The Unwanted Suitor: Regency House Party: Somerstone

by Pennington, Michelle

  “No doubt I shall,” Cornelia said, thinking of the years of servitude that likely stretched before her. “Come, Wellington.”

  The pug jumped down from his chair by the fire and trotted over to her. “I’ll return him soon, my lady.”

  Cornelia went out, closing the door as soon as Wellington cleared the doorway. Already his tongue drooped out of his mouth with the exertion of exercise. “And you, my fine fellow, had better not get into mischief. I don’t wish to be standing around in the damp for long. I look forward to sleeping in my lovely fish-head-free bedroom.”

  She took him down the back stairs, though no doubt it was below his dignity, because it was the quickest way to move about. It was a short walk from there to the west door into the gardens. Cornelia opened it and let Wellington saunter forth on his own. For the first few steps, he picked his paws high into the air as if trying to keep from touching the wet grass, but he was too lazy to maintain such effort for long.

  Cornelia wished she could sit down on a bench to wait, but it was too wet to attempt. Instead, she stayed very still on the gravel path, her shawl pulled tight over her shoulders, and did her best to not lose the pug in the darkness. As she breathed in the scent of damp earth and the heady fragrance of herbs and roses, she felt her shoulders relax and the tumult in her mind grow still.

  A drop of water hit her nose. She looked up, noticing that the sky had grown even darker as a cloud drifted over the moon. Was it going to rain again? Wellington had better return to her soon or she was going to leave him to the mercy of the elements.

  The crunch of gravel alerted her that someone approached. Catching her breath, she turned and saw a tall figure strolling toward her. It was dark, but she would always recognize the set of Sir James’ shoulders, his easy, athletic grace, or the proud angle of his head. She felt a jolt of pleasure run through her as it always did when he came near.

  Had he discovered the fish heads and come to take her to account over them? Or did he crave her company? No matter how she tried to deny it, she knew she longed for his. Her only chance to keep this situation from sparking out of control was to maintain a cool civility. “Good evening, Sir James. What brings you here?”

  “I have come to see if you need any assistance. It makes me uneasy to know you are here alone, in the dark.”

  Cornelia felt a shiver course down her spine at the deep, protective tone in his voice. As he came closer, she felt suddenly how very secluded this garden was at night. Before it had been peaceful. Now it felt distinctly clandestine. “And how did you know I was here—alone in the dark?”

  “I saw you from the library window.” He was only a few feet away now, his features hidden beneath the brim of his hat. “Though I admit it is mostly an excuse to be alone with you.”

  His words sent an exquisite flood of happiness through her. Oh, how she wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him again. Appalled, she hoped the night would hide her reaction from him.

  But would it be so wrong? Here where no one would see and it would cause no speculation or gossip? Surely one more kiss would be enough—give her something to treasure the rest of her life.

  But she knew she would never have enough until she had all of him for every moment and touch they shared sparked a desire for more. She would never have enough of him, ever. The true state of her heart could no longer be denied. She loved him. The realization, the certainty of it, staggered her.

  “Cornelia, I’ll not be responsible for my actions if you continue to look at me that way.”

  She realized the moon had come out of hiding to reveal her face. She opened her mouth to respond, though she didn’t know what to say, when Wellington gave a sharp bark and startled her.

  Cornelia turned to see the pug dash across the path in pursuit of some small creature. “Wellington, come here this instant.” He ignored her of course.

  “Pardon me, Sir James, but I must retrieve my charge.”

  She ran after the dog, both disappointed that the moment had been spoiled and relieved that she had not revealed herself in a moment of weakness. Through the darkness, she saw Wellington’s light fur as he streaked past her again and dove beneath a hedge. It was so sudden that when she stopped running, her slipper skidded on the wet grass and she fell.

  It was only then she realized Sir James had been running right behind her. As the wet grass soaked through the back of her dress, Sir James leaned over her—a dark silhouette against the cloud covered sky.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “I have not yet ascertained my condition, Sir James,” she said, her voice pert from vexation at having him see her thus. She struggled to sit up, so Sir James squatted next to her, raising her up with one hand beneath her shoulders and another grasping hers.

  “Do you hurt anywhere?”

  “A few aches that will no doubt turn into bruises and a twinge in my ankle. Nothing to worry about, however.”

  Sir James let go of her and moved to examine her ankles. “Pardon me, but I don’t want you to stand until I am sure it is safe for you to do so.”

  The feeling of his strong fingers feeling for signs of swelling should not have been so thrilling. She held very still, barely daring to breathe.

  “Can you move your feet from side to side?”

  Cornelia wiggled her feet, both relieved to find them unhurt and disappointed that she wouldn’t need any further attention from him. “They are well enough,” she said.

  “Then let’s get you off this wet ground.” Sir James stood, grasping her hands and pulling her up as if she weighed no more than thistledown. He steadied her, then ran his hands over her arms as if to confirm that they too were uninjured. And then his touch changed, becoming a caress.

  Cornelia’s breath caught, but he mustn’t know how he affected her. “Do not worry, Sir James. I am perfectly well—only damp and muddied. And mortified.”

  He chuckled. “You looked charming while lying there stunned, I assure you.”

  She raised her eyebrows, thinking he was teasing her, but there was a note of sincerity in his voice that made her flush.

  The clouds chose that moment to rain down upon them. In a matter of seconds, Cornelia was drenched. She shivered and hunched her shoulders against the rain.

  Sir James cursed softly. “Can you walk?”

  “Quite well.”

  “Then go. You mustn’t fall ill.”

  “What about Wellington?”

  “I’ll catch the mongrel. Now go.”

  Cornelia didn’t hesitate. She went as quickly as she dared, hoping desperately that she wouldn’t slip again. Her soaking wet skirt clung to her legs, making it difficult to walk, much less run. She stepped inside and tried to wring the water from her skirts as she watched anxiously for Sir James’ return.

  It occurred to her then that the man she loved was out in the rain, no doubt extremely uncomfortable, searching out a dog that had likely taken shelter under a bush—all for her. She thought of all the times and ways he had shown he cared. Now that she knew the state of her own heart more clearly, she could no longer resist him. What were a few scathing words of gossip compared to a lifetime as his wife? And why should she make them both suffer over actions he professed to regret?

  No sooner did she come to this shattering conclusion than she remembered. “Dear Heavens, the fish heads.”

  Turning, she ran for the servants’ stairs, ignoring the slight ache in her ankle. If she hurried, she would have time to remove them before he returned with Wellington. Her skirts were still too wet for easy movement so she pulled them into a bundle, holding them up to her knees and prayed no one would see her so exposed. But all that mattered was speed.

  She arrived at the corridor that led to his room, but she had to wait a moment as one of the Easton brothers walked to his room and shut the door behind him. She waited silently until she was sure no one else was coming, then ran to Sir James’ room. Seeing the candles burning around the room, she knew his servant h
ad recently been in the room. And then she saw that the bedcovers had been drawn back. She jerked to a halt when she saw them, flustered at the sight, then shook herself back to reason.

  Running over to the bed, she lay down on the floor and reached her arm out for the basket. Unfortunately, when she had placed it there, she had pushed it further back than she could now reach. Groaning in frustration, she wiggled until she was partially under the bed.

  Finally, straining every muscle, she reached the basket and pulled it to her. There was no way she could walk back through the corridors, dripping wet and carrying a basket of fish heads. Anyone who saw her would think her mad. And the most likely person to see her was Sir James. She looked around the room wildly and decided her best course was to open the window and toss the basket out.

  Hurrying across the room, she opened the casement, dropped the evidence to the ground, and closed it again. As she turned, however, footsteps sounded in the room.

  Gasping, she saw Sir James frozen in the doorway. His hat was off, water dripping to the floor all around him. His eyes swept over her, then around his room, lingering for a moment on the pulled-back bedcovers, then back to her. His broad chest rose as he breathed heavily. “Cornelia, I am at a loss to understand why you are here, but I know one thing very well. You had best remove your delectable self while I still retain the ability to let you go.”

  There was a vibrating magnetism emanating from him that was both shocking and fascinating. She knew he was in earnest so she rushed to the door. He stepped out of her way but grasped her arm as she passed by.

  “No more games, Cornelia. It is time for decisions.”

  He released her without another word, then motioned sharply with his head for her to go. She picked up her skirts and ran.

  10

  Arrangements to be Made

  Of all the ways one can be awakened from the blissful oblivion of sleep, the howling and hissing of Wellington battling the kitchen cat was not Sir James’ preference.

  He laid in bed, listening to the ungodly sounds, and prayed they would stop. Whatever they were fighting over must be a prime treasure indeed. With a rush of impatience, Sir James strode to the window, opened the casement, and looked down. Two stories below, the cat stood his ground with an arched back while Wellington yipped and pounced back and forth in a manner that he no doubt thought ferocious. However, the cat’s swiping paw sent him whelping and retreating.

  “In the name of all that’s holy,” Sir James muttered. He strode over to his wash basin and carried the pitcher of water to the window, then tipped it out onto the two animals. The cat spit and ran like demons were upon him. Wellington, unperturbed by the soaking, chased after him in high spirits, barking out the triumph of his victory, before turning back to the basket they’d been fighting over.

  Sir James stared thoughtfully down, his mind finally awake enough to realize that Cornelia had been standing at the window when he’d found her in his room the evening before. He could be pardoned for not thinking much about it at the time since her wet gown had been plastered to her form, her cheeks flushed like fully bloomed roses, and her eyes sparkling with emotion.

  She had been playing with a fire she knew little about when she’d entered his room, and his thoughts had chased about all night, like minnows in a pond, as he’d tried to determine why she’d come. He knew now that it had something to do with that basket.

  Fortunately, his manservant came in then. After he'd retrieved more water for Sir James, the process of washing a dressing went quickly. In his buckskin breeches and top boots, Sir James ran down the back stairs. As he stepped out into the morning air, freshened with the scent of wet moss and blooming roses, he followed the outside wall until he judged himself to be under his bedroom window. There he found the tattered remains of two fish heads in the bottom of the crushed basket.. No doubt there had once been more before the cat and Wellington had discovered the feast.

  “That cunning little spitfire.” A smile played over his mouth. She’d been disengaging from a masterful prank. Why?

  Mulling over this delightful new mystery, Sir James walked to the stables. With the help of a groom, his mount was soon saddled. He rode down the lane that wound around the borders of the Somerstone property. Birds swooped in the sky while the sun dried the damp earth, giving the promise of a halcyon day to come. He rode for an hour, barely noting the direction he went as his thoughts churned.

  He could think of only one reason why Cornelia would have wanted to stop her prank, and the possibility that she had at last allowed herself to love him made him want to gallop back to the house and drag her into the nearest secluded corner he could find.

  But no. He had rushed his fences the first time he’d proposed, and he’d meant it when he’d told her that he would not propose to her again until he was certain of her answer. For as a gentleman, he could not, in honor, continue to pursue her after she had rejected him twice. His whole life’s happiness, and hers as well, rode on how well he played his cards. He could not make a botch of this.

  Anxious now, he returned to the stables, determined to seek out the Countess. As he returned to the house across the green lawn, he paused as he saw servants setting out a row of easels under Cornelia’s direction. His heart leaped at the unexpected sight of her.

  “Good morning, my darling hoyden,” he said, approaching her from behind.

  She turned, gasped, and glared at him. She motioned to the servants with her eyes. “Good afternoon, you mean.” Her voice was firm, but he heard the warmth in it. She could not hide it from him now.

  Turning his eyes, with an effort, away from hers, he saw the sun was indeed at its highest point in the sky. “So it is. I have just returned from a long ride and must have lost track of time. I had such pleasant thoughts to occupy my mind, you see.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. There is something so stirring about moonlit gardens and evening rainstorms… and fish heads beneath my window.” He smiled down at her, enjoying the way her cheeks infused with color. “I’ve been pondering the meaning of it all.”

  She looked down, depriving him of the glow in her eyes. “And have you come to any conclusions during all this pondering?”

  “I have indeed. I cannot wait till an appropriate occasion to discuss them with you.”

  At last, she raised her eyes again, meeting his. He held her gaze, hoping she saw in his eyes the depths of his love for her. After a moment of sweet, breathless quiet between them, she said, “I admit I want to know your thoughts.”

  He leaned closer, wishing he could tear off her bonnet and bury his nose in her silky hair. “One day soon, you will know them all. But for now, it is the Countess I need an audience with. Can you tell me where I may find her?”

  “I…I believe she is in her private sitting room.”

  “Thank you.” Sir James glanced at the servants and saw their attention carefully averted. Grasping her hand, he turned it over and he pulled back the fabric of her short glove, then pressed a kiss to the pulse beating at the inside of her wrist. He paused there, enthralled by the scent of her skin, knowing she must have placed a drop of her perfume on that very spot. When he spoke again, his voice was rough and difficult to manage. “Must you always make it so difficult to tear myself away from you?”

  Releasing her hand, he strode away, but her voice called him back. “I believe the gentlemen intend to go fishing while the ladies paint. Will you be joining them?”

  He smiled. “Of course. After all, we must ensure that the kitchen is well stocked with fish in case you get angry at me again.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Which I most assuredly will.”

  He laughed and resisted the urge to stay and tease her more. No doubt, he would never tire of watching her eyes spark at him. But if he was to have any hope of securing her, he needed to plot with his ally.

  Just as Cornelia had said, he found the Countess in her private sitting room. When she bade him enter, he found her sitt
ing in a gilded chair, supported by several cushions with a great quantity of shawls draped over her legs. She held a book in her hands but put this aside as he came forward. “Sir James. How kind of you to visit me. Will you ring for tea?”

  Sir James went to the bell pull and tugged gently. When a footman came in and the tea was requested, Sir James returned to her side.

  “Please, make yourself comfortable,” the Countess said. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

  “It is time to plan the final campaign.”

  The Countess laughed. “Growing impatient?”

  “More than impatient. If I could see my way clear to convincing her to accept my proposal this moment, nothing would stop me.”

  “You still think she might refuse you?”

  Sir James stood, feeling restless. He strode to the window. From this vantage point, he couldn’t quite see the spot where Cornelia was busy setting up the easels. A stab of disappointment shot through him. “I do not doubt she returns my feelings, but she has many concerns that I fear may be an impediment.”

  The Countess nodded her head. “She is in a difficult position, I know, and she feels it keenly. I wish I had been able to think of some way to invite her here as a guest, but I had no acquaintance with her that would make that allowable.”

  Sir James tipped his head to the side. “Tell me, how did you come to ask her to be your companion?”

  The Countess smiled. “Your mother is my goddaughter. Did you know?”

  “I did not.”

  “Well, after all, what use does a grown woman have for a godmother? Except that yours does. She knows I have a talent for making matches and she was very concerned about the muddle you two had made of your courtship."

  Sir James clenched his teeth. “Courtship? If only I had courted her. But no, I was too anxious to secure her after nearly losing her to my brother. In my arrogance, I thought she would accept me due to the social advantages of the match when she had few other prospects, tucked away in the country as she was. I had hoped she would marry me and that I could court her over time.”