The women moved inside and looked at Hickstrom sitting on the settee with her hands folded demurely in her lap and a saintly smile on her face.
“Yes, yes, I know what you are about to say. I said that I was going to rest.”
“Yes, you did,” Mary said. She turned to look at Lord Carswell.
“So, no London? Or...”
“Do let me explain, Mary. You must think me a complete scoundrel.”
Mary didn’t argue with him but merely raised her eyebrows. Janie noticed that Lord Carswell avoided looking at her as he moved about the room pulling chairs out from his small dining table. The setup of his room was very similar to Hickstrom’s room at the St. John Inn.
“My carriage broke a wheel just outside of the village, and we are waiting for it to be repaired. I could have hired a conveyance to take me to London but decided against it.”
“Oh!” Mary said, a smile breaking her face. “Oh, okay! Well, you could have returned to the castle while your repairs were ongoing.”
Privately, Janie was glad he hadn’t. She wondered that Mary would say he should have returned to the castle when purportedly he was running away from women in general. But there he was with Hickstrom.
“I apologize,” Lord Carswell said with a bow in Mary’s direction. He didn’t expand on why he didn’t return to the castle, but it seemed likely that everyone in the room knew why he hadn’t.
“Yes, I saw Lord Carswell ride by from my window at the inn, and thought, How fortuitous! I did wish to speak to him, and so I forwent my rest and followed him.”
Janie studied Lord Carswell from under veiled lashes. If women stressed the man out before, he looked positively hunted, alone as he was and surrounded by four females asking questions.
“I see,” Mary said, clearly waiting to see if Hickstrom was going to say more.
But Hickstrom merely smiled brightly and relaced her fingers.
The situation was awkward, and no one seemed to know what to do.
“Could I order some tea?” Lord Carswell said hastily.
“No, thank you, we just had some,” Mary said.
“Indeed, the ladies had tea with me not one hour ago,” Hickstrom said.
“Indeed,” Lord Carswell repeated. He sat stiffly upright on the edge of his chair, whitened knuckles on his clasped hands. Janie didn’t want to feel sorry for him, but she did. She wished they hadn’t followed him to the inn, but she was morbidly curious about what Hickstrom wanted with him.
An uncomfortable silence followed. Mary and Rachel looked at each other. Hickstrom scanned everyone’s face. Lord Carswell looked down at his hands, and Janie lowered her eyes and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle on her skirt.
“I do expect repairs to be done by tomorrow,” Lord Carswell offered up. “I shall resume my journey to London then.”
“I’m glad to hear you can get on your way soon,” Mary said. She seemed to be the only one talking. Janie presumed that Hickstrom wanted them to leave so she could talk to Lord Carswell. She doubted that Hickstrom had time to say much of anything before her group had rushed over from the dress shop. Lord Carswell looked like he wanted everyone gone. Rachel’s face was pale.
“Perhaps we should be on our way,” Janie said with one eye on Rachel.
Rachel rose quickly, and Janie joined her.
“So nice to see you again, Lord Carswell,” Rachel said.
“Do have a safe journey, Lord Carswell,” Mary said.
“Please explain my delayed departure to St. John, and forgive my clumsy failure to advise you of my changed plans,” Lord Carswell said.
Hickstrom remained seated.
“Good day, ladies,” she said pleasantly.
Everyone dropped a curtsey, and Lord Carswell bowed as he escorted them to the door. Janie was the last to leave, and she passed him without looking up.
“Goodbye, Miss Ferguson,” he said.
“Bye,” she said, her throat tight with exasperating emotion. Her last thought as they headed down the stairs was curiosity about whether Hickstrom was really going to find him a love of his own, and who that might be. Upon reaching the public room, Janie realized she hadn’t heard the door close. She looked up the stairwell to see Lord Carswell standing there watching them, watching her. She drew in a sharp breath and snapped her head forward, hurrying to catch up with Mary and Rachel.
Chapter Eleven
Lord Carswell watched Miss Janie Ferguson disappear from view, perhaps for the last time. He resisted the urge to dash after her. To say what, precisely? That he took no pleasure in bidding her goodbye? That he regretted they did not have more time to further their acquaintance? With a dull ache in his chest, he closed the door and turned back to the room. Resuming his seat, he raised his eyes to face Miss Hickstrom.
“What was it you wished to discuss with me, madam? As I said only moments before the ladies arrived, I regret the harsh words we exchanged yesterday, and I wish to apologize again.”
“Nicely said, Lord Carswell. I hope that you do not expect a similar confession from me. I offer no apology, for my words were true.”
Lord Carswell felt the familiar hackles rise on his back when he spoke with the fairy godmother. Why she must continue to smile as if all was well with the world, he could not understand. He did not share her apparent sense of well-being.
“As you wish,” he said.
“I have come to discuss a proposition with you.”
“Miss Hickstrom, I know what you do. You know I know what you do. I cannot imagine a proposition from you that would interest me. I shall remain unwed. I have had my marriage. It was dreadful. I am not interested in wedding anyone. I presume you do not mean Miss Ferguson, as your last words to me were that you would find a marquess for her to wed. Somehow, I feel that if anyone can thwart you, it must be Janie.”
“I dispute your recollection, Lord Carswell. My last words to you regarding Miss Ferguson is that you would bow over the hand of a marchioness. How she becomes one is my concern.”
Lord Carswell gritted his teeth, a return of anger coming quickly.
“Miss Hickstrom, do you enjoying toying with people? Moving them about as if they were puppets?”
“Occasionally,” she said with a bright smile. “If you hope to vex me as you did yesterday, you will fail. I am myself today. May I discuss my proposition?”
“If only so that I may dismiss it out of hand, please continue.”
“Thank you. I propose that you delay your journey to London until after Clara returns.”
“Clara?” he repeated. “Why would I await Lady Rowe’s return? You, of all people, are aware of my affection for her, of my fatal—and futile—declaration of that affection. I only stopped at Alvord Castle after her departure on her honeymoon. I had no intention of remaining at Alvord Castle to see her arrive back, happily married.” He held up a peremptory hand with no intention of admitting to the lady that he had, in fact, contemplated such a thing.
“No, madam, I have done with matters of the heart. I can see no reason why I might delay my journey.”
“But that is why you must delay your departure. To see Clara ‘happily married’ will surely cure you of your broken heart. Do you not see?”
Lord Carswell sought to restrain himself from shouting.
“My heart is not broken, Miss Hickstrom. Please do not be so melodramatic.” Lord Carswell thought he heard a giggle as the lady raised a gloved hand to her mouth. “I do not need to see Lady Rowe with her new husband to know that she is very likely happy.”
“Do you not?” She lowered her hand, revealing a sober expression. She leaned forward, as if in a conspiratorial manner. “I was not to say, but I act in Clara’s interests. I received a brief note from her asking about your whereabouts and your welfare. She expressed her continuing gratitude toward you and wished that you and she could remain friends. She desired to speak with you upon her return, but I fear I must respond that you have left Alvord Castle with no plans to return.”
Lord Carswell reared his head.
“I...I beg your pardon?” he stammered. “Clara wrote to you regarding me? I cannot believe you.”
Miss Hickstrom tilted her head, her expression innocent of deception.
“It is true. I believe she wishes to make amends to you, though her note was not specific in that regard.”
“I would like to see this note!”
“I am afraid I cannot show it to you, as she expressly asked me not to speak to you about it...should I see you, that is.”
“Miss Hickstrom, you are a lady who has been known to do anything to achieve your goals. Are you lying?”
“I will not take offense at your question, Lord Carswell. I understand that you labor under strong emotion.”
“Yes, yes, but are you lying to me?”
“What reason could I have to lie to you, sir?”
Lord Carswell drew his brows together and considered the matter.
“I do not know. I cannot imagine why you would wish me to stay. None whatsoever. Another gentleman might think that you wish me to return to Alvord Castle to woo Miss Ferguson, but I repeat again that you expressly informed me you had decided against that match—which was never to take place at any rate—and that she was to marry a marquess.”
“You continue to misquote me, Lord Carswell, but I shall forgo correcting you. I think you should stay here because Clara wishes to make amends, and I believe that would go a long way toward soothing your wounded heart.”
Lord Carswell turned an exasperated eye on the fairy godmother.
“My heart is not ‘wounded.’ Please desist with the histrionic language, madam.”
“Yes, of course. How may I respond to Clara?”
He looked down at his clasped hands for a moment. He too wished to make amends to Clara, to reassure her that he wished only her happiness. Such a conversation would relieve him greatly.
“Very well,” he said. “I will delay my business in London until after Clara returns. Please advise her that I too wish to make amends.”
Miss Hickstrom clapped her hands in apparent delight.
“There is really no need to applaud, Miss Hickstrom, please.”
She rose with a beaming smile.
“Now, shall you return to Alvord Castle?”
“I think perhaps I should remain here at the Royal Arms. Given my precipitous departure, I may not be welcome to return to the castle, certainly not by Mary.”
“I saw no sign that Mary would not welcome you back to Alvord Castle,” Miss Hickstrom said. “What reason did you give St. John for your early departure?”
Lord Carswell remembered very specifically why he told St. John he must leave. Women.
“I would prefer to leave that confidence between myself and St. John.”
“Very well. Then I presume he will welcome you back. Please do not make me respond to Clara that you are unable or unwilling to stay at Alvord Castle. She will only fret about the mysterious reasons.”
“Miss Hickstrom, you are the most scheming, manipulative female I have ever had the dubious pleasure of knowing.”
To his surprise, the stout little woman dipped into a coquettish curtsey.
“Again, I do not take offense, sir, but am honored that you consider me so. Do give my regards to St. John.”
With that, she vanished, and Lord Carswell was left to wonder if the fairy godmother spoke the truth or not. He poured out a stiff drink and sat down at the table to pen a note to St. John begging his hospitality. If Clara wished to see him and would fret as to why he eschewed the comforts of the castle in favor of a raucous inn, he would do as Miss Hickstrom suggested.
He folded the note and delivered it downstairs to the serving girl with directions to deliver it posthaste to Lord St. John at Alvord Castle. Then he returned to his rooms to pour out another drink and await St. John’s response. That missive was not long in coming, and St. John welcomed him back. Lord Carswell packed up his things and sought out his coachmen to relay that he was returning to the castle and that they might continue lodging until tomorrow, at which time they would drive the repaired coach to Alvord Castle.
He made arrangements to have his bags delivered and then retrieved the hired hack he had ridden that morning. Thirty minutes later, he presented himself at the front door of Alvord Castle, hat in hand as he begged admittance.
St. John and Mary greeted him cordially, though Mary’s eyes could not hide her surprise. Lord Carswell searched beyond them in the foyer for Miss Ferguson but saw no sign of her.
“Welcome back, Lord Carswell,” Mary said. “St. John tells me that you plan to delay your trip to London for a few weeks? Have you had bad news about your carriage? Will it take that long to repair your wheel? If so, you can borrow one of our carriages.”
Lord Carswell knew he could speak freely to St. John, but he did not feel so comfortable with Mary, certainly not if the subject were Clara...or even Miss Ferguson for that matter.
“No, the carriage will be repaired on schedule. My business in London was not so urgent as I had previously thought, and I hoped that I might stay with you until after...the Fairchilds’ ball?”
“How nice! Yes, of course, we would love to have you. Your room is ready, and I will see you at dinner. Right now I have to go take care of the baby. See you later!” With a casual wave of her hand, Mary disappeared up the staircase.
St. John tilted his head.
“Come into the study and tell me the real reason you are here,” he said. “I understand Miss Hickstrom went to see you. Therefore I assume something is in the air. Mary confided that she believed Hickstrom was up to some scheme as well.”
Lord Carswell followed St. John to the study, where the earl poured them a drink before they sat. Lord Carswell had been mulling over what he wished to say but found himself speaking directly.
“I do not know if Miss Hickstrom is scheming. I certainly accused her of such. She reported that she had a letter from Clara inquiring after my welfare and expressing her remorse about the tone of our parting. Clara purportedly wished us to be friends, and Miss Hickstrom desired that I should await her return and speak with her so that we might part on more amiable terms.”
Lord Carswell gulped his whisky and studied St. John’s reaction. His dark arched eyebrow suggested skepticism.
“I agree with your suspicion, St. John. I am not entirely convinced of the fairy godmother’s story, but on the chance that Clara did truly desire to mend the rift between us, I thought it best to wait. My business in London truly can wait.”
“Indeed,” St. John said. “What else did Hickstrom say?”
“She did try to coax me to delay my departure by stating that the sight of Clara in a happy state of wedded bliss could only cure me of what she termed my ‘broken heart.’”
St. John cleared his throat, but his expression remained enigmatic.
“I did ask Miss Hickstrom to refrain from such histrionic terms, of course. No such thing has occurred, and I do not have a ‘broken heart.’”
“Indeed,” St. John repeated stoically.
Privately, Lord Carswell appreciated the earl’s restrained responses. There had already been too much talk of love and romance and other theatrical references to matters of the heart from the females.
“Yes, of course, such nonsense,” Lord Carswell said. “That was when she confided in me that she had received the note from Clara that Clara desired remain private...or at least not revealed to me. Miss Hickstrom stated she did not wish to respond to Clara that I had left Alvord Castle.”
“Extraordinary,” St. John murmured, drinking his whisky.
“Quite,” Lord Carswell replied.
“Do you know, Lord Carswell, I believe you have been badly used by Miss Hickstrom?”
Lord Carswell looked into the dregs of his glass with a sigh.
“I did accuse her of manipulating me, but she perversely took that as a compliment.”
“Yes, I can see that s
he would. Do you believe her story?” St. John asked.
“What reason has she to lie? What reason would she wish to keep me here at Alvord Castle?”
St. John hesitated before speaking.
“Janie remains here.”
“Aha!” Lord Carswell straightened and responded with enthusiasm. “I too suspected that Miss Hickstrom was attempting to make a match between Miss Ferguson and me, but you will remember that she expressly forbad such a match? And she insisted that Miss Ferguson would marry a marquess! I am but a mere viscount.”
Lord Carswell hoped that St. John did not know or remember that he would some day inherit a marquessate. He continued to feel absolutely certain that Miss Hickstrom was unaware of that fact. Few people knew. He and his brother had been estranged for years, but the man had never married, and Lord Carswell had been informed by his brother’s solicitor that he was near death.
That Lord Carswell’s wife had preferred his brother should long ago have ceased to bother him, but he had never forgiven his brother for his betrayal. For it was to Thomas Landry, Seventh Marquess of Huntington, whom Arabella Carswell had given her heart. Though she had maintained a facade as wife of Viscount James Carswell, she had all but lived with Thomas in London for the majority of their marriage.
Lord Carswell had been on his way to see Thomas’s solicitor in London as it happened, but he presumed he had some time. Thomas had been near death on several occasions, yet miraculously recovered each time. His brother was not inclined toward reconciliation, nor was he. They had never been close, even as children, and although Lord Carswell did not necessarily wish for his brother’s demise, he harbored no love for the man. He would have gladly tossed his title of marquess into the Thames if it had not also been their paternal grandfather’s title.
St. John narrowed his eyes as if in thought. “Yes, I do remember that you said Miss Hickstrom had a marquess in mind for her. Specifically, were not her words that you would bow over the hand of a marchioness?”
“Yes, something to that effect. But you do see that Miss Hickstrom has abandoned any notion of plotting a match between Miss Ferguson and I, do you not?”
The Marquess Finds Romance Page 9