by Kelly Boyce
“And is the ton in the habit of looking beneath the surface? It seems the people I have met are more prone to making snap judgments and leaving things at that.”
Judith wished she could argue Lady Henrietta’s point, or offer a different view, but it appeared they were two peas in the same pod when it came to their opinions on society.
“I’m afraid I have little to offer in that regard. I had but one Season before my father fell ill.” Before she returned to Havelock Manor with her tail tucked between her legs and her heart bleeding heavily from the grievous wounds inflicted.
“And did you enjoy your Season?”
“No. Not particularly.”
“And yet you are to prepare me for mine and send me out into the fray upon my brother’s request.”
“So it would seem.”
“He plans on throwing a dinner party, did he tell you? In one week’s time. A small gathering meant to allow me to wet my feet before I plunge in head-first.”
“No, he did not tell me of his plans.” Judith swallowed. “Do you know who will be attending?” Her heartbeat fluttered in her chest and she held her breath.
“He mentioned a few names. Particular friends mostly, people he trusts. Lord and Lady Alderset have accepted. Lord Glenmor and his mother, Mrs. Laytham, with whom I understand you have an acquaintance.”
Butterflies flitted about inside of her at the prospect of seeing Lord Glenmor again so soon.
“The Duke and Duchess of Franklyn, as well as their daughter, Lady Susan. Also Viscount Pengrin, I believe.”
Judith’s heart slammed against her rib cage. A sharp, sudden assault of such force it made her wonder how her bones did not shatter from the impact. The humiliation she had gone to great lengths to put behind her rushed through her all over again, and it was all she could do not to run from the room to avoid it. Perhaps she would have, if only her limbs would comply, but instead they turned numb. Useless.
“You appear as thrilled with the prospect as I.” Lady Henrietta smiled and this time the gesture struck Judith as genuine, but she remained too rattled to take more notice of it than that. “Perhaps we are well suited after all.”
“Perhaps so.” The words came out strangled while she mentally calculated how quickly she could pack her bags and hire a conveyance to take her back to Havelock Manor. She had taken this position thinking she could leave her past behind her, only to discover it lurked just around the corner, waiting to pounce when she least expected it.
“I don’t suppose we can convince my brother to halt this madness, much as I wish we could. He seems determined and when James makes up his mind on something, it would be easier to move a mountain than change his path. Perhaps if we attend the dinner party together, it will not seem so daunting. Or frightening.”
And there was that hope again, lighting Lady Henrietta’s gaze and lifting her voice up at the end. A question directed at Judith, a challenge for her to accept.
Though she wanted to run—oh, how desperately she wanted to!—looking at the young lady before her, scarred and fearful and feeling like a monster when she was clearly anything but, was more than Judith could stand. She could not abandon her. She could not be that much of a coward.
But how would she ever get through an evening with Lord Pengrin and Lady Susan, knowing what they had done to her?
* * *
“My lord?”
Benedict glanced up from his desk and blinked, his eyes blurry from perusing the accounts for the Glenmor estates and the costs accruing for the necessary renovations at Maple Glen. Despite keeping a tight control on expenses, the numbers added up until they came perilously close to shifting into the red column.
“Yes, Titus? What is it?”
Titus stepped into the study holding a silver salver where a lone vellum envelope sat in the middle. “A letter has come for you. It is marked urgent.”
Benedict’s stomach dropped into his boots. Nothing good came marked as urgent. A fact quickly discovered over the past two years while he dodged Uncle Henry’s creditors, stealing from Peter to pay Paul and still maintain a suitable roof over everyone’s head. He was certain he’d paid off the last of them. Had another crawled out of the woodwork? With trepidation, he picked up the envelope and turned it over in his hand. It bore a “C” on the seal.
Crowley. Finally! Benedict had sent several letters to the man requesting a meeting with no response.
“Thank you, Titus.”
He waited for the butler to leave and the doors to close solidly behind him before he broke the seal and unfolded the vellum. The note was short, but far from sweet.
Crowley had refused his request for a meeting. Refused him! Was such a thing even possible? The man was his agent in this godforsaken enterprise. The go-between. If he refused to meet, how was Benedict to converse with his partner? How was he to discuss the matter of selling his shares back to the company and getting his signature on the papers that would severe their business arrangement and allow him to move on? All the monies invested into the Western Trading Company had been given to and managed by Crowley, to the best of Benedict’s knowledge, and now the man had simply disappeared? Unconscionable.
He read on, but what came next offered him little comfort.
The light lunch Benedict had eaten an hour earlier at the insistence of his mother turned over in his stomach as the words swam before his eyes.
It could not be.
He re-read the letter once more. And then a third time. Nothing changed.
According to Crowley, the Western Trading Company’s profits, which he had previously promised were on the upswing had, in fact, plummeted. There would be no payout on the investment this quarter.
Benedict closed his eyes and took long, slow breaths to steady his rapid heartbeat. “It’s not the end of the world,” he whispered to the empty room. The words rang false. He had been counting on the promised payout from the last quarter to cover some of the renovation expenses now due. Without such a return on his investment, he was left with…nothing.
“Ben, dear?”
His eyes snapped open and he turned to the door to find his mother standing there. He hadn’t heard her come in. “Mother.” He swallowed and steadied his voice, but the tone didn’t sound natural as it echoed in his head. “Do you need something?”
“I just wanted to let you know I was leaving to pay a few calls. Are you all right?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” He forced a smile, but felt like the worst kind of fraud the longer he held it. “Everything is fine.” If one considered teetering on the edge of ruin, fine.
“You look a little pale. You need to get out-of-doors, dear. Why don’t you go for one of your walks? The fresh air will do you a world of good, I’m certain.”
“Thank you, Mother. I will.”
He bid her good-bye, waiting until the door closed behind her before he crumpled the letter in his hand, destroying it, as much as the words within now threatened to destroy him.
Chapter Eight
“Should I feel insulted, Glenmor? It has been less than a week.”
Benedict glanced over the rim of his glass to Lord Ridgemont. Though the man smiled, there was a question in his gaze that indicated he did not appreciate having someone check up on the well-being of his employees. Benedict didn’t particularly care about Ridgemont’s injured pride, however. He needed to see her.
Further proof he’d lost what was left of his mind.
Likely, Miss Sutherland did not appreciate being checked up on. She’d made her wish to be independent quite clear in her actions, but fool that he was, as his world was crashing down around him, the only thing he could think to do to improve the situation was to see her. To let her outward calm and straightforward manner soothe him. And, in a sense, to say good-bye.
He’d admitted to himself on the walk over from Glenmor House that a part of him had been holding onto the ridiculous hope that if he was able to sell his shares in the Western Trading Company and
invest the monies into the railway, that maybe—just maybe—he would not have to marry for money. That he could marry a woman of his choosing based on nothing more than the fact that he enjoyed her company and wished to spend the rest of his days in it.
But that had been nothing more than a foolish dream. He saw that now.
“I assure you, there is no insult intended,” Benedict said. “I am certain Miss Sutherland is in the best of care. However, I have promised her uncle, Sir Arran, I would ensure such with my own eyes.”
Ridgemont crossed his arms over his chest. “It is highly improper. I am not in the habit of leaving young ladies in the company of men without a proper chaperone.”
“Feel free to leave the door wide open with a maid sitting in the room. I have no interest in incurring her uncle’s wrath or injuring her reputation with any impropriety.”
Ridgemont stared at him a moment then scowled. “Very well. I will see if she is amenable to it. But I will have a maid stationed at the door and the door will remain fully open. I will give you ten minutes to visit with her. Not a second more. Are we in agreement?”
“Of course.”
Ridgemont gave him a hard look, issued a curt nod, and turned on his heel. His footsteps echoed down the hallway until they disappeared altogether. Benedict dropped to the sofa and let his head fall into his hands. His world spiraled around him until hope faded to nothing more than a distant memory. How had this become his life?
“Lord Glenmor?”
He looked up and pushed to his feet, the sight of her rocking him back on his heels. She wore a plain dress of deep forest green, void of any ruffle or bows or other such adornments. But something was different. His gaze roamed over her.
“Your hair?”
She reached up and touched the thick curls draped over her shoulder self-consciously, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Oh, yes. Lady Henrietta’s idea.”
“It’s beautiful.” The words rushed out of him before he could stop them.
A pretty pink hue tinged the apple of her cheeks, but she said nothing in response to his compliment, leaving an awkward silence developing between them. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I thought to drop by to see how you fare.”
“I am quite well, thank you. But you really needn’t—”
“I know.” And he did. If anyone was capable of looking after herself, it was Miss Judith Sutherland. Did everyone in her family not press on about how capable she was? What a steady mind she possessed?
“And yet here you are.”
He smiled and some of the worry he’d carried with him into Ridgemont House receded. “Here I am.” He waved to the chair next to where he sat on the corner of the sofa. “Will you not sit?”
She glanced at the open door. He could see the skirt of the maid just at the edge of it, sitting sentinel. “For a moment, I suppose.”
He waited until she was seated before retaking his seat.
“How is Mrs. Laytham?” she asked.
“Quite well, thank you. I have received word from your cousin Charles that your aunt, Lady Elmsley, will be arriving in town shortly. You will be most pleased to see her, I’m sure.”
“If time permits.” She gave him a steady look. “I am not at my leisure here, after all.”
A subtle reminder of her position in the household. It struck a chord with him. He did not care for the idea that she served anyone. She deserved a better life than that. A life it would have been nice to share with her. Something he could freely admit to himself, now that any possibility of that lovely dream had been dashed.
“Of course. Though I’m certain Lord Ridgemont will not begrudge you a visit from your family. He allowed you to see me, after all and I am not family at all.”
She smiled, but the motion did not reach her dark eyes. God help him, but he loved her eyes. So deep and dark a man could get lost in them and wish never to be found. The idea appealed to him immensely. There was nothing he would like more than to escape his life and become lost in her.
She interrupted his reverie. “Forgive my saying so, but you do not look well, my lord. Have you been under the weather?”
“Oh—no. Not exactly.”
“And what does that mean…exactly?”
A small laugh escaped him. “I received a little bad news about an investment I made.” And by little, he meant completely catastrophic.
“Nothing too serious, I hope.”
“Nothing I cannot overcome.” By marrying the likes of Lady Susan or one of her ilk and being miserable for the rest of his days.
“I am happy to hear. I understand you and Mrs. Laytham will be attending Lord Ridgemont’s dinner party.”
He had intended on passing on the invitation. In light of Crowley’s news, he was in no mood for merriment or parties or smiling and being charming while he desperately held the tattered pieces of his world together. But looking at Miss Sutherland as she sat with her back straight and her hands folded in her lap, a hopeful expression on her pretty face, he found himself nodding. “Yes, we will.”
If his world was to fall to pieces around him, he at least wanted a pleasing view and the balm of being near Miss Sutherland for as long as possible. Soon enough, she would be torn away from him. He wanted to soak up whatever time he had left, even if each moment was all for naught.
She leaned forward in her chair. “May I ask you for a favor?”
“Anything.”
She smiled again and this time the soft gesture warmed her eyes until it reminded him of dark chocolate. Sweet and enticing, though he doubted she had any idea the power of the gentle curve of her lips. “Should you not like to know what it is first before you agree?”
A light laugh escaped him and the tension pounding in his head eased a little. “I am certain you will not ask anything that would overtax me.”
She had such a lovely light in her eyes. Funny, given how dark they were, but it was there, shining brilliantly out at him. How lovely she was. Coming here to see her had been the right thing.
“When you come to the party, could you perhaps seek out Lady Henrietta?”
“Seek her out?”
Miss Sutherland nodded and leaned forward in her seat. “She is likely to hide in a corner, I’m afraid. You see…” Her voice trailed off and she glanced toward the open door before adjusting her seat to bring her closer to him. The scent of daisies filled his senses and he had to force himself to concentrate on what she said next.
“As you may know, Lady Henrietta suffered a great loss when her mother and father were killed in a fire.”
Benedict nodded. He remembered hearing of the ghastly event a handful of years ago, though the details had always been sketchy. “Yes, I recall.”
“What only a few know, however, is that while Lady Henrietta survived, she did not do so without suffering injury. Injuries she is quite self-conscious about, hence her reticence at entering society. She fears everyone will look upon her and think her a monster and nothing could be farther from the truth. She is a sweet young woman. Perhaps if you spoke to her and treated her as if her injuries did not exist, it might ease her anxiety.”
“I think that could be easily accomplished. I will be my most charming self.” She lifted an eyebrow and he laughed again. “Fair enough. I suppose I have not been overly charming of late. But I will do better.”
Miss Sutherland smiled at him and in that moment, she could have asked him for the moon and he would have gladly climbed up into the sky and grabbed it for her. Ah, such power her smile wielded.
“You are very kind, Lord Glenmor. I’m sorry if I have been harsh with you. I suppose my past experiences with titled gentlemen have left me a bit sour.”
Her comment caught him and he started to inquire further as to what she meant, but a commotion at the entrance to the receiving room drowned out his words.
“Good heavens! What is this rumpus occurring without my knowledge? Ridgemont!”
Benedict stood and spun on his heel at the command
ing voice punctuated by a loud bang—the result, he realized, of a walking stick striking the gleaming hardwood. An older woman, splendidly attired in a plum traveling dress and plumed hat, stood inside the doorway of the receiving room glaring at them.
Within seconds, Ridgemont joined her, slightly out of breath. He brought himself up short as he entered the room, giving the woman a brilliant smile that looked more painted on than heartfelt. Benedict couldn’t blame him. The stern set of the lady’s mouth and the flash in her eye was enough to make grown men quiver in their boots.
“Lady Dalridge. I was not aware you had returned.”
“Obviously.” The statement came without so much as a glance in the marquess’s direction. Instead, her gaze landed directly on Benedict. “And might I inquire as to who you are and why you are in my receiving room with this young lady?”
“Aunt, may I present Benedict Laytham, Earl of Glenmor, and Miss Sutherland. You’ll remember I mentioned her in my last letter. Lord Glenmor, Miss Sutherland, it is my great pleasure of introducing you to my great-aunt, the Viscountess of Dalridge.” When his great-aunt did not respond to their murmured greetings, Ridgemont continued. “Lord Glenmor is well acquainted with Miss Sutherland’s family and came by to see to her well-being.”
The older lady’s ice-blue gaze did not relent. “Was there a concern for it?”
“Not at all,” Benedict said, hoping to quell the lady’s ire as she walked farther into the room, each step punctuated by her walking stick.
“And yet, here you are.”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he offered with what he hoped was a charming smile.
For a brief heartbeat, Lady Dalridge hesitated then arched one silver eyebrow. Benedict’s smile faltered, dying a slow death.
“I knew your uncle. Lovely man until he lost his mind.”
“Thank you,” he said, though he was unsure whether it had been meant as a compliment.
The viscountess turned toward Miss Sutherland. “And might I assume then, that you are the companion Ridgemont has hired for my great-niece?”