What should she say? Anything? Everything? If she had thought for one moment it had been him rather than her brother—
The same thing would have happened.
Hadn’t her heart hoped Lord Turner would come to her aid? Almost counted on it? Oh, why hadn’t Miss Abbott waited a second, a minute, an eternity longer before calling out for her?
No. It wasn’t right. She should apologize for her brazenness.
But he spoke first. “I’m sorry.”
His voice was deep and throaty. Penelope took a small step toward him. “No, my lord, I—”
“Miss Howard?” Miss Abbott called again, much louder this time.
Penelope walked away. She would apologize later. Just as soon as her head got her heart under tight control.
She met Miss Abbott just before she came around the corner of the house. She seemed irritated. Had she seen them?
“Your brother just told me how my aunt spoke to you,” she said. “I must apologize.”
Penelope relaxed. “It’s quite all right. I was just ... getting a bit of fresh air.”
“Of course.” She stepped back as if to leave, then paused. “Is something wrong, Miss Abbott?”
She tipped her chin up. “Would you take a turn with me? There is something I wish to ask you.”
“Certainly.” She gestured toward the terrace and, as soon as Miss Abbott’s back was turned, stole a glance behind her. Lord Turner hadn’t moved. She paused another fraction of a second then followed Miss Abbott.
Miss Abbott locked arms with her, and they walked along the edge of the terrace several moments before she finally spoke. “My aunt—and my father for that matter—are very determined that I should marry.”
“Yes.” Penelope’s heart twisted. Miss Abbott’s relatives were determined she marry Lord Turner. “I am sure they only want what is best for you.”
“I have not yet had anyone ask for my hand. But it is only a matter of time before they can persuade someone to do so.”
“Persuade? I think you are being hard on yourself, Miss Abbott.”
They came to the steps which led to the lawn and stopped. “I don’t think I am. I know I am not as graceful or tactful as most ladies my age, and I find most of the local marriageable men boorish, immensely stupid, or both. Lord Turner, I have found, is the sole exception.”
“He is a very fine man.” The words sounded far steadier than her heart.
“He is, but he has given me the distinct impression he has no desire to marry. And as I have no wish to be a baroness, there is little else to be said concerning him.” Her eyes narrowed. “But my aunt and my father will eventually find somebody for me to wed, and I pride myself that I am logical enough to see the sense in the arrangement, despite the fact I would rather not enter into such an agreement. As I said before, I lack many, if not all, the qualities a lady of my breeding and social standing should have.” She looked down at her clasped hands. “I wonder if I might come with you sometime when you see to Lord Turner’s tenants. Hartsbury and its tenants will one day be mine, and I want to be prepared, you see.”
“Surely, your aunt is the more appropriate person to prepare you for your inheritance.”
“I rarely go with her.” Though her face remained impassive, a flood of color filled her cheeks. “My presence sets most of the tenants on edge for the reasons I have already mentioned.” She took a deep breath. “I have admired you for some time. I never understood why my aunt harbors such disapproval of you when you do so much good for the Hall and everyone in Woodley. You have a kind heart, and my objective in coming with you is to study you. I hope I can adopt some of that same kindness into my character.”
She almost laughed. Miss Abbott made the whole thing sound like it was some sort of scientific study. Did she realize that true kindness was a matter of the heart, that empathy was as important as action?
Miss Abbott waited for her answer with a sort of calm detachment. She hadn’t a clue.
“I would be happy to have you along whenever you have the opportunity,” she said. “I usually go once a week, on Tuesdays.”
Her brow arched. “Once a week? My aunt goes but twice a month.”
“It was my mother’s custom.” Penelope linked arms with her once more and guided her toward the ballroom doors. “She found it made for a closer relationship between the Hall and its tenants.”
As they entered the ballroom, Mrs. Baines eyed them with a narrow gaze from across the room. Penelope asked, “Will your aunt be offended?”
Miss Abbott gave her an unladylike shrug. “Perhaps, but do not let it concern you.” Releasing Penelope’s arm, she faced her. “Thank you.”
She thrust out her hand. She wanted to shake hands? Penelope clasped the tips of her fingers, then watched her edge the dance floor to rejoin her aunt. What a curious woman. Penelope couldn’t help but like her, despite her frigid regard of the world.
Several feet away, Lord Turner was talking to a group of gentlemen. She moved away before he noticed her. It had been ridiculous to run off like that. And shameless to pretend that Thomas would come after her when she knew all along it would be Lord Turner. Yet he had apologized. Why? She had kissed him, not the other way around.
But he’d said her name. Her Christian name.
She darted to a corner and pressed a hand to her roiling stomach. It meant nothing. It had to mean nothing. What about her plans for tonight? Yes, of course. She fumbled for her dance card and gazed at the back of it. She had made note of everyone he’d danced with this evening. Who had he seemed to favor?
None of them. He’d been kind and polite, the perfect gentleman, but the fact of the matter was she had been the only one he had seemed to take an interest in.
There was no other way to explain the fire in his chestnut eyes, the wild pace of his heart beneath her hand, the way he’d drawn her to him—stop! She clenched her hands. She had to stop now. The refreshment room. That’s what she needed. A glass of punch would steady her. Then she would have Thomas take her home, where she would climb back on her shelf, and her infuriatingly beautiful dress would be relegated to the depths of her wardrobe.
Thomas was already in the refreshment room, laughing, rather loudly, with a group of ladies. His hand grazed the waist of the woman next to him—Miss Whitaker, a confirmed flirt—who rewarded him with an expression of mock disapproval.
“Thomas?”
He grinned at her. “Well, if it isn’t my sister. Did Lord Turner find you?”
Catching the hint of spirits on his breath, she ignored his question. “I was just speaking to Miss Abbott. Thank you for sending her.”
“It was she who was looking for you. I merely told her where you were and why.” He slid his eyes in Miss Whitaker’s direction and winked.
Penelope took his arm. “I’m tired and wish to go home.”
“Couldn’t Lord Turner take you?” Miss Whitaker’s voice danced mischievously. “It was his coach that brought you, I noticed.”
“Lord Turner was very kind to send a separate coach for our use this evening.” The flirt quickly stiffened at the edge in Penelope’s reply. “One that we are now ready to leave in. Thomas?”
She squeezed his arm. To her relief, he said his goodnights and escorted her to the door. Through some sort of good fortune, Mrs. Baines was not to be found, and they made their farewells to Sir James.
In the carriage, as they made their way down Hartsbury’s drive, Thomas lounged back in the corner of his seat and raised one foot to rest on the edge of hers across from him.
She flipped her skirts away from his boot. “You’re drunk.”
“A bit tipsy, perhaps, old girl. I didn’t drink that much.” He shrugged. “I was enjoying myself.”
“As you enjoyed yourself in London? That hardly ended well. I thought you had given up all that.”
Bright moonlight shone through the coach window and caught the cold points of blue in his eyes. “According to you, perhaps I haven’t.”
He pulled a flask from his breast pocket and took a sip. He grimaced when a sip was all he got. “All out.”
Penelope set her jaw and looked out the window. But his eyes were still on her, a sensation difficult to ignore.
“You know, you didn’t answer my question back there? Did he find you?”
“It hardly matters now.”
“You mean to tell me after looking at you the way he did nearly all evening, good old John didn’t come looking for you?” She gave him a warning glance. He ignored her. “That’s a surprise, especially after defending you so eloquently to Mrs. Baines.”
A warm thrill shot through her chest, but it froze at her brother’s next words. “I’ve only seen one other man stare at you for that long, and that was years ago. Whatever happened to old Edmund Kern?”
An iron rod replaced her spine. “He was stationed to a post in India.”
“I never understood why our father and Uncle Will disapproved of him.” He snorted. “Then again, our father was the master of disapproval, wasn’t he? I don’t think the man was happy unless he was unhappy about something. Even you seemed to lose some of your shine in his eyes toward the end.”
“Enough!” she snapped. “Whatever you thought of Papa, he was an honorable man who wanted the best for both of us. Perhaps he did you a grievous wrong by—”
“Perhaps? He eroded away my skill to almost nothing!”
“What else could he do? What did you expect from him in light of the circumstances?”
“Mercy!” She jumped at his wounded growl. “He was my father, and I needed his mercy and his forgiveness.”
“He said he forgave you. That … that last day.”
“The words of a dying man fearful for his own soul.” Thomas turned his attention to his window.
Her throat tightened at the lines of pain on his face. “He did love you, you know.”
Without shifting his gaze, he shook his head. “No. He loved you. He never loved me.”
They rode the rest of the way home in silence.
Once they reached Fairview, Fanny opened the door for them. Thomas stumbled as he walked in. Fanny looked at Penelope.
“Go to bed, Fanny. I will take care of Mr. Howard.”
“Yes, miss.”
Penelope helped her brother mount the stairs and opened the door to his room for him. He tossed his top hat aside and yanked off his coat then his tails. Falling into bed, he was asleep by the time she had carefully laid his things over a chair and placed his hat on his dressing table. He didn’t budge when she removed his boots. She opened the curtains. He liked to sleep with them open so the morning light would wake him.
Moonlight fell on his side table next to his bed. She stepped over to it and watched his back rise and fall for a moment as he lay there, face down. He kept the key to his attic studio in the drawer. That look Miss Whitaker had given him. She grasped the drawer pull. It slid out an inch, squeaking a little. The next instant, his hand clenched hers, and she gasped.
Thomas propped himself up on one elbow. “Don’t.”
She let go of the pull, and he released her hand as she moved away and quit the room, the door slamming shut behind her.
CHAPTER 19
John stood at the door of the Hall, hands clenched behind him, as he watched Miss Abbott and Mrs. Baines exit their carriage. Where was Miss Abbott’s lady’s maid? She had said she would be accompanying her this afternoon, not her aunt.
A hawk flew overhead. He envied it.
He swallowed the yawn that threatened to escape his throat. Despite arriving home last night at a reasonable time, sleep had eluded him. He’d sent George off to bed and prowled Ashford Hall’s corridors and stairs. Penelope—Miss Howard—dogged his every step. Her scent of lavender and roses clung to him, and their brief kiss replayed in his mind. It was as if he were back in Philadelphia, trying once again to stay sober and failing miserably. One taste, and he wanted more.
He’d finally had enough when he found himself in the library reaching for Jane Eyre. After coming close to chucking the book out the window, he forced himself to bed where sleep eventually took him.
Maybe Miss Abbott or her aunt would ask to borrow the book. But Miss Abbott was immediately drawn to the scholarly section of the library while the elder regarded the rooms with a pinched, downturned mouth and cool eyes.
“I imagine you are wondering why I’m here, Lord Turner,” she said.
“I admit, I’m curious,” he said politely.
“Well then, perhaps we could speak together in your morning room. Where it is less dust”—she paused—“more private. I am sure my niece’s reputation is safe within the walls of your library.” She lowered her chin. “Or any library for that matter. If I recall, we can reach the morning room through Lord Renshaw’s study.”
He led her to the room and paused to shut the doors. Mrs. Baines stepped deeper into the room to take note of the covered furniture.
“Mrs. Lynch hasn’t opened this room yet? At Hartsbury, she was such a model of efficiency.”
That explained nearly everything about Mrs. Lynch. “I didn’t know she had worked for your brother.”
“She rose to the position of head housemaid before she decided to come here. We were most sorry to see her go. But then we couldn’t blame her. She had risen as far as she could with us. I wouldn’t trade Mrs. Fisher even for her.” With the end of her cane, she attempted to flip up the corner of a sheet that covered a small chair but stopped when dust billowed off it. “You really should let her at least air out this room, sir.”
“I don’t need this room, so there’s no point in bothering her with it.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “But we’re not in here to talk about my housekeeper.”
Mrs. Baines planted her cane in front of her and propped her hands on the head. “First, there is this matter of Arthur Wilcox. My brother is on the board, and he told me of your request to Dr. Royston. You wish your groom to study medicine? Why? Will it improve your breeding stock?”
John worked his jaw before replying. “No. Mr. Wilcox has told me he wants to become a doctor. As he is a very intelligent young man, I see no reason why he shouldn’t.”
“I see,” she replied, although her whole bearing indicated she really didn’t. She waved a dismissive hand. “That really isn’t my most pressing concern. I’m sure you must still be wondering about the remarks I made last night regarding Miss Penelope Howard.”
“No. I’m not.” Knowing now of her petty dislike of the Howards, they had occupied his thoughts for less than a minute.
“You know, of course, that Miss Howard is Lord Renshaw’s niece by marriage.” He nodded, and she went on. “Did you know he arranged for her training as a nurse?”
“No, but it doesn’t surprise me. William was a benevolent and generous man.”
She sniffed lightly at his use of Lord Renshaw’s Christian name. “Yes, well, Miss Howard is a Nightingale nurse.”
“Of which I am also aware.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I really don’t see where you are going with this, Mrs. Baines.”
Her voice flattened. “Fine. I shall get to the point. She began her training five years ago at the age of twenty.” She stared at him as if this piece of news should speak volumes.
“And?”
“Lord Turner, surely you know Miss Nightingale’s school will not take anyone under the age of twenty-five. And she left here for that institution very suddenly.”
“What are you suggesting?” He heard his voice as if it came from the bottom of a well.
She did not heed its depth. “Only that you might want to look into it. She is your representative to your tenants, however unorthodox that role may be. Her reputation should be beyond reproach.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “It is beyond reproach. Unless you can prove otherwise?”
She pulled in her chin. Finally, he had the upper hand.
“No,” she said. “I can only offer you my suspicions.
”
“Which are nothing more than circumstantial.” He strode over to the doors and pulled one open. “And I would appreciate it if you kept them to yourself.”
Mrs. Baines swept past him. A noise distracted him from following. The other door that led to the entry hall was ajar, but he saw no one through the slender crack. He shrugged. It must have blown open somehow.
He entered the library just as Mrs. Baines passed her niece, who sat surrounded by books at the long oak table.
“Isabella, we’re leaving,” she said.
Miss Abbott looked up with wide, keenly disappointed eyes. Almost too disappointed. “But Aunt Dorothea, I haven’t finished.”
Her aunt merely continued her retreat from the room. Miss Abbott bit her lip and rose, gathering up the books she had pulled. John joined her and helped. Her alabaster face was an abnormal shade of pink.
“I wanted to write down the names of the books I hoped you would allow me to borrow.” She spoke to him but glanced up at the window as she did so.
John caught a familiar figure step behind the bush outside. “That’s all right, Miss Abbott. Just take what you want. I have a list I can check and figure out what you’ve borrowed.”
“Isabella!” Mrs. Baines cackled from the grand foyer.
The sight of the cool and collected Miss Isabella Abbott flustered and hurried was one he would not soon forget. Thanking him, she held the books to her chest, gave the window a final look, dipped him a quick curtsy, and dashed out of the room. John only just made it to the front door to see them off. He strode back into the library and threw open the window that had so enraptured her.
Arthur stared back, his face whiter than a snowy day. “I know what you’re going to say, my lord. But I swear I had no idea she was in the library or who she was.”
“Come in through the side door like you usually do.” He gestured toward the small door that led outside, situated at the end of the room, then closed the window and met him at the table. A frightened rabbit stared back at him.
A Perfect Weakness Page 14
