“The object of this gathering,” Haverford said, “is to enjoy congenial company during Wales’s loveliest weather. Any hostess knows the numbers ought to at least match, and better if the eligible men outnumber the single ladies.”
“Oh, right. And what’s old Benedict Andover doing among the pigeons?”
“I like him,” Haverford said. “I respect him, and he’s widowed. He and my father used to talk about books by the hour. He’s been a friend to the St. Davids since before I was born, and he has other friends among the older guests.”
Did that mean Sherbourne was disliked, disrespected, and had not a single friend at the gathering?
“As long as you’re not considering the old boy for Lady Glenys,” Sherbourne said. “In your determination to keep her from my foul clutches, you might be tempted to desperate measures. I have no wish to see your sister consigned to such a fate when better options are right at hand.”
Haverford rose. “At the risk of inflicting more of my graciousness on you, Sherbourne, allow me to point out that if you seek to court my sister, protocols apply. Those protocols do not start with you threatening to call in my notes. If Glenys is amenable to receiving your addresses, and if she looks on your suit with favor, I would not gainsay her choice, providing the settlements could be worked out.”
Sherbourne abandoned his post by the window. “You’d approve a match between Glenys and me?”
He sounded honestly curious. Did he harbor a tendresse for his hostess? Was that what his uninvited presence was about?
“I would hate to see my sister shackled to any man she could not esteem,” Haverford said. “Let’s leave it at that, shall we? And you will address her as Lady Glenys or risk embarrassing yourself before the other guests.”
“Of course. Lady Glenys,” Sherbourne said, “because her papa happened to be a duke rather than a brewer or a banker. My mistake. Enjoy your petty displays, Haverford. Unless you want your guests and half of London learning exactly where the metes and bounds lie between us, you’ll comport yourself as mine most gracious host.”
“Exactly what I am, a most gracious host,” Haverford said. “I’d best see if my sister has any orders for me.”
“Host” had social meaning, of course, but Elizabeth wanted to remind Sherbourne that a host could be a mighty army too.
Another set of footsteps thumped into the library at a brisk pace. “Ah, Haverford, there you are,” Lord Radnor said. “Sherbourne, good day. The ladies have decided we’ll process to the tents in another half hour, and all good gentlemen are to present themselves below for escort assignments. Come along, both of you.”
“After you, Sherbourne,” Haverford said with grave politesse.
The duke was taunting his guest, for that’s how men were. Three sets of bootsteps moved toward the door, and Elizabeth gently reshelved the Bard among the biographies. She gave him a final pat—what a contribution he’d made to literature and language—and took the chair by the hearth, where she’d be in full view of the door.
The seat was well padded, the dimensions commodious, the whole sturdy and comfortable. A couple could cuddle in this chair, amid all these books.
Or a lady could take a moment to reflect on what had transpired in the past quarter hour.
What on earth was afoot between Haverford and Sherbourne? Lady Glenys had to marry somebody, and many a titled family sent their daughters into the arms of wealthy commoners.
Very wealthy commoners, with impeccable pedigrees, excellent manners, and spotless reputations.
Elizabeth resolved to further acquaint herself with Mr. Sherbourne, should the opportunity arise. Lady Glenys had awarded her the status of a friend, and friends didn’t let friends contract a mésalliance.
Of more significant interest was Elizabeth’s next question: Which of these many, many books should she take along to help her endure an afternoon of flies and flirtation?
And when might she and Haverford find another moment to trade confidences and stolen kisses?
Chapter Eleven
“Can you ride out with me tomorrow?” Julian asked, taking a seat uninvited beside Elizabeth Windham.
She occupied a blanket, a book in her lap. She’d chosen a spot in the shade, leaving the sunny bank of the lake to the younger ladies who were apparently desperate to remain in view of the bachelors at every moment.
In Julian’s opinion, the great Haverford house party regatta was proceeding amid more jollity than the occasion warranted.
Not quite more than was proper. The gentlemen had rowed across the lake in groups of four boats, and a respite had been declared for tea and sandwiches, so that all might restore their athletic powers before the championship race.
“I would like to ride out with you,” Elizabeth replied, using a stem of grass as her bookmark. “But my time is promised to another tomorrow morning. Perhaps Charlotte or Miss Trelawny might accompany you.”
Miss Trelawny would cheerfully have accompanied Julian right into his bedroom, did he allow it. She was rumored to have twenty thousand a year thanks to her uncle, the widowed banker. Her father was a viscount, and she was exactly the sort of female Julian ought to pursue.
“What are you reading?” he asked. And why must you look so lovely where any of these prancing nincompoops might realize what a gem hides in their midst?
“Cecilia. Mrs. Burney’s second novel, which for some reason, is twice the length of her first, and half as interesting, but it’s a favorite at the lending library I frequent in London.”
“You criticize a book, Miss Windham? I thought books were sacred.” Julian’s forbearers had certainly been of that daft persuasion.
She set Mrs. Burney aside. “You have a first folio of Shakespeare tucked among your biographies. Books might not be sacred, but mis-shelving the Bard surely constitutes blasphemy.”
“So that’s where it got off to. We have some of his quartos in the family library. Who claims your time tomorrow?”
None of Julian’s business, that’s who, but for the next eighteen days, he could comport himself like a callow swain where Elizabeth Windham was concerned.
“I’m enjoying my constitutional with a relation of yours—Mr. Griffin St. David. He shares many of your handsome features. We met as I began my walk this morning.”
Part of Julian’s mind seized on the thought Elizabeth thinks I’m handsome even as the rest of him grasped the substance of her words.
“How did you and Griffin meet?”
“You needn’t look so severe, Your Grace. Griffin chanced upon me strolling by the river. He’s very friendly.”
Unlike me? “What you call friendliness has landed him in a great deal of trouble. I’ll see that he doesn’t bother you again.”
Elizabeth turned such a look upon Julian that he was reminded of Sherbourne’s words, about shaming others with graciousness. Elizabeth’s gaze held great kindness and even greater disappointment.
“Griffin’s situation is complicated, Elizabeth.”
“Fortunately, I am possessed of sufficient intelligence that even complicated matters, when explained, are within my grasp. Who is Griffin St. David to you?”
Julian shredded a handful of clover and considered dissembling, but Griffin wasn’t a secret. Lady Pembroke probably knew of him, as did any of the guests of her generation. Debrett’s had eventually, for a sum certain, seen fit to forget about him.
“Griffin is my brother.”
“Your full brother?”
“My full, legitimate brother, and Lady Glenys’s too. He lives in his own household on a former Haverford tenancy, and I do not want to have this conversation where anybody can interrupt.” Or eavesdrop.
Elizabeth passed him the book. “You do not want to have this conversation at all. Pretend you’re reading to me, and we won’t be disturbed.”
He wanted to read to her, preferably late at night as they prepared for bed. “I’ll be called upon to referee the championship race at any moment.”
>
“The competitors are still very much concerned with besting one another at the buffet. Are you ashamed of your brother?”
Not even Radnor would have posed that question, but Julian was pleased to answer honestly.
“Of course I’m not ashamed. Griffin St. David has more decency in his smallest finger on his worst day than most people can claim on Easter morning. He’s brave, he’s determined, he’s kind, and in every way resembles a gentlemanly paragon more than I ever will. He wanted his own household, and Glenys supported him.”
“Open the book, Julian. You opposed this notion?”
Julian. “I cannot protect him as effectively if he’s living on his own. He’s been taken advantage of in the past, with serious consequences to him and to others. I trusted the wrong people once before, and Griffin paid a high price.”
The book felt heavy in his hands, as weighty as a brick, not quite as useful a weapon as a brick would be.
“He’s Lord Griffin,” Elizabeth said.
“You must not address him as such, for he has it in his head that all lords, even courtesy lords, go to London to sit in Parliament. I cannot take him to London. He’d be made a laughingstock, and—lest you think I haven’t considered it—Lady Glenys’s prospects will be diminished when people learn that she has an impaired younger brother.”
That silenced her, while ten yards away, Miss Trelawny was clambering into a boat and getting her hems wet. Sir Nigel splashed about in the shallows, probably ruining his boots while the lady shrieked about not having any oars.
“Society can be vicious,” Elizabeth said. “That much is true, but would Lady Glenys want a husband who couldn’t accept her brother?”
“In my experience, trusting to the compassion of human nature is folly, at least among my peers. My father’s outlook regarding his fellow man was more sanguine, or more foolish. I shall have to rescue that damned woman. Didn’t Mrs. Burney have something to say about a lady’s reputation?”
“‘Nothing is so delicate as the reputation of a woman,’” Elizabeth quoted quietly. “‘It is at once the most beautiful and most brittle of all human things.’”
The little boat was drifting out into the lake. Spectators on shore shouted suggestions, Sir Nigel trudged to the bank in his wet boots, and Miss Trelawny sat in her boat, slipping farther from dry land.
“We haven’t finished this discussion,” Elizabeth said. “Come by your sister’s parlor after supper, and if the hour is not too late, I’ll be there.”
Julian pulled off his boots and set them on the grass. “Until tonight.”
He kept walking, right out into the lake, which was surprisingly pleasant in temperature. The crowd on shore took to calling encouragement, though all that was wanted was to get behind the boat and give it a shove toward land. The water was little more than waist deep, and the boat soon bumped solidly into the bank.
“Well done, Your Grace,” Haldale called, applauding. “You showed Sir Nigel how to deal with a damsel in distress!”
The damsel was sitting prettily in the boat, waiting for a handsome swain to get her to shore.
“Some worthy gentleman needs to carry the lady to the bank,” Julian replied. “I’d oblige, but then Miss Trelawny would be as soaked as I am.”
Haldale had no witty rejoinder, and Sir Nigel was staring morosely at his wet boots.
Sherbourne waded into the water and lifted Miss Trelawny from her perch. “My pleasure, madam. Perhaps if you’re that eager to be on the water, we should have a lady’s regatta at next year’s house party.”
He aimed that remark at Julian, though Sherbourne knew damned good and well there would be no Haverford house party next year or any other year.
“If the company will excuse me,” Julian said, splashing to the bank, “I’ll see to my attire and join you all at supper.” He assayed a bow at Glenys, who looked torn between laughter and mortification.
“I’ll drive you back to the castle,” Radnor said, signaling to the groom who held the dogcart five yards off.
“My thanks.” Julian left his boots right where they were, twelve inches to the left of Elizabeth Windham’s book, and climbed into the cart.
“What was Sherbourne about,” Radnor asked as they rattled off at a trot, “stepping forth to rescue Miss Trelawny? He has no need of her money, and she has no need of his.”
“He was doubtless trying to impress us with his manners, and I admit, he surprised me. Sherbourne might be preparing to ask for permission to pay Glenys his addresses.”
The bench beneath Julian’s wet backside was hard and warm, and in truth, he was glad to be spared the rest of the afternoon by the lake.
Not glad to have abandoned Elizabeth, though.
“If Sherbourne presumes to court Lady Glenys, will you laugh in his face and have him tossed out the door?” Radnor asked.
“You know I can’t.”
Radnor drove along in silence for a quarter mile, while the sounds of the boating party grew mercifully quieter. “Will Lady Glenys look with favor on Sherbourne’s suit?”
“I honestly don’t know. I suspect she’d consider Sherbourne in the hope that her marriage would ease my financial situation.” Which it would not, though it might prevent Sherbourne from causing the outright ruin of his wife’s family.
Radnor tried to steer the cart around a pothole, but the way was narrow, and jostling inevitable.
“Lady Glenys would martyr herself to the St. David debt, as you have. I’d lend you my last groat, Haverford, you know that.”
“You’d give me your last groat without a thought of repayment, for which I do love you, but you’ve done enough. Besides, the St. David debt would eliminate all your reserves and still not be half repaid.”
Not that Radnor’s reserves were vast. He was comfortable, but like Julian had not turned to exploiting mineral resources to augment his fortune.
“So you’d allow a match between Sherbourne and Glenys?”
Was Radnor’s question too careful? He pulled the dogcart up at the back entrance to the castle, where the baggage and tradesmen’s deliveries were accepted.
“Sherbourne himself asked the same question, and all I could say was that I’d hate to see my sister shackled to any man she could not esteem. I hesitate to antagonize Sherbourne, and yet, neither can I allow him to ride roughshod over me.”
A groom jogged out from the stables, and Julian hopped down from the cart. The grass was cool and soft beneath his feet, another summer pleasure he’d forgotten.
“Will you return to the revels by the lake?” Julian asked, for Radnor had remained on the bench, his expression oddly severe.
“Haverford, Lady Glenys will marry that well-dressed barbarian for your sake. Do you want that on your conscience?”
“Of course not, but what if he’s her only choice? I don’t care for Sherbourne, but he’ll keep her in far better style than I can, and he knows her financial situation as well as I do. I don’t want her spinsterhood or a life lived in unrelenting penury on my conscience, much as I detest the man.”
Radnor sprang down, landing directly in front of Julian. “He’d treat her like a prize of war, parade her around London before his banker friends, and get children on her. How can you consider Sherbourne a suitable match for Glenys? He’d make her miserable.”
Julian waited until the groom had turned the cart around and led the horse some distance away.
“Radnor, for the daughter of a duke to remain unmarried is probably the definition of misery. You don’t have a sister, you can’t know how much store young women set on their come out, who is marrying whom, and who has been brought to bed with a child. Glenys is not happy, and she will never be happy without a family of her own. If I marry, her situation becomes even more pathetic.”
Radnor stuck his nose in Julian’s face. “Sherbourne is not her only option, you dolt.”
Good God. Radnor was not in a temper, he was lovesick. Julian took a step back and bruised his heel ag
ainst a rock hidden by the grass.
“Have you told this to Glenys?”
“That you’re a dolt?”
“That you are in love with her.” Not merely fond of the lady, not in the grip of a passing sentiment, but hopelessly, wonderfully far gone.
Radnor turned away, his gaze fixed on the tents gleaming white across the lake. “I’m waiting for the right moment.”
House parties made the wisest people daft. “Cedric, one suspects you’ve been waiting for years. Sherbourne is probably right now bowing over her hand and fetching her another glass of punch. There will never be a right moment, and if you want to be seen as a suitor, you’d best start comporting yourself like one.”
“I’ve your permission to court her, then?”
“If you were anybody else, I’d tell you that Glenys’s wishes will be controlling, but you’re you, so I’ll simply wish you the best of luck and warn you not to muck this up.”
“Any worse than I already have, I know,” Radnor said, striding off in the direction of the dogcart. “Timing is everything, Haverford, and it’s time for a bit of courtship.”
He jaunted off, leaving Julian damp and slightly chilled outside the castle walls, his foot throbbing.
Sherbourne would have a royal tantrum if Glenys married Radnor, though Glenys would be safe and happy, which mattered a very great deal.
“I hate house parties,” Julian informed nobody in particular.
But he loved the idea of ending his day with Miss Elizabeth Windham in the cozy informality of the lady of the castle’s tower parlor.
* * *
The boat races had tired the other guests sufficiently that Elizabeth had to wait only until eleven o’clock to make her way to the tower parlor. She lit a fire for warmth and arranged a few candles, then occupied herself reviewing the stack of correspondence Lady Glenys had set out for her.
This meeting with Haverford was not a seduction, but rather a discussion between new friends. Elizabeth had no intention of drawing out the conversation, for she must keep her appointment with Griffin early in the morning.
No Other Duke Will Do (Windham Brides) Page 14
