The Old Maids' Club 02 - Pariah

by Catherine Gayle

  “Where my lady leads, I must follow,” Lord Devonport said jovially and followed behind her. How very odd to see him following Tabitha around like a lovesick puppy. They’d married several months ago, but Bethanne hadn’t seen them together in such a way.

  She shook the thoughts from her mind, then crossed her arms over her chest and frowned first at Lord Roman and then at Jo, then back again at the gentleman. She let out a sort of harrumphing sound, much as her mother used to do, before turning her back on them and making her way inside. The two of them could sort it out themselves. She had more important things to do.

  Once inside, Lord Devonport assisted Bethanne out of her redingote. She handed it to Mrs. Temple, who was waiting just inside the door, ready to do her bidding. “Can you let Joyce know we’ll need a fresh pot of tea? And more sandwiches.”

  Lord Roman and Jo came in several moments after her, the latter glowering and the former grinning like a loon.

  “A lot more sandwiches,” Bethanne amended. “And cakes.” This afternoon was turning into a very long one, indeed. Then she directed them all into the blue parlor, where Aunt Rosaline was still waiting in her red silk satin.

  “Oh, guests!” Aunt Rosaline cried, and Bethanne cringed at the looks of astonishment on Jo and Tabitha’s faces. She had warned them what to expect, but experiencing it firsthand was a different thing entirely than reading of it in a carefully worded letter.

  “I’m sorry,” Aunt Rosaline continued, reaching for the quill on the table beside her, “but have any of you seen Lieutenant Christopher Jackson on your way? I’ve been expecting him, and he’s rather later than he’d said.” Her voice wavered as it always did when she was in such a state, and she turned the quill over between her hands in such rapid succession that it was a wonder the thing didn’t break.

  Bethanne pressed her eyes closed and took a breath. Stay calm. She, at least, needed to remain calm.

  But then Lord Roman cleared his throat, catching Bethanne’s attention. Her eyes flashed open. Was he truly going to attempt to reassure Aunt Rosaline again? How had he not yet grown weary of such an occurrence?

  She had quite some time ago. But then again, she’d never been very good at it. Lord Roman seemed to have a certain knack for it, a calming air about him which Aunt Rosaline responded to—something Bethanne sorely lacked.

  “I must apologize for Lieutenant Jackson, my lady,” he said, proving himself once again to be more of a gentleman than almost any man of Bethanne’s acquaintance. “He’s been delayed and sends his regrets.” He spent a few minutes regaling her aunt with false stories of her beau’s bravery and the reason for his delay.

  It seemed to come so easily for him, like he didn’t have to think up such feats at all, but had actually seen the man performing them. But then again, he likely had seen them—just not involving Lieutenant Christopher Jackson.

  After Aunt Rosaline once again sat quietly and was no longer fiddling with the quill in her hands, Lord Roman turned to Bethanne and her cousins. He lifted a brow in amusement, so she turned to see what had caused such an expression to come over him. Lord Davenport was looking at him with the slightest hint of puzzlement and a great deal of admiration. Tabitha bore a smile bright enough to light an entire ballroom at night. Jo, however, eyed him through slits, her arms crossed over her chest almost in accusation.

  Unsurprisingly, she spoke first. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

  “Oh, for goodness’s sake,” Bethanne muttered. She couldn’t believe her cousin would verbally spar with the man after he’d just soothed Aunt Rosaline in such a way. “Jo, calm down, would you?”

  Lord Roman smiled over at her. Bethanne rolled her eyes in her cousin’s direction, which led to the gentleman chortling.

  Jo, however, did not appear amused. “Calm down? Bethie, I hardly think you of all people ought to be telling me to calm down when there is a strange man in the house. How much does he know?”

  Mrs. Temple came in before Bethanne answered, carrying a fresh tea tray. She set it on the sofa table and bustled away again before she could be stopped.

  “Excellent,” Tabitha said. “Let’s sit and discuss this over tea, shall we? Everything is better with a spot of tea.” She didn’t wait for them to respond. Instead, she took it upon herself to pour and distribute, nearly forcing Jo onto the sofa beside her with the force of her scowl. Lord Devonport took his position on her other side.

  Bother. Tabitha had rather inconveniently left Bethanne with no option but to join Lord Roman on the loveseat, especially since Aunt Rosaline was nodding into her near trance-like state again, and would not be moved from the Trafalgar chair.

  Once everyone had been served, Tabitha turned to Bethanne. “Now, why don’t you introduce us to your gentleman caller?”

  Bethanne almost choked on her tea. She pressed her eyes closed and took a breath.

  When she opened her eyes again, she turned to Lord Devonport and Tabitha. “Lord and Lady Devonport, might I introduce you to Lord Roman Sullivan? Lord Roman, my cousin, the Marchioness of Devonport and her husband, and my cousin Miss Faulkner.”

  She waved a hand toward Jo without looking at her, because Lord only knew what sort of faulty insinuations she might make.

  “Delightful to meet you all,” Lord Roman murmured before taking a sip.

  “Yes. Charmed,” Jo bit off.

  “Oh, bother, Jo,” Bethanne ground out with a scowl in her cousin’s direction. “Would it really pain you so terribly much to be polite to the gentleman for ten minutes?”

  “Sullivan?” Lord Devonport said, calmly interrupting them and steering the conversation to a new topic. Tabitha looked up at him with relief, and it was all Bethanne could do to keep from giving him an entirely inappropriate kiss on the cheek for his diversionary tactics. “Lord Herringdon’s son, then?” he pressed on.

  Lord Roman nodded. “You are correct.”

  “And he’s been lovely to assist us after Inwood left,” Bethanne rushed to interject, bewildered to find herself defending him to her cousin. What was wrong with her? “He repaired the fence. And you can see, Lord Roman has a way with Aunt Rosaline.”

  “I can’t help but wonder who else he might have a way with,” Jo muttered beneath her breath, though clearly loud enough for the entire room to hear. Bethanne shot her a look, and it was apparently Lord Roman’s turn to almost choke on the sip of tea he’d just taken.

  Lord Devonport nodded toward him. “That was very generous of you to send your men to repair the fence.”

  Lord Roman didn’t correct him. He just gave a bland, polite smile and kept quiet. Bethanne had to bite down on her tongue—literally, and quite hard, truth be told—in order to avoid rushing to his defense yet again and noting that he’d done all of the labor himself instead of sending servants to handle the chore.

  She had no idea what could have possibly come over her, but she was entirely certain she didn’t like it. Not at all.

  She particularly didn’t like the little flutters of awareness that were coursing through her limbs at his nearness. Not that he was doing anything to cause them—he was just sitting there. Yet the heat radiating off of him, and the crisp, outdoor scent of him, and the sheer presence of him kept her entranced.

  No, Bethanne didn’t like it at all. She wanted it to stop—wanted him to leave so she could be free to explain things to her cousins and gain their assistance with Uncle Drake. She wanted Aunt Rosaline to react in a similar manner with someone other than just him. And more than anything at the moment, she wanted Jo to stop staring at her like that—with her mouth slightly open, and that knowing, shocked look in her eyes, and that accusation hovering on her lips.

  But then Aunt Rosaline jerked her head up, staring over at them as though she’d never seen them before. “Oh! I didn’t know we were to have guests today. Tell me,” she said, leaning to the side to once again pick up her quill, “have any of you seen Lieutenant Christopher Jackson? I’ve been expecting him, you
see.”

  Lord Roman turned to face Aunt Rosaline more fully and launched, yet again, into another recitation.

  As he entertained her aunt with tales of her beau’s bravery and the reasons for his delay, Bethanne forced back the tears threatening at the moment. Now was not the time. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the softening expression on Jo’s face and the worry in Tabitha’s mouth.

  Later. She could explain things later. For now, she was just thankful that Lord Roman could reason with Aunt Rosaline, since no one else could.

  Tea went on like that for so long Bethanne lost track of time. When Lord Roman finished calming Aunt Rosaline for the fourth time that afternoon, he stood as though to excuse himself.

  He’d hardly arisen, however, when Lord Devonport also stood. “You’ll join us for supper?” It sounded more like a statement than a question.

  Bethanne cringed inwardly, then looked up at Lord Roman, fighting to contain the emotion she knew had to be pouring from her eyes. Of course, they ought to offer him a meal and much, much more in return for all he’d done for them. Yet she needed for him to leave.

  Blast if she couldn’t decide what she wanted him to do. Stay? Go?

  It was to her that he replied, “I will.”

  She released a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. He nodded at her ever-so-slightly, as though he somehow understood. How could he understand when she most assuredly couldn’t?

  “I must leave you for a bit, first, however,” he said. “There are a few responsibilities at Hassop House I must oversee, and then I shall return.”

  He was granting her the time without his presence she so desperately needed? Bethanne struggled to gather her wits about her again as he made his way out into the front hall, collected his coat and hat, and left. Lord Devonport saw to escorting him out and was gone for a few minutes, leaving Jo and Tabitha with Bethanne and Aunt Rosaline.

  Jo seemed none-too-inclined to allow her any such reprieve. “Well?” she said as soon as the door clicked to a close behind the two men. Her scowl could rival that of even the fiercest man alive.

  Where to begin? Bethanne took a breath, tried to slow her pulse, and began filling her cousins in on all of the happenings of the past few days.

  When Roman returned to the cottage, the housekeeper directed him into the parlor to await supper with Miss Shelton and her guests. The doors stood open. He started to knock in order to alert them to his presence, but held up short at the sharply indrawn breath coming from within.

  “You’ve got to stop him,” Miss Shelton said as emphatically as he’d ever heard her say anything—which was quite saying something, as nearly everything she’d said to him had been more than just slightly emphatic. “I don’t care what you have to do, but Isaac can’t come here. Not now, of all times.”

  “And when have you ever known anyone to stop Isaac from doing anything he’s set his mind to?” the haughty redhead responded. Roman could almost imagine the toss of her reddish hair as she said it.

  “Truly, Bethanne. We’ll do our best, but…”

  Several moments passed in silence, the tension thick and crackling even around Roman where he stood in the corridor.

  “But Isaac will not be deterred,” Miss Shelton finally finished.

  “I’m afraid not,” the marchioness replied.

  “And there is nothing you can do, Lord Devonport?” Miss Shelton said softly, with a hint of hope lacing her request. The combination of that and the resigned desperation in her tone was heart-wrenching.

  It shouldn’t be. Devil take it, he couldn’t allow himself to develop an attachment to this woman. It was bad enough that he’d agreed to take a daily tea with Lady Rosaline, thereby committing himself to being in Miss Shelton’s presence every day. He didn’t need the headaches she seemed to bring upon him.

  “I’ve asked you to call me Noah,” the marquess said, refocusing Roman’s attention to their conversation. “And while I’m part of the family now, I’m afraid your brother will not allow me to dissuade him.”

  Her brother? That was who this dreaded Isaac was? Roman shook his head. Why in God’s name would she not want her brother to visit? With all of the problems she was facing every day, one would think she’d be desperate for a brother’s assistance.

  “Isaac would listen to Jo before she’d listen to Noah, and we all know how likely that would be,” Lady Devonport added.

  “But,” Miss Faulkner said into the silence a moment later, “we’ll do our absolute very best to delay him as much as possible, and we’ll send word ahead when he’s on his way. That way, at least, you can prepare for his impending arrival.”

  Miss Shelton sighed heavily. “Very well. I suppose that is the best I can expect.”

  They fell silent again. Roman cleared his throat loudly and shuffled his Hessians along the Parquet floors, hoping to draw their notice. He didn’t want them to think he’d been listening in, despite the fact that he’d been doing that very thing.

  Devonport rose with a smile. “Sullivan. Glad you’ve rejoined us.” The marquess assisted the three cousins to their feet, and then said to no one in particular, “Shall we?” He led the ladies out into the corridor, but Lady Rosaline stayed resolutely on her chair.

  Roman couldn’t just leave her there. He waved the others on, and then stood before the older woman. “Might I escort you in to supper, my lady?”

  She looked up at him, her fingers plucking at the fraying edge of her red satin gown. “Thank you, sir, for the offer. But I’m waiting for my beau. Have you seen him? Lieutenant Christopher Jackson. He’s promised to return today, you see…”

  Such a tragic state of affairs. Someday, he’d discover what had truly happened to her lieutenant. But for now…

  “I’m sure he would not want you to go hungry, ma’am. Won’t you join us?” He held out an arm for her to take, hoping she would settle for him again.

  “Oh, but I…” Lady Rosaline shook her head, her mouth opening and closing as she searched for something to say. Finally, she placed a hand on his arm. “Very well. I don’t suppose it will hurt anything.”

  “Indeed,” Roman said. He led her off after the others, ignoring the awed look Miss Shelton gave him before she turned away and scurried after Lord Devonport. “In fact,” Roman continued when they moved past the front door, as he felt Lady Rosaline’s hesitation, “I’m quite certain that Lieutenant Jackson will be informed to join us in the dining room, should he arrive while we are still eating.”

  “Oh, he will?” She sounded almost giddy, like a green girl at her first ball. “I suppose it will be all right, then.”

  Roman assisted her into her seat amidst the cacophony of the three cousins gaining theirs. He ignored the arguments taking place behind him, focusing instead on taking care of the lady he’d adopted as his own charge for the evening. She smiled up at him with such genuine happiness that, at that moment, he would have done anything for her.

  Lady Rosaline patted him on the back of his hand. Before he recognized what she was doing, she pressed something into his hand and winked. “You left this here, sir. I’ve been meaning to give it back to you.”

  For a moment, he stood there, baffled. He shook his head and started to return whatever it was to her, but Lord Devonport cleared his throat loudly. “Are we all settled then?”

  When Roman turned, he realized he was the last member of the supper party standing. He hastily took the chair left to him by the others—directly next to Miss Shelton—and stuffed the item Lady Rosaline had handed him into his coat pocket, right next to his glass vial. It would be safe there, until such time as he could return it to Miss Shelton without Lady Rosaline’s notice.

  Miss Shelton gave him a half frown, then looked decidedly down at her empty plate.

  Lady Devonport, however, smiled across the table at him and winked, trying to hide the action behind sipping from her sherry. “Bethanne tells us you’re serving as the steward over Hassop House, Lord Roman.”
>
  Miss Faulkner served herself a spoonful of roasted carrots, then plunked the dish down directly in front of him, eyeing him with a challenge. “And yet you’ve still had time to visit her every day.”

  He couldn’t very well let her challenge go unaccepted, though he had no earthly idea what her aim was. “What sort of gentleman would I be,” Roman responded thoughtfully, “if I did not visit Lady Rosaline as she’d asked me to do? I could not very well disappoint the lady.”

  “Nor could you disappoint yourself,” she retorted. “You seem quite cozy here at Round Hill, like you’re making yourself at home.”

  An inexplicable frisson raced through him at that. He pushed it aside as quickly as it had come. “If Miss Shelton finds my presence unacceptable, she is more than welcome to ask me to leave.” Upon that pronouncement, he turned to Miss Shelton to see her reaction.

  She finished chewing her bite of mutton, swallowed, and then looked up at Miss Faulkner with a raised brow.

  Roman had to bite back a shout of victory. She had no intention of asking him to leave, no matter what her snippy cousin thought of the situation.

  As he cut a piece of asparagus on his plate, a thought struck him. Wouldn’t he, perhaps, be better off if she would order him away? Then his life could go back to no more than the normal complications he’d come to expect.

  So why did the thought of such a thing taking place leave him unsettled?

  After the dark walk from the stables to the dower house that night, Roman locked the door behind him and made his way into the bedchamber. He closed and bolted that door as well, and then started to change out of his clothing. Try as he might, he couldn’t remove the thoughts of Miss Shelton and Lady Rosaline from his mind—for that matter, he couldn’t stop thinking of her cousin, Miss Faulkner.

  Clearly, Miss Faulkner didn’t trust him. It felt odd that Miss Shelton was beginning to do so, as she’d been so very withdrawn around him. Yet with her relatives, she’d acted in an almost protective manner around him.