by Darcy Burke
He bowed. “It was my pleasure.” Because, really, she’d given him one as well.
He went to the door, and after unlocking it, turned. To his surprise, she’d followed him. He hadn’t heard her footsteps.
“Go on, then,” she said. “I need to lock the door so I can get back to the fire.”
“Yes, of course.” He slipped out, closing the door behind him. The lock clicked into place, and he made his way to the cardroom.
He had to wait a few minutes for Satterfield to finish a hand of cards. Fortunately, he stood from the table and Ned was able to draw his attention to convey the information about Miss Knox, including her location and that Lady Satterfield should knock three times so that she would know it was the countess.
Satterfield, a man of middling height and thinning brown hair, wrinkled his brow as he looked up at Ned. “How did you come to know this information?”
“It’s, ah, a bit complicated. No one else is aware of her…situation.”
Satterfield’s brow formed deep creases that looked like Ned’s fields at Sutton Park just before the tenants planted the crops. “If I hear of anything untoward—”
Ned cut him off with a frosty glare. “I will pretend you didn’t say that. Now please attend to Miss Knox before she catches cold. I insist.” He felt a bit contradictory telling Satterfield that when he had dawdled with her in the study. Ah well.
“Very well.” Satterfield gave him an earnest look. “I meant no disrespect. She’s a young lady, and I’m responsible for her. Thank you for your assistance.”
Ned nodded. “Good evening.”
Satterfield took himself off, and Ned resisted the urge to follow him. For whatever reason, he wanted to ensure that Miss Knox arrived home safely. He would feel terrible if she became ill due to her exposure. He never should have tarried with her for so long. For a variety of reasons.
Another chill shuddered through his frame, reminding him of the dampness of his coat. He ought to leave as well. He went in search of his aunt to see if she was ready to depart, for then he could accompany her home.
After nearly a quarter hour of searching and growing colder by the minute, Ned found Aunt Susannah in a sitting area off the ballroom. She’d just risen from her chair and now blinked at him in question. All she said was, “Sutton,” but Ned understood that she was surprised to see him—she’d thought they’d said their good evenings.
He inclined his head toward her and the other handful of ladies sitting about. “I thought I’d see you home, if you’re ready.”
“Actually, I am, thank you.” She turned and bid good night to her friends, and Ned ushered her from the ballroom. As they made their way to the entry to wait for his coach, she asked, “You aren’t going to your club?”
“I need to go home and change my coat. I’ve a tear on the interior, and it’s a nuisance.” He didn’t want to explain the true reason. He would keep Miss Knox’s reputation safe, even from his aunt.
“How aggravating for you, but how fortuitous for me since I shall have your company on the way home.” She smiled up at him.
They didn’t have to wait long and were soon ensconced in Ned’s coach on their way to Sutton House, a trip that would take all of ten minutes. Ned appreciated the brevity since he could scarcely wait to shed his coat. It had warmed a bit from his body temperature, but now the rest of his garments were damp, so he’d need to strip everything if he wanted to go back out to his club. He wasn’t sure he wanted to bother, because he planned to rise early tomorrow for a quick trip to Sutton Park, his estate just south of central London.
“What time will you depart for Sutton Park?” Aunt Susannah asked. “I was thinking I might join you if you don’t plan to leave terribly early.”
“I have a meeting with Dr. Paget at ten o’clock, so I was going to leave by eight.”
She waved her hand with a chuckle. “Never mind. I’ll go with you next week as we discussed.” They made regular trips to Sutton Park during the Season, sometimes as often as twice each week. Ned liked to keep his hands on his estate, plus there was George to look after.
“Is this a regular meeting with Dr. Paget, or is there a problem?”
“I received a missive earlier today that George has returned to his biscuit diet.” Ned stretched his legs out, careful not to take any space away from his aunt, who was seated across from him. “I’m sure it’s nothing—just another of his moods.” George sometimes decided that he could only eat biscuits, for some fantastical reason. But then that was George. He often made things up, and his mind was full of delusions, most of them thankfully harmless. However, sometimes they weren’t harmless, and Ned felt he possessed the best insight into those episodes.
Once, when George had gone on a biscuit diet, he’d eaten so many of them at once that he’d become ill. That had been before Dr. Paget had started as his caretaker, and since then, George had been much better supervised. Ned’s staff did all they could, but George required constant care. It was a sad state of affairs for a grown man, but necessary nonetheless.
Aunt Susannah gazed at him with pride and love. “George is very fortunate that you’ve decided to care for him.”
Ned appreciated her sentiment but bristled slightly at her words. “There was no other choice to make.”
The warmth in her eyes didn’t diminish. “You did have choices—you do, but thankfully, you’ve made the right one and ensured his life isn’t wasted. I do like Dr. Paget. He seems to be working out quite well.”
He was. Ned had hired him away from an asylum in Amsterdam after reading about his methods for dealing with people like George. People with wild imaginations and an inability to care for themselves. Dr. Paget had been with them only about three months, but George’s periods of sheer lunacy had diminished. “I’m encouraged by his results so far.”
Aunt Susannah nodded enthusiastically. “I am too. I really do think everything is coming together for you at last. I believe Miss Forth-Hodges could be the end of your wife hunt, and with George doing so well, you’ll be able to focus on your life, your happiness.”
Ned turned his attention to the window lest she see his reaction. He was happy, and he was weary of her pushing him toward some sort of blissful estate that probably didn’t exist. He wasn’t taking a wife for reasons of happiness. He was taking one because it was required. And if he was going to do anything in this life, he was going to provide George with the best care possible and ensure the earldom passed in a better state than which he’d inherited it. He’d take a countess, beget an heir, and if he had time and luck, maybe he’d find a bit of that happiness Aunt Susannah spoke of.
He thought of Miss Forth-Hodges, and almost immediately, the image of her in his mind was replaced with that of Miss Knox. He wondered where she was now and whether she was still fit. He’d have to find a way to learn of her state.
Why exactly?
He had no vested interest in her, no reason to ascertain her well-being. Nevertheless, he wanted to know. Needed to know. He’d taken her predicament into his own hands and felt responsible. Yes, that had to be why.
He’d work out a way to ascertain her well being; then he’d be able to put her from his mind and focus on Miss Forth-Hodges.
And the ever after that stretched before him.
Chapter Two
Aquilla Knox brushed at the curl tickling her temple as the coach bounced along the street toward Lady Durant’s dinner party.
Lady Satterfield looked at her husband, who sat across from them in the rear-facing seat. “I daresay whatever is wrong with the coach isn’t yet fixed.”
Lord Satterfield frowned. “No, it’s still a bit jumpy, isn’t it? It may be time for a new vehicle, I’m afraid.” He didn’t sound even slightly disappointed, but then Aquilla knew he was eager for a new coach—he was just waiting for his wife to agree.
Aquilla slid a glance toward her sponsor, the endlessly kind Lady Satterfield. A small smile curved her lips as she gazed at her husband.
“I see,” she said softly. “We’ll discuss it further tomorrow.”
The earl’s eyes gleamed. “I shall look forward to it.”
Lady Satterfield turned her head toward Aquilla as she reached up to pat the back of her upswept hair, which was still mostly dark despite the countess being in her mid-fifties. “Are you looking forward to tonight’s dinner?”
Not particularly. “Yes.” Aquilla winced inwardly at the lie.
And why did she lie? Because to tell Lady Satterfield the truth, that her efforts to match-make were in vain, would be to admit that Aquilla was a charlatan of the highest order. No, that wasn’t precisely it. She didn’t want to disappoint Lady Satterfield. The countess had taken Aquilla in and given her the most welcoming home she’d ever known.
Lady Satterfield tipped her head to the side and looked at Aquilla with concern. “Are you certain you feel up to it? I thought two days would provide ample recovery, but perhaps we should’ve stayed home tonight.”
Aquilla rushed to put her at ease. “No, I’m fine.” Indeed, she’d been fine. Had she taken a bit of advantage of her exposure the other night to earn a reprieve from the demands of the Season? Yes. But to be fair, she had felt a trifle under the weather yesterday after the Middlegrove ball. She’d spent the entire day abed, which had given her plenty of opportunity to recall her interlude with Lord Sutton.
Interlude.
She didn’t like the connotation of that at all. It gave her shivers and made her skin flash hot.
“If you’re certain, dear.” Lady Satterfield settled back against the seat. “I know I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: I am quite thankful to Lord Sutton for unlocking that door, even if it did create an unfortunate situation.”
Aquilla stifled a sudden urge to laugh. Had it been an interlude or an unfortunate situation? Neither, but the differing perspectives were amusing.
“Indeed,” Satterfield agreed. He’d queried Aquilla on the ride home that night, making sure that Sutton had behaved in an appropriate fashion. He had, of course, but what if he hadn’t? She’d avoided asking herself that question, fearing the answer. Would the Satterfields have forced a marriage despite no one being aware of their…unfortunate interlude? Aquilla decided she liked that description best.
She’d assured the Satterfields that he’d acted with the utmost decorum. She hadn’t elaborated—they didn’t need to know how long she’d conversed with him or that he’d lent her his coat. No, definitely not that last part. That would likely elevate the circumstance to unmitigated disaster.
This time, she couldn’t keep a smile from breaking through.
“What is amusing, dear?” Lady Satterfield asked.
“Nothing. Just looking forward to the dinner party.” She’d try to look forward to it.
“I expect you’re anticipating sitting next to Lord Lindsell?”
Aquilla turned her head toward the window lest Lady Satterfield see her reaction. The baron was going to be there? She hadn’t known. Or perhaps she’d simply forgotten. Sometimes it was best to put distasteful things out of your mind.
Lindsell wasn’t distasteful exactly; he was simply eager. He’d danced with her twice now, which was more than any other gentleman this Season. She clearly needed to work harder to dissuade him.
She forced a smile and turned back to Lady Satterfield. “I’d forgotten he would be there, actually. I shall be delighted with wherever I sit.”
“You are such an agreeable young lady.” The countess clucked her tongue. “I cannot comprehend why you haven’t had one suitor in the past five years.”
Aquilla comprehended it quite well—she didn’t want one. Oh, she had, once. Before she’d learned how dreadful marriage could be. Her primary goal this Season was to establish contacts so that she could gain employment as a companion at the end of it, like her good friend Ivy Breckenridge.
“Gentlemen are stupid,” Satterfield interjected.
Lady Satterfield laughed. “Many of them, yes. Not you, my dear.”
He inclined his head in a gallant fashion. “Why, thank you. Hopefully, Lindsell will prove to have more sense than the average fellow.”
“I am optimistic,” Lady Satterfield said. “You like him, don’t you, Aquilla?”
“I don’t think I know him well enough yet to say. He’s a good dancer.” She would allow him that at least.
“Well, tonight you’ll be able to form an opinion.” Lady Satterfield’s lips spread into a wide grin, and she winked at Aquilla. “I might have arranged for you to be seated next to him.”
Then yes, Aquilla supposed she’d have to form an opinion. Goodness, how long was she going to maintain this masquerade? She ought to just tell Lady Satterfield the truth, that she didn’t want a husband. Wouldn’t that shock her and everyone else, including her two best friends—Ivy and Lucy. Lucy, who’d surprised them all when she’d become the Countess of Dartford last month. The only person who wanted to marry less than Aquilla, besides Ivy, of course, had been Lucy. Until she’d fallen unexpectedly and hopelessly in love.
Warmth bloomed in Aquilla’s chest when she thought of her friend’s happiness. She knew it could happen…just as she knew it could change without warning. It was a gamble and one Aquilla wasn’t sure she wanted to take.
She was saved from further discussion because they had arrived at the Durants’. The coachman opened the door, and they departed the vehicle into the early evening. The weather was still quite cool, but it had at least been dry today.
Once inside, they were shown to the drawing room, where they would mingle for a short time while others arrived. Aquilla mentally prepared herself, as she always did when she went to a social event. Summoning a bright smile, she followed the Satterfields into the room, ready to face the evening. She glanced around to take stock of the guests and started when her gaze collided with one she hadn’t remotely expected: Lord Sutton.
His gray eyes—she recalled the color from the other night—were fixed upon her. They were intent, probing almost, his brows riding low on his forehead. He had thick, dark blond hair that waved back from his temples. His features, an alluring combination of rugged, with the set of his chin, and sophisticated, with the arc of his cheekbones, were as finely drawn as any Joshua Reynolds portrait. He looked austere, as an Untouchable ought, but also a bit wild, as if he suppressed something uncivilized. Perhaps that was due to his exceedingly athletic frame. He was well-known for his riding skill and his penchant for frequenting Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon.
“Aquilla?” Lady Satterfield’s quietly spoken query drew Aquilla from her fanciful assessment of Lord Sutton.
“Yes?”
“You just seemed to be woolgathering…” She didn’t say anything more, but the rest of her statement likely would have been, And Lord Lindsell is approaching, for he was, in fact, bearing down on them.
Lord Lindsell was not athletic. He was rather thin, of average height, with dark brown curly hair not too unlike Aquilla’s. She had a difficult time managing hers and could only imagine how curly their child’s hair might turn out.
Child?
She immediately banished such thoughts.
“Good evening, Lord and Lady Satterfield.” Lindsell bowed to the earl and countess before turning his delighted attention to Aquilla. He smiled, baring his teeth, the bottom row of which was quite crooked and which he tried, and sometimes failed as now, to hide with his lower lip. “You look lovely this evening, Miss Knox.” He offered her a deeper bow, and she had to admit it was charming.
She dipped a curtsey. “Good evening, my lord.”
Their host and hostess came over then and welcomed them to their home. They continued on, and a moment later, the butler announced it was time to move into the dining room.
Lady Durant moved to the doorway with her husband and said, “I’ve set a particular scheme for tonight’s seating arrangement.” She smiled, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. “Please sit where your name appears o
n the card. It will be such fun!” She glanced at her husband, who only nodded slightly. He looked as if he’d prefer to sit in another room entirely given the creases around his mouth and eyes that gave him a rather pained look.
Aquilla shared Lord Durant’s displeasure, if that was in fact what he was feeling. Since Lady Satterfield had apparently communicated a desire for Aquilla to be seated next to Lord Lindsell, she expected just that.
Lindsell offered her his arm, and they made their way into the dining room in the procession of guests. Everyone surveyed the table to see where they were seated, and Aquilla was correct—she was to Lindsell’s right a few seats down from Lady Durant’s end of the table. It looked as if most of the unmarried guests were near her, likely because her unmarried son was seated to her immediate right.
Aquilla looked at the card to her right, and her breath hitched. Lord Sutton. She turned her head and saw him coming toward her. He escorted a young lady Aquilla knew only superficially. Miss Emmaline Forth-Hodges was a few years younger than Aquilla and a far more desirable candidate on the Marriage Mart. She was on her second season, Aquilla believed, and likely wouldn’t last another. In fact, she was perhaps Sutton’s latest prey. If Aquilla tracked gossip more closely, she would know.
Prey? Did she see Sutton as a predator?
She stole a look at him as she took her seat. There was something predatory about the way he moved. Or maybe it was the way he’d looked at her the other night in Lord Middlegrove’s study—as if he’d cornered her. But that was absurd. He’d been kind and helpful even if he hadn’t completely thought his plan through when he’d rescued her.
Kind and helpful…was that how Miss Forth-Hodges would see him after he inevitably abandoned any interest he might have in her?
Aquilla found herself frowning at Sutton. She didn’t even know Miss Forth-Hodges, and yet she felt instantly sorry for her given Sutton’s reputation. But then it wasn’t as if the young woman wasn’t aware of it herself. That was one thing Aquilla didn’t understand. If these women knew he wasn’t likely to marry them—and they surely must—why bother with him at all?
