by Allison Lane
Richard frowned. While the history was interesting, it did not answer the question of why Gareth had wanted Winter House so badly that he had tried to force the Wingraves out. While it was true that it had once been part of his own estate, it had been sold long before Tallgrove came into his branch of the family. So why?
He pulled out Gareth’s cryptic notes and again read them. But there was no hint. Perhaps the man’s obsession really had grown from his love for Lucinda.
Putting the papers away, Richard stared sightlessly out the window, frustrated beyond belief. He hated mysteries. He hated dishonor. And he hated stupidity.
Which diverted his thoughts to his latest encounter with Miss Wingrave. He had displayed both dishonor and stupidity, precipitating an end to their short-lived truce that he could only regret. He had enjoyed her companionship in Exeter. It wasn’t often that he found someone who shared his enthusiasms.
He cringed at his own unthinking arrogance. His charges had been blatantly absurd, arising from terror over Ozzie and a stubborn refusal to accept culpability. Who could blame her for ringing a peal over his head?
* * * *
Penelope was also ruing her latest encounter with Lord Carrington, and not just because he posed a danger to Winter House. She should not have erupted so harshly. Fool … stupidity … stay off. Her cheeks burned. No matter how serious his transgressions, her castigation had fueled his understandable anger. She should have been more diplomatic about pointing out his faults, but she had been so terrified to find him under attack and so relieved that he was not seriously injured that she had lost control of her temper.
But relief had not been the only cause – she exchanged greetings with Mrs. Peccles, left the newly picked vegetables in the kitchen, then headed for the barn. Carrington’s persistent prying into Winter House affairs had hurt deeply. The truce had been his idea. Now she knew it was a ploy. He had turned on his charm in Exeter, treating her with respect and eliciting her help until she had voiced her most secret fantasies. Then he had betrayed her by revealing that nothing had changed. Fury at her own gullibility had fueled her rage. She could not trust him, but neither could she excuse her own wretched tongue.
And so she owed him an apology. Again. She sighed as she scattered corn for the hens. How could one man succeed in oversetting her control so often? She had been trapped in a maelstrom of emotion since the moment they had met.
* * * *
Dusk was gathering when Michael found a euphoric Penelope in the bookroom. “What happened?”
“We got a new customer for the pottery.” Her eyes sparkled. “Look at this! It will nearly double our production.”
“Wonderful! But will that not take too much of your time?”
“We will need two additional workers, but the pottery will show a solid profit at last. Perhaps you will be able to go to university after all.”
“First we must redeem your Shakespeare. And set aside Allie’s dowry. There will be time later to discuss the university. I still have to finish Eton,” he reminded her, refusing to get his hopes up.
Despite his words to Terrence, he longed for the freedom to choose his course for himself. School was where gentlemen acquired the friends and contacts that would last them a lifetime. His breeding was good enough to move into society, but he lacked both money and introductions. Yet attending Oxford would force Penelope to carry the entire load for another four years. It wasn’t fair. She had already sacrificed too much for him.
He returned his mind to business. Ever since meeting Terrence, he had been nagged by the certainty that he could improve his family’s finances. When the usual thinking produced no new ideas, he let his mind wander into the realm of fantasy. But one possibility did not seem so fantastic. And so, with Penelope’s encouragement, he had spent the afternoon poking about the oldest of the attics. They had never examined this particular room, and he hoped to find something they could sell. In addition to Alice’s dowry, they needed a nest egg to protect against fluctuations in prices, inclement weather, and bad luck. The Wingraves had lived on the edge long enough.
“What is that?” She pointed to his hand, pulling his attention back to the bookroom.
“I have no idea but hoped you might know. I moved some other things into the guest room.”
“What?”
“A trunk full of fabric that appears to be in good condition; several vases, though I have no way of knowing if they are quality or not; a suit of armor—”
“Heavens! I had no idea we had one. That will certainly be worth something if it is in good condition. The latest rage is to display armor, but many people don’t own any. When I was pawning Shakespeare, Mr. Jenkins claimed that the price of medieval armor was rising rapidly.”
“That sounds encouraging. And there are several pieces of china, though little of it matches.”
“I will look at it later. For now, let’s see what you have here.”
“It was in a trunk, but I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The apparatus consisted of two poles, each three feet long. The copper sheath protruding from the end of one allowed them to be joined into a single rod. A wooden wheel five inches in diameter was attached near the tip of the other. Protruding from one side of its rim were five evenly spaced pegs.
“Most peculiar,” she agreed. “You say it was in a trunk?”
“Tucked into the bottom under a stack of old clothes. The moths had been in there, by the way.”
“They must be old indeed if the camphor balls have gone. Was there any indication of its age?”
“None. The clothes were so tattered I could not even discern their original form. And the trunk itself showed signs of moisture damage. It had been pushed well back into a corner.”
“Was the roof leaking?”
“Not that I could tell. The damage did not look fresh. What should I do with this?”
She shrugged. “Set it in the guest room. I cannot throw it out until I know what it is. It may have some value. Mr. Jenkins has some rather quaint tools on display. If we can divine a purpose for this thing, perhaps he will buy it.”
Chapter Fifteen
Richard stepped out of the carriage, then turned to assist Millicent.
“Thank you for escorting us to the assembly,” she murmured, dimpling prettily. She was making a visible effort to behave this evening.
“You are welcome, but remember that the end of deep mourning does not mean that you can throw propriety to the winds,” Richard reminded her. “You will dance only the more sedate sets and will refer to your father with respect and to your mother with sympathy.”
He was already having second thoughts about allowing his wards to attend. Millicent in particular had no business displaying her disreputable manners to the world. And yet he found excuses to condone this treat – it was a last fling before addressing the serious business of harvest and study; they deserved an outing after three months of mourning; it was a necessary carrot to ensure compliance to his wishes. He ignored the fact that he was looking forward to the evening on his own account. Attending balls had never been a favorite activity, especially country assemblies.
Aunt Mathilda had gone into strong hysterics over the dishonor to Gareth’s memory, raging at length over his callousness and his unsuitability to act as her children’s guardian. She had even accused him of promoting liaisons between Terrence and Alice and between Millicent and Darksmith.
Millicent had greeted the news that she would soon attend Miss Atherton’s Academy for Young Ladies with a lack of enthusiasm that had only hardened his resolve to see her safely ensconced in that institution. And she had again aroused his suspicions. Not until after he had agreed to attend the assembly had she accepted the idea of school. Was she in touch with Darksmith?
It was possible. The man had arrived in Plymtree three days before, but was paying no attention to the locals. Instead he had established a pattern of sleeping all morning before disappearing for the rest of the day a
nd most of the night. No one had seen him near Tallgrove, but Plymtree was only ten miles away.
Yet Millicent’s agreement was not Richard’s only surprise. Terrence had found him in the library shortly after luncheon. Instead of pestering him over Alice, the boy had asked detailed questions about Scott’s defalcations and the present condition of the estate. He had seemed genuinely interested, but that was hard to believe. This was the same young man who had poutingly refused to discuss anything until Richard agreed to his betrothal. The changed attitude could only be a ploy to soften his antagonism.
Which reminded him of the apology he still owed Miss Wingrave. He finally admitted that he looked forward to delivering it. Perhaps he would even dance with her, though his bruises throbbed at the very thought. He had refused to call in a doctor, not wanting to admit his idiocy. Nothing could be done for the ribs except wrapping anyway.
But her flashing blue eyes as she delivered that well-deserved set-down disturbed him even more than his injuries. The termagant had looked delightfully enchanting as she raked him over the coals, her auburn hair flaming in the sunlight. This quivering expectation when he thought of seeing her again was more than the lust that still assaulted him every time she drew near. He shivered.
Her disrespect for his title and position never ceased to annoy him, yet that fact irritated him even further. He had complained repeatedly about the fawning maidens and toadying gentlemen who forever tried to catch his eye, his support, or his hand in marriage. Their inability to see past his title and wealth had driven him from his mother’s latest party. So why was he complaining about the one person who judged him solely on his own actions?
Because she saw too far beyond his title and wealth, he admitted grimly. She exposed his flaws and held them up to his face, accompanied by impossible challenges.
He sent his wards inside while he spoke to the coachman, but lost his train of thought when he spotted Miss Wingrave similarly engaged. She was beautiful. For the first time since they had met, she was dressed in a gown that fit. Sapphire silk that matched her eyes clung as she moved, alternately hiding and revealing her legs, teasing his senses into choking desire. Though demure for London, her neckline drew attention to her generous bosom, her glowing skin set off by a single strand of pearls. Tendrils of hair escaped a careless knot, daring his fingers to touch their fire. Abandoning his coachman without a word, he crossed the yard to her side.
* * * *
Penelope settled into the seat of their ancient carriage and turned a smiling face to her siblings. “It has been long since I last attended an assembly, but it is an excellent way to wind up your visit, Michael. I only wish you could get home more often.”
“In time.” The end of summer had been bittersweet since he started formal schooling. Aside from being separated from his family, he missed the camaraderie of the harvest.
They rode in companionable silence for some time before drawing up before the King’s Arms. “Mind your manners,” Penelope reminded the others as they climbed down from the carriage. Sending them ahead, she exchanged a few words with Josh, their coachman for the night.
“Good evening, Miss Wingrave.”
She looked up, surprised to find Lord Carrington barely two feet away. “I suppose this means Terrence is here.”
“Did you expect him to stay home?”
“The Averys have never stooped to attending public assemblies,” she said with asperity, her tone condemning such arrogance. “But Alice hoped he would come.”
“And so he did.” Richard tried to make his voice more congenial. “He will return to Oxford next week. Dancing tonight will not hurt them.”
“I suppose not.”
“I owe you an apology for castigating you yesterday. And for trespassing. I meant no harm by it and spoke the truth about my motives. It was only curiosity. Ostriches are strange creatures and make fascinating watching.” He offered his arm to escort her inside.
“They do at that,” she agreed. He flinched when she misstepped in the cobbled yard and bumped his shoulder. “It would seem that Ozzie punished you quite thoroughly for doing more than look. I trust nothing is broken.”
“Not that I know of, but I wish you had not added insult to injury by ripping me up.”
“That was a deliberate attempt to save you further embarrassment.”
“What?” Too late he noted the twinkle in her eyes.
“Admit it. By the time you escaped, your knees were shaking so badly you could hardly stand, your face was whiter than your cravat, and you were in imminent danger of swooning. If I had not stimulated your anger, you would have collapsed at my feet. But perhaps I erred. So humbling an experience might have done you some good.”
He burst into laughter. “Doing it too brown, Miss Wingrave. Your own face was every bit as white, and I venture your knees were just as unsteady. Shall I claim to have saved you from mortification?”
“How ungentlemanly to call my bluff,” she complained. “But you are right. I was too awash in guilt and relief to think clearly. Please pardon my unwarranted diatribe.”
“Now you go too far. I acted with unbelievable stupidity and am lucky to have escaped with only a few bruises. Let us forgive ourselves and each other, and put the incident behind us.”
“Very well.”
“Truce?”
She smiled. “Truce.”
A vase of flowers sat on a table near the entrance to the meeting room and another adorned the pianoforte inside, but that was the extent of the decorations. Old Ben tuned his violin, finally nodding his satisfaction to the other violinist and a flutist. Miss Fanshawe poised her fingers above the keyboard.
Penelope greeted friends as she crossed the room. Although she had entered with Carrington, it had appeared the barest coincidence. Everyone knew the Averys hated the Wingraves. Many were intrigued that the Averys were even attending, though none speculated about it to her.
Terrence claimed Alice’s hand for the first set. Michael had already wandered off to speak to some friends, so Penelope joined her fellow spinsters.
* * * *
Richard handed Millicent to an elderly solicitor for the opening set of country dances, then watched Terrence lead out a young lady. The way their gazes locked made her identity obvious – and stirred something that might have been envy in his breast.
Alice Wingrave looked nothing like her half sister. She was petite, with dark hair arranged simply around a heart-shaped face, her slender figure encased in a demure gown. He could see how she had trapped Terrence, for she radiated sweetness. And her behavior was impeccable. Not once during the dance did she lean too close or allow Terrence to retain her hand even a moment too long. When the figures paired her with other partners, she looked into their eyes and focused all of her attention on them. It was not the conduct of a typical fortune hunter. She was either innocent or extremely clever.
Once the dance concluded, she turned to rejoin Penelope, but Terrence murmured something close to her ear and headed for the door that led to the garden. That would not do, decided Richard, moving to cut them off.
“Are you going to introduce me?” he asked.
Terrence jumped. “I did not know that you remained strangers.” His eyes condemned his guardian for judging the girl without even meeting her. “Lord Carrington, may I present Miss Alice Wingrave. Alice, my guardian.”
“My lord.” She curtsied prettily.
“Perhaps you can get the lady some lemonade,” suggested Richard. Terrence grimaced, but complied.
“I oppose his infatuation,” he stated baldly, seeing no point in skirting the issue.
“I understand your objections. He is still very young, though that does not invalidate his feelings.”
He frowned at the composed answer.
“I will be frank, sir,” she continued. “I love Terry with all my heart, but I do not wish to trap him in an alliance that he may come to despise. He claims to love me in the same way, and I believe him. But Penny h
as suggested that he finish school before discussing the future. I doubt that his affections will undergo any change in the next months, but if you believe it possible, then by all means postpone a decision until next summer. If you are right, it will save him from making a mistake. But if you are wrong, the separation can do nought but bring us closer together.”
“You are either very clever or unusually candid,” he responded.
She bristled, then sighed. “I cannot blame you for being suspicious,” she admitted with a shake of her head. “A marquess must spend considerable time warding off young ladies seeking his title. Send Terry away for a while. Perhaps by the time he returns, you will have learned that I care nothing for his position. I want only him.”
“Does he know that those crazy birds belong to you?” he asked suddenly.
She laughed. “Yes. I have been helping them get acquainted, though please don’t tell Penny. She wants to keep outsiders away for fear of trouble. But though I have never allowed Terry into the meadow, Ozzie actually allowed him to scratch his head yesterday.”
Richard shivered, recalling his own encounter with Ozzie. Terrence returned with lemonade. When the musicians began another tune, Richard allowed the boy to lead Alice into the nearest set.
* * * *
“Good evening, Miss Wingrave.”
Penelope turned in astonishment. Mr. Darksmith stood at her side, his voice conveying the warmth of a long-lost friend. “Good evening, sir. I heard that you had left us.”
“A necessary excursion, but my business here is not yet concluded. You are looking remarkably pretty tonight,” he continued, examining her lush figure. His expression radiated blatant infatuation, but his eyes remained calculating.