“Will you be all right, Vick? I know he makes you uncomfortable. I had wanted these two weeks to be enjoyable and relaxing for you and that at the end you would be ready to wed.”
Vicky laughed. “That might have been an overly ambitious goal with or without Lord Bertram, but you needn’t trouble yourself about me. You have invited sufficiently delightful guests to offset any less-than-ideal ones.”
Georgia still looked concerned, but then they were interrupted by a commotion by the door. Crossley strode into the room with Mr. Ashford Northcott, Lord Bertram, and Lord Clifton close behind him.
“Good afternoon, we’ve grown in number,” he announced with a smile, as his eyes searched for his wife.
Vicky watched as her friend pasted on a smile and stepped forward to greet her guests. One would never know from watching her that she hadn’t been born into a nobleman’s household but instead only had two years’ experience. She took to it like a natural. Vicky wondered if she would be nearly as gracious a hostess if she ever ended up wedded. She turned away from watching the scene, thinking to keep herself occupied somehow. Before she stepped too far away, though, she was startled by a deep voice just behind her.
“I wish you a good afternoon, Lady Vigilia.”
She didn’t have to turn to know who it was. The goose flesh that rose on her neck let her know quite clearly that Mr. Ashford Northcott had addressed her. She had to fight the urge to reach up and rub the reaction away, as that would surely draw even more attention than necessary to her reaction.
“Mr. Northcott,” she replied with a nod. “Have you just arrived?”
“Not too long ago,” he answered, while searching her face to the point of making her long to squirm. “Crossley rode with me for a few minutes after I arrived, so I haven’t actually been in the house for too awfully long.”
Vicky nodded. “The long drive in the carriage made you restless, did it?”
“Very much so.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t ride here,” she commented. “Although, that might have been a bit far for even someone as adventurous as you.”
Northcott nodded. “I think I would have enjoyed it far more, to be sure. But yes, perhaps a bit far.”
Vicky nodded. “Crossley rode part of the way when we were coming down from Town. Of course, he doesn’t like to allow George out of his sight, so perhaps, most gentlemen would have stayed astride longer.”
Northcott smiled over her words, making the muscles of Vicky’s midsection clench over just how very handsome the man was. She despaired of her reactions toward this particular man.
Looking around the room, Northcott commented quietly, “An interesting mix of guests have assembled.”
Vicky nodded. “Not everyone has yet arrived, but I think we shall be well entertained with the company.”
“Did you have a hand in the invitations?”
Vicky almost frowned as his glance shifted significantly toward Lord Bertram. She couldn’t decide how she felt knowing that he seemed to share her disquiet about the man’s presence.
“I did have some input,” was all she bothered to say. It was none of Northcott’s business whether or not the viscount had been invited. That was between Lord Crossley and his guests, if any of them had a problem with the viscount’s presence. Really, it was just Lord and Lady Crossley’s business as hosts. Guests didn’t have any say in who their fellow guests might be. But no matter how she felt on the subject, she wasn’t about to discuss it with the gentleman.
Chapter Six
Ash wanted to sigh and rake his hand through his hair, but he did neither. Negotiating business in India and the Caribbean had helped him develop the ability to hide his frustrations. But Lady Vigilia was testing his skills. Add in the fact that Lord Bertram had somehow managed to get himself invited, and he was almost ready to come up with an excuse to leave.
“When did you travel down to Crossley?” he inquired.
“We arrived two days ago.”
“Was it a grueling drive?”
Ash was almost surprised when she laughed. She was usually so serious around him. He had mostly only ever witnessed her laughter when she was in company with someone else.
“Not grueling in the least. Crossley’s driver seemed to know exactly where every rut and pothole was and how to avoid them. And Crossley, of course, had the most luxurious of carriages provided for his dear wife. So, I was travelling in the utmost of comfort. And with my best friend at that. When the earl was on horseback, Lady Crossley and I had a delightful time laughing like schoolgirls.”
Ash looked at her quizzically. “I have a hard time imagining that.”
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes as though in question of his statement but then seemed to shrug slightly.
“It’s good that you arrived without incident. I’m sure we’ll be seeing plenty of one another during your stay,” she said as way of terminating the conversation before she turned and walked away from him without further comment.
Watching her walk away, Ashford wondered why he was bothering. He could have set out for his plantation in Bermuda or he could be better served visiting his interests in New York. Either destination would have been more profitable. Trying to figure out the workings of Lady Vigilia’s mind was sure to be complicated enough even without the addition of Lord Bertram to the house party. And if the Sherton chit was interested in that lout, then Ashford didn’t want to have anything further to do with the woman.
But he didn’t want to sever ties with Crossley, so he couldn’t insult the man’s wife by leaving just as soon as he had arrived. Unless urgent messages were to arrive for him, he couldn’t suddenly recall something of import, or they would be sure to feel slighted.
Ash tried to accept the necessity to stay at least a few days and forced his gaze to circle the room casually. He could see why Crossley had said they would be subject to giggles that evening. The ladies all seemed very young, with very few chaperones in sight. He frowned, wondering what the countess was thinking. It seemed like some odd choices had been made while compiling the guest list for this particular party.
He had a mind to follow Vigilia but merely tracked her with his eyes for now. Just as he couldn’t leave, he also couldn’t cause his hosts’ primary guest to be uncomfortable. He may not be his father’s heir, but he had still been raised in the home of the Earl of Everleigh. Ash was well aware of what was considered acceptable or not.
The clatter of the servants rolling in the tea service interrupted all conversations. There was a flurry of activity as seating was rearranged and cups of steaming liquid were passed around. Ash eyed the trays of food, wondering if anything prepared would even begin to assuage his hunger. He was surprised to hear an irritated huff behind him followed quickly by a plate appearing in front of him as though conjured from thin air. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. While it wasn’t going to fill him overly, it was covered in far more substantial selections than was being served to the ladies present.
“I remembered your opinion quite succinctly on the subject of taking tea with ladies.”
“Was I so very obvious about it?” he asked with a smile.
One of Lady Vigilia’s eyebrows rose as though to mock him. “You were quite eloquent on the subject one day when you were calling on my sister.”
“And you remembered that all this time?” He was gratified until she snorted.
“You were the only gentleman who had ever expressed himself in such a way,” she informed him. But then after a pause, her cheeks tinged with pink, to his delight, and she added, “After giving the matter a bit of thought after your visit that day, I came to the conclusion that it was entirely possible that you were the only visitor who had ever been honest on the subject. I suspect most gentlemen would feel the same, at least the sportive ones who actually expend their energies.”
Suddenly, the pink that had been tingeing her cheeks seemed to flood her entire person, as though she were suddenly consumed with emba
rrassment. Ash had to ponder what either of them might have said to elicit such a reaction. No doubt, she realized she ought not to be even alluding to male activities. He shook his head over the silly proprieties. Some of them made obvious sense, but it was rather ridiculous that no body parts could ever be mentioned. Nor the fact that Lady Crossley was probably with child. No wonder children were led to believe that their siblings were brought into the household by a bird.
“Anyhow, I remembered and asked that something more be brought in case anyone was actually hungry this afternoon. Since we’re in the country, supper won’t be so terribly far off this evening, but if you’ve just arrived, I’m not sure where you might have stopped for a repast or if your cook packed for you this morning. But if you don’t actually want it, I can have it sent back down.”
Ash had never seen the girl babble before. It was a struggle to keep his amusement hidden. She was very obviously trying to stop herself from further speech, but it was as though her mouth had run away with her. Her colour deepened further. Her blue gaze was filled with chagrin as it met his briefly before she turned on her heel and walked away without another word. He hadn’t even had a chance to thank her.
It was amusing to see the lengths she went to for the rest of the afternoon to avoid being in his vicinity. Ashford couldn’t even tell how she was able to keep such close watch on where he was because it didn’t seem as though she looked at him even once. But no matter where he went in the large room, she was always clear on the other side. And she managed to do it so gracefully that he was certain no one else was even aware of it. Except perhaps, their hostess and her best friend. At one point during the hour that had followed, Lady Crossley had looked at him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. It had reassured Ashford to know that the countess was obviously not opposed to his courtship of her guest. At least, not nearly as opposed as the lady in question, at any rate.
Vigilia’s efforts were almost thwarted at one point when she was waylaid by Lord Bertram. Ashford watched their interaction closely, in an effort to ascertain the lady’s thoughts on the viscount. He was too far away to hear what was being said, and her body language gave very little away. Which in itself told him something. What exactly it was supposed to be telling him, he wasn’t quite sure, but he did know that Lady Vigilia was usually much easier to read. She wasn’t nearly as contained as her two older sisters were reputed to be. It was one of the things he liked about the girl. She very rarely left one wondering what was going on in her mind. Except, of course, when it came to how she might feel about one Ashford Northcott, but that was an entirely different subject. With Vigilia, if she didn’t tell you outright what she was thinking or feeling, it was usually written on her face regardless.
Ash tried to get closer to hear what was being said between the two but, of course, he couldn’t allow it to be obvious and by the time he approached, she had already slipped away and was on the other side of the room once more, ostensibly checking on the other guests, ensuring someone’s teacup was refilled or offering the plate of sweets. She would make a remarkably skilled hostess, he noted as she moved through the room.
Perhaps, he was actually being unforgivably self-centered to think she was making that much effort to avoid him. It would take true determination for it to be so successful, since he was starting to feel as though he were stalking her. He decided to give up for the time being, as he reminded himself that he would be remaining at Crossley for at least the next week. He really ought to ensure he didn’t actually give her a justified fear of him.
~~~
Vicky was on the edge of her sanity. The dratted man wouldn’t stand still. She had made such a ridiculous fool of herself; she couldn’t bear to even look at him after she had blathered on about the sandwiches she had ordered for him. Even the fact that she had ordered sandwiches was embarrassing. He probably didn’t even want them and only took them because he was too polite to do otherwise. He was obviously going to think she had a tendre for him. She would rather die than have anyone think that.
But she had remembered how he felt about the little bite-sized treats their cook had made when they had callers at tea time. It had been amusing to watch his reaction to the delicate pieces. His large hands had made them look somewhat ridiculous, so she couldn’t fault him for rejecting them. And then too, she knew how hungry Crossley had been when they’d finally arrived upon his estate. So, she had thought Mr. Ashford Northcott would need further sustenance than the things the housekeeper had been planning to serve.
For those who had been sitting around doing needlepoint, they were exactly the thing. But, as Mrs. Parks had agreed, strapping young men needed something to stick to their ribs.
It had taken every last ounce of willpower she possessed not to run from the room in tears. And he had known. That was the worst part, Vicky was sure. He had known she was embarrassed and had sympathized. Why couldn’t he be awful all the time? Why wouldn’t her heart listen to her head?
It wasn’t hard to avoid him, though, which was at least a slight relief. She was uncomfortably aware of his presence whenever he entered a room. So, it wasn’t much of a challenge to ensure she was never within his vicinity, except for trying to make sure it wasn’t noticeable to anyone else. There had been a terrible moment when Lord Bertram had stopped her to ask her something. Vicky had no idea what he had wanted. She was grateful for her years of experience of pretending to pay attention whenever her sisters were telling her something and was reasonably sure she had smiled or nodded in the right places prior to making good her escape before Ashford had reached them. She had started to think he was following her. But why would he bother to do so? And if he was doing so, why would he stay just a little bit away? Was he trying to drive her mad? If so, he was doing a remarkably good job of it.
And what was Lord Bertram doing at Crossley anyway? Vicky wondered if she ought to speak to the earl about the man. But what did she really know? Not much, if she were to be perfectly honest on the subject. It was just a bad feeling, which no man was going to accept as evidence of anything. Since his lordship was here, Vicky decided with a shrug, she could keep an eye on him and tell Crossley if she had anything substantive to share. She doubted strongly the man would be able to get up to anything nefarious out there in the countryside.
Finally, when she had determined that she had spent enough time socializing with her fellow guests, Vicky made good her escape. She was relieved when Georgia had finally stood to indicate that teatime was over. It was fortuitous that Vicky was standing very near the door in that opportune moment. Without a murmur or a backward glance, she fled.
It might be considered craven or cowardly, but Vicky couldn’t bear another moment of avoiding Ashford. She only hoped she would be over it by suppertime, as there was really no way to completely avoid a fellow guest at a house party.
Throwing herself onto her bed as soon as she reached her room, Vicky held her head and moaned.
“What has happened, my lady?” Her maid appeared alarmed.
“My apologies, Dolly, there is nothing truly wrong. I just allowed my tongue to get me in a bit of trouble this afternoon, and I am dreading the rest of the evening.”
The maid laughed with little sympathy, as only a long-time servant can do.
“Oh, my lady, I’m certain you’ll be recovered by supper, but surely it wasn’t so bad as all that.”
“Ugh! It was worse, actually, I’m sure. There isn’t a noise grotesque enough to demonstrate the state of my mind at the moment.”
There was a slight silence following Vicky’s statement before the maid rallied. “I have known you for years, my lady. I’m absolutely certain you couldn’t have said anything that should produce this state. Come now, tell me about it.”
“The recounting is sure to make me feel worse, I’m afraid.”
“Well then, tell me what you’re feeling. Are you angry or sad?”
“Neither really. It wasn’t that what I said was so very dreadful
. It’s just that I’m embarrassed to my core that I allowed my tongue to run on for so very long.” She paused for a moment before adding, “And it was before Mr. Ashford Northcott.”
“Oh, I see,” the maid accepted. “Surely, it couldn’t have been so very long, my lady. It always feels much worse to the one speaking than it does to the one listening when you’re feeling embarrassed.”
“Perhaps, but it was absolutely dreadful, Dolly, I can assure you.”
“Do you really think Mr. Northcott is likely to recall it later?”
“I’m fairly certain,” she replied before wailing, “I don’t know. He probably doesn’t think of me in the least and won’t recall my words a second after I’ve said them. He’s too busy thinking about his many businesses and dreaming of my sister.” Vicky threw her arm over her eyes in an attempt to hide herself from her reality. It was a most uncomfortable state to be in. “I neither want him to recall it nor do I want him to forget it.”
The maid murmured in an indistinct way as though sympathizing but with nothing to say.
“Come, my lady. I will brush out your hair for you, and you’ll feel much better.”
Vicky wanted to object. This was far too large a problem to be solved in such a simple way, but the maid was probably right. She always was. Vicky had learned long ago to be guided by the older woman’s wisdom. With a sigh, she got up from her prone position and approached the stool in front of her dressing table.
“Thank you, Dolly,” she answered meekly as she took her seat.
The maid, of course, was right. Within moments, she was feeling much calmer and far more relaxed. The rhythmic strokes of the brush would have eventually put her right to sleep if Dolly hadn’t finally urged her into the bed for a short nap while the maid prepared her gown for the evening.
What felt like minutes later, but was surely at least an hour, Vicky was once again primped back into a vision of the perfect debutante. Examining her reflection critically, Vicky was relieved to see that everything was perfectly acceptable about her appearance. She knew she wasn’t quite the Diamond that her sister Rosabel was, but she would possibly turn heads. It wasn’t vain to acknowledge the truth, she assured herself, even as she frowned over the thoughts. But her frock was of the first stare of fashion, and her maid was skilled with her hairstyling.
A Gentleman to Avoid: Sweet Regency Romance (Sherton Sisters Book 3) Page 5
