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

by Kasey Stockton

  “Yes,” Mr. Bryce said. “I am willingly selling my horses. My intention is to build a breeding business, if you will recall.”

  Charlotte placed her fork on her plate with a small clank. “Lord Stallsbury is staying in Linshire longer than I thought he would.” She tilted her head to the side. “Mr. Bryce, how long does it take to purchase a horse?”

  “Depends on the buyer. Lord Stallsbury is thorough; he does not do things by halves.”

  Miss Hurst nodded her head in agreeance.

  I sipped my tea, watching Mrs. Overton quietly graze her plate on the other side of the table. She had been frail and weak before I’d left for the house party. While I was not convinced that she could successfully walk to Miss Hurst’s woods and back, it was clear that she had gained some weight and retained something of a healthier glow to her skin. She was a quiet woman, but kind, and I was glad to see her doing better.

  Lord Stallsbury returned as promised that morning—I noticed through the drawing room window—and spent the remainder of the day sequestered in the stables with Mr. Bryce. They removed to the study when the rain clouds rolled in again and remained there for two hours before the marquess accepted an invitation to dine.

  We gathered around the card table following dinner, waiting for Mr. Bryce and Lord Stallsbury to complete their after-dinner port and join the women in the drawing room.

  “It is your turn,” Charlotte reminded me with a soft nudge of her slipper. I played my card, distracted by the idea of Lord Stallsbury in the dining room, just on the other side of the wall. His presence was a mystery, and his lengthy visit confusing. Throughout the day I had found myself quite incapable of producing a worthy stitch or reading more than a page from any of my novels; instead I endlessly paced between rooms. On multiple occasions, I had found excuses to go to my own bedchamber and watch from the window as Lord Stallsbury and Mr. Bryce exercised horses in the paddock or leaned against the fence in conversation.

  Clearly, they had found like souls in one another.

  “Mrs. Wheeler is quite distracted this evening,” Miss Hurst said. I glanced up to catch a small grin on her lips before she laid her final card, winning the trick.

  “That is plain to see,” Lord Stallsbury answered behind me. I startled in my chair, glancing over my shoulder. I melted a bit in my chair from his easy smile. He caused reactions within me that I simply could not control or explain.

  I had never felt this way with Frank, or Mr. Bancroft.

  “Is your game finished?” Mr. Bryce asked, coming to rest his hands on the back of Miss Hurst’s chair. “Shall we conjure up a game of Speculation?”

  Charlotte clapped. “Yes!”

  An additional chair was brought to the table for Lord Stallsbury. Mr. Bryce escorted Mrs. Overton to the sofa near the fire before returning and claiming her seat.

  Cards were dealt and Lord Stallsbury looked remarkably at ease. Had he nothing better to do than rusticate in the country on a whim? Apparently not, though I could not say that it bothered me.

  My foot brushed a hard boot beneath the table and Lord Stallbury’s gaze sought mine immediately, warming my cheeks. I tucked my feet under my chair, crossing my ankles tightly to avoid a repeat indiscretion.

  “You have found occasion to utilize your walking boots, I presume?” Lord Stallsbury asked. “The grounds here are charming from what I’ve seen on horseback.”

  Charlotte giggled. “Eleanor has walked the grounds when the sun is shining and the house when it is not. I believe there is not much else she has done but walk.”

  I shot her a reproving look before turning back to the marquess. “How did you know that I obtained walking boots? Did Mr. Bancroft tell you?”

  He stared at me. “What would Bancroft know of it?”

  “They were a gift from him when I first arrived.”

  Lord Stallsbury’s disbelieving scoff rang throughout the room. “I should not be surprised that the man would take credit. But how he learned of it, I do not know.” He trained his gaze on me. “Those boots were repayment for forcing you to leave your own in the mud. I sent my man to Gersham the moment we arrived at Bancroft Hill with strict instructions to procure some boots. And he did well, if you ask me.”

  The room was quiet. My face went slack. His sense of chivalry was acute and I was quite embarrassed that I had voiced my assumptions about Mr. Bancroft gifting me the boots.

  The rest of the party watched us in confusion. Mr. Bryce cleared his throat and asked, “You’ve reason to pace, Mrs. Wheeler?”

  I blinked at him. If that was his attempt at steering the conversation in a different direction, it was a strange one. “I am simply restless, sir. I will feel more the thing after we meet with Noah’s man of business, I am sure.” I smiled at Mr. Bryce and then focused on my cards, unable to look at the marquess again.

  “Yes, of course.” Mr. Bryce finished dealing the cards. “There was a strange carriage here the other day. I wondered a moment if your brother’s man of business had arrived early.”

  I shot a glance at Lord Stallsbury. Drat, he was watching me. And even worse, he looked interested. It was kind of Mr. Bryce to continue trying to make conversation, but could he not see that he was making matters worse, and not the other way around?

  “It was not Mr. Lynch,” I said, hoping my tightly closed lips would portray just how I felt about this conversation.

  “Was it someone we know?” Charlotte asked. Her pale eyebrows drew low over her eyes. She was likely wondering why I had not mentioned it before now. Any sort of visitor was cause for mentioning. Charlotte and I did not keep secrets from one another.

  Aside from the events of the house party, of course.

  I waited in vain for another person to speak—preferably someone other than Mr. Bryce. When I finally lifted my head, four sets of eyes watched me expectantly. Did I look like a trapped rabbit? I surely felt like one.

  I let loose a long sigh. There was nothing for it; I was going to have to reveal the identity of my brief visitor. “It was Mr. Bancroft.”

  A small gasp to my left indicated Charlotte’s surprise but I carried on, attempting nonchalance. “He came to speak to me. We completed our business and he left again. It really was nothing.”

  “Then why did you hide it?”

  I shot Charlotte a look, hoping to portray my need for privacy. I would explain everything to her later, if I must. But now was not the time.

  “Mr. Bancroft came all this way,” Charlotte continued, “and you simply sent him on his way?” Her voice was growing angry, but she did not understand. She did not have the full story.

  She got to her feet. “You must excuse me, but I find that I no longer want to play Speculation. There is enough of that in my life at present. I should really not make sport of it, as well.”

  I did not know whether to follow her from the room or stay behind to control the damage her outburst might have caused. I looked to Miss Hurst for guidance and she smiled at me, her head tilting in compassion.

  “We cannot fault Miss Clarke for her feelings,” she said. “She was simply caught off guard.”

  “As we all were,” Lord Stallsbury added under his breath. I chose to ignore his comment.

  Miss Hurst began gathering the cards. “I will not do you the dishonor of prying into your personal affairs, but you will tell us if there is any trouble, won’t you?”

  “Of course,” I answered immediately. “I can safely proclaim that Mr. Bancroft will not be returning to Corden Hall.”

  I could feel Lord Stallsbury’s gaze warming me as I stood. “I should check on my sister.”

  He stood alongside me, bowing as I walked away.

  It was perhaps fortuitous that I had not had the opportunity to thank Mr. Bancroft for the boots, after all.

  * * *

  “Charlotte?” I asked, poking my head through her doorway. She was leaning against pillows on her headboard, fully dressed. Her face pinched in frustration, she watched as I stepped
gingerly into the room and closed the door behind me. “May I come in?”

  The folds of her gown pooled about her feet, looking very much like a body of water above the coverlet. She sighed. “Very well.”

  Climbing onto her bed, I nestled in beside her, leaning my head against the hard wood of the headboard. “He proposed to me at Bancroft Hill,” I explained.

  Her voice was a whisper. “You did not say.”

  “No, I did not. I did not want you thinking ill of me.”

  She sat up, the wrinkles on her forehead evidence of her confusion. “Eleanor, I could never. You are my sister.”

  And yet, Noah was our brother. Familial connections could do little when one made horrible choices. Particularly those choices that called into question one’s respectability.

  Turning to face her, I delivered a strong front. At least, that was my intention. “He disengaged himself from me. I shall not go into the details, but suffice it to say that he had the opportunity to defend me and instead turned his back and ran far away. I realize that it would be wise to secure a home and place with him, but I found that I could not forget his indiscretions when faced with that future once again. When he renewed his offer of marriage, I simply could not accept.”

  It was a testament of Charlotte’s maturity that she did not press me further for details. Instead, she watched me as though considering my words.

  “I have always trusted you,” she said. “I will not cease now.”

  Tears of gratitude formed in my eyes. I trained them on the vanity table facing us on the opposite wall, blinking slowly until they disappeared. I could not wish for a more supportive sister.

  Charlotte nestled into the feather mattress, leaning her head upon my shoulder. “I suppose we now must hope Mr. Lynch will bring good news from London.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Pray he brings with him a will and a thousand pounds.”

  Her head tilted up to face me. I grinned. Lifting my free shoulder, I said, “What? I cannot dream?”

  “Eleanor, a thousand pounds is indeed dreaming.”

  Chapter 28

  Sun shone from the windows of the foyer and lit the polished floor. I had breakfasted too lightly, the anxieties of last evening yet to wear off completely, and my belly rumbled with the call for sustenance. Conscious of Charlotte’s words, I chose not to pace the house, but instead pulled a book of poetry from the library to take with me to the Morning Room. Where, if I was fortunate, Miss Hurst would have a tray of tea.

  Lord Stallsbury stepped from the study, shortly followed by Mr. Bryce, matching grins on each man’s face. I moved to pass them when they halted in the hallway and bowed.

  I curtsied. “I hope you have found something to take with you,” I said to Lord Stallsbury. I could have been mistaken, but he looked as though he was preparing to leave. The idea made my heart patter in my chest with urgency. “I have reconsidered my stance on the horse you brought. I agree that I’ve won him, fairly.”

  “I am glad to hear it, for I’ve already acquired two new horses and had intended to leave him behind regardless of your acceptance.”

  I laughed; there was nothing else for it. “You are a scoundrel, my lord. Surely you would not press a gift upon me that was not well received.”

  His voice lowered and he exchanged a glance with Mr. Bryce. “I had determined to find a way to make you see reason. Now it would seem I do not need to.”

  There was a wariness to his tone that frightened me.

  He stepped forward and I retreated. “May I speak to you privately, Mrs. Wheeler?”

  I felt every fiber of my being buzz with frustration. Was he determined to ruin me forever? “I do not think that is such a good idea, my lord.”

  He glanced again at Mr. Bryce, who turned away and walked down the hall. They seemed to have had a previous agreement and I watched him recede, mouth agape, into the drawing room.

  “My lord,” I hissed. “This cannot be good. I am doing my best to act blameless and you are doing me no favors with your pointed attention.”

  He stepped closer still, his eyes blazing. “That is something which I hope to rectify.”

  Whatever could he mean by that? He turned, opening the door to Mr. Bryce’s study and gestured inside with a sweep of his arm.

  There was a sense of repetition about this situation and despite my better judgment, I stepped into the room. He followed me, closing the door behind him with a quiet snap.

  Daylight streamed through the window, highlighting the foreign space. Lord Stallsbury stood watching me from the door, his eyes narrowed in a contemplative nature.

  Crossing the floor in two strides, he picked up my hands in his own, breaking my rule against our touching and shocking me as though he had dumped a bucket of cold water over my head. I sucked in a breath, at once overjoyed and terrified over the warmth that shot through me at his touch. His hands, larger than my own, held mine with gentleness, wrapping around them like a warm blanket on a rainy day. It seemed an apt comparison. The two of us had experienced many rainy days together.

  “Mrs. Wheeler,” he said, “please say that you will do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  I stood, rooted to the spot on the blue patterned carpet and reeled. Could he be in earnest? No answer came from my lips, but joy erupted inside me. He had not only answered to the trouble I faced, but with a marquess by my side I would surely be able to introduce Charlotte to polite society and obtain for her a decent husband.

  He must have mistook my shock for hesitation. His hands grasped mine tightly, as though with urgency. “There was quite a disruption when you fled Bancroft Hill. The family was in shock and their party soon departed. Through the disorder, Bancroft made sure to announce the annulment of your betrothal; I would not be surprised to discover that he had written to you promptly afterward.”

  I nodded, still uncertain of my voice. What was his purpose in relaying these unfortunate events?

  “As I thought,” he said, disgusted. “The weasel could not hold true to his word as a gentleman the moment scandal touched your name.”

  “Through my own blame,” I whispered. “I cannot fault Mr. Bancroft for cancelling an engagement agreed upon false pretenses.”

  “False pretenses?” he said, squeezing my hands further. “There was never any secret agreement between you and I. And you very well know that nothing untoward occurred. You must at least do yourself the service of admitting that you’ve done no wrong.”

  I pulled my hands free, though it took some effort. “And you, my lord, must yourself admit that what we did was improper in and of itself. It matters little that nothing untoward occurred; we met in private and it has cost me my reputation and will eventually steal my good name.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, forcing a dark lock to fall over his temple. “I do admit it, which is why I am here, making recompense. I will fix what I have broken, and our wedding will mend whatever damage has already occurred. Unlike Bancroft, I remain true to my word as a gentleman, and I will not leave you to fend for yourself.”

  As quickly as my joy had surged, the wave of sorrow hastily dashed down upon me with equal strength. I stepped back as though I’d been stung, gasping for a breath from the overwhelming blow.

  He did not love me. He was merely proposing to fix our carelessly wrought situation. Though I should have known from the beginning. I had allowed myself to believe momentarily that he was here of his own accord. Hurt sliced through me, intermixed with embarrassment, and I squared my shoulders as best I could.

  “Mr. Bancroft returned to reinstate our engagement. It was I who rejected him. And I must thank you for your offer, my lord, but I cannot accept you,” I said.

  He scoffed. “Whyever not?” His eyes widened momentarily as he took in my person as though through a new, shocking light. “You are not in love with Bancroft?”

  I shook my head, though in truth it was none of his concern whether I was or not. Had I not just told him that I rejected Mr.
Bancroft’s renewed proposal?

  “Then what is your reason? You owe me that much, surely.”

  I owed him nothing. And I was not going to admit that I had grown to love this man, not when he proposed a marriage to fix the scandal. How could I live in a marriage such as this? How could I wed a man I loved who did not care for me beyond a fondness for conversation? It could not be borne. I would not do that to myself once again. I simply had no choice.

  I was not a woman prone to hysterics, but I felt the rising tide of anxiety within me and made a dash for the door.

  “Mrs. Wheeler, come,” he called. “You cannot be serious!”

  I paused, my hand resting on the door handle. “Sir, I am in earnest. I have done so once, and it cost me a great deal. I will never again marry a man who does not return my regard. It would perhaps be best if you were to leave.”

  With that parting shot, I opened the door and removed myself from his presence. Running for the stairs, I sped up to my room and locked the door behind me. Throwing myself onto my bed, I shut my eyes to the world.

  Barking alerted me to a commotion outside my window some time later and I rose, watching through the glass as a horse was tied to the rear of Lord Stallsbury’s carriage. He stepped into view and my heart leapt to my throat. He swung onto a second horse, his face a work of stone. He called something to his coachman and was off, speeding away from Corden Hall with all of the sting of a man whose pride had taken a blow.

  I slumped against the window and watched his retreat. He would survive. His lack of regard for me would aid him in getting over the rejection. If only it could be so easy for me.

  * * *

  No one questioned me on Lord Stallsbury’s sudden departure. Nor did they inquire about my shift in mood. I did my best to be pleasant in company, but the nights were long with ceaseless thoughts of chocolate-colored eyes. Though I longed to let myself downstairs in search of a novel, I could not bring myself to leave my bedchamber.