The Unofficial Suitor (21 page)

Although if she failed to bring Lord Atherston up to scratch, might not her brother see in Mr. Hawke a way to avoid the expense of a prolonged stay in Leeds?

Clearly, the time had come to do as she had been instructed and give Lord Atherston a little encouragement. Smiling at him as sweetly as she knew how, she said, “This mare you have loaned me is so beautifully trained. Did you raise her yourself?”

Nothing, she had discovered during her stay in London, was a more surefire topic of conversation with the gentlemen than horses. Nor was she mistaken this time since Lord Atherston managed to spend the next half hour describing to her the horses he owned, the ones he had owned, and the ones he planned to purchase someday, including a team of grays suitable for a lady to drive, he added, giving her what was apparently meant to be a significant glance out of the corner of his eye.

She knew she should seize such a perfect opportunity and respond to his hint with a warm smile at the very least, yet something made her resist taking that fateful step. Feeling unaccountably reluctant to commit herself, she avoided meeting his glance and instead kicked her horse into a gallop. Her step-mother’s advice to the contrary, Cassie felt more comfortable once she joined Cecily and Perry, who were riding at the front of their little cavalcade. Unfortunately for her peace of mind, she received a black look from Ellen, who was seated beside dear Arthur in his carriage. There was sure to be a scolding when they returned home, and Cassie resolved not to make any further attempt to escape the attentions of Lord Atherston. With luck, he would ascribe her abrupt flight to maidenly shyness.

* * * *

The estate, Richard was happy to discover, was everything he had been promised. The graveled drive was free of grass and weeds, the shrubs were well trimmed, the flowerbeds a riot of color, and the lawns had an evenness that bespoke two hundred years of being perfectly tended.

Morwyle House itself was not the least bit pretentious. A lovely example of late Elizabethan architecture, it was beautifully maintained. The sunlight glanced off the mullioned windows, making them sparkle like diamonds. Just such a house had he dreamed of when he was sweltering in the heat of that cursed island.

Leading the party around to the stable block, which fortunately came fully staffed, as did the house, Richard helped the ladies dismount, then offered his arm to Lady Letitia. “If none of you objects, we shall begin the tour with the house. Then, since the weather is so lovely today, I have arranged for a luncheon to be served al fresco. “

Everyone proved amenable to his plan, and Mrs. Beagles, the housekeeper, met them at the door. She was a wellspring of information about the history of the manor, having served there all her life, as had her mother before her, and her mother’s mother before that.

With the amused cooperation of Lady Letitia, Richard managed about halfway through the tour to detach Lady Cassiopeia from the arm of Lord Atherston, who could not quite hide his chagrin when he discovered that somehow he was now expected to escort Lady Letitia. In the end, good manners prevailed, and he did not object openly to the switch in partners.

To Richard’s relief, neither did Lady Cassiopeia, whose opinion of the house he was not slow to solicit.

“I cannot think of any way it could be improved,” she said, looking around her with delight. “Indeed, I marvel that anyone living here could bear to part with it.”

“The owner died childless,” Richard explained, “and his only heirs are two nieces whose husbands already own vast estates in Canada. Since they have no intention of returning to this country, they prefer to sell the house and furnishings as they stand.” He paused, then asked casually, “You do not think this house is a bit too small, then?”

“Well,” she considered the matter carefully, “that would depend, of course, on how much entertaining you might wish to do. The dining room can easily seat thirty, and there are enough bedrooms for a large family plus a dozen or so house guests. Were you planning on getting—”

She broke off, obviously abruptly aware that she was straying into dangerous territory. Taking pity on her delightful confusion, he pretended to misunderstand her. “I plan to entertain frequently, but not on a grand scale.”

“And this,” Mrs. Beagles said, throwing open a set of double doors, “is the picture gallery.” She began with great assurance to name not only all the distinguished members of the Morwyle family who were hung there, but also the well-known and less well-known artists who had painted them.

“There is one change in the house that I would recommend,” Lady Cassiopeia said in an undertone.

“And what is that?” Richard asked, looking down at her.

She smiled up at him. “I have never before seen such a depressing collection of sour frowns and homely visages. They are not at all in keeping with the cheerfulness of the rest of the house. I suggest you crate up all these fine people, pack them off to Canada, and replace them with pictures of your own ancestors.”

Caught off guard, it took him a moment to regain control of his emotions before he could reply. “What makes you think my ancestors are any pleasanter to look at than these? I am not noted for my beauty, nor beloved for my charming smiles.” He spoke lightly, as if joking, but for the life of him, he could not look down for fear she might read the pain in his eyes—pain caused by what to her had doubtless been only a casual remark.

Not even when he married her would he be able to tell her of his humble origins. That information must remain a secret until the day he died.

Even Lady Letitia would doubtless withdraw her support were she to learn that he did not even know the name of his father, nor did he have the slightest memory of his mother.

“I am only sorry your daughter could not be with us this afternoon, Mr. Shuttleworth,” Richard commented politely. Besides inspecting the property itself, he had decided it was desirable to make the acquaintance of his neighbors before committing himself to the purchase of the estate, in order to ascertain if any of them would be actively hostile to him.

To that end he had invited the cream of local society, namely the Reverend Mr. Philip Shuttleworth and his daughter, Squire Fanning and his wife, and Admiral Tucker, late of the Royal Navy, to join them for lunch. So far they had all—or at least, the four who were present—expressed quite freely their delight that Morwyle House would again be opened since the previous owner had been an invalid for years and so had done no entertaining to speak of.

“As to that,” the vicar now replied apologetically, “my daughter is shy and retiring and does not feel comfortable going about in society. She is quite the little homebody, in fact. It is all I can do to persuade her to attend services on Sunday.”

“Well, I shall doubtless make her acquaintance there,” Richard responded politely.

“Have you decided to purchase this place then, Richard?” At Lady Letitia’s question, all conversation ceased and everyone listened attentively to hear what his answer would be. She had asked nothing more than what he knew the others were wishing they could ask.

“I would be a fool to pass up such an opportunity,” he said with a broad smile, “and whatever else I may be, I am not lacking in common sense. As soon as we return to London, I shall instruct my man of affairs to execute the option to buy Morwyle House.”

He was heartily congratulated on all sides, and such was the cheerful confusion that it took everyone a few minutes to realize that Arthur Dillingham was attempting to speak. Reluctantly they quieted down so that he could be heard.

“Ladies, gentlemen, on this happy occasion, I wish to propose a double toast. First to you, Mr. Hawke, and may you enjoy a long and prosperous life here at Morwyle House. And secondly, although it is not quite proper form for me to propose it myself, I wish you all to drink a toast to my wife-to-be, Lady Blackstone, who has today agreed to marry me.”

Oliver Ingleby sat frozen, his glass halfway to his lips. He had been about to drink the proposed toast to Morwyle House and Hawke’s purchase of the same when Dillingham had uttered those fatal words.

Mercifully, he was at first too numb with pain to speak, to cry out his denials. But all too soon the reality of his situation penetrated to the very core of his being—his beloved Ellen was going to marry someone else. She was going to be forever beyond his reach.

Setting his champagne down without tasting it, Oliver rose abruptly from the table and left the assembled company without the slightest explanation. He could not bear to listen to everyone wishing his dearest Ellen happiness, not when all he himself wanted to do was grab Dillingham around the neck and squeeze the life out of him.

It was fortunate that the rest of the company were too preoccupied with their own affairs to notice his departure since he was too agitated to think of any polite excuse to offer for absenting himself.

* * * *

Margaret Shuttleworth stood hidden behind the heavy plum-colored curtains in the library, staring through the window at the group of people eating and talking so cheerfully out on the terrace. Oh, that she could be there among them! If only ...

Behind her the door opened and Mrs. Beagles quietly slipped into the room and joined her at her observation post.

“Jim, the footman, told me he heard Mr. Hawke announce that he is going to buy this place. I have already sounded that gentleman out as to his intentions with regards to the servants. Saints be praised, he has assured me privately that he will have need of a full staff. Not only will he retain all of the present servants, but he intends to hire additional help.”

“That is indeed wonderful. I know what a worry it has been to you all, not knowing if your continued services would be required.” As happy as she was with the others’ good fortune, Margaret could not keep from hoping that her life was also going to change for the better. “Tell me, did you also perchance discover if... if Mr. Hawke is a bachelor?”

“That he is, although it appears he is already contemplating marriage in the near future,” the housekeeper replied. “Howbeit, there are two other bachelors in the party. Lord Westhrop is not yet leg-shackled, and Mr. Hawke’s secretary, Mr. Tuke, appears to be likewise unattached.”

“Lord Westhrop looks to be younger than I am, and besides, I could never aspire to wed a peer of the realm. But a gentleman’s secretary ... that would not be aiming too high, would it?”

Mrs. Beagles, who had been her only friend for as many years as she could remember, was now strangely silent. Finally the housekeeper spoke, but what she said came as a complete shock to Margaret.

“As to that, I think you should know ...” She turned her head away and did not meet Margaret’s eyes. “I have held my tongue all these years, knowing if I told you truth, it would cause you nothing but pain. But I cannot keep silent any longer.”

The truth? Margaret felt faint with apprehension. Was there something wrong with her? Something she herself did not perceive when she looked into her mirror? Some fatal flaw about her person that had made her father deem it best to shut her away from the world and deny her the right to go out into company?

Folding her arms across her ample bosom, Mrs. Beagles said bluntly, “Squire Fanning’s eldest son, Manfred, offered for you when you were eighteen, but your father turned him down flat. Said you were still too grief-stricken over your mother’s death to think of marrying anyone.”

Feeling herself begin to tremble, Margaret immediately stiffened her muscles, lest Mrs. Beagles notice and offer her sympathy, which would be her undoing. One word of pity would doubtless cause her to lose control and break down completely, which was too embarrassing to contemplate.

“I see,” she said finally, once she felt herself able to speak again. “That would explain so much.”

The housekeeper did not need to ask what it explained—she knew, as did everyone else in the village, that from the time she was eighteen, a full three and a half years after her mother had died, Margaret had withdrawn completely from society.

Being in Margaret’s confidence, however, Mrs. Beagles was the only person in the parish who knew that it was the Reverend Mr. Shuttleworth himself who had decreed his daughter’s withdrawal, and that Margaret had not only protested vigorously, but had also begged and pleaded to be allowed to continue making social visits. Unfortunately, neither tears nor reason had availed her one whit.

“My father explained to me that since we did not have the necessary funds to allow me to be presented in London and since the local society was beneath our touch, I would find it easier to adjust to my lot in life if temptation were removed from my path, lest I contract a mésalliance. As my father, he knew what was best for me, and as a dutiful daughter, I was to obey him in all things. He quoted from the scriptures at great length to justify his position.”

“There is more,” Mrs. Beagles said apologetically, “but perhaps it is better if you do not know everything.”

With effort Margaret forced the necessary words out. “Tell me. Please, if you are my friend, do not hold anything back.” She bowed her head and listened with increasing pain while the housekeeper revealed the extent of her father’s perfidy.

“Do you remember Lord Kormly? He visited here at Morwyle House when you were three-and-twenty.”

“I remember him. He spoke to me once at church. He seemed a very pleasant man.”

“Indeed he was—he made a most favorable impression on all of the servants here. And ...” The housekeeper’s voice faltered, “and while he was here, he asked your father for permission to call on you.”

“I must assume ... that my father denied him permission.” So many wasted years, Margaret thought with agonizing pain in her heart. She might have been married seven years by now—might have three or four children—if only...

“Yes, and I was that angry with your father, if I’d’ve been a man, I would have eloped with you myself,” Mrs. Beagles added.

That would explain why Lord Kormly had cut short his visit after specifically mentioning to her that he planned to spend the summer. And why her father had decreed that she henceforth wear bonnets with concealing brims and not speak to anyone after services were over.