by Bree Wolf
“Yes, sir.” Like a ghost hovering in the corner of the room, he suddenly materialised behind Wesley, who spun around startled.
“Ah, there you are.” Gesturing toward the old wooden chess board that had been in his father’s family for generations, Wesley said, “Please, have this moved upstairs into…our guest’s bedchamber as soon as she wakes.”
A hint of disapproval in his eyes, his butler cleared his throat. “As far as I know the…lady has already risen,” he said in a tone as though speaking the words made him physically ill. “I was informed that she took a horse from the stables early this morning.”
Staring at Thompson, Wesley swallowed. “She did what? Where did she go?” Fear gripped his heart as he forced himself to remain calm. Where could she have gone in this weather?
“I’m afraid I’m not privileged to that information, sir.”
Gritting his teeth, Wesley took a deep breath to keep himself from strangling the old man. No matter who Thompson thought she was, did it not concern him that a young woman unfamiliar with the terrain had ridden out in this weather all alone?
The more Wesley thought about it, the more his head began to spin. “Have my horse saddled immediately!” he hissed at Thompson. “And bring me my coat.” Then he rushed upstairs to slip into his tall winter boots.
If anything happened to Christine…
Shaking his head, he tried to concentrate on the task at hand. It would do Christine no good if he merely worried about her. He had to find her! But how?
Swinging himself into the saddle of the chestnut bay gelding, Wesley let his eyes sweep over the landscape before him. Apart from Sanford Manor, meadows and the beginnings of a forest was all he could see as it lay covered by a thick layer of snow. Urging his mount down the drive, he leaned forward as something caught his eye.
There in the snow were hoof prints leading eastward!
As his heart danced with relief, Wesley spurred on his gelding, his eyes fixed on the delicate trail Christine had left. He felt as though he were following breadcrumbs she had left for him to find. Thank goodness it hadn’t snowed the night before!
With excitement coursing through his veins, Wesley barely felt the sting of cold air on his face as he flew across the meadow, nearing the forest. Here and there, he would slow down because the tracks turned in one direction before circling back and then heading into the other. Where was she going? Did she even have a destination in mind or was she simply roaming the countryside? The latter was the one more likely, after all, she had never even been to Sanford Manor before and, therefore, did not know her way around.
Had Catherine ever mentioned anything to her? Maybe before they’d left. No, Wesley shook his head as he continued to follow her trail. Why would she have? The only one who had ever…
Wesley froze, then slapped his gloved hand to his forehead in annoyance.
The only one who had ever spoken to her about Sanford Manor and surroundings had been him.
Wesley cringed at the memory of their carriage ride when he had in all innocence mentioned that Lord Stanhope’s estate was located about a two-hour ride eastward. Although he had merely done so to assure her that no one would accidentally stumble upon them−after all, no one in their right mind would brace the outdoors in such weather to visit one’s neighbours−it now appeared to have been quite unwise, for Christine could, for all intents and purposes, not be considered in her right mind, could she?
Cursing under his breath, Wesley urged his gelding onward. No wonder she was not travelling in a direct line. She only had a vague idea of where the estate was located.
For a moment, Wesley debated with himself whether to follow her tracks or take the shortest route to Stanhope Grove. Although a part of him worried that she had simply ridden by the estate without coming upon it, Wesley decided on the more direct approach. After all, Christine was an intelligent, resourceful woman, and he had no doubt that she would find her way. If she was determined to find Stanhope Grove, she would!
Spurring on his gelding, Wesley hurried onward, and before long, Stanhope Grove came into view. Encircled by dense growing groves on three sides, it lay snug in a small valley, a stream running alongside it, giving water to the large granite well decorating the front gardens.
With eyes searching his surroundings−as though expecting Christine to jump out at him from behind one of the well-manicured, snow-covered bushes by the front entrance−Wesley handed his gelding’s reins to a stable hand and then proceeded up the front stairs.
The door swung open as he approached, and Stanhope’s butler bowed low. “Good day, sir.”
“Good day,” Wesley mumbled, still on the lookout. “Is Lord Stanhope in?”
“He is, sir. Allow me to lead the way.”
Proceeding through the large front hall, their footsteps echoing in the high-vaulted room, Wesley followed Stanhope’s butler to the front drawing room. As they approached, voices echoed to his ears, and one in particular nearly stopped his heart.
“How marvellous!” Christine exclaimed, her voice ringing with joy and exuberance that had been absent in the past few days. “A Christmas Ball is a truly wonderful idea!”
“Is it not?” Eleanor Abbott, Stanhope’s younger sister, beamed. “And the masks make it even more spectacular!”
“They do indeed.”
Stepping into the drawing room, Wesley found all eyes turn to him.
Whereas Christine’s eyes widened ever so slightly betraying her surprise to see him there, Stanhope as well as his mother regarded him with drawn brows clearly showing their disapproval. What on earth had Christine told them? He could only hope that she had not revealed herself as his mistress. He shook off that thought. Even Christine had better sense than to ruin herself so willingly, did she not?
“Wesley,” his friend greeted him coldly, his face almost immobile. “How kind of you to pay us a visit.” Through narrowed eyes, he regarded Wesley, then almost imperceptibly shook his head as though chiding him for cheating in a card game.
“It’s such a beautiful morning,” Wesley said, forcing a polite smile on his face, “that I thought a quick ride would be quite enjoyable.”
“I see,” Stanhope mumbled. Then he bowed to the ladies. “Excuse us.” Striding toward the door, his eyes ordered Wesley to follow him.
Out in the hall, Stanhope walked a few quick paces down the corridor before he turned to face his friend. “Are you out of your mind?” he asked, his voice betraying a slight tremble as he sought to control his obvious outrage.
“Arthur, I can expl−”
“Explain?” Shaking his head, Stanhope began to pace up and down the corridor. “What on earth possessed you? I’ve known you to do a great many…questionable things in your time, but this!” He pointed back at the closed door to the drawing room. “Do you truly have no scruples?”
Gritting his teeth, Wesley feared the worst. “What did she tell you?”
Stanhope snorted. “That she is a guest in your house, and that you were separated when riding out this morning.”
Hearing his friend’s answer, Wesley relaxed before a frown drew down his brows. “Then why do you look so distraught?”
Hands on his hips, Stanhope glared at him. “What she didn’t say has me more concerned. The moment I came upon her out in the woods−and let me assure you I was quite taken aback to find an unchaperoned woman riding across my land−the look on her face told me more than I cared to know.”
For as long as they had known each other, Wesley had never been able to understand his friend beyond formal niceties. For all intents and purposes, it seemed as though Arthur Abbott, Earl of Stanhope, had never experienced a desire of his own. All he knew−and was fond of−were society’s rules, of which he never failed to remind his fellow men. Truly, Christine could not have sought refuge with a more inconvenient person. What had he been thinking taking her to Sanford Manor?
“What do you mean?” Wesley asked, forcing himself not to drop his gaze
. If Stanhope found out who Christine truly was−what name had she given him?−would he feel compelled to reveal her identity?
“Do not take me for a fool, Wesley,” Stanhope snapped, taking a step closer, his hawk-like eyes drilling into Wesley’s soul. “Although I do not know who she truly is−Christine Smith seems rather unlikely−I have no doubt that she is a proper young lady, which makes me wonder what she is doing in your company,” Stanhope hissed, “and without a chaperone no less.”
Wesley sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“I doubt that very much,” his friend snapped, once more shaking his head. “You know as well as I do that the code of conduct must be upheld at all times. Therefore, I must question your intentions.”
A short chuckle escaped Wesley. His intentions? Had he not been the one to ask her to marry him? And had she not been the one to refuse?
However, as his friend was unaware of their history, he mistook Wesley’s reaction for a lack of morals. “This is serious,” Stanhope warned. “Your thoughtless behaviour could cost her her reputation, and as you are well aware of, a reputation once lost is gone forever. Do you truly wish that fate upon her?”
“Not at all,” Wesley assured his friend, hoping that his voice sounded as sincere as his hopes were for a future with Christine. “I beg you to believe me that my intentions are truly honourable.” He sighed. “I cannot explain at the moment, however, it is at the utmost importance that she and I return to Sanford Manor at once.”
Stanhope’s eyes widened. “You expect me to allow her to return with you? Again, without a chaperone?” He shook his head. “I could not do so in good conscience.”
Wesley’s hopes sank. “Then what do you propose?”
“As long as you refuse to provide me with her actual identity,” Stanhope said, annoyance in his voice, “so that I may call upon her relatives to retrieve her, I’m afraid I must insist on her staying at Stanhope Grove. Here, at least, my mother’s as well as my sister’s presence shall assure that no harm come to her reputation.”
Closing his eyes, Wesley sighed. This was worse than expected, and yet, he probably shouldn’t be surprised at all for Arthur Abbott, Earl of Stanhope, had never met a rule he didn’t like or felt compelled to obey.
Chapter Seven − For a Lady's Reputation
“If you’ll promise to stay for luncheon,” Eleanor beamed, almost tripping over her words in her eagerness to gain Christine’s acceptance, “I shall show you the mask I had fashioned for the ball. It is quite splendid, I assure you.”
“I’m certain it is.” Awfully tempted to stay at Stanhope Grove for as long as possible, Christine glanced at the door through which Wesley and Lord Stanhope had left. Now, that her warden had found her−not that she could blame him for it certainly had been her doing−she had very little hope of an extended stay, and so she did not dare accept Eleanor’s kind invitation. “I most certainly would love to stay on,” she admitted, “however, I am unaware of Mr. Everett’s current plans and can, therefore, not accept without conferring with him first.”
“I understand,” Eleanor said, her spirits a little subdued but still hopeful. “Then we shall ask him as soon as he returns.”
Glancing at Lady Stanhope, Christine thought to detect more than just a hint of disapproval in the older lady’s watchful grey eyes. They seemed like those of a bird of prey, clear and sharp, able to detect every movement in their surroundings, and currently, they were trained on Christine.
From the slight crinkle of Lady Stanhope’s nose as well as the way she had raised her chin when looking at her, Christine was fairly certain that Lord Stanhope’s mother did not approve of her. Was it just a general dislike? Christine wondered. Or did she suspect something untoward? Remembering the manner in which she had shown up on their doorstep as well as her made-up explanation for her presence, Christine could not fault her for thinking the worst.
Sighing, she felt like hanging her head. It wasn’t even noon yet, and already at least two people had looked at her with disregard, thinking her a man’s mistress!
Christine knew it bothered her more than she liked to admit especially since she could not defend herself. After all, whenever people would accuse another of something, it was rarely done to their face but rather whispered about behind their back.
And yet, despite the uncomfortable feelings Lady Stanhope’s disdainful looks stirred within her, Christine’s heart wilted at the thought of returning to Sanford Manor and being locked away in that sad, little room. She’d much rather spent the remainder of the day at Stanhope Grove, conversing with young Eleanor. Especially after Wesley had made it perfectly clear that he had no intention of…accepting her proposal.
“Eleanor,” Lady Stanhope said, rising from the settee, “I believe you have not yet finished the embroidery on…that cushion.” Glancing at Christine, she stepped toward the door, her eyes narrowing. “I suggest you take your leave.”
“But, Mother,” Eleanor began before her shoulders slumped and she turned to Christine, an apologetic and openly regretful look in her pale blue eyes. “It’s been such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I truly hope that Mr. Everett’s schedule allows you to extend your visit.”
“As do I,” Christine replied whole-heartedly.
Ushering her daughter out of the room, Lady Stanhope fixed Christine with a last, hard look before she almost imperceptibly shook her head in open disapproval that left no doubt in Christine’s mind just how low her opinion was of her.
Finding herself alone in a room once again, Christine sighed. This was truly an unfortunate Christmas season; as uneventful as any she had ever experienced. She could only hope that her thoughtless behaviour hadn't ruined it for her sister as well. Oh, if only Lord Stanhope hadn't been out that early! What had the man been thinking? Come to think of it, all this was actually his fault for…for…
Christine cursed under her breath, knowing only too well that there was no way she would be able to convince even herself that none of this had been her doing. If only Wesley hadn't proposed! If only she hadn't found herself tempted!
Closing her eyes for a moment, an image of her sister’s tear-streaked face appeared before Christine's inner eye, and a pang of guilt ricocheted through her. She truly ought to be more grateful for the trifles that bothered her in life compared to the desperate fear that threatened to consume Catherine. If only she knew how things were going at Harrington Park!
However, Christine had little time to dwell on such musings for only a moment after Lady Stanhope and Eleanor had left, the door opened once more and Wesley as well as Lord Stanhope stepped inside. While the young lord stayed back, taking up position in the corner by the door, his eyes averted, and yet, glancing in their direction, Wesley walked over to her, his face pale and his shoulders tense.
Rising from the armchair she had occupied for the past hour, Christine stepped toward him, a lump in her throat as she met his eyes. “Is something wrong?” she whispered, eyes shifting to Lord Stanhope.
Wesley sighed. “It most certainly is.”
A cold shiver ran down Christine’s back as she saw the hint of torment in his eyes. “What happened? Why is he here?”
Wesley chuckled. “He is here to assure that no harm comes to your precious reputation.”
For a moment, Christine merely stared at him. “What? What did you tell him?”
“What did I tell him?” Wesley snapped, fighting to keep his voice down. “What were you thinking leaving as you did? Do you have any idea how much trouble we’re in right now?”
Christine sighed. “I’m sorry, but I just…I had to get out of the house. I never meant to come here. I assure you, and I hope that you can believe me.” Remembering her dream, she took a step backward, suddenly all too aware of his presence. “I needed a little bit of distance.”
Gritting his teeth, Wesley took a slow breath. “Whatever the reason, coming here changed everything.”
“What do you mean? Are we not returni
ng to Sanford Manor?” Once more, Christine glanced at Lord Stanhope. His eyes shone in a clear grey, just like his mother’s. However, while his mother’s had been cold and calculating, the young lord’s held concern and compassion.
“Unfortunately, not.” Shifting his eyes to his friend for but a moment, Wesley sighed. “The situation is as follows: my dear friend, Lord Stanhope, is a very enthusiastic advocate for maintaining proper etiquette at all times. Therefore, he refuses to allow us to leave together−unchaperoned as we are−because he fears for your reputation. Despite your refusal to give your real name−”
Christine’s eyes widened.
“Yes, you’re not as good a liar as you thought you were,” Wesley chided. “Well, as I was about to say: despite your refusal to give your real name, he is convinced that you are not…let’s say, without morals, but a proper lady. Therefore, he is determined to protect your reputation at all cost.” A devilish grin came to his face. “Looks like you found another knight in shining armour ready to protect your honour.” He shook his head. “If he only knew how little it means to you.” A hint of pain rang in his voice, and Christine felt his hurtful remark like a stab to the heart. Simply because she had…Did that mean she had no honour? Apparently, not as far as society was concerned.
Today was truly a day she wished she could forget.
“What does that mean?” Christine asked, determined not to allow his words to dampen her spirit. “Am I to stay here?”
Wesley nodded, a touch of sadness in his eyes.
Christine took a slow breath as she realised the implications of his words. Oh, how thoughtless she had been! Although she could not have anticipated precisely this outcome, she admitted−at least to herself−that she ought to have done as he had asked and stayed at Sanford Manor. Then, at least, she would not have been parted from…
Again, she took a deep breath as sorrow filled her heart. Despite their continued arguing and her earlier desire to avoid him, Christine could not imagine spending the next few days or even weeks without him.
