Charley had always been slim enough not to actually require the stays all women wore. “Why are you doing them up so tight?”
“To enhance your melons.” Daisy grinned.
Charley glanced down and frowned. She’d never thought her melons required enhancing before but had to concede the affect was rather… ripening.
“I won’t make it through the first course.” By now she had realized these dinners were rather gluttonous affairs but tonight, Daisy’s knot would ensure Charley paced herself.
“If your father intends to allow you to someday take over his business, why would he place such a bet with the earl?” Daisy dropped the gown over her head as she asked the question that had bothered Charley ever since Lord Westerley had told her about it.
Of course, Daisy knew everything.
“Perhaps it’s some sort of a test for me.” She touched her stomach and inhaled. Charley didn’t understand her father’s motivations and felt reluctant to dwell on that fact. “Which I will pass. Because I’m not going to marry him.”
And as she’d not come across him even once today, Charley thought resisting him might not be so difficult after all.
“Both you and your father baffle me.” Daisy pushed the last pin into Charley’s coiffure.
Charley turned her head from side to side. “Done up like this, the red doesn’t seem nearly as gaudy.” Her hair looked pretty for a change.
“I’m not trying to hide it, mind you. It’s the most gorgeous color I’ve ever seen.”
“You have to say that, I suppose, as my maid.”
Daisy met her gaze in the mirror. “Have I lied to you yet?”
Considering all this young woman had confided over the course of their short acquaintance, Charley could only shake her head.
“At least you could pretend for me that you’re going to become a countess. That would be quite the promotion for me.”
“You’re hopeless.” But Charley was laughing. By far, Daisy’s greatest talent of all was her ability to turn the most mundane of tasks into a good time. Perhaps Daisy would want to return to America with her…
“Hopeful, Miss Jackson. Always Hopeful.” She walked Charley across the room and practically pushed her out the door. “Now go be charming.”
Feeling prettier than usual and wearing delicate slippers her grandmother had sent along, Charley padded quietly through the corridors so as not to be late for the evening’s affairs.
She needn’t have hurried. Because when she stepped into the drawing room, it was empty except for Lord Westerley, her father, and the two Messrs. Spencer. A glance at the clock assured her that this was the time listed on the schedule in her chamber.
“Miss Jackson.” Lord Westerley approached the doorway. “You are a vision this evening.”
She knew he was playing his part, and yet, unwilling to dismiss the compliment completely, Charley smoothed her hands along the front of her gown. It had particularly large sleeves but was a lovely indigo color and swished in a pleasing manner when she walked. When she was younger, her mother had told her that as a red-haired girl with green eyes, she would look prettiest in greens. But blue had always been her favorite color.
“Thank you?” Her response came out uncertainly.
“My apologies for failing to entertain you earlier today.” He took hold of one of her hands. “Tenant business demanded my attention.”
Knowing he hadn’t simply been avoiding her caused her spirits to lift. That was, if he was telling the truth. His eyes appeared a vibrant blue this evening, though, and staring into them, she found no reason to doubt him.
“I didn’t expect to see you down here so soon.” Charley straightened her back as her father joined them. Over the past few days, it almost seemed he’d been avoiding her. Likely, he was avoiding her questions about his little wager. She had little hopes of cornering him anytime soon. He was wily like that.
“I hate being late.” Her father knew this already. She’d gotten it from him.
He scowled. “Where’s that Daisy girl your grandmother sent along to chaperone you?”
Everything had been lovely, and her host and hostesses had been kind, but the feeling of not belonging in this world plagued her at odd moments and this was one of them. If her father was more demonstrative, she might even have reached up to place a kiss on his weathered cheek.
“Daisy is a lady’s maid,” she informed her father, a trifle embarrassed. Although Charley had asked Daisy to act as her companion. Daisy had explained that there were above-stairs servants and below-stairs servants, and she most definitely fell into the latter category.
Stone Spencer laughed. “You’ll have to learn that in England, most particularly among nobs, time is merely relative. Plan your arrivals keeping in mind that everything actually takes place approximately sixty minutes later than the designated time.”
Her father’s expression revealed all too easily what he thought of that. At home, when her father told her to meet him at six in the morning, he in truth meant ten minutes ‘til. When her gaze shifted to Lord Westerley’s, she sensed, not for the first time that he’d read her mind.
“Mustn’t appear too eager, Miss Jackson.” Not only did he read her mind, but he seemed to be laughing at her. No, she surmised, he was laughing with her. If he was laughing at anything, she’d wager it was the rules his people lived their lives by.
And that thought had her feeling closer to him than she’d expected.
“I was just telling the earl and the Spencers here of my plans to tour a few of the Scottish distilleries.” Her father rocked back and forth on his feet as he stared over her shoulder at what she guessed was nothing.
“Did you have any particular recommendations?” Charley asked the Englishmen in general, unable to hide her enthusiasm. Touring the distilleries had been the primary reason she’d looked forward to this journey from the moment Father announced it. The Scottish had been distilling whisky for centuries, and the idea of seeing the equipment they used, of hearing the history—of tasting the variations—sent her heart racing. Immersing herself in that world had the potential to make up for her grandparents’ disappointment upon her arrival and all of the horrid lessons that had followed. “It doesn’t really matter if we arrive back in London before the Season begins, does it?”
“Your grandparents are expecting you to be there, Charley,” her father said. “I gave them my word.”
“Then perhaps we ought to leave the party early.” She glanced at Lord Westerley, who looked slightly pained. “No offence, My Lord.”
Her father frowned down at the carpet. “I received a letter from Mr. McDaniel, and he’s invited me to stay at his estate while I make the rounds. I am leaving tomorrow.”
If she wasn’t wearing a gown and silk slippers, she might have jumped up and down. “I should go back upstairs and inform Daisy then. She’ll need to repack my belongings. Are we leaving early in the morning then?”
“That won’t be necessary. I spoke with Lady Westerley earlier this afternoon, and she said that you and Daisy are more than welcome to remain for the duration.”
“But I—”
“It’s best that I don’t have a woman along. You know how some of these fellows can be.”
“But—”Her throat thickened, and she had to blink away the sudden tears that threatened.
Her father met her gaze and hardened his in warning. At the same time, her heart dropped into the soles of her shoes and any enjoyment she’d anticipated that evening evaporated.
She’d discussed her eagerness for the tour up north with him on numerous occasions. She’d mapped it out, for heaven’s sake. Why would he change his mind without even talking with her about it?
But she knew why. If he’d discussed it with her, she would have argued back. He would have had a less easy time leaving her behind.
The realization that he must have made this decision long ago nearly sent her reeling.
Just as though he hadn’t pract
ically ruined her life, her father turned and fell into an easy conversation with Stone Spencer. Charley failed to hear the words for once and contemplated the man who’d made up her entire world for most of her life. Why was he doing this? Her life’s ambition was to work alongside him. Whereas other young women her age were already married, or fantasized of the matrimonial state, Charley fell asleep scheming about something far more romantic—in her eyes, anyhow. She dreamed of whiskey. And bottling and even marketing. She longed to create a whiskey that wasn’t only meant to be guzzled, but a whiskey one could … savor.
Her father knew this about her. She blinked away a hot stinging in her eyes and as her vision cleared, caught Lord Westerley watching her.
Was this because of that bet? Was he going to be the reason she missed out on the only interesting thing this blasted country had to offer? She narrowed her eyes at him, and his brows rose in response.
The earl didn’t appear to gloat; in fact, he seemed rather sympathetic, but she barely knew him. She ought not to allow the combination of good looks and charm he possessed to overrule her good sense.
A handful of male guests strolled through the wide-open doors, and she was forced to school her features as much as possible. Her father had informed her of his decision while in the presence of others for a specific reason. She couldn’t argue with him without embarrassing them both.
With a vague nod in the direction of Lord Chaswick and Lord Manningham-Tissingwhatever, she turned away to take a moment to herself and replayed a few of the conversations she’d had with her father regarding their trip in her memory.
“Your grandparents will be so happy to finally have their granddaughter with them.”
“It’s what your mother would have wanted.”
“You will have to learn the ways of the English.”
She frowned. He’d never actually agreed to taking her to Scotland with him; she’d merely assumed that they would both go together. And why shouldn’t she have? She’d spent her every waking hour at the distillery or in the office, working for him, but also with him.
She’d also assumed that she would step into his shoes at some point.
She stared out the window and a pang of fear struck her. Surely, he didn’t intend to abandon her in England?
“You didn’t know he wasn’t taking you on the tour?”
Lord Westerley had crept up behind her. Even if she hadn’t been able to make out his features in the reflection off the glass, she would have known it was him. His scent, yes, but something else as well.
She hated that the sympathy in his voice made her eyes burn again.
“I did not.” The admission was lowering.
“Your father is correct in that many of the owners would not speak so freely with him if you were there.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Charley straightened her shoulders with a jerk.
“It’s simply the truth.” He touched her elbow. “Would you care to step onto the terrace for a moment?”
“Did you set him up to do this?” She turned around to face him, unwilling to go anywhere at the moment.
He had been standing directly behind her, however, and in order to meet his gaze, she had to tilt her head back. She also hadn’t expected to find herself so close to him.
She stepped backward.
“Why would I do that?” An enigmatic smile danced on his lips.
“To keep me here so that you can make good on that stupid wager.”
At her words, his eyes hardened slightly. “I thought we were friends.”
“As did I.”
He scowled down at her and for the first time, she noticed little flecks of silver amongst the myriad of blues in his eyes.
“I would not stoop to come between you and your whiskey.” His voice sounded harder than it had before. “Have I not been honest with you in my intentions up until now?”
“To my knowledge.”
“Well, I have been.” He grasped her elbow again but squeezed it gently this time. “As my future betrothed, it would be better all-around if you could find it in your heart to trust me.”
His hand felt warm resting on the fabric of her sleeve and for some reason, the annoyance she’d felt ebbed away.
The irony of what he was doing wasn’t lost on her. He didn’t wish to marry her. She did not wish to marry him. But he would court her, knowing she’d refuse him.
And then it struck her. He was…
Safe.
She met his eyes again. “I’m not sure why, but I believe that I can—trust you, that is.” She would not have to worry that he wanted to claim her inheritance or do anything to trap her in England. “But not because I will ever be your betrothed.”
“Why then?” His fingers moved slowly back and forth where they clasped her elbow.
“Because you don’t really want to marry me and so you have no reason to interfere one way or another where my father and I are concerned.”
“Oh, Miss Jackson.” He seemed almost disappointed in her.
“Charley!” Bethany’s voice broke into their conversation. “I thought you might be downstairs already. Jules, why haven’t you poured Miss Jackson a drink?” She dismissed her brother and then took hold of Charley’s other arm. “Tabetha and Felicity will likely not arrive until just before it’s time to go into dinner. They were going to help the Blackheart Twins decide on what to wear. Did you rest well after tea?”
“Madeira wine, Beth?” Lord Westerley removed his hand and stepped back. “I don’t suppose you’d care for the same, would you, Miss Jackson?”
She made a face at that before she could stop herself.
“I thought not. I’ll see if there is anything that might be more to your liking.” His eyes darkened when he smiled, the little silver flecks dancing now. “Unless you’re hiding your flask in those sleeves.”
At his comment, his sister swatted him with her fan. “Really, Westerley! You are insufferable sometimes. You cannot make jokes like that with ladies who aren’t your sisters.” She slid a sideways glance at Charley. “He teases us mercilessly.”
Charley couldn’t help but smile at the camaraderie between the siblings and in the light of such lighthearted banter, she could almost forget her father’s betrayal. Perhaps if she rose early and spoke with him alone…
“Do you have any brothers or sisters, Charley?” Bethany had tugged her to a settee and lowered them both onto it.
“It’s just me and my father.” Which had been something of a sore spot in their family, although her parents never discussed it in front of her. There was a small grave on her father’s property, and if she was to judge by the dates, it most likely had been a babe her parents had lost before she’d been born. A boy. Born and died on the same date. June 29th, 1801. It was possible her mother had lost others as well, before they’d even had a chance to grow. “You are lucky to have them.”
“Tabetha would beg to differ.” Concern marred the other girl’s forehead. “She doesn’t appreciate when my brother interferes in her life.”
“But she is very young.”
“And easily swayed by a few compliments from almost any handsome gentleman—as long as he’s titled. Westerley is right to keep close watch over her. She is far too excitable for her own good.”
“You seem very different from your sister.” Charley hadn’t once seen the elder sister acting flirtatiously. “Your brother says you are quite practical.”
Bethany shrugged. “That’s not the way my mother would describe me. I am two and twenty and although I’m not quite on the shelf, I’ve been quite the disappointment.”
“Marriage cannot define who you are. You are pretty, and refined, and… kind.”
Bethany stared down at her hand where she was tapping the tips of her fingers in succession to the tip of her thumb. Charley had noticed her doing it before. What was she counting?
“It’s kind of you to say that.” Bethany dipped her chin. “But I am too… managing.
Westerley says I’m overly organized, fondly, of course. But in addition to that, I seem to be lacking something. It’s no matter, though. I will be content as a companion for my mother. And I’ll be all my nieces’ and nephews’ favorite aunt.” She smiled broadly.
A little too broadly?
“Even if you fell in love?” Daisy seemed quite determined that love was the one thing that would keep Charley from leaving England. “Not that I want it for myself,” she reassured Bethany… and herself. Bethany’s acceptance of a spinster life somehow seemed… sadder than her own. Whereas Charley would go on to brew magnificent whiskies that would become famous throughout the world, Bethany would remain at her mother’s side. “I thought the English aristocracy all married, even if only for the sake of convenience.”
“Not all of us, Charley.” Her smile quivered. “Tabetha insists that I am running out of time.”
Charley allowed her own gaze to follow the direction of Bethany’s gaze as she watched the available gentlemen who seemed to be together most of the time. Some stood still while a few of them shuffled about, casually joking with one another.
“Are you in love with one of them?” she couldn’t help but ask.
Bethany flushed a little but dipped her head again. “Good lord, no. I’ve known most of them since I was a girl. I am not stupid enough to fall for any of them. They say that rakes make the best husbands, but I seriously doubt that’s the case where my brother’s friends are concerned.”
“What lies are you telling Miss Jackson about your brother’s friends?” Lord Westerley returned, holding out two glasses. One with the sweet purplish drink Bethany had requested and another with two fingers of what Charley suspected was port.
“Just that you and the fellows you consort with are nothing but trouble.” Bethany smiled fondly at the earl while Charley took the glass from him, excited to taste what he’d selected for her.
“Your sister says you won’t make a good husband,” Charley teased just as he took a sip of his drink and the words had him nearly choking.
“Not you. But you cannot deny that most of your lot are well-established rakes; Lord Chaswick, Manningham-Tissinton, Lord Greystone, even Blackheart and his brother.” Bethany laughed. “I’d venture so far as to conclude that a lady’s best chance at having a loyal and upstanding husband would be to choose one of the Spencers.”
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