital with you.”
When the doctor didn’t reply, he glanced over to find a deep frown creasing his face. “I assume that, once again, Hall matters keep you far too busy to take care of it yourself?”
John ignored the disapproving timber of the man’s voice. “Yes.”
Dr. Royston exhaled. “Very well. I will have to consult the board, but as you are the patron, I don’t see any reason why it would not be possible. I will send word when I have seen to the arrangements.”
“Thank you.” John finished his drink and glanced around for a servant to hand his glass to.
“I understand you toured the cottage hospital.” Dr. Royston spoke before he could make his escape.
“Yes. It’s a fine establishment.”
“Thank you. Lord Renshaw gave generously to make it so. But you didn’t get to see all of it. Only one ward.”
“I saw enough.” A servant finally happened along, and he set his glass on the offered tray. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Actually, I wonder if you could give me just another minute of your time.” As the doctor continued, John clasped his hands behind him. “I got a very peculiar package in the post yesterday morning.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, from the States. A Dr. John Hodgen, the Dean of the St. Louis Medical College in Missouri, sent me some extensive notes on the use of a splint he devised for fractures of the femur.” The doctor’s voice rose a notch. “Do you know Dr. Hodgen?”
“No.” He had never actually met him, but his suspension splint was the reason he could walk around on two good legs instead of being in Peter Fletcher’s unfortunate position. With the search for work for Mr. Fletcher stalled, sending him a telegram in Dr. Royston’s name was the only thing that had finally allowed him to sleep more peacefully.
“Nor do I. Yet it was very curious of him to send them, considering one of my more recent cases.” If Dr. Royston expected him to admit to anything, he would be disappointed.
Someone approached from behind. Miss Abbott spoke. “Lord Turner, the Howards have arrived.”
Just in time. John turned to greet Thomas and his sister. His agent was dressed much the same as he, but he was unprepared for the sight of Penelope Howard.
Sage green brocade began bell-like at her feet and then rose to hug her slender waist. The sleeves, edged in creamy lace, wreathed only her upper arms, leaving her shoulders bare and taking his breath away. Honey gold hair hung in masses of ringlets lifted high on her head; one of them hung lower than the rest and brushed her collarbone. Her cheeks grew a violent shade of red as she drew her gaze elsewhere.
Thomas cleared his throat.
He’d been staring. And her brother had noticed. But he took John’s hand when he offered it.
“It’s, uh, good to see you both. I hope you came ready to dance. There are quite a number of young ladies here.”
“Yes, I know. Miss Abbott already has names on my card.” He nodded toward his sister. “And it looks like the old girl there won’t be gracing the walls tonight.”
Miss Abbott had led Miss Howard toward a group consisting mostly of gentlemen, and she accepted a dance from one of them. It was just nerves that caused John’s hands to clench, and the fire in his chest must have something to do with the punch he just consumed.
“Good to see you, Mr. Howard,” Dr. Royston said. “And it’s good to see your sister out and about again. Let’s hope she can find someone to settle down with.”
“Pen?” Thomas scoffed. “She’s married to the Hall and Woodley.”
“She may not be after tonight,” the doctor replied.
The cluster of gentlemen around her had doubled, but John did not join them. No good would come if he were to hold her in his arms, even if it was no more than the length of a waltz. The wall clock told him it was nearly time for the dancing to start. He excused himself to find his first partner for the evening. The first dance was the quadrille, and as groups of four partners formed on the dance floor, Miss Howard and her partner stood directly across from him and his.
A gentleman’s daughter, the diminutive young lady looked up at him cu
riously. “Isn’t that Miss Penelope Howard? The sister of your estate agent?”
Such a surprised tone, as if Miss Howard being here were inappropriate. Had she heard? She must have since she avoided her pointed stare.
“Yes, what about it?”
The careful balance of polite iciness in his voice pressed her lips together for the entire dance, which made the sensations aroused by the brief encounters with Miss Howard required by the dance impossible to ignore. For the remainder of that half of the evening, he managed not to be caught near her again. But even so, she and her partner would occasionally brush by him and his partner during the odd waltz.
He soon escorted Miss Abbott to the dance floor. A good number of murmurs and ice-cold expressions from some of the more eager mothers followed them. Her aunt, however, smiled like a cat that had got into the cream.
“I believe we are going to be the talk of the evening, sir,” Miss Abbott said as the music began.
“I hope I haven’t given you or anyone here the wrong impression.” How could he say he was just being polite without offending her?
Her reply was blunt and to the point. “You do not have to worry. I am in no way expecting you to propose this evening or any other.”
“That is … reassuring.”
“But make no mistake, I am glad you asked me to dance. I have a request of you that my aunt would not wish me to make.”
“Oh?”
“I have long heard of the Ashford Hall library.” Her gray-blue eyes grew sharp with intensity. “I understand you have a whole section devoted to scholarly study. I would like your permission to come explore it. With my lady’s maid, of course.”
“I would be happy to have you come by. You’re welcome any time.”
A hint of warmth melted her features. “Then would tomorrow suit? I know tonight will be late, but I could come in the afternoon.”
He agreed. The waltz ended, and he escorted her back to her aunt who sat in one of the many chairs arranged along the side of the dance floor.
“Thank you, Lord Turner, for the dance and your kind permission,” she said.
“Permission?” Mrs. Baines’ protuberant eyes went from her niece to him.
“Lord Turner has graciously granted me permission to come explore Ashford Hall’s library, Aunt.” Anyone would have thought he had just proposed to her.
Her aunt blanched.
“Isabella, what am I to do with you?”
But Miss Abbott sat down in her seat, unaffected by her aunt’s displeasure. Sensing that she wished to speak to her niece without him present, John excused himself.
When supper was announced, he escorted his last partner into the dining room where a buffet was laid out and people stood, talking as they ate. After taking a light meal, he escorted her back to the ballroom and then returned to the dining room. His leg had held up fine, but if it were to remain so, he should sit out the second half of the dancing. Where was Thomas? A little male company would be nice before duty required him to mingle. He found him standing off to one side of the dining room with a glass of champagne.
“Hullo, John.” He raised his glass and took a generous sip. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t drink the rest of that.” Too many bitter memories came roaring back at the mild slur in his agent’s voice.
“This? It’s only my first glass.” He set it down on a nearby table.
Of champagne, maybe. There weren’t any spirits in the punch so far as he could tell. Unless Thomas had brought a flask. A little food would steady him. “Have you eaten yet?”
“I will in a moment. Here comes my plate now.”
Miss Howard approached with two laden plates, pausing a moment when she saw John. She handed her brother his food.
“Good evening, Lord Turner.” She had danced for the entire first portion of the ball and still looked as fresh as a new spring day.
“You look very well this evening, Miss Howard.”
“Thank you.”
Why had he said that? The color that rose in her cheeks only heightened her beauty.
Thomas snorted. “You act as if that’s the first time you’ve noticed, John.” His voice rose on the last few words. A few people turned their heads before resuming their conversations.
“Thomas,” Miss Howard hissed.
His next words were quieter. “Sorry, old girl. I guess I should stick to the punch.”
“A good idea,” John replied.
Mrs. Baines approached. “Oh, Miss Howard, there you are. Lord Turner, Mr. Howard.”
“This has been a lovely ball, Mrs. Baines,” Miss Howard said. “Thank you so much again for inviting us.”
Mrs. Baines’ next words seemed to creak they were so stiff. “You are most welcome. But I wanted to tell you that I finally realized where I had seen such lovely brocade before. This was your mother’s dress, was it not?”
John didn’t miss the raised eyebrows of the ladies nearby, and judging from the fresh wash of crimson in her cheeks, neither had Miss Howard. “Yes.”
“I knew it.” Triumph colored her voice. “This is the same dress she wore to the ball Lord Renshaw held when she first came to Woodley to visit Lady Renshaw, is it not?”
“Not exactly. This was fashioned out of two of Mama’s dresses.”
“Oh, you’re right, of course. There was no lace on this particular gown, and those rosettes that lined the front of it are gone now.” Mrs. Baines bent slightly to examine the skirt. “You can’t even see where they were. You are a clever seamstress, my dear.”
“Actually,” Thomas said, “our housekeeper and cook, Mrs. Trull, did the work. The old girl is far too busy to tend to it herself.”
Miss Howard laid a hand on her chest, and Mrs. Baines’ eyes narrowed. “Well, I shouldn’t be very surprised. After all, all of Ashford Hall and Woodley are under her express care.”
“Yes, they are.” John raised his chin. Now he just had to master the urge to throw something. “And we’re all better off for her efforts.”
Miss Howard drew in a sharp breath. “If you would excuse me.” Setting down her untouched plate, she quit the room.
Mrs. Baines set her cane as she eyed Miss Howard’s retreat. “You place a great deal of trust in her, Lord Turner.”
“I do. I have no reason not to.” He glanced at Thomas. How could her own brother be so focused on a plate of food?
“You don’t wonder why a woman of her beauty and reputation has not married?”
“No. That’s her business.”
She ignored the edge in his voice. “You might want to make it yours, Lord Turner. She represents both you and Ashford Hall.” She nodded before stepping away into the crowd.
John’s nails bit into his palms. “How could you just stand there?”
Thomas swallowed what was in his mouth. “John, Mrs. Baines has had it in for our family since Uncle William married Aunt Amelia and not her. Don’t take it so personally.”
“I do, and so should you. Especially when she takes aim at your sister.”
Thomas waved a hand. “She’s tough. She can take it.”
If they had been any place else other than Hartsbury’s dining room ... “You should have said something.”
“I didn’t have to. You did just fine on your own.”
Better leave before he punched the man. John followed the path Miss Howard had taken. After making his way through those entering and exiting the dining room, he stepped into the entry hall and back into the ballroom. The large banks of double doors which ran along the back were wide open to allow fresh air to circulate among the dancers. Across the mass of dancers, he saw a bit of green brocade slip through them. It took an age to edge his way across the room, but it wouldn’t do for anyone to think he was deliberately following her and make the wrong assumptions.
When he made it over to the doors, he found himself on a large terrace. Gas lamps were lit, and a few pairs of ladies were taking a turn in the small garden
s at the bottom of the stone steps. The terrace was edged by a stone balustrade which curved around the edges of the house. Not seeing her down in the garden or on the terrace, he walked to the right and around the corner of the house. There she was, tucked away out of view of the doors, her back to him. He stopped. The moonlight glowed in her hair. She seemed relaxed enough, standing in front of the balustrade, staring out into the dark. Perhaps she was all right.
He shifted away, but then her hand rose and wiped each cheek. Without thinking, he strode over to her. Before he could speak, she turned and threw herself at his chest. His arms came around her without a moment’s hesitation. Warning bells screamed in his mind, but he quickly silenced them. Nothing had ever felt so natural or so right. One hand rested on her waist, and the other gently rubbed her back.
She drew in a rough breath, and he tightened his hold, closing his eyes and resting his cheek on her soft curls. Letting out a shaky sigh, she pulled back just enough to stare at his vest. He’d give half his inheritance to be the moonlight playing across her face.
“I’m sorry, I know it shouldn’t matter what she says,” she whispered. “And I know you didn’t mean to embarrass me, Thomas—”
“Penelope.”
She looked up with a gasp. In another moment, she’d step out of his arms.
She didn’t.
Instead, her eyes locked on to his. She relaxed against him, and fiery warmth grew beneath his hands. Where on earth his racing heart was going didn’t matter. Hers was right alongside it. Her gaze dropped to his lips the same moment his slid to hers. His eyes slipped shut as their foreheads touched, and there was nothing else except the delicious thrill of her breath against his cheek.
He wasn’t sure which of them trembled when their lips brushed. One thought dominated his mind. He hadn’t felt anything softer or tasted anything finer. He lowered his mouth for another sip.
“Miss Howard?”
CHAPTER 18
Miss Abbott!
Penelope stumbled back, scanning the walkway behind them. It was empty. Had she seen them and run off?
“Miss Howard?”
No, she was still looking for her and would find her in another minute. She faced Lord Turner, but he was leaning heavily against the stone balustrade, his head lowered.
A Perfect Weakness Page 13
