Lord Carlton’s Courtship

by Alexandra Ivy

“All in good time. First I would like Mr. Barker to attend me here.”

  “Should I have one of the gardeners step in as well?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Maybe not, but I will have John in the hallway just the same.” The housekeeper named one of the under gardeners who was a burly young man with an abundance of muscles.

  Roma shook her head in resignation. She wasn’t the only stubborn person in this household.

  “As you wish, Mrs. Stone.”

  Obviously pleased with Roma’s swift capitulation, the housekeeper waved a plump had at the neglected tray.

  “Now be a good girl and finish your tea. I will send John to fetch Mr. Barker.”

  Having the last word as always, Mrs. Stone turned and disappeared through the double doors. Once she was alone, Roma absently wandered across the room, her hands stroking the satinwood furniture until she reached the prized library table her father had acquired from Sheraton. Being back in this room reminded her forcibly of just how much she missed the Colonel’s steadfast presence and ready sense of humor.

  He would know what to do to help William, she thought with a pang of regret. And even if he didn’t he never would have made such a bumble bath of the search as she had.

  Certainly he would never have found himself pretending to be engaged to an overbearing gentleman with little regard for propriety.

  A tiny smile abruptly softened her anxious expression. Perhaps he would not have found himself engaged to Lord Carlton, she acknowledged, but she was uncannily certain that the two gentlemen would have gotten along most famously. Unlike most men, Lord Carlton would not have been intimidated by the Colonel’s gruff manner and habit of barking out orders, while her father would have respected the nobleman’s shrewd intelligence.

  Her hand drifted from the desk as she straightened her shoulders. The Colonel was not here, and it was up to her to somehow solve the seemingly endless list of troubles.

  Beginning with her ill-mannered bailiff who clearly forgotten her stern warnings. A mistake he would not soon make again.

  Across the wide meadow, Lord Carlton sat astride his stallion regarding the well-tended farms and livestock with a judicial gaze.

  “Prime bit of lad you have, Welford,” he congratulated with sincere appreciation.

  Well aware that Carlton’s vast estates must cast his own in the shade, Claude was nonetheless grateful for the compliment. He was feeling decidedly overwhelmed at the task of entertaining such a grand guest and feared the aristocrat might find the simple surroundings beneath his contempt.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Please … can we dispense with such formality?” Giles pleaded. “I far prefer Giles.”

  A pleased flush touched the younger man’s cheeks at the honor. “Very well … Giles.”

  “Good.” Turning in his saddle, Lord Carlton pointed his riding crop at the distant house. “Is that Greystead?”

  “Yes. Not as ancient or as large as Rosehill, but a fine house,” Claude answered.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  Claude gave a sideways glace at his companion, who was peering at the house with inordinate interest. “It is entailed to William,” he added unnecessarily.

  “So I assumed. Although Roma did mention she had inherited a legacy in her own right.”

  “A modest legacy, I fear,” Claude corrected.

  Giles swallowed a smile, wondering if Welford feared he considered Roma an heiress. After all, it was not unusual for a gentleman, even in his comfortable position, to seek a wealthy wife. Absurd of course. There wasn’t enough money in all of England to have induced him to marry the exasperating Roma Allendyle. Only love could have accomplished that amazing feat.

  “Too large for my peace of mind,” he answered with blunt honestly.

  Claude blinked in surprise. “What’s that?”

  “She has become far too fond of her independence.” Giles unconsciously frowned. “She seems to have no interest in sharing her life with anyone.”

  The hint of wariness disappeared from Claude’s youthful features, to be replaced with a sly smile.

  “True enough. Although I suspect if the right gentleman were to come along he could convince her to change her mind.”

  Giles was well aware he was being discreetly led into a declaration. He smiled with wry amusement.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Of course, my cousin is not the most biddable of creatures,” Claude was forced to acknowledge.

  “She is trying beyond all measure.”

  “It would take a gentleman of considerable patience.”

  “It would take a gentleman who has lost all sense.” Giles snorted; then, with a rueful shrug, he turned to meet Welford’s narrowed gaze. “Fortunately I have never been overly blessed with good sense. Now, I believe you were going to show me the path to the cove?”

  Claude paused, as if wanting to pursue the subject further, but with a shrug, he gestured toward the narrow lane.

  “This way. But take care. The path becomes very steep just over the ridge.”

  Giles gave a decisive nod, vaguely recalling the dangerous road from his previous visit to Devonshire, and with a gesture of his slender hand, he indicated that Claude should lead the way.

  In silence they traveled along the dirt road, winding through the rolling fields and thicket of trees that lined the ridge. Giles felt an odd prickling as they carefully made their way down the cliff to the crescent-shaped beach below. He recalled all too vividly the stormy night and terrifying sounds of gunshots.

  With a shake of his head, Giles swung himself out of the saddle and loped the reins around a protruding rock. He had enough to occupy his thoughts without the distractions of that terrifying evening. Paying little heed to the sand marring the gloss of his boots, he made his way to where Claude had bent to inspect the ground.

  “It looks as if someone has been here,“ Claude pointed at the unmistakable prints sunk in the soft sand.

  Giles glanced about the remote beach. “Strange.”

  “Perhaps a local farmer in search of a hidden love nest?” the younger man suggested without much conviction.

  “I doubt many maidens would be willing to traverse such a dangerous path, even for the sake of love.” Giles nodded his head toward the steep path. Then, as he turned back to more closely inspect the footprints, a glitter of gold captured his attention. Reaching out, he plucked the object from the sand. “What is this?”

  “A pocket watch.” Claude leaned forward, his breath suddenly catching in a loud gasp. “This belongs to William. He was here.”

  Giles’s heart leaped at the exclamation, but he swiftly tempered his excitement. What was needed now was calm reason, not foolish emotion.

  “We must not jump to conclusions. We have no means to determine on how many occasions William came to this cove. He might have dropped this watch months ago.”

  Claude gave a violent shake of his head. “No. I recall William pulling it out to check the time on the day he disappeared. I remember it distinctly. He had stopped by to view my new mare.”

  “Did he appear concerned?”

  “More … distracted,” Claude explained, his brow furrowed as he attempted to recall the events of the day. “I assumed he was thinking of the unnaturally dry weather. He took his duties as a landowner quite seriously.”

  “And he did not mention any appointments?”

  Claude struggled to remember a name or place that William might have brought up, only to sigh in a regretful manner.

  “Nothing. He glanced over to the horse; then, pulling out his watch, he muttered something about attending to unfinished business.”

  Giles settled back on his heels as he contemplated the watch he held in his slender fingers.

  “He must have been meeting someone. But who?”

  With a sudden movement, Claude rose to his feet. “I will search the rest of the beach.”

  Giles also rose to make a thorough tour
of the cove, kicking aside rocks and pieces of driftwood in an effort to discover further clues. After a futile circle from one end of the beach to the other, he called a halt.

  “I fear that we have accomplished all we can here today.”

  Claude came to a reluctant halt, his expression troubled. “What of the watch? Shall we return it to Roma?”

  Giles gave a swift shake of his head. Although the watch confirmed that William had been to the beach on the day of his disappearance, it did not prove where he was now or indeed if he were alive or dead.

  “Not at the moment. Roma might very well view the finding of the watch in so remote a location as an ill omen. I have no wish to increase her anxiety. For now, I think we should keep this between the two of us.”

  Claude regarded the older man in a distinctly skeptical manner. “She will not thank you for attempting to protect her.”

  “You are no doubt correct,” Giles agreed with a grimace, all too familiar with his beloved’s fiery temper. “Unfortunately I find it difficult to alter the habits of a lifetime.”

  A swirling gust of wind sent the sand sweeping through the damp air. Overhead a lone bird cried a shrill protest at their presence.

  “Gad the wind is chill.” Claude abruptly shivered. “Let us seek the warmth of Rosehill.”

  “Excellent notion.”

  Together, they collected their mounts and retraced the treacherous path up the cliff and over the ridge. Once away from the cove, Giles breathed a sigh of relief. There was something rather ominous about the deserted beach. As if unseen eyes were watching his every movement. Perhaps an absurd notion, but one he could not shake.

  Lost in his troubled thoughts, Giles barely noted his surroundings until a familiar clump of trees suddenly captured his attention. Bringing his horse to a halt, he regarded the copse with an unconscious smile. Ahead of him, Claude slowly pulled his own horse to a stop and turned to frown at him in puzzlement.

  “Is something the matter?”

  “I was just noting that building over there.” Giles pointed at the barn barely visible in the distance.

  “It is nothing but an abandoned barn,” Claude retorted.

  Giles’s smile widened, a tingle warming his blood as he recalled the slender young woman who lay upon the straw. It was an experience he would dearly love to repeat in the near future.

  “Much more than that, I think,” he murmured in soft tones.

  “Would you like to ride over and see it?”

  “Not today.” Giles urged his horse forward. His quick mind was already making plans on how to coax his reluctant fiancée to the secluded barn. “At the moment I far prefer the thought of a toasty fire and something from your cellar to ease the chill from my bones.”

  Claude smiled in instant agreement. “As easily said as done.”

  Fifteen

  Several hours later, Roma was reluctantly entering the carriage her aunt had sent to fetch her. After sternly lecturing her unctuous bailiff, she had devoted a good part of the afternoon to updating the household accounts and inspecting the gardens. Activities she had performed on dozens of occasions without undue thought, but which today had taken an inordinate amount of effort. Her unruly mind simply refused to concentrate on the tasks at hand. And even when Mrs. Stone had bullied her into taking to her bed for a few hours of rest, she had found herself tossing with a restless dissatisfaction.

  It was concern for William, of course, she had told herself severely. Being back at Greystead only more forcibly reminded her of her dearest brother and the strange manner of his disappearance. It also reminded her of her dismal failure to locate the smallest trace of a clue.

  At last she had been driven into rising and dressing for the evening ahead. In an effort to distract her thoughts, she had allowed her maid to arrange her fiery curls in an elegant knot atop her head and to dress her in a gown of ivory satin with velvet trimmings in a becoming emerald shade.

  Now she felt decidedly self-conscious as they rolled across the short path from Greystead to Rosehill. She had no desire for Lord Carlton to presume she had attired herself in so fashionable a mode for his benefit. After all, she had no doubt any number of foolish maidens would attempt such blatant methods of attracting his attention. And he was certainly odious enough to make such an assumption.

  She would simply have to treat him with the cool composure that she had practiced, she reassured herself. It should prove her indifference. Tilting her chin to a determined angle, she watched as Rosehill came into view.

  An older home than Greystead, the manor followed the picturesque Gothic style. Much to the pride of her aunt, the house had recently received the attentions of the extraordinarily talented James Wyatt. His work had renovated the sadly disrepaired building into a showpiece. He had even consented to extend his efforts to the large chapel and conservatory.

  The carriage drew to a halt, and Roma allowed the uniformed footman to help her to alight. Then, crossing to the open door, she gave a sudden smile as she caught sight of the tall, wiry man waiting in the wide entrance hall.

  “Good evening, Miss Allendyle,” the butler intoned with all the dignity of his London counterpart.

  “Good evening, Polsun.” Roma ignored the polished dignity of the servant. She had known Bob Polsun since she was old enough to walk. “How is your son?”

  An answering smile abruptly softened his rigid expression. “Much improved. Why, only this morning the doctor was saying he was astonished with the boy’s progress.” His voice grew husky with affection. “I do not know how we can possibly express our gratitude.”

  Roma waved aside the words with a hint of embarrassment. When Mrs. Stone had written to inform her that the poor boy was suffering from an inflammation of the lungs, it had seemed only natural to seek the advice of a London specialist and to send back the powders he recommended.

  “Let us only be happy with the knowledge that Richard is on the mend.” She brought a firm close to his words of thanks. “Has my aunt come down yet?”

  “No”—his regard became watchful—“but I believe that Lord Carlton is in the formal drawing room.”

  “Oh … thank you.” She conjured a stiff smile. “I will show myself in.”

  Moving though the hall, Roma halted to feign an interest in the elaborate ebony side table. It wasn’t until she heard the butler retreat toward a side chamber that she glanced about to ensure she was alone. Then, picking up her skirts, she quickly hurried down the vaulted gallery toward the narrow door that would open into the gardens. It might be the act of a coward, but she had no wish to see Lord Carlton without the distracting presence of her aunt and cousin.

  She hurried past the tall windows with the thick scarlet curtains and bookcases that contained her uncle’s rare collection of antique books and maps. She didn’t even glance toward the doorway that would open into the drawing room. She hoped to be safely in the garden before anyone even realized that she had arrived.

  Unfortunately, Lord Carlton seemed to possess an uncanny knack of thwarting her plans, and she was less than halfway down the hall when the familiar sound of his voice brought her to a sharp stop.

  “Searching for someplace to hide, Roma?” he drawled with lazy amusement.

  The knowledge that his accusation was far too close for comfort instantly put her on the defense. She might reluctantly admit to herself she was a coward where this man was concerned. It was quite another thing to allow him to suspect the humiliating truth.

  Slowly turning about, she forced herself to squarely meet his glittering blue gaze. “Certainly not. I … I simply wished to stroll through the garden before dinner.”

  Leaning negligently in the doorway, Lord Carlton slowly straightened, his muscular form exquisitely outlined by the black coat and white satin pantaloons.

  “Indeed? A rather chill evening, but I am always eager to fulfill the wishes of a beautiful lady.”

  Her eyes widened as he gracefully strolled to join her in the hallway.
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  “There is no need for you to join me.”

  “Of course there is,” he argued. “Why do you think your aunt is so conveniently absent?”

  “I haven’t the least notion.”

  “She is discreetly allowing us a few moments alone.” He smiled with wicked pleasure at the ready heat that brushed her cheeks. “Do you not think she would find it odd to come down and discover you wandering in a dark garden while I remain by myself in the drawing room?”

  Roma clenched her teeth in frustration. Did he always have an answer for everything?

  “Oh … very well,” she conceded with ill grace.

  Thoroughly indifferent to her pointed lack of enthusiasm, Lord Carlton drew her arm through his own and politely escorted her down the hall and out of the door. Roma held herself stiffly as they entered the shadows of the formal garden, but with her usual bad luck she couldn’t prevent a shiver as the night breeze cut through her thin shawl. Taking full advantage of her weakness, Lord Carlton pulled her shockingly close, using his large form to block the wind.

  In silence they passed around the sparkling fountain, turning down a wide path lined with a delicate framework of trelliswork and archways.

  “I presume you are delighted to be back at Greystead?” He at last broke the silence.

  “Of course.” She couldn’t resist a sideways glance at the noble profile. “Although I fear that you must be insufferably bored?”

  “Not at all. Your aunt and cousin have taken great care to see to my comfort. Besides, as I once told you I far prefer to stay in the country.”

  She gave a disbelieving shake of her head. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  “Why?”

  “I do not know.” Roma unconsciously frowned. “You simply seem very much at ease in London.”

  “Ah … a deadly insult coming from you, eh, Roma?” he taunted in soft tones.

  Her heart fluttered in an odd fashion. In truth, she had not intended to insult him. She had merely been thinking of his elegant sophistication and his ease of moving through society. Far different from the makeup of most country gentlemen.

  Feeling his gaze closely inspecting her uncertain expression, she hurried to divert his attention.