“Yes, you are,” he said. “And that is precisely the problem. Now, come with me before I lose patience with you.”
She followed her brother-in-law back inside with her chin notched upward and her self-importance wrapped firmly around her. Linus hoped Adam and Persephone could help her mature in the ways she needed but without entirely dousing her spirit. The undertaking would have to fall to them; he simply didn’t know her well enough.
His own sister, and he only vaguely knew her. Evander would never have allowed himself to grow so distant from his own family.
Charlie dropped into his chair again. “I’m sorry about that,” he muttered. “I know she’s your sister, but I really don’t like her.”
“Would it surprise you if I told you that you are likely the only person who feels that way?”
Charlie shot him a look of such disbelief that Linus had little choice but to laugh. “How could anyone endure her mindless prattle and self-aggrandizing conversation? It drives me mad.”
Linus thought on that a moment. “Mindless prattle is common in Society, expected of a young lady. That is what her conversation leans toward most of the time. The haughtiness I don’t see often.”
“It is grating,” Charlie said.
“Grating or not, you do have to be kinder when speaking to ladies. That is part of being a gentleman.”
Charlie leaned his head back against the chair. “Apparently my father used to say things like that a lot, about treating girls and women and ladies the right way. My brothers have mentioned it often.”
“Did you not know him?”
“I did.” Charlie’s voice lost much of its edge and a good amount of its volume. “I just don’t remember him well. If he were here, I could ask him what to do with my life and how to act when I don’t know and . . .” The sentence dangled a minute. “He would have had time for me. I know he would have. And he wouldn’t forget about me.”
Did Artemis have any idea how tragically precise her aim had been with that verbal barb? Linus knew what it was to be lonely, what it was to not feel a part of one’s family.
“Perhaps”—how he hoped the offer he was about to make would prove a welcome one—“when you next have a school holiday, you might come visit me in Shropshire rather than come here. Mine is not a large estate, and it’s comparatively humble, but it is pleasant and peaceful.”
“Are you in earnest?” Charlie eyed him doubtfully. “You would wish me to visit?”
“I would enjoy it immensely.”
For the first time since his sparring match with Artemis, Charlie looked encouraged. Just as quickly, his expression darkened again. “Will Miss Top Lofty be there?”
Linus shook his head. “She lives in Northumberland with the duke and duchess. I live alone.”
Charlie laughed humorlessly. “Sometimes, so do I.”
“I hope you will come.” He meant it. “We could both use the company.”
They talked for some time about the things they could do during this hypothetical visit. And the longer they discussed the possibility, the more eager Linus became. A feeling of camaraderie and brotherhood he’d not experienced since before Evander’s death began to tiptoe over him.
Lord Lampton stepped out onto the terrace. His gaze fell immediately on his brother. “I passed His Grace in the corridor.”
Charlie groaned quietly. “I’m in the suds now.”
“I thought you were past your troublemaking stage,” Lampton said.
“It’s not a stage; it’s a talent.” A heavy dose of sarcasm hung in the declaration.
Lampton crossed to where they sat and loomed over his brother. “When Mater hears of this latest mischief, she’ll have your neck.” Lampton shook his head. “You spend an awful lot of time ruffling her.”
“We all have our role in this family,” Charlie muttered.
Lampton turned to Linus. “Your brother-in-law doesn’t mean to call him out. Do you?”
“No,” Linus said. “The young people have sorted it out between them.”
Lampton glanced at Charlie. He sighed as he turned away. “What are we going to do with you?”
“Same thing you always do,” Charlie muttered as his brother returned to the house. “Walk away.”
* * *
The evening’s entertainments were limited to mingling and a game of whist at a corner table. The guest list, however, was longer than it had been on previous nights. Lord and Lady Marsden and Lady Belinda were present, as were Mr. Stroud and Mrs. Blackbourne. A Mr. and Mrs. Widdleston and their daughter were in attendance. A young Mr. Carter and his sister were as well.
The guests mingled but not with Miss Hampton. Linus couldn’t make sense of it. He would have spent the entire evening with her if he’d been permitted to. As it was, his evening passed in the far less pleasant pursuit of avoiding his sisters and the glint of determination in their eyes.
Persephone still managed to corner him.
“How is Oliver?” he asked, keeping to safe topics.
“Resting,” she said. “His father, on the other hand, is still something of a mess.”
Linus smiled at the seeming absurdity of that. “The man whose mere arrival at an event brings all of Society to its knees and who can, with a single look, send all of Lords into a fit of horror-fueled hysterics has been rendered ‘a mess’ by a three-year-old boy.”
“Adam lost his father when he was quite young,” she said. “He still cannot speak of him without growing emotional. He has lived his life since his father’s death so terrified of losing the people he loves that he works very hard not to love anyone. Yet, he has a good heart, and when he does love, he loves fiercely.”
“That is why you love him so much.”
She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “One of many reasons.”
“What does he think of Artemis?”
“She drives him a bit mad.” Persephone’s laugh changed to a sigh. “I think he will be more than a little sad to see her go when she eventually has a home and family of her own. He cried after Daphne left, though don’t you dare tell him I told you that.”
“You have my word, though I am keeping a lot of your secrets just now.”
“I hope this next child is a girl,” she said, her voice low. “I would dearly love to watch Adam raise a daughter.”
“He’ll lock her in the tower once she’s old enough to have a Season.”
Persephone wiggled an eyebrow. “Won’t that be diverting?”
“You are happy together.” Linus had known as much since the first day he’d met his brother-in-law, but he was grateful to see that it was still true.
“What of you, Linus?” Persephone asked. “Is there anyone you think you might be happy with?”
“Do not act innocent with me,” he said. “I know you, Athena, and Artemis have been acting the part of matchmaker. The only reason Daphne is not in my black books like the rest of you is she is not here and is, therefore, not participating.”
“I have watched you tonight. You are doing your best to not fall in line with our efforts.”
He only hoped that was all she’d noticed. “There will be time enough for courtship. Eventually.”
“You mean, for example, once Dr. Scorseby vacates his seat?”
The physician was, in that moment, sitting beside Miss Hampton. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I am not blind, Linus. She has captured your attention, perhaps a bit of your affection.”
How had his sister already seen what he himself had only just realized?
Persephone hooked her arm through his and walked with him along the edge of the room. “Don’t fret over Artemis and Athena. They’ve been too distracted by their own ideas to notice what is right in front of them, and I don’t intend to say a word to either one.”
There was little point deny
ing the truth of Persephone’s conjecture, but any idea she might have beyond that needed squelching. “I’ve only known her a few days,” he reminded his sister. “I have enjoyed talking with her and laughing with her.”
“You’ve been laughing?”
“We both are uncertain of where we fit in this gathering, so we formulated a plan for creating a club of outcasts.” Spoken plainly, it sounded a bit juvenile, yet he thoroughly enjoyed jesting with Arabella about it. “I know it’s ridiculous, but as preposterous as the jest is, it’s been comforting to have someone understand how I feel.”
“That is a fine thing, Linus,” she said. “You do not jest and tease as often as you once did.”
“I have found a friend, Persephone. Do not infer more than that.”
“I’m not sending Adam for a special license. I’m simply saying she seems a pleasant lady.”
“I have found her to be,” he said.
“Then I wish you luck and something even better.”
His curiosity was piqued. “What is that?”
She slipped her arm free of his. “Courage.” She gave him a firm but gentle shove, placing him directly in front of Miss Hampton, then walked away.
“Lieutenant Lancaster.” Dr. Scorseby stood and offered his hand. Linus shook it firmly.
“How are your young patients?” Linus asked.
“Improving.”
They hadn’t ended their handshake.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Linus said. “I’m certain the children’s parents are as well.”
The doctor’s grip tightened. “I hope that they are. I do all I can for the people in my care.”
Linus pulled his hand away from the physician’s. After a quick nod, he turned to the person he actually wanted to spend a moment with.
“Miss Hampton.” He offered a bow. “I’ve not yet had the opportunity to speak with you this evening. How are you?”
“I am well. And you? Have you enjoyed any gothic novels lately?”
He grinned, ignoring Dr. Scorseby’s surprised expression. “What else would I be doing with my time?”
“Making paper boats with a tiny child,” she said. “Choosing a tenderhearted little girl as your bowls partner. Befriending a struggling young gentleman.” The soft look she gave him sent a wave of warmth over him. “I suspect you spend your time very wisely and very kindly.”
“That is praise, indeed, Miss Hampton.”
Her gaze dropped to her clasped hands resting on her lap.
“You’ve put her to the blush.” Dr. Scorseby censured. “That was not well done of you.”
He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. He was grateful for her words. Few things hung heavier on his mind than the worry that he didn’t make a difference in anyone’s life, that he did very little that mattered. Knowing that she felt otherwise meant a great deal to him. He ought not repay her kindness by making her uncomfortable.
“I will not take up more of your time,” he said. “I do have my collection of Minerva Press offerings to return to.”
Her eyes sparkled, and all was right in the world once more. “Enjoy your reading,” she said. “I will be working on the bylaws for our club.”
“Include a provision excluding three-year-old boys, because I am certain Oliver will be our downfall otherwise.”
“I will consider it.” She laughed.
She never laughed with Scorseby. She seldom smiled. Did he not at least try to bring some sparkle to her eyes, some joy to her countenance? She deserved to be happy. The doctor ought to be doing everything he could to bring her a bit of cheer.
“A good evening to you, Miss Hampton.”
“And to you.”
A quick bow. A brief glance at Scorseby. Then he moved along, but his thoughts remained with her. He needed to find a way to spend more time with her in the days and evenings to come. He could bring her a smile or two, and she would lift his spirits as well.
He longed for her company. Did she long for his?
Chapter Fourteen
Arabella accompanied Lady Lampton to Dr. Scorseby’s house two days after he had come to the Park to look in on the children. She didn’t know why she had been chosen to take the short journey and not Lady Lampton’s abigail. Perhaps the countess feared the servants’ loyalties to the Jonquil family would mean none of them would keep her secret.
Was this the future Arabella had to look forward to? Being the repository of the family secrets, dancing around the things they didn’t tell each other. It was not what she had imagined all those years ago when she had told the earl how desperately she’d wanted to be part of his home and family. This was not belonging. Perhaps someday she would find her elusive dream.
She waited in the front sitting room of Dr. Scorseby’s home while Lady Lampton spoke in the next room with him about whatever was ailing her. The sitting room overlooked the street beyond. The house did not sit near the market cross but was close enough for many people to pass by. Arabella knew any number of them from her many long walks to and from town and about the neighborhood. The earl had even occasionally taken her up alongside him in his curricle. During those drives, she had allowed herself to pretend she was his daughter passing an afternoon with her father. She would imagine them returning to the Park and receiving the enthusiastic welcome home he always received from his family.
Sometimes when watching the people in Collingham, as she was doing then, she would catch herself looking for him only to have to remind herself again that he was gone.
Two gentlemen walked past Dr. Scorseby’s front window, both of whom she knew on sight. Charlie Jonquil was as easy to recognize as all his brothers were: tall, lean, golden haired, though his was almost a bit ginger. Beside him was Mr. Lancaster, whom she could have picked out in a crowd, with his authoritative, military gait, golden curls, broad shoulders, and heart-fluttering smile. She watched him as he walked, easily picturing him at the prow of a ship.
How quickly and often her thoughts returned to him. He made her laugh. He set her instantly at ease, something few people did. She looked forward to his company, laughed at the memory of his jesting and banter. And she could not fully put from her mind that moment in the corridor.
He’d held her in his arms for a fleeting moment. Her heart pounded at the recollection. How often she had relived that moment, imagined it happening again, then scolded herself for being ridiculous. It had been an accident. Nothing more.
Yet his repeated return to her side, their pleasant conversations, had not been unintentional. He sought her out. With him, she didn’t feel alone.
Outside on the walk, Mr. Lancaster said something to Charlie. He grinned. Charlie laughed. On they walked, their camaraderie clear. He was so kind to Charlie. He was kind to everyone. And quick-witted. And funny. Thoughtful.
Watching him disappear up the street, she had to admit to herself that she was a little bit in love with him. She wasn’t pining or wasting away, but her heart was pricked with a whisper of likely unrequited affection, and there was little to be done about it.
She was a poor relation with a pity-gained position as an unneeded lady’s companion. He was a navy man with his own estate and the highest of connections. You must be reasonable, she reminded herself.
A door opened out of sight down the corridor, followed by footsteps. Lady Lampton returned to the sitting room, Dr. Scorseby arriving directly behind her. Arabella rose and brought the countess her spencer and gloves. She was thanked in a very off-hand manner. Lady Lampton’s focus was clearly elsewhere. Indeed, she wandered to the window and stood there a moment in distraction.
Dr. Scorseby approached and addressed Arabella. “Did you have an opportunity to ask the dowager if she has been taking her powders?”
“I did not,” she confessed. “When the opportunity arose, I could not convince myself that it truly was my place to a
sk after a personal concern she has not chosen to share with me.”
He nodded his understanding. “I will ask her myself tonight. Lady Lampton has been kind enough to invite me to join in the evening’s diversions.”
She was happy to hear it. He would be a fine addition to the gathering, and he would be granted the opportunity to make certain Mater was well.
“I hope I will see you there,” he said.
“I will be there.”
That answer appeared to disappoint him. Still, he nodded and indicated that he looked forward to socializing that evening. For her part, Arabella’s enthusiasm was waning. She had enjoyed watching the gathering of people and families the past evenings, and she had been grateful that Mater had included her. Yet she longed for things to be quiet and peaceful.
The efforts of the Lancaster sisters to find their brother a bride had long since lost their diverting quality. She did not doubt that Linus Lancaster would, at some point, make a match.
“We should be on our way, Arabella,” Lady Lampton said.
“Of course.”
Dr. Scorseby accompanied them to the door. A Lampton Park footman handed them up into the carriage. A moment later, the carriage rolled down the lane.
“Dr. Scorseby seems very fond of you,” Lady Lampton said. It was by far the most personal remark the countess had ever said to her, yet it didn’t feel prying. It was friendly.
“He is a good man.”
Lady Lampton didn’t balk or laugh at her simple answer. “One cannot underestimate the importance of a good man, and a kind one. Far too many ladies are not treated with tenderness by the men in their lives.”
That was all too true. “Forgive me if this is too personal, but having known him all my life, I can with confidence say that your husband quite easily falls into the category of good and kind men.” All of the Jonquils matched that description, just as their father had.
A softness entered her expression that Arabella had never before seen. “He is the very best of men.”
One who was enduring ridicule and the temper of a dangerous man in the hope of helping his wife. “His Grace does not seem to share your opinion.”
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