The countess scrutinized Bethany, sighing in exasperation. “Here, let me at least brush the dust off the hem of your riding habit.”
Bethany had to bite her tongue. Bits of dust gathered from riding was a terrible thing? What would this Lord Locke think of her in a tunic and men’s breeches? She’d spent most of her growing-up years sneaking off in them; it was easier to ride that way. She’d fought with her mother more than once over that and over other conventions she thought absurd. When to smile, when to avoid laughter. The use of titles even among family members, and proper clothing for a multitude of occasions. She didn’t mind, for instance, wearing gloves for riding and at formal affairs, but fashion did not dictate that she wear them in her own home and she disliked her mother requiring it. She smiled at the irony that her mother hadn’t time to force her into them now. But as for this Lord Locke, he ought to be glad Bethany at least had on one of her best riding habits.
Part of Bethany wanted the man to dislike her, so that he’d leave her alone, but panic seized her at the realization that if he declined, Whitton—and her horses—would go to auction in six days’ time.
“Your hair is as independent as its owner,” Lady Katherine muttered, pulling the combs from curls the same dark brown as Lord Whitton’s had been. The countess’s fingers tugged painfully at the tangles and pinned those curls into place, pinched Bethany’s cheeks to heighten their color and grabbed her shoulders to remind her to square them.
“It will have to do,” she muttered. “Now come. Meet your intended.”
Bethany imagined a funeral dirge accompanying them to the entryway and the wide, double doors that guarded the morning room. Mr. Drew stood there, his expression wooden. He opened the doors and announced them to the occupant standing at the empty fireplace with his back to them.
The gentleman turned round to greet Lady Whitton when she approached, and bowed over her offered hand. Then his gaze shifted towards Bethany, who stood barely inside the room, as motionless and stiff as Mr. Drew.
That gaze, a rich, dark blue, pulled Bethany’s feet loose from the floor and lured her to him. Bethany had never seen such irresistible eyes. The earl stood a good head taller than her, his bearing relaxed but dignified. Near-black hair, a firm jaw, a straight, slender nose. Her bold inspection of him seemed to amuse him, his handsome smile framed by deep dimples—bookend parentheses—on either side of a full, engaging mouth.
Bethany heard her mother say, “I’m sorry we’ve kept you waiting, my lord. Lady Bethany had no idea you were here, of course.”
“I don’t mind, Lady Whitton,” the man replied in a rich baritone, those eyes twinkling. Then he added, “It’s not every day a man chooses a bride, and if she’s the right woman, she’s worth waiting for.”
Bethany paused at this baffling declaration, her heart flipping thrice in her chest. The man was gorgeous; he was engaging; he was far too kind. Which made her mind up for her, of course. She could not risk her heart with this man. No matter what, she could not marry him.
CHAPTER 2
When the dowager countess introduced them, Bethany told herself not to accept Lord Locke’s hand, but she couldn’t help it. As she couldn’t help the way his kiss on her fingertips sent tingles racing up her arm to her chest. As she couldn’t withhold the gracious curtsy that came automatically, her gaze fastened to his.
Those eyes skimmed over her, taking in her wardrobe and her figure. She blushed, not because his appraisal offended her, but because, despite her best efforts, she wanted him to like what he saw. In truth, he did it subtly and with honest appreciation. He couldn’t, she imagined, be as impressed with her as she was with him. How could a man of his distinction even consider a girl like her? Despite wearing less than an earl’s courtly finery, he was magnificent, from his starched white shirt and lavish neck cloth to his broad-shouldered brown riding jacket, from his ivory riding breeches that hugged well-muscled thighs, to his shining hessians. In short, he was grace and dignity itself.
“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, Lady Bethany,” the earl said, leading her to the balcony table, already set with tea and scones. “I hold your family in high regard and am pleased that you’re willing to contemplate my offer.”
Bethany took the seat he held for her, convinced he surely knew little about her or he wouldn’t consider marrying her. “You flatter me, my lord,” she murmured. “I apologize for knowing nothing about you or your family.”
Her mother shot her an irritated look, but Locke flashed another heart-melting smile, one that Bethany struggled to steel herself against. She’d learned young that attractive men were every bit as capable as less attractive ones of hiding black hearts, especially men with riches and power.
With a nod from Lady Katherine, Bethany poured their glasses of tea while Mr. Drew delivered the scones and jam to their plates. Lady Katherine dismissed the butler, leaving Bethany grateful for her mother’s light chatter in the midst of tinkling crystal, silver, and china as they ate.
“I knew your brothers, Lady Bethany,” Lord Locke said after finishing his scone and taking a sip of his drink. “You were lucky to have them. I’m an only child.”
Bethany swallowed hard at the mention of her brothers. At eight years Bethany’s senior, if Lord Christian were alive today he’d have recently enjoyed his twenty-seventh birthday. And Mr. Collin? He’d have turned twenty-four next month, just a year younger than Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicolas.
“I’ve upset you.”
Bethany was sure her cheeks had paled. “No. I’m just—”
“Sad. I apologize for the painful reminder. It’s been better than a year now, hasn’t it.”
It wasn’t a question, merely a point of reference.
“Fourteen months,” she murmured. Only a year ago April.
“And a most unfortunate set of circumstances.”
Bethany still couldn’t fathom the improbability of a mere two days separating Mr. Collin’s demise in Portugal and the random carriage accident in Belgium that took the lives of her father and oldest brother. She could understand Mr. Collin’s death. As a younger son, he’d chosen in 1812 to take up his commission and go to war against the French. As an officer and a gentleman he should have been kept well out of harm’s way, but he’d perished in an unexpected skirmish in early April of last year.
Lord Whitton and Lord Christian’s loss, however, was different. Lord Christian had fallen in love with one Lady Elizabeth Leclercq, the daughter of an English noblewoman and Lord Leclercq, a Belgian viscount. After more than a year’s resistance to the match, the viscount had finally invited Lord Christian and her father to his home in Bruges, in late March of last year, to consider an arrangement. Mr. Collin seemed safe enough in Portugal and the risk to Lord Whitton and his heir negligible.
Notifications of their deaths had changed Bethany’s life forever.
Lord Locke examined her with care. “You miss them greatly.”
“Yes, of course. I adored my father. Mr. Collin was my co-conspirator in adventure, but Lord Christian was a second father to me. I suppose because he was so much older.”
The earl allowed himself to look amused. “Oh dear, I think that doesn’t bode well for me. He and I were of the same age. Does that trouble you, my lady?”
“At least you’re not doddering, like Sir Bixley.”
“Lady Bethany!” Lady Katherine hissed.
“Baron Bixley?” The earl queried, fighting a grin.
“Yes,” Bethany replied. “He’s eighty if not a hundred, and he was sure that I wouldn’t hesitate to welcome his suit because I’d taken no one else’s.”
“I presume you refused him.” He sipped casually at his tea, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Obviously, my lord.”
“Obviously. Well, I’m glad you don’t find me doddering.”
“On the contrary. You’re quite ... well, attractive.” Even Bethany couldn’t believe she’d dared say it and wasn’t surprised when
Lady Katherine mewed “Good heavens,” pulled her fan from the cuff of her sleeve and applied it liberally.
Lord Locke chuckled. “I’ve heard you can be rather plain spoken.”
“Not always. And I don’t mean to offend people. I simply see nothing wrong with telling the truth.”
“It’s a flattering truth,” he replied. Then his smile faded and he glanced at his empty plate. “I knew your father as well as I knew your brothers. Lord Whitton was one of the finest men I’ve ever met. And I believe you’re aware I’m also friends with Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicholas. Lord Christian introduced me to all of them while we attended Eton.
“I believe you and I have at least one thing in common, my lady. You share my reservations regarding London society. Your brothers and the twins made attending to my duties as close to enjoyable as is possible.”
Lady Katherine lowered her fan and narrowed her eyes at him. “My sons mentioned you upon occasion. If I remember correctly, the Incomparables hold you in the highest regard. In fact, if I may risk being bold as well, the sole criticism I’ve ever heard is that, similar to my daughter, you’ve avoided marriage as if it might poison you.”
Lord Locke pressed his serviette to his lips before laughing quietly. Clearing his throat, he collected himself and offered a polite nod. “As, indeed, I’ve always thought it could. Bachelorhood has suited me well. I’ve a great deal of responsibility, little time, and no patience with the machinations of the beau monde. I also consider it unfair to inflict a woman with the discomforts of extended travel, but I’d feel guilty for leaving her behind as frequently or for as long as I must when I visit the Continent. ”
“Particularly there,” Lady Katherine said. “There’s still danger over there and significant rumblings about Napoleon and his scheming to escape Elba. Do you take it seriously?”
The earl paused a moment before answering, “I’m of the opinion we’d be foolish not to.”
“Hmmm. I agree.” The countess nodded.
Bethany scrutinized Lord Locke, her mind racing from one consideration to another. Her mother recognized him, knew at least something of him, and he’d been good friends with her father, brothers and cousins. How could she have never met him? Or had she?
As if sensing her thoughts, Locke said, “It’s been a while since we last met, Lady Bethany. At Almack’s, a year ago April, in fact.”
Bethany froze at mention of that night.
“Last year?” Lady Katherine interjected, frowning. “I can’t remember you there, although it was an absolute crush that night. Lady Eva Camerfield—the Countess of Hannaford—is my sister, you know. She’s troubled with ill health and not up to London’s rigors. The twins’ sister, Lady Camille, came with Lady Bethany and me that night. I confess the crowd made it difficult to keep my eye on them.”
“I’m acquainted with Lady Hannaford’s unfortunate indispositions,” Lord Locke said, his gaze still fastened on Bethany. “But I’ve seen little of Lady Camille since she was small and doubt she would remember me.”
Bethany’s pulse began to race. “I don’t, either,” she said.
“The visit that night was brief, my lady. I wouldn’t expect you to recall it. A friend of yours, Lady Jessica Trent, introduced us. Then a group of young ladies dragged me off to play a game of piquet. If I’d spent more time with you, perhaps danced with you, you might have remembered me, but alas, I did not.”
At mention of Lady Jessica, the night in question suddenly unfolded in Bethany’s mind, sending apprehension racing over her. She’d done everything she could to not remember anything about that evening; it was no wonder she had no recollection of the earl, until now. Lord Locke was even more devastatingly handsome today than he was then. Lady Jessica was head-over-heels in love with him, despite her disappointment that the man was so old. Bethany had laughed at Lady Jessica’s opinion. They were eighteen at the time, and Bethany was approached by more than one gentleman twice Lord Locke’s age. In comparison Locke didn’t seem at all old.
The minute Lady Jessica introduced the earl, Bethany realized she’d never met a gentleman to whom she was more attracted. She also disregarded him as a suitor almost immediately. Besides not showing her any particular favor, he was old enough she didn’t believe he’d take her seriously. Beyond that, she couldn’t imagine a man of the Earl of Locke’s caliber remaining unattached without good reason. Was he penniless? A determined bachelor with less than honorable connections to the opposite gender? Did he perhaps not care for women? Bethany hadn’t given that thought more than a second’s pause. There was something about him that suggested he was merely resistant to feminine wiles.
Lady Jessica’s family knew the earl’s, and the girl quickly reassured her that Lord Locke was not only well-heeled, he was no hell-rake, either. Fascinated but sure he was out of reach, Bethany simply dismissed him from her mind.
“It’s been long since we met, my lord. Why now?”
Lord Locke regarded her a moment and then to Lady Whitton said, “I hope you won’t consider it forward of me, my lady, but I’d like to speak with Lady Bethany in private. Marriage is a complicated affair, as you know, and I’d prefer to hear her, uh, unhampered feelings before we proceed.”
“Oh.” Lady Katherine straightened, her gaze darting back and forth between them. “Oh, well, certainly. Would you care to walk in the gardens? I’ll send our housekeeper, Hetty, to chaperone.”
“Excellent,” the earl replied, rising to his full height and offering Bethany his hand.
Bethany’s breath nearly deserted her again as he pulled her to her feet, her heart hammering in her chest. Everything that had seemed perfectly normal that morning abruptly felt threatening, even Mr. Drew making his silent appearance to let them outside. How Lord Locke found the way to the gardens she had no idea, yet they were suddenly walking through them. Hetty trailed the couple, a distant shadow draped in servant’s attire.
“The gardens are lovely,” the earl remarked, what seemed eons of silence later. “Patterned after those of Capability Brown.”
“They are,” Bethany managed to reply. Her father had gone through half a dozen gardeners before he’d found Seamus, a man who understood the work of England’s most respected garden architect. “I’ve been told they’re outdated, but I love them.”
“As do I. I’ll leave them this way, if you want.”
She shot him a frown. “Why would you do that? For me, I mean?”
His grin turned her knees weak. Charming dimples. Twinkling eyes. So gorgeous. She dared not let them persuade her. She still couldn’t see her way to marrying this man, despite the consequences of refusing him.
“As part of the marriage contract, you understand Lord Whitton’s estate shall become mine. I want it put to rights, and I’ve no opposition to making my wife happy with how it’s done.”
Bethany didn’t know what to say. He wanted to make her happy? Why? He didn’t even know her. She’d love the gardens restored to their original glory, but she’d have to accept the man’s proposal for that to happen. Her mind told her she had no choice; she refused to surrender.
“Your cousins gave me sound advice which I plan to heed,” he said. “I agree that you’re very like your father. Charmingly candid. I liked that about Lord Whitton. He was a wonderful friend, more than I told your mother, and a mentor to me, my lady. And Lord Christian and Mr. Collin were, truly, my dearest friends. Please trust me when I tell you their deaths devastated me.”
The sadness on his face told her that he meant it. The thought made her sad for him, too.
“It’s a pity to see Lord Whitton’s estate failing. Mr. Bradbury explained that following your father’s death some of his investments went sour because of the war, which no one could have predicted. His Lordship would be overwrought if he knew the hardship it’s caused you and your mother. I owe him recompense for kindnesses he showed me over the years, but the best I can do is to assume the care of what he cherished far more than his country. His home
and his family.” He gave her a small grin. “Unfortunately, while I can purchase Whitton, I cannot buy you or Lady Whitton. That would not be at all proper.”
Bethany smiled at his light jest, but marriage seemed an excessive way to “repay” a man who was dead.
“Please take a seat, my dear?” The earl pointed towards a bench huddled within an ornate arbor. It was one of Bethany’s favorite places to meditate. She went to sit, but as he handed her onto the bench, the cuff of his jacket caught on a link of the charm bracelet that encircled her right wrist.
She gasped. “Oh, dear, please don’t break it.”
“Here, let me help,” he said, extricating it for her and sending warm tingles flashing through her at his touch. “Lovely piece,” he commented, pausing to appreciate it.
“Thank you,” Bethany said, admiring it with reverence. “My father gave it to me. Every charm has a personal message written on it. This one reminds me to sit tall in the saddle. That one tells me to settle for nothing but the best.”
“You must treasure it.” He stroked the bracelet into place, and it disconcerted her that that hand persisted in tingling even when he let it go—and that she liked it. She wished she’d worn her gloves after all.
“I do. It’s the last gift he’ll ever give me. I rarely wear it and certainly not when I ride. I donned it for church this morning before learning I had to meet with Lord Scarbreigh instead. I overlooked it when I changed clothes. Sometimes I hate its reminder that Father and my brothers are gone; at others, I’m terrified I’ll lose it.”
“Life is full of uncertainties, is it not? They’re harder still when you’ve no say concerning them, like death. Unlike marriage, over which we may have some choices.”
Bethany frowned at the suggestion, puzzled by the concern written on his elegant features. Was he worried that she’d spurn him? What an odd notion. He didn’t know her, after all, and beyond the livestock and the land itself, he’d inherit little from Lord Whitton’s estates beyond debt and hungry mouths to feed.
Saving Lord Whitton's Daughter: A Regency Romance Novel Page 2
