“Why did you give us no notice of your arrival, child?” Mr. Robinson asked.
“And where is Lara?” Mrs. Robinson added. “Has something dreadful happened?”
Fiona forced a laugh. “No, no, nothing at all. It’s just that yesterday I received a proposal of marriage, and I wished to have a few days of solitude to consider the matter before I accept.”
Mrs. Robinson’s face lit up with excitement. “Are we to have a viscount in the family, then? You mentioned a Lord Moordale in your letters.”
“No, that’s over with.” Fiona sank onto a chair. “Is it too early for tea?”
Her mother rang for a servant, and then settled herself next to her husband on the sofa.
“Are we to learn the name of your suitor, or must we play charades?” Mr. Robinson asked.
“It’s Sir Harry, actually.”
Her parents’ shocked reaction was almost comical.
“Are you mad?” Mr. Robinson exclaimed.
“You must be joking,” Mrs. Robinson said at the same time.
“I’m perfectly serious,” Fiona replied. “As it turns out, Sir Harry has been very kind and attentive to me all Season long, and I find my opinion of him has changed.”
“Why did I send you all the way to London if you were just going to accept the neighbor?” Mr. Robinson sputtered. “I could have saved myself a fortune!”
A maid appeared, and the conversation was interrupted long enough for Mrs. Robinson to order tea.
“And bring a bottle of port,” Mr. Robinson added as the maid turned to leave.
“Yes, sir.”
Inwardly, Fiona sighed. It seemed as if her parents would require more convincing than she’d anticipated. “If nothing else, my time in London has shown me what sort of qualities I value in a husband. Sir Harry possesses those in abundance.”
“But do you care for him?” Mr. Robinson asked.
Fiona couldn’t bring herself to lie. “No, but love is a luxury few girls can afford.”
Her mother, at least, was nodding. “As a practical matter, I suppose you could do far worse.”
“I don’t see how. If you’ve some notion of being a young widow, you should understand Sir Harry is as healthy as a horse,” Mr. Robinson said. “His father reached the age of ninety before he passed on, and his mother is still as vigorous as ever. Sir Harry will likely outlast us all.”
“I’m glad to hear he’ll live long enough to be a good father to our children.”
Her father shuddered. “Well, you’re old enough to know your own mind.”
“Indeed, I am.”
“I noticed you brought very few trunks with you,” Mrs. Robinson said. “Will you be returning to town soon?”
“No, Angelica will send along my things directly.”
Her father peered at her. “You’re quitting the Season entirely?”
“I’m inclined to accept Sir Harry’s proposal, so to continue is pointless.” To her horror, Fiona felt a lump forming in her throat. She rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to freshen up before tea.”
As she hastened from the room, she hoped her parents hadn’t noticed the quaver in her voice. Truly, the only thing she wished to do was to crawl into bed and have another cry, but she could ill afford to do so. If her parents felt there was anything amiss, they’d attempt to pry her secrets out of her and she’d be undone. No matter what, she could never confess Miles’s dislike for her, lest his feelings sow seeds of resentment on the part of her family.
On her way up the stairs, she passed the small niche where a bust of Queen Elizabeth was displayed. When Angelica was to be married to William five years ago, the Greystoke family had come for a long visit beforehand. Lara and Miles had corresponded with one another by hiding secret letters underneath the statue. The hiding place suddenly reminded her of Rory’s letter, which she’d stuffed in the pocket of the dress she’d been wearing the day before. Oh, no, had she left it behind? She took the remainder of the steps two at a time.
Her lady’s maid was in Fiona’s room, hanging up the few gowns she’d brought with her.
“Moira, did you pack my blue and white striped afternoon dress?”
The maid’s eyes grew wide. “The gown was so wrinkled, I meant to sponge and press it, but I left it in the laundry room downstairs at the Greystoke’s residence.”
Fiona bit her lip. “Don’t be concerned. Mrs. Greystoke will send it with the rest of my things soon enough.”
The chances of anyone discovering the letter were slim, of course, but Fiona wished she’d taken care to tuck it in her reticule. Reading it over every so often would stiffen her resolve regarding Sir Harry—much like smelling salts for her courage.
When Fiona returned to the drawing room, she was glad the tea cart had arrived. Her father had eschewed the refreshments, however, and was drinking a glass of port instead.
“This looks delicious.” Fiona helped herself from a platter of small sandwiches and one of thinly sliced cake. “I’ve had nothing to eat all day.”
“Perhaps that explains how you could contemplate marriage to Sir Harry,” her father said. “You’re light-headed.”
“Now, Charles,” Mrs. Robinson murmured.
Her father’s statement, albeit somewhat insulting, provided Fiona with an opening to hasten the inevitable.
“I have a wonderful idea,” she said. “It’s rather last minute, but may I send a message to Sir Harry, inviting him to dine with us tonight?”
Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “He’s not in London?”
“No, he returned to Blythe Village yesterday, or so he said.”
Her father had seemingly resolved himself to the inevitable. “Might as well have him over to dinner and get this messy engagement business behind us. I don’t relish a lovesick silver-haired gentleman springing out at me from the bushes when I least expect it, begging for my daughter’s hand.”
The notion of Sir Harry doing anything of the sort made Fiona giggle. In between deviled ham and sips of tea, she scrawled out the invitation and gave it to one of the footman to deliver. If all went well tonight, she’d be officially affianced.
Although the Hardy novel rested on top of his coat on the seat next to him, Rory ignored it. He stared out the window instead, willing the train to go faster.
“You haven’t relaxed since we boarded,” Miles said. “Truth be told, I’m wound up too. I wish I’d brought a bottle of spirits.”
“Now that’s an idea.” Rory reached into his inside coat pocket for a thin silver flask and offered it to his friend. “My valet thinks of these things.”
Miles took a sip and returned it to Rory. “A rather invaluable valet.”
“Indeed.” Rory took a long pull before capping the flask and slipping it back into his coat pocket. “Can you recommend some decent accommodations in Blythe Village? I need a place to stay while I work on my redemption with Miss Fiona. Considering my handicap, it may take a while.”
“There are several in town, but it will be late afternoon when we arrive. Let’s take a cab to Blythe Manor first, and after we’ve had a word with Fiona, we’ll borrow the carriage to ferry you and your valet to an inn.”
“I don’t want to embarrass Miss Fiona in front of her parents. What reason shall we give for having come?”
“Ugh…I hadn’t thought of that.” Miles tapped his chin. “It’s a bit far-fetched, but in Mrs. Robinson’s last letter to Lara, she mentioned a summer storm had flooded part of the church rather extensively. We can say you wish to volunteer your services as an engineer, and I’m going to assist you.”
“That’s quite clever, actually, and I would like to do some good if I can.” He paused. “I can’t help feeling apprehensive about speaking with Miss Fiona. She might be inclined to slap my face and have Mr. Robinson horsewhip me before I can explain myself properly.”
“She won’t. She’s hurt, not angry.”
“What brings you to that conclusion?”
�
��She kept your letter secret. Angelica only found it by happenstance after she left. If Fiona had wished to retaliate, she would have shown it to us and blackened your name.”
Rory nodded, and his gaze became fixed on the window once more. Each mile that passed brought him closer to stanching her pain…and that of his own heart.
The footman brought Sir Harry’s reply to Fiona within an hour after she’d sent her invitation to dinner. She promptly informed the cook to expect an extra guest that evening and sought out her mother to let her know Sir Harry would be in attendance. Mrs. Robinson was in the pantry, arranging a vase of flowers.
“Mama, Sir Harry has accepted our invitation for tonight.”
“You’d best tell your father so he can prepare himself.”
“I’m not sure why he’s being so difficult. I thought he enjoyed Sir Harry’s company.”
“As friends, they get along quite well. I just don’t think he wanted either of you girls to marry the man.” Mrs. Robinson patted Fiona’s hand. “Don’t worry, he’ll come around.”
“Where is Papa?”
“Your father is having a stroll in the garden. Be sure and put on a broad-brimmed hat if you go outside. Buttermilk and lemon can only do so much for freckles.”
After donning the requisite hat, Fiona made her way to the garden, where her father was enjoying the afternoon breeze next to an arbor of fragrant honeysuckle.
“Are you checking the bushes for silver-haired gentlemen?” she teased.
“At every opportunity.”
“Sir Harry will be dining with us.”
“I feared as much.” Her father rested his hands on her shoulders. “I confess, I find this match less than ideal, and I don’t believe you’ve thought it through. Even if I give my consent, I’d like you to have a lengthy engagement. Perhaps in time you’ll come to your senses.”
“I see no reason for haste.”
“No doubt Sir Harry wishes to rush you to the altar before you change your mind. He may be nearly three times your age, but I can assure you he’s still very much a goat.”
A painful blush stung Fiona’s cheeks. “You needn’t be so vulgar, Papa.”
“I speak the truth. Your mother and I only want the best for you, my dear.”
“I understand and love you for it.”
As Fiona walked arm in arm with her father, she wondered if she’d ever be truly cheerful again. Angelica was fond of the phrase time heals all wounds, but Fiona wasn’t convinced. Since he was family, avoiding Miles forever was impossible. Because Rory Braithwaite was great friends with Miles, she probably couldn’t avoid him forever either. Perhaps once she was Lady Wren, the added poise of being a matron would help her deal with them both. Fortunately, Blythe Village was far enough away from London that she wouldn’t see either of them for a good long while.
Her father gave her a sidelong glance. “Why are you sighing, child?”
“Oh, am I? I-I’m just happy to be here. The hustle and bustle of town can be so very trying on my nerves.”
The butler hastened toward them. “Forgive me, but company has just arrived. Mrs. Robinson begs you to come to the drawing room at your earliest possible convenience.”
“Thank you, Truman,” Mr. Robinson said. “We’ll be along directly.”
Since it was only five thirty or so, Fiona was confused. “Truman, has Sir Harry arrived so soon?”
“No, Miss Fiona. It’s Mr. Miles Greystoke and a Mr. Rory Braithwaite.” He bowed and strode off.
Fiona squeaked and took a half-step backward.
Her father peered at her. “Is anything amiss?”
“I should have worn a bigger hat. The sun has given me a horrendous headache. Please give Miles and his friend my regards. Perhaps I’ll see them later.”
“Don’t be silly, Fiona! You can take a headache powder later, but I insist you come along and greet Miles.” He gave her a gentle tug toward the house. “Did you know he was arriving today?”
She gulped. “No, I had absolutely no idea whatsoever. Miles said nothing to me about it when I left town this morning.”
“Well, I haven’t seen the lad since Christmas.” He beamed. “And any friend of Miles’s is welcome at Blythe Manor.”
“Yes.” Fiona felt like a rabbit in the shadow of a hawk. Why had Miles come, and what had possessed him to bring a man who despised her so? Stay calm, she told herself…as if staying calm was even in the realm of possibilities.
Rory tried hard to maintain a pleasant and relaxed demeanor as he chatted with Mrs. Robinson, but his eyes kept flickering toward the drawing room doors in anticipation of Fiona’s entrance. Would she appear, or would she send in some excuse for her absence with one of the servants?
Suddenly he realized Mrs. Robinson had asked him a question.
“What? Forgive me, but I’m afraid I’m a bit distracted this afternoon.”
“Perfectly understandable. Any time I travel, I leave a bit of my mind behind for a day or two.”
Miles cleared his throat. “I was just telling Mrs. Robinson that we met at Cambridge, and that you’ve come about the flooding at St. James.”
Rory was grateful for the prompt. “Oh, yes. I studied engineering, you see, and when Miles mentioned you’d had damage to your local church, I was hoping to volunteer my services.”
“That’s so very kind! All the girls were baptized in St. James, and—”
A male voice rang out. “Hello!” Mr. Robinson strolled in with Fiona by his side.
Miles and Rory both lurched to their feet. A slight smile was etched on Fiona’s lips while Miles introduced him to Mr. Robinson, but her face was otherwise an impenetrable mask. After Rory shook Mr. Robinson’s hand, he turned to Fiona.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Miss Fiona.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
She looked right through him and his heart sank.
“I take it you two are acquainted?” Mrs. Robinson asked.
“A little, Mama,” Fiona said.
Everyone was seated.
“Miss Fiona, before I forget, I wanted to tell you my sister played a silly prank on you the other day, and she sends along her apologies.” Rory forced himself to chuckle as he gave Mr. and Mrs. Robinson a sheepish glance. “It seems Iris sent Miss Fiona a letter which she signed with my name. Although my sister has confessed everything and said she meant it as a bit of a joke, I think things like that can be misunderstood.”
He retrieved the letter of apology from his pocket and passed it to Fiona, who’d grown very pale. Although she murmured her thanks, she made no attempt to open the envelope or read the letter. As she sat on the sofa with her eyes lowered and her hands in her lap, she resembled a wax doll.
“Is your sister frequently given to playing pranks, Mr. Braithwaite?” Mrs. Robinson asked.
“Indeed she is, and my father has taken it upon himself to remedy the situation. Iris is to go to America to reside with cousins as soon as it can be arranged,” Rory said.
Mr. Robinson grimaced. “Isn’t that a somewhat harsh punishment for a little prank?”
Miles came to Rory’s rescue. “Actually, I believe Miss Braithwaite is looking forward to the change. I’m given to understand she recently suffered a romantic setback.”
“Yes, we’re all hopeful Iris will find a suitable husband overseas,” Rory said.
The conversation shifted to the damaged church again, and although Rory paid more heed to what was said, he kept one eye on Fiona the entire time. Had she understood what he was trying to say, and would she ever be able to absolve him of blame for her heartbreak?
Chapter Seven
Across the Bow
AS THE CONVERSATION in the drawing room continued, Fiona tried to make sense of what she’d just been told. Could Iris truly have intercepted her apology to Rory and thereafter written a letter of malicious lies to hurt her? What a nasty trick! The woman had always had the uncanny ability to find and attack her most vulnerable spots. Her gaze
fell to the unopened envelope on the table. The small, neat handwriting was the same as on the letter that had almost destroyed her. Now that Fiona thought about it, the letter had sounded like Iris’s voice. The band around Fiona’s heart eased as she realized the evidence fit together. Better still, Iris was being sent far away, never to bedevil her again! Miles didn’t hate her after all, and Rory didn’t think her less worthy than Lara. It was almost too good to be true.
“Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, I’ve trespassed too long on your kindness,” Rory said finally. “Might I trouble you for the use of your carriage? My valet and I will be staying in town at an inn.”
“Nonsense!” Mr. Robinson exclaimed. “You’re more than welcome here, and we’ve plenty of room. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“That’s a very generous offer, but I couldn’t possibly intrude,” Rory said.
“Yes, you must stay,” Fiona said. “We’ve much to discuss, I think. Besides which, Sir Harry is coming to dine this evening, and two more will round out the party nicely.”
Rory exchanged a glance with Miles, who gave him a tiny nod.
“In that case, I’d be very happy to accept,” Rory said.
“Wonderful!” Mrs. Robinson smiled with genuine pleasure. “I do so love a full house. With the girls being gone these past few months, it’s been terribly lonely. Excuse me while I speak to the servants about making up your rooms.”
She bustled out.
Mr. Robinson rubbed his hands together, seemingly no less delighted to have company.
“I confess, I’m looking forward to having a little masculine conversation. I’ll leave you young people to visit a while. Dinner is at seven, but do come down at six thirty or so for drinks and conversation.”
After her father left, Fiona tore open Iris’s letter and read it. Her eyes moist, she glanced up at Miles and Rory afterward. “I’m not sure what to say.”
Rory leaned forward, an earnest, almost pleading expression on his face. “Never doubt I have anything but the highest regard for you, Miss Fiona, and I’m mortified you would have believed otherwise. Iris confessed her crime this morning and returned your letter to me. I’ve read it, and can assure you my offer of friendship still stands, if you’ll have it.”
A Gift for Fiona (The Love Letters Series Book 2) Page 7