Grenville 02 - Lord John's Dilemma

by G. G. Vandagriff

  “You are, my lord.”

  “When is this fête?”

  “Three days hence, on Saturday, my lord.”

  He took the plunge. “Will you do me the honor of driving there with me in my brother’s curricle?”

  “Of course.” She smiled at him, but he felt an unwelcome distance between them, as though he were seeing her through a pane of glass. She was a beautiful woman. Why did his heart not stir?

  Setting down his glass, he rose. “Well, then. I will be off. Thank you for the lemonade. I hope Mariah’s sprain will not be evident to your mother’s eye. I should hate her to be scolded for something that was my fault entirely.”

  Miss Lindsay’s smile reminded him of the cat who had got into the cream. “Trust me, my Lord John, I will see that Mariah does not suffer.”

  “I am obliged to you.” He bowed to her and then turned to Leticia. “Will you be at this fête, Miss Leticia?”

  “Oh, I would not miss it! It is not your typical county fête. The Hetheringtons have imagination.”

  He took his leave, suddenly anxious that his letter to Tompkins regarding Miss Haverley make the afternoon post. As he walked back to the manor, he was composing it in his mind.

  However, once he arrived, it was to see a strange carriage in the drive. He was very surprised to hear his sister’s voice when he entered the vestibule.

  “Anabella!” he said. “What a surprise! Neither Alex nor Felicity told me you were coming.”

  “They did not know,” she said, smiling at him and standing on tiptoe to give him a kiss. “I wanted to surprise you. You look surprisingly fit, John. I am so glad. Felicity wrote that you were quite ill with fever.”

  “Is that why you’re here? Did the doctor come?”

  If he didn’t know his sister so well, he would have missed the minute hardening of her face as her jaw set. “No. I came with just the children.”

  “I have not seen Terrence and Ruthie for over a year,” he said, squeezing her hands. “I am glad of your visit, Anabella.”

  Felicity came sailing into the hall. “Anabella! How lovely to see you. When I did not hear from you, I assumed you were not coming.”

  “I decided not to waste time writing, but just to pack our things and come. John is looking very well. I thought he was supposed to be ill?”

  “I am a hardy plant,” John said. “I am used to healing up in surroundings much less luxurious than this.”

  “And Felicity tells me you have resigned your commission?”

  “Yes. Now tell me, what have you done with your offspring?”

  “They are up in the nursery already, unless I miss my guess,” Anabella said with a laugh. To John’s ears, it sounded a bit forced. He knew whatever was bothering her, Felicity would winkle it out of her as soon as he left them alone.

  He went upstairs to find his niece and nephew.

  Before dinner that night, as they stood drinking Madeira in the drawing room waiting for Anabella to appear, Alex said to John in a low voice, “Bad business. Anabella has left Alan.”

  “What? I was under the impression that they were very happy.”

  “You know how difficult to please Anabella has always been,” his brother said. “I do not know the particulars, but she is anything but happy.”

  “Does she intend to live here?” he asked.

  “Where else does she have to go?” Alex asked. “Although I do expect Alan to come to that conclusion and to be among us shortly.”

  Felicity added, “Anabella has always been of a dramatic temperament. It may mean nothing more serious than that they have had a spat. This has happened before.”

  At that moment, they heard their sister on the stairs and started up a conversation about the Hetherington fête.

  “I am to take Miss Lindsay in the curricle, if that meets with your approval, Alex.”

  “Miss Lindsay?” squealed Anabella as she entered. “You are courting Miss Lindsay? How splendid!”

  { 8 }

  Delia did not escape a scolding from Lady Lindsay. The woman found her reading Wordsworth to Molly and Mariah in the schoolroom. Mariah’s leg was propped up on a chair. Lady Lindsay’s mouth was set in a grim line.

  “Miss Haverley! Whatever were you thinking to wander in the forest with my daughters? Mariah’s sprain may prevent her from going to the fête!”

  “It was Lord John’s idea!” lied Molly gallantly. “He wished to take Nellie for a swim. Then we went searching for a stick to play fetch.”

  “Lord John was with you?” Lady Lindsay asked, her eyebrows raised.

  “Yes. He carried me back to the house,” Mariah said. She gave a titter. “It was awfully thrilling!”

  Her mother seemed somewhat appeased. “Lord John is to take your sister to the Heatherington’s fête in his curricle.” The lady’s satisfaction over this fact put her in an improved mood. “Miss Haverely, you will see that the girls stay indoors until Saturday when we leave for the fête. I do not want any more mishaps.”

  Delia breathed more easily. She did not want to lose this post. It had been difficult to come by with only the forged reference Permelia had provided.

  The next morning brought a letter from Permelia on her breakfast tray.

  Dearest friend,

  Life is very dull here without you. I was so glad to receive your letter!

  Actually, we did have a bit of excitement yesterday. Lord Manchester paid me a visit. He wished to know your direction. He has not given up on his courtship. He is determined to wed you, I think. He looked very devil-may-care in his black riding costume. He had come all the way from London to see you.

  When I would not give him your direction, he gave me a letter for you which I have enclosed. He does not give up easily. I am certain he continues to receive encouragement from your uncle.

  Do not eat me, but would marriage to him really be worse than being a governess? At least you would have independence from your uncle and a home of your own. And I know how very fond you are of children. He is certainly not repulsive.

  I have just completed Lord Byron’s Corsair, and it may have made me a bit too romantic. Forgive me if I have offended you with my suggestion.

  I am to go to London with my parents for the Little Season. It will be so good to be there again. I know you do not care for London, but I am so very bored here. I long for a ball or a rout or even a ride in Hyde Park! But here I am embroidering pillowcases for my trousseau.

  There is not even any gossip worth sharing. I miss you terribly.

  Your devoted,

  Permelia

  Delia folded the letter and took up the enclosure from Lord Manchester with reluctance.

  My very dear Lady Cordelia,

  I hope that your disappearance has nothing to do with my paying my addresses to you. Your uncle is concerned for your well-being, as am I.

  I would not be an onerous husband. I promise that you would have your independence. I repeat what I told you before: Once I have an heir, you are perfectly free to pursue your own life. You may even have a separate establishment, if you wish. I know how much you love Dorsetshire.

  I am returning to London, where I shall remain through the Little Season. You may correspond with me at Manchester House.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  Faithfully,

  Robert Southeby, Lord Manchester.

  Delia sniffed at the word faithfully. The only thing Lord Manchester was faithful to was the gaming table. She would rather remain a governess the rest of her days than marry such a man as he. It was her money he wanted. Oh, and an heir.

  It was rumored he went through mistresses almost as fast as he went through money. She would not be tied to such a man. As her legal guardian, her uncle had the power to withhold funds from her until her marriage, but she had managed to elude his grasp.

  If only I can hold on to this position.

  Things went smoothly until Saturday, when a message received that morning threw Miss Lindsay
into a storm of tears and Lady Lindsay into a terrifying mood. She stalked the house, finding fault with everyone.

  “Whatever is the matter, Mama?” asked Mariah when she had been sent to change her frock for the third time.

  “Lord John is indisposed. He will not be taking Marianne to the fête in his curricle after all. She is most distressed.”

  Delia, who sat in the corner of the morning room mending a petticoat, was vastly surprised by this news. Her first concern, however, was not for Marianne, but for Major Lambeth. It must be a fearful indisposition indeed for him to have broken his engagement that day. Was it a recurrence of the problem with his arm? Or had he perhaps fallen from Odysseus while riding? Frustration gnawed at her. She wished there was some way of finding out what was amiss.

  She was very glad when the Lindsays finally left in their fine carriage for the fête. A day to spend completely at her own disposal was rare, indeed.

  Delia debated the idea of writing to Permelia, but decided that could be done any evening. It was another fine day, and she itched to get out her watercolors.

  It took two trips, but she managed to get the schoolroom easel and her paint box out onto the terrace. Then she left them and went in search of a new view. Walking south, she soon forgot her purpose in the novelty of taking a walk completely on her own. She wandered through a pasture, climbed over a stile into a small wood, and came out into a field of wild yellow daisies. The cheerful flowers, together with her unaccustomed freedom, touched her fancy and she forgot herself completely, waltzing through the field, humming a popular tune.

  Delia’s heart soared. Growing dizzy, she fell to the ground on her back, laughing. She studied the sky. In bygone days, she and her brother had done this—twirling until they were dizzy and then calling out the names of the pictures they saw in the clouds. She had not felt such unrestrained joy since his death. For months, there had been nothing but black despair. She had only pulled herself out of it when dealing with her uncle’s machinations made action a necessity.

  Delia heard footsteps. Sitting up, she put her hand to her hair, which had fallen out of its coil on top of her head. Before she could even stand, a shadow loomed over her.

  “Would you like a partner for your waltz?” asked Major Lambeth.

  She said the first thing that came into her head. “I thought you were indisposed. I had been imagining all sorts of awful things!”

  Grimacing, he sat down on the ground next to her, plucked a daisy, and began denuding it of petals. “I was not fit for Miss Lindsay’s company this morning.”

  Delia frowned and plucked a daisy of her own. Before she could stop herself, she asked, “You suffer from melancholia, do you not?”

  His head came up and he looked at her with raised brows. “However did you know that?”

  “The timbre of your voice. The sadness in your eyes. My father suffered from it.”

  What was she thinking of, speaking out so frankly?

  He smiled at her. “Seeing you dancing in a field of daisies has sent it scurrying away for the moment.”

  Vastly heartened by this response, she smiled back. “I am glad. Thank you for not taking offense at my impertinence. ”

  An awkward silence descended.

  “It was downright mean of the Lindsays not to take you to the fête,” he said.

  “Perhaps. But I am nigh delirious with happiness at having a day on my own.”

  “Hence the dance.”

  “Yes. I am meant to be water coloring, but I came looking for a view. Did I stray onto your estate?”

  “It does not signify,” he said. “If you feel like walking a bit more, I can show you our most famous view.”

  She stood. “I should like that very much.”

  They began to walk through the field, continuing south.

  Noting the loveliness on all sides of her, she could not bear to think of him struggling with such dark thoughts on such a glorious day. “If you do not mind my asking, have you always suffered from melancholia, or is it to do with the war?”

  “I was a very sunny-natured child,” he said. “I am hoping that living in these pastoral surroundings without the din of guns will restore me to myself.”

  “I hope so, too,” she said.

  He drew her hand through his arm as they walked, watching out for places that might cause her to stumble. “I must go up to London for a few days, however.”

  “You have business there?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” He paused. “I think I should like to tell you about it. Some other officers in my unit and I are founding a charitable institution to provide decent housing for the foot soldiers in our regiment.”

  “That is a marvelous idea,” Delia said, grinning. “That should help alleviate some of your melancholy, do you not think so?”

  “I sincerely hope it will.”

  They had climbed a small rise and as they reached the top, Delia saw an enchanting valley laid out before her like a quilt with patches of land sown with different crops. Through the whole scene ran a river. In the distance grew a thick wood.

  “This is your family estate?” Delia asked.

  “Yes. When I get back from London, I shall commence my new calling—estate manager.”

  “But that is splendid!” she said.

  “You think so?” he asked, chuckling.

  “I do! It is the very thing to soothe your spirits.” She looked into his smiling eyes and the soft expression there nearly took her breath away.

  She licked her lips. “Does Miss Lindsay know that you intend to settle in the country?”

  He looked away from her and back at the valley. “I am hoping I can change her mind about living in London. Do you think I will be successful?”

  It was difficult to switch topics from those that had brought them close to those that must divide them. She said, “From what I understand, you are her hero. She has been in love with you since she was twelve years old. I imagine she will be amenable to whatever you like.”

  “I hope that will be the case,” he said.

  Delia studied his profile. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Forgive me,” she said. “This has been a very unconventional conversation. I blame it on the daisies and the fine weather.”

  “God bless the daisies,” he said, turning to look at her again. This time, his face was sober and she feared lest he was descending back into his black mood. He put a hand up to her chin, tilting her face upward with his fingers. For a moment, they looked at one another, and she felt the weight of words unspoken. Though she had no idea what those words might be, they seemed to hang in the air.

  He dropped his hand. “We should get back,” he said and started down the hill. Her heart thumped like a bass drum.

  What was that all about?

  Once they reached the daisy field, he said, “I know I can rely on your discretion. You will not mention to the Lindsays that you have seen me?”

  “Of course I will not.” She could not resist plucking a daisy and weaving it through the first buttonhole on his jacket. “I pray you will soon be restored to good spirits.”

  He lifted his hat. “Thank you, Miss Haverley. Enjoy your day.” Then he was gone.

  What imp had gotten into her? She had been very forward about his melancholia. And about Miss Lindsay! Not to mention the daisy in his buttonhole.

  But he had been forthcoming. Until he had shut her out. No doubt he thought her the worst-mannered chit he had ever met.

  But there had been that moment. If she had not known it to be impossible, Delia thought he might have been on the point of kissing her!

  { 9 }

  I almost kissed the woman! And what possessed me to tell her about my project?

  John castigated himself all the way back to the manor. She was a very appealing little thing. Fancy her knowing he suffered from melancholia! He could not believe she had been bold enough to mention it. On reflection, the entire conversation had taken place as though they had known each oth
er intimately for years.

  Feeling unusually frustrated, he picked up a stick, stripping the bark from it as he walked.

  I wish I had kissed her!

  Despite her somewhat forward nature, he was certain she was respectable. He expected to hear from Tompkins any day about her family in Kent.

  As though he had wished it, there was a letter waiting for him when he returned.

  Dear Lambeth,

  I was happy and rather surprised to receive your letter. Yes, I do remember the plan we discussed regarding the foot soldiers in the Regiment. I would be most happy to meet you in London on the twentieth of this month to discuss it.

  Jolly good news about your new position as estate agent for your brother. I think that should suit you down to the ground. My own estate is due some major repairs. Don’t know where the money is to come from.

  I am not acquainted with any family called Haverley in Kent. I look forward to hearing more about this mystery upon seeing you in London.

  Yours Sincerely,

  Lawrence Tompkins

  Hmm. No Haverley family in Kent? He puzzled over the information. He was reluctant to think badly of the governess, but this information was troubling. John had no doubt the woman was of gentle birth. She rode to hounds, her brother had been an officer on the Peninsula, and she was well-spoken. But Tompkins would know of all such families in Kent. He had lived there all his life.

  Miss Haverley had proved that day to be exceptionally open in her speech. Why would she lie about her origins? Why would she hire herself out as a governess when she had a fortune in jewels, if Leticia were to be believed?

  Felicity had fitted out the bedroom next to his as a private sitting room, where he now retired to read the rest of his correspondence. Another of his friends, Lieutenant Stowell, wrote that he would also be able to meet them in London. So, that was settled.

  Thanks in part to the interval with Miss Haverley, his melancholia had cleared a bit. The next project to hand was to begin going through the accounts for the Grenville estate. As he opened the first ledger, his sister entered the room. She had not accompanied the others to the fête.

  “Good morning, Anabella,” he said, rising from his desk and trying not to show his irritation. His sister did not have his sympathy in her situation. Her husband was a very decent chap.