“About what?” Chloe took a sip of her wine to conceal her wariness. Scarsdale couldn’t possibly know about the journal, could he?
“It’s about Lord Woodford.” Chloe relaxed a little, even though the subject still troubled her. “I cannot help but notice that you seem to enjoy his company.”
“Why would you presume such a thing?” she asked, setting her glass aside and reaching for her napkin.
“Because I’ve seen you with him on more than one occasion within the past few days.”
She dabbed at her mouth. “A coincidence, I assure you. He and I didn’t seek each other’s company. We just happened to run into each other by chance.”
“So you’re not interested in forming an attachment with him?” Scarsdale asked her carefully.
She waved her hand dismissively while trying not to think of how much she’d wanted Woodford to kiss her the night before. “You know where I stand. Nothing has changed.”
“I must confess that I’m relieved to hear it.” Raising his own glass, he fell silent while he drank. When he was done, he said, “Woodford is . . . not for you, Lady Newbury.”
This got Chloe’s attention. She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He’s always been very peculiar—mostly after his parents were killed. The incident had a profound effect on him.”
“I daresay it would have had a profound effect on anyone, Scarsdale. Woodford was just a boy when it happened.”
Scarsdale nodded. “I know. But that doesn’t mean that you should dismiss the man he’s become just because you pity the child.”
His expression was more serious than Chloe had ever seen it. “It surprises me that you, who is always so compassionate toward others, would say such a thing.”
“I just want you to be cautious where Woodford is concerned. He has always been a bit of an odd fellow.” He studied her a moment. “Do you know that he remembers everything he sees? Every little detail?”
“I do, and I think it’s quite remarkable really.”
“You won’t think so when he chooses to use it against you.”
Chloe frowned. “Are you speaking from experience?”
Scarsdale sighed. “Yes, but it’s not a fitting topic for me to discuss with a lady. I just hope that you will trust me when I tell you that Woodford can be unpredictable. I’ve seen him get angry, Lady Newbury, and it’s not an experience that I would like to have again.”
Recalling the discomfort she’d felt when Woodford’s calm demeanor had given way to quiet rage during their discussion in the Turkish salon a few days earlier, Chloe wasn’t sure what to think. Perhaps Scarsdale was right? “I know that you have my best interests at heart, so I will definitely take your advice into consideration. In the meantime, please rest assured that I have no intention of pursuing a deeper acquaintanceship with Lord Woodford.”
Scarsdale practically beamed. “Indeed, I am delighted to hear it.”
But when they alit from the curricle upon returning to Thorncliff and Scarsdale escorted Chloe back inside, the first person they happened to encounter, was of course, Woodford himself. “Lady Newbury and Lord Scarsdale,” he said, halting the moment he saw them. “I trust you had a pleasant outing?”
“We did,” Chloe said, more curious about him now than ever before because of what Scarsdale had said. She couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened between the two men.
“I’m glad to hear it.” He prepared to turn away.
“I see you have a book with you,” she said, not quite ready to let him leave. Ignoring Scarsdale’s immediate tug on her arm, she added, “May I ask what it’s about?” Woodford held it up for her to see and, pulling away from Scarsdale, she moved close enough so she could read the title. “Philosophie Zoologique. How interesting.”
“I doubt you’ll think so,” Woodford said.
“He’s right, Lady Newbury,” Scarsdale spoke as he came up beside her.
Tilting her head, she smiled at both gentlemen. “Why don’t we put that theory to the test? Scarsdale and I were planning to have tea on the terrace. Perhaps you would be kind enough to join us, Woodford, so that we can discuss the subject in greater detail.”
For a moment he looked skeptical.
“Come, Lady Newbury,” Scarsdale said, taking her by the arm once more. “I do believe we’ve taken up enough of the earl’s time. He clearly has other plans for the afternoon.”
“It’s nothing that cannot wait,” Woodford said, his dark eyes lingering on Chloe until her knees grew weak.
“You see, Scarsdale? His lordship is happy to accommodate,” she said, not liking the sound of her breathy voice one bit.
“Splendid,” Scarsdale clipped. He began leading Chloe through to the hallway that would take them out onto the terrace while Woodford followed behind.
“So what the author is saying, is that varying influences upon a species will result in different characteristics?” Chloe asked almost a full hour later. She’d moved to a chair that stood in the shade after the sun had begun beating down on her shoulders. The subject fascinated her, especially since Woodford had proven capable of relating the facts pertaining to it in a manner that had completely captivated her interest. Scarsdale hadn’t seemed nearly as eager to learn about Lamarck’s theories and had seemed very relieved when one of his friends had approached and asked him to join him in a game of cards.
“Precisely,” Woodford said, eying her with interest.
“I imagine the subject to be rather controversial,” Chloe said as she gazed out across the lawn where guests strolled and children played. Croquet and cricket appeared to be popular games of choice. “What’s your opinion on the matter? Do you agree with Lamarck’s views?”
Woodford’s gaze increased in intensity. It was almost as if he was trying to uncover the inner workings of her mind. “I find them fascinating,” he murmured, and Chloe practically forgot to breathe. The way he’d said it . . . it was as if he’d been speaking of something else entirely.
Unsettled by it and concerned with the knowledge that they were not only bonding over literature, but that she was finding his company more compelling than that of any other gentleman, including Scarsdale, Chloe tried to think of something inane to discuss—something that would help her retreat from the cliff she was presently approaching. There was also Scarsdale’s warning to consider. He was her friend so she felt obliged to take it seriously even though she didn’t know the specifics. “It certainly is a marvelous estate,” she therefore found herself saying quite out of the blue.
Woodford blinked, seemingly surprised by her sudden deviation from what they’d just been talking about. “So I gather.” His words were measured as he spoke.
“It’s very admirable, what Lady Duncaster is doing, sharing her home with all of us and allowing us to enjoy it’s grandeur.”
James allowed his gaze to settle on her more fully. He really couldn’t afford to spend precious time conversing with her—not after the disappointing discovery that the book he’d found the previous evening had contained nothing more than a few mundane notes. It hadn’t been the Political Journal, which meant that there was still a great deal of work for him to do.
Momentarily distracted by the gentle curve of Lady Newbury’s jawline, her high cheekbones and the perfect slope of her nose, James tried to focus on the new subject of their discussion even as he prepared himself to take his leave. “I came across its history once in a book on English castles. Apparently there used to be a moat in continuation of the lake. It was filled in during the seventeenth century when focus was placed on redesigning the gardens.”
“Spencer says Thorncliff was built by a knight during the twelfth century and that it used to be much smaller.”
James nodded. “It has also had some very distinguished guests over the years. Queen Elizabeth visited once on her tour of the co
untry, as did her father before her. Both considered Thorncliff a suitable location for an overnight stay.” He smiled slightly. “And then of course there was Edward the Second who, as he passed Thorncliff upon his return to England from exile, inquired if the Earl might be willing to offer him a cup of tea.”
“Really?”
“Upon my honor, it is the truth,” James said, “or at least it is what I have read.” Looking askance, Lady Newbury made a gesture with her hand that prompted James to turn his head. He immediately saw two young ladies approaching. “Your sisters?” he inquired, noting the resemblance.
Lady Newbury nodded as they drew closer. “Lady Emily and Lady Laura.”
James rose, greeting them both with a bow.
“May I present the Earl of Woodford,” Lady Newbury said as she too stood up. “He’s been regaling me with stories about Thorncliff and his love of literature.”
Both women smiled politely. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord,” Lady Laura said while Lady Emily seemed to study him with great intensity, as if attempting to memorize every detail about him.
Schooling his features, James forced himself to remain still, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. “Likewise,” he said.
“Oh!” The exclamation came from Lady Emily.
James frowned. Lady Newbury sighed with exasperation and Lady Laura gave Lady Emily a gentle nudge. “What is going on?” James asked, deciding that he might as well stop trying to deduce a quandary that seemed to defy all logic.
“Nothing of importance,” Lady Laura said, smiling sweetly.
“You have the perfect voice,” Lady Emily said, disregarding her sister’s comment and taking James completely by surprise. Beside him, he heard Lady Newbury groan—a sound he found oddly amusing under the circumstances.
“Perfect for what, exactly?” he couldn’t help but ask.
“For my hero,” Lady Emily explained.
“Your hero?” he asked, more baffled than ever by her answer.
She scrunched her nose. “But how can I describe it? Perhaps a little gruff or . . . or gravelly? Yes, I think that might work.”
James blinked. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of anyone likening his voice to the sound of gravel.
“Husky would be a better choice,” Lady Newbury said quietly. “Or, if you would like to add a nuance to it, you might consider mentioning an underlying rumble.”
Although he still had to figure out what they were talking about and how the sound of his voice had anything to do with it, James liked the idea that he’d captured Lady Newbury’s attention to such a degree that she was able to describe his voice in appealing and rather sensual terms. It was flattering, and he found that he could not help but straighten his back a little.
“Perfect,” Lady Emily agreed.
Lady Newbury turned toward him at that moment. “I hope you will forgive my sister, but she is presently working on a great romantic novel and has been struggling with inspiration for her hero. At least now, the poor man has a voice.”
“He’s hardly poor,” Lady Emily complained. “Mr. Cunningham is an extremely wealthy landowner with many grand houses to his name.”
“And your heroine?” James inquired, unable to resist posing the question.
“Well, until recently she was meant to be a young lady with a hoydenish disposition, but then I decided that it might be more interesting if she is an untitled young woman with few prospects, who accepts a position as housekeeper from Mr. Cunningham. Naturally, they end up seeing quite a bit of each other and eventually fall hopelessly in love.” Her voice turned dreamy as she spoke.
“The gentleman and the housekeeper? That is your story?” James could scarcely believe that a young, gently bred woman, would be writing such a scandalous tale or that her family would permit it.
“Lady Emily has a remarkable imagination,” Lady Newbury said while Lady Emily blushed and bit her lip. “I have no doubt that she will be just as famous as Miss Austen one day.”
Unable to agree with that statement, James chose not to comment.
“On a different note,” Lady Laura said, speaking up, “Lady Duncaster says that there is going to be a fair next month at the village. It’s a yearly event that takes place every summer and Thorncliff always has a stand there with preserves made from Thorncliff fruit. Lady Duncaster has asked for volunteers to gather apples and pears from the orchard so we have offered to help. We thought you might like to join us.”
“I’d be happy to,” Lady Newbury said with enthusiasm. “Would you care to come with us, Lord Woodford?”
He was tempted, for the sake of keeping Lady Newbury’s company a while longer, but he really ought to get back to his search for the Political Journal. Politely, he smiled at each of the ladies in turn. “Thank you, but I fear I must decline.” Tilting his head toward Lady Newbury, he said, “I’ve enjoyed our conversation today immensely and look forward to sharing your company again in the future.” Then, nodding toward her sisters, he said, “Ladies, it has been a pleasure,” upon which he took his leave and strode away toward the French doors that would take him back inside Thorncliff and to the task that awaited him there.
Chapter 6
“Lady Newbury, would you do me the honor of taking a walk with me?” The question, spoken by Scarsdale forced Chloe to turn in her seat. She’d been having luncheon with her sisters and had been hoping to leave their company soon in favor of continuing her search for the journal. This morning, she’d finally managed some time alone in the Turkish salon, but had quickly determined that it held nothing of interest.
“I found our outing yesterday most enjoyable,” Scarsdale added, “and was hoping that we might be able to spend more time together today. Indeed, I find that I miss your company when you’re not around.”
Fiona gave Chloe a meaningful look from across the table that Chloe chose to ignore. “I would love to,” she said, unwilling to repay the earl’s kindness with lies and deceit. “Allow me to finish my tea and I’ll come join you by the door to the conservatory.”
“I’ve wanted to explore this room since first arriving at Thorncliff,” Chloe said a short while later when she and Scarsdale followed the tiled path that wound its way between an array of plants. “It offers quite an escape, wouldn’t you say?”
“Absolutely.” His arm tightened slightly around hers as if he wished to anchor her to him. “But I don’t believe you need to escape quite as much anymore. You seem more . . . settled than before.”
“You may be right,” she agreed. “This past year has been very difficult, but I do feel as though I’m finally starting to heal—to let go and move on. You’ve been a tremendous help in that regard. I really cannot thank you enough.”
“Seeing you suffer like that . . .” They arrived at a small circular patio with a fountain in the center of it and four stone benches neatly spaced along the edge. “Had I known how Newbury treated you, I daresay I would have called him out myself.”
He wouldn’t have had the right to do so without implying a deeper connection to her. Consequently, his gallantry would have served no purpose but to damage her reputation and make things more difficult, but she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. Turning toward him, she placed her gloved hands in his. “You’ve always been so wonderfully kind, Scarsdale.”
“Which is why I would hate for you to think that there was any ill intent on my part yesterday when I mentioned my concerns about Woodford. I just want you to be wary, that is all.”
“I know,” she said. “You are a true friend.”
The edge of his mouth twitched. “I am hoping that I might one day be more than that.” His honesty made her draw back. “Don’t tell me that you’re surprised by this.”
She looked away, her mind trying to focus on all the moments they’d shared with each other—the comfort he’d offered and th
at she had so freely accepted. It had been a balm to her soul, more so because she’d found in Scarsdale a person in whom she’d been able to truly confide—a man who’d seen Newbury for what he was and who’d offered her his full support. “I must confess that I am. Completely.” It seemed illogical perhaps, considering how often he’d stopped by to check on her since Newbury’s passing, the rides they’d taken together, their museum visits and outings at Vauxhall Gardens—a long list of excursions that were meant to distract her from the pain her husband had caused. During that time, Scarsdale had put his own life on hold, had abandoned his search for a bride in favor of giving her his full attention. The truth hit her hard in the chest. “This . . . the time we’ve spent in each other’s company, has been a courtship.”
“Not officially, but—”
“With the goal of wooing me into marriage.”
Silence fell like a blanket of snow around them. “Eventually. Yes.”
Breathing became a sudden struggle—the heat in the room blending with the scent of wet soil almost suffocating. “I should have known.” Woodford had been right when he’d commented on Scarsdale’s high regard for her. “But so should you.”
His eyes widened with incomprehension. “What are you talking about? You have given me every reason to hope, Chloe!”
The bitterness with which he spoke made her wince, as did the use of her Christian name. She shook her head. “No. I have been very clear about what I want for my future. As I’ve told you countless times, most recently yesterday in the village, it does not include marriage.”
His eyes narrowed, the angry resentment of rejection sparking a glare. “And yet you continued to encourage my visits and my attentions.”
“As a friend!”
He shook his head. “Only a fool would be that blind.”
The worst of it was that she knew he was right. Her sisters had repeatedly commented on her acquaintance with him, discreetly inquiring if anything romantic might come of it. She’d stubbornly denied any such feelings on either part. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, but the apology fell flat. “What can I do to make things right between us?”
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