Promised

by Leah Garriott

  No gentleman should ever look that way when playing against a lady.

  There was only one thing to do. I aimed for his third ball, intent on knocking it away. Instead, mine rolled wide and short. I had lost.

  Lord Williams picked up his ball and, with his toss, knocked his ball away from the jack. I had won after all.

  I scowled. “My lord, please do not mistake me for one of those women who require a man to lose. That last shot was intentionally not in your favor.”

  “You think I deliberately lost? Perhaps we need a rematch.”

  I stepped back. I wouldn’t play another game. Why was he even here? “There has obviously been some mistake. Certainly you never meant for this to happen.”

  “We’ll consider that game a practice. Now that we have taken the measure of each other’s skill, let us see who truly is the better player.”

  He was being purposefully obtuse. “My lord, I am not speaking of the game.”

  His cold stare met mine. “Our being together is no mistake.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  Ire flared within me. “And I am not to be privy to those reasons? I gather I am supposed to be honored by your offer because most women would be and not question your actions?”

  “We’ve already established your lack of sense when it comes to behaving as other women, as well as how little regard you have for my opinions. So you will forgive me for not confessing my reasons. It is your turn.”

  My hands clenched into fists. “Excuse me, but—”

  My father walked around the corner of the house, as though to remind me of his words. I cleared my throat. “Perhaps you would like to go first this time?” I shot the baron a smile, then turned to watch my father disappear into the stables.

  “Your father is gone,” Lord Williams said quietly, so close that his chest almost touched my shoulder. I looked at him in surprise and stumbled a step away. “There is no longer a need to appear civil.” Amusement filled his eyes.

  My body warmed from embarrassment and anger. He was laughing at me, finding humor in my discomfort as though everything that had happened today had been orchestrated to entertain him.

  “Thank you for your permission, my lord. Please excuse me.” I spun and strode to the house.

  Eleven

  I paced my bedroom, bemoaning my fate and cursing my ill luck, stopping just short of wishing I had never gone to the Hickmores’. I wasn’t fool enough to wish that undone, for if I hadn’t gone, I would never have met Mr. Northam. And I would never regret meeting Mr. Northam.

  If only he’d proposed. Or come yesterday. Or this morning. Any of those options would have sufficed.

  But would it have done any good? My father had already made the arrangement by then.

  A sudden thought stopped my feet. What if he came now? What would I do? Surely Mr. Northam would honor his cousin’s engagement.

  Yet he’d called Lord Williams a blackguard, which implied his disapproval of him. If Mr. Northam did, in fact, hate his cousin as I did, as I hoped he did, then I could count on him to help rescue me. But if they were friends as well as cousins—

  If they were friends, Mr. Northam would certainly relinquish any claim he felt he had.

  It was best not to gamble with the chance of Mr. Northam’s arriving until I found a way out of this engagement. I had to get word to him somehow, urging him not to come. But such a note could never come from me—not unless it was contained inside another letter written by a man. My thoughts automatically flew to my father, but he would never write such a note under the present circumstances. Which left only Daniel. Who would also never help.

  I began to pace again, then stopped. If I told Daniel to inform Mr. Northam that he should stay away because there was no point in his coming anymore, surely he would do that. It would be playing to Daniel’s desires. This could all work out wonderfully. I would speak to him about it tonight.

  For dinner I wore my plainest yellow evening dress adorned with no more than a simple gold necklace and my hair in a bun, all in the hope to drive home the message of my lack of interest in impressing the baron. Ignoring my mother’s look of disapproval at my attire, I silently followed my family into the dining room.

  “Lord Williams,” my father said, indicating a place at the table. Next to mine.

  I halted mid-step.

  Lord Williams nodded and moved to his seat, resting his hands on the back of his chair while waiting for everyone to take their places. I couldn’t move. I would have to sit next to him. And not just for tonight. I would have to sit next to him for every meal throughout his stay.

  “Margaret.” My mother’s voice jarred me to the recognition that everyone was looking at me. I shuffled to my chair.

  The table was beautifully laid, the servants having worked all day to make this dinner perfect, and I made a mental note to compliment them later, though I wished there were at least one small, repulsive something on the table that would make the baron uncomfortable. I wondered how difficult it would be to discover a dish he found particularly abhorrent and ensure it was served as a main course while he visited.

  As the meal began, Alice’s observations about the day were interspersed with Daniel’s bark of laughter, my mother’s comments, and even Lord Williams’s occasional remark. I took no part in the conversation. To do so, to pretend that everything was normal when that man was sitting next to me, smiling and conversing with my family as easily as though he were a part of it already, seemed a falsehood too deep to attempt.

  I picked at my food, spreading the fish around on the plate.

  Then I stopped. Why should I allow the baron’s presence to alter my habits? Doing so surely granted him some power over me. I shoved my queasiness aside and gingerly placed a bite on my tongue. It melted and my stomach relaxed. I smiled at my immunity to the baron and took another bite.

  “Lord Williams, do you by any chance speak Russian?” Daniel asked.

  I nearly spit my food out on my plate. As it was, I coughed into my napkin and quickly took a drink.

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” the baron responded, eyeing me as though with a desire to scoot his chair farther away.

  “A pity,” Daniel said. “Margaret has a great love for the language. I do hope you enjoy the opera, though.”

  “I do. Miss Brinton, you enjoy the opera?”

  “I have never been,” I replied, glaring at Daniel from under my lashes.

  Daniel shook his head sadly. “No, she hasn’t. But she is determined to like it nevertheless.”

  If the opportunity ever presented itself, I wouldn’t hesitate to shove Daniel in the lake. And I would make certain he knew it was on purpose.

  “I would suggest going later in the season if you particularly wish to enjoy the occasion,” Lord Williams offered. “Never on opening night, as the theater is thronged with gossips who have no intention of viewing the performance.”

  Only an idiot wouldn’t know that about opening night at the London opera. No doubt the baron thought us nothing more than country bumpkins. I set my fork down.

  “Very good to know. Thank you,” Daniel responded, catching my eye roll.

  After a moment, Lord Williams leaned toward me. “You do not enjoy fish?”

  His quiet question caught me off guard. “Yes. I do.” I readjusted the napkin in my lap.

  “Hm. I’d hate to see how you treated food you didn’t like.”

  “It isn’t the food I find disagreeable.” I clamped my mouth shut. I was allowing myself to be as rude to him as he had been to me and, though he may not object to his character, I vehemently opposed it. I needed to hold my tongue and be polite, like Louisa could.

  I reclaimed my fork. If my mouth was full, I wouldn’t have to speak.

  “You seem to find many things disag
reeable, Miss Brinton. Perhaps not all of them are deserving of your criticism.”

  “I do not find many things disagreeable. But when I do, it is usually because the thing has provided me with no other option.”

  I speared a piece of fish with my fork.

  Before I could take a bite, however, Lord Williams leaned toward me. “Or perhaps it is simply because you yourself are disagreeable.”

  I gaped at him. He smiled and shifted away to converse with my mother.

  Horrid man. Is this really what he wanted for a marriage? He was a baron; any number of women would have been ecstatic for such an offer. Why had he chosen to ruin my life in particular?

  The dinner dishes were cleared away and a dark dessert topped with cream was placed on the table. I hoped it was laced with just enough poison to make the baron ill.

  “Margaret, you will play for us tonight,” my father said.

  I glanced up from the table. I couldn’t play in front of the baron again, not after the debacle of last time. “Father, Lord Williams had the opportunity to hear me play at the Hickmores’. I’m afraid he found it rather lacking and not in the least enjoyable.”

  My father raised his brows.

  “Besides,” I continued quickly, “Alice was looking forward to Daniel reading to us.”

  “Oh, yes, Papa,” Alice exclaimed. “Please.”

  My father nodded his assent and I sighed with relief at avoiding another catastrophe.

  The men lingered remarkably long after dinner. I tried to sew, but between wondering what the men were discussing and my anxiety to speak to Daniel regarding Mr. Northam, my stitches were wide and misshapen. I began to unstitch everything and start over.

  The moment the men joined us, I sidled up next to Daniel. “I need to speak with you.”

  He gave me a questioning look.

  “I need you to send a message to Mr. Northam.”

  Daniel scoffed and turned to Alice. “Have you chosen something for me to read?”

  “Please, Daniel,” I whispered. “Just tell him not to come.”

  He looked back at me. “You don’t want him to come?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why not?”

  I couldn’t have him guess the real reason. “There’s no point. And it would just cause awkwardness.”

  Daniel nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I smiled my thanks. My attention slid to Lord Williams. He was watching me with his horrid blue eyes.

  I straightened, retrieved my sewing, and didn’t look up again the rest of the evening.

  Twelve

  The next morning, I opened my door and peeked out. The hall was dark, the house silent except for the occasional sigh that country houses make. Grabbing my half-boots off the floor, I slipped out of my room and crept down the hall, my hand skimming the wall for balance, my other hand pressing the boots against the skirt of my walking dress to keep it from swishing. When the floor squeaked under my step, I yanked up my foot, tense, waiting. Nothing stirred. I slowly let out my breath and inched more carefully toward the stairs.

  Five stairs down, I stopped, my hand clasped on the railing. I had forgotten to close my bedroom door.

  Only my fear of waking someone kept the groan from escaping my lips. For one fleeting moment, I entertained the idea of going on anyway. But if that odious baron decided to take a self-guided tour of the house, I did not want him seeing into my bedchamber. Clenching my jaw, I slipped back up the stairs to my room.

  When I had finally made it to the bottom of the staircase, I sat and laced up my boots. The brightening light crept though the windows, hurrying me. I wanted to catch the morning rays as they began their daily dance on the lake. I ached for a few moments alone, to escape into the silence of nature, into the solitude of non-human things.

  A door clicked shut above me and I froze, but only silence echoed in my ears. Then I heard footsteps.

  I fumbled through my last knot and raced out the door. As I stepped around the side of the house, light hit my face, stopping me. I breathed in the morning sun, willing it to diminish the shadows of yesterday’s misfortune. The crisp morning air, the sun warming my skin, and the ruckus of birdsong all filled me with resolution. Today I would find a way to be rid of the baron. I would start right after my walk.

  I danced down the steps and ran my hand along the fencing when I passed under the arbor. As a girl, I had fantasized that the arbor led to a world of make-believe and magic and, once I was a little older, love. I used to spin through the paths and imagine a rainbow of fairies wreaking havoc in the shrubbery. Then I’d sit on the bench, tilt my head back, and watch the clouds drift away. It had been so easy to believe that anything was possible.

  This morning the air recovered a bit of that magic, and I smiled. Tilting my head back, I closed my eyes and inhaled, the smell of childhood contained in the scents of the flowers and bushes around me. The lake would be beautiful this morning. I would have to hurry if I was—

  “Excuse me, Miss Brinton. May I join you?”

  The magic vanished. My eyes flew open and my breath whooshed out of me. I turned slowly, willing him to disappear before I saw him, praying he wasn’t really there.

  But he was. The baron’s face was freshly shaved, his hair neatly combed. His clothes were immaculate but simple, after the same fashion as the day before with a dark green coat, lighter green vest, and tall black boots. He must have been up earlier than I, since I had merely dressed and wound my hair in a bun.

  He could at least have had the decency to sleep in. “Do you always rise early after a long journey?”

  “Generally. I find I accomplish more if I do.”

  What did he hope to accomplish this morning?

  “May I join you?” he asked again.

  He couldn’t possibly join me. I was on my way to the lake, to regain a portion of the magic he’d destroyed. “I prefer to walk alone in the mornings.”

  He nodded. “Company is another thing you find disagreeable?”

  He would not win this battle. “Not at all, my lord. The company of friends is always agreeable, no matter the hour.”

  He stepped next to me. “Will you not put aside your quarrel with me for a moment? While witty banter and veiled insults have their proper place, and you excel quite handsomely at both, I find myself without the ability to keep pace so early in the morning.”

  Only he could offer an insult as a compliment in such a way that to refuse would appear ill-mannered. Fine. I would agree. It only meant that the opportunity to begin persuading him to leave had arrived early. However, there was no way I was going to walk all the way around the lake with him. A stroll around the garden would have to do. “If you wish.” I turned and moved onto one of the garden paths. He stepped beside me and adjusted his pace to mine.

  After walking a bit in silence, he said, “This is a nice walk.”

  Nice was not a word one should apply to nature. Exquisite, yes. Peaceful, definitely. A sanctuary from problems, a provider of hope—these were the things a person felt while walking outside. Nice was quite near to calling it ugly.

  I turned onto a different path.

  He didn’t miss a step. In fact, he kept so close his hand brushed mine. I clasped my hands behind me to avoid any more accidental brushing.

  “It is on the small side,” he continued, “and quite formal for my taste, but it fits the house and property.”

  I stopped. “I am sorry you find the small size of our house and estate straining. No doubt you are being deprived of many luxuries to which you are accustomed. My family is certain to understand if you wish to make an early departure. And as for this,” I continued, sweeping my hand in a wide arc to indicate the beauty around us, “it is perfect just the way it is, whatever your tastes may be.” I moved on, hoping rather than believing he wouldn’t follow.
>
  He followed, resuming his place next to me. “I believe my tastes are considered refined.”

  Was there no end to his arrogance? “No doubt a conclusion to which you alone so impartially arrived.”

  “On the contrary, it is what I have been told.”

  “By whom?”

  “Single ladies seeking my attention. And their mothers.”

  I stopped again, this time my mouth falling open in disbelief at his temerity. “It is a wonder you did not choose to ruin one of their lives instead of mine. It seems it would have suited everyone much more agreeably.”

  “Not everyone.” His lips twitched and his eyes took on a teasing glint.

  My own eyes narrowed. “Lord Williams, if it is your intent to mock me and insult my home, I would prefer to be left alone.”

  He quirked an eyebrow and his lips relaxed into an easy grin. “You already mentioned you’d rather be alone. I suspect you feel that way whether I comment on your home or not. But I was not insulting it; on the contrary, I was complimenting it.”

  “You have a very strange manner for complimenting.” He didn’t address my accusation about his mocking me, though, and I again felt as though I was no more to him than an entertaining way to pass time. I would not be his plaything. I would not bear his company a moment longer. Solitude inside was preferable to his company outside, no matter how stifling the house could be. I spun and headed in the other direction.

  “We were walking this way,” he called out.

  “I am returning to the house.”

  He trailed me. “Do you eat so early?”

  “No. I am going to . . . sew.”

  He was beside me a moment later. He would probably follow me even if I broke into a run. I kept my gait steady, resisting the urge to test my theory. The stairs were just down the path.

  He wasn’t in the least troubled by the quick pace. “You find sewing an invigorating pastime, I must assume, since you are so eager to give up this fine morning and sew before breakfast. However, if this is your normal routine, I would advise you to allow for a little more exercise in your day.”