Even with his choice in a wife, he’d gone for a slightly older chit—and one that was hardly proper, though clearly she did sometimes try. It seemed it just didn’t come quite naturally to her. Why, even her decision to host such a gathering with the gossip currently traveling about Town proved her pluck. It was almost as though she was flaunting it in their faces—yet it required both courage and a certain sense of humor that was far too often missing from those of her station.
Which was all well and good. Actually, it suited Gil quite nicely. Propriety was boring, and Lady Quinton was anything but. She seemed to be the perfect choice for his wayward grandson, keeping him close to heel in a way that neither Gil nor Lady Coulter had ever managed to do. Not even the influence of Sir Augustus had provided the desired effect on the lad.
But now…now Quinton seemed different. Perhaps Gil had made the right choice after all, in setting an ultimatum for the lad.
Quinton was married to a respectable (albeit scandalous at the moment) lady. He was finally caring for his responsibilities with Quinton Abbey (and yes, Gil had met with both Carruthers and Forster to ascertain just what level of involvement his grandson had assumed in the running of affairs). He was becoming the upstanding family man Gil always thought he could be. He’d even managed to impregnate his wife, from what they had informed him of upon his arrival three days previously.
Not that he would truly toss Quinton out for a failure on that particular task. God played as much a role in the task as man. But his grandson needn’t know that just yet.
Gil held no illusions about why his grandson had continued to sow his wild oats long past the age when it was acceptable. Quinton’s father—Gil’s son—had become something of a degenerate, to say the least, after that horrible tragedy. He’d been weak, and had turned a what should have been only a single tragedy into multiple other tragedies. For years, Gil had wondered if Quinton was not a lost cause. The damage caused by the lad’s father might have been too much to recover from.
But Gil had entered his seventy-fourth year. He couldn’t fool himself. Each breath he took could easily be his last. He had to make one more effort. One more try.
Finally, Quinton would be prepared to assume the role he’d been born to. Gil could only claim so much credit for the turnaround his grandson had made. Truthfully, most of the credit belonged to the indomitable Lady Quinton.
The chit had proved to be quite the force to be reckoned with, at least from what Gil had seen. Quinton could roll over or barrel through nearly anyone, but she held her own against him. Yes, she may have started a few scandals. But who hadn’t? Gil himself had even been involved in a few, in his day.
The ton was fickle. They would move on to some new on-dit as soon as the stories being falsely published as hers stopped being published. Obviously Quinton hadn’t managed that yet, since Gil had discovered a new issue of the Sordid Scandals at White’s the day before he left for Wetherby. He had no doubt that Laughton’s youngest son, Griffin, was behind it. The whelp couldn’t resist peeing in someone else’s flower bed, particularly if that someone happened to be Quinton.
So, since his grandson had yet to rectify the situation, Gil had decided to urge things on.
Harrogate was not all that far from Wetherby, after all.
He sat back in his chair near the window and watched the youngsters at their games. Charades, this time. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the asinine gestures that fool Norcutt was making. After all, he’d been a young man once, himself. He knew what it was to be in love and willing to do anything, even make an utter cake of himself, if it might earn him the attentions of his lady love.
In fact, if memory served (which was an infrequent occurrence these days, but this time he believed it did) a particular game of charades at a house party many years before had been what eventually caught the eye of Lady Rotheby.
Chapter Twenty-Three
21 June, 1811
Truthfully, the younger generation ought to listen to me when I attempt to match them up. After all, I sit and watch them all day. I see the ways they look coyly upon each other from across the room, the stolen glances, the thinly veiled lust. I see it all. They should simply capitulate and agree that I know best. It should not matter that I am also one of ‘the younger generation.’ I am a married lady, after all.
~From the journal of Lady Quinton
“I thought,” Aurora said over the din in the salon one afternoon, about a week into the house party, “that today might be a lovely day for an excursion into town for some shopping. The sun is finally shining again, after several days of rain. And the ladies and I are all feeling rather cooped up in the abbey and wish to get out. Would you gentlemen be so kind as to escort us?”
Many of the unmarried gentlemen in the room promptly snapped to attention with, “Of course,” or, “It would be my pleasure,” as their responses, eager for an excuse to get away from the prying eyes of the older chaperones for a bit of time. Quin and Lord Lipscombe did not appear to be quite as keen as their unmarried counterparts to join. However they had little choice since Aurora and Judith, Lady Lipscombe, were each firmly intent on going.
Indeed, Aurora’s house party had been a resounding success so far. Certainly, the weather had not cooperated as much as she would have liked, but she had planned for enough indoor activities that it had not presented a true problem.
And, much to her delight, her first attempt at matchmaking with Nia and Sir Jonas was also going rather well. At least it seemed that way, since Nia was no longer hiding in the corner quite so frequently, and Sir Jonas seemed all-too-content to remain by her side as often as Aurora positioned him there.
Her matchmaking attempts for Rebecca and Lord Tucker were not proving quite as auspicious, however. Just when she thought the two were well and securely situated together for some entertainment or another, if she turned around for a mere moment, somehow Lord Norcutt had finagled himself into Lord Tucker’s position by Rebecca’s side, and Lord Tucker had replaced Norcutt’s position with Miss Vivian Osbourne.
The four of them were being highly uncooperative.
Soon, the entire group was ready to go out for the day. Her Grace of Aylesbury, Lady Pratley, and Lady Coulter also decided to come along, with Aurora’s father offering to escort them. Sir Augustus and Lord Rotheby preferred to keep court at the abbey. Once all the ladies had fetched their gloves and traded soft caps for bonnets, and the gentlemen had donned their beaver hats and gloves and fetched parasols to carry for the ladies, they made their way outside to the four awaiting carriages.
“Miss Coulter,” Aurora said, attempting to direct the members of the shopping party to the appropriate conveyances to achieve the pairings she preferred, “why do you and Sir Jonas not ride with Quin and me? Then perhaps Lord Tucker and Lord Merrick would be so kind as to escort Lady Rebecca and Lady Emily in the second carriage…”
Her voice trailed off as Lord Tucker placed Miss Vivian Osbourne’s hand upon the crook of his arm and guided her into the third carriage with Mr. Bentley and the elder Miss Osbourne, leaving Rebecca to (once again) be paired with Lord Norcutt. Blast them all. They were ruining her fun.
“Come along, love.” Quin placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her toward the first carriage, where Nia and Sir Jonas were already firmly seated—on opposite benches, pressed back against the squabs as if their lives depended upon it—leaving her no choice but to take up the seat next to the girl.
She let out a huff of air as she sat, crossing her arms over her chest and thoroughly resisting the urge to hide her sulk.
“Are you unhappy?” Nia asked in her soft, sweet voice. “I thought you wanted to go shopping today. We could stay behind”
“We most certainly will not stay behind,” Aurora responded a mite more sharply than she intended. But she would not give Nia an opportunity to avoid being in Sir Jonas’s company. Not if she could thrust them together at every turn. And clearly, they needed some encouragement. “I do
wish to go into town. And I wish for you to have a lovely time today. I’m sure Sir Jonas will be certain you see everything you wish to see, so please do not fret on my account.”
The carriages rolled to a stop almost before they had started, it seemed, and the coachmen stepped down to let out the steps and hand them out on High Street. The shops here certainly did not hold the appeal of the finest in London, but they would have to do for an afternoon excursion in the country.
Indeed, Aurora had not yet visited town to discover the wares for herself. But Forster and Mrs. Marshall had assured her that the goods they sold were of excellent quality, and that the young ladies would certainly find something upon which to spend their pin money.
It seemed they were right. The milliner boasted any number of lovely straw bonnets lined with ribbons and flowers. At the haberdashery, a broad assortment of ribbons and bows were found that the ladies could then use to make their gowns for the upcoming ball a bit more special than they already were. The linen draper even had a number of lengths of fine muslins and silks available. Down at the end of the street near where their carriages waited for their return sat a small sweet shop.
The various pairs set off, the ladies to make their purchases, and the gentlemen to carry them. Except Nia did not seem to want to leave Aurora’s side. In fact, she latched on to Aurora’s free arm (the other one being occupied with holding Quin’s) instead of allowing Sir Jonas to escort her. It was almost infuriating how shy she was.
“Oh, look over there, Nia,” she said after several minutes of walking about High Street in a group of four, instead of the intended groups of two. “Do you see that lovely bonnet in the window? The one with the bluebells upon it. I think that would look lovely with your coloring, don’t you agree?” Before the chit could respond in the negative, Aurora slipped Nia’s hand free and placed it upon Sir Jonas’s waiting arm, then practically shoved them across the street. “Sir Jonas, would you be so kind as to take Miss Coulter to visit the milliner?”
Nia turned her head with her mouth open, as though to protest.
“Oh, dear. Perhaps your father has not given you enough pin money,” Aurora continued, fishing around in her reticule to pull free some coins. She shoved them into Sir Jonas’s free hand. “This should certainly be enough. We shall meet up with you later! I daresay I cannot wait to see how stunning you look in that shade, Nia.”
And with that, she walked away, nearly dragging Quin along behind her when he did not come as soon as she would have liked.
“What was that about?” he asked when they were out of earshot of the other couple and finally slowed their pace.
Aurora frowned at him. “What was what about?” Really, it wasn’t as though she was making any secret of her intentions. The man would have to be daft not to realize that she was matchmaking.
“I don’t like that you’re perpetually putting my sister together with Jonas. He’s nearly old enough to be her father.”
“But he’s not her father,” Aurora said with a roll of her eyes. “And you can hardly say anything about it with how you have avoided the girl her entire life. Besides, Sir Jonas is almost like a brother to her, she tells me. That’s all.”
“You’re fooling yourself if you believe she thinks of him as a brother,” Quin retorted. “I’ve seen how she watches him. He isn’t good for her, Aurora.”
Oh, dear good Lord, the man had picked a rather inopportune moment to suddenly recognize his brotherly duty. “Her mother and father don’t seem to agree with your assessment. Nor do I. In fact, I think Sir Jonas is rather perfect for Nia. Far more important than any of that, however, is what Nia thinks. You said yourself that you see how she”
Aurora stopped short when a sharp pain stabbed her midsection. She placed a hand to her abdomen and bent over slightly. It felt similar to those pains she would often get with her courses. But she couldn’t…
“What is it?” Quin asked, bending over her. “What’s wrong? The baby?” He looked at her with his blue eyes awash with fear.
But just as soon as it came, it was gone. It was almost as though she had imagined it, as though it weren’t real. Perhaps it had only been her imagination. “Nothing. I’m all right.”
Aurora straightened herself and started to walk again, but Quin placed a hand on her arm, his grip like a vise. He implored her with his eyes.
“Truthfully, it was nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine. The baby will be fine.”
She hoped.
~ * ~
Quin didn’t believe her. He didn’t believe his wife was fine or that his baby would be fine. She hadn’t looked fine when she had nearly collapsed on High Street, doubled over in pain and with her face as pale as a sheet.
He didn’t believe Nia or Jonas, either, when they climbed into the carriage for the return to the abbey, claiming that nothing had happened between them, despite the fact that they returned to the carriage with guilty expressions upon both their faces. Nia was looking up at Jonas far more often than she was normally wont to do, and now Jonas had started to peek across at her as well.
Neither of which sat well with Quin. He may not have been the best brother for Nia all along, but he was still her older brother, by Jove. And the thought of Jonas, at thirty years of age, chasing after the seventeen-year-old girl’s skirts was enough to send Quin’s blood to boiling.
Blast his meddlesome wife. She ought to put her mind to her own matters. After all, they certainly had more than enough matters in need of minding, at the moment.
Or, perhaps more importantly even than those matters, she ought to rest. Was it not important for an expectant mother to rest? Wasn’t that why they had their confinement periods and the like? Quin really wanted to send the entire lot of their guests away, however inappropriate such an action might be. Aurora didn’t need the added worry of finding ways to entertain all of these people, let alone of planning a ball.
Needless to say, he was caught woolgathering later that evening, when Norcutt came over to him in the salon after supper.
“Might I beg a moment of your time, Quinton?” the man asked when he finally caught Quin’s attention. “There is a favor I must ask of you.”
Quin nodded his agreement and followed as Norcutt led him out to the veranda.
Once outside, the marquess clenched and unclenched his hands repeatedly, shifting from one foot to the other. There were damned better uses for Quin’s time.
“Out with it,” he half-shouted to the nitwit standing before him, causing the other man to jump.
“Y-yes, of course,” Norcutt replied. “I do apologize for my nerves, Quinton. It is just that I intend to make an offer for Lady Rebecca tomorrow afternoon. I have already obtained His Grace’s approval, of course. We discussed matters long before I traveled. But I wondered, if she should accept, which I do hope with all that I am she does because I will feel quite the fool otherwise, but if she should accept, might we make the announcement to your guests at supper tomorrow evening? If it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience, of course. I would not want to impose upon either you or Lady Quinton, as you’ve been such agreeable hosts.”
Quin chuckled. “Stop rambling, man.” Gesturing to a bench, he made his way over and took a seat. “You are more than welcome to make your announcement at any time. Just give me a nod, and I’ll get everyone’s attention for you.”
A mass of air flew from the man’s lips as he took a seat beside Quin. “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you”
“Slow down and breathe, to start,” Quin said jovially. Thank God he hadn’t had as much time to think about making his offer to Aurora. There’d been no time for nervous behavior at all. Not that he was the nervous sort. “Honestly, there is nothing to repay. Now, tell me. Have you decided how to go about it?”
Norcutt nodded vigorously. “I shall take her for a walk. Through the park over there,” he said, pointing toward a copse of trees alongside a path. “And once I have her alone, I�
��ll get down to my knees and ask the question.”
Hmm. The path Norcutt had chosen was not a particularly beautiful path—not something memorable, like Lady Rebecca would likely prefer. Ladies did tend to have rather grand ideas about how certain events should play out, after all. There were at least a few things Quin had learned in his marriage.
“Instead of the path you had chosen,” he said, “perhaps I might make a suggestion?” Quin pointed over the hill off to the side of the abbey. “If you follow the pea-gravel path over the hill, you’ll come to a lovely spot beside a small hermitage at the river. I’ll have Cook put together a picnic basket for you. Sit beneath the great oak and ask her there.”
That spot needed more pleasant memories. It needed more beauty. The time had arrived to move on.
Twice a Rake Page 28
