by Deborah Hale
“My valet brought sad news from home.”
She gasped and moved to the edge of her chair. “Oh, dear sir, not your sister?”
“No.” Her compassion sent a pang through his heart. “That would have been a blow too hard to bear.” He gripped the overstuffed arms of the tapestry chair and swallowed, forbidding excessive emotion to spill out. “A dear cousin—a distant relation, but reared near us—has died.”
“And these past days, you have borne it without anyone to share your sorrow.” Now her eyes clouded with tears, and they slipped down her fair cheeks like raindrops…or glistening diamonds.
Again, Philip forced his gaze away from her. “It wasn’t unexpected. He never enjoyed a strong constitution.”
“But that does not lessen your grief.”
“No.”
“Are you needed at home?”
“No.” He wouldn’t explain the family rift between his grandfather and great-uncle that would have prevented his attendance at Stratford’s funeral, even if he’d been in Gloucestershire. No doubt every family had similar difficulties.
Miss Elizabeth dabbed her cheeks with a monogrammed handkerchief. “Will you please convey my condolences to your sister and brother?”
Philip could only stare at her, for emotion closed his throat. This exquisite creature, as beautiful in character as in appearance, was the soul of kindness. How he’d love for her to befriend Lucy. How he’d love—
“And of course—” Miss Elizabeth’s soft voice cut through his short daze. “—I shall pray for all of you to be comforted in your grief.”
“I thank you, Miss Elizabeth.”
Their conversation turned to lighter matters for a few moments, and then she excused herself. He couldn’t take offense, for lengthy private discussions between them could be deemed improper should the wrong person observe it. It would not be wise, in any respect, to encourage any belief she might hold that he intended to court her. That simply wasn’t possible, no matter what she might think…or he might wish.
Chapter Twelve
“In Lindsey’s honor—” Jamie stood in the middle of the drawing room holding a glass bowl containing paper “—I have invented a new word game.”
Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Lindsey, who appeared as surprised as everyone else. Mama and Papa traded a look of amusement. Jamie always managed to surprise them with his antics.
“I have written a single word on each piece of paper. Everyone will draw five and make up a story using those words. Not a long story, mind you.” Jamie’s last instruction brought laughter from everyone, for he was the most talkative member of the family, even more so than Elizabeth. “No guessing involved. No contest. Just a simple story.”
Mr. Lindsey, clearly comfortable amongst them, laughed too. “You must enlighten us, Jamie. Why is your game in my honor?”
Jamie rolled his eyes. “Well, old boy, you told me charades and riddles were not for you. And you’re the one who spends his time reading Johnson’s Dictionary.”
Everyone, including Mr. Lindsey, groaned at this pronouncement.
“I do thank you, sir—” Mr. Lindsey bowed his head toward Jamie “—for creating a game I can manage with my limited intellect.”
Such modesty and good humor! Once again, Mr. Lindsey demonstrated how at ease he felt with Elizabeth’s family. She could not imagine Lord Chiselton as the object of such a playful quip. No one would dare attempt it. Even as a child, the viscount had not received jests well, unless he made them himself…about someone else.
Further, she could not imagine Lord Chiselton wrestling about on the floor with the twins, as Mr. Lindsey had done so wholeheartedly this morning. Perhaps the gravity of a title and the weight of responsibilities had molded Lord Chiselton’s character.
Yet Elizabeth could not help but recall that Mr. Lindsey also had responsibilities. Perhaps he did not sit in parliament, but he owned land and cared for his sister and brother. And even in the midst of grief over his relative’s death, he managed to be pleasant company, which was a responsibility of sorts to his host and hostess, and further proof of his good manners.
“Your draw, Beth.” Jamie held out the glass bowl.
As she drew her five words, her competitive nature emerged. Jamie might have said this was not a contest, but she would make certain she crafted the most engaging story possible.
“Oh, this is easy,” Mama said, taking the first turn. “I have court, heiress, ship, fan and happy.” She told a short tale describing how Papa had met her in faraway America, where the heroic captain of His Majesty’s Ship Dauntless had fallen in love with and courted an orphaned heiress, gave her a Chinese fan and made her the happiest of brides.
While everyone else applauded her lovely story, Papa appeared to wrestle with his chosen words. At last he responded with a dramatic addition to Mama’s tale, explaining how the heiress’s revolutionary brother tried to blast the Dauntless out of the water during the war.
Mr. Lindsey listened with his mouth agape to the story Elizabeth’s family knew by rote, but he rebounded well by relating how a “lost” spaniel found refuge with a “kind” cottager in the midst of a “storm” and remained there all the “days” of his “life.”
“How very sweet.” Elizabeth’s eyes burned. She wondered whether he referred to himself as the spaniel…and whether he wished to stay forever in this “cottage.” And now she was stumped. The sober tone of the last two stories dissuaded her from a humorous cautionary tale about young ladies seeking husbands at Almack’s.
Even after Pru and Jamie told amusing stories that brought laughter from their listeners, Elizabeth decided to modify her original idea into a tale of gratitude for their guest.
“My words are husband, galloping, gold, chair and escape.” She eyed her parents, hoping they would not scold her. After all, this topic had not been brought up since Jamie burst into the morning room days ago. “There once was a sweet young lady, one far too trusting, I fear. She sought neither gold nor title, just a beloved husband so dear. A gentleman’s proposal she did receive, and even her parents were deceived. Without the galloping arrival of a brave friend, she would not have escaped a poor marriage in the end.” She bit her lower lip and looked down at her clasped hands. “Forgive me. I meant no jest.” She raised her eyes and saw Mr. Lindsey’s bemused expression. “Just gratitude on behalf of my dear cousin.”
“Well, little sister.” Jamie slapped his knee and chortled. “Although you made a pretty rhyme, you left out a word—chair, so you lose.”
Papa, whose expression had been surprisingly placid during Elizabeth’s story, lifted one eyebrow. “But this was not to be a contest. Therefore no one loses.” He grunted in his paternal way. “And I fear that in Beth’s story there are no winners, either.”
She was always pleased to have her father’s approval, but the appreciation emanating from Mr. Lindsey’s eyes was her true reward.
Finally, the time for the Bennington garden party arrived. As always, Elizabeth and Pru would spend the week at Bennington Manor so they could participate fully in both day and evening events. True to his word, Jamie planned to stay home with their guest, which Elizabeth found particularly generous. She had observed over these past four days that Mr. Lindsey’s influence improved her brother’s behavior and attitudes. For Jamie to choose the gentleman’s company over their aunt’s renowned party demonstrated a pleasing new maturity, a willingness to seek someone else’s benefit rather than his own. Now she would feel better about leaving their houseguest behind. Well, not entirely better, but she could think of no remedy for the situation.
“I wish circumstances were different.” She pulled on her gloves as she bade her family goodbye in the front entry hall. To Jamie and Mr. Lindsey, she said, “I should so like to have you both at the party, or have all of us stay home together.”
“I thank you, Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Lindsey took her hand and placed a kiss on it, the first time he had shown that courtesy toward her. In fact,
his gentle touch on her fingers lingered, as did his gaze into her eyes. “But I should be most distressed to keep you from this grand event.”
A sudden wish to stay home almost prompted her to cry off. She glanced at Pru, who wore her ever-present knowing smile. Pru would not mind missing the party, for the gentleman who owned her affections would not be in attendance. But Papa had said someone from the household must attend, or Aunt Bennington would claim they’d sided with Mr. Lindsey against Sophia, thus causing a rift in the family. Never mind that the scoundrel Mr. Whitson had caused all the grief in the first place. But then, had he not done so, she would not have met this extraordinary gentleman before her. The one who still held her hand and gazed at her so kindly.
Jamie nudged Mr. Lindsey. “They should go.”
“Oh.” Mr. Lindsey’s eyes widened as if he’d just awakened. “Of course.” He released Elizabeth’s hand and stepped back.
She and Pru said their goodbyes to Mama and Papa, giving hugs and kisses as if they were sailing to China, not traveling just six miles up the road. Then everyone followed them out the door where the landau awaited. Ginny, her lady’s maid, stood beside the carriage with an expectant smile. The girl was fairly new to service and had never traveled to Bennington Manor.
“Have a grand old time.” Jamie wiggled his fingers in a comical wave that usually indicated he planned some madcap adventure.
But it was the mischievous gleam in her brother’s eyes that stirred suspicion in Elizabeth’s mind as Mr. Lindsey handed her into the conveyance. What harmless nonsense did Jamie have in mind? And who would be his victim?
Chapter Thirteen
Philip stared after the departing landau until a thump on his arm turned his attention to see Jamie’s rueful grin, as if the lad understood Philip’s sense of loss at the ladies’ departure. Fortunately, Captain and Mrs. Moberly had already reentered the house.
“Come on, old boy.” Jamie beckoned him. “Let’s take a ride to Portsmouth. It’s always exciting to see His Majesty’s fleet.” The fervent look in Jamie’s eyes suggested something other than ships held his interest. Gambling? Or something even more unwise?
Philip cleared his throat. “No, thanks. I think I’ll just spend some time with Dr. Johnson.” He enjoyed the way his single reading of the venerable scholar’s dictionary had become a family jest. Yet another sign of how generous these people were in their hospitality.
Jamie hooted with laughter. “Better be careful, old boy. Your brainbox will explode if you keep cramming all those words into it.” His expression sobered. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to drag you into some nefarious undertaking. I really do like the ships.” A wistful look came over his countenance.
“Ah.” Philip had seen the same look in his brother’s eyes, but he’d seen no wisdom in sponsoring Charles’s dreams. “Want to go to sea, do you?”
Jamie nodded. “But Father says one son serving in His Majesty’s navy is sufficient. My eldest brother, Colin, is a lieutenant of eight and twenty and should soon command his own ship. I’m too old to start out as a midshipman now.”
Philip gave him another fraternal slap on the arm. “Then let us go watch the ships.” Anything to take his mind off of Miss Elizabeth, who would soon be in Lord Chiselton’s company and no doubt many others of his sort.
Once they were properly dressed and their horses saddled, Philip and Jamie quickly covered the two miles to Portsdown Hill, where they paused to take in the magnificent view of the distant harbor. Philip had seen countless merchant ships and a few naval vessels docked in Gloucestershire, but the awe-inspiring sight of the Royal Navy could fill any Englishman with pride. Frigates, men-of-war and sloops, with sails furled to their masts, bobbed about in the great natural harbor, awaiting orders to protect British interests in some far corner of the globe. No wonder Jamie and Charles dreamed of sailing away to be a part of such a grand and noble enterprise as His Majesty’s Navy.
They descended Portsdown Hill into the balmy air of Portsmouth and took a leisurely tour of the waterfront, where the smells of fish vied with odors of tar, soap and livestock, as sailors prepared their vessels for another voyage.
There in the city, Philip’s concerns about Jamie were set to rest. Not once did the lad cast a covetous glance toward the taverns or their wenches. However, he did launch into a lengthy treatise on the various ships and how each was useful in its own unique way in battle. Never having considered the matter, Philip filed the information away for future conversations with Captain Moberly.
After a stop at a mercantile shop so Jamie could make a purchase, they took a long route back to Devon Hall, racing neck and neck the last half mile to add a bit of sport to the day. That invigorating exercise cleared his mind as nothing else could have done.
In the guest room, Philip freshened up and changed into the suit Wilkes had laid out. Then he descended the front stairs to join the family in the drawing room. But unlike other evenings, tonight he experienced no happy anticipation, for Miss Elizabeth wouldn’t be there. Despite today’s outing, the empty spot she left in the company deprived him of a good deal of the pleasure he took in the Moberlys’ hospitality.
“Ah, there you are.” Captain Moberly greeted him by the door and ushered him into the family circle. “Sit down, sir. We are to be entertained by the children once again.” His merry smile bespoke grandfatherly pride. Nor could Philip miss the genuine kindness—dare he say affection?—filling the captain’s eyes as he welcomed him.
“I thank you, sir.” As he took the chair reserved for him and none other, Philip permitted joy to infuse his spirit. For this hour alone he would grant his imagination leave to dream of being a permanent part of this loving, giving family. Even the children’s play, whatever the subject, would be engraved on his memory to enjoy after he returned home.
Frances, whom Philip guessed he should soon begin to address as Miss Moberly, as she was the only child of the captain’s second son, stood with her Bible in hand. No shyness colored her fair face as when Philip had first arrived. The twins, dressed in the same ragged robes they’d worn for their last presentation, giggled in the background.
“Our text is Matthew 18:21–35. ‘Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Till seven times?’”
An odd nettling scratched at the back of Philip’s mind, but he had no time to evaluate it.
As Frances continued to read Jesus’ answer to his disciple, Helena stepped forward, appearing regal in a silk cape and feathered turban. A servant, portrayed by Guy, owed a great deal of money to his master, or in this case, his mistress. She held the power to throw the servant into prison and sell his wife and children.
Guy’s usual dramatic nature took over as he groveled at his sister’s feet begging wordlessly for mercy. Helena, with hand on chin, considered the matter, then extended that hand in a gesture of forgiveness. Guy made a face but kissed it.
Jumping up to celebrate, Guy caught sight of Lewis, the servant who owed him money. Guy grabbed his brother by his ragged robe and shook him. Helena came forward and clasped his shoulder, scowling. She pointed to a side table. With much pathos, Guy pleaded again for mercy. But this time Helena would not relent. Lewis imprisoned Guy under the table and “tortured” him with a small, leafy oak branch, bringing forth more giggling.
“‘So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you,’” Frances read, “‘if ye from your hearts forgive not everyone his brother their trespasses.’”
The adults applauded the performance, goodnights were said and Miss Alastair guided her little flock from the room.
Philip eyed Captain Moberly, who was now engaged in quiet conversation with his wife. Had they instructed their grandchildren to present this particular scripture? Was their hospitality nothing more than a ruse to dissuade him from pursuing justice and recompense for Lucy?
The butler stepped into the room and announced supper, and everyone stood and moved toward the door.
“Well, I must say—” the captain chuckled “—one never knows what the children will come up with. I think Guy chooses the texts based on how dramatic they are.”
“Undoubtedly.” Mrs. Moberly joined him in laughter.
Try though he might, Philip could see no subterfuge, no guile in his host or hostess. Even Jamie, the soul of transparency, merely laughed, then launched into an account of their trip to Portsmouth.
With some effort, Philip shoved aside his suspicions. He must not permit Whitson’s treachery to destroy his trust in his fellow man.
As for the biblical lesson in tonight’s story, well, it simply did not apply.
Chapter Fourteen
“Ah, there you are, Miss Elizabeth.” Lord Chiselton strode toward her across the large drawing room. “I’m so pleased to find you alone.”
Elizabeth reluctantly closed the slender, leather-bound volume of Philip Sidney verses. The brief biography of the famous Elizabethan courtier that prefaced his writings brought a tear to her eye at the thought of his early death. Further, his noble character reminded her of Mr. Lindsey, who always wanted to set things to right.
“Good afternoon, Lord Chiselton.” She pushed away her melancholy and waved him to an adjacent chair. During the three days she’d been here at Bennington Manor, she’s had little interaction with the viscount. When she’d first learned he was visiting the area, she’d hoped this time would serve to bring them closer. Yet she felt surprisingly disinclined to enjoy his company, though she couldn’t fathom why. He was everything she sought in a husband…wasn’t he?
