by Rose Pearson
A sudden ripple of surprise caught her attention, and she lifted her eyes to where Lord and Lady Lancaster were standing, noting how other guests were turning to each other and speaking quietly as though there was something there that they wanted to remark upon but did not want to be overheard.
“Nonsense!” Lord Lancaster boomed, his voice filling the room. “You must stay. We shall play cards and the like and, if that does not persuade you, then surely the thought of the very best French brandy will do!”
Tabitha’s breath caught as she saw who the gentleman was speaking to. Lord Yarmouth had evidently come into the room without her being aware of it and was now standing close to Lord and Lady Lancaster, a look of apology written all over his face.
She rose before immediately sitting down again. It would not do for her to make her way directly towards Lord Yarmouth, not in front of the other guests. That was how rumors began, and she did not need any additional whispers at present. Instead, Tabitha forced herself to remain seated, although her eyes fixed themselves to Lord Yarmouth as he spoke first to one guest and then to another. Grateful that she was in a quiet corner of the room and, therefore, not really noticed by the other guests, Tabitha allowed herself to study Lord Yarmouth as he made his way from one conversation to the next. He appeared, outwardly, to be in excellent spirits, for he smiled often, laughed on occasion, and otherwise seemed to be enjoying the company that surrounded him. However, she noted quickly that the brightness of his smile did not reach his eyes and that, whenever someone else spoke, the contented look disappeared from his face almost at once, replaced with a look of severity that he was continually forced to wipe away.
Finally, he came towards her, and Tabitha had to resist the urge to throw herself to her feet and rush towards him, such was her angst. Instead, she lifted her face to greet him but did not otherwise rise. Lord Yarmouth reached out one hand and, a little confused, Tabitha gave it to him at once. Leaning over it, he pressed his lips to the back of her hand in a fervent manner, sending heat spiraling up into her face.
“Whatever are you doing, Yarmouth?” she hissed, yanking her hand away as he sat down heavily beside her. “Do you want the ton to whisper about us?” She had not meant to speak so severely, but his actions had embarrassed her somewhat and she did not want him to behave inappropriately. Was he in his cups?
“Forgive me, Tabitha,” Lord Yarmouth said, his shoulders slumping and no trace of a smile on his face now. “Forgive me for not returning your letter, for leaving you to wonder what it is that I meant.” He gestured towards Lord Jennings. “He spoke to me as I entered, telling me that you had been gravely concerned for me.”
“Of course I have been,” Tabitha replied, finding herself growing a little frustrated with his manner. “You write to me that there is something of importance that you must discuss with me, only to then refuse to reply to my note! For heavens’ sake, Yarmouth, I feared you might be dying!” Her voice, she realized, had become a little too loud, and she forced herself to speak quietly once more, refusing to allow her worry to take hold of her. “You are late this evening, however, which is not at all like you. Why do you not tell me what has happened?” Her hand reached across to settle on his arm in what she hoped was a surreptitious manner. She did not want anyone from the ton to start whispering about what they had seen of her and Lord Yarmouth. “What is troubling you, Yarmouth?”
Lord Yarmouth let out a long breath, looked down at her hand, and then raised his eyes to hers. There was despair written in his eyes that Tabitha had never seen before, making her swallow hard with the fear of what might soon be revealed.
“Another will was found,” he said hoarsely, making Tabitha’s eyes flare wide with astonishment. “The solicitor believes it is the last of my father’s many, many wills, for it was written and signed the day before he departed this earth.”
“I see,” Tabitha murmured, lifting her hand back to her lap and trying her best to keep her expression entirely neutral. “And what did this will say?”
A heavy sigh tore from his lips. “That I must be wed by the end of the six months,” he said, closing his eyes. “Not only engaged but wed.”
For a few moments, Tabitha did not know what to say. Was he now stating that he wished her to marry him? She had never once considered such a thing, for Lord Yarmouth was nothing more than a friend, and she had told herself repeatedly that she did not wish to give up her freedom as yet. But if he needed her to do so, if he was to ask her to become his wife, then what would she say?
You would say yes.
The quiet voice in her head stunned her, and her breath hitched as Lord Yarmouth lifted his gaze to hers, his expression miserable.
“I have tried to think of what I can do to escape this judgment,” he said heavily. “I have done my utmost to consider what can be done in order to revert back to the previous will, but there is nothing available to me that would be of any particular use. Therefore, I have no other choice.”
“You—you must marry,” Tabitha whispered as Lord Yarmouth nodded, his eyes squeezing closed and one hand curling into a fist in obvious frustration. “That must be a very difficult circumstance to consider.”
Lord Yarmouth let out another long breath and looked at her again. “It is more than difficult,” he said hoarsely. “It is impossible. You know that I have never wanted to be forced into matrimony. I have wanted to make such a decision in my own time, rather than do as is expected of me. And yet, given the vast amount of money that my father has kept from me in his will, it seems now that I must do as he demanded.”
“Must you truly do so?” Tabitha asked gently, wishing she could say more and finding her own reaction to such news overwhelming. “Is there not a way where you might forge your own path and leave the money to fall to your relative?” She held his gaze, but Lord Yarmouth closed his eyes and looked away, dropping his head forward for a moment.
“I need the remainder of my father’s wealth to keep the estate in a good state,” he told her sadly. “Else, I shall be struggling for many years, with no reassurance that I shall be able to succeed.”
“I see.” Tabitha drew in a long breath, finding herself all the more willing to accept Lord Yarmouth’s hand in marriage. It would be a marriage of friendship, of course, but that was something that she could find happiness in. The idea of being his wife did not throw her away from him at once, and nor did it make her want to run from him, want to escape from what now faced him. Rather, she found herself almost pleased with the idea, knowing that Lord Yarmouth would be the sort of husband who would grant her the freedom she so obviously desired, given that he would trust her to be loyal to him. “Then, I understand what you must do.”
Lord Yarmouth’s head lifted. “Do you?” he asked, reaching out to put one hand over hers despite the number of guests about them. “I confess I have been struggling with the prospect for many hours. I could not even bring myself to reply to you, Tabitha, which I know was wrong of me given the worry that must have swamped you.” With a wry smile, he withdrew his hand. “Lord Jennings said that you would be an excellent judge of character, and I do not think he is wrong.”
Tabitha frowned, not quite certain what he meant. “An excellent judge of character?”
“Indeed,” Lord Yarmouth replied quickly. “You know those within the ton, and you are, much to my gratitude, a very dear friend of mine. If you are still willing, then I should be very glad indeed of your assistance in this matter.”
Tabitha’s mouth opened and then closed again without a single word coming from it. She had been mistaken, then. He was not to ask her to marry him. Rather, it seemed, he was asking for her help in finding him a bride.
“But it will need to be soon,” Lord Yarmouth said, shaking his head to himself. “I will need to court them and, if they are suitable, become engaged, and thereafter make all the arrangements.” His eyes sought hers and held her fast, but Tabitha could not smile at him, could not even bring herself to nod. “You are
very kind, dear friend. I am truly grateful for your help.”
“But of course,” Tabitha managed to say, her throat aching. “I would be very glad indeed to help you find a suitable match. When shall we begin?”
Lord Yarmouth sat back in his chair and gestured to the other guests around them. “This evening?” he suggested, although there was no happiness in his expression but a set resolution that Tabitha knew hid a great many emotions. “There must be some here this evening that you might consider for me!”
Tabitha’s smile was tight, but she dragged her eyes away from him and looked out across the crowd. “I am sure there are,” she found herself saying, aware of the dull ache in her heart and wondering at it. “Just allow me a moment to consider.”
“But of course.”
Tabitha’s eyes roved across the room but, try as she might, she could not seem to fix her gaze on anyone in particular. Giving herself a slight shake, she tried her utmost to set her mind to the task, but such was the business of her mind, her thoughts trying to settle themselves into a calming pattern, that she simply could not.
“I do not think there is anyone here I would recommend,” she said briskly, looking back at Lord Yarmouth, who looked a little astonished at her decision. “At least, not at present.”
“Oh?”
She shrugged. “Well, I must give time to my considerations, Yarmouth. I must think of your character and, in light of that, think of the ladies of my acquaintance to see which I might suggest to you.” It was an excellent excuse, she thought to herself, seeing him nod slowly, and one that was quite true. She would have to give it greater consideration but, additionally, would require time to allow what he had told her to settle into her mind and heart. It was not that she was at all saddened that she would not be able to engage herself to him, but rather that it had all come as something of a surprise. That was all it was, she told herself firmly, gazing around the room. She was quite sure that, come the morrow, she would be back to her usual temperament and more than able to assist Lord Yarmouth in finding a suitable bride.
Chapter Five
The soiree had gone as well as Oliver had expected, although he had been very late in arriving. Thankfully, Lord Lancaster had not seemed much put out, and Lady Lancaster had been delighted with the fact that his tardiness had brought something of a stir to her guests. No one had departed from the house for some hours after his arrival, and the evening had gone on for hours, with cards, music, and much laughter and conversation. The sun had already begun to rise by the time Oliver had returned home, but he had not thought poorly of himself for remaining at the Lancaster soiree for so long. It had been something of a salve to his wounds, a few hours of levity instead of the heaviness that hung over his heart. And even Lady Croome had taken his news well, agreeing without hesitation to securing him a suitable match.
After having slept late and taken an even later breakfast, Oliver was now enjoying a quiet afternoon, although he was eagerly anticipating the arrival of Lady Croome. She had written to him earlier that day—the note received when he was asleep—stating that she would call upon him in the early afternoon. Lord Jennings was also to be present, and thus, there would be no cause for even the suggestion of impropriety. Oliver was looking forward to seeing her, a little surprised at his own anticipation but finding that, in pulling himself from his struggles, he had found a little happiness once more. It would not last long, given that he would soon have to become quite serious about finding himself a bride, with all the requirements of courtship and the like, but for the next few days at least, he could continue with the Season as he wished. Lady Croome and Lord Jennings would be excellent company, and he would refuse to give into the frustrations and the anger that still boiled within him. He had spent two days moping, miserable and upset, but in the end had told himself that he had no other choice but to accept his new circumstances and make the best of them. And making the best of them meant having Lady Croome assist him in selecting the most appropriate lady from amongst the beau monde.
Sighing to himself, Oliver ran one hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair. When he had spoken to Lady Croome last evening, he had not expected her to be as shocked and astonished as she had appeared. Instead, he had expected relief to be evidenced on her face, a slumping of her shoulders, a long sigh escaping from her as she realized she would not have to do what he had asked of her. But instead, she had stared at him with wide eyes, before turning her head away, clearly unsure about what she ought to do or say in response. It was, of course, just that she cared deeply for him as one friend to another, but still, he had been touched by her reaction. And the fact that she had so willingly agreed to help him had made things all the more hopeful.
“Good afternoon, Yarmouth.”
Lord Jennings strolled into the room and spoke a greeting before the butler could even introduce him. “You look a little tired this afternoon.”
“As do you,” Oliver retorted as Lord Jennings grinned. “I presume, given that you were just as late as I in departing, that you had an enjoyable time last evening?”
“I did,” Lord Jennings replied, folding himself into a chair. “Although I think Lady Croome was worried about you.”
“Oh?” Oliver rose to fetch both himself and Lord Jennings a brandy, ringing the bell to call for the butler as he did so. “What was she concerned about?”
Lord Jennings rolled his eyes and laughed as Oliver handed him his glass. “She was concerned for you, Yarmouth,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “Do you not yet understand? You wrote her a note, but when she replied, you did not respond to her. Therefore, her mind was whirling with all manner of possibilities as to what might have occurred to make you write such words to her.”
“I see,” Oliver replied, frowning just a little. The butler came into the room at Oliver’s summons, and Oliver quickly reminded him that a tea tray was to be prepared and thereafter, sent up once Lady Croome had arrived. Once the butler had gone, Oliver resumed his conversation with Lord Jennings, seeing how his friend was watching him with a careful eye.
“I am sorry I did not write to her,” Oliver said, aware that he should be making his apology to Lady Croome herself rather than to Lord Jennings. “I was...rather lost.”
“I quite understand,” Lord Jennings replied firmly. “But my question remains—did you speak to Lady Croome thereafter? Did you tell her all that had occurred?”
“I did,” Oliver said, still surprised at Lord Jennings’ curious expression and wondering why he appeared so interested in Lady Croome. “And she was quite wonderful about it all.”
Lord Jennings nodded slowly, lifting his glass to his mouth for a sip before he continued. “I see,” he remarked, tilting his head. “She has agreed to assist you, then?”
“But of course!” Oliver exclaimed, not wanting Lord Jennings to have a poor impression of the lady. “She was more than willing. She was, in fact, about to give me her opinion on some of the other guests there last evening, given that there were more than a few eligible ladies, but in the end, she did not quite manage to do so.” Seeing Lord Jennings’ lifted brow, Oliver waved a hand in exasperation. “She has to consider each of the ladies in light of what she knows about me,” he continued calmly. “It was too much to ask her to do it almost immediately.”
Lord Jennings nodded slowly. “I quite understand,” he said, but still, the look of curiosity lingered on his face. “She was, as you know, quite upset and concerned for you, Yarmouth. It may have been that the relief of knowing you were not unwell or the like might have overcome her somewhat.”
Thinking that Lord Jennings was, for whatever reason, quite determined to make him feel as guilty as possible for his lack of consideration towards Lady Croome, Oliver threw up his hands. “Yes, I am aware that she was very concerned for me, Lord Jennings,” he said in exasperation. “I shall apologize to her for my lack of response the very moment she arrives.”
Saying nothing, Lord Jennings took a sip of his
brandy and continued to observe Oliver thoughtfully, which only irritated him all the more. Choosing to remain silent also instead of giving in to the urge to defend himself thoroughly, Oliver drank his brandy and sat back in his chair, glowering somewhat. Lord Jennings looked quite contented, however, smiling to himself and shaking his head as though something amused him. It was on the tip of Oliver’s tongue to ask him what it was, but he then bit down hard, refusing to allow himself to do so. Lord Jennings would only be delighted that he had irritated Oliver enough to force him to ask such a question, and he did not want to give his friend any such satisfaction.
Mercifully, the door soon opened to reveal Lady Croome, who appeared just as lovely as he had ever seen her. Her cheeks were pink, her blue eyes sparkling like the sunshine dancing off the water, and a few dark curls danced about her temples, framing her face beautifully.
“Good afternoon, Lady Croome,” Oliver said, quickly rising from his chair to bow as Lord Jennings did the same. “You look very well this morning.”
“I walked from the house,” Lady Croome declared, clearly delighted with her exertion. “The day was so very fine that I thought it would be a waste to take the carriage or to hail a hackney.”
Lord Jennings smiled at her and gestured to a chair, and Lady Croome immediately sat down, perhaps a little tired from her walk.
“Then might I say it looks as though it has done you a world of good,” Lord Jennings said as Oliver made his way towards them both, removing himself from his seat in the corner of the room. “You appear much cheered this morning, given the anxiety that bound you last evening.” One hard glance was sent towards Oliver at this remark, but Oliver ignored it quickly, sitting himself down in a chair adjacent to Lady Croome’s. She smiled at him but said nothing, her gaze darting back to Lord Jennings for just a moment.
“Ah!” Oliver exclaimed as a scratch came at the door. “Your tea tray, Lady Croome!”
