Lord Freddie's First Love

by Patricia Bray

  Or were those the marigolds on the left and the asters on the right? It did not matter. Miss Sommersby barely glanced at the flowers. She looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

  “Miss Sommersby, if you wish to cut short our walk, I will not be offended.”

  She hung her head, and said, “You must wonder why I came here.”

  Honesty told him to reply yes, while politeness argued that he say no. So he said nothing.

  “I did not wish to. I meant to say no. But your sister Priscilla was so insistent that before I quite knew what happened, I found I had agreed to come. And, of course, after my parents had accepted, I could hardly say no.”

  His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Could this be true? But then, one of the qualities he had admired in Miss Sommersby had been her compliant nature.

  “When my sister gets an idea in her head, it can be difficult to stand against her,” Freddie replied. “I believe she has some thoughts of matchmaking.”

  Miss Sommersby blushed, a delicate pink that served only to emphasize the purity of her complexion. “I don’t—I wouldn’t—I mean, I certainly, hope…” she stammered.

  “Never mind,” Freddie said. “Priscilla will soon lose interest in this scheme and turn her mind to another. All we need do is remain civil, but show no partiality toward each other.”

  “If that is what you want.”

  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “Is that not what you want as well?”

  “Of course,” she said, nodding her head vigorously.

  But something about her too quick agreement made him deeply uneasy. He wondered just what had happened to Edward Farquhar, whom she had declared her soul mate. Had Farquhar shown his true colors at last? If so, was she here to mend her broken heart? Or because she saw in him a salve for her wounded pride?

  He offered to continue the tour, but Miss Sommersby claimed a headache, and so he escorted her back to the side entrance. But he declined to go inside himself. Instead he made his way over past the stables and into the estate yard.

  Beechwood House was where the family lived, but the estate yard was the heart of Beechwood Park. Here lay the sawmill, the carpenter’s shed, the gardener’s bothy, the smithy and all the workshops for the various craftsmen. From an office in the center of the yard, his agent supervised the hundreds of laborers and tenant farmers who comprised the estate.

  Martin Lansdowne, the agent, was off touring two of the smaller estates that lay outside the county. He was not due to return for another week, at which time he would bring with him the goats for their newest enterprise.

  Freddie spent the morning in the agent’s office, attending to the correspondence that had piled up in his absence. He authorized payments of accounts, signed a contract for the sale of corn and inspected catalogs of the latest scientific agricultural instruments.

  It was all work that had to be done. But Freddie knew that he had not come here out of a sense of duty. No, he was simply avoiding his guests. It was a cowardly impulse, but he did not know what else to do. And he doubted Priscilla would think to look for him in here.

  Although if she did find him, he would have a word with his sister and set her right. That is, assuming that she was not accompanied by her new friend.

  In the end it was Elizabeth who found him.

  “Freddie, is there something amiss? I could not believe it when Braddock told me I could find you here.”

  Freddie waved the seed catalog he held in his hand. “I am reading,” he said.

  “In here? When you have a perfectly good study of your own? Not to mention the library or the dozens of other public rooms.”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Very well, you have caught me out. If you must know, I was hoping to avoid another tête-à-tête with Miss Sommersby. Priscilla seems determined to throw the two of us together, and I am running out of excuses to avoid her.”

  Elizabeth nodded, as if his words had confirmed her own suspicions. “So that is why she invited Miss Sommersby. I thought it odd, since she had never seemed to be a particular friend of Priscilla’s before. But there seemed no reason to refuse.”

  He put the catalog down on the desk and began to fiddle with a pen. “There is more to the situation than meets the eye. Before I left London, I asked Miss Sommersby if she would do me the honor of becoming my wife. She declined.”

  His sister’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. “Why how perfectly dreadful. And how ill mannered of her to have come here. Does the girl have no sense at all?”

  “She claims to find the situation as awkward as I do,” Freddie said.

  Elizabeth snorted indignantly. “Then she needn’t have come.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “Unless you wished her to come, that is? Were you dreadfully disappointed when she refused you?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “She wounded my pride, but that was all. It did not take me long to realize that she had done me a great service by refusing me.”

  He could no longer remember the impulse that had led him to propose marriage to Miss Sommersby. Why on earth had he ever imagined that he would be satisfied by a marriage of convenience? Especially to such a weak-willed woman as Miss Sommersby had proven herself to be.

  “Well, if it is any comfort to you, there was no gossip of this in London. I do not think Priscilla or anyone else knew that you had made an offer to Miss Sommersby.” Again she paused for a moment. “I must say, I think less of Miss Sommersby for having accepted the invitation.”

  “There is more. It seems Mother has lent a hand, inviting Miss Sommersby’s parents. They arrive this weekend,” Freddie said neutrally.

  He did not need to elaborate. His sister could see the implications as well as he. There were many who would see the particular attention paid to Miss Sommersby and her parents’ arrival as signs that he was courting the young woman in earnest. And even if he managed to quash Priscilla’s schemes, there was his mother to contend with. Miss Sommersby was precisely the sort of young woman the Dowager Lady Frederick would like to see her son take to wife. It was one of the reasons why he had chosen her, after all. He could count on his mother doing everything in her power to promote the match.

  “Perhaps it would be best if you went to London for a few days. Mama will be angry, but this will make it clear that Miss Sommersby is here simply as Priscilla’s friend and not as your guest.”

  “No, that is not possible.” It was good advice, but he could not leave Anne. Not when there was so much that lay unfinished between them.

  “Then what can I do to help?”

  “Once the other guests arrive, it will be less awkward. But for now, just stay close and see that Priscilla does not shirk her duty to entertain Miss Sommersby.”

  “Of course. And you can count on David to do his part.”

  Freddie took a deep breath, then looked away. “There is one more thing you can do for me. Anne Webster has returned, and she could use a friend.”

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Mama mentioned her return in her last letter. She seemed to hint there was some sort of scandal?”

  Freddie winced. He did not want to know what his mother had written. He only hoped that she had had the common sense to keep her suspicions within the family rather than broadcasting them to her wide circle of acquaintances.

  “I do not care what Mother has written, or what gossip you may have heard. All I ask is that you not judge Anne until you have seen her for yourself.” If Anne agreed to become his wife, he would need Elizabeth’s support to make her feel welcome.

  If Elizabeth guessed at the reason for his request, she did not say so. “If you ask it of me, then of course I will go,” she responded.

  “You have a visitor,” Boswell said, extending a silver tray toward her. Anne wondered who it could be. In recent weeks she had had no callers, except for Freddie and the solicitor Mr. Creighton.

  Anne picked up the cream-colored card from off the tray. She turned it over and read the name engraved upon
it. Mrs. David Rutledge. Strange, she did not know anyone named Rutledge.

  “Shall I tell her you are not at home?”

  Anne hesitated. In the first weeks of her return, several of the ladies from the neighborhood had called on her, with the express purpose of condemning her for her scandalous ways or to urge her to leave the neighborhood at once.

  But once the initial shock of her presence had worn off, the callers had ceased to appear.

  “No. Please ask her to join me.” Mrs. Rutledge could be another of their ilk, but Anne would not be the first to show discourtesy.

  Boswell bowed and left, returning a moment later. “Mrs. David Rudedge,” he announced.

  “Miss Webster. How good of you to see me. I hope I am not intruding?”

  Mrs. Rutledge was an elegant woman, dressed in what was presumably the height of London fashion. She was past her first youth, but could be no more than thirty. Her face was familiar. Anne felt that she had seen this woman before, but could not remember where or when.

  “Not at all,” Anne said. “Please, have a seat and let me ring for refreshments.”

  Mrs. Rutledge selected a chair and then sat down, arranging her skirts with practiced ease.

  “You have changed a great deal, I must say. I would hardly have known you,” she said.

  “And you have changed as well,” Anne said. Who the devil was this woman? “I must beg your pardon, but I don’t recall where we met.”

  The woman gave a peal of laughter. “Don’t you recognize me? My name is Rutledge now, but it was Pennington. Elizabeth Pennington.”

  Anne blushed, feeling foolish. How could she not have recognized Freddie’s oldest sister? Her only excuse was that she had not seen Elizabeth in years. Not since Elizabeth’s wedding to the dashing Lieutenant Carson.

  “I did not know you had remarried,” Anne said. “May I offer you my congratulations?”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth Rutledge said. “We were married only this spring. My new husband is quite different from my first; nonetheless, I adore him dreadfully.” Her lips curved up in a knowing smile.

  “And your daughter, she is well also?”

  “Mary is quite well. She is spending the summer with Lieutenant Carson’s family at Brighton. She is all of seven now, can you imagine?”

  Anne felt a sudden stab of envy. Elizabeth Rutledge was everything that she was not. Elegant, confident, secure of her place in society and apparently happy in her new marriage.

  Mrs. Rutledge must know the gossip concerning Anne. Every soul within fifty miles surely had heard it by now. Yet why had she risked her own reputation to call on the supposed sinner? There was no thread of past friendship to bind them together. They had been neighbors, true, but Mrs. Rutledge had been Sarah’s friend, not Anne’s.

  It made no sense, unless she had decided that it was her duty to warn Anne off. Anne braced herself, certain that at any moment Mrs. Rutledge would begin asking probing questions or hinting that it would be best for Anne to leave and to break all connection to the Pennington family.

  Instead Mrs. Rutledge chatted easily about past acquaintances, her recent visit to London and her hopes that Mr. Rutledge would find an estate to their liking somewhere near her family. Anne’s face grew still, wondering if this was Mrs. Rutledge’s way of hinting that the family was willing to buy the Manor, in effect to pay Anne to leave the neighborhood.

  But her guest, perhaps sensing Anne’s mood, added quickly that she had no wish to settle right on her mother’s doorstep, as it were.

  The half-hour flew by, and as Mrs. Rutledge rose to leave, Anne realized that she still did not know the purpose of her visit.

  “I thank you for your kind hospitality,” Mrs. Rutledge said. “I do hope I may call again.”

  By custom Mrs. Rutledge should have invited Anne to call on her at Beechwood Park, but Anne was not surprised to find that no such invitation was forthcoming.

  “Perhaps, next time, you will introduce me to your son,” Mrs. Rutledge said.

  “Perhaps.” But not until she was certain that Mrs. Rutledge bore them no ill will. Anne had learned that lesson at the lending library. She would not make the same mistake twice.

  Anne escorted her guest to the entranceway. As Mrs. Rutledge put on her bonnet and collected her parasol, Anne found she could contain her curiosity no longer. “Tell me, why did you decide to call?”

  Mrs. Rutledge smiled. “Because my brother asked it of me.” And then she left, leaving Anne staring gape-mouthed at her back.

  Nine

  By Friday the house was full of guests, and Freddie was at his wit’s end. He’d hoped that having so many guests would make it easier for him to avoid Miss Sommersby; instead, it seemed everyone present was conspiring to throw them together.

  In addition to Miss Sommersby and her parents, there were no less than a dozen ladies and gentlemen who were particular friends of Priscilla’s. It should have been easy for him to avoid Miss Sommersby. But the ladies, as always, showed little interest in Freddie, instead preferring to flirt with the other gentlemen present. And those gentlemen treated Miss Sommersby with careful politeness, though there was a marked lack of flirtatiousness in their manner.

  It was as if Miss Sommersby wore a sign around her neck, one which read Intended Property of Viscount Frederick. Worse yet, there was nothing he could do about it. He could hardly announce to the assembled guests that he had no interest in Miss Sommersby. Such a declaration would only make him look foolish and would merely serve to add fuel to the rumors.

  So he was careful to divide his attention equally among the ladies present. He partnered Miss Glavine at whist, turned the pages for Lady Alice as she played at the pianoforte, and admired the sisters Crane as they sketched the lake. But his scruples went for naught. Miss Glavine developed a headache, and asked dear Miss Sommersby to take her place. Lady Alice declared that her hand had a cramp, and pleaded that only Miss Sommersby could take her place at the instrument.

  It wasn’t till the day at the lake that he realized the extent of the conspiracy surrounding him. The sisters Crane, good-hearted but none too subtle, spent nearly a quarter-hour discussing the virtues of Miss Sommersby, until Freddie was ready to scream with frustration. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, Miss Sommersby appeared. At once the Crane sisters decided that nothing would do save to have Freddie row Miss Sommersby out on the lake so they could sketch the couple together.

  Freddie felt ill. Miss Sommersby blushed and demurred, but then declared that she was only too happy to oblige her friends. Before he knew it, he found himself in the middle of the lake with the one woman he had most hoped to avoid.

  He had to admit that Miss Sommersby made a pretty picture as she sat across from him, a parasol shading her from the sun. Freddie bent his back to the oars. He wished for a sudden storm or perhaps a bolt of lightning. Any excuse to cut short this farce. Then again, the way his luck was running, in a storm the boat would capsize, and as a gentleman he would have to save her. Once having saved her life, it would be impossible to convince anyone that he held her in no special regard.

  Freddie sighed.

  “Is there something wrong, my lord?”

  “Tell me, why did you agree to this?”

  “Why not? I have always liked boating, and the Misses Crane seemed to have their hearts set on the sketch. It would be unkind to disappoint them.”

  It was not possible that she could be so naive.

  “I did not mean the lake. I meant why did you come here?”

  She bit her lip and then bent her head, so that she was looking up at him through lowered lashes. “My lord? I thought I had explained that to you. I didn’t mean to come, but your sister insisted…”

  He gave her a hard look. Miss Sommersby was too amiable for her own good, or a better actress than he had guessed. She had come to Beechwood Park because Priscilla had insisted. No doubt, if he asked, she would have a perfectly innocent explanation for each of the occurrences that h
ad bothered him.

  Strange, that it seemed the only time she had ever had the courage to disappoint anyone was when she had refused his offer.

  It was time for some plain speaking. “Miss Sommersby, I am certain that you must find this situation as awkward as I do. I do not wish to give offense, but perhaps it would be less trying for both of us if you were to make an effort to avoid my company.”

  “I never meant for this…I mean, if you wish I will leave at once, although what I will tell Mama and Papa I do not know…” Her voice broke, and tears sparkled in her eyes.

  She looked completely miserable, and he felt like an ogre. He supposed it was the legacy of having four younger sisters, but the sight of a young lady in tears always brought out his protective side.

  “No, no. I am not asking you to leave. You and your parents are welcome to stay, till after Priscilla’s ball.” It was only another five days till the ball. How much trouble could five days be? “But, please, in the future it would be best if you did not seek out my company,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said tremulously.

  “Now be a good girl, and try to smile. You don’t want your likeness done with a frown on your face.”

  Miss Sommersby gave a wan smile. “Of course,” she said.

  Looking at her, Freddie felt a hundred years old. What had he ever seen in this child? Miss Sommersby had no backbone at all. She could not stand up for herself in the least; the slightest reproof brought her to tears. Marriage to her would have meant a lifetime of soothing her sensibilities and apologizing for imagined offenses.

  And he could not imagine anyone more unlike Anne. With Anne, a fellow always knew where he stood. Anne was incapable of saying yes when she meant no, or of agreeing that something was white when all present could see that it was black. Anne never would have found herself in this situation, or if she had, she would have put an abrupt end to the speculation by declaring that she would rather wed a toad than spend one more minute in the hapless gentleman’s company.