A Regrettable Proposal

by Jennie Goutet

  The butler greeted Stratford with a stately bow. “Welcome home, my lord. I’ve already ordered a hot bath to be drawn, and Cook has begun to prepare your dinner. Have you your trunks?”

  “Benchly is one day behind me. I have a change of clothes that will serve until then. I’ve written to the bailiff to expect me. Have you had word from him?” Stratford started up the stairs.

  “He came today thinking you might have reached the estate, though your appointment was not until tomorrow. There’s a matter of urgency he wished to discuss with you if you happened to be here, but he assured me it could wait.” Billings signaled to the footman to take Stratford’s portmanteau and began to climb the stairs behind him.

  “As eager as I am to go over the accounts, if it can wait until tomorrow, I am glad.” Stratford entered his room, and Billings followed, preparing to help him off with his coat.

  “I won’t need help, except for my boots.” Stratford sat and allowed the footman to pull off one boot, then the other. “There is something I wish to discuss with you, Billings. Come see me in the library following dinner.”

  Later that evening, when Billings knocked softly at the library door, Stratford bid him come in and then walked around the desk and sat on the corner of it. He stared at the painting over the mantelpiece of hounds nipping and snarling before the fox hunt, then turned to the butler. “What do you know about the Munroe hamlet that was bequeathed to Miss Daventry? You knew my uncle well. Did he bring you into his confidence? I’m struggling to understand his intentions and am hoping you can shed some light on the matter.”

  Billings took his time answering. He had been in the Worthing employ almost his entire life, beginning as a stable boy when the young and newly titled fourth earl took him off the parish. Stratford knew the confidence the earl had entrusted to him was not easily shared.

  Billings raised his rheumy eyes to Stratford. “The fourth earl hadn’t yet been sick—or, perhaps he knew he was sick but had not disclosed the fact to anyone; that would be just like him—when he announced that the solicitor was coming to adjust the will. The fourth earl had known by then that Nicholas would not be his inheritor, so there was nothing unusual in the request. I made arrangements to set one more place for lunch, and the earl and his solicitor were closeted in the library for a good part of the morning before the doors finally opened. They ended the meeting with lunch.

  “When the solicitor had his carriage readied and had driven off, the fourth earl called me into the library and was sitting on the edge of the desk, precisely in the way you are now. He said, ‘Do you remember the girl who is my ward—Eleanor Daventry? She stayed at the estate once, and I believe you troubled yourself on her behalf when she dropped her doll on the other side of the bull pasture.’ He waited, and I gave a nod. Yes, I remembered her.

  “ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ve seen to her schooling and have set aside a sum for her to make an appearance in London, called in a favor from a lady friend of mine …’ At that point the earl fell into a period of reflection before picking up his train of thought. He said, ‘The girl has not returned to Worthing, but I’ve seen to her education and comfort. I wanted nothing lacking in her upbringing. I’m confident her aunt has her education well in hand, and although Mrs. Daventry seems to be a soft creature, she won’t allow for impertinence. The gel will be brought up well.’

  “I said nothing, of course. It was not my place. So the earl continued. ‘I’m about to make a scandal with this will of mine, and I tell you now so you may know I was of sound mind when I did it. Of course, the solicitor can attest to that …’ At this point he seemed winded, and that’s when he circled his desk and sat down. It was the excitement, I believe, or perhaps the old earl had indeed known he was not long for this world.

  “ ‘I will be leaving the most lucrative part of the estate to the chit,’ he said, ‘and oh ho if that won’t make someone grind his teeth.’ ”

  Billings shot a glance at Stratford now and clasped his hands behind his back. “Then he said, ‘If Stratford doesn’t take it in stride, he’s not the man I thought him to be. Keyes, however …’ The earl had chuckled softly to himself, saying, ‘He always cared so much about his association to the estate and what he could get out of it, although the answer to that was always nothing.’

  “Then the earl looked at me again, saying, ‘Miss Daventry will inherit only upon her marriage. And why, you may ask, did I do such a thing that must seem bacon-brained?’—I didn’t ask, of course—and the earl went on to say, ‘Why, I may not be able to do much, but I can right a wrong, by God.’

  “He folded his hands, then, and leaned back in his chair and said, ‘M’father did not win that piece of land squarely. What must he do but cheat at cards and risk bringing shame on the Worthing name? No one found out, of course, or he would have been driven from the ton. He told me in his final confessions.’

  Billings glanced at Stratford to see how he took the news, but Stratford revealed none of the surprise he felt in knowing the land had not been fairly acquired.

  “The old earl looked at me then, and said, ‘Billings, perhaps I will predecease you, and I feel it incumbent upon me to share these bad dealings with someone I know I can trust—’ ”

  Billings broke off his recital to clarify to Stratford, “He didn’t say ‘someone I know who will keep it to himself,’ mind you!” before continuing with his discourse.

  “He went on to tell me his father had died when your uncle was but thirty. That’s when he followed the impulse to befriend Daventry’s son. He thought to make amends without telling him what had happened. Whatever else, he couldn’t bring shame on his father’s name that way. Young Daventry was good-natured and just as anxious to put aside their fathers’ differences, but he inherited the estate with his pockets to let because of his father’s foolish gaming. When Daventry came into possession of the title, he was forced to marry a Cit who brought a fair amount of money into the marriage, but not a heart. When she ran off, she took it all with her—the remaining money and the heart—and gave no thought for her daughter, who was only seven.”

  “Young Daventry and Lord Worthing became so thick,” Billings continued, “when my master was asked to serve as her guardian, he agreed without hesitation. I believe he truly mourned his friend’s death and was determined to save Miss Daventry from an impoverished life with an indifferent education.”

  “And have you a guess as to why my uncle specified she would only inherit this upon marriage?” Stratford asked, a shiver of trepidation creeping up his spine.

  “I can only think of two reasons, my lord.” Billings seemed reluctant to offer them up, and Stratford was forced to prompt.

  “And they are …”

  “They are that the earl wanted to see Miss Daventry comfortably settled in matrimony because her only example was one of flight and brokenness. Perhaps he feared she would make an ill-judged decision without his forcing her hand. He thought marriage would be the best thing for her.” Billings paused. “Or—”

  Stratford waited but was again forced to prompt the butler. “Or …”

  “Or my master thought it would be the best thing for you.”

  The words hung in the air. Based on that one meeting? Stratford thought. He was only twelve at the time and hadn’t even made an effort to be more than civil. Why would my uncle think about me at all?

  As if Billings could read his thoughts, he said, “He did follow your career, even before he knew you would inherit. He knew—” Billings stopped so short, Stratford wondered if he was going to say his uncle had known Stratford had run off to Portugal because he had been disappointed in love. Instead, Billings said, “He knew you were distinguished in Portugal and Spain. He boasted of you.”

  Stratford exhaled. Even with his uncle’s high-handedness concerning the inheritance, he was touched that the old earl, in whose footsteps he was following, had not been opposed to his inheriting the title. That his uncle had tied Miss Daventry’s name to his ow
n did not threaten him as he might have expected. Instead, he was left with a longing he could not identify. If he let himself think about it for too long, he might admit that he longed for her.

  “Thank you Billings. That will be all.”

  That week, Stratford threw himself into the decisions that needed to be made over the estate, returning to London as soon as he could get away. He refused to believe Carlton’s suit could be successful. Nevertheless, his nerves were taut as soon as he entered the crowded streets of the metropolis, and he was hard-pressed to wait until the next day to visit Ingram. He might meet Miss Daventry there, if luck were in his favor. It was.

  Upon arriving at Grosvenor Square, he asked first for the ladies of the house and was shown into the drawing room. Lydia sat listlessly and did not look up when he entered. Miss Daventry, however, sat up straight and gave him a smile of welcome that shot a bolt of hope through his heart. He bowed and took the seat opposite.

  “You’re back, are you?” Lydia said in a dull voice.

  “You look rather pulled,” Stratford replied. “Is it from all your flirting at the Hampton’s last night? Phoebe told me about it this morning. I hope you don’t mean to make a long night of it tonight.” It was easier to fall back into teasing Lydia, whom he’d known from childhood, than it was to find measured words that would not reveal too much of his heart toward Miss Daventry when Lydia might comment on it.

  “Stratford, it’s not kind of you to comment on my appearance,” Lydia said, “Unless it’s to say you are in slavish adoration.”

  “You know very well I won’t do that. You are too much like my sisters, and I don’t mollycoddle them. Besides,” Stratford said kindly, “you do look pulled. Well, I won’t be overly familiar with Miss Daventry and say she looks tired. Of course that would be a falsehood.”

  Her gaze shot up, and he tried to hold it, but she looked at her embroidery again, her cheeks pink.

  “Are you here to see Ingram?” Lydia asked pointedly. “You seem to have come for no other reason than to cause mischief and poke at one like you used to when we were children.”

  Stratford didn’t answer right away but continued to observe Miss Daventry, whose head was bent over her work. If only she would look up.

  Eventually she did raise her head, and he noticed her strange look. Oh! He hadn’t answered.

  “I didn’t poke at you,” he said. “You were forever pestering us, and it was all I could do to keep you from trailing along behind us where you might have got hurt.”

  “Hmm!” Lydia said. “Well, as you see I’m not trailing behind now. If you have such bad memories, why do you not seek your company elsewhere?”

  “I see you are provokingly cross for no reason.” Stratford put out his legs and leaned back. Miss Daventry had her head buried in her stitches again, and he thought she was hiding a smile. He wished he could take her out driving without Lydia, but of course he could not ask. It was unbearable, not being able to pursue her without Lydia scrutinizing his every move. That—and not knowing whether she were betrothed to that greenhorn.

  Stratford stood. “I’ll go visit Fred if he’ll see me. Is he awake, d’you think?”

  Lydia nodded. “I left him not five minutes ago.”

  When Lord Worthing exited, Eleanor wished she had thought of something clever to say. Her heart had leapt when he came into the room after a week’s absence, but all she could do was stare at her stitches like a simpleton. Really. How could she ever hope to capture his heart if she couldn’t put two words together?

  Eleanor folded the embroidery. “Lord Worthing knows how to pull your strings.” Twinkling, she added, “Especially when you are indeed pulled. Perhaps we should sit out tonight’s gala.”

  Lydia rounded on Eleanor. “And you! You were so quiet just now. Did you and Stratford quarrel?”

  “Whatever have we to quarrel about? And when would we have found time? He’s been gone this past week,” Eleanor said, trying to pass off her comment with a laugh. When Lydia didn’t respond, she looked up at her. “What?”

  “You’ve been quiet this entire week, now I think of it.” Lydia peered at her. “You’re not in love, are you? Is it Carlton?”

  “Put that notion aside, I beg of you. I do not mean to marry.”

  “Eleanor,” cried her friend. “I know you too well to believe that balderdash. You hope very much to marry. You’re meant to have a snug home and children toddling about, and … and, what’s this? Why are you crying?” Lydia rushed over and put her arms around Eleanor. “Tell me, what is it?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” gasped Eleanor. “And I’m not crying.”

  “Eleanor. In our entire friendship, I have never seen you shed even one tear, and you are crying. So out with it. What is it?”

  Eleanor exhaled and met Lydia’s gaze. Her lips trembled, and she dug her fingernails into her palms in an effort to keep her voice even. “It’s just that I don’t think something like this can ever come true for me.”

  Lydia drew her brows together. “Nonsense. Did Lord Carlton propose?” But that only provoked another bout of tears. “Eleanor, I do not understand you. You want someone who loves you, and Lord Carlton is that man.”

  Eleanor shook her head and raised brimming eyes to her friend. “But I do not love him.”

  Lydia was nonplussed for a moment. “But he is … is there someone else?”

  “No.” Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  Neither spoke while Eleanor wiped her tears. Lydia looked at her shrewdly and opened her mouth to speak, then clamped it shut. Finally, she took Eleanor’s hands in hers. “I know there’s someone for you. Someone who will not be blind to your charms, and who in turn will win your heart. You must not give up hope.”

  Stratford had not meant to overhear, but he couldn’t tear himself away when his name was mentioned. Now, if he didn’t move quickly, he was in danger of being spotted. He moved stealthily toward the stairs, praying Hartsmith wouldn’t appear and call out his name, revealing that he was not upstairs where he should be.

  Once he was out of danger, he stood outside Ingram’s door to marshal his thoughts. Miss Daventry didn’t believe that marriage to someone who loved her could happen to her? Stratford shook his head in disbelief. He allowed himself one more thought before he entered Ingram’s room.

  She would not marry Carlton. As if of their own accord, his lips lifted into a smile before Stratford stepped through the door.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  With such heavy matters to weigh Eleanor down as being proposed to by one man she meant to refuse, barely exchanging words with another to whom she could not deny her attachment, and the vague fear that seeking employment would not bring about the freedom Eleanor had so desired, she was willing enough to put them aside in favor of finding a Vandyke lace trim to match her yellow gown. At least the excursion would allay Lydia’s questions.

  To Lydia, the outing was unalloyed by weightier considerations, but both threw themselves into arguing the merit of a white sunshade with the yellow ribbon versus a poke bonnet dear enough to exclude other purchases, but which would protect a fair complexion equally as well. If Eleanor were to add the white silk gloves that were still sitting at the bottom of her trunk, the outfit would be nothing short of fetching.

  “We must also see if the Pantheon Bazaar doesn’t have a wider selection.” Lydia turned one piece of lace over to see how it wore on the other side. “You don’t mind the crush, do you?”

  “You know very well I don’t,” Eleanor said. “But if we go there, we will have to abandon the promenade in Hyde Park, and I believe—” here she leaned in to avoid being overheard, “Major Fitzwilliam will be hoping for a sight of you.”

  “I don’t care for that,” Lydia said, with a shrug that, to the sharp eyes of a friend, seemed affected.

  Eleanor had observed how Lydia softened whenever the major was near. Seeing that in the bustle there was no one near to overhear their conversation, she replied in
a low voice. “Lydia, I don’t believe you. Unless your mother has influenced you not to care for him? He is clearly smitten with you, and he’s not one to trifle.” Lydia shrugged and offered no reply.

  Eleanor, certain her friend could not be so fickle, pushed the matter. “Does Lord Ingram approve his suit?”

  “I’m surprised to say he does but not enough to influence Mama. Major Fitzwilliam must earn his living. And I …” Lydia fell silent, either unwilling or unable to articulate her reticence.

  Eleanor furrowed her brows. Lydia had been showing a preference for Major Fitzwilliam, but her mother’s disapproval must weigh more than she had realized. Surely it couldn’t be his lack of wealth, for Lydia had never cared for that before. In a flash of insight, she recognized that it was merely a case of jitters. It was not an easy thing to surrender one’s heart. “For all that, his strength of character—” Eleanor began.

  She was interrupted by a shrill voice. “Lydia, I see that chance has thrown us together again.” Both turned to see Harriet Price approaching them from the store entrance. She ignored Eleanor completely.

  “This is only my second week in London, and I simply must find time to call. We were held up from coming early, and now I shall have to make my debut late in the season. But then, there’s no fear of London being thin of company in May, so perhaps it was the best time after all. Lydia, what a charming hat you’re wearing. I could positively swear your complexion has lightened.”

  “Hallo, Harriet,” said Lydia with a marked lack of enthusiasm. Eleanor refused to cower by looking away.

  “Yes, I’ve had invitations every day since we arrived.” Harriet Price turned her glittering smile on Eleanor. “Where are you staying? I didn’t think your family had a residence in London.”

  “You know perfectly well I’m spending these months with the Ingram family. Oh—” Eleanor turned as the shopkeeper called out, “Here, miss.” She took the package wrapped in brown paper but didn’t miss Harriet’s reply.