Miss Marleigh's Pirate Lord (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 1)

by Mindy Burbidge Strunk

  Parker shook his head. "Would you like me to inquire, sir?"

  "No." Alex leaned forward. "I shall speak to Ainsley myself. But I wonder, could you discreetly get the name of Miss Marleigh's uncle? I should like to find out more about him."

  "Yes, sir. I shall see what I can discover." He turned the knob and opened the door but Alex called him back.

  "Also, Parker, I should like you to make some arrangements for me." Alex wiped the butter from his lips and fingers, then tossed the serviette on the try.

  “Anything, sir."

  "There is a music store in Portsmouth. I need you to send someone to purchase some sheet music for me."

  “There is only one music store in Portsmouth, sir?" There was skepticism in Parker’s voice.

  "How would I know such things? Have them search every music story they find," Alex snapped. He walked over to the small desk by the window and scribbled out the name of the score.

  He handed the paper to Parker. "I need it here as soon as possible.

  Parker read the paper. "I’ll see it is done, my lord." He headed toward the door. "I shall return with some warm water for you to wash and to help you dress."

  The door closed quietly behind him. Alex sat back in his chair, absently eating the rest of the food on his tray.

  Why would a footman make such an effort to call into question his employer's reputation? What could be gained from it? Alex didn't know, but he felt certain something was amiss—something he intended to discover.

  Alex stepped through the doors onto the terrace, feeling the first rays of sunshine in days. It felt good to be out in the fresh air again.

  Ainsley stepped up from behind. "Are you up for a little shooting today, Grayson?"

  Alex shook his head. "No. I have received too many withering looks since the fencing competition."

  “Since when has a few unhappy people changed your course of action?” Ainsley chuckled. "I assume you think you will win the shooting competition?"

  Alex smiled. "Of course. I should wonder that you even question it."

  "You always were a humble man, Grayson." Ainsley clasped his hands behind his back. "What shall you do to entertain yourself?" He nodded his head at the expanse of grass to the left of the terrace. “It looks as though a game of battledore is being set up. Perhaps that is more to your liking?"

  Alex started to shake his head, but Ainsley clapped Alex on his good shoulder and thrust him forward. "Come, it will be delightful."

  Alex grunted.

  "I promise. Besides, you need some frivolity in your life. You are too surly."

  Alex let out a growl, which made Ainsley laugh loudly.

  Before Ainsley could step off the terrace, Alex pulled him back. “Has the Marleigh footman approached your valet to offer a warning to you?”

  Ainsley looked toward the grass where several ladies were looking through the bags of Battledore equipment. He nodded.

  “What are you choosing to do about it?” Alex watched his friend closely.

  “Nothing. I believe it all a bag of moonshine. I have eyes. I can see what Miss Marleigh is. I need not have a servant tell me.”

  Alex was both relieved and irritated. “I expected as much.” They stepped down onto the lawn, walking over to where the ladies stood.

  Miss Marleigh looked up and smiled. Alex's breath caught in his throat. She looked lovely this morning. Her hair shone like a golden halo in the sunlight, the deep green in her dress bringing out the green flecks in her brown eyes.

  He wanted to be angry with her for the accusation she had bantered about last evening, but he found he could not be. Had he been in her situation, he might have come to a similar conclusion. After all, had he not conducted himself in a way to make her question everything about him? What could he do to show her his true character?

  "It's a lovely day, is it not, ladies?" Alex could see Ainsley look from Miss Marleigh to the rest of the ladies, but Alex knew who he was addressing.

  Alex cursed under his breath and then cursed at himself for cursing. This was not the way to show her he was not what she thought.

  Miss Marleigh, who was standing closest to him, raised a pert brow.

  Alex’s face heated.

  "Shall we determine teams?" Miss Martindale looked at those assembled.

  Ainsley stepped forward. "Perhaps you should be one of the team leaders, Miss Martindale." He made the pretense of looking around. "And Miss Marleigh, you could be the other. There are more of us then usually make up a team, but it is too wet for others to sit out and wait. Is it agreeable to everyone if we play with four players each?"

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  Ainsley put his index finger to his lips. He was so obviously trying to appear as though he was not plotting how to get on Miss Marleigh's team.

  "As there are only two gentlemen at present, I believe it only fair if we put one on each team." Ainsley looked back and forth between Miss Martindale and Miss Marleigh.

  "Miss Martindale, if you do not object, I shall be on your team." Miss Martindale nodded vigorously and Ainsley grinned at Alex. "Grayson, that would put you on Miss Marleigh's team."

  What? Why had Ainsley not put himself on Miss Marleigh's team? What was he about? Alex narrowed his eyes at Ainsley. There had to be some sinister reason for this.

  Alex felt Miss Marleigh move in closer to him. "How is your leg? Are you sure you are able to play?”

  Alex leaned his cane against the bags of equipment. “I slept well and I have taken it easy thus far today. I should be able to play.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” She smiled and nodded. “How shall we pick our team members?"

  Alex shook his head, his voice cracking as he spoke. "I can't begin to know. You are the leader; you should make the choice."

  Miss Marleigh gave a slight huff. "You are of no help at all. If we should loose, I shall hold you responsible."

  Alex gave a small chuckle. "Well, then. I cannot have a loss tied to the Bellingham name, now, can I?"

  Miss Marleigh tilted her head toward him, the smell of vanilla and orange drifting past him. He breathed in deeply.

  She whispered, "That is more like it. What do you think of Miss Barton?"

  Alex looked over at the young lady. She fidgeted with the buttons on her spencer as Alex looked at her. "She looks a bit timid. I think Miss Felicity would be better."

  "Really? What gives you that idea?" Miss Marleigh glanced sideways at him.

  "The other night when we were playing cards, Miss Felicity tried to pretend she didn't care about winning, but I could see through her guise."

  Miss Marleigh smiled. "You are very shrewd, my lord." She straightened, looking towards her cousin. "We shall pick Miss Felicity."

  Miss Martindale picked Miss Brook and Miss Tinsdale, which left Miss Barton on their team, afterall.

  As she walked toward the rest of the team, Miss Marleigh smirked at Alex.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "We had first pick, so you may serve first." Miss Marleigh tossed the shuttlecock over to the other side of the net.

  The space was tight, with four players on each team. Miss Marleigh and Alex protected the back section, while Miss Felicity and Miss Barton protected the front.

  Miss Martindale hit the shuttlecock right to Alex. He easily lobbed it back over to the other team. Miss Tinsdale and Miss Brook both went for the shuttlecock and hit each other's rackets, the shuttlecock landing between them.

  Miss Martindale offered words of encouragement to the young ladies and tossed the shuttlecock to Miss Marleigh.

  She hit the shuttlecock over the net and Miss Brook hit it back toward Miss Barton, who closed her eyes as she wildly waved her racket in the air. The shuttlecock landed softly on the grass. Miss Felicity said nothing, but the flash of fire in her eyes showed she was not happy Miss Barton had missed.

  Miss Marleigh looked over at Alex, her smile wide and twitching. "You were right," she mouthed.

&nb
sp; Alex laughed and Miss Felicity's head spun toward him. He nodded toward the shuttlecock on the ground. "It's nice to be out of doors again, is it not?"

  Miss Felicity smiled and nodded, scooping up the shuttlecock before Miss Barton was able. Miss Felicity handed it over to the other team.

  Alex took a step back and brown water bubbled up around the soles of his boots. He lifted his other foot, noticing the mud beginning to show in the grass. Though the sun shone brightly overhead, the earth still bore the weight of several days’ rain. The grass would not come out of this match without significant marring.

  The other team hit the shuttlecock and Alex noticed Miss Felicity had moved very close to Miss Barton. As the shuttlecock sailed through the air, she moved in front of Miss Barton and hit it back over to the other side.

  "Hey, I could have hit that one," Miss Barton whined quietly.

  "Oh, pardon me. I didn't realize I had moved over so far." Miss Felicity moved back over to her own side.

  Alex raised looked over to Miss Marleigh, his brows raised high. Miss Marleigh covered her mouth with her hand, but her shaking shoulders could not be hidden.

  Miss Martindale hit the shuttlecock, letting out a holler when her racket connected. The shuttlecock sailed down the middle, going over the heads of Miss Felicity and Miss Barton.

  Alex kept his eyes trained on the shuttlecock as it sailed toward him. He scooted quickly to the side, colliding with Miss Marleigh.

  She waved her hands wildly, trying to regain her balance.

  Alex reached for her, but his foot slipped in the mud and tangled with her feet, lurching him forward. His body landed on top of hers, forcing the air from her lungs, tickling the hairs on the side of Alex's neck.

  Alex closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a quick breath.

  "Lord Grayson." His whispered name brought his eyes open. Only then did he register the pained look on Miss Marleigh’s face. He rolled to the side, noticing the raised brows and wide eyes of those around them.

  Pushing himself to standing, he felt the cold moisture from the grass on his legs. He looked down at his trousers, now wet and muddy.

  He held out a hand to Miss Marleigh. She took his hand, brown water squeezing from the fingers of her gloves. Once she was on her feet, Alex could see the full effect of the accident. The hem of her dress dripped, as did the brim of her bonnet in the back.

  "Please, excuse me," Miss Marleigh stuttered, backing toward the terrace. Once she made it to the steps, she turned and walked quickly for the doors.

  Chapter 16

  Abigail entered the drawing room, immediately looking for Lord Grayson. When she didn't see him, she was both disappointed and relieved.

  Rumors had spread throughout the guests that the Prince Regent was to make an appearance at some point in the evening.

  The buzzing excitement flitting through everyone’s conversations as well as the lavish clothing made it obvious this was not just any other evening meal. Many were dressed in gowns usually reserved for a ball.

  Abigail ran a hand down her comparatively plain dress. She had brought only one gown worthy of a ball; if she wore it tonight, what would she wear to the ball at the conclusion of the party? She did not have the funds, as Clara did, to go into town and have a new gown made.

  Abigail patted at her hair, grateful the mud from this afternoon had been washed out. She dropped her hand, her eyes squeezing shut as even remembering the event brought heat to her cheeks. While the accident was embarrassing on its own, the fact that her heart pounded so forcefully while Lord Grayson was on top of her was utterly humiliating. What if he had felt it? He would obviously know the effect he had on her. It was hard enough to have these feeling for him and know he did not return them. To have him discover those feelings? It was not to be endured. Just thinking on it made her hands shake and her breathing skitter.

  Abigail fingered at a soft curl hanging down the side of her cheek. Hannah had done Abigail's hair as if she were attending a Royal ball. The little yellow ribbons woven through the small braids swooping from her temple to the knot at the back of her head were dotted with tiny pearl beads which matched the color of Abigail’s dress perfectly. She had no idea where Hannah had found them, but Abigail was very grateful for the girl's resourcefulness.

  "Come, cousin. There is a group of ladies across the room beckoning us over."

  Abigail knew to whom they were beckoning. She had spent enough time with them in London and at other house parties to know it was not her company they desired. But she followed Clara to other side of the room.

  Miss Hastings gave Abigail an appraising look. "Did you not hear that the Prince Regent is likely to visit tonight?"

  Abigail nodded. "Indeed, we did."

  "Oh." The girl frowned before casting a look at Miss Larkin. Miss Hastings turned her attentions to Clara. "Miss Martindale, your gown is stunning. The color brings out a pinkish hue in your complexion quite beautifully."

  Clara smiled. "Thank you, Miss Hastings." She patted Abigail on the arm. "I only wish my hair was as obliging as Abigail’s. Her hair looks twice as lovely as mine and only took half the time for Hannah to arrange it."

  Abigail squeezed her cousin's hand. Clara may be flighty and immature, but she was loyal even to her own detriment. It was certain she would earn the disdain of several of the ladies here for her blatant defense of Abigail. Clara would undoubtedly feel the consequences for her current actions when she made her debut in London come January.

  "Miss Martindale is being far too kind." Abigail smiled at her cousin. "Clara, I shall leave you to your friends. I believe I have spotted Lady Cartwright. Do come find me after dinner if we are not seated near one other."

  "Do you know Sir Richard and Lady Cartwright?" Miss Hastings smiled, but Abigail saw it for what it was. Miss Hastings doubted Abigail could have such associations.

  "Yes. They were dear friends of my parents before they passed. Both Sir Richard and Lady Cartwright have been very kind to check on me since then."

  Miss Hastings did not seem convinced. "I see."

  Abigail gave Clara's hand one last squeeze before releasing her and stepping away from the group.

  Clara gave Abigail a knowing nod and then turned her attention back to the young ladies. Hopefully, Clara would be able to earn back the fickle girls’ affections without too much trouble.

  Abigail walked the short distance to where Lady Cartwright was standing, speaking with Mrs. Thorne. Abigail stood to the side, waiting for them to conclude their conversation.

  "Miss Marleigh, please join us." Lady Cartwright motioned Abigail over with a wave of her hand.

  Abigail stepped forward. "I apologize. I did not mean to interrupt your conversation."

  Lady Cartwright brushed the comment aside. "We were not having any deep conversation. You have no need to apologize."

  Mrs. Thorne smiled kindly at her. “Did you have a pleasant afternoon, Miss Marleigh?"

  Abigail felt her face heat. "It was good to be out of doors again."

  Lady Cartwright nodded. "I think I should have been committed to Bedlam had we been relegated to the house for another—." Lady Cartwright was silenced by a flutter of movement near the door.

  A crowd began to form, everyone curtsying and bowing, like a wave on the shore.

  A finely dressed, albeit it portly, man walked through the crowd, smiling and waving his hand in circles about the air.

  Abigail smiled.

  The Prince Regent looked remarkably similar to the caricatures she had seen in the London. All eyes in the room seemed to be focused on him. Mr. Garvey guided the Prince over to where Sir Richard stood against the wall with Lord Grayson.

  Abigail sucked in a breath when she saw him. He must have slipped in while she was distracted. She had seen him not more than five hours ago, and yet his face was more handsome than she remembered.

  Both Sir Richard and Lord Grayson bowed to the Prince. A few words were exchanged before the butler announced di
nner.

  As everyone paired up, Abigail watched Lord Grayson. He would be escorting Lady Margret into dinner and sitting much closer to the Prince than Abigail could ever dream. Mr. Jennings approached her and extended his arm to her, but he said not a word. For the entirety of their walk down the hallway, his mouth was pinched tightly together.

  "Your chair, Miss Marleigh." Mr. Jennings pulled out her seat and tucked it beneath her as she sat. He then took the seat next to her.

  The meal was the finest food Abigail had ever eaten. Duck, lamb and fish were in abundance. The sauces, thick and rich, added to the already delicious flavors of the meats.

  Abigail turned to Mr. Williamson seated on her other side. "The dinner is very fine tonight; do you not agree?"

  He was holding up his wine glass, running his fingers through his hair at his temples. He picked up a small clump of hair which fell out of line from the others and moved it so it lay where it should, then turned his head from side to side once more. Setting down the glass, he smiled at Abigail, his perfectly white teeth gleaming in the candlelight. "I don't find it so shocking, knowing the Prince Regent is dining with us. It is not as if Garvey would allow the slop his wife has been serving us to pass the lips of Prince George."

  It was not that the words were so very rude, as much as the tone in which they were spoken. Abigail picked up her glass and placed it to her lips, mumbling, "Yes, of course you are right."

  A footman placed a plate of cheese in front of her, along with a small fork. He then placed one in front of Mr. Williamson.

  Mr. Williamson picked up the fork, smiling into the highly polished silver, running his tongue back and forth across his teeth.

  Abigail raised a brow. Mr. Williamson would surely never have food stuck in his teeth. Her gaze flicked over to Mr. Jennings.

  She looked back to Mr. Williamson, but he was already engaged in a conversation with Miss Barton on his other side.

  Abigail glanced out of the corner of her eye at Mr. Jennings again. He saw her look and quickly averted his gaze.

  Her brow creased. Something was off. Mr. Jennings had not spoken a single word to her, apart from when he had helped with her seat at the table, in days. She had noticed he had not sought her out of late, but she thought it more to do with her own abilities to avoid him, rather than his attempts to avoid her.