Belle glanced over her shoulder and gave Mendal an apologetic look. Then frowned at Lord Terrance whose lips twitched. The path soon broadened, and they followed the edge of a half-frozen pond. She slowed to a leisurely walk to give Mendal time to catch up.
Lord Terrance was quiet, seemingly lost in thought. And they were not happy ones, if his scowl was any indication.
The path led to a main road, and they all paused to consider their next choice. Return home or head closer to the village? A look at Mendal told Belle which direction her maid would prefer. Earnest appeared beside her and dropped his ball. Breathing heavily, his red tongue lolled after his morning’s exertions. Lord Terrance remained lost in thought, so home might be the best choice.
A horse’s clip-clop on the muddy earthen road drew her eyes toward the village. Belle stepped off the road to let the traveler pass.
RUFUS RECOGNIZED the newcomer, and his mood spiraled down. Martin Winfield. Must he run into the fellow every time he stepped outdoors?
“How do you do,” Winfield said. In a dark double-breasted cutaway coat, buff-colored breeches and riding boots, he was presentable. He tipped his hat to Belle. “A fine morning to be out.”
“How do you do,” Belle said.
Rufus nodded.
Earnest growled, and Winfield’s mount shied and stepped back.
The hound had squeezed himself between Rufus and Belle, his teeth bared and ears back.
Wise dog. Rufus would have liked to mimic that response. He did not care for his neighbor, not since Rufus, at twelve years of age, saw Winfield beating a hound to death.
Rufus’s father had found his son burying the pup and assumed he had done the killing. He had taken him to the barn for a painful beating because even though Rufus staunchly denied having done the terrible deed, he refused to say who had.
He had protected Winfield that day, but henceforth refused all Winfield’s overtures to befriend him.
“Earnest, be silent.” Belle soothed the dog with a pat. “He does not take well to strangers. Pray, do not be alarmed.”
“Your dog needs discipline, Lady Belle,” Winfield said and dismounted. He led his shying mount father away and tied him to a tree, then strode back, whip held tightly in one hand.
To Rufus’s surprise, Belle shifted in front of Earnest. He could have told her not to bother. If Winfield struck the dog, the man would end up far worse for his troubles. Winfield would never dare to cross Rufus so publicly.
“The dog is mine,” Rufus said. “As for discipline, his performance is all I could hope for. Rousting trespassers is part of his duties.”
“And a well brought up hound, he is,” Winfield said with a practiced smile. “I am sure he will give you many years of good service. Are you on your way to the village?”
“We were about to return home,” Rufus said. “Do not let us keep you if you are on your way there.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Winfield said. “There is not much happening hereabouts. Entertainment is hard to come by.”
“You will be returning to London soon, then?” he asked.
“I had not planned to leave yet.”
“I understand your comment about activities in the village,” Belle said. “I hear it did not used to be so lacking. I had hoped we could hold a ball at Clearview to celebrate Christmas for the local society and invite the villagers to join us in food, drink, and games.”
Rufus sighed at the stubborn woman for dredging up that beleaguered subject once again.
Before he could denounce it, Winfield, with a thoughtful look, asked, “A ball? What a capital notion. However, it would never do to hold such an event at Clearview. Lady Terrance is still in mourning, and it would not be appropriate.”
Listening to the exchange, Rufus ground his teeth in frustration. The man said exactly what Rufus had argued all morning. First his aunt agreed with him. Now Winfield. If that was not ample evidence he was in the wrong, he could not imagine what else was needed.
Rufus glanced down the road. How to cut short this conversation?
“Now that I think on it,” Winfield said, “why not hold the ball at Windhaven? We have ample room for tents outside for the locals, and the ballroom is large enough to house the local gentry. My mother would be honored to have you and Lady Terrance, and dare we hope, the reclusive Lady Susie, to celebrate the Christmas season with us.”
“Tents in the winter would be too cold for the villagers,” Belle said. “Especially in the evening.”
Rufus stared at her in astonishment. She did not seriously consider his offer?
“They are hardy folks,” Winfield said. “I am sure they will manage. They will be honored beyond comprehension simply to be invited.”
Belle stiffened.
Good. Finally, she saw sense and would put this encroaching mushroom in his place and soundly reject his offer.
“That is a splendid idea,” Belle said instead.
Rufus started. She agreed? With Winfield? He had assumed she had good instincts about people. Winfield was watching Belle with a calculating gleam, and Rufus’s shoulder muscles bunched, as if he were about to enter a boxing ring.
Chapter Twelve
Rufus did not at all care for the idea of Belle and Winfield being on such agreeable terms. She had no idea that Rufus’s neighbor possessed a cold, calculating heart. Worse, despite his sad lack of character, Winfield was reputed to have a winning way with the ladies.
“Yes, a ball at Windhaven might do,” Belle said in a thoughtful voice. “I must insist, however, that we find a spot indoors for the villagers, else I could not enjoy the evening. I would worry about them.”
“I suppose . . .” Winfield began.
“That will not be necessary,” Rufus interrupted. “The ball will be held at Clearview, and the villagers can be more than adequately provided for in the green ballroom.”
Both Belle and Winfield turned to him in surprise.
Winfield found his voice first. “Do you forget the mourning period?”
“I hold the ball, not my mother. And I assure you I have not forgotten in the least how long ago my father died. However, as Belle pointed out, it is time we continue an old family tradition of holding Christmas celebrations at the manor.”
Winfield shook his head. “It would be too much work for your mother. A ball at Windhaven is the better plan.”
“I think not,” Rufus said, “and my mother will have my aunt and Lady Belle to help her. Besides, a ball such as this would be a costly enterprise.”
Winfield stiffened. The silence stretched with neither man breaking eye contact. The air sizzled.
Finally, Winfield said, “Do not concern yourself on my behalf, Terrance. Investments fall and rise as often as gossip flits about Town. My finances are ample for the need.”
“Still, it is my duty to hold this event at Clearview.” Having won his point, Rufus relented and broke the staring match to glance at Belle. She looked as if she held her breath. “We had better return home and advise my mother of our plans. With Christmas only three weeks away, we have much to do to set things in motion. Good day, Winfield.”
He bowed and took Belle’s arm, barely giving her time to curtsey and grab a breath to say goodbye.
“Earnest, come,” he said. A snap of his fingers brought the pup to heel.
He escorted Belle along the lane. They took the shorter route back toward the manor that crossed over a small vaulted bridge. Her maid hurried to catch up, stumbling in the snowy roadway, and he slowed their pace slightly so she could, though he would have preferred to get farther ahead of her so he could indulge in a kiss with Belle.
He glanced down at Belle, and the harsh truth of his affection for her swept over him. He wanted to wed her, not the other way around. Yet, unless he cleared his na
me, there was no chance she could consider his suit. His efforts to find his father’s killer took on more importance. His future with Belle depended on discovering what took place last spring in Richmond Park.
Yet, how was he to uncover the truth while in the midst of planning a ball?
BELLE REMAINED quiet on the walk back to Clearview. Her silence was partly due to astonishment that Lord Terrance had agreed to the ball, and partly due to fear that anything she said might make him change his mind.
Her thoughts were in a frenzy to make sense of what had happened. Lord Terrance had actually agreed to hold a Christmas Ball at Clearview. She was glad, for she had not wanted to accept Winfield’s insensitive offer. Imagine, suggesting the villagers would enjoy the festivities in the cold. Hardy folk, indeed!
She had never liked the man, not even when they had met in London, and she liked him even less now. She had only agreed to have the ball at his home because she hoped that if she did, it might make Lord Terrance see that not everyone viewed a ball as such an outlandish idea. Could that ploy have really worked?
She gave him a side-glance, trying to read his thoughts. He maintained a stony cast, and she could not discern if he was angry or not. Each step that took her closer to Clearview, however, brought excitement. They were going to have a ball! She could hardly wait to tell Lady Terrance and Susie.
When they arrived home, Felton advised them that Lady Susie, Mr. Jones, and his mother kept the countess company in the drawing room, and that her ladyship had requested her son and Lady Belle join her on their return.
The instant Belle and Lord Terrance entered, Susie rushed over from the settee to take Belle’s hands. Her eyes were moist and her cheeks flushed. “Oh, I am so glad you are back.”
“Whatever is the matter?”
“Nothing of importance,” Mrs. Jones said. “Susie is being excessively emotional.”
“She is disappointed, that is all.” Lady Terrance looked none too happy herself. Two high spots of color on her cheeks suggested she, too, had a surfeit of emotions boiling under the surface.
“Please, Susie, tell me what troubles you,” Belle said in a soothing tone. “As I am up in the boughs, I might be able to pull you out of your doldrums.”
“Aunt says we cannot hold our ball and that Rufus supports her in this.” Susie displayed a pout to her brother. “It is not as if I like the things. I just had my heart set on having one with people I know before being plunged into the midst of the Ton.”
“Is that all?” Belle asked. “Then I can bring back your cheer. Lord Terrance has changed his mind and agrees to hold the Christmas Ball at Clearview.”
Susie’s mouth opened and closed as her gaze swept from Belle to her brother and back.
Belle looked directly at Lady Terrance before she imparted the next thrilling bit. “This celebration is not only for the local gentry, but the villagers, too, will be invited.”
Lady Terrance sat very still on the settee, a play of emotions sweeping across her face. Slowly, moisture filled her eyes, and then a lone tear spilled.
“Have you gone mad?” Mrs. Jones broke the pregnant silence. Her gaze speared Belle. “What did you do to my nephew? He may act the simpleton, but his mind could not be swayed so easily.”
“Why, thank you, Aunt,” Lord Terrance said and bowed. “As for my decision, the fresh air clarified the matter.”
Susie squealed and ran into his arms. “I do so love you, Rufus. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
He laughed as she rained kisses on his face. Then, hugging her close, he addressed his aunt. “Aunt Henrietta, it is good to hold high standards, but the villagers need our support. This last year has been hard on folks. A celebration will help them forget their troubles and show that we, as leaders in this society, will stand by them during the lean times.”
Rufus glanced at Belle as he said that last, and her heart melted, for he had clearly heard her earlier entreaty.
“It does not matter how he came to the decision.” Lady Terrance stood and approached her son. “It only matters that you did.” She gently kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
He looked taken aback by his mother’s affectionate gesture. “I am glad the news pleases you, Mama. I thought nothing I did would ever please you again.”
She slanted her head, as if in thought. “How interesting, my dearest. For I had begun to think you never wished to waste your time pleasing me again.”
“Well done, Rufus.” Phillip Jones slapped him on his back. “This visit is proving to be most enjoyable.”
“I can see that my opinion holds no sway here,” Henrietta Jones said in such a soft voice that Belle suspected few heard. She had only noticed because the pain from the woman was so palpable, it swept over Belle in a wave.
The lady stood and moved to the window, her back ramrod stiff. She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and surreptitiously dabbed at her eyes.
No one else had caught that telltale gesture. Belle’s heart wept for Henrietta Jones’s pain, but she did not approach her. The proud woman would not take kindly to any overtures right now. Perhaps later.
“We have plans to make,” Lady Terrance said. “Invitations to send out, meals, decorations, and themes to choose.”
“We will need new dresses,” Mrs. Jones said.
At Lady Terrance and Susie’s surprised silence, she exhaled a loud sigh and returned to her seat. “You cannot expect to attend a ball dressed like a villager, even if they are the guests of honor. If we are to hold a Christmas Ball, it must be done right. This cannot be a slap-dash affair, Terrance. It will cost you a pretty penny before we are through.”
“Anything you ladies require will be at your disposal.” He gave an exaggerated bow.
When the discussion turned to the evening gowns’ latest cut, he gestured to his cousin, and they spoke in soft tones. Then they wished the ladies good day and left the room, saying they had business in the village.
Watching them leave, Belle suddenly recalled what Mrs. Parker said about Mr. Nightingale’s dismissal and how the villagers saw it as unfair. She then recalled Mr. Jones’s comment that Lord Terrance worried that the villagers disliked him. Like pieces of a puzzle, the two concepts connected, and she excused herself to hurry out.
“Lord Terrance,” she called before he stepped outdoors.
RUFUS TURNED to find Belle running toward him, out of breath and delectable. He stepped back into the foyer.
“I will see to the horses.” Phillip gave a roguish smile and closed the front doors behind him.
Rufus handed his hat and coat to the butler and said, “I will speak to the young lady.”
Felton nodded and removed himself to the stairs, standing close enough to come if called but out of earshot.
He was glad for the butler’s discretion. Without that watchful presence nearby, he might be tempted to steal another kiss from Belle. In fact, he wanted to do a great deal more than kiss her. The blush spreading across her cheeks suggested that he was once again easy to read. This time, he was glad. “You wished to speak with me?”
She nodded. “Since we had our meal at Mrs. Parker’s, I have meant to mention Mr. Nightingale.”
“What about him?”
“Before your arrival, Mrs. Parker suggested that he was the most loyal servant you could wish for.”
He frowned, but she held up her hand to halt his words. “All I ask is that you hear me out. What you do afterwards is entirely your decision.”
He nodded and capped his doubts, listening to her as she said, “I was glad of what you said about wanting to support the villagers. But you must be made aware that Mrs. Parker and other villagers do not trust you. Right or wrong, they believe that, like your father, you do not have their best interests at heart. They see your plan to dismiss Mr. Nightingale as an example that
if any of them displease you, you will simply replace them.”
Rufus listened with growing unease because what she said explained the villagers’ response to him with startling simplicity. They painted him with the same brush they had his father, irrespective of how little they knew of his character.
She glanced at her hands, as if to collect her thoughts. “I only say these things because Mr. Jones mentioned that you are concerned about the villagers’ opinion of you.”
He reeled back in shock, and all of his suspicions about Phillip’s relationship with Belle rolled over him like a cold wave as he asked, “When?”
She looked up, her expression confused. “What?”
“When did you speak with Phillip?”
“What does that matter?”
“To my recall, you have not been alone with my cousin to have an intimate conversation about what concerns me.”
He moved closer, and an old suspicion cracked the surface of his happiness. His cousin’s sly smile when the lady’s name arose in conversation in the taproom. Phillip’s familiarity with Belle even though they had all only recently met.
“When did you speak with my cousin?” It was important she answer. His trust in her depended on it.
Her gaze skittered away before she spoke. “I believe you were not there at the time.”
She was prevaricating. She had a secret. And it involved Phillip. A cold certainty about their relationship invaded him and made him sick to his stomach. Though he did not want to know her answer, he asked in a hard voice, “Are you in love with him?”
Her gaze, roaring with fury, rose to clash with his. “How do you dream up such absurd notions?”
“You have not answered my question.”
“No, I am not in love with Phillip Jones. I consider him a good friend, that is all.” Her words came out fast and furious. “I view him much as I do your sister or your mother. I have no other interest in him. He does not provoke me. He does not make my blood roil. When I am not with him, I do not give him a second’s thought. I do not dream about him in my sleep. He does not stir my passions. He is not the least bit like you.”
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