Grenville 02 - Lord John's Dilemma

by G. G. Vandagriff

  Lady Lindsay leaned back a bit and her expression softened slightly. “I am glad to hear it. You are a plain little thing, while my daughter is a noted beauty, but I thought it best to be certain.” With that, Lady Lindsay rose. “I am glad that you know your place, Miss Haverley. Now, I am certain I am keeping you from your duties.”

  Delia rose slowly after the woman left the room. With her inner vision, she was seeing the soft look on the major’s face as he tipped her chin up to look at him amid the field of daisies. The secret thrill this had given her now turned to guilt. The major was not for her.

  What had she been thinking of the last two nights as she had remained awake, cherishing this small attention? He thought her a governess. If anything, he was only dallying with her. That was the worst of her position. Men thought they could take liberties.

  But the major is not like that.

  Smoothing down the folds of her dress, she thrust away her tender feelings. She had encouraged him by putting that daisy in his buttonhole! Delia blushed again, this time to an empty room. Her manner to the man must be coolly distant in the future.

  A tiny voice inside insisted that she had been of real assistance to him, helping him to fight his melancholia, but she drowned it. He had far more experience of the world than she had. Major Lambeth would be able to overcome his troubles without any help from her.

  Because of these thoughts, she dreaded her next encounter with the man. Her repertoire of female artistry did not include the ability to feign any emotion. For this reason, she was very relieved to hear her charges’ lament a few days later.

  “Lord John has gone to London, Marianne says,” Molly informed her sister as they sat in the schoolroom while Delia was attempting to demonstrate the art of embroidering French knots. “It’s no use!” the girl exclaimed, throwing down her hoop. “My knots are all knobbly.”

  “Everyone’s are at first,” said the governess calmly. “You must be a bit patient, Molly. Practice. You are never perfect at something the first try.” She longed to ask how long the major would be gone.

  “He is not just going to London,” mourned Mariah. “He is going to be two weeks in Nottinghamshire! Marianne is very cross.”

  Before she could stop the words, Delia said, “Nottinghamshire! Is he going to visit a friend?”

  Mariah lowered her voice. “He is visiting his uncle. Lord John has received a bequest!”

  Delia’s heart thudded. What kind of a bequest? Did this mean he would no longer need Marianne’s money? She dashed the thought from her mind. Of course the man was interested in more than her money. Marianne Lindsay was a beautiful woman.

  As though Molly had divined her governess’s thoughts, she said, “Hush, Mariah. We are not meant to discuss it. Papa is very cross as well.”

  “But why is Papa cross?” Mariah said. “It only makes Lord John a better catch!”

  Molly cast a sideways glance at Delia and then whispered, “He is afraid he will settle in Nottinghamshire. Papa wants him to take over his estate when he marries Marianne.”

  It must be a very large bequest! Another estate, perhaps? If he goes to live in Nottinghamshire, I will never see him again.

  Delia cast down her embroidery. She suddenly longed for solitude. A walk perhaps.

  “We have not seen Nellie today,” she said.

  Both girls looked at her with sudden, hopeful smiles. “May we take her for a walk to the stream?” Mariah asked. “I promise I will not go into the woods!”

  “Only if you take your parasols with you,” Delia said. As the girls bounced up, she said. “Do not tear down the stairs, now. Walk like young ladies. And do not forget your bonnets.”

  As she had hoped, once they were out of range of the house, the sisters walked quickly ahead of her to the barn, and then when Nellie was on her leash, they allowed the dog to pull them at her speed along to the stream. It was the closest thing to a solitary walk that Delia could manage at this point.

  In spite of all the lectures she had given herself and the stern words she had written in the journal she kept tucked away in her wardrobe, the news that Major Lambeth might be departing from the neighborhood struck her a heavy blow. Had she not secretly hoped that Marianne would find a beau in London and accept his addresses, thus leaving the major free? Had she not wished that he might somehow see past her smallness and undistinguished looks to fall in love with her?

  In her mind, she had compared him endlessly to Lord Manchester—he who supposedly wanted to marry her—and the major had come off superior in every way. He was kind, he was fond of family life, he did not appear to favor fast women or gambling. She was unsure whether he drank to excess. That was a possibility of course, considering his melancholia. But he was certainly no spendthrift.

  And Lord Manchester, though handsome, left her feeling cold and distant. Major Lambeth, from the very first day she had met him on the road, had elicited tender feelings in her, even though he had been standoffish. He had kind impulses.

  Was she in love with the man? How could she be? She scarcely knew him.

  It certainly looked as though she had better try more diligently to talk herself out of her fancy for him. Delia was never likely to get a chance to know him any better.

  Nellie had been splashing in the stream for some time now. On a whim, Delia called to her charges. “Come, I have a surprise to show you!” Dispirited, she felt in need of seeing the field of yellow daisies once more, of feeling that moment of pure undiluted joy. Perhaps she would even teach the girls to waltz.

  “Where are we going?” they asked as she led them off in the opposite direction.

  “It is a magical place,” Delia said. “Keep hold of Nellie. We do not want her to run off.”

  They climbed the stile and ventured through the small forest.

  “We are going onto Grenville land,” Molly said as they trod through the leafy floor. “We do not have permission to wander this far.”

  “But I do,” said Delia. “And so you must behave so as not to disgrace me.”

  When they came out the other side and saw the field of daisies, both girls said, “Ooooh.”

  Nellie pulled them into the field. “This is enchanting,” said Molly. “It makes me want to dance or something.”

  “Shall we waltz?” asked Delia. “I can show you how.”

  Molly handed the leash off to Mariah, saying, “You are a very odd governess. But that would be splendid!”

  “Here we go,” Delia said. “Put your left hand on my shoulder and I will hold your right hand like this. Now. You step forward when I step back. It is really very simple.” Delia began to hum. After a moment, she pronounced, “One, two, three, One, two, three,” and they were moving through the daisies. Molly laughed and they danced faster, Delia twirling her around.

  It was indeed splendid and her heart began to soar. She closed her eyes, imagining she was waltzing with the major.

  “Oh! My turn!” cried Mariah, “My turn!”

  “Pardon me, Miss Mariah,” a deep voice said. “But I believe it is my turn.”

  Delia’s eyes flew open. Had she conjured him up out of her imagination? There he stood behind Mariah, petting Nellie. She stopped dancing, staring wide-eyed. Then she began to laugh, clapping her hands. “But I thought you were in London!”

  “I leave in the morning. I was delayed. My brother has some papers he is preparing for his man of business.”

  Her pulse pounded with joy. He waded through the daisies and bowed to Delia and Molly. Taking the governess’s hand, he asked, his blue eyes solemn, “May I have this dance, Miss Haverley?”

  “Certainly,” she said with a curtsey. He hummed a tune and then put his hand on her waist and took her right hand in his, holding it up between them. She reached up to put her left hand on his large, high shoulder. As they began to twirl through the field, her heart was knocking in her chest. She kept a straight face as Nellie ran circles around them and the two girls laughed. As his eyes looked into hers
, the surroundings receded. The deep melancholy she read there lightened, and his eyes became bright with enjoyment. Finally, she could help it no longer, she threw her head back and laughed. She felt she had entered some magical ballroom.

  “You waltz remarkably well. Especially for a governess,” he said.

  Her heart skittered and she tipped her head to the side. “I was not always a governess.”

  “And you were not always called Haverley,” he said.

  Delia gave a small gasp. “You must not say a word about that,” she said in a low voice.

  Mariah called out, “It is my turn now!”

  “May I have the honor of knowing with whom it is I am waltzing?” the major asked softly. His mouth quirked up in his half-smile, and she became short of breath.

  She smiled the smile she knew showed her dimple. “Not at present,” she said. “It could cause difficulties for me. I do apologize.”

  Mariah had approached them, her hand on Major Lambeth’s arm. “My turn!”

  He squeezed Delia’s hand and leaned down to murmur in her ear, “I will pursue this further.” To Mariah, he said, “You are an impetuous baggage. Has no one ever taught you any manners?”

  Mariah grinned. “They try.”

  Delia felt a little as though the sun had dodged behind a cloud as she left his embrace. She still felt the warm comfort of his hand on her back. She had known so little joy, so little comfort in such a long time. Those few moments in his arms had been delicious and she knew she would probably savor them for a long time to come.

  Chiding herself silently, she turned to her other charge. “Come, Molly. You waltz very well. Let us join them.”

  They succeeded in mashing down a swath of daisies with their antics.

  “For the first time, I can say that perhaps I shall enjoy dancing when I am out,” said Molly.

  “It is great fun,” said Delia. She watched the major patiently teaching Mariah.

  How did he happen to be here today?

  Eventually, they all came to a stop, breathing hard and laughing.

  “That is more fun than a ton ball, by fathoms,” he said.

  “Shall you go to a ball when you are in London?” Mariah asked.

  “Not if I can help it. I shall be there only a short time and I have business to see to,” he said with a frown.

  She did not want to think of how much she would miss him, even as infrequently as she saw him. Gathering her good sense about her like a cloak, she said, “Girls, I think we should be going and leave the major to contemplate the daisies in peace.”

  “Why do you always call him ‘the major?’” Mariah asked. “He is Lord John.”

  The governess bit her lip and considered the question. “I suppose because that is how I think of him. When I met him, he was dressed in his uniform on his way home from the War.”

  “She can refer to me as ‘major’ if she pleases, Miss Mariah. It is quite correct. Lord John is only a courtesy title, after all.”

  “What is a courtesy title?” the girl asked.

  “I am only called Lord because I am the son of an Earl. My children will not inherit the title, and it comes with no inheritance attached to it.” Mariah considered this. “I think it is all very confusing.”

  He pulled one of her sausage ringlets. “You will get used to it. Soon you will be studying Debrett’s Peerage, looking for the best catch on the Marriage Mart.”

  “I would rather marry you,” she said.

  “Twelve is just a little on the young side for me,” he said with a gentle laugh. Taking Delia’s hand, he bowed over it. “I must be on my way,” he said to her. “I just wanted to visit the daisies again before I left.”

  She smiled at him. “Godspeed, Major. I hope your journey is successful.”

  “We will miss you,” said Molly.

  “And I will miss all of you,” he said with a full grin this time. Then he turned and left. Delia watched the tall figure walk off and held his words close.

  I am such a fool!

  { 13 }

  All the way to London, the scene in the daisy field visited John in flashes of light, dispelling his incipient melancholy. He had gone to there in hopes that it would raise his spirits and was thrilled to find he had company.

  Dancing with the petite governess, holding her in his arms, had seemed so natural. And her presence had lifted his heart, as usual, warming him clear through. He was more determined than ever to discover her background. At least now he knew Haverley wasn’t her name. Was she in hiding? The more he thought about it, the more he believed that must be the answer. He had no intention of putting her in danger or at risk in any way.

  I just want to know who she is!

  Tompkins knew the gentry in Kent. The governess was distinctive with her red hair and small stature. And John knew something of her family. Surely, if she was from there, Tompkins would know who she was. He must know all the lieutenants serving from Kent, particularly those who gave their lives.

  He turned his mind forcibly to considering his business in London.

  Alex had written ahead, and a room was waiting for John at Grenville House when he arrived late in the afternoon, three days after setting out. He took a much-needed bath, shaved, and dressed, then set out for Brooks’ to have his evening meal.

  It had been years since he had been to his club, and there were many fond greetings and offers to share a bottle of claret. The evening passed in much conviviality. He sent a note around to Alan Caldwell, asking Anabella’s husband if they could lunch together the next day.

  When he returned to Grenville House that night, a note was awaiting him, confirming the luncheon plan and suggesting they meet at Willows, the doctor’s town house. Tired after his long journey, John disrobed and went to bed. He slept badly, however, with nightmares of his last battle marching through his mind and waking him continually. Only toward dawn did he think to counter them with thoughts of Grenville Manor, the daisy field, and a certain red-headed minx. Miss Lindsay had never been further from his mind.

  When he woke mid-morning, he faced an unpleasant thought. He could not continue to fantasize about the governess. Even if things did not come to fruition with Miss Lindsay, as he was beginning to think they would not, it would be a horrible insult to her and her family if he preferred the erstwhile Miss Haverley.

  Unless I can unmask her identity. Unless I can provide her safety from whatever she fears. I would be willing to wager she outranks the daughter of a viscount.

  At some point, the woman had become more than just a mystery to him. He knew nothing at all about her except that she carried the sunshine with her. But that was very self-serving, surely. What had he to offer? A disposition that was rendered half-mad with melancholy? If he cared about her at all, he would leave her and her mysterious origins alone.

  With this dispiriting thought, he dressed and tried to concentrate on the morning paper. Finally, at the appointed time, he made his way to Willows.

  Alan was not looking well. He had the air of sleeplessness about him that John associated with the battlefield. They greeted one another with hearty handshakes and back slaps.

  Willows clearly showed his sister’s hand. Of an artistic turn, Anabella had caused the morning room to be painted off-white and hung it with works by artists who were her protégés. The furniture was upholstered in peacock blue and thrown with pillows in the assorted colors of a peacock’s fan.

  With greetings out of the way, John sat in a wingback chair and said, “You look like the very devil, Alan. Do you want to discuss the situation with Anabella? She is certainly very unhappy. I cannot believe she truly wants to be at the manor.”

  Alan, a handsome man in the Romantic fashion of Lord Byron—only with kind eyes and a tired smile—leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. “I am at a complete loss, John. One day I came home from the clinic and she was gone. She didn’t even leave me a note. I supposed she had gone to the manor. But I have written her there and rec
eived no answer.”

  “She is at the manor with your children,” John assured him, frowning, annoyed beyond measure with his sister. “I always knew she was temperamental, but this is beyond anything. It is downright cruel.” He gripped a hand on his knee.

  “If only I knew what I’d done!” His brother-in-law’s eyes were full of anguish.

  John considered what he knew. The man seemed genuinely distraught. He decided to be forthright. “Anabella says there is another woman in your life. You’ve been seen with her by her friends. I believe she mentioned Sybil and Anne.”

  Alan looked as though he had been struck. “Another woman?”

  His puzzlement seemed authentic. “You were seen by two of her friends walking down Harley Street with a beautiful woman on your arm. According to these friends, you had quite a bit to say to one another. In fact, you didn’t notice or acknowledge them.”

  The doctor drew back in his chair and said, as though exhausted, “There is no woman but Anabella in my life. Believe me, she takes up the attention of ten women. To be perfectly frank, she is very demanding.”

  John was not surprised to hear this. “She has always had a penchant for drama,” he said with a nod. “Not the most relaxing person to live with.”

  “Exactly. I haven’t strayed, however. I can’t imagine who her friends saw me with. Perhaps they are in collusion and were making it up for some reason.”

  “It is possible, I suppose.”

  “I miss my children devilishly.” Alan put his head in his hands. “It has been torture not knowing where they were or what was happening.”

  “You miss them more than you miss Anabella, it would seem.” John hoped his sister had not soured her marriage beyond redemption.

  “My feelings are hard to describe,” he said with a grimace.

  “Let me guess,” John said sadly. “You miss your family, but you are glad of a respite from the drama.”