by Cheryl Bolen
No matter what part of the room she found herself in, Miss Featherstone felt Lord Slade's eyes on her. She supposed he was every bit as snobbish as Sarah in his views toward the unfortunate Mr. Poppinbotham and his connection with her.
She was just going to have to become inured to that.
* * *
On the ride home that night, it was all Slade could do not to try to stuff something into Mr. Poppinbotham's mouth to silence the pompous ass. And he just might if the man once more uttered, "When I get in Parliament. . ."
"The redhead in pink with whom I danced," Mr. Poppinbotham asked Miss Featherstone, "does she hail from a noble family, too?"
"Though she has no title like my cousin," Miss Featherstone nodded at Lady Sarah, "like me, she has connections. Her father is the third or fourth son, I can't remember which, of the Marquis of Hever. Can you enlighten Mr. Poppinbotham more than I?" Miss Featherstone directed her attention at the earl.
"Good heavens, no. I couldn't possibly keep up with how many sons Hever's sired or in what order they were born. I tip my hat to you, Miss Featherstone."
"Nor could I remember such insignificant information," Lady Sarah said. "Cousin Jane is blessed with an extraordinary memory."
"And fine intelligence," he said.
"That has certainly been my observation," a self-satisfied Mr. Poppinbotham declared as he smiled at the lady being discussed. "She will make my entry into Parliament all the smoother, to be sure."
Lord Slade glared across the dark carriage. "Have a care not to put the cart before the horse, Poppinbotham."
"Certainly, your kind lordship. Electioneering comes before the prominence."
The man was exasperating. "May I hope your desire to enter Parliament is not to achieve prominence but to serve those who have elected you?"
"Of course, my lord. I am motivated by nothing save a burning desire to serve my fellow countrymen."
Not bad. A pity the lout was so insincere. "Tell me, Miss Featherstone," Slade said, changing the subject, "when will I be able to persuade you to sketch Dunvale Castle?"
"I would be happy to do it tomorrow, your lordship, were I able to observe it, but it's a bit difficult, given that Dunvale is in Kent, and we're in London."
"Ah, but my good Miss Featherstone, Dunvale is scarcely over an hour's drive from London, once one gets past the city's crush. I shall have to take you there."
"I should love it above all things," she said. "It would be lovely for Lady Sarah and I to breathe country air for a few days, would it not, Sarah?"
"Oh, indeed it would."
"And I should be honored to offer my coach and four," Mr. Poppinbotham said proudly.
In all the kingdom, Slade could think of no other man who could be a more annoying companion than Mr. Poppinbotham, but he must be beholden to the man for the kind use of his carriage. "That would, indeed, be very kind of you." He turned to Lady Sarah. "My sisters will be thrilled beyond comprehension to meet you and your cousin."
"And I should be delighted to meet them, my lord," Lady Sarah said. "If they are half as agreeable as you and your brother, I know we will get on famously."
"Shall we set a date?" he asked.
"I could wrap up my pressing business in two days," Mr. Poppinbotham said. "How about Saturday?"
"Saturday it will be then."
* * *
The next two days could be the most important in his life. He would have Lady Sarah to himself with no intrusion from her adoring masses. He hoped that the deep bond he so strived for would have the opportunity to form between them. Surely he would be able to fall in love with a lady of such beauty–and wealth. Hopefully, when she saw him in his role as lord of the castle she could fall in love with him, too. His softer side would certainly be on display in his interaction with his sisters. Perhaps that would appeal to the lady.
If he could just see to it her exploration of the castle did not extend beyond the lone occupied wing that was furnished with the finest pieces from the Slade holdings. A person could break a leg–or worse–if he ventured beyond that one, stable wing.
As he and Poppinbotham rode in that gentleman's carriage to collect the cousins on Saturday, Lord Slade felt oppressed. There was no turning back from this path, this quest for the heiress's hand. Adding to his oppression was the fact he must keep company with the Buffoon. The man set his nerves on edge.
"Well, my lord, this could be a momentous journey for Cecil Poppinbotham."
Lord Slade's gaze whisked over his traveling companion. The man had outdone himself this day with his attire. It was as if he were trying to see how many different colors he could attempt to coordinate. There was the brown of his, admittedly fine, leather boots. His breeches were of buff. Then the color began to pop. Cutaway coat of lime green with self-covered, exceedingly large buttons paired with an orange shirt and turquoise waistcoat. The chief offender was the man's cravat. It. Was. Black! If he thought to start a new trend in men's clothing, the poor fellow was in for grave disappointment. "Why do you say that, Poppinbotham?"
"I have decided to honor Miss Jane Featherstone by asking her to become my wife."
Had the man just confessed to murdering the Princess of Wales, Slade's reaction could not have held more contempt. The arrogant creature thought a marriage proposal from the likes of him was an honor! The very notion made Slade sick. It was all he could do not to send a fist crashing into the pompous man's face.
But that wouldn't do.
Slade sat there, staring at the Buffoon as if he were an alien creature, and all the while he was attempting to gather his thoughts, to compose a response that would in some way display the good breeding his mother had attempted to instill in him. Though he fairly well shook with anger, he managed to still the quiver in his voice long enough to say, "Is this not rather sudden?" Which was much less offensive than the first ten responses which raced into Slade's head and ranged from, "You bloody, bloody, idiot" to "How dare you think you're fit to marry a lady with Miss Featherstone's many attributes!"
"I've never been one to beat about the bush, no sir, or should I say, no, your lordship? Never let it be said that Cecil Poppinbotham let grass grow under his feet. I know what I want, and I'm not afraid to go after it. I didn't get where I am today," his self-satisfied gaze swept over the plush interior of his elegant carriage and settled on his bright green coat, "by waiting for opportunities to drop in me lap."
"I would hardly call Miss Featherstone an opportunity."
Seeing as how the carriage pulled up in front of Featherstone House, the conversation came to an end.
But Lord Slade's accelerating heart rate did not.
* * *
When he had ridden to Almack's with Lady Sarah seated beside him, Lord Slade had found the accommodation agreeable. But for the nearly two-hour ride to Dunvale, he could not like having to stare across the carriage at the Buffoon seated so close to–and so possessively attentive of–Miss Featherstone. It was enough to steal Lord Slade's appetite.
As they advanced through London's busy streets, he tried to tell himself Mr. Poppinbotham's choice in a wife was nothing to him. But the more he thought on it–and, admittedly, he seemed incapable of thinking of anything else–the more repulsed he became by the notion of Miss Featherstone uniting with Cecil Poppinbotham.
Then it suddenly occurred to him that Miss Featherstone would never stoop to accept the pompous printer. True, the man's wealth could be attractive to some women, especially to one who came from a family that didn't have a feather to fly with. But since Miss Featherstone was possessed of extraordinary intelligence, she could never be expected to suffer a fool.
Marriage, as he was himself being forcefully reminded during this journey, was a lifetime commitment. Miss Featherstone was much too wise to sentence herself for life to a man in want of good judgment.
Having rationalized himself into a good humor, he faced the lovely blonde seated beside him. "I am bereft of words to tell you how excited my s
isters are that you and your cousin are coming."
"I must own," that lady said, "I am looking forward to meeting them. Pray, you must tell me their names and ages."
"Mary Ann is the eldest. I believe she's the same age as you."
"And she hasn't been presented?"
"It seemed wiser, in the light of other considerations, to wait until next year."
"Lord Slade has only recently bought a commission for Captain St. John. I believe he plans to divert funds to a different sibling each year. Is that not right, my lord?" Miss Featherstone said.
"That is correct."
"You forgot to tell me of your other sisters.
"Remarkably, the three of them are spaced exactly a year and a half apart. The middle sister, Diana, is fifteen and a half, and Lizzie, the youngest, has just turned fourteen."
Lady Sarah's face brightened. "Tell me, my lord, will Captain St. John be at Dunvale?"
"Indeed he will. He rode over yesterday and plans to stay there the duration of our visit."
"He is so very pleasant to be around," Lady Sarah said.
"Don't get him started talking about India, or you'll never hear of anything else."
"But I find India vastly interesting."
"Yes," Miss Featherstone added, "there's something so exotic about that land."
"But who'd want to live among all those dark-skinned creatures?" Mr. Poppinbotham asked.
The earl glared across the carriage. "My brother has made many friends who have dark skin. I pray, you don't speak like that in his presence."
"Oh, but your lordship, I meant no offense."
Once they left London's sooty skies behind them, Lord Slade opened the curtain on his side of the carriage. The vision of verdure meadows, laconic sheep, and clear blue skies overhead was enough to lift his spirits. He did enjoy going to the country.
A pity he wasn't going to someone else's country house. He had never loved Dunvale as his father had. For him, it had always represented decay and never-ending repairs that drained every cent in the family coffers.
"I find myself wondering if the natives can read English," Mr. Poppinbotham said. "If I could get my religious tracts and pamphlets circulated in a country as large as India, I'd have enough money to buy. . . Windsor Castle!"
Was money the only thing Poppinbotham ever spoke of? Lord Slade glared again. "I don't think Windsor Castle will ever be for sale."
"And I'm not altogether sure the natives can read or write in their native tongue, much less in English," Miss Featherstone added. "Though I'm sure those of the higher classes–a small number, I am told–are quite literate."
"Glad I am that you've brought up illiteracy," Mr. Poppinbotham said, "for compulsory education is one of those matters you, my dear Miss Featherstone, told me I needed to acquaint myself with before I sit in Parliament."
"It is definitely one that a progressive man like yourself needs to embrace," she said.
How sly Miss Featherstone was! She was attempting to mold the Buffoon to her own progressive agenda. "So, as a progressive, Mr. Poppinbotham, I assume you favor compulsory education?"
"When I get in Parliament, I will most certainly promulgate opportunities for all Englishmen, regardless of their class, to learn how to read and write."
"How very commendable," Slade said.
"Surely you don't think even a chimney sweep needs to be taught to read?" an incredulous Lady Sarah asked, her mouth gaping open.
"I certainly do. Every child in the kingdom should have the opportunity to read Scripture," Poppinbotham answered.
"Well," said Lady Sarah, "I sponsor a Sunday school back at Sudley, but I think it a ridiculous extravagance to want to educate every child in the kingdom."
"You have been listening to your papa," Miss Featherstone said good naturedly.
Her intervention prevented him from saying something harsh to the woman he needed to marry.
A pity he could not think of Lady Sarah as the woman he wanted to marry.
Chapter 6
When she first beheld Dunvale Castle rising above the pastoral countryside of rolling hills in the mid-day sun, Miss Featherstone's thoughts flashed to knights of yore and maidens in wide silken skirts and headdresses snugly fitted over coiled tresses. It was a quintessentially English castle constructed of gray stone with turrets protruding from its crenellated roofline. Not terribly large, as castles go, but formidable and solid.
Like the present lord of the castle.
Her gaze flashed across the carriage to Lord Slade. In his chocolate brown coat, buff breeches, and finely tanned boots, he was the very picture of masculinity. She could still feel the brush of his lips against her cheek. For the past few days she had been unable to purge him from her mind. Not since the night he had kissed her. Even though it wasn't a proper kiss and even though, to him, it was but a brotherly kiss, it was the only time a man had ever kissed her.
Nothing had ever so moved her. Joy had sung through her veins. Then reality had set in, and she was filled with a sense of profound loss. For the only man she could ever love was going to marry her cousin.
And Jane Featherstone would likely spend the rest of her life attached to a man whose kisses would never affect her as Lord Slade's had.
"Look at Dunvale, Sarah!" Miss Featherstone knew how much her cousin adored castles. That Lord Slade possessed a medieval castle would undoubtedly be one of the strongest recommendations for plighting her life to his.
The lady flicked open her curtain and peered at Dunvale Castle, wonderment sparkling in her sapphire eyes. "It's just what a proper castle should look like!" She turned to the man seated beside her. "Does it have a moat?"
"Not for the past two hundred years," his lordship said ruefully.
The lovely blonde smiled at him. "Well, I cannot tell you how excited I am that I'll actually be spending the night in real castle."
"I am very happy to hear that," Lord Slade said. "Dunvale's very different from what it was in medieval times. During the last century we added outbuildings and formal gardens outside of the castle walls. My father was especially proud of the garden he had designed by Capability Brown, even if it was one of Mr. Brown's smallest projects."
"Then I dare say," Miss Featherstone interjected, "we shall find man-made waterways at Dunvale."
Lord Slade met her gaze, amusement flashing in his dark eyes. "Indeed you will. I see you know the hallmarks of a Capability Brown landscape."
"As you know, my lord, architecture–even landscape architecture–holds great interest for me."
"I hope you brought your drawing supplies," he said.
"Indeed I did, my lord."
Mr. Poppinbotham, whose wardrobe on this day consisted of an orange waistcoat paired with lemon yellow jacket and inoffensive buff breeches, brushed up against her as he attempted to peer at their destination. "I declare, that's quite a fortress you've got there, my lord. Dare say it would set a man back a fortune to acquire something so grand."
Money again. Miss Featherstone gritted her teeth. Is that the only thing the man could discuss?
"I dare say it wouldn't matter how deep the buyer's pockets, it's not likely a castle that's not a complete ruin would ever come on the market." Lord Slade spoke as if he were talking to a child. "They're always in the entail, and even when there's no heir, they revert to the crown."
"I do know of several men of wealth who have built new castles," Miss Featherstone said. "And while Lord Cowper's Panshanger is not new and was never built as a castle, in his latest creation of it, he's added features that make it resemble a castle."
"I shouldn't at all like a mock castle," Lady Sarah said, scrunching up her perfect nose, "not when one could have something as alluring as Dunvale Castle."
The coach wheels rattled over the former drawbridge, between the opening of castle's huge timber gates, and into the spacious bricked courtyard before stopping at an arched door to the rounded keep. "I hope Dunvale Castle doesn't disappoint," Lord Slad
e said as the coachman opened the door.
* * *
Lady Sarah's reaction to the castle was all he had hoped it would be. "Oh, look, the ceilings are so very high," she had exclaimed as soon as they entered the great room. "Has Dunvale truly been here ever since the Conquest?"
He nodded.
The lady then raced to the fireplace. "I declare, my lord, even a man as tall as you could stand in that fireplace! It's frightfully massive."
At least she had noticed he was possessed of height above that of the average man. He was never really sure she paid him the least shred of attention.
Like a toddler running in the fields, she flew from one feature to the next, snapping off questions and barely having the patience to wait for an answer. Do you have suits of armor? How many hundreds of years since it was built? Look at the size of these stones!
She strolled from the great room and stopped dead in her stride as she gazed at the wide stone staircase. "Oh, look! One can almost picture an entire regiment of soldiers in suits of armor marching abreast up these."
A moment later, she said, "Pray, my lord, where will my chambers be?" She seemed incapable of removing her gaze from the broad steps that had worn smooth over the centuries.
Perhaps her attention had been captured by the large celestial tapestry which hung high on the curved stone wall there. He'd been told it was one of the most valuable possessions at Dunvale. "Actually, I'm not sure exactly where your chambers will be, my lady. My sisters will have made that determination. I dare say the rooms will be in the family wing, which is a laborious climb three floors up."
"I shan't at all mind climbing these stairs. I feel as if I could be at King Arthur's court."
He chuckled just as his brother entered the chamber. Must David always wear his uniform? He looked entirely too much like the handsome hero of a romantic tale, the kind of tale he was certain Lady Sarah would enjoy.
"How good it is to welcome all of you to our home," Captain St. John said. He looked first at Miss Featherstone and bowed, then his eyes met Lady Sarah's and held.