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

by Kasey Stockton

  “Would you all be so gracious as to grant me your attention?” Mr. Bancroft called. All chatter ceased and Mrs. Bancroft’s shrewd gaze sought mine swiftly.

  I found myself inching closer to her son. She would not hold true to her end of the bargain now, surely? It would affect her and her son as much as it would me were a rumor about my brother’s drunkenness and parents’ death to be spread now that I was a connection to them.

  “Mrs. Wheeler has accepted me and we are to be married.”

  His grin was nearly bright enough to outshine any negativity from the group, but I found my own trepidation remained. Mrs. Haley squealed, crossing the floor to pull me into an embrace.

  “We are to be sisters!” she exclaimed. “Now I insist you come to London for one gown, at least. You simply must.”

  “Perhaps,” I agreed. If Charlotte desired it, then I would find a way to make it happen. We had not sold all of father’s books yet, and Noah surely had no use for them.

  Miss Pollard approached me next. “This is wonderful news.”

  I searched her face and found no malice. Perhaps the time we’d spent together had given her time to come to terms with the union. I was glad that we would likely be able to part as friends.

  The butler announced dinner, effectively putting a halt to the congratulations. If her scowl was any indication, Mrs. Bancroft was furious and the timing of the meal was a blessed distraction.

  Dinner passed in a haze, and when Mr. Bancroft expressed his desire to hear me sing that evening I nodded absently, grateful for the excuse to hide myself behind the pianoforte and gather my thoughts.

  I could not shake the apprehension that filled me whenever my gaze landed on Mr. Bancroft. Visions of my first marriage and the anger which had consumed Frank on occasion were clear in my mind, and I continued to compare them against the moments when Mr. Bancroft’s own demeanor had slipped. The difference between the men was simple; Frank had pretended to love me until the vows were sworn, and though Mr. Bancroft had ample opportunity to marry in the last four years, he had chosen not to. I could not help but feel that his affection was genuine.

  I had made the correct decision for myself, and for Charlotte. Anything that got us out from under Noah’s roof and his drunken rages was a good thing. Or so I continued to tell myself, though I wasn’t very convincing.

  “I suppose I owe you a horse.”

  I glanced up from the ivory keys and into Lord Stallsbury’s searching gaze.

  “Yes, you do. I expect to take him with me when I go.”

  He chuckled. “You shall be a fine mistress of Bancroft Hill.”

  If Mrs. Bancroft allows me to be, I thought. Aloud, I said, “Thank you, my lord, that is kind.”

  I trailed my fingers up and down the pianoforte in a soft melody, warming them up. I glanced at him. His dark eyes were clearly puzzled. I asked, “Have you come to a conclusion about what you will do?”

  “Considering my reform?” He looked away, leaning against the instrument with his hip, his arms crossed over his chest. “I believe that if I show my mother a certain degree of submission, she will put off her hunt for a wife and allow me time to make the right decision.”

  “That is wise. I am sorry you didn’t find someone here,” I said, focusing on the keys. If his mother could be mollified so easily, I saw no reason that he should not at least venture to try.

  He said nothing and I glanced up after another few measures, surprised to find him intently watching me. My fingers fumbled but I covered it well, continuing the melody smoothly.

  “That is a lovely tune,” he said. “Who composed it?”

  I shrugged. “No one. It is something I play to stretch out my fingers.”

  I did not look up to see if he was impressed. Instead I said, “If you will seat yourself, my lord, I am about to begin.”

  Chuckling, he dipped his head in response and walked away.

  I was going to miss his easy conversation at the completion of the house party. As it was, I had limited time remaining to enjoy his company.

  I glanced at the audience once more and then dove into my song, allowing the emotion to flow through me and into my fingertips.

  Chapter 19

  I found myself at the entrance to the study, unsure whether my presence would be well received. I was an engaged woman now, but that should not affect our meetings. They were blameless in my mind, though I knew Society would have a different take on them.

  Quietly pushing the door open, I was immensely relieved to find Lord Stallsbury seated in his usual chair.

  “You’ve come,” he said as I let myself inside. “I did not know if you would.”

  Nodding, I closed the door tightly and lowered myself onto the plush wingback chair. “I could not sleep.” Due, in large part, to my nap earlier. But it was truth all the same.

  “You have had an eventful day,” he said, his demeanor relaxed, his tone soft.

  Nodding, I rubbed my hands together.

  “Though,” he continued, “you are not in raptures. Surely you are overjoyed. You are to be married.”

  “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm to your words, my lord?”

  He smiled at me, tilting his head in condescension. “I am happy for you, if you are happy. I was merely reflecting that you do not seem very joyful.”

  “It is a lot to take in,” I defended. “And this is not my first marriage.”

  His eyebrow hitched up. “Yet it is not a surprise, either. Did you not know before coming here that you would become engaged by the party’s end?”

  “I did not know for certain, of course, but I was well aware of the possibility. Regardless, anticipating an event and actually experiencing it are two separate things.”

  He shrugged. “I am just confused by your lack of enthusiasm this evening, that is all. I’ve watched many couples become engaged and have yet to see a bride respond with such little feeling. Did you react this same way the first time you became engaged?”

  I had not thought on that, but he was partially correct. It was an unfair comparison. Though I had believed Frank to care for me at the time, the truth was I had known my first husband for a very short time—he was an acquaintance of my aunt’s—and only wed him to escape her house. Though his flowery words and empty promises did much to aid my choice, I did not realize that I was accepting a life of loneliness when we were separated and bitter anger when we were not.

  However, I must have known, to some degree, that I would find unhappiness in the union, for I fretted beforehand much like I was now.

  “That is the way of marriage,” I said. “They are arrangements created to better both parties’ station, wealth, or situation.”

  “And which one of them is it for you?”

  I watched him a moment, his brow furrowing.

  “My situation,” I said softly. Part of me wished to tell him everything, but I could not. I could not tell him of the horrible anger and fits of rage that Noah’s excessive drinking brought about.

  “Then I suppose I must be happy for you,” he conceded.

  “Thank you, my lord. Though would it be so very terrible if I told you that I shall miss these chats? I do think that if my brother and I had maintained the relationship we once had, this is how we would interact.”

  “Can you not achieve that relationship with your brother again?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps, though quite a lot would have to change first. Do you have a confiding relationship with your sister?”

  “If I did, would I be at this dratted house party seeking advice from a widow?”

  I did my best not to show my shock. His remark was not uncivil, exactly, but stung all the same. We sat in the thick silence and I felt I could say nothing.

  Finally, he ran a hand over his face. He chuckled without mirth, the sound both igniting and soothing my nerves. When he spoke, his voice ran down my spine like a cool wind. “I do not know what it is about you that causes my inhibitions to flee, but I value you
r directness. I think when the time comes for me to obtain a companion, I shall look for this very quality in our relationship.”

  I would have taken his words as a compliment if he had not implied that he would like every other thing about his future wife to be my very opposite. Refined, free of scandal and with a flawless pedigree and large dowry.

  “You do understand that now you shall have to reside with Mrs. Bancroft always, do you not?” he asked, surprising me into laughter.

  I groaned. “Do not remind me. I vow I shall discover a parish need that will take me out of the house at least once per week. And perhaps a few projects about the house to take up more time.”

  “If your husband allows you,” he muttered.

  “Pardon me?”

  “I am actually feeling quite tired. I should prefer to go to bed.”

  I stood, the hint received. The air in the room was not quite right this evening and it would probably do us both a world of good to cease the conversation before it grew out of hand. “Goodnight, my lord. I hope you shall find success yourself soon.”

  He grunted and I paused by the door. I glanced back over my shoulder and caught his gaze, his eyes like steel, unmoving.

  The room was dark, one small candle on the table near Lord Stallsbury and another in my hand were all the light we had. It softened the edges and blurred the colors of the room. No harsh light brought reality to this room, which was precisely why we were able to pretend that what we were doing was acceptable.

  Though I knew the truth, and whether I wanted to admit it presently or not, this needed to be our final meeting.

  I slipped outside and halted immediately when a faint padding of footsteps reached my ears. I blew out my candle and crept toward the stairs in time to hear someone reaching the top and scurrying down the hall. Toward the men’s rooms or the women’s, I could not tell.

  This was not good.

  Faced with indecision, I wrung my hands together. It could have been nothing. Perhaps a servant fetched their master a hot cup of tea, or a guest came down the stairs for something they left behind in the drawing room. It was likely nothing and informing Lord Stallsbury would be ringing a false alarm.

  I climbed the stairs slowly, not wishing to alert anyone else to my presence. My heart beat furiously as I took slow, soft steps, feeling my way along the banister and hallway in the dark.

  When I made it to my bedroom, I locked the door and climbed under the coverlet, curling up as tightly as my uncomfortable gown would allow.

  I was engaged to Mr. Bancroft, and there was an end in sight to mine and Charlotte’s dilemma. It was precisely what I wanted when I chose to come here in the first place. So why was I not happier?

  Chapter 20

  I sat at the breakfast table watching each member of the party, wondering if I’d heard one of them sneaking up the stairs the night before. Mr. Pollard, taking slow bites of porridge, sat beside his daughter while she picked at her food with a fork and chewed small, bird-like bites. Miss Thornton sat beside her brother, the both of them with faultless table manners, straight backs and low conversation. Lord Stallsbury chatted at the far end of the table with Mr. Peterson and Mr. Bancroft, their discussion on fishing bordering dullness, and Mrs. Bancroft sipped tea with a sour look upon her face as she listened to Mrs. Haley chat pleasantly.

  None of the members of the party so much as looked my way. I did not receive a single knowing glance or odd gesture. Were we to be discovered, the scandal would be great. It was unlikely anyone in the room would be able to keep themselves from casting me a look or raising a brow had they known of my clandestine meetings in Mr. Bancroft’s study. Furthermore, more than one member of the group had reason to out me on the spot, for that would have been the quickest way to my ruin. But everyone sat quietly, nothing at all amiss or out of sorts.

  Relief flooded me and my shoulders relaxed. The mysterious person on the stairs must have been a servant.

  “Shall we be off then?” Mrs. Haley asked, looking about the table expectantly.

  “Where to?” Miss Thornton inquired, obviously put out.

  Mrs. Haley blinked, looking to her brother for confirmation.

  He cleared his throat. “To Rowland Vale, of course.” He pierced his sister with a stare and she shrunk a smidge, her cheeks tingeing pink. “I had intended it to be a surprise for Mrs. Wheeler, but now that my plans have been revealed, I shan’t bother anymore. We discussed a trip and a picnic there last week. I went ahead and made the proper arrangements for today.”

  I glanced between the Bancroft family members. This was all very unorthodox.

  “I have heard nothing of Rowland Vale,” Miss Thornton said, her tone sweet and her expression fixed. “Is it very far?”

  “Not more than an hour’s ride,” Mr. Bancroft said easily. “I’ve directed Cook to put together a picnic for us and I believe she has worked all morning to create something special.”

  He turned his attention on me and I tried to give him the smile he expected. “Shall we fetch our shawls?” I inquired, attempting to find a measure of joy in the prospect of an outing when all I truly felt was fatigue.

  His grin was reward enough. “Forthwith.”

  I gathered my bonnet and shawl, sitting on the edge of my bed while Emma laced my half boots. The engagement finalized, I would now be able to properly thank Mr. Bancroft for the gift. I took a fortifying breath and pasted a smile on my face. If I could not overcome my weariness in truth, I would simply have to falsify some energy.

  Two carriages lingered in the drive as the women finished pulling on kid gloves and the men waited patiently. Mr. Pollard and Mrs. Bancroft both excused themselves from the excursion, the latter citing a need for rest and the former giving no reason at all. I found myself ensconced in a cab with Mrs. Haley to my right, and Mr. Bancroft and Thornton across from me.

  We were comfortably settled and the horses took off, jumbling us down the gravel lane toward country roads.

  “Do tell me about your home, Mrs. Wheeler,” Mrs. Haley said pleasantly, her round cheeks pink.

  I felt the force of Mr. Bancroft’s gaze as I said, “It is a lovely little town. Quaint, but the people are good and loyal.”

  “That is an odd attribute to notice,” Mr. Bancroft said.

  Not when one considered the dramatic event that had occurred at our last social. Poor Miss Hurst’s illegitimacy had been brought to light and Mr. Bryce’s aunt had arrived just in time to denounce her in the street. It had been a fortifying experience to watch and join the people who’d chosen to stand by Miss Hurst’s side in the face of such social ostracism.

  “I believe that my people are good,” I reiterated. “Which I am sure we might all be able to say of our own homes. We tend to think of them in a grand light, do we not?”

  Thornton scoffed. “I do not. Mine can all go to rot.”

  “Thornton,” Mr. Bancroft scolded. “The ladies.”

  Mrs. Haley trained her gaze out her window, but I did not back down. I was no wilting flower to be frightened by one man’s vehemence. Particularly when it had nothing to do with me. “I must feel only sorrow for you, sir, if that is your experience. I have very much enjoyed being surrounded by people with whom I find support and toleration.”

  “I can only hope that I will find the same thing one day,” Thornton said, his voice low and eyes sad. “I am afraid that I shan’t be long in my house now as it is, but I cannot complain of that which has come about through my own fault.”

  I did not ask him to explain. The implications were clear; he had likely lost all of his money due to gambling or bad investments or something of the like. I felt for his trial, whatever it might be. The cab lapsed into silence and I hazarded a glance over my shoulder at the second carriage bumbling along behind us. Miss Thornton was either wholly unaware of her brother’s ruin and hunting a grand title from Lord Stallsbury, or doing her utmost to snag the marquess to save herself from ruin.

  I could not help but pity he
r plight.

  * * *

  “This picnic is absolutely splendid,” Miss Thornton gushed. “The meat pies were heavenly. Mr. Bancroft, you have outdone yourself.”

  His grin was smug, as though he had kneaded the pastry dough himself. It would have been humorous if it wasn’t so outrageous. We had arrived at the vale and walked around some before settling in for the picnic in the shadows of the abbey. It was a beautiful gray stone skeleton of a building, with a grand view of rolling green hills dotted with vegetation. Birds sang above us in the trees and a vast blue sky overlooked the entire scene.

  “I must explore the abbey,” Miss Pollard said, rising and smoothing down her skirt. “Mrs. Wheeler, would you like to join me?”

  “Very much.” I waited for her to invite along the other women. Or, perhaps even Mr. Bancroft, but she waited silently and patiently for me to get to my feet. She took my arm and strung it through her own as we set off to climb the lawn toward the monstrous building.

  Most of the interior had long since deteriorated, but the stone framework of the abbey remained. One imposing tower nestled in the corner of the abbey loomed over us as we stepped through the arched doorway into a wide hallway.

  Crystal blue sky and white clouds stretched above us. I ran my fingers down the rough brick wall covered in lichen and moss.

  “Ghastly building,” Miss Pollard said, her mouth turned down in disgust.

  At least there were no ducks nearby. “I find it lovely. It is not the most beautiful building, but clearly it has a history.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “It is quite old.”

  Arguing would be fruitless. I snapped my mouth shut and followed Miss Pollard down the grassy hallway. The majority of our party was visible through open spaces where windows once sat. I pulled my gaze from them, taking in the architecture that yet remained.

  Miss Pollard halted abruptly, spinning to face me. Her eyes sought mine and she spoke steadily. “I do not mean to be offensive, but I felt myself duty bound to bring this to your attention.”