Hugo fixed her with a stern gaze. “Evangeline Charlotte Anne Lowell Branscombe—”
“Oh, very well!” she exclaimed, a touch pettishly. “I know you’ve been paying court to Lady Althea Clement. But nothing’s official yet, is it? You haven’t formally offered for her?”
The anxious note in her voice surprised him. “No, not yet,” he conceded, after a moment. “That is, I am not Lady Althea’s only admirer, but I was thinking that Christmas might be the ideal time to—ask her to consider my suit.” He regarded his sister narrowly. “You have some objections to the lady who may become the future Countess of Bevington?”
“Oh, no! That is,” Lady Branscombe bit her lip, “from all I know of her, Lady Althea is a paragon of virtue and amiability—along with being pretty and well-dowered.”
“She is all of those things,” Hugo said with no small satisfaction. He hadn’t expected to find so suitable a potential bride this quickly, when he’d only begun his search this past spring.
“Only—she’s not likely to stir things up for you, is she?”
“I wasn’t aware that things required stirring up,” he retorted. “At least not where I’m concerned! There’s much to be said for a quiet life.”
“But a quiet life doesn’t have to be an uneventful one! Or a—a dull one. I’m not saying that Lady Althea is dull,” Lady Branscombe added hastily, though Hugo suspected she had been saying just that. “It’s just—well, I worry so about you, my dear!”
“Worry about me?” he echoed, astonished.
“You’re not yet thirty, but you’ve grown so settled and staid!” his sister lamented. “I know most of it’s because of Papa’s accident, but I miss the brother who used to climb trees and play pirates or Robin Hood with me!”
Hugo found himself smiling. They’d been a pair, he and Charley, roaming the forests of Nottinghamshire together. She’d always insisted on being Will Scarlet or Allan-a-Dale, wanting to go on adventures rather than stay behind in Sherwood Forest, like Maid Marian. He cherished those memories all the more in light of the responsibilities he’d had to shoulder at sixteen, after their formerly active, vigorous father ended up in an invalid’s chair.
“Now the only entertainment you allow yourself is riding to hounds,” Lady Branscombe went on. “Or attending the occasional shooting party. Heaven knows I don’t begrudge you those, but what about the rest of the year?” She paused, flushing slightly, then resumed, “Try as I might, I cannot imagine Lady Althea… well, she just doesn’t seem the adventurous sort.”
“Not everyone is meant to be,” Hugo pointed out. “That shouldn’t be a black mark against him—or her.”
“Of course not. But I can’t help wanting the best for my brother—not merely what the world deems proper or suitable.” She bit her lip, gazing at him with wistful eyes. “Forgive me?”
Hugo took her hand, squeezing it affectionately. “There’s nothing to forgive, Charley. I am touched that you desire my happiness so strongly. But there is no reason to suppose I couldn’t be happy with Lady Althea, is there? Should she accept my offer, that is.”
She squeezed his hand in return, a resigned smile playing about her lips. “Why wouldn’t she accept? You’re quite the catch, you know. When are the Clements expecting you?”
“I haven’t written them yet, but I thought I might go down on the twenty-third.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, but that’s perfect! Robert says the Whitborough house party is due to end on the twenty-first. So you could still go to the Clements’ as planned, and not miss a day!”
“Charley—”
“If you went, it needn’t be just to bear Robert company or keep an eye on Wilf. It could be an adventure for you!” Lady Branscombe insisted, holding his hand even tighter. “When’s the last time you did something new and different? And you could write to me about it—tell me of all the things you’ve done that you haven’t before. It would certainly beguile the time for me,” she added, gazing ruefully down at herself.
Hugo could feel himself weakening, but he mustered one more protest. “I cannot feel my presence would be all that necessary—”
His sister smiled at him, her brown eyes alight with fond amusement. “A handsome bachelor is always necessary—and welcome—at a country house party! Though you needn’t worry about Whitborough’s daughters complicating things,” she assured him hastily. “Two are still in the schoolroom, and the eldest has turned down every proposal she’s received since she came out. I hear she’s practically on the shelf—and likes it that way!”
Hugo sighed, capitulating. “You say you want to hear of whatever new and different things I may do? Well, never before have I accepted an invitation at the very last minute, nor attended a house party where I did not know the hosts. So, my dear Charley, that’s two for the list already!”
* * *
Denforth Castle, Yorkshire, three days later
“I require a husband.”
The words rang through the bedchamber like a challenge, and Lady Madeline Lyons pulled a face, relieved that no one was present to hear her make that declaration.
Except for her reflection, which—as a fanciful child—Madeline had named “Mariette” and sometimes pretended was her twin, instead of Hal. Much as she loved her brother, there were times when she’d desperately longed for a sister with whom she could share all her secrets and who would never betray her confidences. A sister who would understand everything that had led her to this moment… and this not wholly palatable realization.
A husband, a home, and perhaps someday a family of her own. She’d vaguely supposed she’d marry one day, but she’d been in no hurry to do so on first coming out. But time—and other matters—had a way of changing one’s perspective, she mused, studying “Mariette” in the glass.
No fault to be found there, fortunately. Her green evening gown was becoming and exquisitely cut—French, of course—as well as flattering to her dark coloring. Maman’s coloring. The Duchess of Whitborough had an unerring instinct for which styles and hues would suit her and her daughters best. And however they might clash over those… other matters, Madeline willingly yielded to her mother’s authority when it came to fashion.
But a beautiful dress wouldn’t be the only thing on display. Raising her chin just a fraction, Madeline tried for a smile that was more than the cursory curving of lips she’d perfected as an increasingly bored debutante. A smile that would reach her eyes for a change.
She abandoned the first attempt halfway through. And tried to imagine herself speaking to a man who was interested in something other than her position and her dowry, who might actually care about her thoughts and opinions. Experience had shown her that such a man was rare, but there was a remote possibility that he might exist. Somewhere. It would be nothing short of a miracle if he was among those attending this house party, but wasn’t Christmas supposed to be the season of miracles?
There. That was a little better. A trifle less forced, and she could practice until it felt more natural.
A knock on her door had her turning from the mirror. “Who is it?” she called.
“Just me, Maddie,” her sister Elaine replied from the passage. “May I come in?”
“Of course, darling.” Madeline smiled at the younger girl as she slipped into the room. After three brothers, it had been lovely to have a sister at last, and despite the six years between them, they’d always got on well.
“I was hoping I could borrow your amethysts to liven up this dress,” Elaine explained, gesturing at her pale lavender gown. “My pearls just make it look insipid.”
“It definitely could use something more colorful,” Madeline agreed. “My jewel box is on the vanity. Help yourself.”
“Thanks!” Elaine hurried over to the vanity. “I can’t wait to be out of the schoolroom. I’m so tired of wearing white and pastels!”
“You look lovely in them all the same,” Madeline said loyally. “Much better than I ever did.” Elaine was as fair as she was dark, wit
h tawny-blonde hair, their mother’s hazel eyes, and an English rose complexion.
“Well, you look stunning in that shade of green,” Elaine remarked, studying her sister’s gown a touch enviously.
Madeline smoothed her skirts, trying not to appear self-conscious. “Thank you, Lainey. I just hope you’re not the only one who thinks so.”
“Oh?” Elaine’s brows rose. “Are you speaking of anyone in particular?”
Madeline avoided her gaze. “Not exactly. But—well, I suppose there’s no point in beating round the bush. I’ll be putting some serious effort into finding a husband, starting with this week’s house party!”
“Truly? After all this time—and all those proposals you refused?”
Madeline just managed not to wince. “I know how long it’s been! And I don’t imagine that those gentlemen cherish fond memories of me, but I did have my reasons for saying ‘no.’ Besides, can I help it if Maman taught me to be—particularly discriminating?”
Elaine dimpled. “You mean picky!”
Madeline narrowed her eyes. “Do you want to borrow my amethysts or not?”
“Sorry,” Elaine said hastily, delving back into the jewel box. “Well, if it helps, lots of young men have come for the week,” she reported. “At least three of Hal’s friends, one of Reg’s, and another gentlemen joined the party at virtually the last minute.”
“Have any of them ever been here before?”
Elaine paused, Madeline’s amethyst pendant dangling from her fingers. “I don’t think so, but they’re bound to be good-looking, aren’t they? And wealthy. Hal’s friends, anyway.”
Good-looking, wealthy—and extravagant, Madeline supplied inwardly. Like Hal himself—which was hardly surprising. In all probability, they’d be keen sportsmen, dress well, and show to advantage in a ballroom or salon. But would any of them be good husband material?
That remained to be seen—especially since Madeline wasn’t sure Hal was, despite their parents’ plans to formalize his betrothal this very week. Still, she couldn’t dismiss the possibility out of hand.
“I’ll look to like if looking liking move,” she murmured, half to herself.
Surely among the eligible men attending this house party, there must be one or two she could like. And perhaps something could grow from that.
She glanced over at her sister, now fastening the pendant about her throat. Lainey was a dear and very sympathetic, but she was only sixteen. It would be ages yet before she had to worry about the things consuming Madeline’s attention now. Besides, Madeline strongly suspected that there was already a most eligible young man waiting in the wings for Elaine, even if nothing had been officially arranged. As recently as three months ago, Madeline would have shuddered at the thought of having one’s marital prospects settled so early. Now, it seemed almost… comforting, to have such a certainty to fall back on.
A pounding on the door cut into her ruminations. “Maddie! Are you in there? Please, I need your help!”
Their younger sister Juliana’s voice, edged with something very like panic. Exchanging an alarmed glance with Elaine, Madeline responded at once. “Yes, I’m here, Ju! Come in.”
The door burst open and the girl practically hurtled into the room, her frock rumpled and her red-gold hair escaping from its plaits.
“Darling, what’s wrong?” Madeline asked.
“It’s Volumnia! I can’t find her anywhere!”
Relaxing, Madeline shook her head indulgently. “She’s a cat, Ju. She’ll turn up when she wants to be found, which will most likely be when she’s hungry.”
“You don’t understand, Maddie! She could have kittens any day now.” Juliana wrung her hands, her blue eyes huge with distress. “Miss Withersedge won’t have her in the nursery. She told me to put Volumnia in the stables, but that’s much too cold for her, and she’s never been outside the castle. I made a nest for her in the west attic, but she must have got out somehow, because she’s gone!”
“Oh, Lord!” That definitely put a new complexion on the matter. “Any idea how long she’s been missing?”
Juliana bit her lip. “An hour? Maybe two?”
Madeline stifled a most unladylike exclamation. Dear heaven, the wretched animal could be anywhere! Denforth’s tribe of assorted felines had the run of the castle, but a heavily pregnant cat was not the sort of thing one wished to lose sight of in a houseful of guests—especially young men one was hoping to impress!
Rising, Elaine glanced at the mantel clock. “There’s still a little time before dinner, Ju,” she said consolingly. “Perhaps we can go and look for her. She might not have gone too far in her—present condition.”
Madeline opened her mouth to protest, but softened when she saw Juliana’s eyes brighten hopefully. “Oh, very well,” she conceded, sighing. “I suppose she could have gone to ground in a cupboard or a closet.”
Or a guest chamber. Suppressing a shudder at the thought, she inquired briskly, “Now, is Volumnia the tabby or the tortoiseshell?”
* * *
“Well, there’s no need to get huffy about it, Ger!” Madeline exclaimed, as her younger brother’s door closed most emphatically in her face.
“He wouldn’t really do it, would he, Maddie?” Juliana whispered to her sister.
“Yes, I would!” Gervase retorted, on the other side of the door.
Madeline rolled her eyes and led Juliana away. “No, sweeting, I’m sure that he wouldn’t,” she said, once they were out of earshot. “Though you can’t really blame him for saying so, under the circumstances. Just as well Volumnia didn’t choose his room this time.”
She turned to survey the remaining doors before them. Agreeing that they could cover more ground separately, the sisters had headed in opposite directions, Elaine hurrying off to check the north section of the wing, while Madeline and Juliana took the south.
The first order of business had been to make sure Volumnia hadn’t intruded upon the guests. Fortunately, none of them had reported seeing her, and most had been tolerant of the sisters’ search and solicitous about the expectant mother—Gervase excepted.
“Do you think Volumnia might have gone to Margaret’s room?” Juliana suggested hopefully. “She likes cats.”
“So she does.” Their friend and neighbor Lady Margaret Carlisle was nothing if not good-humored, a quality that endeared her to many in the Lyons family. “She and Alicia are sharing the Rose Room. We’ll try there next.”
“Ladies, if I may have your attention?” a resonant male voice inquired.
Madeline turned… and abruptly found herself lost for words.
Two doors down, leaning against the jamb, stood a man who could have modeled as one of the heroes of the Iliad. Not Achilles or Paris, her mind supplied dazedly. This was the noble Hector: tall, deep-chested, and broad-shouldered. Fair curling hair, eyes the light golden-brown of acorns, even features in an undeniably handsome face…
The gentleman smiled, a touch wryly, but it did not detract from the good humor she saw in his eyes. “Viscount Saxby, at your service.” He sketched them a bow. “I believe I can assist you in your quest.”
Acknowledgments
Putting together a book, even a short one, is not a task for the faint of heart, so I would like to thank all the people who make it easier:
Lucinda Campbell of LK-E-Book Formatting Services, for her skills, promptness, and patience.
Vikncharlie for the lovely new cover. (I was very fond of my former landscape cover, created by Dawn Charles at BookGraphics.net, but now that The Heiress Series is complete, I felt it needed a more “branded” look.)
My usual team of betas: it’s always a boost to morale to know there are people actually waiting to read my stuff, errors and all!
The growing community of self-published and hybrid authors whose perseverance and determination never fail to inspire me.
My family, who may not always understand why I write but accept that it’s important that I do.
M
y readers, whose interest and support motivate me to keep doing what I love—thank you!
About The Author
Pamela Sherwood is an avid reader of multiple genres (horror excepted) and aspires to be a prolific writer of multiple genres (again, horror excepted). In a previous life, she earned a doctorate in English literature, specializing in the Romantic and Victorian periods, and taught college-level literature and writing courses. At present, she writes historical romance and fantasy. Her books have received starred reviews in Booklist and Library Journal, and Waltz With A Stranger, her debut novel, won the Laurel Wreath Award for Best Historical Romance in 2013. She recently published her first work of fantasy, Awakened And Other Enchanted Tales. Pamela lives with her family in Southern California, where she continues to read voraciously, spin plots, and straddle genres to tell the kind of stories she loves.
Visit her on the web at http://pamelasherwood.com, facebook.com/PamelaSherwoodAuthor, and twitter.com/pamelasherwood
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Epilogue
The Tenant of Tidewater Cottage
Thank You!
The Advent of Lady Madeline
Acknowledgments
About The Author
A Wedding In Cornwall Page 7