Charlotte sighed as we bounced home in our carriage. “I hope to one day marry a man as handsome as Mr. Bryce.”
“Perhaps you will,” I said. “Though finding a man of good character would be infinitely more practical.”
“What does practicality matter where love is concerned?”
I speared her with a look, considering how much I ought to share. I settled on an example that might reach her soul easier. “Do you remember Noah when he was younger?”
“Yes, though not well.”
Just as I thought. “He was once very kind and attentive. He taught me how to shoot an arrow properly and how to ride a horse. He was very concerned when his friend from the farm down the lane had mistreated me and called me names and defended my honor by requesting the boy meet him for a duel at sunrise.”
She gasped, and I shook my head, continuing. “They were eleven and nothing came of it, but he did care at one point. Vastly. It was after he went to London and found the gaming halls and friends who drank excessively that he changed. Where Father could enjoy a card game with a drink and promptly walk away, Noah could not stop himself.”
I watched out the window as we moved down the lane toward our own cottage. “During my Season in London, I was awake reading one night very late when he arrived home. He told me that he wished he could stop, but he did not know how. It had been shocking, and I’d pleaded with him to come away from Town with me, to rusticate in the country and get away from his friends. But he refused. It was only a week later that Mother and Father’s accident occurred and we were separated.”
“That explains it,” Charlotte said quietly. “When the doctor bid me to return home, I found a letter he’d written and left on his table. It was only addressed Sister, so I read the contents, but it made no sense to me at the time.”
My voice was hardly above a whisper. “What did it say?”
“Merely that it was an accident and he hadn’t meant for it to happen, but if he had only listened to you and removed to the country then all would be right.” She shook her head. “I’d heard the rumors that Noah was driving the carriage when Mother and Father died. I can only assume he was reckless and drunk and that letter was his apology to you.”
I could only assume that he’d written the letter out of guilt, knowing himself that his end was near, and knowing that I would understand his meaning.
Yet I wouldn’t have, not really, if Mrs. Bancroft hadn’t informed me of the gossip that circulated about him. I would likely never know how, but Noah clearly blamed himself for my parents’ death as much as Mrs. Bancroft had. Yet he had said that it was an accident.
Perhaps he had listened, after all. For he did rusticate, following their death, in the cottage he bought after selling the house we grew up in. It must have been his penance for himself.
The carriage stopped and Jimmy let down the step and helped us from the cab. I stopped in the road and looked up to the sky. If Noah was there, and he was watching over me with my mother and my father, I would like to think that he had been forgiven.
And I had forgiven him, too.
As I moved toward the house, I caught sight of a horse tethered to a tree not far away. It was one that I recognized from Mr. Bryce’s paddock, and my heart beat full hammer in my chest as I recalled the last time I had seen it—tied to the back of a retreating carriage. I stopped before the front door, stepping backward.
“What is it?” Charlotte asked, the front door swinging open behind her. Finn stepped aside for us to pass him but I could not move. Was he here? Had he waited for me inside my house?
“Mrs. Wheeler?” Finn asked, his white eyebrows pulled together in puzzlement.
I cleared my throat, glancing about me. I was sure that I looked like a frightened rabbit, but that was not very far off from how I felt.
“You’ve a guest in the parlor, ma’am.”
Confirmation seemed to root me in place and my throat dried up. What purpose did he have in being here? My mind reeled with possibilities and I squeezed my eyes closed to block out the thoughts—both good and bad—that came to me.
I only contemplated running for the woods a moment before hardening my resolve. I had to face him. And it would be better to do so in Charlotte’s company, surely, for then he would not say anything that I could not bear to hear.
I opened my eyes and jumped, unprepared to meet dark chocolate eyes and a head of unruly hair.
“Oh,” I said with all of the brilliance I possessed.
“Yes,” Lord Stallsbury agreed, closely regarding me. “Oh.”
Clearing my throat, I avoided his intent gaze. “Are you just leaving?”
“No,” he said simply.
“Will you come into the parlor?” I asked. “My sister would like to see you, I am sure.”
“I have already met with your sister, but I would like to come into the parlor, yes.”
I stepped past him hastily, avoiding touching him in the narrow doorway. When I arrived at the parlor I could not sit, my nerves dancing. I simply could not decipher why he would be in my small cottage. Whatever could he possibly need?
“Won’t you be seated?” I asked.
He stood near the doorway, holding his hat in his hands. He gestured to the sofa. “If you will.”
I crossed to the chair and lowered myself, watching him close the door and come to sit near me.
“Have you heard the news?” he asked. “Miss Pollard has married Mr. Peterson.”
Now that I had not predicted. “That was quick.”
Silence settled between us. I could handle the suspense no longer. He did not come here to exchange pleasantries, surely. I shot to my feet, moving farther away. “Whatever could you possibly need, my lord?”
“You, Mrs. Wheeler,” he said with all of the comfort and contentedness of a sure man. “I need you.”
I gawked. Surely, it was an attractive picture to behold, but I couldn’t help it. “Whatever can you mean?” I whispered, likely as much to myself as to the marquess.
He implored me with genuine eyes. “I made a mess of things the first time, I can see that now. My first mistake was in not telling you first and foremost that I am absolutely smitten with you.”
The first time? Smitten with me? I dropped into the chair near the window, my legs too wobbly to hold me up with any measure of confidence.
He continued, “It was not until I rode away that your words resonated with me. You had said that you would never again marry a man who did not return your regard. It puzzled and angered me, but on further recollection, I took it to mean that you did care for me on some level.”
I couldn’t nod; I couldn’t speak. I could only watch him.
“What did you mean?” he asked. “Please, end my ceaseless contemplation and simply explain yourself.”
I laughed, though I did not know why. My nervousness was forcing me to fidget and my restless fingers would not hold still. “I meant precisely what I said. I married once thinking myself in love with my husband. I did not realize until after the wedding that he was not at all who I thought he was. He did not love me, and he was prone to anger. It was a blessing that he was away for the war.” I stood, unable to sit any longer. “And I only recently discovered that he married me for my dowry. Though how he learned of it when I myself knew nothing of it is a mystery.”
“Likely from your aunt,” Lord Stallsbury said at once. “I know her but was never fond of the woman so I chose to say nothing about our acquaintance. We do not live very far from one another, though our circles do not mix often. She is a sniveling, selfish woman and would sell her own child for gain. I am sure she found a way to make a deal with your husband to get you married so quickly.”
I did not recall telling Lord Stallsbury anything about myself or the timeline of my wedding. He must have inquired on his own. I was unsure if the concept bothered me or not; I only felt strange. “There is simply too much to understand.”
“I know,” he agreed, coming to stand
near me in the bright sunlight of the front facing window. He did not attempt to touch me, for which I was eternally grateful. He was respecting my boundaries as he often had in the study at Bancroft Hill, gentleman that he was. When he spoke again his voice was low and steady. It captured me, compelling me to gaze at him. “There is a lot to take in at the moment, but the most important thing is that I love you, Eleanor. I love you dearly. I tried to forget you, to respect the distance you requested, but I found that I could not. It has been made abundantly clear to me in the course of the previous month that I very well cannot live without you.”
Tears smarted in my eyes and I blinked rapidly to push them away. It was a pretty speech, and the sheen in his own gaze was proof enough that he meant his words.
“And,” he continued, lowering his voice and stepping closer, “I would be lying if I did not mention that I long to hear you sing again.”
I laughed at the absurdity of his statement.
“I should be a happy man if I can hear your angelic voice for the rest of my days, for then I should truly have won.”
“I already won,” I reminded him, “and I have your horse outside to prove it.”
“That horse is Charlotte’s now. And if you agree to be my wife, then it is I who have won the finest prize of all.”
“My voice?” I inquired.
“No, darling. Your heart.”
There was nothing for it; I simply had to lean forward and kiss him.
* * *
Clapping met us at once and I jumped away from him, turning my hot cheeks toward the doorway to find Charlotte grinning there. “That was a pretty speech,” she said.
“Lottie, please leave,” I begged.
“But you have not even answered him,” she protested.
He grinned. “She is correct, you know.”
Turning my smile back toward the man that I loved, deeply, I said, “Yes, my lord, I shall marry you.”
“Tarquin, if you please.”
I could not help but grin. “Very well, Tarquin.”
His answering smile was short lived as he pulled me close and kissed me hard. My hands found the lapels of his coat and grasped them, holding on for dear life.
I’d never finished reading my gothic novel about the highwayman-turned-earl, but now I didn’t need to. My own highwayman ended up being enough of a happily ever after for me.
Epilogue
“Mr. Thornton, you’ve received a letter.”
Sighing, I slapped the cards on the playing table, turning frustrated eyes on my butler, Melville. Could he not see that I was in the middle of an important game? One more hand in my favor and I would win enough to pay off my vowels to Mr. James. I took the letter, requesting Melville to bring more ale.
“My apologies,” I said to Mr. James, flipping the letter to see who it was from. Lord Stallsbury. I could get to it later. I tossed it aside and turned my attention to the man across from me.
His eyes were sharp for a man so old. Particularly when considering how much he’d had to drink that evening.
Melville returned with more ale and we waited for him to leave before playing once more. I filled my glass, downing half the contents quickly. We flipped our cards and the drink sank to the bottom of my stomach, souring. I clamped my mouth shut. How would I recover from this?
“One more game?” I asked, hoping to sound nonchalant.
Mr. James scoffed, tossing his cards to the table. “You’ve nothing left to wager, boy.”
My eyes immediately sought the painting hanging on the opposite wall, over the older man’s white head of hair. My summer house, Thornville. Sarah would be livid. But what else could I do? We couldn’t very well pay all of my debts with the sale of the house anyway.
Either way, we were sunk.
“Perhaps I do.”
I’d grabbed his attention. He glanced at me under bushy white eyebrows, his side whiskers twitching while he chewed on his cheek. “What is it?”
“Thornville.”
He stilled, and I tried not to show my nerves.
“You’re serious, Thornton?”
I nodded.
“What’s the wager?” he asked.
“The house, for all of my debts.”
“Deal.”
I shook my head. “All of my debts, James. If I win, you pay off everything. If you win, you get my house.”
The older man tried to contain his smile and I knew I had him.
“Deal,” he said, this time with more pleasure.
A warning rang through my body but I paid it no heed. The ale had done nothing to blur my sensibilities, for I had drank a tenth of what I’d poured this evening for my friend. I could not find my practices unethical, for they were no worse than what I’d find in any gaming house in all of London.
The cards were shuffled and dealt, and there was a nervous energy about us as we played. My hopes rose with each new card and I found my heart beating a rapid succession in my chest. I’d dug this hole myself, but I was about to get Sarah and I out of this mess once and for all. It was time to quit the cards and focus on my estate. Once my debts were paid, that is.
I watched Mr. James check his cards, a slight twitch to his mouth that I’d come to learn was his tell. I froze, unsure if he was eager or displeased by what he’d drawn. Swallowing, I laid my cards face up, my breath shallow and infused with equal parts fear and excitement.
Mr. James locked eyes with me. “Your life is about to change, Thornton.”
He laid his cards and my world spun.
That was certainly an understatement. I let out a breath and closed my eyes. It was a done deal now, and there was no turning back.
* * *
If you enjoyed reading Eleanor and Tarquin’s story, check out the next book in the series, Love in the Wager
Next in the women of worth series
Love in the Wager
An arranged marriage. A tormenting neighbor.
When Lydia's father tells her he's obtained a husband for her, Mr. Thornton, she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. She had only met the man once before, and he had immediately left her stranded in a ballroom after asking her to dance. How could she marry a man who already deemed her forgettable?
Left without a choice, Lydia finds herself married soon after to Mr. Thornton, and she's immediately whisked off to his country estate, leaving behind everything and everyone she knows. Throwing herself into seeing to the needs of her new home, she determines to make herself useful and discover something she might have in common with her husband.
But when someone starts leaving threatening notes on their door, Lydia and her new husband must work together to determine who is in danger—and how they will save them.
Also by Kasey Stockton
Women of Worth Series
Love in the Bargain, Book One
Love for the Spinster, Book Two
Love in the Wager, Book Four
Love in the Ballroom, Book five
Stand-alone Historical Romance
A Duke for Lady Eve, Belles of Christmas Book 5
To Be Loved By the Earl
* * *
Contemporary Romance
Snowflake Wishes, A Holly Springs Romance
His Stand-In Holiday Girlfriend, Christmas in the City 1
Snowed In on Main Street, Christmas in the City 2
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About the Author
Kasey Stockton was drawn to the Regency period at a young age when gifted a copy of Sense and Sensibility by her grandmother. A staunch lover of all things romantic, Kasey doesn't discriminate between genres and enjoys a wide variety of happily ever afters. A native of northern California, she now resides in Utah with her o
wn prince charming and their three children. When not reading, writing, or binge-watching sappy chick flicks, she enjoys running, cutting hair, and anything chocolate.
Love At The House Party (Women 0f Worth Book 3) Page 20