by Kelly Boyce
She refused to be made the fool by yet another titled lord.
“And you, Miss Sutherland,” Lord Glenmor said, turning the attention onto her. “Will you be returning for another Season come spring?”
“Oh. Oh, no.” Her face flushed, an embarrassing reaction to his unexpected notice, which made her flush all the more. Curses. “I am quite content to leave that to the younger misses.” At three and twenty, she had put herself on the shelf and planned to stay there. She had other plans for her future. That those plans were a far cry from the silly dreams she once held, did not signify.
“Nonsense,” the Dowager Countess said. “You had but one Season before your father’s illness. I am certain he would not want you to give up on the idea of marriage so soon.”
Judith forced a smile and tried to ignore Lord Glenmor’s gaze. As much as she had longed for his notice earlier, she now wished it away with equal fervor. This was not a topic she cared to discuss with him present. To be true, it was not a topic she cared to discuss at all, with anyone.
“Well,” Patience said, as if sensing Judith’s discomfort. “We should be off. We promised Mother we would not tarry too long. I think she fears I will get over-excited at the idea of such celebrations to come.”
The Dowager Countess laughed and Judith breathed a sigh of relief as the attention swung away from her. But for a brief moment, while the rest of them moved on to another topic, Lord Glenmor’s gaze lingered, stirring an unbridled heat within her.
Chapter Two
“If you continue to sigh in such a manner, I will think you do not wish Uncle Arran to marry the Dowager Countess of Blackbourne, and for the life of me I cannot imagine why,” Patience said, as the carriage bumped along the rutted road that led them back to Havelock Manor.
Judith forced her attention away from the window. “Forgive me, Patience. I suppose I am feeling a little out of sorts today.”
“Why? You should be thrilled. We are marrying into one of the most prominent families in all of England! Even Mother is excited about what this will mean for our prospects on the marriage mart next Season.” Patience’s eyes gleamed. After having her first Season cut short due to a rather embarrassing debacle, her cousin was eager to return to London and throw her cap in the ring once more. The idea that their new affiliation with the Sheridan family would widen the pool of titled gentlemen showing an interest only excited her even more.
Judith, on the other hand, did not share Patience’s enthusiasm. Once had been enough and she had made plans of her own in the hope of avoiding a repeat performance.
“I am extremely delighted for Uncle,” she said, leaning back against the lush squabs of the carriage seats. “I cannot think of anyone who deserves happiness more.”
The carriage had been an early wedding present from Lord Blackbourne to their uncle, who rarely used it, as he much preferred to simply ride his horse in the fresh air. Judith shared such a preference, but Aunt Beatris insisted it would not be ladylike to show up at Sheridan Park on horseback.
“Then what has your attention in such a tangle?” Patience tilted her head to one side with a curious expression.
Judith opened her mouth, wishing to confide in someone, but closed it just as quickly. As much as she loved her cousin, Patience had yet to master when to keep a confidence. She often blurted things out at the worst possible moments. It was never with malicious intent, only that her cousin’s mouth usually ran at a faster rate than her good sense.
“I did not sleep well, last night. That is all.” She forced a smile with some effort. Coming to Sheridan Park, knowing Lord Glenmor was in residence had indeed made sleep elusive.
The explanation proved enough to divert Patience’s chatter back to the upcoming wedding, her excitement at taking part in such an event palpable. For Judith, she only hoped the event remained a small affair. She had no desire to mix and mingle with members of the ton, certain members in particular.
When they arrived home, Edger met them at the front door. “Ah, Miss Judith, a letter arrived for you while you were out.”
Judith handed her coat off to the footman, the new staff a concession Uncle Arran had made on the behest of his sister. She had insisted that if he was marrying into society, he must have the proper staff so as not to embarrass himself. Her uncle cared little about such things, but as it was often easier to go along with Aunt Beatris on smaller matters, rather than get into a protracted battle of wills, he’d acquiesced and raided the stables for a young man looking to move up.
“Promote from within, I always say,” he’d told her with a sly smile, humor sparkling in his dark blue eyes. It did her heart good to see both Uncle Arran and her young cousin, Callum, happy once more.
Judith took the letter from Edger and flipped it over. Her hands trembled as her thumb rubbed over the hardened edges of the wax seal of the Marquess of Ridgemont. She had not expected to hear back so soon. In truth, she’d feared she would not hear from him at all.
“Thank you, Edger.”
“Who is it from?” Patience peered over Judith’s shoulder at the letter.
Judith pressed the envelope against her chest, causing the thick vellum paper to crinkle. “No one of consequence. A distant relative. We are still getting letters from those only hearing of Father’s passing now.”
“But it’s been over six months.”
Judith shrugged. “Some live in rather remote areas of Scotland. I suspect it takes a while for the post to reach them and be returned in kind. Either way, I shall read it in my room and respond.” She turned to the butler, seeing in his gaze that he knew she lied, but thankfully, he kept his own counsel in that regard. “Would you send some tea up to my room, Edger?”
“Of course, miss. Straight away.”
Judith made her way upstairs to her bedchamber and closed the door behind her, leaning her back against the solid wood as she stared down at the envelope. Likely, they were only writing to inform her she did not suit. She took a deep breath and broke the seal, unfolding the letter and reading the neat penmanship contained within.
Dear Miss Sutherland,
It is with great anticipation that I respond to your inquiry of employment with respect to the position of companion as advertised. Your letter quite intrigued me and I believe you would be a more than suitable candidate.
Her heart pounded as she read on, lodging itself into her throat. They had considered her. More than that, they were offering her the position with enthusiasm, hopeful she would accept and come to London with all due haste.
She was to be a paid companion.
Judith swallowed, forcing her heart to return to her chest. This was what she wanted. What she had planned. She would be her own woman. Independent. She would no longer need to rely on Uncle Arran or Aunt Beatris to support her. Nor would she have to suffer through being trotted out before the titled gentlemen of the ton for another Season, expected to find a husband somewhere amongst the lot of them.
It was better this way. For everyone, really.
A paid companion. Such an odd idea to pay one for something most gave willingly and without cost. Still, the position that ensured her future was, at least for the time being, secure, meant she would not have to rely on the largesse of others. Especially when others’ plans for her future varied greatly from hers.
She pressed a hand against her stomach where a heady mix of fear and anticipation competed for supremacy. Applying for the position had been a bold move, and not one she’d expected would lead to success. Now that it had…
She swallowed and glanced around the room that had been hers for the entirety of her life. She had always known one day she would leave this place, but she had never expected her departure to be under these circumstances. Yet hope and expectation were not things written in stone. They were subject to the whims of fate, and fate, as it turned out, had not been on her side.
She pushed away from the door and stared down at her shaking hands.
“We’re Scots
, lassie,” Father had often told her, especially when his end grew near and he knew she feared for her future and what it would look like without him. “It means we be stronger than most, ye ken? You’ll be fine, my dear. You’re made from brave stock.”
“I’m trying to be brave, Da,” she whispered. She pulled in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. If fate and luck had deserted her, then she would make her own destiny. What other choice did she have?
All that was left was to convince Uncle Arran and Aunt Beatris.
* * *
“You’re returning to London? Whatever for?”
Benedict winced. His younger sister’s gaze brimmed with a potent mixture of surprise and betrayal, as if he were running away from home and leaving her behind. She’d given him the same look as a little girl when he’d left home to attend Eton after their Uncle Henry went against the rest of the family and offered to pay for his schooling. Regret bled its way through his veins and brought as its companion the same fear he always had at leaving his family. Foolish really. Abigail, now married to the Earl of Blackbourne, could not be in safer hands and Mother would accompany him back to London. But old fears died slow deaths. He could not help but feel, whenever he said good-bye to his family, it would be the last time he ever saw them. Or they would need him and he would be too far away to help as he had been with Father and little Roddy.
He crossed the room to the window. The view outside proved an easier landscape to look at than the disappointment in his sister’s eyes and the guilt it induced. “I need to find a wife, Abby. I cannot do that while hiding out in the countryside.”
She followed him, refusing to let the matter rest. “You don’t need to find a wife that badly, do you? If you’re worried over the finances, Nicholas would be more than happy to give you—”
“No!” He turned to face her. Bloody hell, why did everyone think he required charity? “I do not need Blackbourne or Marcus or anyone else for that matter, giving me hand-outs. Restoring the Glenmor estates and its finances are my responsibility and I do not need help in doing so.”
Abigail lifted one blonde eyebrow and her mouth quirked to the side. “Save for that of your bride and her very large dowry?”
Benedict sighed, hating the truth in her words. “You make it sound so mercenary.”
“Isn’t it?” She reached out and took his hands. “Wouldn’t you prefer to marry for love, Ben?”
The idea appealed greatly, but it was not to be. “I do not have that luxury.”
“That’s the same thing I told you when I faced the dire prospect of marrying Lord Tarrington for all the same reasons you now claim as your own. Was it not you who said I didn’t have to do it? That no amount of money was worth a lifetime of unhappiness?”
He cleared his throat. His sister’s long and accurate memory of past conversations had to be her most annoying trait. “I may have said something to that effect, but only because it was not your responsibility to save us. As earl, it is my responsibility and I must do whatever I can to see it done.”
She squeezed his hands and made a sound somewhere between a short growl and an angry huff. “Benedict, you will regret this. Mark my words. A loveless marriage will yield an empty life wrought with discontent. I know you! You have a warm and generous heart. You don’t deserve to be cast into a lifetime of misery! Please, reconsider this course.”
He smiled down at his sister and pulled her into his arms, hugging her close as he had done all those years ago when he’d left for school. He’d promised her then that everything would be fine. He’d made the same promise when Uncle Henry had lost his mind over his obsession for Madame St. Augustine. He’d been wrong on both accounts. Horribly, disastrously wrong. It was that knowledge, and his inability to prevent the heartbreaking losses that followed, that stayed his tongue from making such a promise again.
“Abby, I am the last male heir in the Laytham line. This is our family legacy. Father’s legacy. I will not fail him. Not again. Do not ask me to.”
“Father walked away from his family to marry for love. He would want you to do the same,” she countered. “And Father was the one who demanded you stay away when we fell ill. He would never blame you for obeying his wishes.”
He hugged her tighter. Whether Father would have blamed him or not did not absolve him of the guilt that dogged him. He had done as Father asked and remained safely out of reach of the fever that ravaged his family and cost Father and Roddy their lives. But obeying Father’s wishes remained, to this day, his biggest regret. Mother and Abigail may not hold him accountable, but he did. His family had needed him, and he had not been there.
“I love you, Abby, and I would do anything for you, but not this. If I am lucky, perhaps I will find a nice girl with a large dowry. We will marry and eventually, over time, form an attachment.” Though he wouldn’t hold his breath. So far, most of the ladies who met his strict criteria had proven dull or shallow or a sad combination of both. The others had simply not been interested in an impoverished earl more captivated by her dowry than the woman attached to it. He couldn’t say he blamed them.
Abigail pulled away, her shoulders slumped and unhappiness pulling the corners of her mouth down. “Mother will not like it.”
Benedict nodded. “I know. She has already insisted she return with me under the guise of shopping for the upcoming wedding. I think she hopes to steer me around to your way of thinking.”
“Then I wish her every success and hope she has better luck than I. When will you leave?”
“By week’s end.” There was no point in putting off the unavoidable any longer than necessary. The inevitability of what he must do had become a weight hanging about his neck, coloring everything he did. “I promise I shall return in time for the wedding.” The newly engaged couple had no wish for a lengthy engagement and planned to marry two days before Christmas. Surely, he could have things settled by then.
“Fine. But I want it duly noted that I am not the least bit happy about this.”
Nor was he, but he kept such sentiments to himself. To voice them would spell his doom, and destroy any hope he had of resurrecting his family name and returning the Glenmor title back to its former glory.
* * *
Uncle Arran stared at Judith as if her proclamation regarding her future was the most absurd thing she had ever said, and he must have heard her incorrectly. “You did what?”
She sat up straighter. She had sent her response to Lord Ridgemont two days ago, though she had waited until her letter was well on its way before confronting her aunt and uncle. “I have accepted a position with the Marquess of Ridgemont as paid companion to his sister, Lady Henrietta. I plan to leave for London as soon as I can make arrangements.”
But even upon repeating her claim, her uncle continued to shake his head. “No. Absolutely not. I forbid it.”
“You—” It was her turn to be stupefied. Over the months since her uncle had returned to Havelock Manor, they had grown close, but this was the first time she had witnessed this side of him. The totalitarian who told her what she could and could not do. “I beg your pardon? Forbid it?”
“Yes. Completely.” If he continued to shake his head in such a manner, the poor man was going to give himself a beast of a headache. “You can’t. There is no reason for you to…to—”
“Work.” Aunt Beatris spat the word out as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. This was the first thing her aunt had managed to say since Judith delivered her news. “It would be unseemly!”
“Indeed.” Uncle Arran echoed his sister’s opinion and gave up shaking his head in exchange for a firm nod.
While Judith had not anticipated either of them would take the news well, their strict opposition to her employment left her flummoxed. She took a fortifying breath and forged ahead. “There is nothing unseemly about honest work and I’m surprised to hear such a sentiment from either of you. How many times have I heard stories of how Grandfather Douglas ensured each of his children und
erstood the benefits of hard work? That it was the Scottish way?” She leaned forward. “That it builds character?”
“Yes, well.” Uncle Arran cleared his throat, avoiding her direct gaze. “That was then. And we have come a long way since. You are a lady, Judith. And you should focus your efforts on more ladylike pursuits such as…” His voice trailed off and he looked over to his older sister for assistance.
Aunt Beatris took up the charge with gusto. “Like marriage and having a family of your own. A new Season will soon be upon us and I am hopeful we can secure a proper husband for you.”
Judith’s shoulders drooped. Of course. There it was. Her one and only purpose in life. To tie herself to a man—an aristocrat at that—who viewed her as nothing more than a means to an end.
“You have good breeding hips, I’ll give you that.”
She shoved the words and the ugly memory from her head. Not now. She would not think of that now.
“I am not certain marriage is for me.” A bold statement to be sure and not one that would garner any goodwill from her current audience. “And until I deem otherwise, I do not wish to spend my days idle, a burden to my family.”
Aunt Beatris fell into shocked silence once again.
“You are not a burden,” Uncle Arran stated. “I certainly hope we have not done anything to make you think so.”
The wounded look on her uncle’s face made her regret her choice of words. “No, of course not. But, I too, had a father who instilled in me an admiration for hard work and—”
Aunt Beatris recovered her tongue before Judith could finish. “Marriage is hard work, I assure you, my dear. Motherhood even more so!”
Judith sighed. This was not going as she had planned.
