The Lady's Second-Chance Suitor

by Scott, Regina

  She narrowed her eyes, as if she thought he meant to refute her nonetheless. “Not every family participates as heavily as Father and Thomas. Some lords do not take their seats in Parliament.”

  “Such a fine excuse,” Rob teased. “A shame I cannot feel comfortable taking it.”

  “Because you have changed,” Elizabeth insisted.

  He’d like to think he’d always had enough honor to do his duty. He’d simply never had such a duty before.

  “So, you think it possible Hester and I might…” He could not make himself finish the sentence.

  She beckoned with her hand as if to draw out the words. When he merely smiled, she shook her head.

  “You cannot even speak of it, Rob. You have no business courting a lady until you can.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” He rose to his full height and gazed down his nose at her. “I am prepared to court and marry, should I make the decision to do so.”

  Her mouth quirked. “And have you made such a decision?”

  He grimaced. “Perhaps not yet.”

  “Ah.” She stood and came to join him. “Then you simply need to become better acquainted with Hester. See if you suit.”

  “I feel as if I know her rather well already,” Rob pointed out.

  “You knew her well seven years ago,” Elizabeth replied. “You must stop seeing the girl you loved and start seeing the woman right in front of you. Invite her and her mother to dinner. That will give you a better idea of how she fits in our world.”

  It was a simple step. It didn’t commit him to anything. Yet it felt like a declaration.

  One Hester deserved.

  “Very well,” Rob said. “Would you make the arrangements for me, send out the invitations?”

  She smiled. “Delighted, Brother. But of course, we will be uneven numbers at table if I simply invite Hester and her mother. I’ll have to invite a couple of gentlemen as well.”

  She’d sprung the trap so neatly he hadn’t even seen it. “Gentlemen,” he drawled.

  “Yes, of course,” Elizabeth said, all wide-eyed innocence. “We must have a partner for Mrs. Denby. What would you think of Lord Featherstone?”

  “A fine fellow. And I suppose we must have a gentleman to accompany you as well.”

  “What a splendid idea,” she said as if she hadn’t planned it that way all along. “Mr. Donner might suffice. I must have someone to converse with while you make eyes at Hester.”

  Rob crossed his arms over his chest. “Why Donner? Surely there are other interesting fellows at the spa.”

  She made a face. “Fewer than you might think this time of year. And I like Mr. Donner. He makes me smile.”

  For that alone, he could bless the fellow. “Very well. But I must ask, Elizabeth: what are your feelings toward Donner?”

  His forthright, self-assured sister dropped her gaze and set about straightening some of the books on the shelf. “He seems personable.”

  “That is not what I asked.”

  She was turned half away from him, but he could see the pink creeping into her cheek. “I told you I like him.”

  “Now who’s avoiding commitment?”

  She seized a book and turned to face him as if prepared to hurl it at him. “I am not opposed to commitment, but I will not be pushed into marriage by you or anyone else.”

  Rob held up his hands. “Far be it from me to disagree. You have an inheritance from Mother. You have reached your majority. You don’t need my support or permission.”

  She set the book back into place more gently than she’d pulled it out. “Thank you. Now, let’s talk more about this dinner party.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rob hadn’t pursued her. Hester had hoped he might. She’d actually looked back once as she’d ridden off, but the grasses of the Downs had stretched away in the distance, barren and empty. Her life had felt as empty.

  That was silly. She had a fine life. She was a mother, sister, daughter, and teacher. She made a difference. She thanked God for that when she, her mother, and Rebecca attended services at St. Mary’s on Sunday. She thanked Him again as she spent the afternoon with her darling daughter. And she thanked Him once more as she lay down on her bed and tried to force thoughts of Rob Peverell from her mind at last.

  Yet, as she returned to school on Monday, she could not help but notice that she wasn’t as patient with Jimmy when he spoke out of turn in class. She wasn’t nearly as cheerful when Mrs. Mance informed her that the village elders had agreed to fund the school another year. Nor was she as attentive as she walked Rebecca home, mind going to what might have been instead of what was, so that she had to ask her daughter to repeat herself.

  That was intolerable. She would not allow Rob to come between her and Rebecca.

  “Your birthday will be here soon,” she reminded her daughter as they climbed the short stairs to the door of her mother’s house. “What should we do to celebrate?”

  Rebecca brightened as they entered the house. “A cake. With plums. Big enough for everyone.”

  “Everyone?” Hester asked with a smile, removing her bonnet. “How many people will be celebrating with us?”

  “Aunt Rosemary, the earl, Lady Miranda, Jimmy,” she rattled off before pausing for a breath. “And Lord Peverell.”

  Oh, her daughter could not know what hearing that name did to her equilibrium. “Lord Peverell will likely be too busy,” Hester explained as she removed Rebecca’s bonnet as well. “He may not even be visiting by then. He must return to his home in London.”

  Rebecca frowned. “He doesn’t live in London. He has a big house on the cliff above St. Andrew’s. Lady Miranda told me.”

  “That is his summer house,” Hester explained. “His ancestral home is in Wiltshire, but he spends much of his time in London.”

  Her daughter’s frown only grew. “He has three houses?”

  He might have more, as far as Hester knew. He’d said he had over two hundred staff and tenants, after all.

  “Think of them as places he sometimes is,” she tried. “You’re sometimes here, sometimes at church, and sometimes at school.”

  “Oh.” She slipped her hand into Hester’s as they started up the stairs. “Well, I hope he is sometimes here when it’s my birthday.”

  “Hester!”

  Her mother’s urgent cry stopped her on the stairs. “Go up to Nurse Peters, Rebecca,” she urged her daughter.

  “Is Grandmother all right?” she asked, face puckering.

  “Hester!” The name sounded positively breathless. “You must see this!”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Hester promised, giving the girl a little push up the stairs. Rebecca hurried to the chamber story, and Hester plunged for the ground floor.

  She found her mother in the sitting room, fanning herself with a missive. As soon as she saw Hester, she hurried forward in a flurry of spruce green wool and thrust the parchment at her.

  “Well, go on,” she demanded when Hester hesitated. “Read it. Oh, it is beyond anything.”

  Afraid of what she might find, Hester took the letter and scanned it. She’d thought perhaps there’d been a death in the family, a distant cousin perhaps, since surely any of their family in the area would have come to tell them rather than sending a note. But the paper, scented faintly of lavender, said something else entirely.

  She sank onto the sofa, fingers clutching the parchment. “Miss Peverell is inviting us to dine with her and her brother?”

  Her mother nodded, grey curls bobbing. “Can you imagine?”

  No, she could not. Viscounts did not invite the wife and daughter of a Riding Officer to dine. More likely they might ask to see references before hiring them for some menial duty.

  “I’m not sure what this means,” Hester started.

  Her mother clasped her hands in front of her green gown. “I know exactly what this means. Lord Peverell favors you, just as I said.”

  It was as if a spring breeze danced through the room
, brightening, warming. Oh, traitor heart! Yet, what other explanation could there be, particularly after her challenge on the Downs on Saturday?

  Rob Peverell had decided to court her.

  She clutched the invitation to her chest, then lowered it and forced her voice to come out even.

  “We mustn’t get our hopes up, Mother. Just because he has invited us to dine does not mean anything will come of it.”

  “And everything might come of it,” her mother insisted. She seized Hester’s hands, pulling her up and crumbling the invitation in the process. “Don’t you see, my girl? This could be the making of you.”

  Hester pulled away, leaving the parchment in her mother’s hands. “I rather thought I was the making of me.”

  “You’ve done well,” her mother assured her, smoothing the paper with her free hand. “But this? To be a viscountess? One of the highest-ranking ladies in the area? And your sister the other. Oh, I may be overcome.”

  She fell back on the sofa with a thump.

  Hester sat beside her. “Please, Mother, do not refine on this. Now that he is the viscount, Rob Peverell is one of the most eligible bachelors in England. Dozens of ladies with impressive family lines, connections to royalty, deep dowries, and more claims to beauty than I will ever possess will be waiting to charm him.”

  Her mother drew herself up. “And not one of them more deserving or any better than my daughter.”

  Hester reached out and hugged her close. “Thank you for that. I love you, Mother.”

  “And I love you, darling, more than you can ever know.” Her mother pulled back, smile watery. “Now, we must strategize. You’ll need a new dress, new gloves. Your cloak may suffice, but perhaps new shoes as well.”

  Hester laughed. “Mother, if I was good enough to be invited to dinner, I see no reason to change.”

  “Not change,” her mother said. “But presented in your best possible light.” She rose. “Come with me. We must study our wardrobes, see what can be contrived. You must appear a viscountess, and I must appear the mother of one. Together, we will show Viscount Peverell and his sister just how impressive the Denbys of Upper Grace can be.”

  ~~~

  Rob had never managed a dinner party before. Well, Elizabeth was managing it, but his part was still larger than he would have thought. When his parents or brother had given a party, all he had had to do was agree to his valet’s choices for evening wear, appear downstairs some time before dinner started, and smile his way through the evening before it was safe to escape to one of the gentlemen’s clubs or a friendly gambling establishment.

  Now, apparently, he must approve every detail, because Elizabeth kept finding him to ask his opinion.

  “We didn’t bring the Crown Derby from London,” she announced, wandering into the study early Monday morning with two porcelain plates in her hands after he’d heard Mr. Chalder’s report. The night watchman was a thick-bodied fellow with a wide nose and narrowed eyes. He seemed given to quick, simple answers, but he claimed to have seen nothing, not even Captain St. Claire.

  “We have the Chelsea and the Bow,” Rob’s sister explained now. “Which do you think Hester would prefer?”

  He couldn’t imagine Hester caring about plates, but he nodded to the one with the flower and stem splayed across the glazed porcelain. “That one.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Why?”

  “Unless I am mistaken, that’s an apple blossom. She smells like spiced apples.”

  Elizabeth giggled, but his answer must have satisfied her, for she wandered out.

  She found him again that afternoon while he was attempting to determine which of the village plots and houses he actually owned. His father and Thomas could probably have pointed them out easily enough. He wanted to be able to do the same.

  “Where shall we gather before dinner?” his sister asked, approaching the desk and cocking her head as if studying the map he’d spread out.

  “Whichever room is open at the moment,” Rob said, gaze returning to the colored lines.

  “A useless answer.”

  He raised his gaze to meet hers. “Why? I thought it would be easiest for you.”

  “It should not be our convenience but Hester’s enjoyment that should motivate us,” she informed him primly. “I’m considering the third floor withdrawing room at the front of the house.”

  “Too many patterns,” Rob complained. “The wallpaper, the carpet, those inlaid sideboards. I feel like I’m going cross-eyed every time I walk in the door.”

  “Perhaps Hester and her mother like patterns,” she said, chin coming up. “But I could add some vases of flowers for a focal point.”

  “No,” Rob said, straightening. “The apple blossom on the dinner plate is sufficient. I can’t imagine Hester is overly fond of flowers. Her father died in a bed of them.”

  Elizabeth stared at him. “You’re making that up.”

  “I wish I was,” Rob told her, spreading his hands. “He was a Riding Officer who was murdered trying to stop a gang of smugglers. Hester and her sister discovered the body.”

  Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her chest. “How horrid. Well, no additional flowers then. Besides, I suppose it is a lot of walking to reach that one.”

  Relieved, Rob tried to focus on the map again.

  But Elizabeth wasn’t finished. “What about after dinner? Should we open the music room?”

  Rob sighed. “No. We can retire to Mother’s withdrawing room overlooking the Channel. Hester isn’t the Queen Mother, Elizabeth.”

  “Well, you ought to treat her as well as the queen,” she said, but she had the good grace to leave him be until dinner.

  When she laid out a dozen possibilities for the menu.

  Rob was almost glad when Mercer showed up Monday afternoon with more papers and advice. At least that allowed Rob to shelter in the study. Who knew what else his sister might need his advice on? Rearranging the paintings in the family gallery to a more pleasing pattern? Fussing about whether the drapes should be opened or closed? Wondering about wood or coal for the fire? Even dealing with his persnickety steward was better than the endless questions.

  “A few trivialities to tie up loose ends,” Mercer assured him before pulling out a sheath of papers from his ever-present portfolio. “Leasing agreements for some of the houses and businesses in the area, the enclosure plan for the Wiltshire estate, and the like. All I require is your signature.”

  A few signatures would put him out of the study and into his sister’s company far too soon. Rob drew the stack closer and began reading.

  Mercer shifted beside him. “They are the usual sort, my lord. Nothing that need concern you.”

  “You are sweating, Mercer,” Rob said, moving to the second page. “That alone tells me I should be concerned. Have a seat. I imagine this will take some time.”

  It did, but by the eighth lease affirming that so-and-so would be taking such-and-such business at this location or that for a certain amount of time for a certain amount of money, the words were beginning to run together. He moved quickly enough through the next set that he nearly missed it.

  Rob frowned as he held up one of the documents. “This is a lease for my pier.”

  Mercer, who’d been fidgeting in his seat across the desk from Rob the entire time, stilled. “Yes, my lord, just as you requested.”

  “To Captain Ruggins, not Captain St. Claire.”

  Mercer popped to his feet. “What! Oh, that clerk. He can’t get anything right. Sometimes I don’t know why I consent to keep him on staff. If you would sign it, my lord, I will see to the changes.”

  Rob took up the quill. “No need. I’ll change it myself right now.” He marked out Captain Ruggins’ name, added St. Claire’s, initialed both changes, and signed near the bottom. “There you are. No bother.”

  Mercer’s hand shook as he reached for the page. “How thoughtful of you, my lord.”

  “Give me a moment, and I’ll sign the others,” Rob promised. H
e had Mercer out of his study in a distressingly short period of time.

  Elizabeth squeezed in as the steward left. “Good. You have a moment free.”

  “I don’t know what gave you that impression,” Rob said, grabbing a book and propping it open before him. “I have much to do to prepare for the next session of Parliament.”

  She tilted her head. “By reading Animal Husbandry on the Scottish Moors?”

  He set down the book with a sigh. “What do you need, Elizabeth?”

  “Only that you speak with Monsieur Antoine.” She ventured closer. “He is being particularly difficult about the menu. Apparently, sea trout isn’t in season, but I’m sure Mother served it at this time of year before.”

  From London, where ships brought in delicacies from around the globe on a daily basis. “I have the utmost confidence in you.”

  She scrunched up her face. “Please, Rob? Father used to address him when he wouldn’t listen to Mother.”

  “It won’t wash,” Rob told her. “Everyone listened to Mother. We all knew she was the real power in the family.”

  She dropped her gaze. “Then I fear I haven’t inherited her gift.”

  He rose and went to put an arm about her shoulders. “I know that feeling. Every day I wonder how I’ll be able to take on Father’s tasks.”

  She peered up at him through her lashes. “Then you’ll speak to Monsieur Antoine?”

  “Yes. This time. But if you insist on managing the staff, you will have to find a way to manage our chef as well.”

  Her brave smile said she would try. He headed for the kitchen.

  He’d only had a few occasions to deal with their chef, notably to inform him that his position would continue now that Rob’s parents were gone, but he knew the fellow’s reputation. His mother had been inordinately proud of it.

  “He worked in the Palace of Versailles,” she’d say on the least provocation. “He served Louis himself.”

  “Before or after he lost his head?” Rob had quipped once.

  Now he found the chef in the massive kitchen at the back of the house. The temporary staff Mrs. Catchpole in Grace-by-the-Sea had provided for the kitchen apparently included two women assistants and a scullery maid. Working with the assistant Elizabeth had brought from London, they made the chef seem the center of a whirlwind. Two fingers stroking his impressively long mustache, as black and supple as a whip, he watched every movement from his place at the head of the worktable.