Promised

by Leah Garriott

  Lady Cox looked appalled. “I did not mean to encourage you to seek out my daughter’s hand, sir.”

  “I would consider it an honor.”

  “I believe Mr. Lundall would make an exceptional dance partner,” my father interjected, laughter in his eyes.

  “I dare say,” Mrs. Hargreaves broke in, “it would be a fine thing to see the young people dance. Perhaps we should provide them with the opportunity after dinner?”

  Lady Cox looked as though she wished to smash her food in Mrs. Hargreaves’s face. “I think that is hardly necessary.”

  “A dance sounds delightful,” Lady Williams agreed. “It has been too long since we have enjoyed one here. What do you think, Gregory?”

  He seemed amused. “I have no objection to it, if Miss Perrin and Miss Brinton do not oppose.”

  The humor of the situation evaporated. I did not wish to dance with either gentleman.

  Mr. Lundall smiled at me. “Miss Brinton is a superb dancer. I have never known her equal. This meal cannot end soon enough for me.”

  Lady Cox snorted, and my mind seized on a way to extricate myself from the activity. “You flatter me, sir. However, I must decline. It would be selfish of me to accept when I have, on a previous occasion, had the pleasure of dancing with you. As this may be Lady Cox’s only opportunity for such an experience, I shall relinquish my spot to her and relegate myself to the position of spectator.”

  My father tilted his head in approval of my argument.

  “I did not mean to give the impression that I wished to dance,” Lady Cox sputtered.

  “Are you refusing to dance with his lordship’s guest, Lady Cox?” Mrs. Hargreaves asked.

  “Of course not.” She glared at Mrs. Hargreaves. “I shall consent to a dance, though I think one will be more than adequate.”

  “Then it is settled. Miss Brinton can take your place when you have finished,” Lady Williams concluded.

  It was not quite the outcome I’d hoped for, as it did not release me completely from the obligation.

  After we had withdrawn to the music room, Lady Williams said, “Miss Brinton, perhaps you will do us the honor of playing?”

  It was just the excuse I needed. I sat at the piano and played the opening measures. When I checked to see if the couples were ready, I tried not to let the discomfort of seeing Miss Perrin standing opposite Lord Williams outweigh the gratification of observing Lady Cox standing opposite Mr. Lundall.

  After the song had finished, Lady Williams rose from her seat. “I shall take Miss Brinton’s place so that she may dance.”

  I rose and slowly made my way to the position across from Lord Williams. Miss Perrin had, with some alacrity, assumed her position across from Mr. Lundall with a rather determined air.

  “Elisa, do not fatigue yourself,” Lady Cox called out sharply. “Come rest next to me.” She patted the settee.

  “But Miss Brinton will not be able to dance if I do not,” Miss Perrin objected.

  “Oh,” I said quickly, “I do not mind.”

  “Are you certain, Miss Brinton?” Mrs. Hargreaves said. “It doesn’t seem fair that you should not enjoy—”

  “Yes, quite sure.”

  Lady Williams’s brows knitted together in concern, but she said, “Tea, then. And cards.” The group walked out of the room toward the drawing room, Miss Perrin quickly securing Mr. Lundall’s arm. Lady Cox scowled at him. Mr. Lundall glanced at me, but I smiled encouragingly and he turned his attention to Miss Perrin.

  “I am sorry to miss the opportunity of dancing with you,” Lord Williams said quietly, walking beside me into the drawing room.

  We paused just inside the room. “But you enjoyed your dance with Miss Perrin, did you not?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Miss Brinton.” Mr. Lundall indicated an empty chair at his side. I sighed and walked over to it, annoyed at feeling disappointed that it wasn’t Lord Williams offering me a seat next to him.

  Mr. Lundall immediately leaned toward me, though his gaze rested on Lady Cox. “I cannot abide an interfering parent.” He eyed her a moment before shifting his attention to me. “In all your magnanimity, you are too polite to mention the changes I have made to my person since we last met. I do not wish to embarrass you by bringing them up, only to illustrate that I am not above recognizing my mistakes and changing the presentation of the person I put forth.”

  He must be referring to his lack of smell. “It does offer quite a different presentation.”

  Lord Williams traded his seat for one near us. “Mr. Lundall, you seem a man of solid sense and good taste. Miss Brinton and I were in conversation earlier and could not arrive at an agreement. Do tell us, what means would you go to in order to protect someone you knew to be in danger?”

  His wording made him seem wholly benevolent. I glared at him. “Mr. Lundall, please pay no heed to his lordship.”

  Mr. Lundall leaned toward me again and loudly whispered, “Though it pains me to do anything you do not wish, I cannot singly ignore his lordship when he has so graciously accepted me into his home.” He straightened. “Do you speak of mortal danger or a more philosophical danger?”

  “I apologize,” Lord Williams said. “Danger of making a choice the person would rue for the rest of his or her life.”

  “That is not accurate,” I said. “It is a choice others might think would make the person unhappy, but that person is certain is perfect.” Although I wasn’t so certain anymore. But no one, especially not Lord Williams, needed to know that.

  “In that case, I would endeavor to help this person see the error of his or her choice,” Mr. Lundall advised.

  “It is not an error,” I said.

  Lord Williams spoke over me. “And if the person did not heed your counsel?”

  He would not be the only voice in this conversation. I turned to Mr. Lundall. “Would you, for instance, take measures to force the person to make a different choice, one that might inadvertently be worse?”

  “Worse?” Lord Williams gestured around the room. “This is worse?”

  “It isn’t about the location,” I muttered.

  “If it were a person I cared for,” Mr. Lundall said quietly, “I would ensure the person’s safety and then hope to be granted enough time for each of us to understand the reasons behind the choices of the other.”

  His sincere response was so out of character that it gave me pause. “I think that a very good plan,” I said tentatively.

  “Yes. I wholly agree.” Lord Williams’s eyes met mine. “I am glad we are in agreement that the safety of the one in question is of paramount import.”

  He viewed his engagement to me as securing my safety? “Rash actions are never safe decisions,” I replied.

  Lord Williams leaned forward. “Mr. Lundall, as a man of experience who has obviously seen much of the world, what would you do to win the good opinion of someone you cared for?”

  I shook my head. “This seems an irrelevant question.”

  “Does it?” Again Lord Williams’s gaze met mine. What was he about now? Had he decided on some new venture to prove me wrong? Or had he decided that he had not succeeded in fully proving his point of the weakness in my plan and wished to pursue the matter more?

  “Of what are you speaking?” Lady Cox called from the card table. “It seems to have Miss Brinton in something of a flushed state.”

  I felt my cheeks. They were a little warm. “We are speaking of winning hearts, your ladyship. I would dearly love to know what you suggest for a man to win a woman’s affection.”

  “Flowers. Gifts. Those are the most obvious,” she said. Those were the same things Lord Williams had listed. My gaze leapt to him. He made a small kissing motion with his lips.

  Abominable conceit.

  “But it is important to consider the person’s
temperament,” Mr. Lundall broke in. “An overabundance of such things, when the person is not inclined to enjoy them, can have an opposite effect of the one desired.”

  This was a lesson Mr. Lundall had so kindly taught us both.

  Lady Cox scoffed. “What woman does not enjoy flowers and gifts?”

  “I very much enjoy both,” Lady Williams agreed. “But it also depends on the giver. If there isn’t foundational attachment, no amount of gifts will change that.”

  Mrs. Hargreaves nodded. “Den Nagel auf den Kopf trefft.”

  “Oh, really,” Lady Cox said with exasperation.

  “I believe,” Mrs. Hargreaves said, “that this is also a saying in your language? Lady Williams has rather hit the nail on the head?”

  Lady Cox turned away from her. “Lord Williams is rather talented at selecting gifts fit for the recipient, is he not, Elisa?”

  “Oh, yes,” Miss Perrin stuttered, glancing between Lord Williams and me.

  “Has he ever given you a gift, Miss Brinton?” Lady Cox asked.

  “Only the gift of his opinions and counsel,” I assured her. “Though I have no doubt that whatever gifts he gives, he does so with impeccable ability, as his taste is rather refined.” I shot him a smile.

  “It seems I have been remiss in my duty as host,” Lord Williams replied. “I usually ensure each of my guests receives a gift. However, it is quite fortuitous that I waited, is it not? Else you might have found yourself with something quite disagreeable.”

  I narrowed my eyes, recognizing his words as the ones I had spoken to him. “No doubt you have a talent for selecting quite the perfect thing.”

  “You shall have to be the judge, though I believe my talents in the matter rather compare to those I have developed for lawn bowls.”

  His demeanor appeared unaffected, but I thought I caught a hint of laughter in his eyes. I pretended indifference with a shrug. “Seeing as how you lost at lawn bowls, perhaps I would rather not receive a gift.”

  Mr. Lundall leaned forward. “One man to another, Miss Brinton has a strong dislike of donkeys.”

  Lord Williams glanced at me, eyes wide, and mouthed, “Donkeys?”

  I shook my head, trying to indicate that it was not a subject that needed discussing.

  “Thank you, Mr. Lundall,” Lord Williams said. “I shall take her aversion to donkeys under consideration.”

  Lady Cox smirked. “Miss Brinton, do you sing?”

  Startled at the change in subject, I replied, “A little.”

  “That is all? What a shame. Elisa is such an accomplished vocalist. I do believe she was looking forward to a duet. Lord Williams, perhaps you would do us the honor of joining her?”

  “I think a duet would be a delightful thing,” Lady Williams said. “Could we persuade you to join your daughter, Lady Cox?”

  “Me? I admit I have not so fine a voice as Elisa’s. It is one of my greatest regrets that I was not trained as she has been.”

  “I needn’t sing, Mama,” Miss Perrin said, obviously embarrassed. I felt sorry for her. My mother had never put me on display the way hers did.

  I would sing with her, if only to spare her further discomfort.

  Lord Williams stood before I could. “It has been some time since I have sung before company, but I would very much enjoy a duet with you, Miss Perrin.”

  Miss Perrin flashed him a smile of obvious gratitude.

  When Lord Williams’s voice filled the room, pleasure seeped through me. I tried to ignore my response but found I was as unsuccessful as a child trying to block a river by building a dam of sand.

  Twenty-Nine

  Sitting on a bench near the river the next morning, I frowned at the way the water continuously tugged at the branch of the tree. The branch would eventually give way, breaking off from the power of the river’s flow. There was something to admire in the tree’s effort to stand its ground, but losing the branch was inevitable. So why struggle so desperately to retain it?

  “My cousin and I used to race boats made of old newspapers out here. It was the only time I ever beat Northam at anything.”

  Lord Williams stood a few steps away, a shoulder resting against a tree, newspaper tucked under his arm. He looked relaxed, at home. This was the place that showed him to greatest advantage, here beside the river, his face without any of the frowning arrogance it had carried for so long. If women saw him like this, they’d be swarming the estate for his attention. I returned my focus to the water. “Surely not the only time.”

  He squatted beside the bench, picked up a stone, and threw it into the water. “The only time. He always gets what he wants.” He turned and caught my gaze. “Even when he doesn’t actually want it.”

  The resignation in his eyes stole my breath. “And here I thought you were this talented man,” I said quietly.

  His lips turned into a small smile. “I apologize for last night. I’m afraid I wasn’t my best self.”

  Forget the blue dinner coat. That smile could make a woman wish things—the look in his eyes, and his lips curved just so.

  If he asked me at that moment to refer to him as Gregory, I don’t think I could have resisted. The title of Lord Williams no longer seemed to fit.

  I turned back to the river. “Neither of us seems to make the other perform to our best selves.”

  “And yet what we have together works, does it not?”

  “Does it?”

  Gregory sighed. “I did not set out to prove a point, though perhaps I should have. It would have avoided all of this.”

  “All of what?”

  “Whatever we have going on between us. You cannot deny that there is something, even though you want to.”

  I might not deny it, but neither did I have to admit it. “If not to prove me wrong, what did you set out to do?”

  “Is it so hard to believe I truly did not want Northam to have you?”

  “Yes.” There were other ways to ensure marriages didn’t happen. There was more to his story than he was telling me.

  But merely convincing me how wrong I was also didn’t seem a strong enough motivation to engage himself to me anymore. The conceited baron from before would have done so at all costs, but this man before me who shared memories and smiles?

  So then, why?

  Gregory stood. “I know you must miss your brother and—how did you phrase it? All the little irritants he provides? So . . .” He held up the paper. “How about a race?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  I couldn’t tell him that it was because I couldn’t spend time with him, because whenever we spent time together I felt more drawn to him, felt as though I wanted to always be with him. “We’ll be late for breakfast.”

  He shrugged. “As the master of this estate, I think I can put off breakfast by a few minutes. Besides, we both know that’s just an excuse.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Ah.” Gregory grinned. “I finally found something at which I have a chance at besting you.” He handed me a sheet of the newsprint. “A boat is only as good as its folds, so pay careful attention.”

  I tried to hand the paper back. “Why don’t you fold it for me?”

  He frowned in mock sternness. “If I folded both boats, then I would merely be racing against myself. There is no entertainment in that, let me assure you.”

  I looked down at the paper. A little competition to ease my anxiety. That’s what Daniel would say.

  I did miss him. And Alice and Mother and my lake.

  Perhaps this diversion was exactly what I needed.

  “Fine, oh talented one. Please instruct me on the intricacies of building a boat.”

  “Your wish is my command.” Gregory sat on the other side of the bench and set his paper between
us. “Fold it over like this and make a good crease.” He showed me how to first make a hat from the paper, then continued to make a boat. I followed his instructions until the final step of tugging the sides apart. “Won’t I rip it?”

  “Would you like some help?”

  I nodded and, using both hands so it didn’t unfold, held my boat up for him. Instead of taking it, Gregory placed his hands over mine on the paper. My eyes flew to his. His gaze held mine as he slowly drew the corners apart. “As long as you’re gentle, it will turn out perfectly.” He hands lingered on mine a moment before I realized I shouldn’t be looking at him, shouldn’t be touching him.

  I stood. “So, that’s all, then?”

  “Yes. You are an excellent student.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.” I lifted my boat for examination while I tried to still the pounding of my heart.

  He eyed me as though he wanted to offer a rejoinder, but then stood as well. We walked up the river until we’d passed the back of the house before moving to the water and bending down.

  “On my mark,” he said. “One, two, three.” We both dropped our boats into the water. He’d pushed his so that it careened out into the current. Mine floated hopelessly at the side.

  “You need a stick.” He searched the ground a moment before straightening with a long stick. “I should thank the groundskeepers for overlooking this.” He held it out to me.

  “I just push it off?”

  He nodded.

  I set the stick against the boat and started to push.

  “Wait,” he said, grabbing my hand. “You have to push from the bottom or you’ll capsize it.” With his hand on mine, Gregory guided the stick to the bottom of the boat and helped me push it off into the current, where it chased after his. When we straightened, my back brushed his chest.

  I wanted to stay just like this, with him close, his hand still over mine, no worries about intent or the future or the past marring the moment.

  “Should we follow?” he whispered, his thumb sliding over my fingers.

  We should. But I couldn’t bring myself to move. Not yet. If only I could know the real reason as to why he insisted on keeping me and Mr. Northam apart, I might be able to finally let go and allow myself to lean against him, to accept him. To be happy with him. “What happened at the Hickmores’ that made you care so much about keeping your cousin and me apart that you would throw away your own life to stop it?”