“I do not trust the lady,” St. John said, “and I do not think you should either. But you must do as you think best. We are happy to have you stay with us for as long as you wish.”
“Thank you,” Lord Carswell said. He hoped when he did inherit the marquessate of Huntington that St. John would disremember Lord Carswell had omitted that detail. Since that event seemed to be some time into the far future given his brother’s frequent returns from death’s doorstep, he felt comfortable with the harmless deception.
Chapter Twelve
Janie looked up from her book as Mary slipped into the bedroom after knocking.
“Hey! What’s up?” Janie asked, setting the book aside. She moved to slip off the bed, but Mary hitched up her skirts and crawled onto the bed to sit beside her.
“Guess who’s back?” Mary said, crossing her arms across her chest.
“Not Clara, right?” Janie asked. “That’s still a couple weeks away, right?”
“As far as I know. Nope! Guess again.”
Janie grinned. “Hickstrom? What’s she doing now?”
“Nope,” Mary said. “Lord James Carswell is back. I thought you’d want to know.”
Janie drew her brows together. “I know! I was in the village, remember? With you? Broken wheel? Leaving tomorrow, etcetera?”
“Welllll, as it happens, he sent St. John a note asking if he could stay for a few weeks, that his plans in London could wait!”
“What? He’s here? In the castle?” Janie’s heart pounded.
“Yup, and he told St. John some wild cockamamie story about Clara and Hickstrom and—” Mary raised both eyebrows. “You’ll want to hear this!”
“No, I don’t actually,” Janie said firmly.
“So, anyway, it seems like Hickstrom was up to some shenanigans when she went to see Lord Carswell. What I heard was—”
“I’m not going to marry him!” Janie interrupted.
“This isn’t about you...supposedly.”
“Oh!” Janie’s face flamed. “Sorry. Go on. Wait! No! Is this about James and some other woman?”
Janie couldn’t meet Mary’s piercing eyes.
“In a way. Not someone you haven’t heard of before though.”
“You mentioned Clara. Is this still about Clara? What is Hickstrom thinking?”
“I’m trying to explain it! Okay, so apparently Hickstrom was trying to convince Lord Carswell that the best way to get over Clara was to wait until she returned and to see how happy she was in her new married life. According to St. John, Lord Carswell pooh-poohed that idea, and then Hickstrom sealed the deal by telling Lord Carswell that she’d had a letter from Clara regretting how they’d parted and that she wanted to make amends and be friends with James...Lord Carswell. I don’t know how you can call him James. I’ll never be that comfortable with him, ya know, older guy and all.”
“Clara wrote him a letter? On her honeymoon?”
“No, she wrote the letter to Hickstrom, said that she didn’t want Lord Carswell to know she was writing about him, but that she felt bad about the way they ended sort of thing.”
Janie shook her head. “Clara wrote a letter on her honeymoon?” she repeated. “Well, I guess there’s no TV, and you can only...ummm...for so long.”
“Does that sound like Clara? Is she a letter writer? Why wouldn’t she write to you? Why write to Hickstrom?”
“I’ve known Clara since we were children. I’ve never heard her talk about writing letters, but that doesn’t mean anything. Why she would write to Hickstrom and not me surprises me. And why she’s fussing about James while she’s on her honeymoon surprises me too. I seriously doubt this story. So who’s more apt to lie? Hickstrom or James? And why? Why would she want James to stay here? Was he supposed to return to the castle specifically, or did that matter?”
“I have no doubt that Hickstrom would lie to get what she wants. But yes, why would she want James to stay here...or stay at all? I imagine he just didn’t want to stay at the Royal Arms for the next week, but I don’t know.”
“Look, this is your home, Mary. I’m a guest in your home. It’s not my place to fuss about whether James is staying here or not. I’m okay with it. Remember, Hickstrom said he couldn’t marry me any ole way, so she doesn’t plan to match him with me. I can’t really believe the getting-over-Clara story, but it wouldn’t hurt. I’m sure Clara would be happy to mend fences. I’ll bet she felt bad about the whole deal, about breaking his heart.”
“He denies that his heart was broken, according to St. John.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” Janie said.
“So why on earth would Hickstrom want him to stay?”
“Maybe she wants him to meet another single woman at the Fairchilds’ ball next week? That’s the only thing I can think of.”
Mary drew her brows together and pursed her lips, as if she contemplated the idea.
“Maybe so. Would that be a problem for you?” she asked.
“Me?” Janie feigned surprised. “Not at all. Not at all,” she said once again for emphasis. “Nope.”
“Hmmm,” Mary murmured. “I heard you the first two times.”
“Not a problem at all,” Janie said, her lips widening into a grin. Her heart had stopped its ridiculous pounding, and she felt a little happier than she had an hour earlier. Hickstrom was a hoot! It would be interesting to see what the fairy godmother was up to...as long as it didn’t involve Janie and marriage.
“Come on down for tea,” Mary said, tugging at Janie’s arm. “You’ll see Lord Carswell. Oddly, he doesn’t look any different than he did when we last saw him...this morning, so very long ago.” Mary chuckled, and the women climbed off the bed, smoothed their skirts and left the room.
The men stood and bowed on their arrival in the drawing room. Janie found it difficult to look at James, so she dipped her head with her curtsey and kept her eyes on the floor as she followed Mary to the sofa. Tea had already been poured, and St. John handed out the brimming cups and saucers. He seated himself next to James on the chairs opposite the sofa.
“I did not travel very far, as you see, Miss Ferguson,” James said.
“So I see,” she said with a half smile. She threw him a quick glance and returned her eyes to her tea.
“Yes, I am delaying my journey to London,” he added awkwardly.
“Yes, Mary told me,” Janie said. “So your business in London was flexible?”
She looked up to see him shaking his head as if he didn’t understand.
“It could wait?” she asked.
“Yes, indeed. It could wait.”
“That’s nice,” she said. Inexplicably nervous in his presence, she forced herself to chat.
“Do you visit friends while you’re up there? Or family?” Janie realized she didn’t know much about him at all.
“Family?” he repeated in a stifled voice. The look he threw in St. John’s direction seemed uneasy.
St. John tilted his head as he awaited James’s response.
“Yes, brothers or sisters? Cousins?”
“I...I...” He paused and scanned the room. “I do not visit family while I am in London.”
“I see.” Janie studied him curiously. “Do you have other family? Or is it just you?”
James expelled air through pursed lips. Again, his sideways glance in St. John’s direction seemed tense.
“You have no other family, do you, Lord Carswell?” St. John asked. “I do not believe you have spoken of relatives in the past other than your late wife.”
“I have a brother...in London.” James looked at Janie and spoke hastily. “I did not lie. I do not visit him. Thomas and I are estranged.”
“Estranged?” Janie repeated. “Oh, that’s too bad. I’m an only child. I can’t imagine having a sibling and not talking to him. I hope it’s not permanent.”
James’s cheeks stained red, a stark contrast to his silvering hair and crisp white neckcloth.
“This is the fir
st I knew that you had a brother, Lord Carswell!” St. John said. “A younger sibling then?”
“No, he is the elder.”
“Elder? But how is it that you come to inherit the title?” St. John asked.
Janie thought James had looked hunted when trapped in a room with four women earlier in the day. He looked much worse as St. John questioned him.
“My title and estate come from my mother’s father. She was his only child, and since it was not entailed to the eldest son, my grandfather chose to pass it to me.”
“I see,” St. John said. “And your brother is a gentleman?”
“I would not call him such,” James said in a bitter voice. He blinked and scanned the startled faces in the room.
Everyone waited to see if James would say more.
“Forgive me. I should not have spoken so harshly.”
“No problem,” Mary murmured, rising to pour more tea. “Family! You can’t pick ’em, right?”
“I beg your pardon?” James asked.
Mary looked at Janie over her shoulder with a smile. “It’s just an expression from our time.”
“I see. Meaning that one cannot choose one’s family members, correct?”
Mary resumed her seat. “Yes, that’s what it means.” She chuckled as if to ease James’s obvious tension.
The room fell silent, and everyone busied themselves with their tea—everyone except James. Janie watched him from under her lashes. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and she wondered again about the estrangement between him and his brother. The subject disturbed him, of that there was no doubt.
“I am surprised that you did not hear the gossip,” James erupted out of the blue. “Of course, it was years ago, and Arabella passed away almost ten years ago now.”
St. John and Mary exchanged a glance. Mary looked as confused as Janie felt.
“I overheard my parents speaking one night,” St. John said carefully. “I was young and gave the matter little thought.”
“And the matter should indeed have been given little thought, as you say.” James’s bitter tone dominated the room. Everyone waited, unsure of what to say.
“My wife and Thomas...my brother.” James paused. “Enjoyed a great deal of time together in London during our marriage.”
The silence was deafening and seemed to last forever. Finally, Janie surprised herself by speaking.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly.
James looked up and met her eyes with a tight expression. “As I said, it was years ago. I only meant to respond to the question of whether I had family, and I did so most inarticulately. Forgive me for setting a pall on our tea.”
“Not at all,” St. John said in an even tone. “We shall speak no more of it. You stayed at the Royal Arms. How did you find your lodgings there? I always wondered about the accommodations but have never had an opportunity to ask.”
For the rest of the tea, St. John, James and Mary talked about innocuous matters. Janie remained silent, and neither St. John nor Mary tried to force her to join the conversation.
Eventually, Mary rose to go see to Anna, and Janie left with her.
“I think I’ll go out for a walk,” Janie said, climbing the stairs with Mary. “See you for dinner? Supper? Whatever you guys call it!”
Mary laughed. “I’ll see you later.” She headed down the hall toward Anna’s bedroom, and Janie popped into her room to grab a bonnet. She hadn’t been much of a hat wearer in the twenty-first century, but the short brim of her bonnet came in handy when the occasional English drizzle started. The day was fine outside though. She tied the ribbons under her chin and headed out to the meadow beyond the parklands to commune with the sheep.
Twenty minutes later, she reached the meadow but saw no sign of the sheep.
“Oh no!” she cried out. “Hey, guys! Where did you go? Helloooo!”
She crossed to the middle of the meadow and rotated in a circle, looking for them. “Guys! Gals? Where are you?”
She scanned the woods flanking both sides of the meadow. “Where could they be?”
She saw movement in the woods behind her and called out. “Come here! Sheep! Come here!”
But it was not a four-legged wooly creature that emerged from the woods. James appeared on foot from under the canopy of trees and walked along the path toward her. Her heart began the odd pounding it often did when she saw him. She wasn’t sure why it raced. The man stressed her out, so maybe that was it.
As he approached, she spoke up.
“You’re not a sheep!” she said with a half smile. She hadn’t forgotten his revelations of the previous hour and the humiliation on his face.
“I am not. Where have they gone?” he asked, searching the meadow for them.
“No idea. I hope they’re alive and well, that’s all.”
“Perhaps the shepherd has taken them to be sheared. Their wool was quite thick.”
“Oh, there’s a shepherd?”
“I would assume so, and probably a sheepdog. I certainly have both at Wayburn Hall.”
“I’ve never seen anyone with these sheep.”
“Nor I, but the flock seemed like a docile lot. Flanked by the river and woods on either side, they do not appear to wander far. The shepherd most likely sees to them throughout the day.”
“Well, how about that!”
“I am afraid I do not know where the shepherd’s hut is, or I would escort you there. I could ask St. John when I return.”
“Oh, no. That’s okay. I’m sure they’ll be back in the meadow another day. Lots of tasty-looking grass here.”
“Indeed,” James said, clasping his hands behind his back. He chewed on his lower lip and dropped his eyes to the ground. Janie’s heart went out to him. He seemed to have the worst luck in love—first his faithless wife, Arabella, then Clara who loved another man. He truly didn’t deserve to be lonely. Nobody did, really. Janie suspected she had seen him at his worst but not at his best, and she wondered what he was like when he was happy.
She decided to speak.
“James, I’m very sorry. I was just trying to make conversation in the drawing room when I asked about your family, but I pushed you too far. I should have taken the hint when it seemed clear you were uncomfortable. I’m socially awkward at the best of times. I apologize for humiliating you.”
James looked up, the blue of his eyes unexpectedly soft. “You did not humiliate me, Janie. My wife humiliated me. I humiliated myself when I forced my unsolicited chivalry upon a lady who needed no rescuing. You did not humiliate me. You must not think so.”
Janie put her hands to her cheeks to cool them down. The gesture didn’t help. James smiled, a kindly smile of beautiful, even teeth.
“Ah! Now it is I who humiliate you.”
“No, not humiliated. Just embarrassed,” she mumbled from behind her hands.
To her surprise, James reached for her hands and pulled them gently from her face.
“I have no wish to discomfit you, Janie. Do not hide your sweet countenance.”
Janie drew in a sharp breath. James released her hands, but his touch lingered long after he’d let her go.
“James, I’m many things, but sweet isn’t one of them. Thank you though. That’s so nice of you to say.”
He stepped back and clasped his hands behind his back again. His smile lightened further into a playful expression. “I agree. I have discovered you to be ‘many things’ indeed, but I do find your good nature to be inherently sweet.”
“Ohhhh,” she breathed. “I don’t know what to say. You really don’t know me. I don’t have a good nature either, but again, thank you for thinking so.”
“Very well! I see that you are disposed to dismiss every compliment I utter, sincere as they are. I shall persist though until you accept one.”
“You can try,” Janie said with an unexpected laugh. Restless and ill at ease, she turned in the direction of the bridge and the castle. “Well, no sense standing here looking for my lost she
ep. I guess I’ll head back.”
“I would be happy to walk with you. If you are in no hurry to return, perhaps we could stroll along the river?”
Janie forced herself to breathe in and out without hyperventilating.
“Sure,” she said. She started walking and was startled when James took her hand and tucked it under his arm. For the next hour, they chatted about sheep, English estates and Wayburn Hall specifically. James was polite, attentive, congenial, exuding a charm she hadn’t known he could possess.
She was still certain that Clara wouldn’t have written a letter to Hickstrom regretting the way she had parted from James, but she wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. If the James she strolled with was the person Clara had known, she wondered how her best friend had fallen in love with another man.
Chapter Thirteen
The night of the Fairchilds’ ball came all too soon, and Janie was keyed up. That Clara and Roger were due to return the following week only added to Janie’s excitement...and stress. She and James had taken to walking out every day, strolling along the river and stopping to visit the sheep—which had in fact been shorn and looked much smaller and a whole lot pinker than before.
Janie had grown used to having her hand tucked under James’s arm to the point that she reached for his arm as soon as they left the castle. She had walked hand in hand with the odd boyfriend or two in her past but had never felt the sense of belonging that a well-placed hand snugged up against a man’s ribs gave her as it did with James. When he looked down at her from under silver lashes with his blue eyes, she almost melted.
They had talked of many things during their walks—Janie’s life in Washington State, her business, her interests, which she was ashamed to say were few. She had dedicated most of her time to growing the cleaning business, leaving little time for anything else. James took an avid interest in how she booked clients, how many hours she worked and the oddity of their quarterly business tax system. She sensed that he had changed how he viewed her employment, finally seeing her as more of an entrepreneurial small business owner and less of a housemaid.
The three people they never discussed were all women—Clara, Arabella and Hickstrom—whether by mutual design or not, Janie didn’t know. She didn’t bring any of the names up herself, not even when discussing the cleaning business. James didn’t seem to feel the need to talk about them either. Yet Clara’s return loomed, and Janie’s emotions were mixed. She was excited to see her best friend but leery about how James would react, if he would pull away from her.
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