by Heather Boyd
“Eleven,” Alice told the duke.
“Eight,” Everett countered, thinking on his feet.
Alice took the correction without batting an eye, but her mother’s quick-darted glance promised daggers.
“Oh, so it is,” Alice agreed with an awkward little laugh. “How silly am I, to get the time of my own wedding wrong?”
“I’m sure it will be a perfect day,” Ettington soothed.
“It will not be perfect without Miss Crewe, but we must make do without her, I’m told,” Alice complained.
“Oh,” the duke said with a heavy frown. “Where will Miss Crewe be?”
“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Miss Quartermane stepped closer to the duke. “Miss Crewe is to travel. Alone, of all things. Perhaps you can persuade her to forget her foolishness, Your Grace.”
His bride went into great detail to the duke, outlining Whitney’s plans in a way he’d never heard described before. She made Whitney’s adventure sound frivolous, and even scandalous.
“She will have paid companions,” Everett reminded everyone, rising to defend Whitney. “A married couple familiar with the journey.”
“But still, anything could happen to her alone on a ship like that,” Mrs. Quartermane warned.
“She is traveling on one of the Fremont ships,” Everett remarked. “They are well known and a well-run operation.”
“Indeed, they are,” Exeter promised. “I own a stake in that line, so you can rest assured her journey will be uneventful and quite safe. I can guarantee her an uneventful journey.”
Everett did hope so, too.
“Do you have many interests in shipping?” Alice asked him as lunch was announced.
“A few,” the duke murmured before he wandered off to hand the child he held to a waiting servant.
Alice followed the duke a few steps and Everett turned away from her, pleased her attention was directed elsewhere. His eyes immediately fell on Whitney. She was helping seat the children, who all seemed to want to sit at the larger table instead of the shorter one. Although he longed to join her, assist her, he found himself a chair far from his bride and heaped his plate high. Missing breakfast had made him very hungry.
As all the seats filled, he discovered only one remained beside his.
And Whitney seemed the only one without a chair, by the end.
She joined him with a wry smile. “You saved a spot for me. Thank you.”
He looked at the table as a footman placed a jug directly before him, but deposited no others along the table. Curious as to why, he peered inside quickly. It looked like…water?
Water sloshed over the edge as he righted the jug.
Whitney laughed softly. “Careful, my lord, or you’ll get wet again,” she warned.
“You be careful too, Miss Crewe, or you might become so too.”
He could almost swear Whitney moaned softly at that prospect.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Whitney clutched her sides, attempting to stifle her laughter so as not to wake the children resting in the next room. It had been an extremely enjoyable day. The luncheon was long over but not the merriment. Lady Ettington, slightly tipsy, was revealing a whole other side of her husband that most never knew could exist.
“Well, how was I to know he liked me when we argued all the time?” Lady Ettington admonished, as she rocked her daughter gently in her arms. Little Georgiana was slowly falling asleep, despite the hysterical confession her mother had just made about her near-disastrous first season and courtship by the Marquess of Ettington. “He acted with such highhandedness, and I never liked him once he started to act so top lofty. He was quite unbearable to me once.”
“I trust he’s mended his ways now?” Lady Taverham asked, laughing too.
“Oh, gracious no. He still tells everyone what to do. My husband will never change,” the marchioness promised as she handed her daughter over to a maid to take back to the nursery, brushing her fingers over the girl’s blonde curls. “But I wouldn’t give him up for the world, or our darlings, even if sometimes they try my patience. If not for Sinclair stealing them away so often, I’d never get a moment’s peace.”
“Sinclair?” Miss Quartermane asked, her face twisting into a frown at the unfamiliar name.
“I meant Exeter,” Lady Ettington said gently. “I’m sorry. The duke is quite insistent on informality with me. It may have something to do with casting up my accounts on him last year,” she confessed with a look of chagrin.
Another round of laughter swept through the room, but Alice gaped. “You threw up on the Duke of Exeter?”
“Well, I did try not to. He would not listen when I warned him to stay back. I was quite ill for a time when I carried the twins, and he was much too concerned for my welfare. He had no one to blame but himself for putting himself in harm’s way. He knows full well that I’m prone to disasters.”
That earned more laughter from the ladies and Whitney chuckled softly along with them. Exeter was very obviously a family man, and very forgiving. “There are not many unmarried gentlemen who would put up with that, I suspect,” Whitney mused.
“No, there aren’t,” Lady Ettington agreed. “We are really very lucky. He is simply wonderful with the children. He says my daughter constantly reminds him of his late twin, my husband’s mother.”
“He should have married,” Miranda murmured.
“Perhaps there’s still time for him to get around to it,” Lady Ettington stated before casting a quick glance about the room. Her gaze lingered on Whitney a moment too long for Whitney’s comfort.
Whitney stared back, giving the tiniest shake of her head.
The marchioness tilted her head, a question in her eyes. “I would like to see him settled with someone he likes very much. My husband would, too.”
The message couldn’t be clearer. If Whitney did like Exeter enough to consider an offer of marriage from the duke, should he ever make one, she’d get no opposition from the Ettingtons.
Unfortunately, Whitney did not consider Exeter in a romantic light, and never had. He merely reminded her of the family, the uncles, she no longer had. He was a comforting presence, and a man she felt safe around. That other people had noted their ease around each other could become awkward if she were to remain in England for much longer, she suspected.
Whitney shook her head a little more firmly again and Lady Ettington sighed. Whitney did not want anyone, least of all the Ettingtons, to assume she was eager to marry.
Lady Ettington slipped from the room. She was gone several minutes, and they sat in silence until she returned with a triumphant smile. “Done.”
“Now the babies have gone to sleep, might we please escape outside,” Lady Carrington asked with a hopeful expression.
“The older children have gone to the stables with the marquess,” Whitney reminded everyone. “Perhaps we could walk in the direction of the dower house instead.”
“Yes, let’s call on the dowager,” Lady Ettington exclaimed. “I have a question I must ask her for a dear friend.”
They made their way downstairs and out into the late afternoon sunshine.
Lady Carrington and Mrs. Quartermane led the way, strolling easily together and discussing the manner of raising children. Whitney was glad to be spared that conversation. Mrs. Quartermane always seemed to end her statements about motherhood by looking directly at her. It was unnerving how the woman had singled her out as if she had the right to tell her what to do. Whitney did not disapprove of marriages that were made for the right reasons, or of children. But saying so out loud would bring unwanted attention and her feelings about Miss Quartermane’s impending marriage might become exposed, when she’d always done her best to hide her disapproval from her friend.
Miss Quartermane attached herself to Lady Ettington’s side, coaxing her into discussing the delights of her new country home and married life. “Have you known the duke long?” Alice asked of Lady Ettington.
“Since I was a girl
,” the marchioness said with a smile, and began to extol his virtues in great detail.
That was another discussion Whitney was pleased not to be involved in. Married life, being beholden to a man, was not in her future. Learning more of Exeter wasn’t a good idea at this juncture, either.
Miranda seemed slower on her feet today, and not inclined to participate in either discussion, so Whitney happily remained at her side. They wandered along in pleasant silence for a while, glancing about them at the beautiful Twilit Hill grounds.
Miranda smiled her way. “She’s rather obvious, isn’t she?”
“Who? Lady Ettington?”
“No. I was speaking of Miss Quartermane. She’s very easily impressed by titles.” Miranda gestured to the pair laughing ahead of them. Whitney heard Exeter’s name, and frowned that they were still talking of him.
“For all that she is engaged, I fear her interest might easily become diverted if given sufficient encouragement,” Miranda asked.
Whitney gaped. “Diverted from Acton? When? How?”
“Don’t you see it?”
She stared ahead at Miss Quartermane and saw nothing unusual. Alice behaved much the same in Town as she did now. Happily chatting to anyone she met. Always eager to join a conversation, graciously accepting any man who asked her to stand up with him for a dance. Since the engagement had been announced, Alice had been positively overwhelmed with her increased popularity.
Miranda patted her hand. “You’re a good friend, Whitney, and easy to talk to, but I fear Miss Quartermane is not quite the friend you imagine. She’s thrived in your company.”
“We are friends,” Whitney protested.
“New friends only this season, despite the seven years difference in your ages. While other young ladies gather together, she chases after you.” Miranda grimaced. “Miss Quartermane’s increased popularity is due to you not her engagement to Acton. She had made good use of your connections these past months and sought friendships with many years above her in age. Because of that she has been invited to every event you attend.”
Whitney gaped. “So have many women.”
“This is deliberate, Whitney.” Miranda stopped altogether and faced her. “She copies you and envy’s your ease with gentlemen.”
“She has Acton.”
“She has her eye on more distinguished game,” Miranda warned. “Have you really never noticed how Miss Quartermane lights up when Exeter enters the room?”
Whitney laughed, her relief instant. “Many women do that around him. I tease him about his universal appeal constantly.”
“And he rarely notices anyone but you.” Miranda’s brow rose, daring her to deny it. “Are you willing to let another woman steal his attention from you.”
Whitney frowned. “I don’t think of him that way. He knows I don’t.”
“He does?”
Whitney nodded quickly. “He is only my friend, and he understands that is all we can ever be.”
“Speaking of friendships,” Miranda murmured as she took Whitney’s arm. “You seem to have become Lord Acton’s friend somewhat quickly. I thought you disliked him.”
“It’s not sudden,” she protested. “I can see now that he is being kind to you, and that pleases me.”
Miranda drew Whitney after the others. “Is that all it is?”
“Of course!” Her eyes widened in alarm. “Why?”
“Because I know another lady who lights up when a certain gentleman arrives at my door, and looks glum when he doesn’t show his face for several days.” Miranda slowed her steps. “I saw you with him the other day, too. Outside the kitchen garden where the children were playing.”
Whitney gulped. “I dumped a pail of water over his head that day. He had quite a lot to say about my impertinence.”
“But he wasn’t cross.” Miranda laughed softly, eyes alight with amusement.
“Well, he was at first, but he proved he has a sense of fun by the end of our conversation.” Whitney glanced ahead quickly, her face flaming. “We should catch up with the other ladies.”
Miranda stopped her, her expression troubled. “Just remember that no matter what you might think could happen, he’s an engaged man. I don’t want you to be hurt by setting your cap for the wrong man. Your cousin would never forgive me if I didn’t do all I could to protect you.”
“There is absolutely nothing to protect me from,” Whitney insisted. Acton was engaged, but he might be attracted to her still because of the nature of their history. “Acton is marrying, and I am leaving the country. Most likely we will never meet again after this week. You worry for nothing.”
“It is in my nature to worry. I was married for my dowry and thought for a long time that I would never be happy,” Miranda murmured. “You know how well that turned out for me.”
“But Taverham loved you then, and loves you still. Very obviously, too.”
“Does Acton love her?” Miranda shrugged and jerked her chin toward Miss Quartermane. “I wonder sometimes if he has made a mistake there. They are so painfully formal with each other.”
Whitney gritted her teeth. “I don’t wonder. But as you once said, it is none of our business what he does.”
“True.” Miranda hugged her quickly, and when they reached the dower house garden gate, she winced. “Forgive me for bringing that up. Taverham says I’m imagining his indifference.”
She wasn’t. Only time would tell if Acton and Alice could turn their arranged marriage into more than the cold alliance it seemed now. She hoped so, for his sake. “Perhaps he has something besides Alice on his mind?”
“What else could be more important than his own marriage?”
Whitney suspected he was often thinking of his sister, worrying quietly how she fared so far away. In that, she couldn’t fault his preoccupation, but she couldn’t speak of it either to explain. “I’m sure I don’t know.”
The dowager peeked out the window and Whitney waved. “Shall we join everyone?”
“Into the dragon’s den,” Miranda murmured, as she waved, too. “Let’s hope she’s in a better mood today than the last time I visited.”
“She will be,” Whitney said out the side of her mouth. “I sent her the sketch of Christopher she so admired yesterday—in your name, of course.”
Miranda shook her head. “Now who’s meddling?”
“Me!” Whitney winked. “Invite her to dinner tonight, too, and seat her beside Exeter. She’ll enjoy his company more than anyone’s, I suspect.”
“I’ll try.”
The dowager welcomed Miranda with more warmth than Whitney had ever witnessed. She hid a smile as the dowager insisted Miranda accept a glass of cool water and a fan for her hot face. Whitney wanted to cheer. The dowagers stern fussing was quite sweet in its own way. Perhaps all was not lost between the pair. It was most considerate, and for once the pair seemed finally at ease with each other.
Miranda smiled at her mother-in-law after thanking her. “We’ve missed you at the main house these past few days. Will you do us the honor of joining us for dinner tonight?”
Given everyone’s attention was on the Dowager Marchioness of Taverham’s answer, the older lady had no choice but to graciously accept the invitation.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Everett strode toward his home from the stables, full of grim determination. After the rigors of today’s outdoor luncheon, and an exhausting visit with his sister, he didn’t have the fortitude to keep up the charade of happiness any longer. All he wanted was to sit down and forget about illness and marriage, not that the two situations had much in common. One led to an ending, one to a beginning, unless he did something to stop the only one he could control.
Unfortunately, he’d not the patience to care whose feeling he would hurt by the confessions he planned to make tonight.
He could not live a lie anymore. Didn’t he deserve passion and love, and to give those in return one day?
He hurried through his gardens, past w
indows flung open to enjoy the cool evening breeze after a hot day, and heard his name mentioned. He paused, head cocked toward an open doorway as he discovered Miss Quartermane was talking of him inside.
“Lord Acton isn’t like that,” Alice promised. “He would never keep secrets from me.”
“Nonsense, my girl. He is a man,” her mother argued. “It is hardly a secret that all men appreciate a fine-looking woman. Where does he go at night, I ask you?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Alice protested. “He is always here.”
“Are you sure he’s not got some woman tucked away on the estate? My maid tells me he’s always riding off alone somewhere.”
“He wouldn’t do that to me, would he?”
“He shouldn’t, but you know the nature of titled gentlemen. Their heads are turned by every pretty face to cross their paths,” Mrs. Quartermane said soothingly. “Now, don’t trouble yourself about the future, but it is best to go into this marriage with your eyes wide open. Your father, bless his heart, has never strayed into another woman’s arms, but he was not a man born to wealth and privilege as Lord Acton is. The lords and ladies of higher society are used to that sort of thing, and you must become accustomed to it, too.”
There was silence within. Everett held his breath, waiting, expecting Miss Quartermane to defend his character from such ridiculous slander. He had never imagined taking a wife and a mistress. He had expected, anticipated, desiring his own wife from the very beginning. He wanted what Taverham and Miranda had, a marriage of equals, more than anything.
That he didn’t love Alice was the issue. He’d convinced himself that love could be acquired, given enough time and intent. The future he’d ruthlessly pursued was a myth. He wanted more. A lifetime of love or nothing.
“As long as he never embarrasses me, I will overlook it,” Miss Quartermane concluded. “I will do my duty as you suggest and not expect more.”
He shuddered. Should his love not be worth fighting to claim and keep?
