by Valerie King
“What a hopeless fellow you have become.”
Rotherstone merely grunted and turned the letter over in his hands.
He broke the seal and read:
Dear Lord Rotherstone,
I have invited Sir Edgar to dinner tomorrow night at seven. You have no particular obligation to join us, but Will has asked after you most particularly and insists you come as well. It seems, despite knowing of your ridiculous conduct yesterday, he is still determined to hold you in some regard. If you are of a mind, therefore, I have no great objection to your joining us for dinner as well, though I hope your manners will have improved by then.
Yours, etc.,
Lady Evelina Wesley
“The impertinence, the incivility, the rudeness,” he said.
“What is it?”
“She has asked me to dine.”
“Good God,” Sir Edgar said facetiously. “What sort of wretched person would ask a neighbor to dine?” He wore a familiar expression of imbecility that always caused Rotherstone to laugh.
“The devil take you,” he said. “Read this for yourself.” He flung the note at him.
“Well, I don't know,” Sir Edgar drawled. “She has caught your likeness so nearly in these few words that I think you ought to be flattered. Certainly had she been obsequious or even polite you would not have even considered going.”
“What makes you think I am doing so now?”
“Because you have many flaws, but the chiefest is the absolute inability to restrain yourself from giving a deserved set-down to a beautiful woman.”
“At least we agree on one thing then.”
“And what would that be?”
“That Lady Evelina Wesley deserves a set-down.”
* * * * * * * * *
The next day, with the sun on the wane, Rotherstone sat beside Sir Edgar in his traveling chaise. He knew precisely what his friend was thinking: that he had succeeded in maneuvering him into accepting Lady Evelina’s invitation.
The truth differed significantly, however. Somewhere in his discussion with Sir Edgar, Rotherstone had begun to ponder just how Lady Evelina’s arrival in Kent, as well as her treasure map, could be the exact opportunity he had been awaiting since the death of his father five years past. For a very long time he had had a scheme in mind by which he could redeem a great wrong done to his father two years before his death. Sir Alfred had succeeded in cheating his father of forty thousand pounds, but because it was done in the name of gaming, the local gentry upheld his claim, several of them having been present that terrible night, albeit heavily foxed.
For himself, he had not learned of the incident until after his father had died and the diminished wealth of the estate had been explained to him by his solicitor. Rotherstone could not remember having been so angry as in that moment when he learned of the gaming loss. His father had never been known to gamble large amounts, yet suddenly he had thrown away such a large fortune.
There had been nothing he could do, however, for the law had not been violated in any manner. He had known at the outset that his retribution must be a different sort altogether. For that reason he had taken up gambling, not for the sport of it or for the possible winnings, but for the purpose of learning to excel at the business. One day he meant to take back what was his. It was just possible that day was now on the horizon.
Therefore, as the coach drew up to the front door of Wildings Hall, Rotherstone felt a sense of excitement. He had waited a very long time indeed to have his justice.
Taking in the stone front of the ancient Tudor house, he tried to recall the last time he had visited Wildings. Lord Bramber had invited him only once, and to the best of his recollection that would have been nearly three years ago now. In his opinion, the baron had been a useless, irritable creature who welcomed no one and whose penurious nature had caused the beauty of the old house to disintegrate during the thirty years he had been in residence there.
Descending the vehicle, he glanced about, his eye critical to the general nature of estate management, and found himself pleased by what he saw. He recalled from his previous visit a great deal of thick, dark shrubbery that had encroached on the drive badly. All that undergrowth had been cleared out, revealing a beautiful bank of rhododendrons on the west side of a neatly scythed lawn. Opposite was what appeared to be an extensive grove of walnut trees that he knew extended to the edge of his property. Despite his wish otherwise, he found himself impressed.
Once inside the entrance hall, a square staircase, heavily paneled and smelling of beeswax and turpentine, rose up to a first floor. An enormous basket of flowers was displayed on the central table, beyond which was a settee draped with some sort of peach-colored knit shawl. The effect was not unpleasant, just surprising. In Lord Bramber’s day, the large fireplace to the right had been blackened, the ashes old and smelling damp from a breach in the chimney. The odor had been less than inviting. Today, only the fragrance of the flowers filled the now sunny chamber.
“Hallo.”
Rotherstone turned to find young Will standing in the doorway of the drawing room regarding him intently.
“Good evening, Lord William,” he said.
Will made his best bow, which the gentlemen returned quite formally.
“My mother and sisters have bid me fetch you, for we are to dine beneath the apple trees this evening.”
“How charming,” Sir Edgar said. “I should like nothing better.”
“Come along then,” he said, turning about and waving them forward. There was nothing left to do but follow after the boy.
The remainder of the journey through the house and the gardens to the apple orchard confirmed Rotherstone’s opinion that Lady Evelina was a very attentive landowner. Even a pond just beyond the rose garden was clean, stocked with fish and several water plants that floated attractively upon the surface. Nothing, it would seem, had been left unattended.
When he greeted her, he complimented her on her house.
“Thank you,” she responded, clearly surprised. “But I must confess that I have an extraordinary housekeeper and a head gardener, both of whom have a passion for their labors, which account for most of what you see.”
“Even the basket of flowers in the entrance hall?”
She smiled, a lovely, summery smile. His breath caught despite his intention of remaining unmoved by her beauty. She was gowned in white muslin embroidered and trimmed in a pale apricot. She had a ring of small yellow roses in her fiery red hair. Strangely, his heart ached a little as he looked at her. “No,” she responded, still smiling. “I am not so clever in arranging flowers. The basket in the entrance is the work of my sister, Euphemia. May I present her to you, my lord?”
“With pleasure.”
The introduction of Lady Euphemia, Mia to her family, was followed rapidly by a presentation of Lady Chelwood and the twins. He complimented the dowager on her family.
Will, who had not moved far from his side, added, “I have two older sisters who are married. They live in the West Country, and I am an uncle five times over.”
“I congratulate you,” he said, smiling down at his young friend.
“I also have a brother, Harry, but he would rather be sailing than spending time at Wildings.”
Lady Evelina interjected, “Harry is not yet twenty and feeling his oats. We forgive him, since he is doing what a young man ought to be doing at his age, but we miss him terribly.”
Rotherstone watched her put her arm about Will’s shoulder, and he saw at once the depth of the boy’s disappointment. He began to understand the family’s situation, the mother in her Bath chair, the father deceased, the eldest son a worthless fellow like his father, the married daughters living far away and Lady Evelina doing apparently what most of the ladies of his acquaintance would never have done—tending to them all.
His chest felt like a balloon expanding with warm air.
Was this lady different, he wondered?
Unlikely, his mind answe
red firmly. Still, an unfamiliar feeling of hope drifted through him. He took care to remind himself that he knew perfectly well just why she had invited him to dine at Wildings. He was not for one moment going to engage in self-deception on that score.
Evelina gave Will’s shoulder a second squeeze, then released him. She offered the gentlemen sherry, which was settled on a nearby covered table.
Rotherstone took his gratefully.
Sir Edgar, however, demurred, saying he would be happy to partake of a glass just as soon as Miss Alison and Miss Sophy showed him their pony. “For I understand he is a recent acquisition.”
“And so he is,” Lady Evelina said with a smile. “He is from Mr. Crookhorn’s stock.”
“May we?” Alison asked.
The stables were not far, so Evelina agreed readily. “Only, you may not ride him, either of you, for our dinner will be served in about an hour, and Cook, as you know, has been slaving in the kitchens since dawn.”
“We will not,” Sophy said. “Come, Sir Edgar. You will like Gwinny; she is the very color of chestnuts. Will, you may come as well, if you like.”
With that, the younger set and Sir Edgar marched in a line on the footpath leading to the stables to the west. Will raced ahead, picked up a stick and began beating at any rambling branches that might impose on their progress.
“I do hope your cook has not overtaxed herself on our account?” Rotherstone queried politely.
She laughed at him. “Of course, on your account. Well, not yours precisely, but Cook has for so long believed herself superior to your own cook that she cannot bear the thought of even one of her dishes remarked upon as inferior to those served at Blacklands.”
“Then my mind is wholly relieved.”
“Evie, I am going to take Mama for a turn about the rose garden,” Mia said.
Evelina addressed her mother. “I hope you are not grown fatigued,” she said.
Lady Chelwood shook her head. “Not in the least. But I intend to persuade Mia to allow me to walk about the gardens for a minute or so. Now, now, do not scowl at me, dearest. Remember that Dr. Dungate said I might do so if the weather was fine, and have you seen such a lovely evening?”
Evelina forced a smile. “I suppose I have not.”
Mia pushed her mother up the path leading back to the house. Evelina sighed more than once. Even Lord Rotherstone remarked on it.
“Am I doing so?” she queried. She turned around fully, her back now to the house. “She was not always thus, not even a year past.”
“You love her very much.”
“Indeed, I do,” she said, meeting his gaze and smiling.
A breeze ruffled her red curls and swept the gauzy skirts of her gown in a gentle arc in front of her. Again, her beauty caught him, teasing his heart. What was it about a beautiful woman that tended to take hold of a man’s admiration and not let go?
“So, tell me of your mother, my lord.”
“Ah, I wish that I could. She died when I was quite young, not yet six.”
“I am very sorry to hear it.”
He heard the sincerity in her voice and wished that she was not being so kind. She disturbed him. “Were you well acquainted with Lord Bramber?” he asked.
“My great-uncle? Not by half. I only met him once, when I was thirteen. Apparently he was much struck by me, and I can see by your expression you are wondering how I came by the estate. His was not a hereditary title, and his fortune having been made in trade—some say the smuggling trade as much as in any legitimate business—permitted him to confer the estate upon anyone he preferred. Since he was childless, he chose me. Do not ask me why he did not select either Harry or Will, for I cannot say, although I suppose by then Harry had already shown . . . well, that is not in the least important. I merely consider myself greatly fortunate.”
“You are something of a mystery to me, you know,” he said, offering a smile.
“In what way?” she asked. She poured herself a glass of peach ratafia.
“You are hardly an antidote, yet you are unwed. How is it that you have thus far escaped the connubial knot?”
“I ought to refuse to answer so impertinent a question.”
He smiled again. “Come, come, Lady Evelina. From the beginning, we have each chosen a less civilized form of exchange. You trespassed on my land.”
“You kissed me. And that, quite boldly.”
“You invaded my home without an invitation, without a chaperone and for the strict purpose of annoying me.”
“And you spoke like a brute to me.”
“So I did, but you sent me an invitation that I should have tossed in the fire. So why, in this moment, should we proceed in a wholly proper manner?”
She giggled and sipped her ratafia. “Indeed, my lord, I can think of no reason. So you have no objection to plain speaking today?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Very well, but just remember that I am intent that you will very soon be served with your own sauce.”
He nodded, finding himself surprised. He may have had his own reasons in coming to Wildings today, but he had not expected to enjoy himself so very much. “Will you tell me then, how it is that you are as yet unmarried?”
“As to that, I think it simple, really. I have never been in love.”
“Yet you have had offers.”
“Several, yes.”
“How is it that I have not seen you in London?”
She shrugged faintly. “Our family situation cannot have escaped your notice, and I am certain the entire beau monde is well acquainted not just with my brother’s present habits but with what my father’s had been before him. It was therefore requisite, with so many children to be provided for, that our mother keep a keen eye to what little remained of the family purse. Trips to London were for the most part out of the question. We often went to Bath, however, and enjoyed a fortnight or two in the spring, which is the primary reason that my sister Elizabeth is settled in Somerset and that Sarah now resides in Devonshire.” She regarded him thoughtfully, swirling her ratafia in her glass. “There is something I would ask you.”
“About buried treasure?” he inquired, with what he hoped was an imperious lifting of his brow.
She chuckled. “I do wish to discuss that with you, but at the moment I desire to know something else.”
“Go on.”
“Your cousin, Colonel Carfax. Why do you cut his acquaintance?”
Rotherstone took a sip of his sherry and withheld an impatient sigh. “He is not a man I can admire, not by half.”
She tilted her head. “Why?” she demanded. “And pray do not think of refusing to answer when I have spoken to you about my spinster state.”
He smiled. “Very well. I believe my cousin never grew out of habits formed at university and which even then I found . . . distasteful.” When she opened her mouth, he cut her off. “No. You must not inquire further, for I could not in good conscience offer specifics.”
* * * * * * * * *
Evelina held Rotherstone’s gaze firmly. She wanted to know more, but she could see in the expression of his eye that he was not to be moved. “I have always thought him a quite amiable gentleman,” she said, wondering what he would say in response.
“His manners can be very pleasing.”
She was curious. Before her was an acknowledged gamester who had isolated himself from good society, at least in Kent, and yet he dared to hint at a darkness to the colonel’s character. She thought Rotherstone would be wiser to look at himself in the mirror instead.
“I suppose I have but one mystery to solve,” she began.
“The buried treasure?”
She shook her head and smiled. “I was not thinking of that, but rather of you. Can you tell me just how it came about that a man of your education, birth and rank should have alienated so many persons of distinction without the smallest qualm of conscience?”
“You must ask your friends. They know the answer as well as I do.�
��
“That is all the response I will get?” she inquired.
“Yes,” he responded simply.
“Here is my last, then. Why did you elect to accept my invitation this evening when it was less than civil?”
“It was, was it not?” He smiled and sipped his sherry.
“You know, Sir Edgar helped me compose that missive.”
“Ah, I begin to understand. My friend has used me ill. I can see now that he manipulated my coming.”
“Indeed? He said you would not be able to resist so wretched a note. I argued with him, but in the end allowed his knowledge of you to prevail. He was right.”
“He said I could never resist the opportunity of giving a beautiful woman a set-down.”
“Do you intend to do so now?” She realized she was vastly amused by the entire conversation.
“I have changed my mind,” he said. “You have shown yourself to be a rather superior woman, at least with regard to your family.”
She placed a hand at her breast. “Have you offered a compliment?” She fluttered her eyes and pretended to swoon.
“Now you are making sport of me.”
“You deserve nothing less, although I might be willing to forgive the past entirely were you to offer an apology.”
“I ought to,” he returned. “But I seem to have forgotten how. That or I lost the will to do so many years ago.”
“You are a very cynical creature, I see. You are grown so used to being disappointed in your fellow men—”
“And ladies,” he interjected.
“And ladies. So much so that you have given up seeking good society altogether.”
“That’s the rub. Define ‘good’ society, for I have seen little of it in recent years.”
“Very cynical. You distrust me equally?”
His silence and the arrested expression on his face gave her the answer she sought.
“So very bad? Oh, dear,” she murmured. “Perhaps you should have another sherry, then I might improve in your opinion.”
He chuckled as he handed her his empty glass.
So he thought meanly of her, but why? “Is it because I broke with propriety and called on you as I did?”
