Her face grew wistful. “I do, but I do not have as much time as I used to.”
“I can imagine.” They must have a library at Fairview as well stocked as the Hall’s. She’d read almost the same books as he had.
“My father was forward-thinking in that regard,” she said. “He liked a good discussion after dinner and made sure we were well-read and well-educated. My mother protested at first.”
“Why?”
“She said it wasn’t good for my mind. She wanted me to keep to calmer or domestic readings, instead of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire or studying Latin.”
“You know Latin?”
She laughed. “Why should you be so surprised at that?”
He raised his hands in defense. “I’ve just never met a woman who knew Latin.”
“Ecce signum,” she replied.
“Behold the proof.” John chuckled, but she cocked her head at him, arms folded across her chest.
“Admit it,” she said. “You agree with my mother just a little. Or you thought I would declare Jane Eyre my very favorite book, and no others would do.”
“Is Jane Eyre a favorite?” He rested one arm on the ledge, leaning toward her.
Her jaw worked at hiding a smile. “I have to confess I do enjoy Miss Bronte’s book a great deal. Probably more than I should. Have you read it?”
“No.” But he knew exactly where it was in the Hall library.
“Perhaps you should,” she teased.
She was far too perfect. In every way that mattered to him. And oh, how easily he could ruin her.
Gravel crunched as Arthur walked through the rear doorway. He saw Miss Howard and stopped.
“She was out for a walk and got caught in the rain,” John said as he got to his feet. Now the Herculean task of offering her his hand without meeting her eyes. “Miss Howard, I promised you a warm and dry ride home.”
CHAPTER 16
Penelope took his hand and allowed him to help her rise. His fingers burned into hers. Once she stood, he released her, but she would still feel their fire hours later. Arthur said something. The whirl of emotions was too intense to form a reply. She dared a glance at Lord Turner as he stepped aside for her to go first. The whirl threatened to turn into a storm.
Traitorous heart! She could not have feelings for this man. Why couldn’t he be boorish or arrogant? Why did he have to believe her kindhearted and admirable and make an effort to always say so whenever they met? Why did his spirit have to match his face? Why did she so want to comfort and help him?
Even if he were to return her feelings, there could be no good ending for them. He needed an heir, and she could never provide him with one. She would just have to remedy that situation at the ball. In two days’ time, he would be surrounded by the most eligible young ladies in and around Woodley. One of them would capture his fancy. One of them would be able to take care of his troubled heart.
Arthur led them down the damp passage until they came to another doorway. A short distance away sat Lord Turner’s carriage. Arthur opened the umbrella he carried with him and escorted her over, and she was soon sitting inside. Before long, Lord Turner sat on the seat opposite her. Their knees would bump once they got going, and as he focused on settling into his seat, Penelope slid away from him to the opposite end of her bench so that he was catty-cornered from her. As a result, she drew near the window and caught sight of the Angel Tree. This was the first time it had rained on her angel’s birthday. Perhaps God was helping her mourn her loss. At least she’d had a ready answer for Lord Turner when he asked about her tears. It was the truth. Just not all of it. The carriage lurched forward, and she watched the tree shrink from view. She had wanted more time. Please, Lord. Give me strength until I have Mama’s Bible in front of me.
“Are you all right, Miss Howard?”
She forced brightness into her voice. “I am fine, my lord.” She began to pull his coat off. “Thank you for the use of your coat.”
“That can wait until we reach Fairview,” he said. “After all, I promised you a dry and warm ride home.”
He had. But the scent of his shaving soap—it was too intoxicating.
The ball. Speaking about that would distract her. “Are you looking forward to the ball, my lord?”
“I suppose.” But he sounded less than interested. “I hope you and your brother are looking forward to it.”
“We are.” What ladies had she heard were to be invited? Before any came to mind, he sent the conversation in a different direction.
“Is your brother all right? He wasn’t himself when I saw him today.”
What should she say? Something had been troubling him, but she did not know what. Even if she did, she would hesitate to tell Lord Turner. Thomas needed his confidence.
Lord Turner leaned forward, his brown eyes warm with concern. “There isn’t anything wrong with the Hall or a tenant? Something he may not have told me?”
“Oh no, my lord.” That she did know for certain. “There was something about your property in Somerset, but it turned out to be nothing. He has just been tired lately.”
“Is there anything I could do to help?”
“Actually there is.” He should know about Thomas’ artistic pursuits. He might be willing to help. “I hope you will agree with me when I say that my brother is good at managing the business needs of the Hall.”
“I do. Without reservation. In fact, I find him to be excellent at his job, and I have told him as much.”
“Thank you.” Warmth singed her cheeks, and she was glad of the dim light. Schooling her heart, she continued, “But Thomas’ talents do not lie merely in management. He is also a gifted artist.”
“Really?” His mouth curled. “What does he do?”
“Sketches and paints. When he has the time.”
Realization dawned on his face. “Miss Howard, I apologize for keeping him so busy. There have been many details to go over as I’ve tried to get a handle on everything.”
“Please, do not apologize, sir. Of course you would have need of him. I only ask that you could, perhaps, spare him for a day or two.”
“I’ll do better than that.” His eyes found hers. She nearly choked on her own breath. “I’ll ask one of the bailiffs from one of my other properties to take over for a full week and order Thomas to enjoy himself.”
Penelope’s jaw dropped. “Thank you, Lord Turner. That is extraordinarily generous.”
“Perhaps you should take time off as well. In fact, why don’t you? You and Thomas could go somewhere together. I would even give you an extra week.”
She hesitated. It was a tempting notion. But a fortnight? Who would see to the tenants and the cottagers in the village? Or the cottage hospital? Not to mention all the details at Fairview. It would be harvest time soon.
“I don’t think the Hall or Fairview will fall apart,” he said. Of course he knew what she’d been thinking. “There are people who can fill in for you.”
“I know, my lord. It’s just—”
“Where would you like to go?”
The firm lines of his face told her he did not care to hear the excuse she was trying to make. She gave a little sigh. Where could they go close by? “There is Southampton, or Brighton. Or the Royal Forest of Dean.”
“All too close. I don’t want you coming back in two days to check on things.” He leaned back. “What about Ireland?”
Ireland? Years ago, before his trip to London, Thomas had dreamed about the two of them traveling there. He hadn’t mentioned it since but she was certain he still wished for it. “Thomas would love that.”
“Good. And don’t even think of taking some sort of project with you related to the Hall. You told me earlier you don’t get a chance to read very often. Take your Latin and Miss Bronte with you. If you need any more books, the library is at your disposal. I’ll make the arrangements myself.”
She raised her hands. “That won’t be necessary. I can see to it.”
“I insist. And I also insist on paying. You won’t want for anything.”
“Lord Turner that is too generous.”
“As I said, I insist.” Though he smiled as he spoke, the hint of steel was unmistakable.
She dropped her shoulders. “Thank you. May I ask one more favor?”
“Of course.”
“Would you tell Thomas? I know he’ll be grateful for the chance, but if he knew his sister was the reason—”
“I understand. It will be our secret.”
An easy silence followed. Thomas would be so excited when he heard. The lines on his face would ease, and when he returned to Fairview, the concerns of the Hall would not weigh on him so heavily. And perhaps—oh please, Lord God—the time devoted exclusively to his art would allow the talent of his youth to return to his fingers. Thank you, Lord, for this chance for him. And thank you for allowing me time away from here.
No, that wasn’t true. She flicked her gaze to Lord Turner. Her heart needed the time away from him.
Which families had been invited to the ball? Whose daughter would be most suitable for him? That the list was short to nonexistent was not helpful. Nor was the urge to put her name at the top. She clenched her jaw and shut her eyes. Please, Father. Help my heart to stop being so foolish.
The trip to Ireland would not come soon enough.
“You’ve been working too hard.”
“My lord?”
“Weren’t you dozing off just now?”
“No, I was praying.” She twisted her hands under the coat. She’d spoken too quickly. She was not ashamed to say that she had been praying, but she couldn’t admit her prayer had been about him.
But he didn’t question her. Instead, he rubbed at a water stain on his trouser leg. “I’m glad your faith gives you strength.”
The curious statement melted away her thoughts from just a moment ago. Didn’t his faith do the same for him? “Thank you, sir.”
Giving the stain a final swipe, he directed his attention to the window. He’d seemed like this earlier in the cellar, and she’d sensed not to push. But now something nudged her forward. “I don’t know what I would do without the Lord’s guidance or His grace.”
He shifted his attention to her. “I can’t imagine anyone needing grace less than you.”
She studied her hands. “All have sinned, my lord. I am no exception.”
“Very true, but I still find that hard to imagine.”
“If my parents were here, they would be more than happy to inform you otherwise,” she replied. Lord Turner’s admiration resonated with the attitude her father had once held toward her. An attitude that could be far too damaging if left unchecked. “Pedestals can be dangerous things.”
“I know,” he replied. “And sometimes the fall from them can be permanent.”
This fresh silence was no longer easy. It whispered in her ear and suggested that the war had damaged him far more than she realized. “I do not believe that. No one is beyond redemption.”
“You don’t know.” His voice was so hollow it almost echoed. “You can’t.”
The coach came to a stop, and all at once he seemed himself again, but it was nothing more than a facade. “We’re at Fairview. If anyone asks, I intend to say we encountered you walking near the Castle as we drove home.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
There was more she wanted to say, but he gestured toward his coat which she still wore. “I hope that helped keep you warm.”
The door opened, and her chance was gone. Cleverly played on his part.
“Good day, my lord, and thank you again.”
Mrs. Lynch stood at the door of the library. “You wished to see me, Lord Turner?”
John laid his novel aside. “Yes. Please come in.”
She came forward and stood before his chair. She didn’t like him. She respected his position, but the chill that hung in the air whenever he had to speak to her was almost tangible.
He rubbed his hands together before laying them in his lap. “I hope you can help me with a few things.”
“I am at your disposal, sir.”
Why did that thought make him uncomfortable? He plowed on. Best to get their meeting over as quickly as possible. “First, do you know what became of the basket Mr. Howard brought with him my first day here?”
“Cook unpacked it, put the contents in the house stores, and the basket was returned to Miss Howard.”
“Do you recall what was in it?”
“I wasn’t present at the time, sir. But I do recall Cook saying it was jams and cheese and bread.” A slight scowl crossed her face and was gone the next instant.
“I can imagine the bread is probably gone.”
“Yes, sir. I had the scullery maid feed the rest to the birds.”
He allowed a slight edge to his voice. “If the jam and cheese are still around, I would like them sent up on a tray.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Secondly, Mr. Howard and his sister are planning a vacation.”
“A vacation?” Her voice was a tad sharper.
He paused and searched for the English term. “A holiday. I wonder if you would see to the tenants while she is gone. I’m sure Mrs. Trull, Fairview’s housekeeper, would be happy to assist you if you want.”
“I’m sure I can manage.” Her knuckles were bone white as she clenched them. “Is there anything else?”
“One more thing.” Thank goodness. John resisted the urge to blow on his hands. “I want to continue holding the Harvest Festival just as Lord Renshaw did. Arthur Wilcox told me it’s always very popular. Can you and Mr. Parker see to that?”
“Of course, sir. When will Mr. Howard and Miss Howard be leaving? It’s just that Miss Howard also helped organize the event. If she is to be gone soon, I will need to know a few things from her.”
“I’m not sure. The arrangements have yet to be made. But soon. I’ll ask her to meet with you before she leaves.”
She looked anything but pleased at the prospect. “Very well. While I’m here, my lord, I have a concern. I’ve noticed Arthur Wilcox in here quite a bit during his free time. I don’t mean to pry, but the maids have found him in here by himself at times.
Their virtue is in my care, and I don’t want any harm to come to them.”
If she didn’t mean to pry, why ask? “Mr. Wilcox has my permission to come in here and read whenever he has the opportunity. He’s helping me with a project. I’ve spent a great deal of time with him, and I assure you your fears are completely ungrounded.” He picked up his book. “That will be all, thank you.”
The fire felt considerably warmer once she shut the door behind her. He didn’t like her any more than she liked him. Her efficiency at her job was the only thing that stood between her and unemployment for what she just implied about Arthur. Maybe he should let her go anyway.
He got up and walked to the window. August had slipped into September, and the days were growing shorter. A bare hint of color rested on the horizon as he looked out over Ashford Hall’s sweeping front lawn. He had no doubts about Arthur’s character, but something bothered the groom about the marker beneath— what had Miss Howard called it—the Angel Tree? If it was what Miss Howard claimed it to be, why had he been uneasy about it? Come to think of it, why were their stories different? Arthur knew too much about the ruins to be wrong, so why would Miss Howard lie? Or perhaps she had not told whole truth?
Did the rest of the story have something to do with the fact there was a child buried under that tree? How could it be connected to Miss Howard? The expression on her face as they drove away spoke of more than just grief over William. Something about it upset her more deeply than that. And he did not like that idea. Not one bit.
An infant sibling? Or a cousin? Parker had mentioned Lady Renshaw had been unable to have children. He did not say that she and William hadn’t tried. A child of theirs would be buried with them in the church cemetery. He’d been there already, to pay hi
s respects to Lord and Lady Renshaw. Mr. Gregory had graciously shown him the marker. Only their names were listed. Two things were certain. Something about the tree troubled Miss Howard, and Arthur Wilcox knew something about it.
A growl raked across his throat. He started for the bell pull next to the fireplace, his heart beating for the first time in almost a year with purpose. Whatever it was, he would force the facts out of the lad and fix everything.
A bare inch from the pull, he snatched his hand back. What was he doing? Fix everything? What happened whenever he tried to fix everything?
Resting both hands against the mantle, he bowed his head. He would destroy her and her deep and gentle faith. He refused to be responsible for wiping away that look he’d often seen on her face as she listened to Mr. Gregory speak or when she prayed. He would be more damned than he was already.
No one is beyond redemption. He had no doubt she believed it but, as he’d said, she didn’t know. Maggie’s sister, Beth, had died because he’d been drunk. A monster had taken Beth’s virtue, another monster had tried to take the child born of that crime, and now the monster who killed her sat before a warm fire with a book at his elbow, trying to convince himself he could be forgiven.
He picked up Jane Eyre and returned it to its place on the shelf. He would begin what preparations he could for the Howards’ trip in the morning. The sooner she got away from him, the better.
CHAPTER 17
After giving his coat and hat to the footman, John emerged from the dressing room at Hartsbury Manor and reluctantly walked toward his hosts who stood at the doorway of the ballroom. Mrs. Baines gave him a critical look up and down, taking in his tailcoat, silk tie, and vest. Her pinched face told him she had found nothing amiss. George had planned his attire tonight with the care and attention of a general preparing for battle. He would be elated it passed the most exacting of inspections.
“Good evening, Mrs. Baines.”
She tipped her head. “Good evening, Lord Turner. You recall my brother, Sir James Abbott?”
“Of course.”
A Perfect Weakness Page 12