The Lady's Second-Chance Suitor

by Scott, Regina

  “Unimpressive?” Rob asked.

  “Tolerable,” she pronounced. “And what of you? I saw you sitting with Mrs. Todd. Did I detect a thaw in the air?”

  “Perhaps a touch of late fall,” he allowed. “But winter soon set in again.”

  She raised a brow. “Could my charming brother be losing his abilities?”

  Rob looked down his nose at her. “I have lost only the skirmish. It is far too soon to be declaring the results of the war.”

  Another fellow approached just then. He’d been the first to claim Hester’s hand for a dance, but Rob hadn’t detected any particular warmth between the two.

  “My lord,” he said with a nod. “Miss Peverell. Mrs. Denby, the spa hostess, introduced us at the Harvest Ball.”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Donner,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “How are you faring?”

  “Well enough,” he said, “but I could count my night a success if I had an opportunity to dance with you.”

  Elizabeth sent Rob a look, as if to say this was how it should be done. Really, the fellow was far too obvious with his fatuous smile and manly chin. Still, he returned to the floor with Elizabeth on his arm.

  Should he have protested? He hadn’t had to involve himself with these sorts of decisions before. His mother had always chaperoned his sister for the seven years she had been out. During that time, Elizabeth had garnered no less than thirteen offers of marriage. She’d managed to convince Father to refuse all of them. That had made for gossip sufficient enough to eclipse even some of his antics.

  “What is she waiting for?” Rob had heard their mother lament one night after Elizabeth had gone to bed. “She’s refused titles, wealth, position, and power. And she never gives me a better answer than I didn’t care for him.”

  “Elizabeth has exacting standards,” their father had said, voice heavy with pride. “And my little girl deserves a fellow who meets every one.”

  His little girl. That had been Elizabeth’s role in the family, no matter her age. She was his father’s darling, who could do no wrong. Thomas was the dutiful firstborn, determined to please, to excel no matter how high the standard. Rob was the charming entertainment.

  And now he must be so much more.

  “Good evening, my lord,” Mrs. Greer said. The angular blonde giggled as she ventured closer, as if he’d given her a witty retort instead of silence. “I do hope you are enjoying our little assemblies.”

  “Immensely,” he assured her. “And how is your husband the arborist this evening?”

  Her smile stiffened. “He is an apothecary, my lord, though you are so healthy you would not require his services, I’m sure. And he is quite well, thank you for asking. Looking forward to his next term as president of the Spa Corporation Council.”

  “Lord Howland appointed him, then,” Rob mused. “Or is that my role as viscount now?”

  She drew herself up. “No, indeed, my lord. Every position on the council is elected annually by the entire village. My husband has been elected president for the last six years running. It is an exacting position, requiring patience, fortitude, and wisdom, all of which my husband possesses in good measure.”

  “Well, I wish him the best of luck,” he told her.

  The vicar approached them just then, and Mrs. Greer made way for him.

  “Mr. Wingate,” she said with an equally ingratiating smile. “How fortunate we are to have you attend tonight.”

  A slight fellow, the minister tended to bob his head when speaking as if agreeing to his own logic. “I came for the express purpose of thanking Lord Peverell for his generous donation to the dame school in Upper Grace. The rector, Mr. Jenkins, could not stop speaking of it when we met earlier this week.”

  “It is the talk of the village here too,” Mrs. Greer assured him, though he had a feeling the news had not reached Grace-by-the-Sea as yet. “A hundred pounds was it?”

  “A thousand,” the vicar informed her.

  She paled, hand going to her heart. “A thousand!”

  “A donation befitting the endeavor,” Rob told them both, feeling as if his cravat were tightening around his neck.

  Mrs. Greer’s exclamation had drawn others closer. Before he knew it, they were singing his praises. He was kind, generous, a visionary. He could have told them that even the cruelest villain could donate to a worthy cause if it benefitted him. Rob had never claimed to be a saint.

  Just a sinner trying hard to reform.

  Chapter Five

  No footman opened the door for them when Rob and his sister reached the Lodge that evening. They had brought only a few servants with them—Elizabeth’s maid, Kinsey, and his valet, Eckman, as well as their chef and his favorite assistant. The rest Elizabeth had arranged to hire temporarily from Mrs. Catchpole at the local employment agency. Rob was only surprised the footman did not appear to know his job.

  He helped Elizabeth off with her cloak, then turned for the heavy stairs. She hummed to herself as they climbed. While Rob was delighted to see her happy, he couldn’t help wondering whether he should have been more attentive to who had partnered her at the assembly.

  What if one was a fortune hunter or had lascivious motives? Would Mother have been able to ferret out the truth? On the other hand, he knew how easy it was to maneuver around some mothers, especially those hoping to advance in social standing, no matter the cost. Should he have hired a stern-faced chaperone to attend his sister instead?

  “Thinking of Mr. Donner, perhaps?” he asked as they gained the landing.

  She smiled, turning to the left down the corridor that beckoned. “Perhaps. I talked with a number of interesting people tonight—Mr. Donner, Lord Featherstone, Mrs. Denby, Hester’s mother.”

  “Hester’s mother?” The question came out far too much like a yelp as she wandered into the withdrawing room on that wing.

  “Don’t get in a pucker,” Elizabeth soothed. “It wasn’t as if you were much company. You were positively surrounded at times.” She went to sit on one of the chairs near the window that overlooked the Channel. The shutters had yet to be closed, and darkness pressed against the glass.

  Rob shook his head as he sat beside her. “Amazing what a thousand-pound donation can do.”

  “Was that all they wanted?” she asked. “To comment on your generosity to the dame school?”

  Once again, his cravat seemed to be tightening. He tugged at it with two fingers. “Perhaps at first. I’m sure it didn’t help that I agreed to the vicar’s proposal.”

  Her brows went up. “And what did our fine vicar propose? Seat cushions for some of the pews? A donation to the benevolence fund?”

  Rob swallowed. “I may have agreed to allow the use of one of our leased properties as a home for widows.”

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Widows? What sort of widows, precisely?”

  “Real widows,” Rob assured her hurriedly. “Proper widows. That is, widows I have never so much as met. Oh, leave it be, Elizabeth.”

  She trilled a laugh and cuffed him on the shoulder.

  Truly, he wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to allow the use of the house. How many widows in need of supporting could Grace-by-the-Sea have? And why was he the one to support them? Elizabeth was right to question him. It was ridiculous, him a benevolent patron. He was ridiculous.

  So, why did some part of him feel smugly pleased to have been of use?

  Their temporary footman came hurrying into the room then, bucket in one grip. So, that was why he hadn’t been at the door. He must have been carrying coals for the morning fire; his gloves were already dusted with black. A slender fellow with brown hair, he couldn’t be much older than twenty. Now he jerked to a stop at the sight of them and bowed his head, deferential to the point of hesitancy.

  “Ah, there you are, Bascom,” Elizabeth said. “Remind Monsieur Antoine I am hoping for kippers tomorrow morning. In the breakfast room, if you please. I see no reason to eat in that cavernous dining room on the ground floor.”


  “Yes, Miss Peverell,” Bascom said, but his voice cracked.

  That might not be because of his youth. Monsieur Antoine ruled his kingdom with raised voice and hurled crockery. Woe betide anyone who failed to bow. His father had praised the man’s cooking but left his management entirely to their housekeeper in London. But Mrs. Hurley had stayed to take care of the house there in their absence. Elizabeth was directing the staff while they were in Grace-by-the-Sea.

  Still, the footman hesitated, glancing from Rob to his sister as if wondering what he was supposed to do now.

  “Don’t let us disturb you further, Bascom,” Rob told him. “See to your duties.”

  “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” The young footman edged from the room as if he thought they might take a bite of his grey livery.

  “Be patient with him,” Elizabeth chided. “He’s new to the role.”

  “He isn’t the only one,” Rob quipped.

  Elizabeth smiled at him, and all at once he became aware of the quiet. It was a momentary reprieve. He had never stayed in a place more conducive to noise. As the day warmed, the Lodge cracked and popped like an elderly gentleman rising from his chair in a stretch. It made similar protests as night came on and the air cooled. Wind whistled down the chimneys, sang through cracks in the window casings. At a particularly high tide, waves beat on the cliff below and set the entire place to reverberating. He had yet to experience it in a storm. It would likely be akin to sitting in front of an orchestra madly tuning up all at once.

  “I should like to visit the spa tomorrow,” his sister announced, stretching out her legs. “Say eleven?”

  He was expecting his steward any day, with more decisions to be made, but someone could always come for him if Mercer arrived.

  “Very well,” he said.

  “See that you wear something appropriate,” Elizabeth ordered.

  Rob frowned. “Since when do you comment on my wardrobe?”

  She reached out and tweaked his lapel, as if it had been out of place. “Since you decided to turn a new leaf. We must present you in the best possible light. Oh, look. What’s that?”

  He thought she meant to prevent further questions, but he followed her gaze to the window. Something flashed at sea—blue. Like a prick of a pin in the dark of the night.

  Smugglers.

  Excitement tingled up his back. A shame he must be the viscount now. What he wouldn’t give for a little adventure.

  Then again, why shouldn’t he make sure his home was safe?

  “I’m sure it’s nothing that need concern you,” Rob said, purposely turning from the view. “You must be tired from all that dancing. I won’t keep you any longer. Good night, Elizabeth.”

  She scowled at him. “You know something. I won’t be left out, Rob. What was that? What do you intend to do about it?”

  If only he had his father’s ability to demand obedience. Then again, Elizabeth had never bent, even to their father.

  “I understand smugglers may have been using the pier below the Lodge,” he explained. “That flash was a beacon asking whether it is clear to come in. Someone may be out on the property now, answering.”

  “And you intend to face him down,” she accused. “I won’t let you go alone. Give me a moment, and I’ll fetch Thomas’s dueling pistols.”

  He stared at her. “Thomas dueled?”

  “Only once,” she assured him primly, “and he didn’t hit his opponent.”

  Rob shook his head in disbelief. “And I suppose you know how to load them.”

  She nodded. “I asked Father to show me.”

  This night was only getting stranger. “No need to fetch them. Bascom can come with me.”

  “Bascom would hop up on a chair if a mouse appeared,” she informed him. “You have only to look at him to know that.”

  She might be right. Rob stood. “I’ll send him for Fitch and his stable hands, then. That ought to give our smugglers a start.”

  “I’m coming too,” she insisted.

  He decided to stop fighting. If his mother and father had been unable to convince her to behave with propriety over the past six and twenty years, why would his feeble arguments bear any weight?

  A short time later, Mr. Fitch, two stable hands, and Bascom gathered with Rob and Elizabeth on the small narrow stretch of lawn that ran from the stables and coach house at the east end of the headland to the coal shed and an outbuilding where his father had stored boating gear on the west. Along the edge, the land dropped steeply to the shore. The sea breeze set the trees to swaying in the moonlight, but Rob heard nothing except the faint rustle of the leaves and the shush of the waves.

  “Caught no sign of anyone from the stables, my lord,” his coachman declared, raising his lantern as he scanned the area. “Or when we crossed the lawn.”

  “I saw nothing from the house,” Bascom put in.

  “The flash was there,” Elizabeth said. “Rob and I both saw it.”

  Rob stepped farther onto the grass, senses tuned to any sound, any movement. A bird wheeled across the moon, then dove for the waves. A rabbit bounded for cover among the bushes closer to the house.

  With Elizabeth and his staff at his back, he worked his way out to the edge of the cliff, until he could see the pier jutting into the water. Grace Cove around the turn of the headland was sheltered, but not quite deep enough for the heavy-bottomed craft his father had favored. Because the headland sank deep under the water here, theirs was the only pier along the entire stretch of coastland.

  But it stood empty.

  He straightened. “They must have landed elsewhere.”

  “Good, then,” Elizabeth said.

  “Aye, and good riddance,” Fitch muttered.

  Bascom shivered, but Rob didn’t think it had anything to do with the cool night air.

  “Keep a lantern burning at the back of the house all night,” Rob advised, “so a visitor cannot mistake that someone’s in residence. I’ll ask our steward to see about hiring a night watchman.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Bascom said, brown hair beginning to stick out from where he must have pomaded it in place around his lean face. “I’m sure Mrs. Catchpole will be happy to help.”

  Rob inclined his head and turned to follow his sister back to the house, Bascom just behind, while Fitch and his assistants headed for the stables. Rob had never had a run-in with smugglers during his wild summer at Grace-by-the-Sea, but he couldn’t afford the association now. It might seem like a jolly adventure, but Hester’s story of how her father had been killed only chilled him.

  He would have to inform the magistrate about the blue light in the morning.

  ~~~

  Hester couldn’t help the guilt that tugged as she rode home in the carriage with her mother that night. It should have been easy to treat Rob with disdain after what he’d done. Yet his talk of his family’s death and the way he’d listened to the story of her father’s murder had set her defenses to crumbling.

  And that she could not allow. Losing him once had nearly destroyed her. She was not about to fall under his sway again. This time it wasn’t only her emotions at risk. She must think about Rebecca. Her daughter deserved a mother who was attentive and not fretting about what might be.

  “Lord Peverell seems to have matured into his title,” her mother commented as the coach crossed the Downs for Upper Grace. “I remember the stories told of him when he was younger.”

  Hester tensed. “Stories?”

  Her mother’s smile was kind. “A young man with time and money on his hands can find too many ways to get into trouble. Racing horses, gambling. And I daresay a few hearts were broken along the way.”

  Hers certainly had been. “And you think him changed?” Hester asked.

  “He will have to change,” her mother said, as if decreeing it would make it so. “He’s the viscount now. He must secure the line and protect his sister.”

  And likely in that order, in her mother’s mind. Rob had gone fr
om questionable second son to title holder. All over England, matchmaking mamas must be salivating.

  Even hers.

  “I doubt Lord Peverell will be here long enough for us to find out,” Hester said, turning her gaze out the window. “The Lodge was only a passing fancy for anyone in his family.”

  She hoped that would be the last of it. Her mother must realize one of the costs of marrying into the Peverell family. She’d never wanted any of her children more than an hour’s ride away. How she’d worried when Lark had left home to follow in their father’s footsteps and become a Riding Officer in Kent. She’d been over the moon with delight when he’d settled down in Grace-by-the-Sea and married Jess.

  If Rob and Hester ever worked through their differences and married, Hester might have to travel to Wiltshire and London. She might not see Grace-by-the-Sea more than once every five years.

  But her mother merely clasped her hands in her lap. “I suppose we’ll see,” she said. “In the meantime, I need your help. Nine days is a terribly short time to plan a wedding, especially one to so important a person as the earl. We must consult Jesslyn.”

  “With Rosemary staying with her and Lark until the wedding, I’m sure she and Jesslyn will have everything planned by the time we see them for Sunday dinner,” Hester told her.

  “Sunday is entirely too late,” her mother insisted. “We will visit the spa tomorrow, at eleven.”

  Hester frowned as the coach rumbled into Upper Grace. “But I planned to spend the day working on a new gown for Rebecca. She outgrows them so quickly.”

  “Perhaps we might go for no more than an hour or two,” her mother allowed. She pressed a hand to her chest. “I was so looking forward to a dose of the healing waters.”

  Fear poked at her. “Are your chest palpitations returning, Mother?”

  “Not like the last time,” she assured her, lowering her hand. “But perhaps a flutter now and then. Doctor Chance and the waters were so efficacious eight years ago. I’m sure Doctor Bennett will know what to do now.”

  Hester nodded. “Then of course I will accompany you.”