Love At The House Party (Women 0f Worth Book 3)

by Kasey Stockton

  “Tarquin.”

  I glanced up, his deep chocolate eyes beseeching me. I yearned to say it, to have the familiarity with him that we had only feigned thus far. But I had to protect myself.

  “You know that I cannot, my lord. I simply refuse.”

  “Why?” It was with genuine confusion that he placed the question before me. I did not know how he could not possibly guess the answer himself. If I was to become familiar with him upon any terms, it would throw into question my standing as a proper woman. These casual conversations might mean little to him, but I was not a woman of ill repute, and though I could not seem to resist the temptation to continue meeting with Lord Stallsbury this way, I would hold firm my resolve to act without reproach.

  “I am about to become engaged to another man, Lord Stallsbury,” I explained with gentle admonishment. “I could not, without some guilt, refer to you so informally when I do not yet call Mr. Bancroft by his Christian name. It would not be loyal and it would not be right.”

  An expression fell over his face and, as if by some magic, it transitioned from kindness to cold steel. His nod, direct and curt, was the only response I received, and I tamped down the frustrated sigh that begged to be released.

  This conversation was not going at all like the others had.

  I smiled tightly. “Perhaps I shall remove to my bedroom for the evening. It is growing late.”

  “It was late when the evening began. Tell me one thing more, for I have been dying to know.”

  I watched him expectantly.

  “Whatever occurred near the pond? I do not believe for one moment that the sun gave you a headache.”

  I felt my face transform from tight lines of fatigue to the softening comfort of a grin. I had been wishing for the opportunity to share this with him, for I assumed he would join in my amusement, but it was not the sort of thing one spoke of in company if one did not wish to be considered a gossip. I would hate if it were to be spread about due to my own carelessness.

  I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Our Miss Pollard is terrified of ducks.”

  If the widening of his eyes and raising of his eyebrows were any indication, he had not expected that. I watched as his mind formed a connection between my actions from that day and Miss Pollard’s fear. “You were rescuing her from embarrassment.”

  “That was my intent.” I grinned. “And I was rewarded with an afternoon of solitude and an unintentional nap, so I believe we both benefited from the experience.”

  He chuckled, the sound soothing and warm like a hot cup of chocolate. “You are quite singular, Mrs. Wheeler.”

  Was that a compliment? His smile would imply that it was, though the resulting butterflies in my stomach inferred that I was treading dangerous waters.

  “Why thank you, sir.”

  “And tell me, your sister does not yet have a horse?”

  “She cannot. We can hardly keep the two we do have and they aren’t good for riding.” My head snapped up. I had not intended to be so honest, but the words slipped free. I hurried to add, “But Miss Hurst is a friend of ours, and she has recently become engaged to her steward, Mr. Bryce. You might have heard?”

  He shook his head. “I did not. But may I ask what Miss Hurst and her steward have to do with Charlotte?”

  “Mr. Bryce breeds horses,” I explained. “I recently received a letter from my sister that was full of praise for his steeds. I would not be much surprised if she spent all of her time in the stables and Miss Hurst was forced to drag her inside to sleep.”

  “You are giving me the desire to meet these people,” he said, crossing an ankle over his knee. His smirk was small but powerful and I felt an answering grin form on my lips.

  “I believe they are wonderful, but I am biased.”

  “And your brother?” he questioned. “Is he wonderful too? You do not speak of him.”

  The smile slipped from my face. What was I to say? I could not explain Noah’s situation. It was mortifying, and Lord Stallsbury didn’t need to know. Less than a fortnight and the house party would come to conclusion. I couldn’t risk the possibility of rumors getting started.

  But then, if there was any man whom I could ask advice and could safely guarantee would never meet my brother, it was Lord Stallsbury. And I did trust him.

  “My brother was once my hero. Suffice it to say that he does nothing now but cause trouble.”

  His brows pulled together. “But your sister is safe?”

  “My sister is staying with Miss Hurst. And then I shall bring her here. She will come out of this unscarred if it is the last thing I do.”

  I got to my feet. I’d revealed far more than I had intended and Lord Stallsbury did not seem the least inclined to drop the subject. But I was finished, and I needed sleep. The marquess stood as well, the gentleman in him likely reacting to basic etiquette. For that, I had an acute appreciation.

  “Goodnight, my lord,” I said. “I do believe we are resuming our tournament on the morrow. I look forward to it.”

  “Yes,” he said, casually holding out his hand for my own.

  I could not shake hands with him, that would mean we’d touch. Alone, in the study, it was not something I was willing to do. Stepping back, I picked up my candle, holding it with both hands.

  “Will you not shake hands with me?” he asked.

  “I cannot,” I said, reaching the door.

  “Whyever not?”

  His soft questioning was a balm against the thunderous anger in my memories.

  “I should not have you thinking me a trollop. I am defying proper convention by meeting you here, my lord, but I will not touch you. I shall do my best to remain blameless.”

  Tilting his head, he dropped his hand to his side. “I see. Goodnight then, Mrs. Wheeler.”

  I slipped quietly out the door.

  Chapter 17

  “Mrs. Wheeler,” Lord Stallsbury admonished through a grin. “I had thought you once told me you were a proficient.”

  I could not help but smile, squinting through the warm sunlight on the lawn. We sat at tables set up behind the archery station, a spread of tea, fruit and cuts of cold meat laid out on crisp white tablecloths. Miss Pollard and Miss Thornton were docking their arrows, the rest of the spectators idly watching as they sunk them one after the other into the target.

  My own arrow had flown somewhere into the wood behind the targets, but I would have to wait until the tournament finished to fetch it.

  “I believe I mentioned that I was once a proficient. Though clearly that talent has long since faded.”

  Mrs. Haley, sitting comfortably under a parasol with a cup of tea, smiled at me endearingly. “You shot the thing farther than I could have.”

  “Yes, your power does not lack,” Mr. Peterson agreed. “I could only fault your aim.”

  How lovely it was to be so discussed.

  Mr. Bancroft cleared his throat, setting his plate on the edge of the table. “A little more practice and you shall master it once again, I am sure.”

  “Unless I have lost my touch.” I chuckled. “Perhaps I do not desire to master it.”

  “Whyever would you not?” he asked, perturbed. “We shall host a good deal of archery tournaments, I should think. I possess a prime location and it is a sport acceptable for both men and women.”

  My cheeks warmed at the insinuation that I would join him in hosting. He seemed at once to catch his own mistake. Until a proposal was made, nothing was set in stone.

  “I simply mean,” he said, flustered, “that it would be the proper thing to practice so you are prepared in the event that you must use the skill.”

  “If it be the lady’s will, of course,” Lord Stallsbury added with an air of indifference.

  “Oh look,” Mrs. Haley said. “It appears Miss Pollard has won.”

  I stood. “I shall fetch my arrow now.” I escaped rapidly, passing a beaming Miss Pollard. “Congratulations,” I said, ignoring Miss Thornton pouting just beyond her
. I had secretly been rooting for Miss Pollard, though I would not admit so aloud. “You are quite accomplished at archery.”

  Her cheeks pinked, likely recalling our very first conversation when she’d attempted to convince me to allow the men to win. In all likelihood, she’d been aiming to aid her own success at the sport, though clearly that was an unnecessary effort.

  “Mrs. Wheeler,” Mrs. Haley called from behind me. “Allow me to accompany you? I should love to help you find the arrow.”

  Suspicion filled me at once. The woman did not care for physical activity of any sort. She would not choose to tramp about the woods on her own accord. I nodded consent, waiting for her to reach me.

  “Do not let them bother you,” she said, falling into step beside me. “You did far better than I.”

  “It is my belief that one’s skill at archery has little merit on their suitability as a spouse. But perhaps that is because I do not prioritize sport as some others do.”

  “Neither do I,” she agreed with feeling.

  I bit back a smile, sweeping my gaze over the uneven ground. Gnarled roots sprung from the earth, blending with the leaf-strewn dirt. I gathered my gown so as not to muddy my hem and climbed deeper into the forest. The arrow had flown in this general direction, but the depth of its reach had been difficult to gauge.

  “When you marry my brother, you shall come with me to London and we will choose your wedding clothes from all of the best modistes.”

  I tried to swallow my surprise at her candor. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I don’t plan to obtain any wedding clothes.”

  She halted abruptly. “Whyever not?”

  I could not tell her I had no money for bride clothes, or that this marriage was a means to protection and safety. I turned away, searching the tree trunks for my arrow. “I do not need them,” I said simply.

  “You needn’t be sensible for your wedding, dear. It is fine to be a little frivolous.”

  I tried to turn the conversation. “Do you reside in London year-round?”

  She groaned. “If it were up to my husband, yes. Though I do not see why we must, for the only time it is truly important for him to be there is the parliamentary session. I often go away for a few weeks in the summer. Usually I will come here, in fact. But it is quite difficult to pull my husband from Town when there are men to entertain and contacts to network.”

  “He is hardworking.”

  She laughed without mirth. “Yes, that is true. One could not argue his work ethic.”

  We trailed about a moment longer when Mrs. Haley squealed, “I’ve found it!” and lifted my arrow high in the air.

  I clapped my hands together. “Well done.”

  “You must know,” Mrs. Haley said as we picked our way out of the woods, “your sister would be very welcome to come with you to London. Indeed, I should think it a treat to have the both of you to stay with me.”

  “That is very generous of you.”

  She preened. “You are to be my sister, you know. And we really ought to acquire at least one new gown. I should think that my brother would be more than willing to cover the expense. You shall be his wife, after all.”

  How had she discovered this information? I glanced down at my gown, swallowing a grimace. I supposed I had not been fooling anyone with my made over gowns. I must look a dowdy country rustic, to be sure.

  We returned the arrow to its pouch, surprised to find Lord Stallsbury, Miss Thornton and her brother already gone back to the house. Mr. Peterson stood by with Miss Pollard on his arm, Mr. Bancroft waiting idly by.

  “Was the arrow hiding from you?” Mr. Peterson asked with a hitch to his smile.

  “Yes it was,” I answered. “The tricky little thing.”

  The servants began to clean up the tables and chairs as Mr. Bancroft offered me his arm to lead me toward the house.

  “Your sister has invited me and my sister to stay with her in London,” I said.

  He did not seem the least bit surprised. “How very generous of her.”

  Had Mr. Bancroft asked her to issue the invitation? It all felt so very staged, yet I could not wrap my mind around their reasoning. If one thing was abundantly clear, it was that Mrs. Haley did not share her mother’s distaste for me. Either that, or she simply cared for her brother more. Or perhaps she was simply lonely and wished for more company. “Her husband is a very busy man, it would seem.”

  “Quite above reproach,” Mr. Bancroft said severely.

  “Of course,” I agreed. “I should like to see London again. It has been some years since I’ve had the opportunity.”

  “Your brother will not take you?” he asked, confusion lacing his tone.

  “My brother is not quite aware enough of the people around him to do much of anything, sir. He could not manage a trip to London and I do not expect it of him.”

  He halted, spinning to face me. His eyebrows pulled together and his lips stretched tight. “I’ve heard nothing of this.”

  “It is not something I am proud to declare,” I defended. I stepped forward but he pulled back on my arm, his gaze following the rest of our party until they entered the house. He clearly was waiting for privacy; aside from the servants clearing the archery equipment and picnic supplies on the other side of the lawn we were very much alone.

  He spoke at last, his voice low and calm. “How can we build a relationship based on trust and mutual accord when we keep important truths from one another?”

  I did not know how to answer the man. I had thought that gossip about Noah reached the ends of London’s societal sphere; Mr. Bancroft’s own mother had heard a distorted version of my parents’ death that clearly implied her knowledge of Noah’s affinity for drink.

  He continued, “I cannot marry a woman who will not tell me everything I need to know. I refuse to be the brunt of a joke, and if I am not fully prepared for gossip when it strikes then that is precisely what will happen. And I refuse to look the fool.”

  Stunned, I merely nodded. A smile broke out on his face and he squeezed my arm where he had been gripping me. “Perfect. Now that we’ve settled this, shall we go in and form a game of Speculation?”

  I cleared my throat. “I find, actually, that I am quite fatigued. I should like to rest before the evening festivities if I may be excused.”

  “Certainly, my dear.”

  He led me to the base of the stairs and kissed the back of my hand before releasing me. I floated up the steps, unclear about what had just passed. A restoring nap was precisely what I needed to sort through my feelings.

  Chapter 18

  I awoke from my nap, sitting up at once and looking about me for the cause of the strange humming within my body. Something did not feel right. The fitful sleep had done nothing to make up for my previous night’s lack, but there was something more. Something off.

  I dressed quickly and left my chamber. When I found Mr. Bancroft awaiting me at the top of the stairs for dinner, sudden apprehension filled me.

  “May I have a word with you in private, my dear?” He tilted his head, watching me through concerned eyes.

  I nodded, following him into the study. He closed the door behind me and guilt seeped down my spine. The room looked quite different in the light of day. I was not fond of the way the sun revealed the harsh lines of the furniture, the thick leather of the boring volumes lining the wall and a hideous burgundy rug covering the floor.

  In the blurry illumination of a single candle, the room had held a much more romantic appeal. The brightness was disappointing.

  He stepped forward, picking up my hand in his own. A warning bell went off in my head and I did my best to calm the swirling in my stomach, clenching my hand that swung freely by my side.

  Clearing his throat, he dipped his head modestly before stealing my gaze. “There is no sense in beating about the bush. You could not have mistook my meaning for inviting you here to better know my mother and sister, and reacquaint ourselves with one another. While nothing
was expressly written, I flatter myself to assume that the possibility of a union was key in your decision to be here.”

  I nodded, swallowing a lump of emotion. My heart pounded and a tremor ran down my body. Would he continue if he knew of his mother’s threat? Or the women Emma had overheard speaking about my unworthiness to become mistress of Bancroft Hill?

  “I have been awaiting a reply from your brother,” he said, boring his gaze into my own. “I sent him a letter requesting his blessing on our union. But I can see now that it may be a fruitless endeavor. If he is as incoherent as you have explained, then his blessing on our union is discreditable at best.” Stepping closer, he picked up my other hand, squeezing them both, smiling at me beneath sandy eyelashes. “I admired you in London those years ago, and I have found, due to our recent time spent together, that my feelings on the matter have not changed. I would be quite pleased if you would agree to become my wife.”

  I blinked. The moment I’d long awaited had finally arrived and I did not feel at all how I had expected I would. Where was the overwhelming joy? All I felt was overwhelmed.

  Yet, Noah was incoherent the majority of the time, and Charlotte deserved better. I could manage Mrs. Bancroft’s dislike for the sake of my sister. There was nothing else for it. I had to accept. Though I felt caught up in a windstorm, the proposal having occurred far more rapidly than I had expected, the end goal had been achieved.

  Unease filtered through me as I said, “Yes sir, I would be glad to accept you.”

  He squeezed my hands in both of his, grinning at me with boyish joy. He stepped forward and panic ensued as his face drew closer to mine. He placed a kiss on my cheek then stepped back, relief flooding through me as he did.

  “Shall we go and share our news?”

  I nodded, following him from the study and into the drawing room. The entire party had already assembled, and even Mr. Pollard sat awake on the sofa near the fire.