“You could have been hurt. What were you thinking? Your eyes have barely healed. And you are miles from the hall. If you’d fallen...”
She whipped back to face him and noticed for the first time he wasn’t riding alone. A lady accompanied him. “I didn’t fall. But I am sorry. I assumed if Mr. Kenny said it was all right, it would be fine with you.” She watched the scar on his face pulse, his anger evident. And why should she suddenly care that he rode with some lady? “Are you going to introduce me?”
“I shall make introductions at the house. You’ll return with us. And why are you riding like a man? Completely inappropriate.”
She snatched the reins from his hands, doing her best not to make contact with him, and nudged Winter’s sides as she called over her shoulder, “We’ll discuss that back at the hall, as well.”
* * *
Standing at the marble fireplace in the great room, Jonathan flicked small specks of wood off his palm into the blaze. Nights had grown colder, and soon there would be fires throughout the house, day and night. He stared as Anne and the rest of his friends strolled into the room. He offered his arm and escorted her to a chair. “You must be tired after the long ride.”
“Not terribly. Will your ward be joining us?”
He scowled. Never sure of Payton’s whereabouts, he hoped she would make an acceptable entrance soon. “Unless she’s seen fit to take her supper with the servants again.”
“Oh, Jonathan.” She tugged at his arm, rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You must put a stop to that kind of behavior. If she’s to be a young lady, you’ll have to take charge of her right away before any more peculiar habits set in. I am still dismayed at your allowing her to live here. She must have family.”
Addison Barstow lifted a cigar to his nose, sniffed appreciatively and placed it between flaccid lips. He lit the end and chided Jonathan through the smoke. “You know she’s right, man. A young lady must adhere to convention.” He pulled a scented handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his nose, a sneer barely hidden in his puffy countenance.
Patronizing oaf. “I am aware of what young ladies must do. She needs time. She has lost everyone dear to her. I won’t press her so soon. All in good time.”
Anne yawned into her hand, stood and rejoined him. She spoke in a barely audible whisper, “There’s no one, no one at all who might offer her a home?”
“My solicitor investigated the matter of family members but found no one. Her grandfather’s estate was entailed away to a male heir far along the line. Mrs. Brewster will have to do her best.”
A gaze that sparked correctness at all costs lowered to him. “Mrs. Brewster isn’t a proper woman to bring up a young lady.”
He turned back to her as his face warmed. “She raised me, Anne. Have you any complaints about my behavior?”
Her face flamed to match his. It was painfully obvious she was as enamored with him as her sister had been...in the beginning. If truth be told, she had been the one to attract him in the first place, long before he had met Alithea. But he had no plans to respond to her attentions. Not to any woman, ever again.
* * *
Sitting before the mirror above her washstand, Payton twisted the strands of hair on either side of her head around her fingers. Most of the burned tresses had been cut away. And with her hair pulled from the back into lovely curls at the sides, her appearance seemed adequate enough. She pinched her cheeks and noticed how bright her eyes appeared now the red was vanishing. Her father had always said they seemed bluer because of her dark brown, almost black, hair. Thick, like her mother’s.
Fashionable puffs of silk tickled her shoulders and she fingered the luxurious material. Grown up, even for her. Although she would be one and twenty on her birthday come next April. Then she might make her own decisions. For now, however, she had to stay on at Kent Park with Mr. Lambrick as her guardian.
She wished her heart didn’t beat wildly whenever he approached her. She didn’t understand her sudden weakness in his presence. She had seen him many times growing up, but he had been distant, a friend of her father, though younger by many years. These new emotions discomfited her, and she wished she had her mother to confide in. She inhaled, long and slow until the resulting sigh pressed against the confines of the gown.
She would never talk with her mother again.
With one last glimpse in the mirror, she picked up the small bag that matched her gown. Her finger curled the last piece of hair at the side, and she rose. She closed the door to her room and moved to the stairwell. Soft leather slippers cushioned her feet as she padded over the Persian runner. The slippers, unlike the boots she’d worn for work most of her life, were pretty. Who had picked out these luxurious clothes? The woman she had seen riding with Mr. Lambrick, perhaps?
Stepping through the hallway, she spied Hunter on the landing. She hurried to his side and knelt down, ruffling his ears. “You’d better move. Someone might trip over you. Come along.” By the scruff of the neck she hauled him out of the way. Letting go, she planted a kiss on his head before gliding to the top of the stairs; he whimpered at her side. “There’s a dear fellow.”
Mr. Lambrick waited for her at the bottom of the steps with his hand extended. Even the scar couldn’t intrude upon the handsome face when he smiled. Instantly, perspiration dotted her neck and her heart beat erratically. She patted her hair one more time and pressed her lips together. Drawing in a deep breath, she descended the stairs. Suddenly she looked up, and the smile on Lambrick’s face had disappeared.
* * *
Jonathan’s breath jammed in his throat. He had expected to welcome the child who had fought for her life this past month. Instead, a woman appeared—a woman unequaled in beauty. How had he missed such a pertinent fact? She wasn’t thirteen or fourteen. She had to be much older than he’d originally thought.
He tugged at his cravat, felt his gaze turn into a frown and held out an arm while doing his best to appear calm. Then he forced the welcoming smile back.
Payton slipped along the stairs, graceful and quiet, not rowdy and loud as was her nature when she thought no one was looking. Before escorting her into the great room, he skillfully placed her hand on his arm and directed her to where a light repast had been readied.
Anne glided to his side with her fingers clutching his sleeve. “Jonathan, darling. Who is this delightful creature? Perhaps you could introduce us properly, now.”
He cleared his throat. “This is Miss Whittard, a friend of the family who has recently come to reside at Kent Hall. Miss Whittard, this is Anne Newbury, sister of my late wife, Alithea.” His throat constricted at the mention of Alithea.
Payton opened her mouth, but closed her lips tightly. He released her dainty hand and stared into eyes as blue as the cornflowers Emily placed on the hall table. For a moment, his mind turned from thoughts of Miss Anne Newbury. As if she could read his thoughts, she grasped his arm even tighter.
Payton bowed demurely but never moved her gaze from Anne as Jonathan introduced his guests one by one. Was she considering Anne’s role in his life? “I would be pleased if you would call me Payton, Miss Newbury. I am happy at last to have a friend here.”
Jonathan cleared the lump from his throat and frowned. “Have we been so harsh with you, Miss Whittard?”
Payton offered him her back and stepped to the fire, where he imagined the light snapping in those blue eyes. “Not at all, sir.”
Anne pulled him closer and whispered in his ear, “Don’t press her, Jonathan. You are right. She needs time. She’s a child, and time shall be her healer. Allow me to fix you a plate. Venison. Your favorite.” She raised her voice to unusually loud. “And I believe I see sugared blackberries from your garden. Mrs. Brewster spoils both of us, as usual.”
Payton turned and stared at Anne.
The evening continued
with cards and amusing anecdotes, but too soon Jonathan chose to remove himself from the gaiety. He felt a pain in his heart he didn’t understand. These past few years he had worked diligently to remove himself emotionally from the heartache he’d known when Alithea... When she died. He shook his head, clearing cobwebs, and gazed at Anne sitting by his side. Perhaps, more often than was wise, she caused him to remember his dear wife.
No! Alithea was not a dear wife. She had left him for another man. And Anne’s face did remind him of her. He pushed her clinging hand away and stood. He had grown to rely on the familiarity, and it not only wasn’t fair to him, it was not fair to Anne. She had made it clear long ago, before he’d met Alithea, that she wanted her place at Kent. That would not happen.
Jonathan rose. “If you will all excuse me, I have work to do.”
“Oh, Jonathan. Not tonight.” Anne, acting like a coquette, batted her eyes. “If you sit, I shall play the pianoforte. I know you cannot resist my music. May I tempt you?”
She tempted him all right but not in a way that pleased him. As a nagging surrogate for Alithea, right down to the blond curls coiled around her ears and the nape of her neck, his heart clawed at him whenever he soaked in her appearance. “Not tonight.” Not ever.
With a pout firmly planted on her face, he understood the amusements of the evening were exhausted. “If you’ll all excuse me,” she said, “I’ll retire then.” She slipped across the room and covered Payton’s hand with hers. “Payton. How nice to have you here, dear child.”
Jonathan raised a brow, causing his scar to pull tight across his cheek. He wasn’t exactly sure what to make of Anne’s sudden interest in Payton.
“Then we shall all retire. My work will wait until morning.”
“Would you show me to my new room, Jonathan?” Anne smiled at him, but it wasn’t really a smile, more of a twisted expression he had never noticed before. She was toying with him. No doubt reprimanding him for giving her usual rooms to Payton.
Payton’s face fell in a way that told everyone she felt she was an imposition. She tugged at his heart when she leaned toward Anne and whispered, “Have I taken your room, Miss Anne?”
Chapter 4
Flames licked about Payton’s face, teasing her with sharp, stinging pain. Wood charred her fingers. Her puppy gazed at her and howled long and hard.
Payton awakened drenched in perspiration. As she fully opened her eyes, she threw off the coverlet and panted. Reaching for a glass of water from the stand, she recalled the night her house burned.
Loud and real, screams sounded again and again. This was not a dream. She pulled on her slippers and a shawl and padded quickly into the hall.
Candlelight filled the hallway, and she recognized Mrs. Brewster. “Was that you screaming, Mrs. Brewster?”
“Back to bed. ’Twas just the wind. We hear it howling about the peaks often as winter approaches. You’ll no doubt become accustomed to it as we all have, Payton dear. Go back to sleep.”
Another candle flickered along the hallway, and Clarisse burst upon them. Her hair fluttered about her face and her eyes were wide and bursting with apprehension. “Have you heard the screamin’, mum? Like an animal in pain. She’s here. She’s back at Kent Hall.”
“No nonsense, girl. And goodness, hold that candle steady. We won’t be wanting any accidents.”
Payton’s heart beat so loudly she thought they might hear. With a hand over her throat, she found the words difficult to ask. “What are you saying, Clarisse?”
“His late wife walks the dark halls of Kent.” She leaned in whispering. “Because he killed her. Everyone says so.”
Utter quiet fell amidst them. There lay hidden a story here, to be sure, but what? And how could Payton find out?
“To bed with you, foolish girl!” Mrs. Brewster yanked Clarisse’s arm. “And I wouldn’t be repeating that again. Mr. Lambrick killed no one. Do you hear?”
“Yes, mum.” The girl left for her quarters bobbing and swaying but continued staring over her shoulder with fear clearly etched on her pale face.
Payton swallowed hard as another light appeared along the hall. Lambrick’s face, a furrow of concern, peered through the light. Angry at Payton for leaving her room, or anxious to find out if she’d been the one in danger?
He bellowed, “Mrs. Brewster! What is all the noise?”
“Sir, I’m quite sure I don’t know. Perhaps—”
“Jonathan!” Footsteps sounded from partway down the stairs. Miss Anne topped the landing. With shaking hands, she handed Mrs. Brewster her candle, then brushed dirt from her fingers. “Jonathan, did you discover who screamed?”
He frowned. “Where have you been, Anne? Was it you we heard?”
“No. I ran downstairs to see to the noise and fell.”
Payton stepped forward, the corner of her shawl in her hand. “Here.” She rubbed at Anne’s arm.
“Thank you, Payton, dear.” But Payton didn’t like the way Anne’s gaze narrowed when she said dear.
“I found nothing. Who was it, Jonathan?” Anne clutched his arm to her and looked into his eyes.
He brushed her aside as his gaze captured Payton’s. “Are you all right?”
“Yessir.”
Jonathan’s face overshadowed all of them. “I intend to find out who caused this chaos. I’ll fetch Kenny and we’ll discover who or what is frightening my guests.”
Mrs. Brewster led Anne toward her room. “Let’s get you into a clean gown. You have dirt all over you.”
Payton had barely fallen asleep again when she thought she heard another yell, deep, throaty but abrupt. She jumped up, grabbed her wrap and threw it around herself as she ran for the stairs. At the bottom stood Mr. Lambrick, holding his arm and grasping the rail. He turned to Kenny. “Could you find Emily? Ask her to fetch bandages.” He looked up the stairs where Payton stood at the top. “Payton, if you would allow me to lean against you.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll walk you to your room.” Descending, she covered the stairs two at a time as she had seen him do.
He then balanced his weight against her frame and managed to slowly climb the steps. “Humiliated, yet alive. I slipped on the same riser that apparently felled Anne and lost my balance on the butcher table. I fear I wrenched my knee in the process. I shall no doubt have a scar to match my other. I shall look a monster before my life is over, frightening little children.”
“Who screamed, Mr. Lambrick?” Her eyes widened.
“The wind, just as Mrs. Brewster said. It as an otherworldly sound when it whistles over the parapets.” His eyes suddenly held a tenderness she’d not seen before. “Are you all right?”
“Certainly. It’s you we should be concerned with, sir.”
As they entered his chamber, she stopped in the doorway. She didn’t belong here, but she put aside convention and assisted him to the bed. He sat on the edge. Blood flowed freely from his head and his arm, causing her to be unsure what to do.
He sighed. “I must look a mess.”
“No, sir,” she mumbled. “You’re quite as handsome as ever.” Then she gasped and clutched her hand to her chest. How could she have been so bold? What would he think of her? She bit her lip to stop further words and turned her gaze away.
“I’m old, Miss Payton. Not handsome. Old enough to be your—”
“Older brother, perhaps.” She couldn’t prevent the smile covering her face.
“You’re kind, Payton.”
“Where is Kenny?” Her fingers brushed the hair from his eyes. “Someone better hurry along with the bandages. You’re bleeding.”
His hand captured her fingers, warming her palm...and her heart, causing her to babble. “My father was older than my mother. He did not marry her until his own good parents died. His younger brother ran away with.
.. Well, he ran away and left the farm and care of my grandparents to my father. So, my father did not meet my mother until he was well into his years. Nearly two and thirty.” She swallowed hard, quelling the rambling that had overtaken her lips.
“You have an uncle, then.”
“Father heard not a word from him once he departed. Father said he had no doubt died at sea. But here I am talking about my family and you are suffering from your injuries. What can I do to help you?”
His smile warmed her to the center of her being, and she discovered she couldn’t look away when he held out his hand. “Very well. Could you help your older brother off with his boots? I am not sure I could remove them with much success in my condition.”
In spite of her warming face, she helped to tug the boots off his feet. He eased against the pillows with a groan, and she thought him very pale. “Let me wrap your arm, sir. You are losing a great deal of blood.”
His eyes flickered a moment, and he exhaled sharply. She could tell he wasn’t used to relying on others. Payton ignored his unwillingness, removed her shawl and tied it tightly around his upper arm. With the end, she blotted at his head until the bleeding subsided. That should do until Mrs. Brewster arrived.
In a matter of minutes, the older woman huffed in. Her arms were filled with dressings and her gaze full of displeasure. Payton should not have entered his chamber alone. She left him to Mrs. Brewster’s care and crept back to bed.
In the morning, before the staff had readied breakfast, Anne Newbury and her party of friends had loaded their carriage. “I detest illness. Jonathan may send word when he is well.”
Payton stared, afraid to open her mouth and say what she thought. “He may what? Are you leaving now when he needs you most?”
“Dear girl, everyone needs me. I have appointments in London that need my attention. I have overstayed my welcome here. London beckons. And Jonathan has more and better nursemaids here than I.” She turned away from Payton and faced Mrs. Brewster. “Tell him I’ll await him in London. We shall spend Christmas together as always. Good day, Mrs. Brewster.” She offered a chilly salute in Payton’s direction and stepped into her carriage.
Bride by Necessity (9781460333907) Page 4
