More than a fortnight has passed since Aurora had sent out her invitations. The house party would be a grand success. She simply knew it would. And she and Quin would have a lovely announcement to make to their guests after they arrived in a week’s time.
Still, she didn’t want to tell him quite yet.
Soon. Very soon.
~ * ~
One more day. In one more day, a hoard of expectant guests would invade his home, expecting him to put on a happy face and be a happy host and say happy things and think happy thoughts.
Damnation.
Quin should have sent a footman out to reclaim the bloody invitations from the postman. But he hadn’t. He ought to have written apologetic letters to Aurora’s entire guest list, informing them that, due to unforeseen circumstances, they would be unable to host the house party. But he hadn’t. He damned well should have done what he had intended and sent Aurora away with Jonas, somewhere she could be safe, somewhere he couldn’t hurt her, somewhere he could never find her. But, again, he hadn’t.
So now, in one more day’s time, he would have no option but to follow through with this farce she had dragged him into.
Quin had done his best over the three intervening weeks to behave as a proper and decent husband ought. He took care of his business affairs efficiently. He joined his wife for luncheon and tea and supper—chiefly because the thought of leaving Jonas to his own devices with Aurora didn’t sit well with him. Or at least that was the excuse he gave himself. Jonas had never (to Quin’s knowledge) been known to make a cuckold of other men.
Quin took the time to get to know more about Aurora—about her relationship with her father (how the man doted upon her), and what she remembered of her mother (chiefly only sadness and strife), and if she’d ever had a pet (none, but the idea of having a puppy of her very own thrilled her to pieces).
Aurora told him of her fear of heights that had plagued her since falling down a few stairs as a young girl. She told him how she came to be such dear friends with Lady Rebecca after her mother’s death—how no matter how forcibly Aurora had pushed against Rebecca to leave her alone to her misery, no matter how much she lashed out in anger and sadness and grief, no matter how deplorable her company must have been for a young girl, Rebecca stood staunchly by her side. She let him see tiny little pieces of herself that she normally kept hidden or firmly tamped down so as not to be discovered: the way she would always say “Thank you,” whenever a servant assisted her with a task, no matter how small; the way she would stealthily set aside her embroidery and begin work on a new gown for her lady’s maid as soon as the latter left the room; the way she picked up after Jonas so the maids wouldn’t have to come behind him and do it; the way she would set about discovering Quin’s favorite meal, or Jonas’s favorite dessert, and be certain to have Cook prepare them regularly; the way her eyes would light up when something struck her to write in her journal, and she would dart to the escritoire or her chamber to write it down before it was lost.
Quin no longer feared allowing his wife to write. She had erred in London, in allowing someone to take some of her pages. But it was just that—a mistake. But here, at Quinton Abbey, he had no fear that anyone would be able to hurt her in such a manner again, despite the fact that he still had not discovered the perpetrator.
At least, no one would be able to hurt her like that again once he sorted out who was behind the Sordid Scandals and Titillating Trysts and put an end to the slanderous rag.
If he were still a betting man (and sweet Christ, he wished he were), he would wager in the book at White’s that Lord Griffin Seabrook was behind the deuced pages. But since he had been forced into a respectable and honorable life, he could only hold tight to such a certainty. Who else would it be?
Laughton’s family always took a summer holiday to his principal seat in Harrogate, so he knew Griffin would be there soon. If Quin were not to have a houseful of guests, he’d head over there and confront the bastard on it.
But Rotheby would be in fits if Quin took off during a house party to either beat the man to a bloody pulp or call him out to duel. It just wouldn’t do. Doubtless, his grandfather would take the abbey from him on the spot, leaving Quin and Aurora not only with their reputations in tatters, but destitute and homeless, as well.
So he’d have to wait until the infernal affair was at an end.
Quin hated to wait.
He wished their guests would hurry and arrive, so they could get started. It wouldn’t very well end if it had not yet begun. And devil take it, every last invitation Aurora had sent out had been accepted.
She was so excited about it that she intended to throw a ball at the end of the fortnight, even inviting some of the gentry and merchants and workers who lived nearby to take part in the celebration. Quinton Abbey hadn’t hosted a ball as long as Quin could remember. Perhaps not ever. The whole town of Wetherby was abuzz about her ladyship’s ball. Quin couldn’t escape talk of it anywhere he went.
Not even in his mews.
Quin was just returning to the abbey from a visit with Carruthers, when his head groom popped around the corner.“Lovely afternoon, my lord, is it not?”
“Indeed it is,” Quin responded. “I was thinking of taking Lady Quinton to explore the kitchen garden before supper.” And perhaps ravishing her in the gazebo. Or on the warm grass beside it, just where the sun would be hitting it. Or both.
Jonas would most decidedly have to stay behind, this time.
“I’m sure her ladyship would appreciate the thought, sir. Indeed, she must be as appreciative as the townsfolk are for her thoughtfulness.”
If only the man knew what he was really thinking. Quin just nodded his agreement as they both turned to the sound of a carriage coming along the lane.
“Looks as though some of your guests have arrived early,” the groom said.
While Quin didn’t particularly care to have any guests in his home for any longer than they already would be, he couldn’t help but be grateful that an early arrival meant that finally, it was starting.
“That it does,” Quin responded. “If you’ll please pardon me, I must go and greet them.” Time to play the happy host. Blast it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
13 June, 1811
I am more addled by my husband than ever. His family is delightful. Why would he not want for me to meet them? Why would he not want them in his life? He can be so terribly contradictory. Everything that he wants, everything that he needs, he pushes away. Could that be why he has pushed so hard against me? He needs to stop pushing, or he’ll lose what he will hold most dear. Perhaps it is time to tell him.
~From the journal of Lady Quinton
A woman barreled out of the carriage and engulfed Aurora in her arms before she had a chance to give a proper greeting. She was tall, like Aurora, with lovely golden hair that glinted in the afternoon sun. She even smelled like sunshine, if that were possible.
But her encompassing embrace made it out of the question for Aurora to see any more of this woman than she had in that all too brief moment when she burst out of the carriage.
“Let her go before you strangle her, dear,” came a gruff yet somehow jovial masculine voice from the direction of the carriage. “Otherwise you’ll have to explain to your son just how, precisely, you managed to suffocate his wife upon our arrival.”
Her son? Oh, dear good Lord. Lady Coulter. She was early. Actually, they were early, since the male voice had to belong to Sir Augustus, and undoubtedly Nia was still tucked away in the carriage, waiting to be handed out.
She really wished Quin was here. He ought to introduce them. He ought to greet his mother.
He ought to be there to calm Aurora down, the blasted man.
But then Sir Jonas’s voice rang out from behind her: “Lady Coulter, if you do not let go of Lady Quinton this moment so that I can have one of those famous hugs, I’ll have to steal mine from Miss Coulter.”
Finally, Aurora could breathe aga
in as Lady Coulter released her and swatted playfully at Sir Jonas’s arm. “Jonas, you rascal. You may be a grown man now and not the little boy running through my garden in his short dress stealing my daisies to take home to your mother, but I can still bring you to heel. Now come and give me a proper greeting,” she said, walking over to him and taking his face in her hands.
Aurora stepped back to watch the scene unfolding before her. Lady Coulter still had a jaunt in her steps, despite her advancing years. The golden hair she shared with Quin was streaked with grey, but generally looked vibrant. In the years since the portrait in the gallery was painted, she’d filled in about the middle just a touch. Enough to further emphasize the curves she wore very well. She was quite a sight.
Her husband, however, was balding and ruddy-faced, and rather more portly. But he smiled upon Lady Coulter with obvious affection—much as she smiled upon Sir Jonas.
Aurora looked for Nia, but the girl was still in the shadows of the carriage, peering out through the window to watch the proceedings. How odd for the girl to be so shy, with the gregarious Lady Coulter for a mother, and the rakehell to put all other rakehells to shame, Quin, as a brother. Aurora wanted to get to know her, to draw her out of her shell. That would be an excellent project for the fortnight.
“So very grown up. I haven’t seen you in an age,” Lady Coulter continued, latching her arm through one of Sir Jonas’s before turning back to Aurora. “And you—I could pull my son over my knee for not even sending word that he’d married, let alone not inviting us to come and meet you immediately, dear. You are truly a lovely thing, aren’t you?”
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” Aurora said, dipping into a brief curtsy.
“Ma’am? You may call me Minerva, dear. I certainly intend to call you Aurora. And of course, this is my husband, Sir Augustus Coulter,” the older woman said with a wave of her hand. “And Nia? Nia, come out of the carriage, dear, and meet your sister.” Lady Coulter lowered her voice and said into Aurora’s ear: “I fear my daughter has suddenly turned shy. She’ll warm up to you in no time.”
The young lady climbing out of the carriage was a vision. Oh, she was young and awkward, to be sure, perhaps even to the point of bungling. She stood taller than Aurora (who was on the tall side for a lady) with long, spindly limbs that made her seem more coltish than graceful. But her golden hair, porcelain skin, and blue eyes as dark and mysterious as the night sky held promise for when she would one day grow into her own.
Nia looked around, allowing her eyes to linger more on her mother and father than on either Aurora or Sir Jonas. Then she lowered her eyes to the ground to mumble out a greeting and dip a curtsy.
The sound of boots on the pea-gravel lane had them all turning. Finally, Quin was returning to the main house. Blasted man.
But before Aurora had a chance to say anything to him, Lady Coulter marched across to him with her fists planted at her hips. “You are an awful, horrid son to treat me this way all these years. Your sister has not seen you in so long that she will not recognize you. You neglected to even write to inform me of your marriage, which, by the way, I would have preferred to attend. You have not written to me since before you ran out on your betrothal to Lady Phoebe, and that was more than three years ago. If not for Jonas sending us word of your exploits on the continent, we would not have known if you were dead or alive. At least he behaves as a son ought, sending letters and coming for visits and generally behaving as a member of a family. I have half a mind to draw you over my knee right this moment.”
And then she wrapped him in the same engulfing hug she had given to Aurora moments before. “From now on, Aurora will keep me informed. Won’t you dear?”
“Of course she will,” Sir Augustus replied in his rough gravelly voice. “No one is brave enough to disobey you. Except Quin. Particularly not Sir Jonas and me, lass,” he whispered to Aurora conspiratorially with a nod in Sir Jonas’s direction. “It’s always a better idea to do what Minerva wants. Always.”
Sir Jonas raised an eyebrow and winked.
~ * ~
Quin spent the rest of the day being playfully berated by his mother, all while the woman doted upon Aurora as the three sat in the gilt-edged high-backed chairs near the windows. Jonas and Sir Augustus sat off near the hearth, discussing pheasant hunting season and crops and politics. Nia found a corner to herself near the tapestries where she could read a book or stitch away at some embroidery, generally lowering her gaze to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes, though occasionally, when it seemed no one was paying her any attention, she would glance up and stare curiously at Sir Jonas.
Which Aurora found to be a very interesting development, indeed.
The girl was more gangly than graceful—not quite fitting anywhere, but clearly a beauty in the making. Given a few more years, Nia would almost certainly be a diamond of the first water, perhaps even an Incomparable. She’d be able to snag any gentleman in London that she wanted.
But it seemed the only gentleman she wanted happened to be in Quinton Abbey at the moment.
“Do please excuse me,” Aurora said to Lady Coulter and Quin as she rose and slipped across the room to where Nia sat off by herself.
The girl colored up profusely as Aurora drew near, her perfect English rose complexion rising to a delicate pink. She hastily folded her stitchery to set it aside. “Lady Quinton,” she said in a soft voice, dipping her head ever lower.
“Call me Aurora. And I shall call you Nia, if I may. We are sisters now, after all.” And they were about to become co-conspirators, if the truth be told, but there was no need to worry Nia prematurely. She needed to ease into the discussion. Aurora slid down onto a plush settee next to the girl. “I can’t help but notice the way you sneak glances across at Sir Jonas. He is a very handsome man, is he not?”
Nia’s cheeks flushed to a somehow even more becoming shade. “Oh, my. I do hope you’ll not read anything into this. Jonas is…well, he is much like a brother to me. Even more like one than Quin has ever been.”
That blush made her out as a fraud, but Aurora wouldn’t call the poor girl out on such a tiny white lie. The truth would reveal itself in due time. Particularly if Aurora helped matters along. And she certainly intended to do just that. Perhaps she’d let Rebecca in on the plan, as well. Having a third conspirator might be called for in this situation, particularly since Nia seemed to be so terribly shy. The girl might not be cooperative.
“No, I don’t get the impression that Quin has been around you much, has he?” she prodded. If he wouldn’t answer her questions about his family (which he was still blatantly refusing to do after all this time), then at least she could learn something from them.
“I hardly recognize him, other than he looks rather a lot like Mama and me, doesn’t he?” Nia replied. “But no, he left to live on his own when I was just a small child. He hasn’t even come for a visit since I was about eight years old.”
Oh, good heavens. That was even more reprehensible than Aurora had suspected. “But Sir Jonas has?”
“Oh, yes. Ever since his own mother died, Jonas has come to spend his holidays with us, and has often paid us a visit in the summer as well.” Nia’s eyes were more expressive than Aurora had seen them to this point, large and round and virtually shimmering with excitement. “Mama and Papa look on him much as their own son.”
“And you look on him as you brother?” Aurora asked. She ought not to pry like this. She ought to let her sister-in-law off easy. But when did Aurora do as she ought? Now was certainly not the time to begin such a monumental change in behavior.
Nia’s eyes widened to the point that she looked almost inhuman. “Well…yes, of course I do,” she hedged.
The girl was a terrible fibber. That would make it all the easier for Aurora to understand her. Excellent. “Far more of a brother than Quin, I’m sure, since you hardly know him. Well, that settles that, then.” Aurora brushed her hands over the muslin fabric of her afternoon dress and r
ose to rejoin her husband and his mother by the windows.
“Settles what, Aurora?” the girl asked with her soft voice. She sounded as though she didn’t really want to know the answer to her question.
“Sir Jonas will act as your counterpart during this house party, of course. There will be many activities where all the unmarried young ladies and gentlemen will be paired off to do things together. And since you are so young—not to mention not yet out in society—you need to be paired with a gentleman who can act as more of a chaperone than an escort.” Aurora didn’t think Nia’s eyes could have grown any wider than they were earlier. She was wrong. “I had thought to pair you up with Quin, but clearly you will be more comfortable in Sir Jonas’s presence. He will be glad to take that responsibility, I’m sure.”
She’d make certain of it.
~ * ~
All around, Aurora’s plan for this house party was a bad idea.
Not only would Quin’s mother would be there for an entire fortnight, berating him for being such a negligent son, but he’d never seen such a wallflower as Nia before in his entire life.
Sir Augustus, at least, was genial and tended to stay out of the way as long as he had another gentleman or two to converse with and could sneak away from his wife long enough to smoke a cheroot from time to time.
But that was only his family!
It didn’t even include Rotheby, who would undoubtedly put a damper on any enjoyment Aurora’s other guests would care to find through the various entertainments she had planned. Quin regretted that he had done nothing to dissuade his wife from this debacle more and more by the hour.
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