Courting Miss Lancaster

by Sarah M. Eden

  “Mr. Howard,” she asked, “from which part of the kingdom do you hail?”

  “Essex,” Mr. Howard answered quite seriously.

  “Essex, I understand, is a very beautiful county,” Athena offered.

  Mr. Howard simply nodded. Harry felt a smile tugging at his lips. Mr. Howard was quite the least talkative person of Harry’s acquaintance. It was not a result of timidity; Harry would never take advantage of a character trait that was so inherently vulnerable. Mr. Howard simply never felt the need to say much above four words at a time. And he was quite without anything resembling a sense of humor. His every remark was made somberly, whether or not such a tone was fitting.

  Mr. Howard nodded, the sort of nod one would use when discussing deaths or difficult legal questions or war. “There are some very fine trees in Essex.”

  Harry fought back a smile. Work your magic, Howard.

  “I believe I saw several very exemplary trees when I was last in Essex,” a gentleman standing near Athena said. Harry recognized him. Charles Dalforth was a gentleman of some expectations, if not true personal wealth, who was universally regarded as honorable and declared to be a good sort of chap by the members of his club. He would require watching, Harry decided. But Mr. Howard was to be the focus of that evening’s undertaking. Mr. Dalforth’s eyes met Harry’s, a look of amusement in their depths. He, apparently, could see the ridiculousness of Mr. Howard’s conversation.

  Harry simply raised his eyebrows and allowed his lips to turn up ever so slightly.

  Mr. Howard nodded, the space between his eyebrows creasing with thought. “Indeed. We have some very fine elms.”

  A general nod rippled through the group. Persephone turned toward one of the others gathered nearby and opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Howard spoke again.

  “And birches.”

  Persephone offered a polite smile.

  “Ash.”

  Harry allowed his eyes to stray to Athena and was not disappointed. She seemed to be fluctuating between confusion and amusement.

  “Willow.”

  All eyes were on Mr. Howard. His rather bland and exceptionally persistent listing of native trees had caught the others off guard.

  “Yew.”

  Athena’s eyes met Harry’s, and he could no longer hold back his smile. She raised an eyebrow in obvious inquiry, tipping her head slightly in Mr. Howard’s direction. Harry managed an almost indiscernible shrug but allowed a small lifting of his eyebrows. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Harry pasted his most innocent expression on his face.

  Slowly, beautifully, a smile spread across her mouth, bringing out the mesmerizing dimple he’d discovered at the left of her mouth the first time he’d seen her smile. Harry had to force himself to continue breathing evenly, to prevent any trace of the effect she had on him from showing in his features. Lands, she was beautiful.

  “Miss Lancaster.” Mr. Howard’s voice broke the moment, pulling Athena’s still-smiling gaze away from Harry. He immediately felt loss at the severed connection, even as he registered the relief of being able to breathe again. “I see you are enthusiastic about yews.”

  A flicker of surprise passed over Athena’s face, and Harry had to force back his grin once more. “Yews?” Athena repeated. “As in trees?”

  “What other yews are there?” Mr. Howard asked quite seriously.

  “There are sheep,” Mr. Dalforth supplied, a touch of humor barely noticeable in his tone. “Ewes, I believe, can refer to sheep.”

  “But that is spelled differently,” Mr. Howard answered as though puzzling out a very complicated matter.

  Mr. Dalforth smiled. “So it is,” he said with obvious good humor. He turned to Persephone. “Your Grace.” He bowed quite properly. “I believe our hostess is indicating that the second half of tonight’s entertainment”—he offered the last word with a note of irony in his voice—“is set to begin. I must reluctantly take my leave, as my mother quite specifically requested I sit beside her this evening.”

  “One must ever be mindful of one’s mother,” Persephone replied.

  “Indeed,” Mr. Dalforth said. “And I was pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Lancaster,” he offered to Athena.

  “And I yours, Mr. Dalforth,” Athena replied with a smile.

  Harry was quick to reassure himself that Athena’s smile for him had been far broader.

  No sooner had Mr. Dalforth slipped from sight than Mr. Howard picked up the discarded topic of only moments earlier. “What other trees are among your favorites, Miss Lancaster?” he asked Athena.

  “Well . . . I . . .” Harry fancied he could see her thoughts tumbling in her head as she strove for an answer. “There is a very fine holly tree near the gates to Falstone Castle.”

  “Holly,” Mr. Howard replied, nodding gravely, brow furrowed with contemplation.

  “Shall we escort the ladies to their seats?” Harry suggested to Mr. Howard.

  His suggestion was taken up with enthusiasm by Mr. Howard, if not by Athena. She cast him a very brief but very loaded glance of surprise. In the end, civility required she accept the arm Mr. Howard offered and endure the ongoing list of trees he continued to belabor as they moved slowly back to the spot she and her sister had occupied during the first part of the evening.

  Mr. Howard took his leave of the ladies in the ponderous way Harry had come to expect before making his way back to his own seat. Harry, by virtue of having accompanied the ladies to the Hardfords’, had a seat between Athena and her sister and was not obliged to remove himself from their presence.

  “Was there a reason, Mr. Windover,” Athena whispered over the sounds of the assembly settling in, “for your rather pointed introduction to Mr. Howard?”

  She sounded slightly put out. Harry took that as a good sign.

  “Did you not like Mr. Howard?” Harry asked.

  “It is not a matter of disliking him,” Athena replied. “I simply wonder if you had anticipated that I would like him so very much. I have never known you to be so obvious in making Persephone and I known to your friends.”

  Friend? Mr. Howard hardly fell into that category.

  “Am I to assume then, my dear”—Harry kept the endearment light all the while assessing her reaction to it. She seemed not to notice—“that Mr. Howard has not proven the object of your matrimonial searching?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Athena replied, her voice a shocked whisper.

  “He is, I assure you, both a gentleman and quite eligible. You informed me only last night that those were your only requirements.” Harry managed to keep his tone and expression innocent. “I thought you would be pleased to meet the fulfillment of all your hopes and dreams.”

  “What do you know of my hopes and dreams?” Athena asked, turning her face away from him and toward the pianoforte at the front of the room.

  I guarantee I know more of yours than you know of mine. “Again, I remind you of your declarations of not twenty-four hours ago,” Harry said aloud, though quietly. “A gentleman who is eligible. I see no way in which Mr. Howard does not meet those requirements. Unless there are other things you desire in a potential suitor of which you have not made me aware.”

  Athena turned back to look at him, her mouth set in a line of growing annoyance. “I should very much like any suitor for my hand to have more conversation than a ceaseless listing of flora.”

  “So the man who will win your heart ought to be a gentleman, eligible, and conversant.” Harry made a show of setting this bit of insight to memory.

  “And not be so decidedly serious,” Athena added, shaking her head. “I would hope he would improve upon greater acquaintance, but somehow I find myself doubtful. I could not bear the continuing company of a man who was so very grave all the time.”

  “A gentleman, eligible, conversant, and with some degree of lightheartedness.” Harry nodded in approval. “Should I find myself in company with such a one, I shall be certain to introduce him to you.”

  Any
response Athena might have made was prevented by the resuming of the musical showcasing common to the ton’s musicales.

  Harry’s mind was already turning. Athena’s list had become a little more specific—precisely what he had hoped for. But it was hardly specific enough to prevent a catastrophic misalliance. The question remained: which absolutely essential character trait ought he to convince her of next?

  Chapter 4

  Obviously, it had been a bad idea.

  Athena tensed, watching Adam out of the corner of her eye. He was not happy. At all. They were moments from departing for another ball, one Adam had no intention of attending. It had seemed an opportune time for Persephone to bring up a very touchy subject. But it hadn’t worked as well as Athena and her sister had hoped.

  “Every young lady making her debut must have a come-out ball, Adam,” Persephone said quietly but firmly. “And it would be exceptionally badly done of us not to host it for her. You are her guardian, her brother-in-law, her sponsor in society. It falls to us to give Athena her ball.”

  “I danced with her at Debensham’s,” Adam replied curtly. “Society will not expect more of me.”

  Athena was close enough to them in the drawing room to overhear Persephone and Adam’s conversation but far enough away to be unnoticed by them. Feeling tense and worried, Athena sat on a straight-backed chair and lightly rubbed her fingers against her forehead, closing her eyes and willing the disagreement to end swiftly. Persephone had been so certain Adam would agree to the ball. Athena didn’t want to push him beyond his limit. She had heard of the duke’s infamous temper. Though she had not personally been witness to any violence on his part, she did not doubt that he was every bit as harsh as his reputation painted him.

  “Do not declare defeat yet,” Mr. Windover said quietly from just beside her. He had listened to the proposal of a ball at Falstone House but had not joined the ensuing debate. “Adam did not say no outright. He would have if he were absolutely set against the ball.”

  “But he is so obviously unhappy about the idea,” Athena answered quietly. As always, Mr. Windover’s presence was calming. “I don’t see how we can ever convince him to agree to it.”

  She glanced at Mr. Windover. He was smiling as usual. And there was a look in his eyes she had learned to recognize as she’d come to know him better. It was silent laughter, not at anyone’s expense, but from an inherent enjoyment of life. He obviously felt himself equal to the task of convincing the society-shunning duke to invite hordes of the Upper Ten-thousand into his home. Athena gave him a look of silent challenge, daring him to live up to the promise in his expression. Harry’s smile turned into something resembling both a smirk and a grin.

  “You realize, of course, Adam,” Mr. Windover interrupted the conversation between husband and wife without the slightest hint of remorse, “you will be obligated to extend an invitation to our esteemed prince when you begin the arduous task of making a guest list.”

  Adam’s head snapped in Mr. Windover’s direction, his expression hardened and fiery.

  “Mr. Windover,” Athena whispered urgently.

  “Have some faith, m’dear,” Mr. Windover said under his breath. Full voice, he continued addressing Adam. “I, for one, will be waiting on tenterhooks to see if he will attend or not.”

  “You think the prince would dare refuse the invitation?” Adam threw back.

  “Do you wish him to attend?” Mr. Windover asked.

  “I would rather walk stark naked through Hyde Park.”

  “Adam,” Persephone scolded, throwing a quick glance in Athena’s direction. She probably ought to have been scandalized. But the time she’d spent with her brother-in-law had taught her to not be surprised by anything he might say. Frightened, perhaps, but not surprised.

  “And yet if the prince does not attend the ball—” Mr. Windover continued.

  “I’ll call the ball of mutton out,” Adam announced firmly.

  “And therein lies the entertainment value,” Mr. Windover explained, smiling and leaning back casually in his chair near Athena. “Our prince will receive an invitation he dare not refuse but is terrified to accept.”

  Adam was silent. And absolutely still. Athena’s eyes flicked between everyone in the room. Persephone was watching Adam, her expression hopeful. Mr. Windover wore his usual look of casual amusement. Adam looked intensely thoughtful.

  “Georgie was irritatingly rude at the last drawing room,” Adam said. By Georgie, Athena assumed he meant the prince, though she had never heard him referred to that way.

  “Heart-stopping fear can do that to a fellow,” Harry observed.

  Athena held back a smile.

  “The spineless lump of dough deserves a moment of abject humiliation,” Adam declared as if insulting one’s prince was quite a normal thing for a person to do. “Plan your ball, Persephone,” Adam ordered. “But allow me to word the royal invitation.”

  “Let us leave your sister to express her gratitude,” Mr. Windover suggested quietly and offered Athena his hand to help her rise. As they passed Adam, Mr. Windover said, “I will see that Miss Lancaster has her wrap and ascertain whether the carriage has been brought around.”

  “You practically live here, Harry,” Adam said tersely. “If I have to listen to the two of you Mister and Miss each other for the rest of the Little Season, one or the other of you is not going to live to see Christmas.”

  Athena tensed. But Mr. Windover laughed. “So for our health, if nothing else, we should endeavor to be on a Christian-name basis in family settings.”

  “There is no endeavor about it,” Adam said. “You will do so.”

  “But you never have called me out, Adam,” Harry answered. “And you have promised to do so many times.”

  “Do not tempt me.”

  “How shall I spend my excessive free time if I abandon one of my favorite hobbies?”

  Adam’s eyes narrowed. Athena tugged on Mr. Windover’s arm, concerned that he’d finally pushed Adam too far.

  “Harry, do step out,” Persephone insisted. “I have no desire to bid my husband farewell with you in the room offering a running commentary.”

  Mr. Windover laughed his infectious chuckle and led Athena from the room. The door was firmly closed behind them.

  “They are a little nauseating, aren’t they?” Mr. Windover said.

  “I do not understand them,” Athena confessed. “Adam is so surly and unapproachable, and Persephone is so obviously in love with him.”

  “Surly and unapproachable.” He seemed to be weighing her word choice. “I do believe that is the tamest set of descriptors I have ever heard attached to Adam’s name.”

  Which brought to mind another thing that had puzzled Athena. “Does Adam often refer to our prince as Georgie?”

  “Only when Adam is particularly cross with him,” Mr. Windover answered with another characteristic laugh. “It was that nickname that brought about the aborted duel I told you of recently.”

  “Indeed?” Athena was intrigued.

  “Adam called the prince Georgie—to his face—at a rather important gathering of society’s most elite. It was, of course, a monumental embarrassment to His Royal Highness, and he said something rather regrettable to Adam. It was that comment which led to Adam’s issuing a challenge.”

  “Good heavens,” Athena said. “What did the prince say? It must have been something drastic to warrant calling out the heir to the throne.”

  Mr. Windover smiled at her, that twinkle of devilment in his eyes Athena was beginning to realize was commonplace for him. “You are anticipating an insult of the highest magnitude, are you not?”

  Athena smiled back at him.

  “Perhaps you are envisioning a set of words so base or horrendous that I would hesitate to repeat them in the company of a genteel young lady such as yourself.”

  “Except your tone tells me such an assumption would not be entirely correct.”

  “Very wise, Athena—and, I assure you
, I am using your Christian name at the insistence of your guardian, not because I am a presumptuous, ill-mannered lout.”

  “Are you saying that you are a presumptuous, ill-mannered lout—just not in this particular instance?”

  He laughed at that show of wit, something Athena appreciated. Evander had always been her companion in jests and intellectual swordplay. How she’d missed him in the years since he’d gone to sea. And how deeply she’d mourned his death in battle only a year earlier. She’d never thought to find another who enjoyed the same type of interaction.

  “Perhaps you will be willing to forgive this ill-mannered lout when you consider the fact that I quite single-handedly secured Adam’s blessing for your come-out ball,” Mr. Windover said. “That was rather miraculous of me, don’t you think?”

  “I still do not understand how you managed that, Mr. Windover.” Athena shook her head at the recollection. It had seemed a lost cause before he had completely turned the situation around.

  “Please call me Harry when we are in private,” he replied. “I would hate for Adam to think we have ignored his dictate. He can be a little testy when he feels his authority is underestimated.”

  Athena laughed lightly, as she was sure Mr. Windover, Harry, intended her to.

  “Shall I explain to you the secret to Adam, then?” Harry smiled conspiratorially. “This is a great deal of power to trust to someone so young.”

  “I am nineteen years old, sir,” Athena informed him, her tone of indignation as obviously feigned as his exaggerated air of condescension.

  “An ancient, to be sure.”

  “If I am an ancient, you must be an artifact.”

  “I do have nine years more in my dish than you do,” Harry replied.

  “Decrepit.” Athena laughed.

  “I had better divulge my closely guarded secret before the effects of old age wipe it from my undependable memory,” Harry said. “Though you may not credit it, Adam and Persephone are almost disgustingly enamored of one another. For Adam’s part, he would do absolutely anything for his wife. Anything. But having lived his life dictating every facet of his existence and catering to no one’s whims or wishes, he struggles to allow himself to act on his desire to please her. The Infamous Duke of Kielder never gives an inch, never breaks from routine. The key to securing his cooperation lies in giving him a reason to change his plans or inclinations that does not compromise his formidable reputation.”