Love at the House Party

by Stockton, Kasey

  I had gifted Charlotte with the horse Lord Stallsbury had left behind. His motives for marriage were not in line with my own, but I could not deny that he had a kind heart. I had no doubt that the marquess intended all along to leave the horse for my sister, and she appreciated the gift with proper zeal. She took horse ownership quite seriously and had made herself absent for the previous two days. Whenever she was not eating or sleeping, she could be found in the stables or out riding.

  It was the one balm for my hurting heart.

  I stationed myself next to the drawing room window to watch for Mr. Lynch’s arrival. Our future hung in the balance, and though I’d grown hopeful that Noah had left us the cottage, nothing was sure until we had heard what Mr. Lynch traveled all the way from London to share with us.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” Miss Hurst asked from the doorway, startling me from my contemplations.

  “Of course not.” I gestured to the seat beside mine and heard her mentioning tea to a passing servant before coming to sit beside me. Her vibrant red hair was pulled away from her face and she moved to tuck a lock behind her ear, but there was nothing out of place. It was a force of habit if I’d ever seen one. We shared a smile before I turned to watch the drive outside once more.

  “You are quite a ball of nerves, I would imagine.”

  “It is ever so unpleasant to have one’s future undetermined,” I said.

  “Of that I am quite aware.”

  The tea arrived and Miss Hurst poured, handing me a steaming cup. She sipped her own, watching me over the rim of her delicate cup. “You must realize that you have a place here as long as you need.”

  I expected her to say something like that, but the reality of her words touched me more than I could say. “I thank you for your kindness. I do not think this transition would have been so easy for Charlotte without your friendship. But I fear we have imposed quite long enough.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed the company.” She sipped her tea again before setting it down and lowering her voice. “You know, I was once quite fond of social functions, when I was young and did not yet realize the depth of my father’s misdeeds. After his secret was revealed, I began to dread being around other people. It was not until I came to Corden Hall that I was able to find a balance between the two. And I’ve come to discover that having guests come to stay is the perfect amount of socializing for me. I mean my words; you are quite welcome here.”

  “I thank you, Miss Hurst. Corden Hall, it seems, has been a respite for the both of us.” After a moment, I asked, “Your father resides in London, does he not?”

  She shrugged. “I do not have much contact with him. His other daughter created her own splash a few months ago; the last I heard she disappeared with her new husband. They likely went back to France.”

  I nodded, my gaze drifting back to the gravel drive in the front of the house.

  “Your wait will feel longer if you sit and watch for him to arrive.”

  I smiled. “Logically, I realize that. But I cannot focus on much else.”

  She stood. “Perhaps a walk through the gardens will do? I know I could use some sun. And we ought to take advantage of it before the rain returns.”

  I appreciated her efforts. I would have sought Charlotte’s company had she not escaped to the stables herself an hour before. “Very well, let us go.”

  Chapter 29

  Mr. Lynch arrived just before dinner, to the utter detriment of my nerves. We had all gathered in the drawing room awaiting the butler’s dinner announcement, when an ominous knock had sounded on the door. Mr. Bryce ushered the solicitor into his study and we allowed him time to prepare his things before he sent for us.

  Charlotte held my hand, squeezing my fingers as we filed into the room. Miss Hurst remained behind with Mrs. Overton in the drawing room, but Mr. Bryce made himself present, for which I was exceedingly grateful. He eyed me closely and I had the odd sense that he knew what had occurred between Lord Stallsbury and myself, though why the thought came to me was a mystery.

  Perhaps it was the pity in his gaze. Though, sadly, any number of things might have earned pity from the gentleman. Our current meeting, for one.

  “Miss Clarke,” Mr. Lynch said, seating himself behind Mr. Bryce’s desk. He cut right to the heart of his business here, foregoing common courtesies and stating his credentials instead. “Your brother has named me the executor of his will. He has left provisions for you under the guardianship of your cousin on your mother’s side, a Mr. John Wilkins. The hiccup came in finding that Mr. Wilkins has left England to see to his sugar plantation in Barbados some years ago, and I have only recently been able to locate his direction.”

  “He is to be my guardian?” Charlotte asked, glancing to me in confusion.

  We had heard of our cousin’s existence some years ago, but as his mother and mine had fallen out, there was never a connection between our families. What could this mean for Charlotte?

  “Yes, he is your guardian. I have informed him of these developments. But until I receive confirmation of his wishes, I will act in his stead as directed by Noah Clarke in his will.” He cleared his throat, glancing back through his papers before pulling one from the stack and setting it on top. “Miss Clarke,” he said in an authoritative tone, “I am pleased to inform you that you’ve inherited one Clarke Cottage and the sum of Noah Clarke’s possessions, which amount to a total of four thousand pounds.”

  My body stiffened. “Wherever did Noah obtain four thousand pounds?” I questioned, quite forgetting myself.

  Mr. Lynch glanced at me and back at his papers. “He has not touched it in some years but the bulk of it is an inheritance he received at the death of your parents, I believe.”

  “He said nothing of it,” I cried, frustration clenching my hands and gripping them tightly in my lap. We had suffered for so long when an extra loaf of bread or length of cloth would have made a world of difference. It resonated with Noah’s angry, tightfisted economy that he would have a veritable fortune tucked away and say nothing of it. While I shivered in the attic sewing dresses without proper heat or light, or slaved to repair chairs and shoes long past their final usable days, Noah could have easily replaced the entire cottage and filled our bellies a hundred times over at the snap of a finger.

  It did not do to think ill of the dead, but I was feeling a host of disagreeable thoughts about Noah, regardless.

  “I am not privy to the motives of Mr. Clarke,” the solicitor said. “I only manage his interests.”

  “Perhaps Mrs. Wheeler and Miss Clarke would appreciate a moment to come to terms with this new development,” Mr. Bryce put in diplomatically.

  “Of course,” Mr. Lynch agreed. “Allow me one moment longer to finish.” He searched his papers once more. “Here it is. Mrs. Wheeler, you and Miss Clarke are both to have a dowry set aside in the sum of two thousand pounds, to be paid to your husband upon the completion of your marriage vows.”

  Charlotte gasped. “Is that included in the four thousand pounds?”

  “No, Miss Clarke, this is something quite different.”

  She nodded, though her mind seemed to be reeling. I could tell, for I felt a similar way. I could only assume I looked as dumbfounded as she.

  Mr. Bryce stood. “Is that all, sir?”

  “That completes our business for today.”

  “Wait,” I said, stopping the men once they’d reached the door. “I’ve already married. When was this will created?”

  “Directly after the death of your parents,” Mr. Lynch said.

  “Then my husband was paid two thousand pounds?”

  He glanced away. “I forgot, Mrs. Wheeler. Forgive my thoughtlessness. Your husband was paid the money after your wedding. I believe I sent him the money through your aunt. Though I cannot recall her name.”

  “Mary.” I swallowed, the dark cloud of shame and bitterness closing in about me.

  “Mr. Clarke did not update the will following that o
ccurrence, but the rest of the information remains current. Miss Clarke is to inherit the house, four thousand pounds, and a dowry in sum of two thousand pounds.”

  “Yes,” I snapped, “thank you for the concise summary.”

  He turned widened eyes on me and Mr. Bryce ushered him from the room, closing the door behind himself.

  “Eleanor,” Charlotte said, earnest and soft. “We shall split it evenly, of course. I could never accept such a sum for myself.”

  “Do not be silly, Lottie. Noah created this plan knowing that I was to wed. He likely planned the will to protect you in the event that he died before you married.”

  “But you have become a widow,” she said. “Has that no bearing on the matter?”

  “No, it does not. And besides, we know not how our cousin will react to the news. He could have other plans for you.”

  She squeezed her eyes closed. “I wish Mr. Lynch had not written him yet. But I should think Barbados is such a distance that it could be years before the man is able to have any say on the matter, and then I might have grown of age to inherit everything myself.” She suddenly brightened. “Or perhaps the letter has already been lost in the sea!”

  “Or perhaps you will wed. With these funds at your disposal we will be able to give you a London Season after all.”

  She could not hide her grin, and, likewise, I found that the idea pleased me very much. Charlotte deserved this. She absolutely merited her own attempt at the marriage mart. Perhaps she would even find a worthy husband on her own. If I could support her in that effort, I would not waste another moment bemoaning what could have been.

  But what would Lord Stallsbury have to say for this arrangement? Surely he would have an opinion. He did about nearly everything. I shoved away thoughts of the marquess. I could not continue to wonder where he was or what he would think. He was gone.

  Now that Charlotte was taken care of, I needed to consider my own plans.

  Though the future was suddenly lit with a stronger flame, I could not utterly disregard the news Mr. Lynch shared about Frank. If Noah had given him two thousand pounds shortly after our wedding for my dowry, I had not heard about it. I stared at the empty desk, allowing the implications to fully settle. Though I did not want to admit it, this bit of knowledge was the final piece connecting the confusing events that were my marriage: Frank’s attentive courting until our wedding, and then his detached indifference following the vows. I do not know how, but he must have known of my dowry.

  Aunt Mary. There was no other explanation. She must have informed him of it. I only wish I had known as well, for then I could have guarded my heart. I felt swindled, and low. I inherited absolutely nothing upon Frank’s death; I could not fathom how a man could promptly spend two thousand pounds—or however much he had received after Aunt Mary was through with it.

  “Everything shall be fine now,” Charlotte said, pulling me into an embrace. “We shall be fine now.”

  I took in fresh air, letting go of the pain from the past.

  Together, we breathed a sigh of relief.

  * * *

  The news that Clarke Cottage wholly belonged to Charlotte and we were not about to become homeless was welcome news and we moved back home immediately. Charlotte set herself about the place determining what rooms needed fresh paint or new curtains, marking the furniture that needed reupholstering. We determined together to remove Noah’s bed to the attic and order a new one to be made. The room had contained a stuffy, repressed feel since his demise and could use a little refreshing; plus, neither of us could stomach sleeping in his bed.

  The summer weeks passed slowly as I awaited the news of my disgrace at Bancroft Hill to reach the small town of Linshire. Each week I arrived at church prepared to be snubbed, and each week I walked away unscathed. I did not understand, but I didn’t question either. I would enjoy my continued obscurity as long as possible.

  Miss Hurst began planning her wedding and requested Charlotte’s and my help in choosing her gown from the modiste in Linshire. We met her on a cloudy morning just outside the shop, her auburn curls bouncing along with the joy in her step.

  “I thought this day would never come,” she said as we entered the shop. I reached out a hand to squeeze hers and she stopped, her red eyebrows raised. “No, really. I truly thought that I would never wed. I did not desire it until I met Daniel.”

  Charlotte crossed the room to look at fabrics. I had a difficult time understanding the idea. “But you must have wished for it. Do not all little girls marry their dolls and dream of the home they shall run when they age?”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Perhaps, but I did not.”

  I followed her toward the counter and began flipping through fashion plates. She must have fallen deeply in love for her mind to be so altered. At one point I had thought that it might be Mr. Bryce and I who formed a union, but alas, it was not meant to be. I had taken one look at Mr. Bryce watching Miss Hurst and knew that chasing him would have been a fruitless endeavor.

  Besides, I had already determined that I could never again marry a man who cared more for someone else than he did for me.

  “Have you a color in mind?” I asked, shaking off the melancholy thoughts.

  “Green,” she answered immediately. “I’ve always looked well in green. Perhaps a soft jade?”

  “Oh, yes,” I agreed. “I am sure that would set off the red in your hair to perfection.” We discussed the merits of the differing fashion plates and it was clear almost immediately that Miss Hurst’s taste ran toward the classic look. Which was just as well, for it suited her perfectly.

  While she was properly measured and deciding the details of what shaped up to be an exquisite gown, Charlotte perused her own plates and chose several fabrics of her own, all of them to her own taste.

  “That is excessive,” I said, looking over her shoulder. She glanced up sharply and I regretted my words at once. I was not her mother, and the inheritance did not belong to me. I had no say in the matter.

  “We’ve done without for so long, though,” she said. “And we shan’t be in mourning much longer. In fact, by the time these gowns are completed we’ll be nearly ready to do away with the black for good.”

  “And yet, do you have use for ten new gowns? Perhaps you should choose a few, and then we will reconsider the matter in a few months. By then we ought to be filling your closet for London’s Season anyway.”

  Her grin was as wide as it was guileless and I silently hoped that our cousin would not return in time to ruin this for her. As it was, Mr. Lynch signed off on quite a sum to tide Charlotte over until he could secure written consent from her new guardian, Mr. Wilkins.

  Miss Hurst spoke to the shop assistant as we made our way to the door. “Can you put a rush on the gown? I would like to marry next week, if you think that you might accomplish it by then.”

  I turned in time to see the shop assistant’s eyes bulge. “I will see what can be done.”

  “Thank you. I shall pay extra, of course.”

  “Of course, miss.”

  Outside, we walked with Miss Hurst to where her carriage waited at the end of the street.

  “That is rather quick,” I said. “Are you prepared?”

  “Oh, yes. Did you not hear Mr. Cole read the banns in church last Sunday?”

  “I must have missed it,” I replied. I had spent quite a lot of my time thinking on other things. I felt my cheeks warm. It was perhaps not my best moment, admitting that I was not paying proper attention in church.

  “I heard it,” Charlotte said with a smug grin.

  I could not help but laugh. “Of course you did. Perhaps next time share it with me.”

  “But you were sitting right beside me,” she said with false innocence.

  I pretended not to hear her. “Is there any assistance I may offer for the wedding breakfast?”

  “It shall be a small affair. But you are both invited, of course. Cook has everything under control and if my mother has
anything to say for it, there will be quite an abundance of flowers.”

  Chapter 30

  Mrs. Hurst, if she was to blame, did indeed outdo herself in the floral arrangements decorating her daughter’s wedding breakfast. There was a glorious archway before the door to the dining hall positively teeming with roses that were—I assumed—cut from the back garden, and an array of flowers covering every open space inside the room.

  But the overpowering smell of an excess of flora could do nothing to calm my racing heart, for Lord Stallsbury had attended the wedding with his brother and sister, and though he was not at the wedding breakfast, I could only assume that he would make an appearance at some point. Each time the door opened I stilled, forcing myself not to turn and check to see who had entered. And every time I eventually found out who it was, I was vastly disappointed.

  Miss Hurst—or, I suppose she was Mrs. Bryce now—had been correct, for aside from her mother and a few close friends the wedding was quite small, taking place during the Sunday service without much festivity. Although the bride’s grin was sufficiently delighted and her husband’s smile equally brilliant.

  I could not help but reflect upon my own wedding and the vast difference between the man I had thought I was marrying, and the person he turned out to be. My shoulders sunk as I considered anew that Frank had likely only married me for my money. I had been wholly taken in, and I had no one but my own innocence to blame.

  Mr. Bryce was nothing like Frank, though, and he clearly was madly in love with his wife. I envied them their solid understanding of one another’s love. It had the makings of a proper fairy tale.

  The remainder of the breakfast passed quickly and Charlotte and I were soon bidding our farewells. We would not see the Bryces for several weeks while they traveled to the Lake District for their wedding trip.

  Charlotte sighed as we bounced home in our carriage. “I hope to one day marry a man as handsome as Mr. Bryce.”