“That is hardly what is expected for a young lady hoping to enter this family.”
“Perhaps not.”
Another silence fell as Lady Chalford peered at her in that disturbing manner.
“I wonder, my girl, if you fully comprehend the significance of taking the title of Lady Carlton,” she at last accused.
“Are you attempting to frighten off my prospective bride, ma’am?” Lord Carlton inquired, belatedly coming to her rescue.
“I wish to assure myself that she has given the matter serious contemplation. She will be expected to behave in a manner befitting her position.”
“I can not conceive of a more tedious fate,” Lord Carlton argued. “I prefer her to remain precisely as she is, including her penchant for plunging delightfully from one disaster to another.”
Roma blushed as the older woman shifted to regard her with a hint of surprise.
“Indeed?”
“Yes, indeed. I have waited a long while to encounter someone who never fails to surprise me. She is utterly perfect.”
Even knowing that Lord Carlton was simply playing a role to distract his grandmother from the truth, Roma couldn’t wholly dismiss the renegade tingle of pleasure. It could only be a sense of relief that he wasn’t chiding her for her ill-bred behavior or sharp tongue, she told herself firmly.
Lady Chalford banged her cane on the carpet. “And what of your sentiments, child?” she demanded.
Roma gave a tiny shrug. “My sentiments?”
“I presume you wish to sway my opinion by claiming my grandson is similarly without defect.”
Something in the sharp tone warned Roma that this was not a lady easily fooled. Indeed, the same shrewd intelligence carved into her grandson’s aquiline features could be easily discerned in the softer curves of her own countenance.
Rather on impulse, Roma found herself answering with a blunt honesty. “Actually he is spoiled, proud to a fault and far too found of having his own way.”
She felt Lord Carlton’s slender fingers tighten on her hand, even as a gleam of appreciation entered his grandmother’s gray eyes.
“Ha.”
“He is also considerate and astonishingly kind when he chooses,” she continued in a low voice.
Lord Carlton gave a sudden chuckle as he lightly brushed the inner skin of her wrist with his mouth.
“Vixen,” he murmured.
“She will never make you a comfortable wife,” Lady Chalford unnecessarily pointed out.
Deliberately leaning forward, Lord Carlton caught Roma’s wary gaze.
“Thank God.”
“Clearly your mind is settled,” his grandmother complained.
“Unequivocably.” With a display of reluctance Lord Carlton returned his attention to the elderly lady. “Do you approve?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not in the least.”
A thick silence descended at his offhand words and Roma momentarily feared they had overplayed their hand. She had no doubt Lady Chalford was as unaccustomed to having her opinion so summarily dismissed as her grandson. But just as she prepared for an all-out battle of wills a sudden smile softened the autocratic countenance.
“Then I wish you well,” she pronounced in noble tones. “And I hope she leads you a merry dance.”
Tilting back his dark head, Lord Carlton laughed with rich amusement. “I have every confidence that your wish will be granted, ma’am. Now tell me of the latest scandals to capture your fancy.”
With a tiny smile, the rigid lady settled back into her seat and, rather to Roma’s surprise, began to repeat some of the more shocking on-dits circulating through town. She also appeared to be well apprised on a variety of political policies being discussed in Parliament, and she appeared to delight in debating the issues with her grandson.
After nearly a quarter of an hour, Lord Carlton slowly rose to his feet and gently urged Roma to his side. “I should return Miss Allendyle to her aunt.”
Lady Chalford gave a regal nod of her head. “You may bring her back to visit when you return to London.”
Loosening his grasp on her hand, Lord Carlton crossed to place a kiss on his grandmother’s cheek.
“I will.”
Returning to Roma, he escorted her out of the room. In the foyer they encountered the butler carrying a tray with the forgotten tea.
“Ah, Grimfeld …” Lowering his voice, Lord Carlton leaned toward the stern-faced butler. “Take care of her until I return,” he commanded, collecting his hat and gloves from the side table.
The servant nodded his head. “I shall do my best, my lord.”
“And contact me in Devonshire if there is anything you need.”
“Of course.”
“Excellent.”
Roma was once again reduced to silence as Lord Carlton led her to the waiting curricle. This time, however, it was not nerves that held her tongue, but a need to adjust her image of the man climbing onto the seat beside her.
Strangely she had managed to convince herself that Lord Carlton was incapable of such tender sentiments. She had witnessed his courage, his arrogance and on occasion his practiced charm, but she had presumed he preferred the more fashionable habit of dismissing frivolous emotions. Watching him with his grandmother had revealed a genuine attachment that was somehow disturbing.
She swayed slightly as Lord Carlton turned onto the street that would lead to her aunt’s home. Lifting her gaze, she realized her companion was surveying her pensive expression with a mysterious smile.
“You managed my grandmother admirably,” he congratulated her. “I believe she actually took a fancy to you.”
His praise only deepened her sense of disturbance. “I do not like deceiving her.”
“Nor do I, but we have decided upon a path to discover the truth surrounding your brother’s disappearance.” A raven brow arched in a challenging motion. “Have you lost the courage to follow that path?”
Despite her best intentions, she readily responded to his taunt. “Certainly not.”
The dark features abruptly softened. “Be at ease, Roma,” he coaxed. “Soon you will be at Greystead.”
A poignant stab of longing pierced her heart. “Yes,” she whispered beneath her breath. “I am going home.”
Fourteen
In the end her heartfelt desire to be at Greystead came sooner than expected. Only two days after her visit to Lady Chalford she received a note from Lord Carlton, informing her that he would be prepared to travel to Devonshire by the end of the week.
Not surprisingly the abrupt notice had sent her aunt into a bout of flurried activity as she had set about closing the town house, finishing her last-minute shopping and making a thorough round of calls to preen over her extraordinary success in launching her niece into Society.
Roma found herself included in the general chaos. With a sense of haste, she rushed to complete packing and writing messages to Devonshire to prepare for their arrival. She had little time to brood on Lord Carlton or his sudden absence over the next few days.
Still, she couldn’t deny that on occasion she found herself wondering where her supposed fiancé might be and why he hadn’t bothered to call on her. And her surprise only deepened when they prepared to leave London and Lord Carlton revealed that he intended to ride the superior black stallion he had arrived on rather than share the well-sprung carriage he had so thoughtfully produced for their comfort.
Not that she wanted to be enclosed with him for one tedious hour after another, she swiftly reassured herself. But after spending the past few days lecturing herself on the necessity of maintaining a cool composure, she found it decidedly annoying to have her efforts wasted.
With her nose put out of joint by what she blamed on the long journey and Clara’s inane chatter, Roma determinedly refused her aunt’s offer of tea when they arrived at Rosehill. Instead she waited only long enough for the weary horses to be changed, and with an indifferent promise to return for dinner, s
he headed for Greystead Manor.
Now she heaved a deep breath as they swept up a treelined drive to the modestly appointed house. As always she felt a tingle of pride at seeing the weathered gray stones, the fluted columns and recently paned windows. Although it was not a lavish establishment, there was a solid beauty in the main hall and the sweeping wings surrounded by the pristine parkland.
Impatiently waiting for the groom to pull open the door, Roma clambered out of the carriage and rushed into the front hall. Almost at once a short, decidedly rotund woman moved forward to sweep her into welcoming arms.
“Miss Roma!” the housekeeper exclaimed, nearly smothering the slender woman by her display of affection. Then, slowly pulling back, she subjected Roma to a detailed survey. “Look at you, so thin and pale. I warned you that London was no place for a decent young lady.”
Roma felt a surge of warmth at looking upon the familiar round face with its twinkling brown eyes and rosy cheeks framed by a severe widow’s cap. Mrs. Stone had been a fixture at Greystead for as long as Roma could remember. A kind and loving presence for a motherless child in desperate need of such tender attention.
“Indeed you were correct, Mrs. Stone,” she readily agreed. “It is delightful to be home.”
“What you need is fresh country air and plenty of Mrs. Emerson’s plain cooking.”
Roma smiled in a weary fashion. “At the moment a cup of tea would be most welcome.”
“Certainly. I had a tray prepared the moment Peter rode over to say you had arrived at Rosehill.”
“Bless you, Mrs. Stone.”
Placing herself in the housekeeper’s capable care, Roma found herself being steered into a tidy library with a massive window looking over the garden and walls lined with books. The tantalizing aroma of freshly baked scones mixed pleasantly with the scent of leather-bound tomes, reminding Roma of lazy afternoons spent in the company of her father.
“Here we are. You sit down, and I will pour a cup of tea just as you like it.”
Placing Roma on a worn couch, Mrs. Stone moved to fuss over the heavily laden tray. In the blink of an eye, she returned with a steaming cup of tea and a platter filled with tempting delicacies.
“Thank you.” Roma took a sip of the reviving tea, then heaved a deep sigh of pleasure. “Heavenly.”
With the familiarity of a longtime servant, the housekeeper settled her considerable bulk on a Queen Ann chair.
“You look exhausted,” she accused with a lowering of her brows. “I suppose you have been gadding about to all hours of the day and night?”
Roma couldn’t resist a bit of teasing. “There was some gadding about, I must confess.”
The older woman gave a loud snort of displeasure. “Lady Welford should know better.”
Roma softly laughed. The housekeeper had always cherished a violent dislike for London and those who abandoned the country in favor of the more sophisticated town.
“Aunt Clara meant well, and I was the one to suggest that I indulge in a London Season.” Her momentary amusement abruptly faded. “Now I wish that I had remained at Greystead.” She paused, knowing it was ridiculous to ask but unable to prevent the words from spilling past her lips. “Has there been any word from William?”
Kindly refraining from pointing out that Roma had left strict instructions she was to be notified the very moment there was any news concerning her brother, Mrs. Stone gave a regretful shake of her head
“No.”
“I had hoped …” Her voice trailed away.
The housekeeper gave a sympathetic cluck of her tongue. “Have no fear, Miss Roma. I am certain that Mr. Allendyle will soon be home and right as rain.”
With an effort she suppressed the cloud of concern that was her constant companion.
“Of course he will.” Roma determinedly reached for a sumptuous piece of sponge cake. It had been hours since her last meal. “Tell me what has occurred since I left.”
Easily diverted, Mrs. Stone settled her bulk more comfortably and prepared to vent her justifiable disappointment in the upstairs maid.
“I suppose you know that Maggie left to marry that half-wit farmer?”
Roma hid a sudden smile. Mrs. Stone’s opinion of husbands was even lower than her view of London. Whether her bitterness stemmed from her own brief marriage, or the long years she had remained a widow, no one dared to inquire. But she had always been a staunch supporter of Roma’s determination to remain a spinster.
She attempted to soften the woman’s staunch dislike. “I believe Anthony is a very respectable young man.”
“Foreign blood and not a brass farthing to his name,” Mrs. Stone stated, in condemning tones; then she gave a wounded sniff. “Still, I did my best to warn the chit. Now she must make the best of her lot.”
Roma had little doubt the vivacious maid was vastly more pleased with her lot as the wife of a respectable farmer than she had been as a simple servant, but she kept such thoughts to herself.
“Did you manage to replace her?”
“Yes, I’ve taken on her younger sister, Liza. A silly girl, but I’ll soon have her properly trained.”
“I am confident you will, Mrs. Stone,” Roma readily agreed. The portly woman could rival Colonel Allendyle when it came to training her small army of staff. “What of my bailiff?”
The housekeeper grimaced with instant annoyance. “That man … a born tyrant if I ever seen one. Poor Billy has been in tears every day since you left.”
Roma heaved a sigh at the thought of the young stable boy suffering beneath the bullying hands of Fred Barker. As soon as William returned she intended to see the spiteful man thrown off the estate. Until then she would have to keep him far too occupied to bully anyone.
“Never fear, Mrs. Stone,” she consoled. “I will see Mr. Barker this afternoon. If anyone is to end the day in tears, I assure you it will not be Billy.”
The housekeeper beamed with smug satisfaction. “I knew you would make it right. It is good to have you home, Miss Roma.”
“It is good to be home,” Roma retorted, although she couldn’t deny the dawning realization that she was not as comforted by the familiar surroundings as she had hoped.
And it was all due to that vexing Lord Carlton, she told herself as she set aside the unfinished cake. How could she possibly relax while knowing he might suddenly appear at any moment? Or even worse, realizing that the entire neighborhood would soon be bustling with the rumor she was unofficially betrothed?
As if sensing her hidden unease, Mrs. Stone regarded her with a suspicious frown.
“Is something amiss?”
Roma absently folded the fine linen napkin as she considered the least shocking means of revealing the presence of Lord Carlton at her aunt’s home.
“I suppose I should tell you before it has spread all over the neighborhood that Lord Carlton will be staying with Aunt Clara for the next few days.”
“Lord Carlton?”
“Yes, he … he is an acquaintance from London. He is here to help in my search for William.”
The housekeeper was clearly perplexed. “Oh.”
“I only mention him because it became evident while I was in London that I must return to Devonshire without creating undue interest.” She made a vague gesture with her slender hand, prolonging the inevitable. “Lord Carlton suggested that he pretend to be my suitor desiring an interview with William.”
A profound silence descended as Mrs. Stone gazed at her in startled disbelief. “This Lord Carlton wishes to marry you?”
“No, of course not.” Roma hastened to deny it. Why did everyone persist in leaping to such absurd conclusions? “He only proposed so that Aunt Clara would return home.”
“So … he doesn’t wish to marry you?”
Roma heaved a rueful sigh. “I know it is all very complicated, but all you need remember is that Aunt Clara and the neighbors believe Lord Carlton is waiting for William to return from his visit north so that he can ask to marry me
. In truth he will be seeking information concerning my brother’s disappearance.”
“Are you certain you know what you are about, Miss Roma?” the older woman demanded with an expression revealing a growing concern that her mistress was becoming a bit noddy.
“Quite certain,” Roma blandly lied.
“And this Lord Carlton is a man of honor?”
“Without a doubt.”
Mrs. Stone continued to bristle with disapproval. “I can not think what your dear mother would have to say. Pretending to be engaged, indeed. It’s disgraceful.”
“For now my only concern is for my brother. I will do whatever necessary to discover the truth.” With an effort, Roma softened her sharp tone. “Besides, it is only a temporary deception, I assure you.”
Only partially mollified, Mrs. Stone gave her a speaking glare. “I can not say that I approve, but you have always done precisely as you chose. Stubborn just like your father.”
“That particular flaw in my character seems to be pointed out quite frequently of late,” Roma retorted.
Seemingly resigned to the younger woman’s unyielding nature, the housekeeper heaved herself to her feet.
“Will you be dining in this evening?”
“No, Aunt Clara has requested that I join them for dinner.” Roma’s expression was decidedly unenthusiastic. “Indeed, I shall be dining there indefinitely.”
“Then I shall send word to their cook that you are to be fed a nicely roasted joint and plenty of potatoes to fatten you up,” Mrs. Stone announced in decisive tones. “None of those shabby French dishes.”
“I am confident Mrs. Davies will provide an ample meal.”
The large woman gave a derisive sniff “And I know Lettie Davies well enough to realize that she will be more concerned with impressing a London gentleman with her fancy sauces and pastries than setting a decent table. Now, I have rattled on long enough. You should rest.”
Roma could think of nothing she longed for more than a hot bath and a few hours of lying upon her bed. But thrusting aside the tempting notion, she determinedly rose to her feet.
Lord Carlton’s Courtship Page 15