She was looking at him too. While the others tucked into their breakfast, Miss Wright sat very straight and still and watched him, her cool gaze unreadable.
Emotion hit him, fierce and powerful, too potent to deny. It was desire, yes, and yet more—an ache, a hunger to know every detail about the woman his aunt had chosen as her companion. To know her history, her preferences, her desires and fears, the shape and texture and flavor of every inch of her. To ask about the mother she missed as he did his own and the father who’d shared her love for clutter. He wanted to see her smile again, as she had in the library, artlessly and without a hint of guile. Had he ever wanted anything more?
Yes. Just one thing. To do his duty to his father, whether he’d ever mend the rift between them or not. To protect his family name and pass it on to Dunthorpe sons and grandsons. It was the one purpose his mother had instilled in him before she’d left Hartwell and taken all of the light and laughter with her. Despite his father’s ill treatment, the arguments and accusations between them, she’d loved him. She’d never allowed Lucius or his siblings to speak a cross word about their father in her hearing. And she’d never let him forget that whatever his father said in fits of anger, Lucius was Maxim Crawford’s son, and that meant duty to the man as well as to the estate. And now he was his heir, the man upon whose shoulders the future of Hartwell and the earldom rested.
Holding fast to that purpose, he forced himself to move, to look away from Jessamin and break the connection between them, tangled threads of admiration and attraction that seemed to bind him to a woman he’d wanted from the first moment he’d seen her stomping toward him. But she possessed none of the qualities he required in a wife. Or rather, she did not possess the one thing he needed most—funds to repair Hartwell and restore it to its former glory.
Lucius took one step, two, and was finally free of the room. There was no use insisting his aunt send her back to London. Whether she was here or there, he knew her moss green eyes would haunt him for the rest of the day, if not the rest of his life.
Chapter Sixteen
“HARTWELL IS QUITE impressive, Lord Grimsby. Just divine. How kind of you to invite me.”
May Sedgwick spun around in a circle, taking in Hartwell’s grand entry hall from every angle. She looked like some rich confection in an elaborate bustled day dress of pink and white stripes, her black hair arranged in elaborate, tight curls and coils about her head, and her cheeks glowing as if she’d just come upon them after a vigorous stroll across the meadow. Her eyes were a uniquely bonny shade of blue, but they were busy, darting everywhere, examining everything, from the cornice along the top of the wall to the flower arrangements bursting from vases at her side.
Lucius didn’t bother quibbling over the fact that it was actually his aunt who’d invited her. After all, Augusta had merely been acting on his behalf. And Miss Sedgwick came on with enough force and enthusiasm that he couldn’t find it in him to disagree with her about anything. He imagined few did.
“My goodness, look at the paintings!”
She spoke as if she had an audience, or was used to having one. His aunt was long familiar with the fresco on the ceiling of Hartwell’s main hallway, but she managed to look as if she was seeing it anew.
“It is marvelous, isn’t it? How lovely it is to see Hartwell through your eyes, Miss Sedgwick. Your enthusiasm is contagious.”
The young woman continued to gaze about as she approached him and lifted her hand for his polite attentions. He took it, a small, dainty thing encased in lace. It seemed far too fragile an appendage to form a part of the formidable woman before him.
He bent to place the expected kiss on the back of her hand and then gazed at her face, but she had yet to meet his eyes. Her gaze was directed over his shoulder.
“Miss Sedgwick, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you.” He kept hold of her hand as he spoke, hoping to secure at least a bit of her attention.
“And you, my lord.” She leaned down in a motion that approximated a curtsy and then pulled away from him. She moved her body toward the object that held her interest, a large, ornate vase that occupied a nook in the wall.
“Is it Chinese? It’s extraordinary.”
Lucius gazed at his aunt, trying to signal for help. She knew the knickknacks as well as he did. Better, in fact. She’d grown up at Hartwell, while he’d spent half of his youth exiled with his mother’s family in Scotland. He’d noticed the vase rarely and had neither a notion nor a care for whether it came from the Orient or Arabia or any other corner of the world.
“Yes, I believe it is. Are you a connoisseur, Miss Sedgwick?”
“I am becoming one. Father has asked me to find pieces for his museum.”
Lucius had never been interested in collecting anything, though his father loved to catalog and gather.
“Starting one’s own museum seems an enormous undertaking.” Lucius saw Augusta’s eyebrows arch disapprovingly and added, “And admirable.”
“Oh, nothing scares my father. He can do anything at all. He certainly has the money for it, and he has more energy than most men half his age.”
It sounded like a good deal to live up to.
“Lucius is undertaking repairs to Hartwell.”
Though he knew his aunt was attempting to increase his appeal, Miss Sedgwick looked far from impressed. Then her bright blue eyes grew large and she shrieked with such volume Lucius had to restrain himself from covering his ears.
“My heavens, no! It’s perfect just as it is. Please, do let it be. If it crumbles, it will only make it more romantic. Don’t you think? Like something out of one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s gothic novels.”
She beamed then, smiling as if pleased with herself and everyone, everything around her. Lucius couldn’t deny her expression’s potency, something akin to being warmed by a ray of sunlight on one of Berkshire’s many cloudy days.
“Jessamin, my dear, do come and meet Miss Sedgwick.”
In an instant Lucius went from the lazy pleasure of being warmed by the sun to every sense heightening in awareness of Miss Wright’s presence. She’d entered the hall from the stairwell behind him, and he found it no loss to turn away from Miss Sedgwick and gaze at her.
As she approached, walking past him, not even sparing him a glance, she wafted her floral scent in her wake and lifted her hand in greeting to Miss Sedgwick.
“Miss Wright is my companion. I thought she could show you to your rooms and see to anything you might need before you meet the other guests.”
Miss Sedgwick ignored Jessamin’s extended hand, choosing instead to take her in a quick embrace and place a kiss on each of her cheeks.
Lucius could see Miss Wright’s face bloom and pink at the American girl’s effusiveness, but she smiled with genuine warmth at Miss Sedgwick.
“Perhaps you wish to rest after your long journey, Miss Sedgwick.”
Jessamin’s rich voice was such a striking contrast to Miss Sedgwick’s higher pitch and broad American accent, Lucius found himself soothed by the sound of it. And he hadn’t even realized he was in need of soothing.
Though Miss Sedgwick’s charms were potent—and she clearly knew it—they were a bit much all at once, like a long quaff of liquor that gives powerful momentarily pleasure only to be followed by drowsiness and regret.
“Nonsense! I wish to move and breathe a bit of this fresh English country air. Would you give me a tour of the grounds, Miss Wright?”
“I’ve only just arrived a few days ago myself. I am afraid I’m not—”
“Pish posh. We shall explore together. Come, dear.”
May grasped Jessamin’s hand and began tugging her along.
“We shall see you both at afternoon tea, yes?” Miss Sedgwick called back as she headed for the front door.
Lucius had to remind himself that he was the host and Miss Sedgwick the guest, though it was clear the young woman was used to all around her dancing to whatever tune she set.
Jessamin cast a
glance back at his aunt, a question in her eyes.
“Shall we take Castor and Pollux, my lady?”
The two pugs sat at their mistress’s feet, warily watching every move the colorful Miss Sedgwick made.
“No, you two ladies go on. We shall look forward to your return within the hour for tea and luncheon.”
As he watched Miss Sedgwick pull Jessamin along behind her as if she was leading the tour despite having arrived at the estate only minutes before, he had an urge to follow. If anyone accompanied Jessamin around Hartwell’s grounds, it should be he. He wanted to be the one to show her the estate, his favorite paths through woods, and the pond on the other side. And he wanted to take her out to his mother’s favorite spot on the grounds again, a copse of alder trees she’d planted from seeds brought from her family’s estate in Scotland, the place where he sometimes talked with her as if she was listening and might advise him.
His mouth tickled and twitched a moment before he gave in to a grin at the memory of Miss Wright finding him at the spot and accusing him of talking to himself as her father used to do.
“YOU MUST TELL me all the gossip about the viscount, Miss Wright. And you must call me May. Should I call you Jessamin or do you prefer something else? Jessie, perhaps?”
Jess had never met a more forward young woman in her life. Her first thought was that she would be a powerful member of the Women’s Union. Though Alice usually gave the speeches she wrote and had plain-speaking appeal, Jess could only imagine the impact of a speech delivered by the charismatic Miss Sedgwick.
“Call me Jess.” It was a nickname only her father and friends at the union had used, but she felt a surge of affection for May Sedgwick. The young woman’s openness encouraged openness, yet Jess feared she’d disappoint her in terms of gossip. The notion of discussing Lord Grimsby—Lucius—a man who stirred reactions in her she had yet to sort out for herself—was impossible. She’d learned virtually nothing about him since arriving at Hartwell, unless one counted his favorite author as a revelation, and she had yet to meet the earl. She certainly couldn’t tell her about the incident in Mayfair. “I fear I don’t know much gossip to tell.”
May quirked a disappointed moue. “Are you not long acquainted with Lord Grimsby?”
“No, not at all.” A flutter in her throat as she spoke the words made Jess cringe. Was she acquainted with the viscount? Considering each of their encounters, she realized an explanation would be difficult, even if she wasn’t attempting it with the man’s prospective betrothed. The facts. She clung to them as the only truth she knew for certain. Her feelings were far too messy to sift. “I just entered his aunt’s employ a month ago.”
“Ah, well surely that’s long enough for you to have heard about his mistress.”
Jess stumbled though the path before them was clear.
May tugged her close. “Careful, Jess.”
“Mistress?” No. It couldn’t be true. Would a man with a mistress have kissed her as he had? Looked at her as he had?
May made a tsking sound with her tongue. “Imagine my shock. I’d never heard a sour word about the viscount. Papa had one of his Pinkerton men look into Lord Grimsby’s business dealings. Nothing scandalous at all, though it’s clear the Dunthorpe wealth has gone threadbare over the years. But that’s all right. Papa has heaps of money. Yet the moment I agreed to come to England to meet the man, practically assuring his aunt I would marry him . . . Well, one moment I’m replying to Lady Stamford’s invitation and the next I hear the viscount has a mistress.”
Jess imagined the viscount with another woman—kissing another woman, embracing another woman, entangled with another woman. The thought made her stop in her tracks. May took her actions as shared outrage and released her arm. The diminutive American assumed an angry stance, her lace-gloved hands settled on the curve of her tiny waist. Jess noticed the pink ribbon at the wrist of Miss Sedgwick’s gloves perfectly matched the pink stripes in the fabric of her fashionable gown.
“Yes, my reaction exactly. And apparently she doesn’t even have the discretion those sort of women are known for. She’s a brazen thing. Walked right up to him in public and claimed his mouth. As if she had a right to do so!”
Me. She’s talking about me.
Jess swallowed the words on the tip of her tongue, stifling the impulse to defend her actions or explain. There was no need. May hadn’t a clue she was the woman who’d accosted Lord Grimsby, and Jess hated that she might learn the truth one day.
Should she tell it all now? Explain her reasons—motives that had nothing to do with desire.
But such a claim only explained that first kiss. How could she explain the way she’d reacted when he’d carried her to the sitting room? Did desire have anything to do with how much she’d yearned for his kiss? Yes.
From the moment she’d opened her eyes late in the morning, head throbbing from too much wine and the horrible things she’d blurted out at dinner, Jess had known that whatever he’d said to her, whatever had passed between, she wanted his kiss. And when the memories came back, the realization he’d not taken her lips as she’d hoped he would, the skin of her forehead, her cheek, even the tip of her nose, tingled as she recalled the heat of his mouth against her skin.
And she’d wanted his kiss in the library, when she’d glimpsed the man behind the frown, a man with nothing of the grim nature for which Kitty claimed he was known.
“To tell you the truth, I can’t imagine him kissing anyone at all.”
Jess tensed at May’s emphatic judgment and prayed her expression gave nothing away.
“What makes you say so?”
“Well, he’s very dour, isn’t he? The man didn’t smile at me at all.” May looked at Jess expectantly. “Most men are happy to see me. Why isn’t he? He should be. Don’t you think? If I’m to marry him.”
Jess thought back to all of her encounters with Lord Grimsby and couldn’t recall a single instance of a true smile, just the grin she’d been privy to in the library. She wanted to see it, Lucius filled with happiness so immense that it burst into his expression. Then realization came, a fizzing awareness that she wanted to be the cause. But it wasn’t her place. Such looks should be for Miss Sedgwick. She was certainly lovely enough to attract any man.
“I’m sure he will. I don’t think he’s a man who smiles easily.”
“Then why would anyone wish to marry him?”
“Is smiling so important?”
May beamed at the question, the expression softening her face, tipping her cerulean eyes, and revealing dimples on each side of her cheeks. It was a dazzling reminder of the power of smiles.
“Of course it is. Papa says laughter is the very best medicine and laughs all the time. I couldn’t love a man who never laughs. And he says that a pleasant expression is a businessman’s most essential tool. It can invite, convince, or reassure.”
Her conviction and exuberance were unassailable and Jess imagined May could be as successful an entrepreneur as her father, if she put her mind to it.
“Do you plan to start a business?”
For a moment May’s merry expression faltered, her grin fading and long lashes fluttering down as she tipped her head.
“I’m a woman. Papa says marriage is my business.”
Then she lifted her gaze to look at Jess. “And I cannot marry a man who does nothing but grimace.”
“I’m certain you can make him smile, May.”
And Jess was certain. May smelled like roses and exuded an infectious liveliness. Like Kitty Adderly, she possessed a delicate beauty, the sort of porcelain perfection Jess had only ever seen in art or fashion magazines.
“Well, now I’m not at all certain I wish him to. There’s worse than just a mistress.”
“Worse?”
May wasn’t smiling anymore.
“Madness.” May whispered the word.
This claim of madness was the same Jess had heard from Tilly and Rachel in the carriage on the way to Hartwell
. She wondered at the cause of the rumors. And she couldn’t help but wonder about Lord Dunthorpe. She’d yet to meet him or see the man anywhere about the estate. Did Lord Grimsby hide his father away because he was mad?
“Who told you such a thing?”
“Oh, everyone. I attended a ball in London before coming to Hartwell, and the ladies were quite dire in their warnings to me. Lord Grimsby is so rarely in society and his father not at all. Not for years. And the mother, Lady Dunthorpe . . .” May leaned toward Jess, looking back and forth over her shoulder as if they might somehow be overheard, though they stood alone in a leaf strewn meadow. “She died in a quite unexpected carriage accident.”
“I suspect all carriage accidents are unexpected.”
Gossip was odious and Jess bristled on Lord Grimsby’s behalf that the loss of his mother should be recalled for any reason other than the grief it must have caused.
Surely, it was a tragic accident and nothing more. Jess thought back and couldn’t recall Lady Stamford ever mentioning her sister-in-law, but surely if there had been some crime, some suspicion, the countess would have made mention of such a thing. Lady Stamford reminisced about her family often—her brother, her nephews, and her late husband.
“I can’t believe any of it, Miss Sedgwick. Rumors are insidious and we often speculate wildly about what we don’t know for certain.”
May reared back a step at Jessamin’s formality and perhaps at the implication that she preferred rumor to fact.
“Have you met Lord Dunthorpe during your time at Hartwell?”
“No, I’m afraid I haven’t. Lady Stamford and I arrived just yesterday.”
“Well, then I suppose you’re as curious as I am.”
Jess thought back to the moments when the countess mentioned her brother. She’d indicated that the earl was unwell and spoke of her concern for him but never offered any other details. Whatever the gentleman’s illness, perhaps it explained his son’s serious nature. Her father’s last days were still fresh in her mind. Worry for him had certainly sapped her, physically and emotionally.
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