The Unwanted Suitor: Regency House Party: Somerstone

by Pennington, Michelle

  “Nor I you.” His warmth and strength sent fire racing through her limbs. In a panic, she pushed back from him and his arms fell away immediately. She flushed all over, overcome by their accidental embrace and the dark gleam in his eyes. How unlucky that she had taken such great care to avoid private conversation with him all day only for this to happen.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, she said, “Excuse me. I must dress. I did not know I was to dine with the guests this evening.”

  She noted that Sir James’ expression softened as a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “I am very glad to hear it. I myself am in a hurry as I lost track of time while out riding.”

  “Well, you’d best hurry, sir. I believe guests are already gathering in the drawing room.”

  Despite her curt words, he grinned. “Never fear, Miss Greystock. Remember, it does not take us gentlemen as long to dress as it does you ladies.”

  He was teasing her about her excuse for greeting him in her nightrail last night, and she couldn’t leave his impudence unanswered. “I expect it doesn’t take you long at all with such a plain cravat.”

  He reached up and touched his cravat, letting her know the shaft had gone home, then turned and resumed her headlong rush down the stairs.

  After delivering the Countess’ message to Alphonse to fortify his nerves, she returned to her room, desperately trying to catch her breath. Dressing as quickly as she could without the help of a maid, she barely had a moment to spare to do up her hair again. Unfortunately, her hair was heavy and straight so it didn’t take kindly to the fashion of the day. The pins strained to keep their hold. Going down to the company like that would never do, even though few people would notice a mere companion.

  Sighing she took the pins out and shook out her long hair. Watching her little ticking clock with a burning sense of urgency, she looped and twisted her hair, pinning carefully, and praying it would hold for the rest of the evening. No doubt running down the stairs and colliding with Sir James had done the damage, so perhaps she should proceed more sedately from now on. Regardless, she intended to avoid that particular gentlemen as much as possible.

  Well beyond the prescribed dinner hour, Cornelia finally entered the kitchen to find it in a state of mad activity. The chef shouted orders as he stirred a sauce. The staff ran to and fro, placing the first dishes to go out after the soup on their serving platters, lining them up along the enormous work table that ran the length of the kitchen.

  Then the butler strode in with a disapproving expression. “Alphonse, we are behind time.”

  “You may serve,” the chef said, though it was difficult to understand him through his thick French accent.”

  The butler left to go announce dinner and three of the footmen took a soup tureen each while the others waited to carry in the first remove.

  Cornelia stepped over to Alphonse. “Is everything well?”

  “The second remove is not such as I would like with no fish except pickled eels and a few trout the gamekeeper brought me. But the fish merchant promised me an octopus for tomorrow, so I will forgive him.”

  Cornelia smiled. “Excellent. You are a treasure.”

  Alphonse straightened, swelling with pride, but said, “But of course. Now, leave this all to me, Miss Greystock. You will not wish to miss the leek soup. It is divine.”

  She nodded and laughed, then hurried after the footmen to the dining room.

  She slipped in, taking in the grandeur of the gowns and jewels and perfectly tailored evening coats, all gleaming richly under the light of dozens of candles. A hum of conversation filled the vast room, and few even noticed her as she moved quietly to the center of the table.

  As she found her empty chair, one of the footmen pulled it out for her. She sat down, then glanced to her right, and saw that she was seated next to the Vicar. Not surprising, as he was the lowliest of the guests. But then, she turned and saw that Sir James was to her left. Which did surprise her very much. For some reason she could not fathom, her cheeks flushed with color. Perhaps it was the way his eyes lit with welcome. But how could that be? He held no warm feelings for her. Indeed, he felt nothing more than pity for her. He had made that much clear with his proposal, the insufferable man.

  “You are late, Miss Greystock.”

  Yes, completely insufferable.

  A footman leaned over her shoulder and ladled some of the creamy leek soup into her bowl. She picked up her spoon and sipped it. The warmth and burst of flavor calmed her a bit. “I may be late, but at least I brought my manners with me.”

  “A pity really,” Sir James said. “I much prefer seeing you without them. Like the time I caught you making faces at Mrs. Burns after she said green didn’t become you.”

  Cornelia’s eyes widened, and she looked around to see if anyone had overheard him. “If you don’t mind your words, I’ll—”

  “What will you do, Miss Greystock?” He smiled with amusement glinting in his eyes. He knew very well there was little she could do.

  “I thought you were a gentleman.”

  “Ah yes. Indeed I am. Very much so. But I have come to the conclusion that being a gentleman did not win me the one thing I want most in life.”

  “And what is that?” Cornelia asked.

  Sir James paused as one footman removed his empty soup bowl and a second presented another dish to him. “Somehow I do not wish to speak of it over pickled eel.” He leaned closer and whispered. “Or with a vicar so obviously listening to our conversation.”

  His warm breath fanned across her neck, giving her the oddest sensation. Feeling flushed and indignant, Cornelia shot back at him. “You know, you may well have done me a service when you married Timothy to someone else. Having you for a brother would have been a curse beyond bearing.”

  His expression tightened and grew solemn. “Well, on that we are in complete agreement. I can think of no worse fate than having you as a sister.”

  He turned then to speak to the Baroness Bloomsbury who was seated on his other side. With her thoughts in a severe tangle, Cornelia forced herself to eat her dinner and converse with the vicar. But though she managed to keep her expression placid, she spent the rest of the meal plotting a horrid revenge on Sir James Hawkston.

  4

  Mangled Revelations

  To say that Sir James was frustrated would be an understatement. He had come out for an early ride to clear his muddled thoughts, but even a sunny morning washed in dew and the powerful stride of his stallion had no power to distract him.

  Watching Cornelia the night before as she sat listening to other young women sing, had gutted him. Though her expression had been composed, he saw the longing in her eyes. And there was no reason for it.

  For some reason wholly lost to him, she had given up her place in polite circles. Her breeding and gentility would have given her place among these society misses, yet here she was, seen as a nonentity. It irked him beyond bearing, and his blasted proposal was behind it all, he was sure.

  She had not had such a drastic reaction to news of Timothy’s engagement. That had hurt her but not compelled her to forsake her family and social standing. The need to understand clawed at his mind, but to no avail.

  The road emerged from the trees and opened onto the green, manicured lawn surrounding Somerstone manor. About to turn left toward the stables, he caught sight of Cornelia coming down the road, her eyes cast down. The Countess’ dog sniffed an erratic path through the short grass along the road beside her. It seemed as if the morning smiled on him after all.

  Spurring his horse forward, he rode into the stable yard at a gallop, reining his horse in just in time to avoid plowing over a gaping stable hand. Dismounting, he handed the reins to him, saying, “See to him.” Normally he would oversee his mount’s care, but catching up to Cornelia was vastly more important.

  James strode down the path to the manor, but Cornelia was gone. Muttering a string of curses, he continued on, hoping he might at least catch her al
one in the house. Then he heard something that made him stop—a rustling in the underbrush behind the trees that sheltered this side of the lawn. Cornelia’s voice sounded nearby.

  “Wellington, you’d better not go too far. I do not want to chase after you all morning.”

  He smiled at the note of vexation in her voice, and his spirits lifted as he walked into the trees. He had not missed her after all.

  When he found her, she stood in a column of leaf-filtered light, looking lovely and ethereal as she watched Wellington scamper ahead. His heart ached for her, but he knew he must approach her carefully.

  “He can be a difficult charge, I take it,” James said.

  She gave a soft gasp and tensed until she saw him. The very fact that she relaxed for a moment when she met his eyes spoke volumes to him, despite the way she frowned afterward. “He takes a lot of my time, but without him, I’d never set foot out of doors so I won’t complain.”

  He frowned then as well, remembering the long walks she used to take at home in Buxton. As a child, she had climbed rocky hills and balanced on stone walls as well as any boy. And here she was, only able to step outside to allow a pampered dog to relieve himself.

  Unable to check his emotions, he demanded, “Just as you are no longer free to sing in public, no doubt. I saw you last night, during the musical. I know how it pained you not to sing. This is what you want out of life?” Her eyes widened and he saw hurt there, but he was determined to get to the bottom of this.

  “I will never have what I want out of life, Sir James.” Her tone was a rebuke. “I find this to be less painful than any other choice before me.”

  “Better than marrying me, you mean.” His voice was as harsh as hers now. “I know you have reason to be angry with me, but surely you can see that I did my best to spare you a greater hurt.”

  “You have explained this before. You don’t think Timothy would have made me happy. But how are you the judge, the god, of other people’s lives?”

  “I never claimed to be so. I knew how matters stood between you. No great trick with neither of you giving a thought to discretion. But if you believed my brother meant anything more by you than to amuse himself, you were wrong.”

  She flinched as if he had struck her. Tears swam in her eyes. “You assume a great deal, Sir, for someone who never deigned to notice me beyond a pat on the head. If you had, you might have noticed that your neighbor’s daughter had stars in her eyes whenever you were near.”

  Startled, James started to speak, but she flung a hand out, cutting him off. “I watched you for years, going off to London where I knew you were a prime favorite with the ladies. We heard all about it in letters from my aunt. I was unable to follow you there because the year I was to have my season was the year Mother got ill. Then Father’s investments failed and I was needed to care for the children. I was always sure that the next letter or newspaper would bring word of your betrothal.”

  Utterly shocked by this, James stepped closer to her. “I never knew.”

  “Of course not. You never saw me. Is it any wonder that when Timothy finished his studies at Cambridge and came home, I should have been flattered by his attentions? It was the one bright hope in my life, that I might, after all, be loved and not end as nothing but a spinster aunt. He thought I was pretty and interesting and yes, I was perhaps easily won. Now you tell me I was nothing but a passing amusement for him.”

  If he could have flayed himself a dozen times for causing her more pain, he would have done so. Instead, he wanted only to ease her hurt. He strode forward and gripped her shoulders until she looked up at him. “I did not mean you were not worthy of his love, Cornelia. You are more than a pretty, pleasant companion. You are the sort of woman who makes a man better than he is, who shoulders duties too heavy for her and thrives. I could not bear to see you broken by his fickle attentions. And yes, I did see you, though not as soon as I should have.”

  Just then, a voice broke the tumult between them. It came from beyond the trees, on the path to the manor.

  “Ah, what is your name, boy? What a fine fellow you are. And what have you there in your jaws?”

  “Excuse me, Sir James. I must see to my charge,” Cornelia said, her words throbbing with emotion. She ran away from him, and he had nothing to do but follow after.

  Emerging from the trees, Sir James saw his friend, Lord Courtenay, crouched on the road, scratching the pug’s face and trying to get a look at what was in his mouth. As Cornelia approached him, however, he stood and took a step back. James was not surprised. Cornelia looked like a thunderstorm about to rain lightning on anyone unwise enough to get in her path.

  “Drop it,” she said to Wellington. Whereupon, the dog spat out a mangled butterfly, narrowly missing Lord Courtenay’s boot. “Oh, you repugnant creature. Come.” Cornelia walked away, head held high, ignoring the dog who trotted at her side.

  James walked to the path, knowing his chance for conversation with her was lost. Perhaps it was best, however. He had done nothing but further hurt his chances with her. He sighed. Why couldn’t he say the right things to her?

  “I say, James, you don’t look much better than that butterfly there.”

  “Don’t I? Well, I suppose I’m not. I’ve certainly come a cropper, fiend seize it.” He started walking again, watching Cornelia further up the lane.

  “Am I to understand you’re dangling after Miss Greystock, the Countess’ companion? Not that she’s not lovely, but James—”

  “There’s more to it than that, Henry. I’ve known her all my life. Or all of hers rather, since I’m a good bit older.”

  “How’d you manage to muck it up then?”

  “I’ll not lower your opinion of me by going into all the horrifying details. Suffice it to say, I have never before realized how utterly incompetent I am at expressing myself than when in this particular lady’s presence.”

  “Did you come here to court her? Seems odd, considering you could have courted her before she took employment.”

  James stopped as if struck. He had never courted her, never dared hope that she might return his love. Angry and hurt as she was, he had known better than to confess his feelings. Since she had never gone to London and had little chance of meeting an eligible parti in Buxton, he had offered what he’d thought would be most acceptable to her. He’d hoped only that she might accept him as a substitute for what she had lost and learned to love him.

  Now, pieces of their conversation sounded in his mind, and the effect was shattering. Had she really meant she had been enamored of him all those years and believed it to be impossible? How could he have been such a simpleton to have only realized his own feelings when seeing her as the object of his brother’s attentions?

  “James, are you going to stand like a stock in the lane all morning? I’ll abandon you if you are. Riding always makes me ravenous.”

  Walking forward again, James said, “I am the greatest fool that ever lived.”

  “I would not argue with you for the world, but I am quite sure I have met greater fools in my time. Indeed, there are several here at this very party.”

  “No, Henry, take my word for it. There are none equal to me. Let me spare you from falling into the same pit I have. If you ever love a woman, do not hesitate to tell her so or it will cost you dearly.”

  James lengthened his stride, unconcerned that his friend looked uncharacteristically grave. From this hour on, he would not let an opportunity to capture Cornelia’s feelings pass him by. She would be in no doubt that he was courting her in earnest.

  When the two men walked into the breakfast room, they found Lord Bloomesbury noisily eating kippers and eggs at one end of the table, Cornelia pouring herself a cup of tea, and the entire Easton clan just sitting down.

  As if Cornelia felt his attention, she looked up, and he saw just the faintest hint of red rimming her eyes. Indeed, if he had not known she had been crying, he would not have seen it.

  “Sir James, I have been w
aiting for you,” Cornelia said.

  “I am vastly pleased to hear you say so,” he answered her warmly.

  Her cheeks colored and she looked flustered for just a moment as she sat the teapot down. She recovered quickly, however. “I have just this minute learned that Miss Easton has not yet visited the folly overlooking the fields. I thought it might be lovely if you would escort her on a walk in that direction. If her brothers approve, of course.”

  James flicked his eyes from Miss Easton’s surprised countenance to those of her various brothers ranged about the table. They looked too pleased with the idea for his comfort. The little minx. How dare Cornelia try to throw him off on someone else? But he could not think of a polite excuse.

  “I should be pleased to do so, of course,” he said with careful neutrality.

  The eldest Mr. Easton, ran his eyes over James as if they had not met often at White’s in London. “And I would be pleased to grant my approval.”

  “That would be lovely, though perhaps another day,” Miss Easton said, her voice polite but firm. She then focused her attention on her breakfast.

  “That’s a very good notion,” Edward said to Miss Greystock, continuing to eye James from across the table.

  James shot Cornelia a look, and she raised her eyebrows innocently. This was not the place to tell her precisely what she could do with her matchmaking attempts, so he nodded to the footman offering him a tankard of ale and plate of eggs and ham. “Yes, indeed it was,” he said affably. “I’m happy to know Miss Greystock believes me capable of securing a woman’s affections.”

  Cornelia took a sip of tea. “Indeed, I do believe you capable of it, but the talent is without merit as you expend nothing on the effort. You would do well to consider what to do with such affections once they are earned. They are not lasting unless nurtured, you know.”

  “Not in my experience, Miss Greystock. The white-hot coals of love may burn down to embers, but they may be fanned to a flame again if the right tinder is applied.”