by Rose Pearson
A glimmer of a smile appeared around Mr. Irving’s mouth, and his gaze softened just a fraction. “Then I shall make sure that on your wedding day, Lord Yarmouth, you will receive the outstanding amount of your father’s wealth,” he said with a sharp bow. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” Oliver muttered, placing both hands on his desk and leaning forward, dropping his head low as he did so. The door closed with a firm click and, for some minutes, the only sound was the gentle ticking of the clock. Unfortunately, it only reminded Oliver of just how little time he now had to settle upon a wife, making his anger burn all the hotter as he stared down at the will with a furious eye.
“I—I am sorry,” Lord Jennings said quietly, rising from his chair and walking across the room so that he might pour Oliver a whisky, which was then set down on the table in front of him. “Here.”
Closing his eyes and dragging in another breath in the hope of calming his temper, Oliver opened them again and then picked up the glass of whisky.
“I thank you,” he muttered, taking a long sip and letting it flood his core. It did nothing to dissipate his anger but quite how he was meant to remove it from himself, Oliver did not know.
“Then it seems our plans have been in vain,” Lord Jennings said gloomily. “No doubt, you shall have to tell Lady Croome that all has been quite ruined.”
“Indeed I shall,” Oliver replied, throwing back the rest of his whisky and slamming down the glass, hard, making Lord Jennings jump with surprise. “Why my father thought to do such a thing, I shall never understand.” Seeing how Lord Jennings looked at him with evident surprise at this remark, a flush of shame crept over Oliver’s anger and began to soothe it somewhat. With a snort, he shook his head ruefully, his shoulders slumping. “Very well, you know precisely what sort of son I was and why, mayhap, my father then chose to place this caveat in his will.”
Nodding, Lord Jennings went to fetch Oliver another whisky, leaving Oliver to throw himself back into his chair, slumping back as he did so. “Your father did ask you to find a bride before his death so that he could be assured of the continuation of your family line,” he said, as Oliver grunted. “But you did not agree.”
“I had no need to agree!” Oliver retorted as though he were verbally fencing with Lord Jennings. “I have the right to make my own choice of bride at the time that I consider to be the most appropriate.”
“I am well aware of that,” Lord Jennings replied, setting down the glass. “But your father did not agree with you from what I recall.” He gave Oliver a wry smile. “Hence, the will.”
Oliver nodded gloomily, looking at his whisky glass but not picking it up. “I am the only son, so I must produce the heir,” he said darkly. “It is such a responsibility and one that, while I take seriously, will not force me into a situation I do not want at present.”
Lord Jennings said nothing for a few moments, and Oliver knew all too well that his friend could not respond with criticism given that he was also titled and unmarried—without any apparent eagerness to do so.
“I think that, before anything else is done, you must speak to Lady Croome,” Lord Jennings said quietly as Oliver frowned hard. “She will need to know of this change in circumstance.”
“And will, most likely, be very relieved indeed,” Oliver replied, reaching to pick up his whisky. “Although I know she will not be glad for me.” An image of Lady Croome’s gentle face floated before his eyes, and Oliver let out a small sigh. She would be kind, as she always was, and would speak words of comfort and encouragement, seeking to do whatever she could to assist him. It was only now that Oliver knew there was nothing at all that the lady herself could do, for it was quite impossible for anyone to be of assistance to him. The only path he had left before him was the one he had been trying to avoid for these last few months. There was no other choice but to choose a young lady from amongst the beau monde, court her, propose to her, and marry her. Else he would not have the remainder of his father’s fortune.
“You do not think that she would...?” Lord Jennings did not finish his question but rather looked back at Oliver with a slight curiosity in his expression.
“Do I think that she would marry me?” he asked, ridicule already in his words. “Of course not! And I should not want her to do so either, for she is very contented indeed, and I would not take that from her.” The very thought of Lady Croome being willing to marry him was laughable, and Oliver shook his head with mirth whilst Lord Jennings shrugged and muttered something about wanting to make quite certain that it was as he thought.
“Perhaps she will be able to assist you in finding a suitable match, then,” Lord Jennings suggested once Oliver had stopped his chuckling. “After all, she is a lady of the ton and will know most of the debutantes this year.”
“I do not want a debutante,” Oliver began, but Lord Jennings silenced him with a lift of his hand.
“You must now set aside all that you believe that you want or that you do not want,” he said as though he were speaking to a very small child who was behaving in a most petulant fashion. “There are other matters of great importance to which you must set your mind. You may discover that, in your quest to find a lady who is quite satisfactory, you will settle upon a debutante rather than a young lady who has been in London before!” His eyes twinkled for a moment before the seriousness returned. “Tell me, Lord Yarmouth, what particular characteristics do you seek in a bride?”
It was not a question that Oliver had ever truly considered before. He had been so determined not to do so, desperately hoping that he could find a way through his father’s demand for an engagement, and thus he had given very little thought as to what sort of young lady he desired.
Lord Jennings shook his head, laughed, and threw back the rest of his whisky, getting to his feet again and setting the glass down on the small table beside him.
“I shall leave you to your reveries,” he said with a small bow. “Tell me, when do you hope to meet with Lady Croome again?”
“Tomorrow,” Oliver replied without much feeling. “We are to attend Lord and Lady Wellford’s evening assembly.” His mind was still too clouded with the shock and the strain from what he had just read in the new will, as well as with everything else both he and Lord Jennings had discussed.
“Then I hope you are in better spirits come the morrow, even if the burden is still a heavy one to bear,” Lord Jennings finished, throwing a glance of concern over his shoulder. “You shall still gain the rest of your fortune and have a pretty little wife along with it.” One shoulder lifted. “It is not an entirely desperate situation.”
Oliver did not answer but raised a hand in farewell as Lord Jennings left the room. If the remainder of his father’s fortune had not been a significant sum, then of course, Oliver would have simply allowed it to go to this distant cousin, whoever he was, and would have continued with his life as planned. However, without it, he would spend many years doing all he could to make certain that the estate brought in enough funds each year and would be very limited in what he could do to improve it. It was as though his father was attempting to punish him from beyond the grave simply because Oliver had refused to choose a bride when he had been asked.
“I must write to Tabitha,” he murmured to himself, rubbing one hand over his eyes and feeling his spirits sink lower than ever before. This was worse than he had ever imagined and, having been in a place of triumph, it was all the worse to know that his plans and his hope of freedom had been shattered in an instant. With a groan, Oliver set down his quill before he had even written a word, a heavy weight on his shoulders that he now feared would never loosen. All was undone, all was at an end. His father, it appeared, had prevailed.
Chapter Four
Tabitha frowned, recalling the note that she had received from Lord Yarmouth only yesterday. It had been a very strange one indeed, for it seemed to state that all was not well, but without any particular detail as to what it was that troubled him so.
/>
Sighing to herself, Tabitha sat back in her carriage and let her eyes close for a few moments. Having considered all that Lord Jennings had suggested and having seen the way that Lord Yarmouth’s face had lit up with a fresh hope when she had stated that she would consider what had been said, there had been contentment deep within her heart when she thought of engaging herself to Lord Yarmouth. It would be a simple way to ensure that he was able to fulfill the demands of his late father’s will and would bring no lasting damage to either of them, so long as they were careful.
A small sigh rippled from the corner of her mouth as that same sense of satisfaction filled her once more. Why she had not thought of engaging herself to Lord Yarmouth before, she did not know, but she was grateful that Lord Jennings had seen fit to come up with the suggestion. Why, then, had Lord Yarmouth’s note seemed to be so sorrowful? He had stated that there was something he needed to discuss with her as soon as she was next able to meet with him but had not written what such a thing was. There had been a seriousness about his words, a sense of urgency.
Of course, she had replied to him at once, stating that she would have afternoon calls the following afternoon and, thereafter, was attending an evening soiree, but that she would be glad to call upon him whenever he was free to receive her. There had been no response, which had left Tabitha unsure and uncertain as to what was expected of her. Her mind had turned to all manner of things when she wondered what it was he wished to discuss with her, leaving her more concerned for him. Surely something untoward had not occurred? He had seemed so very pleased at her agreement to engage herself to him for a time, but then to have such a happiness stolen away soon afterward seemed to be very strange indeed.
You have a great deal of concern for him.
The thought did not bring her any sort of embarrassment or confusion. Of course, she reasoned, she was concerned for Lord Yarmouth! He had become a very dear friend and was not someone that she was likely to forget about. Over the course of the last few years, they had found a friendship that was unlike anything Tabitha had ever experienced before. Of course, there were those in society who looked down upon them both for such behavior, but Tabitha did not care. As a widow, she was not held to the same stringent requirements as the debutantes and the unmarried young ladies who filled London every Season, and that sense of freedom had bolstered her courage all the more.
The carriage came to a stop, and Tabitha quickly sat up, pressing one hand to the back of her hair to make certain that nothing had been shaken loose from its pins. Thankfully, her curls were still all set in place, and she emerged from the carriage soon afterward before making her way into Lord and Lady Lancaster’s townhouse.
“Good evening, Lady Croome,” cried Lady Lancaster, holding out both hands to Tabitha as she approached. “I am so very glad you have been able to attend.”
Having been briefly acquainted with Lady Lancaster in her debutante year, before either of them had been wed, Tabitha was herself a little glad to see the lady again. There was not a strong friendship between them, but a warm acquaintance, and that was more than satisfactory.
“Good evening, Lady Lancaster,” she replied, taking the lady’s hands but inclining her head before dropping her hands back to her sides again. “And Lord Lancaster, good evening.” This time, she dropped into a correct curtsy, which Lord Lancaster acknowledged and returned with a bow.
“Thank you for joining our little soiree this evening,” he said with a welcoming smile. “I have heard that you play the pianoforte very well indeed.” His eyes were warm as he tilted his head just a fraction. “Perhaps you will be inclined to play for us all later in the evening.”
Tabitha laughed, fully aware that his wife had been the one to suggest such a thing. “Perhaps I shall, Lord Lancaster,” she replied with a smile of her own. “Thank you again for your invitation to this evening.”
“Please.” He gestured to the room before her, and Tabitha walked inside without further hesitation. There were already a good number of guests present this evening, but Tabitha gave no thought to any of them. Rather, her eyes searched for Lord Yarmouth, uncertain as to whether or not he would be present this evening. Since he had not replied to her note, she was not certain where he would be. Her gaze snagged on a gentleman she recognized—one Lord Jennings. Her stomach tightened with a sudden tension as he looked back at her, inclining his head but no smile playing around his mouth.
Lord Yarmouth is ill?
Her heart began to race with a desperate fear. Was Lord Yarmouth gravely ill? Was he soon to draw close to death? Perhaps that was the news he wished to impart to her! Perhaps he had received word from one of his doctors and had been forced to face what was now waiting for him. A deep fear began to wind its way up through Tabitha’s heart, and she forced herself to make her way towards Lord Jennings, even though she now feared what it was he would say.
“Good evening, Lady Croome.”
“Is Lord Yarmouth not here this evening?” Fully aware that she was being rude, Tabitha could only stare into Lord Jennings’ face, her heart hammering with a furiousness that stole her breath.
“I believe he intended to be present, given that he accepted the invitation,” Lord Jennings replied, his brow furrowing as he studied Tabitha’s tight expression. “He has not informed you of his whereabouts this evening?”
“No, he has not,” Tabitha replied, one hand reaching up to press against her heart. “I received a note from him stating that there was something of great importance that he wished to discuss with me, but since then, I have not heard from him.”
Lord Jennings’ brow lowered all the more, sending thick grooves across his forehead. “I see,” he replied heavily. “I am sorry for that, Lady Croome, but there is nothing that I can say, for it is not my place to do so. Clearly, the realization of what now faces him is now settling on his shoulders, and it may be that he is struggling to come to terms with it all.”
That furious fear that blew like a stormy wind all through Tabitha forced her to speak, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Is he unwell?” she whispered, her free hand reaching out to grasp Lord Jennings’ arm. “Is he to die?”
Lord Jennings’ eyes rounded for a moment, and then he smiled, shaking his head at her. “No, indeed not, my lady,” he said calmly. “He is neither unwell nor about to face death. I am sure that his letter to you sounded very grave, but there is nothing that puts Lord Yarmouth in any sort of danger at present.” A small, reassuring smile tipped his mouth. “Pray, do not concern yourself with that thought any longer.”
Tabitha dropped her head and her hand back to her side, feeling the tight band across her chest immediately release as she took in what Lord Jennings had said. It was not a matter of illness, then. That was a great relief indeed.
“You care very deeply for Lord Yarmouth, do you not?” Lord Jennings murmured, as Tabitha lifted her head to look at him. “I do not think he has anyone else within his acquaintances and friends that hold the same amount of consideration and concern for him as you, Lady Croome.”
Wondering if this was to be a compliment, Tabitha smiled sweetly but looked away. “We are very dear friends,” she said, wondering at this strange sense of nervousness that rose within her chest as she spoke. “It is quite right that I should be thus concerned.”
“Of course, of course,” Lord Jennings replied with a small smile of his own. “I am sure that Lord Yarmouth greatly appreciates your friendship, Lady Croome. Would that I had someone such as you to take such great pains over me!”
Tabitha glanced back at him but saw that his words were genuine. With another smile, she thanked him for his reassurance, begged his apology for behaving in such a manner—which he immediately dismissed—and then moved away to allow him to speak to other guests whilst she forced herself to do the same.
Conversations abounded, but Tabitha paid them all very little attention. Yes, she did what was required, speaking to the other guests with interest and consideratio
n but finding no enjoyment in anything that was said. Rather, she found her thoughts turning, again and again, to Lord Yarmouth. Just where was he, and what was it he wanted to talk to her about?
“Thank you for that wonderful performance, Lady Croome.”
Rising quickly from the pianoforte and praying that she would not be called upon again to play, Tabitha made her way from the instrument to a quiet corner of the room, grateful when Lady Lancaster herself rose to take her turn. She had managed to play a few pieces quite well and had been gratified when the rest of the guests applauded politely, but her mind had struggled to fix itself to the music she usually knew so well, continuing to pull itself back to Lord Yarmouth. He had not appeared this evening, and she had found herself growing steadily more downhearted and anxious as the evening progressed. As she sat down quietly, part of her wondered whether or not she ought to take a carriage to his townhouse during afternoon calls tomorrow, simply to force her way into his presence and to demand to know what concerned him, given just how much difficulty it was causing her! But then she pushed the idea from her mind, not wishing to force Lord Yarmouth into speaking with her if he was not ready to do so.
“And that concludes our performances for the evening!” Lord Lancaster exclaimed as his wife came to join him. “Thank you all for attending. If you wish to remain, there will be card tables set up and refreshments brought. Otherwise, allow us both to wish you all a good evening.”
Tabitha did not immediately move from her chair, not quite certain what was best to do. She did not want to be rude and depart before others did, but at the same time, there was no enjoyment to be found here this evening. Instead, she would be faced with frustration and upset, her mind still wondering about Lord Yarmouth whilst she forced herself to play the part of someone enjoying the evening very much indeed.
