Rhonda Woodward (5 page)

“Did you see his clothes? Jane says all the blades in Town copy the knot of his neckcloth and the cut of his coat. She says he beat Prince George in a phaeton race! Jane says he has the largest house in Cavendish Square! And he’s here, in Parsley Hay! Oh, I do hope he will come to our ball. Surely, he will if he is still staying at Ridgeton Abbey. Oh, Mama, please write to Mr. Penhurst this day!”

What Mama was supposed to write, Deirdre thankfully didn’t share.

“Deirdre my love, you must compose yourself, really, your behavior is much too coming. You do not see Marina behaving in such a giddy manner. I’m sure Mr. Penhurst’s guests will come to our ball if they are still in residence.”

“Yes, but if they get wind of her silliness they may run in the other direction.”

“Oh pooh, Marina, you were having just as much fun as I was last night.” She turned back to Mama with beseeching eyes. “Do say we may go to Northam Hall today. I do wish to see dear Lydia. And I understand Jane Willingham also intends to call on the Hollings.”

Rising from the table, Mama replied, “No, my dear, I’m afraid I am much too busy to go visiting today. Why, the number of invitations I must write shall keep me at my secretaire for days.”

Deirdre’s face screwed up with petulance and before she could open her mouth to protest, Marina said, “Do not fret, Deirdre, I wish to ride into the village and as Northam Hall is close, we shall stop there first.”

Instantly, Deirdre’s expression cleared and she bounced in her chair. “Oh capital! I shall wear my bronze-colored habit with the darling new tricorn.”

Mama smiled at her daughters and moved toward the door. “That is good of you, Marina. Take one of the grooms with you and convey my felicitations to Mrs. Hollings.”

Once in her pretty room, decorated in springlike shades of blue and cream, Marina asked her maid to bring her favorite charcoal-colored habit, but changed her mind before Dora reached the door.

“Dora, please bring my new habit instead, the midnight blue. It’s warmer.”

“Yes, miss, and the top hat with the net veil?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Dora smiled her approval, for she was excessively concerned with her lady’s appearance and took pride in turning her out at her best.

Marina paused in releasing the row of small buttons on her sleeve to gaze out the window to the park and the countryside beyond, toward Ridgeton Abbey.

In the short time she spent in their company last night, it became clear to Marina that Mr. Penhurst’s guests were a sophisticated lot, and she wondered how they would entertain themselves in sleepy little Parsley Hay. Although she was sure the gentlemen would soon be diverting themselves with the hunt.

The images of the beauteous Mr. Sefton and the disdainful Lord Cortland came to her thoughts again, and she was determined to behave differently when she next met them.

She keenly felt not only her parents’ expectations of her, but the expectations of all the people she had known all of her life.

As the eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Buckleigh, she was aware of her place in her beloved Parsley Hay. Life had always unfolded in a smooth rhythm before Marina, and unlike the often discontented Deirdre, Marina had wanted nothing more from her life than for that rhythm to continue.

Until lately.

Even before meeting Mr. Sefton, she had become aware of a restless stirring within. Marrying Henry Willingham no longer felt like a forgone conclusion. She wanted more, although she was not sure what “more” was.

She couldn’t fault his attentiveness; however, nothing in his manner made her think he felt anything beyond admiration for her. She’d never detected anything approaching passion in his regard. And even though she felt a bit petty for thinking so, the way he nearly minced when he danced made her wish she never had to take the floor with him again. The idea of marrying Henry had always felt so comfortable. Comfortable now seemed deadly dull.

The chief flaw in her character—which was often, yet kindly, pointed out to her—was her tendency to be too independent in her thoughts and words. However, this propensity did not seem to distress Papa as much as it did Mama.

In response to these frequent checks, Marina had come to realize that she had developed a kind of conflict within herself—she would swing from being too forthright, too willing to speak her mind, to feeling guilt at the disappointment she saw in others. Then she would try very hard to be perfect and obliging to make up for it, which of course never really worked. Because of this curious bent, she sometimes felt she hardly knew herself at all. Sometimes she found it a strain to “always behave as Lord Buckleigh’s daughter should,” as Mama put it.

Last night, she had allowed herself to be caught up in circumstances that easily could have landed her in a good deal of trouble.

It would not do.

Dora returned with the midnight blue habit and draped it across the foot of her bed. “Here we are, miss.”

“Thank you, Dora.”

From this moment on, she would take herself in hand and behave as the daughter of Lord and Lady Buckleigh ought.

Even as she made this vow, she was aware of a deep feeling of excitement at the thought of seeing Sefton again, for it had been much too disappointing not to see him again after the dancing had resumed after supper.

She had wondered where he had gone, but knew instinctively that his absence must be directly connected to the odious Lord Cortland.

Chapter Six

An hour and a half later, Marina and Deirdre rode away from Northam Hall, with Thomas the groom trailing behind.

To Deirdre’s complete dismay, they had arrived to learn that Lydia was off visiting Jane Willingham. As the Willingham estate lay in the opposite direction, Marina had refused to turn back.

“I am most put out,” Deirdre complained when they reached the lane. “I do not know how I could have been confused about who was going to call on whom today. What is worse is having wasted an hour visiting with Mrs. Hollings. I have never felt so dull in my life.”

Marina sent her disgruntled sister an indulgent smile.

“Consider that you have done your good deed of the day. I shall purchase a pretty geegaw for you from Marshes for your good behavior.”

This tease elicited a laugh from her sister and for a little while they cantered through the cool, bright day in companionable silence.

“May I ask you something, Marina?”

Marina stifled a sigh. Companionable silence was not Deirdre’s strong suit. “If you must.”

“Do you truly wish to marry Henry Willingham?”

Marina startled, causing her horse to shy. “Goodness, what kind of question is that?”

Deirdre glanced at her sideways from beneath the pointed brim of her dashing tricorn riding hat. “Everyone speaks of it as if it were a done thing. Even last night, when you were dancing with Henry, Mrs. Hollings, as bold as brass, said that she would lay odds against her best bonnet that this time next year there will be a ball in honor of your wedding.”

They cantered along and Marina thought about this for a moment or two. Considering the direction of her thoughts that morning, it struck her as odd that her sister would bring up the subject.

“Well, I suppose it’s what’s always been expected. After all, Henry and I are near in age, our families are well connected, and I would never have to leave Parsley Hay and everyone I love.”

A few days ago, she would have been able to make this speech with conviction, but after last night . . .

“I wouldn’t mind leaving Parsley Hay in the least,” Deirdre stated. “Oh, not forever because I would miss you and Mama and Papa too much. But I should like to marry someone and travel. I would love to go to the Continent and visit all the beautiful, romantic places we’ve read about and have wonderful adventures.”

Marina looked over to her sister and was struck by the wistful longing so plain on her pretty face. When Deirdre was like this, Marina didn’t find her at all irritating. “Perhaps one day you shall, Deirdre.”

“You have not answered my question.”

“Which?”

“Do you wish to marry Henry?”

“Not today,” she replied with a laugh and urged her horse forward.

Reaching High Street, Thomas helped them alight and took charge of the horse, saying that he would find them in an hour to see if they were ready to return home.

Gathering up the train of her habit, Deirdre announced that she was going straight to Marshes, to find something pretty for Marina to buy for her.

“I have not forgot what you said.”

Smiling wryly, Marina followed her sister, pausing to greet people and agree with those who were at the ball last night that they all had the jolliest time ever.

After much picking up and putting down of various fripperies, she and Deirdre emerged from the shop some time later, with Deirdre still exclaiming over the dear little fan that was just the right size to fit in her reticule. Marina was just as pleased with her magazines.

“Oh look, there is Mr. Penhurst. He is with that tall, fair-haired man. I never saw
him
dance once and never saw him again after supper.”

“Nor I.” Marina felt her face grow flushed at the sight of Mr. Sefton striding toward them next to Mr. Penhurst.

“Pooh! We cannot escape now, they have seen us. I do wish Mr. Penhurst would speak of something other than horses, hunting and dogs.”

“Hush, he was a gracious host, and I think he is a wonderful addition to the neighborhood.”

Within a moment, the two gentlemen drew close enough to hail the ladies. “Miss Buckleigh, Miss Deirdre, what an unexpected pleasure. I do not believe you met Mr. Sefton yestereve. Mr. Sefton, may I present Miss Buckleigh and her sister, Miss Deirdre Buckleigh of Buck Hill.”

While Mr. Sefton bowed, and she and her sister curtsied, Marina reminded herself of her vow to keep her composure. But she found it an immediate challenge for the sensation of being in his arms hit her anew. Quickly, she returned her gaze to Mr. Penhurst. It had been one thing to gaze into those startling aquamarine eyes alone on a shadowy terrace, and quite another in company in the bright afternoon light.

For once, she was grateful for her sister’s boldness, for Marina found her tongue to be quite tied.

“We did not see you dance last night, Mr. Sefton, I do hope you were not unwell?”

Marina heard the slight chide in her sister’s tone. Evidently, she had not set aside her displeasure with young men who did not dance when there were ladies languishing without a partner.

Mr. Sefton smiled, his eyes sliding to Marina’s for an instant. “Not unwell, Miss Buckleigh, thank you. I now certainly regret the missed opportunity to dance with two such charming ladies. I hope I may have another chance.”

Deirdre seemed mollified by the pretty speech and said, “You just may, sir. For I know Ridgeton Abbey shall soon receive an invitation for our ball, with the hope that all there may join us.”

“Indeed?” Mr. Penhurst inquired, his pale brown eyes smiling down at Deirdre. “We shall all look forward to that. Spent a good bit of time with your esteemed father last night, he said nothing of a ball, but he kindly invited us to join the hunt next week. Terribly excited, you know.”

This comment jogged Marina out of her muteness and with a laugh she said, “Knowing my father, I’d be surprised if he even remembered we are having a ball. But what of your sister, Mr. Penhurst? I hope she and your other guests are well after your wonderful party.”

“Fit as a fiddle, thank you. In fact, they are not far behind us, at the receiving office to leave some letters for the post. Would you walk with us in that direction? I know they would like to see you.”

“Oh yes, how lovely,” Marina replied.

Such were their positions that it was easier to proceed if Marina walked next to Mr. Sefton, following Mr. Penhurst and Deirdre, who almost preened at being able to go ahead of her sister.

Her shyness with Sefton continued and she could think of nothing to say. She felt a good deal of relief when she espied Mr. Penhurst’s sister, Mr. Fairdale and Mrs. Langford.

Marina had been introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Langford last night, and the only thing she had observed was that Mrs. Langford was petite and plump, but prone to a perpetual smile and her husband was portly and wheezed. It appeared Mrs. Langford and the beautiful Lady Darley were close friends.

She greeted the others, noting that Deirdre favored Mr. Fairdale with a dazzling smile, no doubt because he had been one of the first young men to ask her to dance last night.

Another man came out of the receiving office, and Marina’s good mood went flat when she saw he was the odious Marquis.

Watching him stroll along, Marina did have to admit that he was an impressive example of manly elegance. His cutaway slate-blue coat, deep cream double-breasted waistcoat and shining black top boots were the first stare of fashion.

Passing a critical eye over him, Marina decided that he was too large, too muscular to be truly fashionable, and she much preferred the slimmer Mr. Sefton. And she certainly did not like Lord Cortland’s cool, nearly bored expression.

After all the greetings were exchanged, Mr. Penhurst said, “We were just going to see the church, I understand the altar and stained glass have an interesting history. Would you join us, my dear Misses Buckleigh? We would appreciate knowledgeable tour guides.”

Deirdre agreed for them with alacrity and the group left High Street, taking a picturesque lane, lined with bare dogwood and crab apple trees, the ladies chatting about the ball. Soon they rounded the lane and a picturesque stone church, built during the reign of Henry the Third, came into view.

“My, it is lovely,” Lady Darley exclaimed.

Marina felt a surge of pride, for generations of Buckleighs had worshiped, married, and been laid to rest within its mellow stone walls.

Upon entering the nave with its soaring vaulted ceiling, Mr. Fairdale said, “Cortland, perhaps you and I should stand back. Wouldn’t want the ladies to be struck by lightning, too, eh?”

Everyone laughed at this sally, and Marina thought of the gossip Mama had shared this morning. By the satirical smile the Marquis gave Mr. Fairdale in reply, she could believe any bad thing of him.

Marina moved past Mr. Fairdale to join Lady Darley and Mrs. Langford. Once they reached the altar, Marina was able to share a good deal of its history. The group dispersed so that they could peruse the impressive masonry and notable stained glass windows at their ease. Marina was most pleased that the sophisticated guests of Ridgeton Abbey seemed to find much in the old church to interest them.

Marina took a side aisle to better look at her favorite window, which depicted King George slaying the dragon. The afternoon sun lit the jewel-toned glass to its most beautiful.

Mr. Sefton came to stand next to her and gazed up at the window. “This is very fine work, indeed.”

“Yes,” she said, feeling almost breathless by his nearness. “It is a later addition, having been commissioned after a terrific storm damaged the old window beyond repair.”

“And I see by this brass plaque that it was the third Baron Buckleigh who made that commission.”

“Our family history is connected to this church since its founding.”

She glanced up at him, marveling that she could feel so breathless and yet speak of such mundane things. He looked deeply into her eyes for a moment longer before turning back to look up at the window.

“Miss Buckleigh,” he began in a very low tone, “Although for my part I do not regret our moments on the terrace last night, I would apologize if you felt at all discomposed by my actions. My only excuse is that I was quite swept away by your grace and beauty.”

“Oh,” she whispered on a sigh. She could hardly believe she had heard right and could find no reply to such an unexpected speech.

“Miss Buckleigh,” Lady Darley called from the other side of the nave, “do come tell us about the unusual carvings on this column, I declare, they look almost pagan.”

She smiled at Mr. Sefton, hoping to convey some of the emotions she could not speak, before turning to join Lady Darley and Mrs. Langford.

Eventually, the party exhausted their interest in the church, and departed in a straggling line, with Mr. Sefton lending Lady Darley his arm, at her request. Marina trailed behind for the sole purpose of reliving those brief moments with Mr. Sefton. He thought her beautiful! She held the moment close, for it was almost as lovely as dancing with him.

As if sent for the sole purpose of dampening her spirits, the Marquis, with an air of careless ease, held the gate as they all left the churchyard. To her chagrin, for she had managed to avoid him this last hour, he continued to wait for her. His direct gaze, strangely golden in the afternoon light, with lashes thick and black enough to make a girl envious, held an amused yet assessing gleam. A gleam she did not like.

With a faint bristle, she moved past him, but he fell in step beside her.

“Miss Buckleigh,” he drawled. “I shall presume upon our brief but interesting acquaintance to tell you that I find you a most curious creature.”

She ceased suppressing her bristle and glared up at him from beneath the brim of her riding hat. “You do indeed presume, my lord.”

“No use looking daggers at me. In fact, I, by rights, should be looking askance at
you
.”

His tone was polite, but she strongly sensed the tease behind it. “I suspect a game and I do not wish to play. What are you speaking of?”

“Only this: Last night you made it transparently clear that you wished to avoid any censorious judgment from family and community, yet today that no longer seems of concern. To see you whispering with Sefton, one could easily suspect that the two of you have met before this afternoon and wonder at it.”

Shock halted her steps and she faced him. “Oh, how boorish of you to bring up last night,” she made sure her voice did not carry to the others ahead of them. “I did nothing I need be ashamed of and for you to hint otherwise—”

He stopped as well. “I hint, Miss Buckleigh?” he said in an infuriatingly mild tone. “You mistake me. I only meant to express that I find you, as I said, curious.”

Frowning, she reviewed that moment beneath the stained glass with Sefton, and wondered if indeed it could appear more intimate than it was. She dismissed the niggling doubt that crept in, for there was nothing untoward about a lady and a gentleman having such a brief conversation in so public a place. She strongly suspected the Marquis was determined to be vexing.

“We were not whispering, as you put it. Mr. Sefton was apologizing, although, frankly, it is none of your affair.”

“Indeed it is not,” he said with an inclination of his head, unfazed by the scold. “For my part, I would not stare if you and the gentleman danced a jig in the village square—but from your attitude last night, I assumed you would prefer no one else learn of your moonlit waltz.”

She cast him a suspicious look, recalling again what she had heard of him last night and what Mama had said about him that very morning. “I suspect, my lord, that you are bored and wish to use me as a diversion. If you find Parsley Hay so dull, I wonder that you stay.”

He looked down at her, and quirked a black brow. This time, she did not mistake the tease in his gaze. “Again, you mistake me, Miss Buckleigh. I am the furthest thing from bored.”

Just then, Deirdre turned and called out, “Marina, we have agreed to stop in at the rectory to see the Vicar’s Roman coins!”

With relief she replied, “Very good, Mr. Ralston does love to show them off,” and without giving the Marquis another look she sped tempo to catch up with her sister and the others.