“Thank you, my lord. As one who appreciates frank conversation, would you allow me to ask an impertinent question?”
“Be my guest.”
“Did you come to Havencrest in your niece’s interests, or your own?”
His brows drew together as he considered her question. “By my interests, do you mean—”
“Marriage, my Lord.”
Astounded, he could only stare at her.
She laughed then, merrily, as if supremely amused. “I am not making you an offer, so stop looking at me as if I’ve got horns growing out of my head. No, indeed, it is quite the opposite. I am never able to be friends with single gentlemen because they only speak nonsense—courting me, complimenting me, and never once uttering an honest or intelligent word.”
“My felicitations on your popularity.”
“Oh, stuff. I thought we were going to be sensible.”
A corner of his mouth quirked up as amusement tugged at him despite feeling as if he was sinking into a mud pit. “I am not the one leading this outlandish conversation. I am merely trying to keep my footing in it. No, Mrs. Thorne, I am not at the moment looking to acquire a wife.”
She smiled then, just as the sun emerged from behind an airy cloud and shone down on her face. The light caught in her eyes, revealing their mossy green depths, reminding him of a forest glade in the springtime.
“How lovely,” she said.
“I take it then that you are not looking for a husband?”
“Oh no. Nor shall I ever do so. I have never been so pleased with anything in my life half so much as being a widow.”
Would she never stop flooring him with the odd things she said? “Then he cannot have gone about the business correctly.” He stopped abruptly, appalled at himself. How had he come to speak in such a way to a young lady, be she ever so much a widow? Somehow, he had been carried away into abandoning proper decorum.”
“Gone about the business…?” She mused upon his meaning to her self for several seconds while he silently rebuked himself. “Ah. That is what you mean. No, I cannot think he did. And as much as I am tempted, I cannot think that is something we should discuss.”
“Decidedly not. I cannot think how I came to say such a thing.”
Mrs. Thorne laughed. “Yes. Let us be glad that no one is about to witness our social solecisms. Now, tell me about your niece. You have been rather irritable since arriving. Did she drag you here against your will?”
“In a manner of speaking. More accurately, I am here against her will. There is a certain gentleman by the name of Laurence Seymour who aspires to her hand.”
“And you do not approve?”
“I’d more likely whip him for his impudence than give him a moment’s consideration. He is a fortune hunter of the worst kind.”
She turned fully to face him, her head tilted to the side in a rather adorable way. “I should like very much to hear what you think is the worst kind of fortune hunter, because to my mind, they are all a plague on this earth. Though some are more charming and amusing than others, I suppose.”
“If you were to ask Phoebe, I am certain she would consider him to have all the best virtues. Which makes him enough of a threat to rouse me from my estate and join this very irregular gathering.”
“How fortuitous that we have agreed to be friends, my lord. I am just the person to help you shake him loose.”
“You are?”
“Oh, certainly. I have great experience there, you see. Much more than you have, I’m sure. Well, as amusing as this has been, I must get back. Good day, Lord Tyndale.”
She lifted her hand to him, and he bowed courteously over it, but it took him a moment to recover enough from his bemusement to say, “Good day, Mrs. Thorne.”
He watched her walk away, almost spellbound. She had a jaunty, purposeful step that seemed perfectly in keeping with what he had learned about her personality, and she seemed to have any concern that she walked only a few feet from a precipitous drop down the cliff side. He could not help but notice the way the wind pulled at her skirts as she walked, revealing her trim but surprisingly curvy figure. Though he knew he ought not to be appreciating it as much as he was, his mind was in too much of a tangle to look away—both aghast at her peculiarity and oddly, reluctantly…attracted to it.
“What the devil just happened?” he asked aloud after she had disappeared from view.
or hotels, he would have saved himself the very unpleasant experience of cabbage and turnip soup, stringy chicken, pickled calves feet, and elderberry wine.
By far the worst part of the meal was looking up from his plate and finding that Thorne woman watching him with barely repressed amusement.
He wanted to be in a foul mood, by thunder, and he deserved to be. How dare she nearly make him laugh?
Who was the woman? He spent so much time at his estate that he had few female acquaintances. From various catches of conversation he’d heard, he’d learned that she was Mrs. Thorne, and a widow of four or five years. His first impression was that she was very young, but his second, which came quickly, was that she was much too assured and forward to be an ingenue. Indeed, he’d once caught a certain hardness in her expression that hinted that her maturity had been hard-earned.
When he was finally free to go to his room that night and found himself thinking about her, he lost all patience with himself. That, combined with having only one candle, a paltry piece of soap for the wash basin, and darned sheets at last insured that he was able to fall asleep in as bad a temper as he’d wished. The devil take Phoebe and her house party.
One look at the boiled eggs and weak tea being served for breakfast and Tyndale once again headed into town, completely uncaring that he had abandoned his niece to her fate. As he rode down the road that sloped down toward Brighton, he caught sight of a path in the long grass and thought it might lead to a good view from the top of the cliffs. Turning that way, he followed it, content to take his time exploring on such a lovely morning.
The sun had broken through the thin clouds, burning off the dew and warming his shoulders. The sound of the surf was faint, and difficult to hear over the breeze that blew past, but it grew louder as he continued on. Soon, an edge of blue that was darker than the sky appeared over the top of the grass, and as the land sloped down, his eyes marked the edge where the ground fell away sharply to the sea.
A lone figure in a mulberry gown stood there, close enough to the edge to make him apprehensive. Her shawl and the ribbon from her bonnet blew backward, her skirts billowing and whipping in the breeze.
Dismounting, he walked forward, wondering if he should call out, but not wanting to frighten her. As he got closer, his horse whinnied, likely as cautious about the cliff’s edge as he was, and she turned.
It was Mrs. Thorne.
Her cheeks were pink from the wind, her eyes distant, and her generous mouth turning slightly down at the corners. But there was such an aura of melancholy about her that he stopped in surprise. “Mrs. Thorne?”
“Good morning, Lord Tyndale. Escaping to Brighton for breakfast?” She smiled then, just a bit, which eased his concern.
“I’m a rather large man, you see, and it takes a fair bit more than eggs and tea to take the edge off my hunger.”
Her eyes lit with the humor he’d seen there last night. “I am neither large nor a man, but I admit to needing more sustenance as well. Which is why I bring my own tea and have scones and pastries delivered from a bakery in town every morning during my visit here.”
“You have come before.”
“Certainly. Since I’ve been out of mourning.” She turned to look out to sea again, brushing a tendril of hair that had escaped to blow across her face. “I grew up here. My childhood home borders Havencrest.” She pointed to her right, up the coast. “You cannot see it here, but it over this hill. I used to play all along here and Mrs. Garvey and I became fast friends as she often bandaged my scraped knees and scolded me for escaping from my governess
es.”
Perhaps that was the cause for her melancholy then. “Your parents?”
“My mother died in childbirth when I was four. My father died three years ago. My cousin, Mrs. Pike, likes to believe it was from a broken heart, but I’m not certain he ever had one.”
Her last words rang with a harsh bitterness that made him look more closely at her.
As if feeling the weight of his scrutiny, she took a deep breath and turned back to him. “I am sorry, my lord. I shouldn’t have infringed on our slight acquaintance with such personal confidences. You…came upon me in a rather wistful state I’m afraid.”
“No, don’t apologize. I appreciate frank conversation. Will you accept my sympathies?”
She smiled but looked down as she shook her head. “Only because it would seem churlish not to. In matter of fact, though I may seem rather woebegone this morning, it will pass quickly—as soon as all the old memories have had their say. And then I shall once again be fit company.”
“I find you good company now.” He was not one to offer flattery, but her doubtful expression made him think that perhaps she was not used to receiving sincere compliments.
“Thank you, my lord. As one who appreciates frank conversation, would you allow me to ask an impertinent question?”
“Be my guest.”
“Did you come to Havencrest in your niece’s interests, or your own?”
His brows drew together as he considered her question. “By my interests, do you mean—”
“Marriage, my Lord.”
Astounded, he could only stare at her.
She laughed then, merrily, as if supremely amused. “I am not making you an offer, so stop looking at me as if I’ve got horns growing out of my head. No, indeed, it is quite the opposite. I am never able to be friends with single gentlemen because they only speak nonsense—courting me, complimenting me, and never once uttering an honest or intelligent word.”
“My felicitations on your popularity.”
“Oh, stuff. I thought we were going to be sensible.”
A corner of his mouth quirked up as amusement tugged at him despite feeling as if he was sinking into a mud pit. “I am not the one leading this outlandish conversation. I am merely trying to keep my footing in it. No, Mrs. Thorne, I am not at the moment looking to acquire a wife.”
She smiled then, just as the sun emerged from behind an airy cloud and shone down on her face. The light caught in her eyes, revealing their mossy green depths, reminding him of a forest glade in the spring time.
“How lovely,” she said.
“I take it then that you are not looking for a husband?”
“Oh no. Nor shall I ever do so. I have never been so pleased with anything in my life half so much as being a widow.”
Would she never stop flooring him with the odd things she said? “Then he cannot have gone about the business correctly.” He stopped abruptly, appalled at himself. How had he come to speak in such a way to a young lady, be she ever so much a widow? Somehow, he had been carried away into abandoning proper decorum.”
“Gone about the business…?” She mused upon his meaning to her self for several seconds while he silently rebuked himself. “Ah. That is what you mean. No, I cannot think he did. And as much as I am tempted, I cannot think that is something we should discuss.”
“Decidedly not. I cannot think how I came to say such a thing.”
Mrs. Thorne laughed. “Yes. Let us be glad that no one is about to witness our social solecisms. Now, tell me about your niece. You have been rather irritable since arriving. Did she drag you here against your will?”
“In a manner of speaking. More accurately, I am here against her will. There is a certain gentleman by the name of Laurence Seymour who aspires to her hand.”
“And you do not approve?”
“I’d more likely whip him for his impudence than give him a moment’s consideration. He is a fortune hunter of the worst kind.”
She turned fully to face him, her head tilted to the side in a rather adorable way. “I should like very much to hear what you think is the worst kind of fortune hunter, because to my mind, they are all a plague on this earth. Though some are more charming and amusing than others, I suppose.”
“If you were to ask Phoebe, I am certain she would consider him to have all the best virtues. Which makes him enough of a threat to rouse me from my estate and join this very irregular gathering.”
“How fortuitous that we have agreed to be friends, my lord. I am just the person to help you shake him loose.”
“You are?”
“Oh, certainly. I have great experience there, you see. Much more than you have, I’m sure. Well, as amusing as this has been, I must get back. Good day, Lord Tyndale.”
She lifted her hand to him, and he bowed courteously over it, but it took him a moment to recover enough from his bemusement to say, “Good day, Mrs. Thorne.”
He watched her walk away, almost spellbound. She had a jaunty, purposeful step that seemed perfectly in keeping with what he had learned about her personality, and she seemed to have any concern that she walked only a few feet from a precipitous drop down the cliff side. He could not help but notice the way the wind pulled at her skirts as she walked, revealing her trim but surprisingly curvy figure. Though he knew he ought not to be appreciating it as much as he was, his mind was in too much of a tangle to look away—both aghast at her peculiarity and oddly, reluctantly…attracted to it.
“What the devil just happened?” he asked aloud after she had disappeared from view.
Chapter Five
Joanna had a lot to think about as she walked back to Havencrest, but mostly she had a lot to do—which is why she walked at a brisk pace. She also kept her thoughts focused squarely on appropriate directions and not on how handsome Lord Tyndale was in the morning light. Or on how nice it had been to have an open conversation with a gentleman.
When she arrived back at the house, she went to her room and found Lizzie there, busy laying out a morning gown for her. “Lizzie, I am in an enormous hurry. How quickly do you think you can manage my hair this morning?”
“I quick as you like, ma’am,” Lizzie said, her tone as cheerful as always.
Untying her bonnet, Joanna flung it onto the bed and began helping Lizzie get her old mulberry walking gown off. She wore it for her morning rambles as she still had old habits of economy and hated to take a chance on damaging any of her more costly dresses by snagging them on hedges or getting the hems muddy. At first, when Lord Tyndale had come upon her, she’d pulled herself from her dismal memories only to realize what she must look like in her old gown. Fortunately, her bonnet had covered up her hair, which she had twisted into an inelegant knot herself in an effort to greet the morning.
As she stepped out of the gown, she fought back an impatience to get acting. If she was going to help Lord Tyndale save his niece from a fortune hunter, she needed to meet the gentleman, as well as see them together, but she had a feeling that if she had suggested to Tyndale that she take Miss Lovell into Brighton so she might meet up with her swain, he wouldn’t be best pleased. Therefore, she needed to get the young lady into a carriage and down the road before he made his way back from town.
Lizzie came forward with a blue gown and held it out while she stepped into it. Joanna tugged and pulled the long sleeves into place while Lizzie eased the gown up over her shoulders and began fastening it in the back. As the girl worked, Lizzie looked up and saw herself in the mirror. The gown was lovely—much more lovely than the young lady looking back at her in the mirror. She took a deep breath and fought back the wave of self-pity that nearly swamped her. “Don’t be stupid,” she said aloud, angry that her old insecurities were forcing themselves back on her awareness for some odd reason.
“I’m sorry, miss. I’ll try not to be,” Lizzie said.
Gasping, Joanna turned around and caught Lizzie’s dejected face in her hands. “Lizzie, you cannot think I was speaking to you. Well,
of course you did, because who else is here. No, no. You are a treasure. I was speaking to myself, and truly, I needed the reminder today.”
“That’s ever such a relief, ma’am. I was wracking my brain to think what I had done to offend you.”
Joanna turned back around to let Lizzie finish. “Not a thing in the world. My tongue, however, has been getting me into all manner of trouble today, and I am very sorry for it.”
For seriously, what had she been thinking when she was speaking with Lord Tyndale? No doubt he thought her extremely odd. But at the same time, he hadn’t excused himself or otherwise tried to escape her. Instead, she had been the one escaping him and his…overwhelming presence.
Lizzie arranged her hair into an elegant knot with tight curls falling all around her face and tied a pretty lace cap on top. Normally at home, she refused to wear a cap, not liking to hide her lovely hair, but when at gathering such as this, she usually bowed to convention rather than be shamed by it. Today it would serve an important purpose, however—letting Lady Lovell see her as a respectable matron who was well up to the task of escorting her daughter into town.
“You look lovely, miss,” Lizzie said affectionately.
“Like I said,” Joanna answered, rising from the stool in front of the vanity, “You are a treasure.”
Going downstairs with her bonnet in hand, she immediately sought out Morton and asked him to have carriage brought round for her, then asked Mrs. Daw where she could find the Lovell ladies.
“I believe they are in the morning room,” she said, her tone holding just the slightest hint of curiosity, though she tried to cover it up.
“Excellent. Now, I will be going into town. Is there anything you’d like me to bring back for you?”
A spark of hope flashed through her eyes but went out almost as quickly. “Thank you, ma’am, but you’ll know that Mrs. Garvey has made her wishes known in no uncertain terms and I dare not purchase anything against her wishes.”
“Yes, I know. But as I will be the one purchasing it, I beg you will tell me and not worry a moment over Mrs. Garvey.”
The Vexatious Widow (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 2) Page 3
