The Unwanted Suitor (Regency House Party: Somerstone Book 1)

by Michelle Pennington

  In a piqued tone, she said. “When I was a girl. Oh, very well. I cannot ruin my stockings, however. Turn around, Sir James.”

  Both amused and highly tempted to pull her stockings off himself, he made himself turn away. After a moment, he heard a scream and turned swiftly around. He couldn’t see Cornelia, just one of her stockings laying over the edge of the wall. With his heart in his throat he ran forward, afraid of what he would see. Was the hill steep? Had she fallen a considerable distance?

  With wide, panicked eyes, he looked down—and saw her sitting at her leisure, quite comfortably, on a patch of moss at the base of the wall. “Why, you deceitful baggage,” he said, jumping over the wall.

  She burst out laughing, leaning her head back against the stones as she gave way to her mirth. “Your face. Did you think I’d fallen to my death?”

  He sat down beside her. “Do you still deny being a hoyden?”

  “Well, look at you—stealing my belongings and strewing them about the countryside. And for what purpose, pray tell?”

  “To give you a break from drudgery. To give you sun and sky and a whole afternoon of freedom to do nothing but be your true self.”

  Her expression dimmed and her lips turned up in a wistful smile. “Why? So I may suffer all the more when such things are denied to me again?”

  Reaching forward, he took her hands, reveling in the feel of her fingers curling into his. “No, because I want to make you happy, in any moment that I can.” And then, thinking there was surely no better place to kiss her, sheltered from the entire world as they were, still he stood and helped her to her feet. He would not take such a liberty until he knew she desired it as much as he did.

  But oh, how tempting she was, with her heavy hair escaping its pins and her toes peeking out from beneath her dress on the lush green moss.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice taking on the warm, happy tone he remembered from years past.

  He took Cornelia by the waist and assisted her back over the wall. “To see what the Countess’ chef packed for us in the hamper I hid near the folly. I believe there’s even a bone for Wellington.”

  She laughed and took his arm. “No wonder Alphonse turned sour when I asked him to pack a basket for poor Mrs. Jarvis. Sir James, if I promise to stay with you and eat your picnic, may I have my belongings back?”

  “Most decidedly not. I’d sooner trust a tinker selling the crown jewels. We’ll collect them when we are finished, though I warn you, that will not be anytime soon.”

  7

  Courtship and Conjecture

  An afternoon spent as the sole focus of Sir James’ charm and attention had completely overset Cornelia’s anger. Hurt still lingered in her heart, however, giving her enough wariness to keep her from abandoning her determination to keep her distance from him. Nothing could come of this. Surely it was just a light flirtation on his part to pass the time without awakening hopes in any of the marriageable young ladies. Well, Cornelia had other plans for him.

  The next day, Cornelia succeeded in pairing him up with Miss Easton through lawn games, luncheon, and even a walk in the gardens. She ignored the jealousy she felt as she watched them together from afar. This was surely the best way to handle the situation between her and Sir James before it got out of hand.

  However, the Countess had planned an evening of cards and Cornelia had somehow been pulled in to make up a foursome of whist with Sir James, Lord Courtenay, and Miss Easton. At least she did not have to partner with him. His eyes were too often focused on her as it was. Lord Courtenay was a much more comfortable partner. She cared very little whether they won or lost, and it seemed that he felt a similar disinterest in the outcome, though he played skillfully. She thought his attention was directed more towards flirting with Miss Easton.

  Indeed, he raised his eyebrow at the young lady as he spoke to Cornelia. “This, Miss Greystock. This one is for you.” He played the queen of hearts.

  Cornelia did not miss the way Sir James stiffened over the false flirtation. Well, if it would annoy him, she’d play along with Lord Courtenay. Smiling a little she nodded.

  Miss Easton directed a determined glare at Sir James. Unperturbed, he laid a card on the table, meeting Cornelia’s eyes as he did so. It was difficult to force her eyes from him to see what he’d played. The king of hearts.

  Smiling sweetly with just a hint of triumph, Miss Easton gathered up the cards. “We have won. Well done, Sir James. Thank you for saving that final card. It’s as if you read my mind.

  Cornelia sat up, then realized she was frowning and smoothed her expression. Sir James was watching her much to closely for her to give away her emotions.

  Looking across the table, Sir James said, “Not your mind, Miss Easton, but your expression was quite helpful. Miss Greystock, do you remember playing that evening at the Raleigh’s?”

  Feeling a blush warming her cheeks, Cornelia cleared her throat. “Yes, I do. Your Whist playing abilities were highly sought after that evening if I recall.”

  Lord Courtenay leaned forward, easy going and pleasant as always. “Good win, you two. Now we have a tie. Well played, Miss Easton. But I don’t believe you can replicate that again.”

  Sir James handed his cards to Lord Courtenay. “If we are determined we shall conquer. I have discovered such a motto to succeed in other areas as well.” Again, his eyes met Cornelia’s. She wanted to rebuke him but could not. Later, she vowed.

  Several of the guests had finished their own games and gathered around behind them as Lord Courtenay dealt out the cards. One of the Easton brothers came to stand over Miss Easton’s shoulder. She waved him away. “I don’t need you hovering about, making me nervous.”

  “I thought I could advise…”

  Lord Courtenay held up a finger. “Oh no, Oscar. This is between Miss Easton and I.” When everyone stared at him, he added, “And Miss Greystock and Sir James, of course.”

  Miss Easton laughed. “Lord Courtenay, I always beat you at cards.”

  “Ho Ho! I detect a challenge.” He placed a hand on Miss Easton’s which rested on the table. Leaning closer to her, he murmured, “Are you determined to best us?”

  Miss Easton looked flustered and didn’t answer so he turned to Cornelia. “Can they manage it, do you think?”

  Cornelia glanced at Sir James. “I have found with some conquests, it is more the will of the opponent than your own that determines a win.” She lifted an eyebrow. “And we are not ones to lie down in surrender.”

  Lord Courtenay turned back to Miss Easton. “There, you see. Miss Greystock and I will have to disagree with you.” As he passed out the remaining cards, his eyes sparked with challenge.

  Miss Easton answered him readily. “I believe Sir James and I are the two who would have to disagree. We have turned out to be quite the pair.” She looked pointedly at Cornelia. “So often together today.”

  Sir James coughed, making Cornelia have to fight away a smile.

  Lord Courtenay smiled wickedly. “Shall we place a wager then?”

  A gasp sounded behind Sir James, and Cornelia glanced up to see some of the ladies who had gathered to watch the game whispering madly to one another. Her enjoyment of the game was at an end. She hadn’t wanted to be here, but now she was forced to bear up under the weight of conjecture. Such a scene wouldn’t harm Miss Easton at all, but for one in Cornelia’s position, it could be disastrous.

  Indeed, Miss Easton’s eyes sparked with excitement. “Challenge accepted. What are the stakes?”

  As murmurs and laughter sounded behind them, Lord Courtenay tapped his cards and considered the question. “If you win, we have a dance after cards.” He turned to look at the Countess. “With your permission, naturally Lady Du’Breven.”

  Cornelia wasn’t at all surprised when the Countess readily agreed. “I feel a dance would be just the thing,” she said. “It’s time you young people move about the room and entertain the rest of us as you are bound to do.”


  “Outstanding! Then here it is. If you win, Miss Easton, you and Sir James open the dance as partners.”

  “And if we lose?” she asked.

  “If you lose, then you dance with the winners—a waltz.”

  Cornelia paled at the thought, but no one seemed to notice or care that this put her in an uncomfortable position. Play began, the winning going back and forth equally. Hating every moment, anxiety nearly swamped her. She tried desperately to think a way out of this wager she’d had no part in making but could not.

  There was some silent communication between Sir James and Miss Easton, when the outcome of the game balanced on the play of Sir James’ and Cornelia’s cards. Their gazes locked and she begged him with her eyes to take the win. He reached into his hand and tossed his card, one of two, onto the table. He’d thrown a Jack.

  Cornelia made the only play she could, the King.

  Lord Courtenay rose and clapped. “Hurrah! Miss Greystock, good show!”

  Though Miss Easton rose from the table, Cornelia was in too much shock to do so.

  “Oh congratulations to you both!” Miss Easton exclaimed.

  But Cornelia’s eyes were focused on the Ace that Sir James dropped on the table. He winked at her and a wave of impotent anger washed over her. Or was it something else? Betrayal? Flattered bemusement. She didn’t know and couldn’t consider it too closely when so many eyes looked between the two of them.

  She rose from the table, fighting to maintain her composure, and called the servants to clear the room for dancing. Did not the very fact that it was her duty to do so show how very beneath his notice she now was? It was one thing for a mere companion to make up a fourth at whist in an effort to entertain her employer’s guests and quite another for her to dance a waltz with one of the most eligible gentlemen in the room. Already she could sense contemptuous eyes and whispered conjecture pointed her way.

  As the first notes of the waltz played, she stood aside, hoping that he might recognize the injury this dance would inflict on her. But then he stepped towards her, holding out his hand and smiling at her with devilry in his eyes. “Time to pay your debt, Miss Greystock.”

  She did not answer or return his smile but placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the makeshift dancefloor. She writhed inwardly at the contrast between the modest, grey satin gown she wore—appropriate dress for a paid companion. Thank goodness the Countess had forbidden her to wear a cap, but the contrast between her appearance and that of the other ladies taking the floor made her acutely aware of her position.

  However, when he placed his hand at her waist, it was not the light, detached touch of the instructor her father had once hired. It was insistent and possessive in a thrilling and evocative way. Sir James did not seem at all aware that she was like a crow among songbirds.

  “It is a crime that I have never before waltzed with you,” he said, a note of pleasure in his voice. “You dance like an angel.”

  Cornelia glared up at him. “I wish I could so compliment your gallantry.”

  Sir James tilted his head, his brows drawing together in confusion. “When was I ungallant? Pray enlighten me.”

  “When you withheld your ace.”

  “No action that brought you a moment’s pleasure could be considered ungallant.”

  “Pleasure? Do you not realize the position I am now in? What must people be thinking of me? You know very well I ought not to be dancing.”

  “Nonsense. They know very well it was none of your doing. And Lady Du’Breven’s acceptance of it was quite obvious to everyone.”

  “But it doesn’t change the fact that I will be thought to be putting on airs or setting my cap at you.”

  Sir James laughed. “No one will think so after seeing the scowl on your face.”

  Cornelia gasped and forced her expression to relax.

  “Much better. I know how much you enjoy dancing and I am arrogant enough to believe you do not find my company as wretched as you did a few days ago. Indeed, yesterday, I believe you almost approved of me.”

  Remembering the sensation of freedom and girlish frivolity with her toes deep in tender green grass and her bare hand clasping his, she could not restrain a small smile. If only he knew how very much more than agreeable she found him. It was so confusing, so troubling, to want the man who had hurt her so deeply, to think of him only as this warm, generous, and—yes, tempting man.

  She lifted her face to his and confided in a soft tone, “I have been longing to dance. You know, I never have had the chance to do so outside of the few local balls in Buxton. I always dreamed of dancing at Almack’s or at a grand ball in London.”

  As she spoke, she saw Sir James’ expression change to one of deep sympathy. “You shall yet do so. Never doubt it.”

  “I will not, Sir James. As much as I may now regret the rashness of my course, I cannot undo it.”

  The waltz ended then, and though Cornelia curtseyed to Sir James and applauded the pianist, she didn’t stay to give the gossips anything further to whisper about. With her eyes downcast, she hurried across the room to the Countess’ side. She sat down next to her, folding her hands in her lap and assuming the mien of a lowly companion. Sir James would not move her from her post again tonight.

  But when Sir James did not come towards her or make any attempt to claim her attention, she clenched her teeth in frustration. How dare the man put her in such a position and then ignore her completely. Perhaps it was exactly what she wanted him to do, but she felt hurt and miserable and lonely without him. Clearly, she was completely deranged.

  “Lady Du’Breven,” she said quietly to get her attention.

  The Countess turned. “Yes, my dear?”

  “I am afraid I have a headache. I do not wish to desert you, but—”

  “My dear, of course you must go to bed at once. Do not waste another thought on me this evening. When I am ready to retire, I shall ring for Grimsby.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Cornelia curtsied and left the room, sure that no one would see her leave. She had only just reached the Pillared Hall when she heard footsteps behind her. Surely, he wouldn’t dare...

  Without wasting a moment in speculation, Cornelia turned and ran to her right, then hid behind one of the dozens of pillars that filled the room like a forest of trees. Listening carefully, she heard the footsteps pause. She realized then that if it was Sir James, he would know she had not gone upstairs or he would have seen her. Hopefully, he would think she had gone further down the hall.

  Her hopes were dashed however when she heard the footsteps coming closer to her, though they were the soft, hesitant steps of someone who is not sure where they are going. Cornelia was sure her heartbeat would give her away since it pounded so loudly in her ears. She mentally rebuked herself for doing anything so silly as to hide from Sir James. Had she lost all sense of pride and decorum?

  “Are you hiding from me, my dear delight?”

  Sir James’ deep voice sounded from just over her shoulder. His warm breath stirred the hair at her neck, sending a thrill through her. She turned and faced him, determined to withstand his charm. “I am not your dear delight. You shouldn’t call me so.”

  Sir James moved around to face her, trapping her against the pillar. He smiled tenderly. “But you already told me not to call you darling. And you are my dear delight. Whether or not I should call you so is another matter. One I hope will be soon be resolved.”

  Feeling her cheeks set fire, Cornelia refused to ponder the meaning of his words. “What do you want with me?”

  He smiled and quirked an eyebrow. “For now? To dance with you again.”

  “I cannot go back in there. Please don’t ask it of me.”

  “I didn’t have any intention of doing so. I’d much prefer to keep you to myself. And we shall hope the statues watching on will keep our secret.”

  Cornelia knew she should protest, but when Sir James slid his hand around her waist, she moved closer, pulled by force withi
n her that she did not understand but had to obey. After the first few turns, Sir James lowered their clasped hands from their proper, outstretched position, and kissed her fingers before resting them against his chest. His eyes on hers were at once fierce and affectionate.

  Lost in the sensation of being held so close to him, it was a moment before she realized their steps had slowed. He wove them between the pillars, circling them as if they were other couples in this dream-like dance. But then he came to the far corner of the room, where the shadows were deep, and stopped altogether.

  “Cornelia, look at me.” He voice was rough but so soft, she barely heard him. She tilted her head back and knew his intention with one look. He lowered his head to hers, but so slowly she might have easily drawn back or turned away. But she had always dreamed of what it would be like to be kissed by this man. Maybe this was madness. Maybe she’d regret it later—but she didn’t care. Heedlessly, recklessly, she rose up on her toes and met his lips with her own.

  His kiss was soft and delicate, but with an edge to it as if he were holding back a torrent. It lasted for only a moment before he drew back.

  “James…” she said in protest.

  “Shh... do not speak just now. Neither will I. It is not yet time for words. You must go upstairs, and I must return to the drawing room before my absence is noted.”

  Cornelia pressed her lips together. “I think this is the perfect time for speaking.”

  “Well, I do not. I have no intention of pursuing this conversation until I am sure of your response. I will not be rejected again.”

  This was too much for Cornelia. She spun away from him and ran through the hall, swerving around pillars, and up the stairs. Her head was in such a muddle that she did not see the footman until she nearly ran into him.

  “I’m sorry, Damen, please excuse me.”

  “Of course. You seem…discomposed.” Then Damen looked around as if trying to determine the cause of her vexation. Cornelia followed his gaze and saw Sir James standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at them.