“I wonder if the other guests would like to join in, when they arrive?” their mother said, making Amelia flinch.
Poor Amelia! She was just trying to make conversation, and finally she was getting somewhere.
Martha was instantly annoyed at their mother. Amelia always took their Mama so seriously, where Martha herself had tried to become resilient to the little barbs she tossed so often. She went to stand next to Amelia, who smiled gratefully at her.
“I am sure we can ask them, too,” Martha said forthrightly. “I’m sure they’d love to go out.”
Before her mother could say anything against it, Martha was relieved to hear other guests in the hallway. She took advantage of the distraction to grab a sandwich, chewing it earnestly.
She looked up to see Lord Calperton watching her. He was looking at her with eyes bright with amusement. Martha flushed and stepped back from the table, feeling flustered and angry.
What is he staring at?
She reddened. He was still looking at her! Blush deepening, she walked out towards the terrace. Her mother wouldn’t notice if she slipped away, and Amelia now had some other guests to form a buffer between her, Mother, and Lord Calperton.
Nobody will be upset if I escape awhile.
She headed out onto the terrace, feeling relieved as she breathed fresh air. She walked to the railing, leaning on it. The forest stretched out almost before her, reaching back as far as the hills. Martha smiled on seeing it. She loved this place. The forest was full of mysteries, and her favorite activity was riding or walking in it as often as possible. She shut her eyes, feeling relaxed.
Lord Calperton seems to like the countryside.
That thought surprised her. It also made her annoyed that her mind went to him immediately. She blushed, pushing thoughts of him away. He probably thought she was a complete fool. And, besides, surely he should know not to stare at people.
“My Lady?”
She jumped. He was here! Standing just three or four feet from her. She looked up at him, feeling desperately awkward. She focused on her toes, which showed in her day-slippers at the edge of her gown.
“You decided to take the air?” she mumbled, not wanting to risk looking up.
“I did indeed,” he said. His voice was low and deep. It seemed to reach right inside of her. She blushed and felt her stomach do something peculiar. She risked a glance up.
He was smiling at her. His expression was awkward, too—at once pleased and slightly shy. She felt her heart ache.
He was so shy, and in some ways so much more defenseless than herself. She smiled warmly.
“You really are settling in?” she asked him. She couldn’t help it—his comment from earlier had stuck in her mind and she couldn’t forget about it.
He nodded. “I like it here. I rode to my uncle’s home earlier, as soon as we arrived—his home is a half-mile away from the one we use now. I say! I could so easily ask him to swap with us for Dellminster. It would be good to live out here. So fresh!” He breathed the air.
Martha giggled. “You came down from Yorkshire?” she inquired lightly.
“My family seat is in Yorkshire, yes. But, alas, I was not there. I came up from London.” He made a face. “It is unwholesome.”
She had to chuckle. London had been a place she’d had to endure for a few years—Amelia attended the Season first when she was fifteen, and the following year—when Martha was fourteen—she had been forced to attend as well. She hated London. She had refused to attend the Season anymore after last year. She was nineteen now, Amelia almost twenty-one. She wouldn’t go again and had decided she would rather make do with the men she could meet here than go and suffer London.
“You smile at that,” he remarked. She looked up to find his eyes on her.
“Yes.” She swallowed. His expression was confusing—he seemed fascinated, and it was utterly unnerving—she had never seen anybody look that way at her.
Amelia gets it often.
She looked down, struggling to understand everything.
This man was here to visit the family, solely because he was betrothed to her sister. Yet, here he was, speaking to her, enjoying the discussion. He liked the countryside and hated London.
He seemed like such a fascinating man.
She cleared her throat. “My Lord? Might I ask, who is your uncle? I did not know you had connections in this region?”
“My uncle is Lord Exley. He lives perhaps two miles from your manor? In Bloomington Hall?”
“Oh! I know it,” Martha nodded. “A good place.”
At that moment, Mama appeared on the terrace, leading some of the other guests out to take the sunshine. Martha tensed. She knew that she would be in trouble if she was caught chattering to this man. She took a step back from him, looking around.
“You must come and stay with us again, Lady Winford,” her mother way saying to another woman, who nodded to her agreeably. She wasn’t looking at Martha, which gave her a chance to run away.
“I would like to. Oh! There is Amelia. You must bring her to Winford House to play on the pianoforte,” Lady Winford invited. “She gives such delight with her music.”
“Yes, yes…I certainly shall,” Lady Weston agreed.
Martha stepped around the table, hoping that she was blending into the background. She had taken advantage of a small crowd moving to the end of the terrace to escape Lord Calperton. He was obliged to talk to them and the distraction he faced let her get to the edge of the terrace, close by the door, undetected.
She sighed. She had escaped.
Leaning back on the wall, she surveyed the terrace for an instant. Amelia was standing, talking to Lady Inchfield and some other ladies, and her mother was occupied talking to Sir Carrington, who was always there, whether he was invited or not. Martha smiled to herself. They were all accounted for and likely to be caught up for some time, meaning she could get away. As she slipped in through the door, she was surprised to feel someone’s gaze on her. She turned around and saw Lord Calperton, staring at her.
She blushed and ran lightly inside, all the way to her quarters.
Chapter 2
Nicholas Garston, Marquess of Calperton and heir to Dellminster, leaned back on the wall.
I really don’t know what I said.
He frowned, looking around the terrace. Lady Martha had disappeared, which was odd. He couldn’t imagine what it was that he’d said to offend her. They had been talking perfectly well—rather nicely, in fact—and then suddenly she’d disappeared. He felt his brow crease in a frown.
He was disappointed.
“So, you’re down from Yorkshire, then, eh?” a man asked him loudly. He vaguely remembered his name—Sir Carlisle or Sir Carroway or something like that. He nodded fractionally.
“Yes, Sir. I am. At least,” he paused, explaining for the second time that day, “I have my seat there. I came from London.”
“Splendid!” the man grinned. “Warm, eh?” he gestured at the forest, where sunshine was pouring through the gaps in the trees.
“Yes, it is getting more warm,” Lord Calperton agreed. He looked around. “Oh, excuse me. I see Lady Weston over there and I must request something of her.”
“As you wish,” the man agreed, nodding agreeably. “Splendid, splendid!”
Lord Calperton headed to the front of the terrace. Lady Weston was there, but it wasn’t entirely to talk to her that he’d moved. Lady Amelia was there, and he felt he should attempt to speak with her.
I did come here to meet her, after all.
He smiled at her. Lady Amelia was doubtless very lovely, with big brown eyes fringed with dark eyelashes, lovely pale hair in ringlets and a sweet face. She also seemed nervous, hesitant, and uncertain, and he had to admit he found her disconcerting as well as appealing.
All the same, though, he was betrothed to her. And his father had impressed upon him the need to be agreeable.
Lord Weston has great influence.
He
recalled his father’s words with a grimace. He hated all kinds of self-serving intentions. He also hated lies and deception, and it seemed his father operated entirely out of those three things. He looked around, surprised the Earl of Weston himself was not there.
Lady Weston said he was in Town.
He nodded, recalling her words. It was a pity, he thought, that he could not meet all the Earl’s family at once. He had a feeling that he was here on business, and he wanted to conclude it as quickly as possible.
His father, Maxwell Garston, the Duke, had certainly impressed upon him that this was business. He had arranged the marriage for him when he was a child. It was solely because of his father, and his father’s wishes, that he was here. He had never questioned it—despite his regular Seasons in London, he had never had much interest in women, taking for granted the fact that his father had procured a bride for him when he was two years old. Now, he felt a need to do right by Lady Weston and Lady Amelia.
“May I be of assistance?” he asked her politely. Lady Weston had requested the servants to move the tea things outdoors and Lady Amelia had hurried to help her mother. She was at that moment busy rearranging some of the trays on the table, and she looked up at him with surprise.
“Oh! You are kind,” she said, but shook her head. “No, it’s all arranged very nicely, thank you. My Lord, will you be staying until winter?”
Nicholas felt awkward. He had planned to return to London by winter—his father had made it clear that he expected the marriage to be concluded by summer, which would mean that in the winter he would travel to London with Lady Amelia to stay at their residence there. But he wasn’t sure of Lady Weston’s ideas and he was hesitant to suggest outright that his father wanted him to move as fast as possible on this.
“I would like to return to London before the year is ended,” he said evenly.
“Oh!” Lady Weston looked quite pleased. “Well, I think that sounds most wise. The winter here is terribly cold, and I know Headly Hall, where you’re staying—it’s frightfully cold in winter.”
“I see,” Nicholas nodded. Again, he felt a little bewildered by all that was going on here. He had met Lady Amelia, which he had come to do, and he found her nice enough. They certainly needed time to get to know each other, and he was hoping to extend that through the whole summer. But Lady Weston, far from wanting to shelter her daughter and let them become better acquainted, as he had anticipated, seemed to want the business concluded as fast as possible.
“Just passing on some local wisdom, like a neighbor should,” Lady Weston explained.
“Thank you,” Nicholas replied.
He smiled as she beamed at him, accepted a sandwich, and excused himself to go indoors a moment. When he was inside, he sat down at the table by the window, where lately the tea things had been, and took a breath.
This is so odd.
He watched the collection of people on the terrace and tried to put a finger on just what was so bewildering about what had happened since he arrived at Weston Manor.
Lady Martha.
He smiled as her image stirred in the forefront of his mind. The encounter between them, brief as it had been, was easily the strangest thing that had ever happened to him. He grinned, recalling her staring at him.
Why did she open the front door?
That in itself was peculiar. He was fully expecting to be admitted by the butler. When a small, pert-faced young lady had opened the door, he had almost fallen inside with surprise. He had never seen a member of the nobility open their own door before.
She is very strange.
Despite her strangeness, she intrigued him. She also appealed to him—that was to say, of everyone here, she seemed to be the only person he really felt a connection with.
She liked the countryside, and riding, he reminded himself. And she talked to him—really talked to him. Despite his years at Eton and university, he’d never made a friend who truly seemed to care as she did. Uncle was a bit different—he spoke to everyone as if they were interesting and important, but then his uncle was unusual, too.
Lady Martha had a similar quality. She, too, seemed interested in him and, indeed, in everything around her. He still wished he knew where she’d gone, and why.
A noise in the hallway made him turn around. He thought he had heard someone sneeze. He froze, then headed to the door. He thought he caught sight of someone running down the hallway. He heard a giggle and he was sure it was her.
“Are you lost, My Lord?”
Nicholas went red. He turned around to face the guest who had come in behind him. She was tall and red-haired and he thought he’d seen her earlier with Lady Weston, in earnest discussion.
“No. I mean, sorry, My Lady. I came inside to escape the heat. I will be out directly.”
“Oh. Good,” she laughed, a high sound. “I just wondered if you had gone astray.”
“No,” he said, face reddening. “Sorry.”
The woman smiled and turned away, heading outside. Nicholas followed. He had the disquieting sensation that she’d been asked to go and check on him. He looked around for Lady Weston, but she wasn’t on the terrace and he felt a little relieved. Maybe he was suspecting her unfairly. She seemed a perfectly nice woman, if a little proud and cold.
“My Lady,” he said, bowing low as he went to join Lady Amelia’s friends. She looked up at him. She had gone pink. He smiled at her.
“Lord Calperton,” she greeted him, seeming deeply uncomfortable. “Mama was just looking for you. I should tell her you’ve arrived.”
“As you wish, My Lady,” he said, frowning. “I had come to speak to you.”
The rest of the guests—a circle of three or four people of around Lady Amelia’s age—stared at him and then her as if they were appearing in a play at the theater. Nicholas wished he could disappear into the tiles, or that they would all go away. He stuck grimly to his place, though, focused on her.
I didn’t come to be stared at by half the gentry in the countryside.
He looked at Lady Amelia, whose blush deepened.
“I will go and find Mama,” she said, dropping a curtsey. Without looking back, she headed across the terrace and down a flight of stairs he didn’t realize was there. He shrugged and followed her, waiting by the rail. He could feel the different stares as if they were boring into his back like fire. He didn’t care.
I am here to become acquainted with Lady Amelia. I am here to do what my father requested. I shouldn’t pay them any attention at all.
It was hard, though, to ignore the stares and comments, and he was stiff with anger by the time she returned.
“Lord Calperton! There you are,” Lady Weston greeted him with a slight inclination of her head—the closest she ever made to a curtsey, he could bet. She did not look particularly relieved to see him, rather slightly annoyed. “My daughter fetched me to tell me you were back from your wanderings.” She fixed Lady Amelia with a look.
Lady Amelia looked at her feet and Nicholas felt sorry for her. He regretted going inside, and he was annoyed by Lady Weston’s attitude.
“I went inside to escape the heat,” he admitted. “And I am sure Lady Amelia fetched you because she thought you wanted her to.”
Lady Amelia looked up gratefully and he smiled at her, but that seemed to make her feel more embarrassed, for she looked down again.
“Oh, I am sure,” Lady Weston laughed lightly. “Well, here you are. So, why do you not tell us about Yorkshire? I am sure it must be very beautiful.”
Nicholas looked at her and felt his heart go through the floor. Surely Lady Weston didn’t want him to talk to Lady Amelia with her there, staring at both of them with those arresting, penetrating dark eyes like jet?
She wasn’t moving, though, and he cleared his throat and decided to carry on with it as she suggested. After all, getting to know Lady Amelia was what he was there for.
“Well…Yorkshire is beautiful,” he began. “With wide, rolling grassland, and
hills and the most wonderful big sky.”
Lady Amelia was listening to him, rapturously. Nicholas felt a small flush of happiness, or at least of relief. He continued to discuss the countryside he’d been born in and which he remembered from his early youth. Lady Weston was listening but by focusing on Lady Amelia it was possible to forget about her.
He finished his description of Yorkshire, and Lady Amelia started to ask him questions. Lady Weston had become involved in talking to some of the other guests, and now that she was free of her critical eye, Lady Amelia was much more easygoing. He found he enjoyed her company.
In a Perfect Mess With the Marquess Page 2