“Well, I am glad you have managed to speak with him.”
“Yes?”
“It will make things far easier when I invite you to visit tomorrow. I hope you like tea.”
“Indeed, I do.” Caroline clasped her hands together. “Well, for my part, I fear it only fair to warn you.”
“Warn me?”
“That I have every intention of accepting.”
“Well, that is good then,” Emma said with a chuckle.
And, heart thrumming in anticipation, Caroline’s smile became the most genuine it had ever been.
“You did what?” Gideon asked, eyeing his sister across the table.
“I invited her for tea.”
“But why?”
“Because as kind as Mrs. Ballard is, I would like some female companionship that does not consist of a servant.”
“Were you planning for me to be here?”
“No, not at all. Except it would seem strange if you were not, especially as you have met before, and you would not want to give the impression you did not like her, would you?”
Gideon looked at his sister very hard, working to ignore the twinkle in her eye, and the laughter he could hear being not very successfully choked back by Aidan. “I do not know why you feel it necessary to interfere.”
“It is not interference, is it, to extend Christian charity? There she was at the lending library, looking quite as lonely as I felt, and, well, it would have been cruel to have left her there without an invitation.”
“But you know nothing about her.”
“Well, that is about to be remedied,” his sister said, eyes wide. “You would like that, would you not, Gideon?”
He was forced to bite back his answer as his friend gave a disconcerting chuckle then said, “I remembered last night where I knew the name. Hatherleigh is the family name for Lord Aynsley, a viscount from some place north of here.” Aidan eyed Gideon with an upraised brow. “Apparently, the daughters—he has three—are worth fifty thousand each. With such sums of money he must be very well-breeched indeed.”
Gideon’s heart sank. And would doubtless be thrilled to know that a man of very tame fortune wished for his daughter’s affection. He willed his countenance to assume indifference, prayed for his heart to do the same. Really, he should not entertain such desires, not until he knew they shared faith as surely as a sense of humor.
“I do not care if she is related to the Prince of Wales,” Emma said. “I am glad she is coming, and I hope the two of you will help me entertain her as our guest.”
“You do know that I have plans tomorrow?”
“In the morning, which should leave you plenty of time to get that organized and be ready for tea at four.”
“I, for one, would be more than willing to sacrifice my afternoon in order to meet the viscount’s daughter.”
Gideon stared at Aidan hard. Did he have an interest there? Surely not.
“Why the frown, my friend? Surely you don’t suspect me of harboring intentions?”
He forced his lips up. No, he suspected his friend of having an interest in a very different direction. Poor chap. He turned back to Emma. “You really are quite the manager, are you not?”
“Why thank you.” And her smile elicited his reluctant grin.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON saw the arrival of Miss Hatherleigh in style, arriving as she did in the town coach Gideon suspected belonged to her grandmother. Of late, it was not too often that he had seen a crested coach, and even rarer when he had been the recipient of such a visit.
Miss Hatherleigh was today dressed in deep blue, a shade that complemented her eyes, brought out the honey-red tones in her hair, and made her skin appear to glow.
Emma gave the introductions, and Miss Hatherleigh gave her greetings, her gaze lifting to meet his in another moment that caused his skin to tingle. He could not help but admire her, to find her all that was appealing, and in the conversation he struggled to find much to say beyond the commonplace. Eventually he found himself on surer ground when she asked Aidan questions about how he spent his time.
“I will admit to a secret, Miss Hatherleigh,” Aidan said, to her widened eyes. “This may come as a surprise, but I have spent quite some time in Ireland.”
“Have you indeed?” she said, a dimple moving in and out as if she tried to suppress a smile.
“Aye,” he confirmed. “Such tends to be the lot of one born there. But I was blessed with the good fortune of making the acquaintance of Car—” He coughed. “Excuse me. Of making the acquaintance of Kirby here at university.” He clapped Gideon on the shoulder. “This grand man, this wise, courageous, clever man. Even if at times Kirby tends to have a wee dash of recklessness.”
Miss Hatherleigh’s blue eyes turned to Gideon, brows aloft.
“I am at times a little reckless,” he admitted, thinking of some of his actions up north, “but I would not say it is irredeemable.”
She nodded, her polite smile seeming a trifle uncertain.
“Gideon believes that most things can be redeemed,” explained Emma. “But then that is what happens when one comes from good parsonage stock.”
“Your father was a church minister?”
Was that surprise in her voice? Disappointment? “He was.”
“Was?”
How could he explain the complicated path that saw his father move from humble parson to a social rung they’d never dreamed of? What could he say that was truthful? Truth was a dangerous commodity when one wished to hide.
“Our parents died last year,” Emma said.
“I’m so terribly sorry.” And her softened countenance and voice showed that she was. “That must have been a dreadful time for you all.”
“It was.”
And it had been. Despite his at-times complicated relationship with his father—one fractured by disapproval concerning his choice of friends and studies and their arguments over Emma’s marriage—the loss of his parents’ anchoring presence had nearly overwhelmed him, until his sister’s problems gave renewed focus.
For a moment, it seemed as if the conversation had reached a stubborn standstill. Even Aidan—never one without a word to say—seemed at a loss.
Miss Hatherleigh glanced around the room, then straightened and faced Gideon. “I wonder, would you mind telling me more about your scientific pursuits?”
“Gladly.” His heart lit with gratitude as her words dragged him from the pain caused by the past. He began to speak on geology and recent scientific discoveries that suggested it would only be a matter of time before a complete fossil skeleton was uncovered.
“You should see his drawings,” Emma said. “It is remarkable how well he manages to capture the likeness.”
If his sister’s praise and the look of pride in her eyes weren’t enough, then the soft glow of entreaty in the blue orbs of Miss Hatherleigh was quite enough for him to acquiesce and fetch his sketchbook. He drew closer, pointing out various elements of the fossil skeletons from sites he had visited in Seamouth and Lyme Regis. Miss Hatherleigh asked such intelligent questions that it was some time before he noticed that Emma and Aidan had withdrawn to another part of the room and were conducting their own whispered conversation. He glanced up, met Emma’s smile and Aidan’s roguish grin, and suddenly realized their intention. But what was the good of fostering a relationship that could never afford to live?
He drew back, closing the pages of the sketchbook with a snap. “I trust you now understand what it is an undergroundologist does, Miss Hatherleigh.” His tone—harder than he had intended—seemed to make her withdraw, her face adopt a stiff politeness, an expression he’d seen his own mother wear when faced with those who had sneered at the reverend’s new title. He winced internally.
“Thank you, yes.” He hadn’t mistaken it. Her cool tone, her mien, conveyed a measure of disappointment. “I”—she glanced at the others, who watched them both with expressions of keen interest—“I feel I should best take my leave.”
“Oh, no, Miss Hatherleigh. It is much too soon,” complained Emma. “We have barely had time to talk.”
“My grandmother would be concerned if I return much later than what I previously said.”
“Very well then. You may be excused this time. But you must promise to return. Perhaps next time Gideon can show you some of the places where the fossils have been found.”
“Emma,” he said warningly.
“Thank you, Emma, but I would not have Mr. Kirby do anything he does not wish,” Miss Hatherleigh said without looking at him.
“I believe Mr. Kirby’s feelings would be far from not wishing to do such a thing,” Aidan offered with a sly grin.
Gideon glared at him, sparking a muffled giggle from Emma who drew closer to Miss Hatherleigh. “Please ignore my brother. At times he forgets how to be gracious.”
Miss Hatherleigh looked at him uncertainly, sparking a new streak of guilt. “It is not that I have no wish to take you to see such things,” he managed. “Just that it might be deemed somewhat untoward for me to accompany a young lady without appropriate escort.”
“Is our escort not enough?” said Aidan, the spark of mischief in his eye becoming more pronounced. “I would have thought your sister and I respectable enough company.”
“But your thoughts pale in comparison to what Lady Aynsley might think, and I would not wish to cause Miss Hatherleigh concern.”
“You are all consideration,” she said softly, before rising to her feet and holding out her hand to Emma. “Forgive me, but I really must depart. I trust you will be well.”
The piercing look accompanying this comment was enough to make him wonder at what else Emma had told her, but now wasn’t the time to speculate, not when Miss Hatherleigh was offering him a slight curtsy. “Thank you for taking the time to show me your illustrations. This afternoon has proved most informative.”
“I … am glad you enjoyed yourself,” he murmured. But judging from the aloof look she offered him, he wondered if enjoyment was overstating things.
“Goodbye, Mr. Kenmore,” she said. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you, Miss Hatherleigh.”
She nodded, gave Emma a small smile, then within the minute had left.
Leaving him ruing his response, ruing his friend’s and sister’s interference.
“I am sorry she did not wish to stay.” Emma’s brow lowered. “I wish you might not have appeared quite so cool towards her.”
“And I wish you did not feel it necessary to manipulate me into something I have no wish for.”
“No wish?” Emma cried. “How can you say such things?”
“Easily,” he said, ignoring the jab of conscience.
“Too high in the instep for you, is she?” Aidan asked.
Gideon shot him a glare before refocusing on his sister. “I repeat: I do not have any interest in someone like her.” He couldn’t afford to. Literally.
Behind him, a squeak denoted the door’s opening. He spun around to see Miss Hatherleigh’s pink face, her gaze firmly averted once more.
“Forgive my intrusion, but I came to retrieve my gloves. The front door was open …”
“Oh, please do not concern yourself with that,” Emma said, handing the gloves to Miss Hatherleigh before casting Gideon a swift angry glance, “or with whatever you might have heard my foolish brother say.”
But it was no use. She had gone. And with her any hope of explanation.
CHAPTER NİNE
SHE SHOULD NEVER have gone. What kind of fool was she to think he might have held her in some esteem? She had thought when he had been explaining about his studies and his time visiting various geological sites that he enjoyed talking with her; had indeed been so foolish as to think he’d watched her while she examined his sketches, had thought she’d felt the weight of his gaze on her skin.
But she was wrong. Had he not said he held no interest in her? She could not have misheard that; it had been very plain what Emma and Mr. Kenmore were doing, leaving her and Mr. Kirby together for such a long time. But they had been proved wrong, too.
Her lips pressed together as the carriage rattled towards Saltings. To know herself so humbled was a new, disconcerting experience. Was she the sort of young lady no man would ever be interested in? Ned Amherst had mentioned the young gentlemen interested in Caroline for her fortune, but none of them had ever demonstrated interest in her for herself. What’s more, none of them had piqued her interest the way Mr. Kirby did, but neither had he shown himself interested in her, save for a friendliness she suspected was a family trait.
Tightness filled her chest. What was wrong with her? Was she so unlikeable? Was she not attractive enough? She held no pretensions to great beauty, but had received too many compliments not to consider herself somewhat attractive. Or was that flattery merely as practiced as one’s ballroom dance steps could be?
Her eyes filled with tears. She angrily blinked them away. By the time the carriage drew into the drive, she had approximated an expression more suitable for the daughter of an Aynsley.
“Ah, here she is,” Miss McNell said as Caroline entered the drawing room, the woman’s welcoming demeanor contrasting to the hissed greeting of her cat.
“How was your visit?” Grandmama said, in a tone not devoid of interest.
Caroline lifted a shoulder. “It was well enough, but I do not think I shall go again.” She ignored the twist of pain at the thought.
“No? Why is that?”
“I think her rather insipid.” Her heart protested her lie. “And Mr. Kirby rather contrary.”
Her grandmother’s brows rose. “Hmm.”
Somehow her grandmother’s indifference drew her pique, drew her anger, making her want to say something that demanded attention. “You know they are not married, don’t you?”
Miss McNell gasped.
“Really?” Grandmama finally did look interested, as her companion fanned herself and murmured something about the depravity of sin.
Remorse struck at her careless words. How could she let such a stain dishonor two people she had hoped to one day call her friends? Worse, what if the brute discovered Emma’s whereabouts because of Caroline’s loose-lipped pique? “I … I mean to say that they are brother and sister,” she said, studying Miss McNell in a way she hoped would curb that lady’s wide-eyed speculation. “They have done nothing wrong.”
Her grandmother made a high-pitched sound in her throat, her mien shifting back to indifference. “Well, it’s probably best you do not associate with those kinds of people anymore. They seem most untrustworthy.”
Caroline managed what she hoped was a pleasant expression, her smile sliding away as she trudged upstairs to her bedchamber and removed her bonnet.
Mittens barked a hello and Caroline scooped her up and held her close. She closed her eyes as the gentle thump of a canine heartbeat reverberated against her chest. At least someone here liked her, she thought, swallowing the lump within her throat, though that one be but a pug.
Mary came in all aflutter, but Caroline sent her away sharply. She had no desire to listen to her maid’s remonstrations. Was she really so unlikeable? She knew herself to be rather inclined to gossip, and to backbiting, as evidenced just moments earlier—she winced—but did such things make one a bad person? Didn’t everyone enjoy indulging in a spot of gossip every now and then? Surely it never hurt too much.
Guilt gnawed at how she had partly exposed Emma’s secret, but really, who was Grandmama going to tell? And it wasn’t as though Emma had revealed her husband’s last name, so surely she would be kept safe.
No. She stared at her reflection in the looking glass. She was going to have to find another way, another friend with whom to spend her time.
TWO DAYS LATER she came back from a walk to see a gig drawn up at the porte cochère. Misgiving slid through her. She was no judge of horseflesh, not like Verity anyway, but unless she was mistaken, that horse belonged to Mr. Kirby.
/> Her suspicions were proved correct when she entered the house to hear voices coming from the drawing room: her grandmother’s voice, and the unmistakable low tones of Mr. Kirby. After a moment’s hesitation, she stripped off her gloves and bonnet and handed them to the footman, braced within, and entered the open door.
“Good afternoon.” She glanced at her grandmother, Miss McNell, and the three guests, offering them a cool nod and her best masked smile. For a few moments she was able to engage in polite nothings, until Mr. Kenmore engaged her grandmother in conversation, leaving Caroline to face Miss Kirby and her brother.
Emma cleared her throat. “Miss Hatherleigh, I hope you do not think it presumptuous, but we simply could not let another day pass without hoping to explain ourselves regarding that last unfortunate encounter.”
“Explain yourselves? Forgive me, but I do not take your meaning.”
Mr. Kirby remained standing, hands behind his back, his expression grave. “I am very sorry, Miss Hatherleigh, if my words sounded unmannerly on Tuesday. I am sorry if you were upset.”
“Upset? I don’t know what you mean.” The imp of perversity propelled her on. “It’s of no interest to me, Mr. Kirby, what kind of person takes your fancy, I assure you.”
He flushed satisfactorily, and she turned her artificial smile to his sister. “I hope you will forgive me, but I have just come in from a walk and find myself in sore need of a rest. It was nice of you to call. Goodbye.”
She snuck a peek at her grandmother’s face and quickly turned from her outraged expression, exiting the room with her head up, her poise steady. Until she reached her room.
Her shoulders slumped. Dear God, what had she done? She had been immeasurably rude, clutching desperately to pride like a torn garment to hide her vulnerability. She knew her actions had displeased Grandmama, for as often as she might declare the Aynsleys were of noble heritage, she was just as adamant that the honor due to such a proud lineage as theirs only existed as a result of the respect they showed their fellow man. And Caroline had shown neither honor nor respect. Especially to those she had once so foolishly hoped might be her friends.
A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh Page 9
