Quinn shook his head and was about to deny everything when Robert hooted.
“You can’t fool me, brother,” Robert continued. “Ever since you arrived in London, your mind has been elsewhere—with someone else. Even the barbs Mother has thrown at us for neglecting this or that have had no effect on you. You’ve even laughed at some of the things she’s said that were meant as stinging retorts.”
Quinn was stupefied. He stared at Robert—who might have been the most observant human in the world. Had Quinn been so oblivious to all that his brother claimed? Yet, as Quinn thought about his meeting with Miss Humphreys, he didn’t know if he could, or should, share such a bizarre encounter. Quinn didn’t quite believe it himself.
“If you won’t tell me, then I’ll go read about it myself,” Robert said, scooting his chair back and setting his napkin on the table.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Quinn was on his feet in an instant. His brother very well knew that Quinn was a meticulous diary writer, and if there was something to be said, or kept secret, it would go into his diary.
Robert made a move toward the hallway, but Quinn was faster. Soon the two brothers were barreling up the stairs, creating a thundering of noise as they raced to Quinn’s bedroom. To some, they might seem like juvenile young men, but, distinguished marquess or not, Quinn would use any method of preventing Robert from reading about Ellen in his diary.
Quinn reached the door of his bedroom first. He tugged the door shut and stood in front of it, arms folded across his chest.
Robert came to a running stop and nearly fell against Quinn.
“Open the door,” Robert said.
“Never,” Quinn retorted.
A woman’s voice sailed from somewhere down the hall, calling out to them. “Quinn? Robert?”
Both brothers ignored their mother.
“Who’s this woman who has you so off-balance?” Robert asked, leaning close. He was only an inch shorter than Quinn and nearly as broad. “What’s her name?”
Quinn hesitated, tempted to tell his brother Miss Humphreys’s name. But he didn’t want any speculation around a woman he’d never see again anyway. He released a sigh. “It doesn’t matter.”
Robert arched one of his thick brows. “I’ll say it matters. She’s in your every thought.”
“Quinn? Robert?” Their mother’s voice was louder, as if she’d climbed out of bed and crossed her room.
Quinn opened his bedroom door and ushered Robert inside, then shut the door again, secluding them in his bedroom. “She’s not a member of the ton. Her father is a merchant of some sort.”
“And?” Robert pressed. “Is that all?”
“Is that all?” Quinn tugged at his cravat. The thing was suddenly too tight. “I’m a marquess now, and according to Mother and every other person who tells me what I’m supposed to be doing, I need to marry above or parallel to my station.”
Robert turned from Quinn and walked across the room.
At first Quinn thought his brother might search for the diary after all, but Robert stopped in front of the long windows that overlooked the back garden. “On the other hand, you are the Marquess of Kenworth now, so perhaps it’s time you made your own decisions.”
Quinn stared at the back of his brother’s head. Had he just heard Robert right? “You think I should . . . court this woman?”
Robert spun around. “I think you should do what is right for you.”
Quinn narrowed his eyes. Why was his brother being so conciliatory?
“Don’t look at me like that.” Robert waved a hand. “All I’m saying is that marriage is a great commitment—you are choosing the person you’ll spend the rest of your life with. If you are in love, then that is a better start than what most of us will get.”
“Whoa,” Quinn said, holding up his hand. “I am not in love. I’ve spent only a short time with her, and it was under an unusual circumstance. Besides, how do you happen to have so much advice on the subject?”
Robert grinned and gave a shrug. “We’re talking about you, Marquess. Explain this ‘unusual circumstance.’”
Quinn released a sigh and crossed to the set of chairs in front of the cold fireplace. He sat down in one, and Robert took the other chair.
“Her name is Ellen Humphreys,” Quinn finally said.
A loud knock sounded at the door, and their mother called through it, “Are you all right in there?”
“I’m fine, Mother,” Quinn called back.
“I’m fine as well,” Robert added, stifling a laugh.
Their mother paused, as if debating whether or not to believe them. “Don’t you two cause any trouble,” she said for good measure before she walked away.
Robert shook his head. “I’m so glad you arrived when you did. I was about to go mad being the only one here with Mother.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Now, tell me about this woman who’s bewitched my brother.”
Quinn met Robert’s gaze straight on. It was inevitable. If there was one thing about Robert, it was that he never gave up, for better or worse. So, Quinn told his brother about everything, from the first sight of Ellen in the meadow dancing by herself, to how he’d instructed her on the waltz, and then finally to the way she’d suddenly kissed him, then fled the scene.
Robert smiled throughout most of the story and even laughed a few times. “She ran away? Like a child runs from her governess?”
“Well, she wasn’t walking,” Quinn said, his mouth twitching into a smile, although he hated to think she ran because she was embarrassed—which she likely was. He didn’t want her to feel embarrassed. She’d kissed him, at first, but if she’d waited even an instant longer, he would have kissed her.
Robert threw his head back and laughed.
Quinn shook his head at his brother’s reaction, but he couldn’t help but chuckle too.
“Oh,” Robert said, catching his breath and calming. “I want to meet this woman.”
Robert’s eyes were too bright and eager for Quinn’s taste. Quinn pushed out a breath. He had no doubt that once Ellen had her come out into Society, she’d have no shortage of admirers. She was just too . . . fresh, innocent, charming . . . The way her pale-green eyes had sparkled up at him and her soft lips—he knew firsthand how soft they were—curved into an amused smile . . .
“See, you’re doing it again!” Robert cut in, his voice like a cold pan of water dashed over Quinn’s feet.
He flinched.
“We have a situation, Lord Kenworth,” Robert said in a formal and demanding tone, much like he was mocking their mother’s stern voice. “You’re besotted, and something must be done. The question is . . . what?”
Quinn groaned and tugged at his cravat. “I can’t very well ride all over the countryside in search of her. I don’t even know where she lives.”
Robert barked out a laugh. “That can be fixed by a simple inquiry. You know the woman’s first and last name, and it won’t be hard to find out her father’s.”
Quinn nodded, mostly to himself, because if he indeed did inquire after her father, then that would mean he was interested in Miss Humphreys. That perhaps the things Robert had accused him of were true. Laws. What would his mother think? Let alone say?
“Wait,” Quinn said, not believing he’d forgotten this, or that he was about to tell Robert. “She said her father and brother have a place in London.”
“Ah,” Robert said with a wink. “What luck. How many Humphreys can there be?”
Chapter Seven
A second letter had arrived three days later, and fortunately Ellen saw it on the side table in the foyer before the housekeeper could deliver the post to Mother. Ellen had just finished her morning meal, and her governess had gone to the library to ready the day’s lesson. So it was that Ellen found herself in the foyer by herself. She snatched up the letter with the familiar hand and hurried to her room before opening it and reading Aunt Prudence’s words. The missive was much like the first one, although the tone was a bit more
demanding.
Ellen was flattered that her aunt was taking such an interest in her, although even if Ellen had wanted a Season, she didn’t know if she’d be able to bear Aunt Prudence’s company for long. Yet the sentiment was kind and generous. Ellen could just hear her mother’s opinion now about how Aunt Prudence was just using Ellen to further her own position in Society.
Ellen tucked the envelope beneath her pillow once again. The first letter was long since burned, and she tried not to feel guilty about it. The other option would be to confess her crimes and then be faced with explaining the reason she didn’t want to go to London after all, despite years of pleading with her father.
Ellen had tried to stay content since her life-changing event in the meadow. She’d tried to forget all about Lord Kenworth, and she found this was possible in only very few moments during the day. She knew she was being ridiculous. They’d spent less than an hour together, but that time had expanded in her mind while she thought about each and every action between them and each and every word.
Someone knocked on her door, and Ellen quickly straightened from the bed and turned. “Yes?”
“Your mother is asking for you, miss,” her mother’s lady’s maid said.
“Thank you, Mary,” Ellen called out. Then she took a moment to check her hair. If there was one thing that her mother didn’t abide, it was a sloppy coiffure. Even though her mother spent her days in one location, she still demanded that protocol be followed.
Satisfied that her hair was neat enough, Ellen left her room to meet Mary, who was waiting to escort her. Mary was in her forties, but she still seemed spry and youthful. She was definitely the perfect lady’s maid for Ellen’s mother, since Mary always followed orders immediately and exactly. They walked along the corridor to Ellen’s mother’s quarters. A couple of years ago, her mother had had the end of the wing renovated so that her bedchamber also had two sitting rooms. One was her morning room, the other her evening room.
Mary opened the door to the suite and motioned for Ellen to enter.
One might say that Ellen looked like her mother, since both had green eyes and honey-brown hair. Although all the years of reclusiveness had paled and thinned her mother’s skin significantly. Her mother reminded Ellen of a paper doll. All dressed up, but only on the outside. Inside, her mother was fragile. Their topics of conversation were mostly one-sided, and when Ellen did answer, she kept her answers as short as possible. Any elaboration would only lead to more questions and then eventually overdramatizations. Ellen had learned by age twelve how not to send her mother into hysterics.
As she walked with Mary into the morning room, Ellen wondered what her mother wanted with her so early in the day. Lessons with her governess hadn’t even started yet.
“There you are,” her mother said in her reedy voice.
Ellen had to admit her mother looked quite regal this morning—although it was rather early for her to be up and about. Her mother wore her hair piled on top of her head with a beaded headband laced through. Her morning dress was a pale lavender, embroidered with silver-thread flowers. If not for the wrinkles about her mouth and eyes and the sallow skin at her neck, she might pass for a much younger woman.
“Hello, Mother,” Ellen said, dutifully offering a curtsy.
“That color is terrible on you.”
Ellen looked down at her own morning gown of plain white. How did someone look poorly in white? It wasn’t even a color.
“Mary,” her mother continued without waiting for a reply from Ellen. “You must do something about Ellen’s choices in white dresses. How many do you have?”
This last question was directed at Ellen again.
Ellen wanted to give an accurate answer, but she didn’t exactly know how many white dresses she had. “Five or six,” she said, hoping she hadn’t delayed too long in her answer to annoy her already-annoyed mother.
“How did that happen?” her mother said, again looking at Mary. “You know she looks poorly in white, therefore she should not own any white dresses.”
Mary visibly paled and swallowed. This was the first time her mother had criticized the color white. There had been plenty of criticisms about her clothing choices, her hairdos, her skin that was too tanned, and other things, but never before about the color white. Ellen knew it, and she knew that this was the first Mary had heard such a comment.
Yet Mary nodded her head as if she were personally responsible. “I will go through Ellen’s wardrobe today and donate all of her white dresses to charity.”
Her mother sniffed as her eyes narrowed. “See that you do.” Then her attention swung back toward Ellen.
“I have had word from your father.”
Ellen blinked. This was unexpected. She hadn’t seen a letter this morning, or the morning before, from her father. Or had she missed it somehow?
“He feels that you should begin to mingle with other people your age,” her mother said.
Ellen tried not to react, for her mother was watching every movement she made. Had her aunt gotten ahold of her father anyway?
“It seems that he’s let London go to his head, yet again,” her mother continued. “We both know what happens when he’s away from home too long. He gets ideas and notions that I can never support.”
Ellen swallowed. What had her father meant by ‘mingling’? That she’d be allowed to go to the village dances? She’d been able to go to the village fair only twice yearly, never the dances. She wouldn’t mind going to a dance—one in which she could be assured that no men named Lord Kenworth would be in attendance.
She tried not to bounce on her heels, but in truth, that was exactly what she felt like doing.
“Your father thinks you should attend the village dances.”
Ellen wanted to smile, but she quickly schooled her features. She could tell that Mary was surprised at the conversation as well, but like Ellen, Mary was a master of not reacting.
Her mother paused. “Well, what do you think? Your father insisted that I get your opinion on the matter. Once you’ve given me yours, I’ll give you mine.”
Ellen had to tread carefully. If she said she would like to attend the dances, and her mother wanted her to stay home, then her mother would fly into a tirade about how she had an ungrateful daughter. But if Ellen said that she didn’t want to go, and her mother determined that she should go, then her mother might write back to her father about how ungrateful their daughter was.
So, Ellen said, “I will do whatever you think is best, Mother.” Ellen hated herself for her compliance, but she hated her mother’s temper more.
Her mother smiled. It wasn’t a sweet smile, though; it was more of a calculating smile. “Have I a raised a daughter who has no opinions? Are you so weak as to have no capacity to make up your mind about a simple village dance?” Her gaze snapped to Mary. “Fetch the governess. I need to find out what exactly has been taught in the schoolroom these past eighteen years. Perhaps it is time to look for a new employee.”
Ellen felt sick to her stomach. Her mother’s threats were never idle. How could a simple question, and a very vague answer, lead to Miss Nebeker’s dismissal? Ellen wished she could run to the library and warn the poor woman. Ellen believed that the afternoon naps her governess took were a direct result of having to answer to her mother.
“Right away, my lady,” Mary said, then hurried from the room.
Ellen was left to stand alone before her mother. Until she was invited to sit, Ellen was required to stand.
Her mother turned her head toward the windows. “You will not attend any village dances. No daughter of mine will stoop to socializing with those beneath her. Your father will agree once I explain things to him.”
Whatever Ellen’s hopes might have been, she should have known this would be the outcome. Perhaps later, the disappointment would sink in. But for now, she gave no reaction, no answer.
“And,” her mother continued. “I cannot abide any more white dresses.”
&n
bsp; Typically, Ellen would pacify her mother, assure her that the offending white dresses would be sent out. Then Ellen could leave her mother’s rooms. But Miss Nebeker was on her way up, and Ellen sensed that her mother was still spoiling for a fight, which left Ellen feeling particularly desperate.
“What does it matter what color I wear if I am not to go to any village dances or anything in the village for that matter,” Ellen said before she could think better of it. “I don’t see anyone, and no one sees me. Changing the color of my dress won’t change anything in my life. The only two people I see outside of this household are the postman and the milkman. They certainly could not care less if I’m wearing white or blue. Besides, I like white. And that’s my opinion. Does that count for anything?”
When Ellen took a much-needed breath, she realized her mother was staring at her, open-mouthed. Her mother’s face had flushed a deep red—so red, in fact, that Ellen worried she’d gone too far, said too much. If only she could go back a handful of minutes in time and not say anything at all.
Her mother slowly rose to her feet. Then, just as Mary escorted Miss Nebeker into the morning room, her mother pointed a long, narrow finger at Ellen. “Leave me now! You are to be locked in your room for the next two weeks. I will not have this defiance in my household.”
Before Ellen could comprehend all that had happened, her mother turned her fury on the governess. “You are to pack your things and be gone by tomorrow morning.”
The tears started despite Ellen’s resolve to keep her emotions hidden. She didn’t want to see Miss Nebeker leave, but her mother’s words had frozen Ellen.
Miss Nebeker’s face had drained of all color, and she looked as if she were about to be ill.
Ellen knew the woman had nowhere to go. Would she beg for a job at the village inn? Would she become a maid at one of the other country estates? Being turned out so quickly didn’t even give her time to write letters or put out a notice.
When Miss Nebeker started to back out of the room, Ellen took a deep breath and said, “Wait!”
A Night in Grosvenor Square Page 19
