Saving Lord Whitton's Daughter: A Regency Romance Novel

by Susan Tietjen

  Bethany’s cheeks flushed and she waved a dismissive hand. “No, Cam. We get along the way strangers do who’ve no commitment beyond convenience, but then—”

  “What?” Lady Camille urged. “What happened?”

  Bethany sighed. “We’ll talk about it later. Let’s change our clothes for riding. Lord Locke will soon come for us.”

  The earl was waiting for them in the entryway when they arrived, where he welcomed Lady Camille with sincerity and offered an arm to each of them as they headed to the stable.

  Locke and Bethany again rode Polly and Raven, while Seaworth provided Lady Camille with a leggy bay gelding named Prince, promised to have wonderful gates. Bethany made mental note, however, that now that Lady Camille was here, they could concentrate on exercising the rest of her horses in the days ahead.

  “Your estate is enviable, my lord,” Lady Camille enthused. “The land’s rockier and a bit hillier than at home, but it’s amazingly fertile, and I swear I smell the sea. You were privileged to grow up here.”

  Locke smiled. “Wish I could spend most of my days here.”

  “At least when you do visit, you’ll have Lady Bethany to keep you company,” she said, twinkling.

  Drat Lady Camille for her meddling, Bethany thought, flushing.

  “Something to which I will look forward,” Locke replied.

  Bethany sighed, wondering what Marcus Ashburn meant by this comment. Aloof one minute. Endearing the next. She wondered whether she’d ever understand him. She wondered if she should even try.

  When they returned home, Mrs. Ford served them a superb supper, and afterwards they strolled through the lovely grounds behind the manor. Beyond the lawns and flower beds stood a small woods and, a short distance behind that, Locke led them to a large pond and a stately pavilion. Bethany loved this private area and the benches that lined the inside of the building, offering an inviting, quiet place to visit.

  They followed the walkway that hugged the serpentine shoreline, Lady Camille laughing at the ducks and geese that played in the water.

  “This makes Moorewood even more exceptional,” Bethany couldn’t help saying to Locke as the path led them past handsome shrubbery, multitudes of flowers, and under the dangling branches of willow trees and clusters of alders, birches and maples.

  His gaze latched onto hers. What he said next might have made her heart stand still if not for the sober look on his face. “I’m happy you like it. It almost seems as if it were made for you.”

  Bethany looked to her feet, uncertain how to respond. “I shall enjoy pretending it was.”

  With nightfall coming on, they retired at last to the gold parlor where Lady Camille exclaimed over the piano. An excellent pianist, she willingly entertained them, while Mr. Treadwell brought them a tray of cheese and wine.

  Lady Camille appraised the bottle’s label in surprise. “Chenin blanc, my lord. Has the ban against the French been lifted?”

  “Not likely. It’s from my wine cellar, dated from before my birth.”

  “Then it will be excellent,” she said, taking the glass he poured for her. “Mmm. Tart and dry. Exactly the way I like it.”

  “Please don’t like it too much,” Bethany muttered, wincing at Lady Camille’s sharp glance.

  “Not now Lady Bethany.”

  “Better now than after it’s too late.”

  “I did fine at your wedding.”

  “This wine is far stronger. It could have you foxed in a trice.”

  “Well at least it isn’t flavored syrup, the way you like it.”

  Bethany couldn’t help chuckling. Lady Camille was too charitable a person to know how to cut someone. “The joys of a good claret far outweigh it, the sweeter, the better.” She paused to offer a wry smile to Locke. “This, however, is excellent, my lord.”

  “Glad you like it,” he said, amused. “But when I return, we’ll open an even older bottle of burgundy. I’m convinced you’ll love it.”

  Were the man’s eyes sparkling with mischief? It almost seemed as if he was flirting with her. Or pretending to? A part of her wished it were true while another knew how fortuitous it was that it was not. She dared not leave her heart out where it might get trampled—for surely it would.

  She hadn’t realized his gaze had mesmerized her until she pulled in a deep breath and broke the spell between them. Disconcerted, she turned to Lady Camille, who surveyed both of them curiously.

  “Lord Locke writes music, Lady Camille. Can you imagine it? He let me play a piece last night. I couldn’t do it justice, but I adored it.” And fell off the bench after he played it, she thought. “If we ask nicely, perhaps he’ll play it for us now.”

  “I’d love that, my lord. Will you?”

  Locke gave a patient sigh and set aside his wine. Again he played, again with his eyes closed, and Bethany took note that Lady Camille appeared equally hypnotized by the man.

  “Oh, you have to play whatever else you’ve written,” Lady Camille said, clapping. “That was superb.”

  “I fear that was my best,” he admitted, “and the only one I bothered to memorize. Unfortunately, I put my sheet music away years ago and can’t remember where.”

  “How disappointing. Well, Lady Bethany, I’ll need another invitation when your husband does find it. I can’t wait to hear more.”

  “My sentiments exactly. Will you be gone long, my lord?” Bethany searched Locke’s face for some clue. His mask slid into place, his expression unfathomable.

  “Time is relative, my dear. What seems overlong to some may be but a moment to others.”

  Bethany looked away, as amused as she was vexed. Did he not know? Or did he not want her to know?

  “Enjoy your wine, ladies,” Locke said, finishing his drink. “I regret my bed calls to me. I’ll be gone before the rooster crows. My lady?” He offered his hand and Bethany accepted it. “These last two weeks of our acquaintance have been lovely. Thank you for brightening them for me. I look forward to the changes you’ll bring to Moorewood. Stay safe until I return.”

  He set those warm, moist lips of his to her fingers, and despite herself Bethany felt her knees weaken and giddiness sweep over her at his touch. Was it because she knew that this was all she could have of him that she wished it could be more? Or was there truly something special about the Earl of Locke? She couldn’t answer either question, but when Locke walked away, she also couldn’t help pressing those fingers to her lips.

  “Oh, Beth,” Lady Camille said, making Bethany tuck her hand behind her back to hide what she’d done.

  Bethany met her cousin’s gaze and cringed at the pity she saw there.

  “What shall you do?” Lady Camille murmured. “I’m in love with him, and I haven’t had to spend three days alone with him. I cannot imagine being his wife and never being able to share his bed.”

  “Lady Camille!” Bethany said, gasping. Her cheeks flamed and she turned her back on her cousin, lest Lady Camille see the tears that such a declaration had spawned. “I’ve never heard you speak so frankly before.”

  “Perhaps you’re rubbing off on me.”

  “Most unlikely. Whatever possessed you?”

  “Because I see the pain on your face, dear heart. After dealing with the misery from last year, it must torment you to have found someone to whom you could give your heart and have him so unavailable. It would eat me alive.”

  Bethany brushed aside her tears and composed herself before facing Lady Camille again. “Let’s retire to my room. The staff is small, but I fear their ears are very large, and I’d love to talk.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. But I have a feeling the Earl of Locke isn’t what he seems to be.”

  * * *

  Ensconced in Bethany’s quarters, they discussed her impressions of Locke since meeting him, what she believed was a near kiss at the stable, and last night’s fall off the piano bench. Adding Melissa’s being hired more than six weeks ago, and the tale grew even mo
re unsettling.

  “Something’s not right,” Lady Camille agreed, her eyes touched with worry. Then she shrugged, “But I have no idea what to do. In time, all may resolve itself, but clearly Lord Locke leaves in the morning, my dear, and he’s given you an entire country home to explore, a manor to renovate, and enough horses I couldn’t possibly count them in one day. You’ve enough to keep yourself busy without trying to solve mysteries, at least for now.”

  Bethany sighed and nodded. “You’re right. Let’s talk about something else, shall we?”

  They did, but when they finally retired for the night, Bethany couldn’t escape the truth. She was, despite his oddities, sad at Lord Locke’s departing.

  In mockery to her soul, rain pattered on the window panes, heaven weeping for Lord Locke in her stead.

  * * *

  Following breakfast, the women began the first of what would become a daily routine, in the midst of a most unseasonably warm, dry summer, for weeks to come. On days that provided sufficient sunshine, they planned to ride before breakfast, in the cooler hours, and again in the evening. On drizzly ones, like today, and every afternoon no matter the weather, they’d work on the plans for the manor.

  A multitude of other pastimes also worked into the routine. Needlework or practicing the piano, reading in the garden, visiting around the pond or in the pavilion, playing games, or writing letters. And Bethany always had the dreaded estate’s bookwork to address as well.

  Bethany did not share Lady’s Camille’s love of writing in her diary, however. Her husband’s activities puzzled her, but she refused to make note of them, believing there were some things that oughtn’t to be committed to paper.

  She pondered them, however, and the fact that Mr. Treadwell didn’t accompany the earl on this trip. Why would Lord Locke not take his man with him? It made absolutely no sense, as well as the way Mr. Treadwell seemed to keep his eye on her.

  Lady Katherine’s return missive came to Bethany mid-morning on Tuesday, suggesting a certain Mr. Taylor-Ward to oversee Moorewood’s renovation. Bethany sent for the man immediately. Then Locke’s solicitor, Gordon Davies, arrived for his appointment but an hour later.

  He again overwhelmed Bethany with both the obligations that would rest on her shoulders and the generous means her husband had left at her disposal to address them. Davies also reassured her that the goods and supplies promised to Moorewood’s tenants had been delivered according to the earl’s instructions, and if she was certain anyone needed more, she had only to inform him.

  Mr. Taylor-Ward arrived on Thursday afternoon, a spindly gentleman with a thick mustache and narrow brows. He, in turn, sent outfitters, designers, and carpenters over the next several days to examine the job and make their bids for it.

  Immersed in the work, time flew by. Four days without Lord Locke became six. Ten turned into a fortnight.

  * * *

  Mr. Treadwell cleared his throat to catch Bethany’s attention at the breakfast table. “A missive just arrived for you, my lady,” he said with kindness.

  Bethany’s heart tripped. A letter? Had Locke finally written? Correspondence was plentiful now with their residence, but she’d heard nothing from the earl.

  Lord Locke’s handwriting, however, did not grace the outside of it. Masking her disappointment, she perused the letter and told Lady Camille, “It’s from Mum. I’d hoped she’d pay a visit, but she’s as busy with Whitton as we are with Moorewood.”

  “Did she agree to a day in future?”

  “No. On the other hand, your parents returned to Hannaford yesterday.” The next few paragraphs furrowed her brow.

  “What does that look mean?” Lady Camille asked.

  “Your brothers have finished managing affairs of their own in London, saw your parents and then went to visit my mother yesterday. Presently, they’re on their way to Moorewood to check on their sister. They fear I’ve done something nefarious with her.”

  “You have. You’ve driven me mad with decorating plans, riding two different horses a day since I arrived, taking me to visit Lord Locke’s tenants often enough I can name them—”

  “And took you swimming in the pond.”

  Lady Camille giggled. “It was hot.”

  “And you stretched out in the shade afterward with your skirts pulled above your knees and prayed none of the stablehands would catch you.”

  “I’ll die if you repeat that to a soul.”

  “I know good blackmail when I see it.”

  She continued reading and, absorbing the final paragraph, felt her stomach dip with a touch of dread and then rise upward with hopefulness for Lady Camille.

  “So when do the twins arrive?” Lady Camille asked.

  “If my arithmetic hasn’t grown inordinately rusty, I’d imagine within the hour.”

  “What? You don’t sound enthused, Cousin. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Pushing her own dismay aside, Bethany smiled as she said, “Lord Scarbreigh retired from London and is on his way here with the twins. Your brothers tried to convince him it’s a bit too soon after the wedding, but it appears he’s determined to see you.”

  Lady Camille’s eyes popped wide at the announcement and she sprang to her feet. “Oh, Beth, I want to choke you! Look how long we’ve wasted getting to the point of this discussion. I must fix myself. Send Melissa up for me, will you?” She all but flew from the room.

  Bethany called after her. “Your Prussian-blue dress is far more fetching.”

  “And your green linen is significantly finer than that drab brown cotton,” Lady Camille shot back at her. “It brings out your eyes.” Then she was gone.

  Bethany’s smile faded. To herself she murmured, “But I’m not trying to catch a husband, cousin. I already have one.”

  CHAPTER 10

  From the front steps, Bethany and Lady Camille watched as the Hannaford carriage rolled into the yard. The twins’ and Lord Scarbreigh’s valets disembarked from the top of the carriage to assist the occupants from the vehicle. Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicolas followed the Marquess of Scarbreigh, who went through the motions of brushing away dust that did not exist from his costly jacket, straightening his cravat and running his fingers through his far-too-perfect curls. When he’d finished, he swaggered towards them in a way she supposed was meant to impress them.

  The man was, indeed, an arrogant cockerel. Of course, Lady Camille’s flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes declared her determined admiration for him.

  “Beautiful morning, ladies,” Scarbreigh said, his countenance alight with mischief. “I vow you’re the ones who’ve caused the sun to shine and the sparrows to sing.”

  “And I vow I’m about get ill,” Mr. Nicolas remarked, passing Scarbreigh on the steps. “There ought to be a law against such eloquence before noon. Good morning, Sister.” He placed a chaste kiss on Lady Camille’s cheek. “Cousin.” He did the same to Bethany. Then he gave quick instruction to the valets to consult with Mr. Treadwell regarding their luggage and accommodations.

  “Eloquence raises a man from average to exceptional,” Scarbreigh insisted. “Or would you prefer we all brayed like donkeys or barked like dogs?”

  Lord Matthew, catching up to Scarbreigh, said, “Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. Ease up, Kirk. We’re in the country and you’ve no one nearby to amaze.”

  “Rubbish. I’ve two incredibly beguiling women to impress.”

  When he bowed over her hand, Bethany was glad to have donned her gloves before coming outside. It was as close to arm’s length as she could keep the man.

  Then he said, “Lady Locke, it appears Moorewood agrees with you even more than marriage. There’s a glow about you I haven’t seen in a long while.”

  Bethany wondered if she should be flattered or offended, but mostly she appreciated that Scarbreigh never held a grudge. Otherwise, she couldn’t imagine having him as a guest. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment. Just an observation. Either you bew
itched Locke, or he’s swept you off your feet, something I failed to accomplish.”

  “For which we shall both be eternally grateful, I’d wager.” Bethany softened the remark by smiling sweetly.

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course I am. What brings you to Moorewood, my lord?” She meant the tone in her voice to remind him that a visit so soon after her marriage, by anyone unrelated, bordered on impropriety.

  He sighed, his cheeks darkening, and cast a hand toward her cousin. “I was surprised to learn Lady Camille was here, but I also supposed that meant you were welcoming visitors. How else was I to call on her?

  Bethany could not disagree with his reasoning. What would he do when he found Lord Locke not in residence? Unfortunately, seeing the rapture on Lady Camille’s face, she couldn’t deny him. The marquess turned to offer a courtly leg to her cousin and Lady Camille looked as if he’d given her diamonds.

  “You’re truly divine, Lady Camille,” Scarbreigh murmured. “I pray I’ll have the favor of your company today.”

  “I really am becoming ill,” Mr. Nicolas insisted, making a face at Lord Matthew. “May we impose upon your hospitality, cousin?”

  “Of course,” Bethany replied. “Mr. Treadwell has tea for us in the morning room, one of the few rooms beyond a handful of bedchambers and the dining room with adequate furnishings for our comfort. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to set eyes on familiar faces.”

  Mr. Nicolas wrinkled his brows in disbelief. “Even my ugly face? You’ve often said you wanted to punch it.”

  “No,” she insisted, chuckling. “That was Lord Matthew. I still sometimes confuse the two of you, although he is uglier.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel loved,” Lord Matthew intoned.

  “How long will you stay?” she asked, choking back laughter.

  “How long are we welcome?” Mr. Nicolas replied.

  “Dear cousin, if you’d arrived only for the day, your driver and valets wouldn’t be pulling baggage off the top of the coach.”

  Lord Matthew’s grin broadened. “We’d appreciate a couple of nights, if you’ll allow it.”