“I do,” Caroline said, nodding to the former school friend of her grandmother’s, whose straitened circumstances had led her to the unenviable position of acting as Grandmama’s companion.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Hatherleigh.”
“Hello, pussy,” Caroline said, putting out a hand to pat the animal, which promptly hissed at her, causing her to stumble back. Miss McNell murmured in a tone that mixed apology and pride, “I’m afraid Jezebel doesn’t often take to new people.”
“I hope she will not mind Mittens.”
Miss McNell stared at her, her pince-nez teetering dangerously. “Mittens?”
“My pug. I left her with the butler in the hall—”
“You brought an animal with you?” Grandmama looked horrified.
“She is just a small pug, and so lazy she hardly ever barks—”
“Nobody said anything about you bringing a dog to Saltings. We have enough silly creatures here as it is,” her grandmother said, with a look at Miss McNell and her cat that made Caroline wonder precisely to which silly creature she referred.
“Oh, but Grandmama, she truly is a sweet little thing—”
“I cannot think that Jezebel will like other company,” Miss McNell said worriedly. “She has such particular tastes—”
“Enough chitchat,” said Grandmama, with a decided nod that put an end to that matter. “Remind me, Caroline, how long are we to have the pleasure of your company?”
“Until March, Grandmama.”
“I see.”
Judging from her grandmother’s tone and look of disappointment, Caroline could see, too. If only Mother had not banished her …
Ah well, she thought, hitching up her smile. She’d always known Grandmama preferred that scamp Verity to herself, so she shouldn’t be surprised, or feel this strange slight strain of hurt. Perhaps Grandmama might thaw after some conversation.
“It is rather cold out.”
“Snow usually indicates such a thing,” her grandmother said with a sniff.
“Of course.” Caroline held onto politeness with an effort as she searched for something else to say. “That is a pretty view.”
“You’ve seen it before.”
“Well, yes …”
“Hmph.” Grandmama eyed her narrowly. “Really, if that’s the best conversation you can offer then one must question how you spent your time at that expensive school. Such a sad result for all the fees your father paid.”
Caroline forced her smile not to waver, willed her expression to appear pleasant. How had she forgotten her grandmother’s propensity for acerbity?
“A season down, and no offers?” Her grandmother shook her head. “Perhaps if your conversation rose above the commonplace you might have been able to acquire a husband by now.”
Heat ballooned within. But didn’t such unconventional behavior mark a lady as somewhat desperate? Surely gentlemen would prefer a wife who was guaranteed not to invite speculation. And as her mother always said: Aynsley ladies do not embarrass themselves—or others. Her lips pulled tighter.
Grandmama sighed. “Well, I suppose if you are to stay then you had best be taken to the Rose room. Dawkins.”
A silver-haired butler appeared, his demeanor everything proper. “Yes, m’lady?”
“Please ensure my granddaughter is made comfortable. And see to”—her gaze flicked to Caroline’s maid—“see that this, er, person, is directed to appropriate lodgings also.”
“At once, m’lady.”
He glanced at Caroline, gesturing to the wide stairs beyond the drawing room doors. She curtsied to her grandmother then followed as Dawkins led the way to a bedchamber on the first floor. A footman opened the door.
“I trust you will be comfortable here, miss.”
“Thank you.” She nodded dismissal—it was not as though she’d never stayed here before, after all—and moved to the large windows overlooking the gardens and dark sea beyond.
Bleak. Everything dulled and dispirited. Even the gardens seemed to have given up, smothered as they were by a thin layer of snow.
Her face drooped. What would she do here for the next seven weeks, ensconced in a house with a grandmother who seemed to neither like nor want her here?
Her shoulders sagged, and she shivered.
THE FIRST DAYS passed with a modicum of civility, Grandmama tossing Caroline the odd remark like a butcher might toss a scrap to a stray dog. Caroline couldn’t help feel somewhat like that stray dog, wondering why she had been virtually banished for something not of her own doing, forced to suffer the consequences of another’s crime. Not that Ned had committed a crime as such, more a breach of propriety, which was well and truly enough to be counted criminal by society’s gossips.
Caroline peeked up from her stitching to where her grandmother unfurled a garden catalog that had arrived in today’s mail. She bit back a smile. What had her world come to, when the highlight of the week was the arrival of mail? But at least she had received some correspondence, letters from home having arrived from Mama and Cecilia. Mother’s letter had been short and perfunctory; Cecy’s at least contained some news of local matters, chief of which was that Mr. Amherst was on the mend.
Really, Mama would have been far greater served by sending Cecy to Saltings than Caroline. Indeed, Cecy’s interest in the young man appeared not to have abated, despite the knowledge he had escorted a married woman around London, amid other unsavory rumors. Really, Caroline thought crossly, how much self-respect did Cecilia lack to want a man like that to notice her? She would be far better off someplace else where she could meet new people. Or at least have the potential to meet new people.
Caroline hadn’t met anyone new yet. Grandmama seemed disinclined to socialize, her chief point of contact with others appearing to be attendance at services in Sidmouth on Sundays, the rest of her time spent ensconced in Saltings’ spacious rooms. Caroline’s days so far had been spent writing letters, perusing the shelves of the rather magnificent library, and stitching in front of the fire. Matters had reached such a desperate level of boredom she almost desired to attend the small gray-stoned church on the morrow, which said much, seeing as she had long ago adopted her parents’ disinclination for obligatory services. She usually much preferred to spend her Sundays in bed, drinking hot chocolate and reading novels. But too many days doing exactly that had led to this feeling of mind-numbing boredom. Surely anything—even discussing a sermon!—had to be better than this. She glanced over to where her grandmother sat perusing the gardening catalog. They might even be able to have some conversation that way.
Next day
Well, perhaps thinking the minister’s sermon might contain something worth discussing later had been a trifle optimistic. Caroline clenched her jaw in an effort not to yawn, swallowing the heated bubble of air even as her eyelids closed in another heavy blink. The minister’s voice droned on and on, forcing her to concentrate all the harder. Not on the sermon subject matter—which apparently revolved around someone called Jerubbaal or Jerubabbel, or was it Jerrububble; regardless, someone long dead she had absolutely no interest in. Rather, she concentrated on maintaining her posture of polite and appropriate interest: head up, eyes forward, unwavering expression, as if she truly paid attention and was not thinking how much more boring this had proved than matters of past days. Really, much more of this dissertation on the evils of sin might be enough to send her to an early grave! She tugged at the sleeve of her blue pelisse, chewing the inside of her bottom lip as another yawn threatened escape. Could the service be any duller?
At least she had the benefit of looking at new sights. The church was pretty—even Grandmama admitted as much on the drive over—with its arches and stone carved pulpit. And the congregation, whose reverent pre-service buzz had been chastened to holy awe at her grandmother’s procession up the aisle, might deliver someone whom the dowager viscountess might deign to approve as a potential conversationalist. One could only hope so.
Goodness gracious. What had just occurred?
Gideon exhaled past the heat rushing through his chest, forcing his gaze not to follow the figure in blue. Lord, forgive me. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about the attractiveness of a young lady in church; he should be thinking about the sermon, or at least about God. But right now, it felt like his brain had blurred to ignorance about everything save how her curls held ruddy highlights, and the startling depths of blue in her gaze, and the feeling that as soon as she’d looked at him he’d felt a kind of knowing deep within, something that seemed to say “here she is” and “she is yours.”
Which was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous! Anyone with half a brain could see she occupied a social rung higher than he could admit to. Anyone could see she possessed at least a measure of the haughtiness her elderly companion embodied. He’d been trying, in his pathetic way, to assume his own mask of supercilious amusement when those eyes had pierced his armor, sending his pretensions to the dust. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like a connection deep and marvelous had suddenly wrenched into awareness, something he’d be forever helpless to ignore. Lord, help me.
The sound of a cleared throat drew a different type of awareness, awareness that those behind him were waiting for his removal from the pew, and that Emma awaited him in the aisle.
“What is it?” she whispered. “You look as though you’ve seen a specimen to rival one of Miss Anning’s finds.”
He gave his sister a mock frown. “Better?”
“I’m not sure.” She clasped his arm. “You look a little peculiar.”
“Why thank you.” Was she out there? Who was she? What was her connection to the imperious older lady? How could he possibly gain an introduction?
As if in answer to his unvoiced prayers, his ears sharpened to the conversations around him.
“… believe she’s the granddaughter …”
“… visiting from near Bridgewater way …”
“… a Miss Hatherleigh of Aynsley, I believe …”
Aynsley? His heart stuttered. Was she related to the viscount of the same name?
By now they had reached where the minister waited to shake their hands, was murmuring something to Gideon that only required a noncommittal response. It was like his brain couldn’t think, like every fiber of his being was straining for him to turn and search for—
“Mr. Kirby?”
He forced his brain to focus, his senses to narrow down to the man standing before him, a look of puzzlement wrinkling his brow. “Thank you for the encouragement this morning,” he finally managed. “I appreciate the reminder to fix our eyes on and trust in our Lord, no matter the circumstances.”
“Oh! Well, I, er, I am glad.”
This was said with such an air of surprise Gideon could not help but wonder whether the good reverend had even had such a thing in mind. But it would never do to speculate on another person’s beliefs; was always best to give the benefit of the doubt.
The reverend’s attention was claimed by the next group of congregants, freeing them to the snowy churchyard. Noticing Emma’s shivers, he muttered about collecting the horse, releasing her to the conversation of the apothecary’s wife, which freed him to suck in a deep lungful of air and release it in a cloudy breath.
Dear God. What had happened in there? He could not afford to indulge in fantasies of such a nature. It would be best to forget, to ignore these strange and urgent feelings pulsing through his body. Would be best to turn his attention to thinking on the sermon, his studies, to anything really, anything other than those mesmerizing blue eyes that had slain him with one glance.
“Dear God, help me,” he muttered, lifting the reins over Nancy’s nose, tugging them into place then climbing into the gig. “I cannot afford distractions. I don’t want distractions. I need You to help me think about Emma, what is best for her, what is best for us.”
He turned the gig around, lifting a hand to claim Emma’s attention. She smiled, nodded to those she stood with, and made her slow progression to the waiting carriage.
Gideon helped her up, grasping her hand tightly, as if he could infuse strength. Guilt panged. What was he doing allowing another to steal his focus from Emma, from a good woman who needed him? He was little better than a scoundrel.
“Well! That was a more interesting service than I anticipated,” Emma said, sinking back against the cushioned seat. “Lady Aynsley’s granddaughter is visiting for a time, or so Mrs. Goodacre says.”
“Oh.” He was aiming for noncommittal, but from the look Emma was giving him, Gideon didn’t think he’d succeeded.
“Yes, oh,” she said with what looked like a smirk. “Don’t pretend I didn’t see you noticing her. She is quite attractive.”
“I prefer redheads,” he said, glancing at her copper tresses with a smile.
“Well, that only proves your capacity for mendaciousness. We both know such a statement to be false,” she said, amusement lurking in her eyes.
“I hope you are not referring to a certain unwise incident that may have been committed by my younger self.”
“There was no ‘may’ about it. But a man of science endeavoring to serenade a university dean’s daughter is something that should never have been attempted.”
“I know,” he said humbly.
“How I wish I could have seen it,” she said with a wistful air, tugging up the blanket.
“How I wish dear James had never mentioned it.”
“Well, an elder brother is forever destined to mock his siblings.”
“It is in his blood.”
“Yes.” The look of humor in her face faded, as if she were reminded of the more lethal mélange her blood held.
He snapped the reins, encouraging Nancy to a faster trot. “You were speaking with the apothecary?”
“Mr. Goodacre said he has some new medicine that may help.”
Wasn’t that what apothecaries were paid to do? “I suppose it cannot hurt to try.”
“No.”
The least harm he could offer Emma the better. Which reminded him—
“Oh, there she is. Look.”
As if unable to disobey her command, he found himself looking through a glass window into the plush carriage passing by, straight into the widened blue eyes he wanted to forget. Breath constricted, and he had to drag his gaze away, to refocus on the deeply rutted road ahead. He exhaled heavily.
Beside him, he heard a soft chuckle. “I thought so.”
“You thought what?”
“I thought I recognized that look.”
“What look?” he snapped.
The chuckle rounded into laughter. “That look. The one with red cheeks and fixed aversion that only cries embarrassment.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“Of course you aren’t.”
Really, sisters could be most provoking.
“Why would you be? Just because you saw a pretty young lady, and she noticed you, and I noticed you both noticing each other—why would you be embarrassed?”
“Emma,” he said, in what he liked to think was his warning voice.
“Gideon,” she said, mischief dancing in her eyes.
; “You are truly the most obnoxious, irritating—”
“Irritatingly wonderful sister in the whole wide world. I know,” she said complacently, before adding, “it is probably best not to encourage your hopes, anyway, judging from the look of her grandmother. She looks like she’d as soon as have you cast into the sea as speak to you.”
He guided Nancy through the gates, but not before casting a quick look at the gray sea skirting the village. The dowager viscountess possessed a degree of authoritativeness that made such an action not unlikely. Well, perhaps a little less likely in this day and age. But were this a different century, she seemed the sort not unwilling to cry “off with their heads.” Or at least see him pinioned in the stocks.
“I think you would do better, sister dear, to think on the sermon we just heard, and refrain from idle speculation.”
“But refraining from idle speculation is so boring, Gideon.” She sighed. “You always prefer the logical and measurable. You know such things can make you very dull.”
But such things also kept one from making a fool of oneself. After his one sad flight into romantical fancy eight years ago, he had no desire to embarrass himself again. Not even for a rather striking young lady with blue eyes. “Are you finished yet?”
“No.”
He pulled the reins, drawing Nancy to a gentle stop, waiting for Emma to finally finish what she wished to say. Better here than inside, where one of the servants would hear.
“You know you will need to marry one day.”
“I can’t. I won’t. I would never leave you—”
“You can, and I truly hope you will. It grieves me to know I am the reason you have not yet found happiness.”
“But—”
“Please, Gideon.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I know what you will say, and I know you’ve heard me say this many times before, but you cannot know how much I wish you could find a lovely young lady who would make you happy. Such a thing would make me happy.”
A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh Page 5