by Abby Gaines
Perhaps that was why Serena’s intrusions into his ordered existence hadn’t been altogether annoying. Woodbridge Hall felt more...alive.
That’s because of this dinner, not because of Serena. All day, the house had been in a pleasantly purposeful bustle. Trimble, Dominic’s valet, had relished the challenge of dressing his master to a higher standard than usual tonight.
At a sound from the doorway, Dominic turned to greet his sister. And Serena.
A fraction of a second was sufficient to register Marianne’s overly detailed deep blue dress and her predictably elaborate coiffure, as her maid had standing orders to do anything and everything to draw attention away from Marianne’s face. Dominic didn’t intend to pass quite so quickly over her to Serena, but somehow...
Governesses—companions—weren’t supposed to look like this! Their function was to blend into the scenery as they smoothed the path of the lady of the house. Not to draw the eye of every man in the room, as Serena would do tonight.
Her dress was the palest of pinks, cut lower than a day dress, its scooped neckline showing the creamy skin of her shoulders. Her hair was more complicated than her usual simple knot, with artistically arranged curls spilling over her shoulders.
A constriction in his chest informed Dominic that he’d forgotten to breathe. He rectified that omission with a noisy exhalation that he turned into a throat-clearing. “You look lovely. Both of you.”
“I had Grimes do Serena’s hair,” Marianne said. “It becomes her, doesn’t it?”
Before he could comment, Serena said, “It was very kind of you to lend me your maid, Marianne.” She gazed with pleasure around the room, at the silver candlesticks on the mantelpiece, the faded Aubusson carpet that was brought out only on special occasions. She was looking forward to tonight, too, Dominic realized. Unlike his sister, who would be dreading it, no matter that she’d pinned on a bright smile.
Serena would be accustomed to society events, he assumed. In any parish, a wellborn rector’s family was an asset when it came to making up numbers at parties, with the added benefit to the host of a sense of being on good terms with the church. Indeed, Marianne had invited the rector from Melton Mowbray tonight. Dominic wondered if the gentlefolk of—where was Serena from?—that’s right, Piper’s Mead received the same bracing dose of truth she had subjected him to. He suspected not. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, he hoped not.
“Sir Bertram Shelton and Lady Shelton,” Molson announced from the doorway.
Dominic stepped forward to greet the Sheltons, neighbors on his western boundary and a most pleasant couple.
“Granville, good of you to invite us.” Shelton’s manner was hearty, with no archness in his demeanor, or his wife’s, to suggest they’d heard he was in the market for a wife. Dominic had mentioned the matter to Trimble, his valet, as Serena suggested. But obviously Trimble was as discreet as he believed. While it was a relief not to be the subject of gossip, at the same time it raised the question of how he was supposed to convey his availability to Mrs. Gordon, and gauge her interest in return. He was dashed if he would flirt with her.
Marianne greeted their guests. She knew the Sheltons well, but that didn’t stop her cheeks from firing. At least their color would fade sooner than in the company of strangers.
Molson announced the Reverend Horace Goodham and his wife.
“May I introduce Miss Serena Somerton,” Dominic said, after he’d greeted the clergyman. “Her father is Reverend Adrian Somerton, of Piper’s Mead in Hampshire.” That took care of the need to converse with the rector; he and Serena immediately launched into the kind of talk designed to find the closest link between him and her father.
To keep the numbers even, Marianne had invited Baron Spence, a bachelor of middle age who never entertained at home but liked to be invited out. He arrived soon after the clergyman, and as he made his bow, Marianne fanned herself discreetly. She’d taken a new herbal concoction this morning, but despite making her gag on her breakfast, it didn’t seem to have helped.
Then came Mr. Beaumont.
Dominic had met the man just the once, when he’d called at the Ramsay home last week. He was a likable enough chap, with easy address. His clothing was expensively tailored—coat by Weston, boots by Hoby, Dominic guessed, as he watched the man bow to his sister.
Dominic winced when he realized Marianne was the color of a radish.
“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Granville,” Beaumont said.
Ah, yes, they’d met in the village, Dominic remembered. Marianne murmured something indistinguishable, but made a visible effort to hold the man’s gaze. Dominic felt a rush of affectionate pride for her. She was courage itself. He wished there was something he could do to make her life easier.
There is. Get married.
Beaumont greeted Serena without the stunned admiration that seemed the logical response to her appearance tonight, then turned back to Marianne. Which was only proper, since she was the hostess, and Serena a mere companion. But still...Dominic himself was having trouble tearing his eyes from Serena; it hardly seemed possible that Beaumont hadn’t been captivated.
It was another fifteen minutes before Molson announced Mrs. Gordon, just as Dominic could see Marianne starting to fret about the timing of their meal.
When the lady walked in, he knew immediately that Serena had been right about his valet’s propensity to gossip.
Dominic might ordinarily have described Mrs. Gordon as a woman of low expectations, but that didn’t appear to be the case tonight. She was definitely staging an entrance. Her dress bordered on too much for a country dinner, but showed her trim figure to perfection. Her coiffure was at least as elaborate as Marianne’s. Most telling of all was the way she studiedly avoided Dominic’s eyes, as she went to greet his sister...in tones that were loud enough to carry to Dominic as she complimented Marianne on her appearance.
Dominic tamped down a surge of annoyance. He was being unfair to the lady. He had set up this occasion with a view to considering her suitability as a wife; he could hardly complain if she sought to present herself in the best light. When one wasn’t looking for romantic love, marriage became about practicalities. He should be pleased that Mrs. Gordon was a willing player in this kind of courting game.
When he greeted her, her manner was perfectly comfortable, and Dominic felt himself relax.
Molson summoned them to the dining room almost immediately. Marianne had seated Mrs. Gordon at Dominic’s right hand, with Lady Shelton to his left. The other guests could choose their own places. Beaumont sat next to Marianne, while Serena ended up with Reverend Goodham and Baron Spence on either side of her.
Dominic invited the rector to say grace. After that, the serving of the food obviated the need for conversation for several minutes, beyond offers by the gentlemen to serve the lady next to them with buttered crabs or beef tremblant.
Dominic exchanged pleasantries with Mrs. Gordon, who was an attractive woman, no doubt about that, and who knew just what level of depth a dinner table conversation should reach. Talk turned to the wars that had finally ended last year, to the recent insinuations in the Times that the British government was trying to hasten Napoleon’s death by providing poor living conditions on Saint Helena, the island of his exile. They were such a small group, only ten of them, most of whom knew each other well, that conversations could be conducted with more than just one’s neighbor.
“I fear you will think me unchristian,” Mrs. Gordon said, after Baron Spence expressed a concern that it simply wasn’t British to treat even a deposed enemy emperor harshly. “But my fervent hope is for that man to die of some plaguey condition. He robbed me of a husband, robbed countless English families of sons, brothers, nephews.”
It was an unchristian sentiment, Dominic supposed, but he couldn’t condemn a widow for her resentment of the man whose lust for power had been responsible for her husband’s death.
Reverend Goodham quoted some verse about vengeance bel
onging to the Lord. Dominic expected to see Serena nodding wholehearted agreement, given her expressed belief in compassion. He’d been avoiding looking at her, but now he did so...and found her lips clamped together in a way that suggested she was biting back an opinion at odds with that of the reverend.
Intrigued—shouldn’t a parson’s daughter agree with a clergyman?—Dominic asked, “What do you think, Miss Somerton? What’s your preferred fate for Bonaparte?”
After all, she was apparently encouraged by her parents to express her opinions at the table. Though he’d noted tonight that she didn’t put herself forward in company—she reserved that dubious behavior for him.
Some of his other guests seemed surprised that he should consult a young woman rather than the wiser matrons.
She hesitated. “I have no wish to see anyone suffer,” she said. “But I confess, news of the death of that particular warmonger would be a relief.”
Reverend Goodham looked disapproving, but Mrs. Gordon said warmly, “You are a lady of sense, Miss Somerton.”
Why did Serena feel so strongly about Bonaparte? She’d mentioned four sisters...had she had a brother who’d died in the wars? Dominic could tell she’d had to quell the urge to speak more strongly. The fire in her eyes accentuated her prettiness; Baron Spence looked at her with fresh interest.
Marianne, who found that listening to arguments exacerbated her condition, changed the subject. “Mrs. Gordon, I hope your family wasn’t affected by the recent influenza outbreak.”
“Thank you, Miss Granville, but no.” Mrs. Gordon served herself a ladylike portion of damson jelly. “My children have inherited my own strong constitution.”
A strong constitution was an excellent qualification for a bride, Dominic decided. If Emily hadn’t been prone to infections all her life, would she have been able to resist the measles? He would not want to lose a second wife, even one of convenience....
“And you, Miss Granville?” Mrs. Gordon asked. “Are your nephews and nieces well?”
“The children are thriving.” Marianne blushed deeply, as she always did when asked a question. “Are they not, Dominic?” He wasn’t sure if she was deflecting attention, or trying to provide an opening for him to impress Mrs. Gordon.
“They are,” he said, somewhat lamely. Doubtless he was meant to present his children in the most positive light at this stage of a courtship. Rather than mentioning Thomas’s predilection for bringing wildlife into the house, Charlotte’s sulks and thieving, William’s fear of the dark and Louisa’s repeated ear infections.
Put like that, he was amazed Marianne had managed to recruit a governess at all.
“The children are all very intelligent,” Serena interjected. “Even little Louisa possesses such an inquiring mind.”
“Thank you, Miss Somerton,” Dominic said quellingly. She didn’t need to blow the trumpet for his children. Just because he hadn’t quite got around to it yet didn’t mean he wasn’t going to. It was simply...he had a lot on his mind, and right now couldn’t think of specific attributes to which he could refer.
“Inquiry is not always necessary in a little girl, of course,” Mrs. Gordon said.
Dominic saw indignation kindle in Serena’s eyes. Her views regarding his children were strong, and it seemed she would defend them whenever and wherever she deemed necessary.
In the interest of his future domestic harmony with Mrs. Gordon, Dominic intervened. “Louisa is an enthusiastic artist. She particularly enjoys painting.”
He was rather pleased with the way he’d phrased that. He hadn’t had to lie and say his daughter was actually good at painting.
Serena spotted the distinction—she squinted at him. Dominic found himself smiling.
Mrs. Gordon nodded her approval of that more feminine pursuit. “My Elizabeth is a most talented artist. I’m sure she’d be delighted to show Louisa her work.” She seemed to realize she had perhaps anticipated too much, for she added, “Should they ever meet.”
“How old are your children, Mrs. Gordon?” Serena asked.
Dominic remembered her concern about the woman favoring her own offspring over his.
“Elizabeth is ten and James is eight,” the widow said. “They’ve been such a comfort to me since Colonel Gordon died. So sunny-natured...I do like a sunny-natured child, don’t you?”
Who knew what she would make of Charlotte, then. Dominic suspected the overloud scrape of Serena’s knife against her plate was an attempt to catch his eye in order to communicate that very thought.
He smiled encouragement at Mrs. Gordon. “A sunny nature is very attractive,” he agreed.
His erstwhile governess, one of the sunniest people he’d met, looked thunderous.
“And my James is fearless,” Mrs. Gordon continued. “Quite fearless.”
Dominic was beginning to wish she would quiet down on the subject of her incomparable offspring...but then, it was right for a mama to be proud of her children, wasn’t it?
“How admirable,” Serena said, to his surprise. He’d expected her to counter with Thomas’s intrepidness with animals. “So often children that age have unexplained fears. Of the dark, for example.”
Ah. He should have guessed.
“If courage isn’t naturally present, one must teach it, Miss Somerton.” Mrs. Gordon’s tone held a touch of condescension. Dominic winced. It wouldn’t be the first time Serena had encountered that attitude, whether as a parson’s daughter, a governess or a companion, but he’d rather his future wife hadn’t been the one to deliver it.
“We must face our fears in order to vanquish them,” Mrs. Gordon pronounced.
Perfect love casteth out fear. The Bible verse flitted through Dominic’s head.
“That sounds easier than perhaps it is,” Serena said. Dominic wondered if anyone else noticed her emphasis on sounds. As if reality might differ. Her attention was fixed on Mrs. Gordon with an intensity that reminded him of a painting he’d seen of a lioness with its cubs.
“It works,” Mrs. Gordon insisted. “I myself was frightened of horses as a child. My father had the servants put me on a horse every day, until I stopped screaming.”
Marianne gasped, Lady Shelton tutted. Dominic winced. Only Serena appeared unmoved at the plight of a young Mrs. Gordon—or whatever her name had been—terrified on the back of a pony.
“It didn’t do me any harm,” Mrs. Gordon assured them. “Indeed, Colonel Gordon used to say I grew up into a very good whip.”
“Most interesting,” Serena said, all thoughtful innocence.
Dominic groaned inwardly.
“Do you think,” she asked, “that kind of experience could be used to cure a fear of the dark?”
“I’m sure of it,” the other woman said. “Any fearful child would benefit from a minute or two each day confined in a dark space...a cupboard of some sort...supervised from the outside, of course.”
“Of course.” Serena beamed.
Dominic sighed.
So much for Mrs. Gordon as the future stepmother of his children.
* * *
Serena sat back in her chair and willed herself to be satisfied with this moment of triumph. Dragging Mrs. Gordon to the nearest cupboard, then locking her in and throwing away the key might be a tempting prospect, but it would hardly be good manners. Plus, she wouldn’t have the strength—Mrs. Gordon was a good three inches taller—and Serena doubted an attempt to enlist Dominic’s help would succeed.
“Is one of your children prey to such a fear, Mr. Granville?” Mrs. Gordon asked.
“Not as much as I am prey to a fear of harsh cures,” Dominic said.
The chill in his voice made Serena rethink her decision. Maybe he would help her drag Mrs. Gordon to that cupboard. She hadn’t seen him like this before: his voice cold, his eyes warm. Hot, even, with anger. And, she chose to believe, with love for his children.
How silly that a man so capable of love should plan to marry without it. Yes, Serena was anxious for him to marry, an
d if it had to be for convenience, then so be it. But if he was capable of tender feelings, why rush into union with a woman who didn’t engage those feelings?
Serena paused, struggling to reconcile Dominic Granville and “tender feelings” in her mind. If he met the right woman, surely those sentiments would burst into life.
Everyone deserved to love and be loved. Including Marianne who, though her behavior was perfectly decorous, was clearly infatuated with Mr. Beaumont. If their neighbor got to know her better, could he come to love her? They would probably never find out, since Marianne’s seclusion made it unlikely she would see much of him. Unless...
Serena pulled her thoughts up short, as she realized an awkward silence had developed in the wake of Mrs. Gordon’s comment and Dominic’s unmistakable rebuke. She made an instant decision to restore social harmony and at the same time lend Marianne a helping hand.
“Miss Granville and I have had the most wonderful idea,” she announced.
Everyone—except Marianne, who looked baffled, but trusting—clamored to hear it. Anything to break the silence.
Serena knew a moment’s misgiving. This was certainly one of her bolder schemes. But tonight had proved that the Granvilles—both Marianne and Dominic, were in desperate need of assistance.
“We were talking about the possibility of a house party here at Woodbridge Hall,” she said. She neglected to mention that Marianne hadn’t liked the idea at all. “If it’s sufficiently informal, it could take place early next month.”
“A house party,” Lady Shelton echoed. “What a lovely idea.”
As others around the table voiced their approval, Marianne’s mouth opened and closed; she was too horrified to utter a word.
Serena caught her eye and tipped a discreet but meaningful glance toward Mr. Beaumont, who had paid attention to no one but Marianne tonight. She couldn’t possibly doubt his interest now.
Marianne’s eyes widened. Serena could almost see her thought processes, torn as she was between her abhorrence of large gatherings and this perfect excuse to see Mr. Beaumont day after day.
