“I’ve already pledged as much, but despite my offer Mr. Spotterswood has not stopped insisting I view the deterioration of the old roof firsthand.” Alex shook his head. “I suspect he’ll have me scaling ladders and clambering back and forth over the eaves, merely so I can repeat a promise I’ve already made.”
She smiled. “Mr. Spotterswood means well. He simply gets a bit carried away.”
“Sometimes in church he forgets where he is and says the same thing twice,” Harry said cheerily. “Once it made me laugh so hard, Mama had to pinch me to make me stop.”
Alex glanced at him. “I hope pinching is not a family trait. Your sister is sitting dangerously close to both of us.”
Harry giggled.
“It’s not very gentlemanly of you to tattle on Mr. Spotterswood,” Miss Langley scolded. “Lord Ayersley will think we don’t like the vicar, when he gave Mr. Spotterswood the living.”
“Oh, no,” Alex said. “I know better than to take a little grumbling about sermons to heart.”
Harry sat up taller. “Jack Spotterswood has a new pony. He lets me ride it. I’m going to get one too.”
“When you turn six,” Miss Langley reminded him.
“I’m almost six now.”
“You just turned five.”
“Well, five is almost six.”
She threw Alex a look that mingled amusement and forbearance. “Harry is in a hurry to grow up.”
“Yes, and when I do I’m going to have horses just like my brother Tom’s,” Harry said, “or p’raps like yours, Lord Ayersley. Then I’m going to marry Roxana and become the captain of a ship.”
Alex glanced across at Miss Langley—heartbreakingly pretty, warm, her smile carving dimples in her cheeks. Rather than attempting to explain to a five-year-old why brothers and sisters cannot marry, he said, “It may be some years yet before you’re ready to settle down, Harry. You can’t expect your sister to wait, especially when Major Wyatt has stolen a march on you.”
Harry considered a moment. “Then I’ll marry Jack’s sister.”
Miss Langley laughed. “Alas, thrown over!” She clutched both hands theatrically to her heart. “It seems to be my lot. You did it too, Ayersley.”
Alex froze. “I did—what?”
Fortunately, she was so intent on settling her little brother—like every small boy since the dawn of time, Harry insisted on standing up in a moving carriage—she missed his slack-jawed confusion.
“Listen to that, Harry. Lord Ayersley breaks my heart and doesn’t even remember.” She glanced his way with a teasing smile. “When I was six or seven, you and Tom were playing Cavaliers and Roundheads, and I unwisely begged to play. Tom refused, so in a fit of temper I threw a clod of dirt at him. Goodness, how insulted he was! He called me all sorts of names, and said I would grow up to be an old maid because no one would ever marry such a harpy. That made me cry. And you, Ayersley—” she beamed in his direction, “—you said, ‘Please don’t cry. I’ll marry you.’” She laughed. “So very kindly, too. But you see what came of it. You went off to school again, and never gave another thought to my poor heart.”
He managed a stiff smile. “Did I really say that?”
“Oh, yes. Tom was quite disgusted with you, but I thought it a masterpiece of gallantry. The irony was that despite the courtliness of the gesture, Tom was supposed to be the Cavalier, and you were the Roundhead.”
“What a memory you have! I’d completely forgotten.”
“How could you? I’m cut to the quick to think my first proposal should have meant so little to you. And me so fetching, too, with my hands all dirty and tears running down my face.”
“Ah, well,” he said with an uneasy laugh. “I’ve had so many conquests, after all.”
At this, she laughed, too—not her usual lighthearted giggle, but a full-fledged peal of mirth.
Since he had meant it as a joke, Alex could hardly object. He kept his eyes on the road, wishing she saw him as something more than just her brother’s childhood playmate and a source of present-day amusement.
* * *
At the vicarage, Mr. Spotterswood came hurrying out to greet his patron. Roxana and her brother thanked the earl for the ride and went behind the house to look for the younger Spotterswoods. Her last glimpse of the two gentlemen was of a resigned Ayersley loping away beside the loquacious vicar.
Five-year-old Jack turned out to be just where they expected, on the lawn behind the vicarage, laboring to drag his good-natured pony toward a makeshift mounting block. Harry let out a whoop and ran to join him.
From a stone bench in the shade, Mrs. Spotterswood smiled and beckoned her over.
“Where are the other children?” Roxana asked as she strolled up.
“Tim has taken Ned and Joe fishing, and Mary is having a nap.” Mrs. Spotterswood had been reading a book, but she laid it aside as Roxana sat down. “Isn’t Major Wyatt with you today?”
“He had to see off one of his army friends.” The bench felt cool to the touch. Roxana leaned back on her palms and luxuriated in the refreshing shade. “Please don’t let me interrupt your reading.”
“Reading? Nonsense. I would much rather talk with you.”
Roxana grinned. “Oh, good, because I always look forward to talking with you.”
Together, they watched the two boys gambol about the pony. Harry attempted to boost Jack up into the saddle, but Jack proved too heavy for him. Both boys lost their balance and landed in a heap on the grass. Roxana and Mrs. Spotterswood chuckled in unison.
“Did you and Harry come on foot, then?” Mrs. Spotterswood asked.
“Lord Ayersley drove us in his curricle.”
Mrs. Spotterswood snapped to attention. “Lord Ayersley? He’s here?”
Roxana almost laughed at the way she said it—in a hushed, reverent tone, as if God himself had deigned to call at the vicarage. His rank aside, Ayersley was hardly awe-inspiring. “Yes, he’s with Mr. Spotterswood now.”
“Shall I go in, or are they coming out?” Mrs. Spotterswood’s hand fluttered to her bosom. “Oh, and I have nothing to offer him. Why did I not make gooseberry fool when I had the chance?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t expect to be fed. They’re inspecting the church roof.”
“But I have to give him something.” She jumped to her feet. “Does he like bread pudding? I could offer him that.”
“Do relax, Mrs. Spotterswood. From what I know of the earl, you’ll only make him uncomfortable if you make too great a fuss.”
Mrs. Spotterswood sat down again, as Harry and Jack took turns climbing in and out of the saddle. The stoic pony—with blind faith in its mettle, Jack had named it after the great racehorse Eclipse—cropped the grass calmly and swished its tail. Rarely did the boys succeed in coaxing it into motion.
Roxana breathed a contented sigh. How pleasant it was, sitting in the shade and watching the boys play while she talked with Mrs. Spotterswood. As much as she longed for a more eventful life, she would miss afternoons like this one once she and George were married.
George. Strange how she could go for long stretches without thinking of him. She had been so tranquil just now, watching Harry romp with Jack, she had almost forgotten about her approaching wedding. It had not occurred to her to bring up the gown she was copying from Ackermann’s Repository, or to talk about George’s friends from the Fifth. She had not even asked Mrs. Spotterswood if she’d enjoyed their engagement ball.
Even now, she didn’t ask. She had no wish to speak of George today. If she spoke or thought too much about him—about the shock of discovering his infidelities, about the solitary week she’d spent since the ball, about the way he’d broken his promise to drive them today—she might be unhappy with him. And she didn’t want to be unhappy with anyone, George least of all. It was all too agreeable, just now, sitting beneath the trees.
Instead, she and Mrs. Spotterswood chatted about the earl’s mother and her accident, and Harry’s yearning for a horse of h
is own, and Jack’s troubling tendency to walk pigeon-toed. Mrs. Spotterswood told her about the novel she’d been reading, and Roxana told her about the one she’d borrowed from Fanny Sherbourne. Soon they were giggling together about the heroine in their favorite gothic. Mrs. Spotterswood shared her keen disappointment that the girl inevitably fainted dead away just when matters were heating up.
They were still giggling when the sound of masculine voices reached their ears. Ayersley and the vicar had finished their business. Instantly Mrs. Spotterswood’s easy humor evaporated, replaced by the alert, attentive air of a palace sentry who’d realized the king himself was about to walk past.
“You’re too good, my lord. Too good,” Mr. Spotterswood was saying.
“Nonsense,” came Ayersley’s low reply. “I’m glad to be of service.”
Roxana twisted around on the bench. Both men were heading in their direction. Mr. Spotterswood was nearly crowding the earl off the path, beaming and gesturing exuberantly as he spoke. “But your generosity! A new roof! And slate is so very dear.”
“I assure you, Mr. Spotterswood, you’ve already thanked me enough.”
“Impossible. I intend to hold you up as an example to my flock. Upon my word, my lord, I do.”
Something in the earl’s stooped shoulders and downcast eyes told Roxana he was wishing he could escape. He looked up and caught sight of them. “Mrs. Spotterswood,” he said, brightening perceptibly. “And Miss Langley. Still here? May I offer you a ride back to Riddlefield?”
As much as Roxana was enjoying her conversation with Mrs. Spotterswood, riding with Ayersley in his curricle sounded infinitely preferable to trudging home in the summer heat. When she glanced back to where Harry and Jack were playing, however, the two boys seemed in no hurry to be separated. Harry was finally taking his turn on placid Eclipse, while Jack was leaping about the long-suffering pony, shouting encouragement to horse and rider as if they were hurtling toward the finish line at Epsom.
She turned back to the earl and smiled at him with real regret. “It’s very good of you to offer, Ayersley, but Harry and I will walk back. It’s a rare treat for him to have a turn in the saddle. I wouldn’t want to drag him away so soon.”
The earl nodded and gazed down at his boots. The vicar and his wife traded a look.
“As to that,” Mrs. Spotterswood said, “Mr. Spotterswood can drive young Harry home when the boys finish playing. That would be all right, wouldn’t it? You go along with his lordship, Miss Langley.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly. Ask you to watch Harry, and then take him home afterward? That would be too much trouble.”
“It would be no such thing,” the vicar said. “I was planning to call on parishioners in your direction anyway. You go along, Miss Langley. We’ll look after Harry.”
Roxana glanced doubtfully from the vicar to his wife. They both smiled at her. Go on, they seemed to be saying.
She tossed up her hands with a laugh. “Very well, then. It appears you have a traveling companion after all, Ayersley.”
The earl offered her his arm. Mr. and Mrs. Spotterswood beamed.
* * *
In no time at all, they were bowling along the sun-dappled road in Alex’s curricle. “What a fine pair,” Miss Langley said, admiring the quick-stepping chestnuts.
With the ribbons in his hands and his eyes on the road before them, Alex did not feel quite so tongue-tied in her presence. He could almost pretend she was an ordinary traveling companion, and not the sought-after and wrenchingly lovely vision he’d been desperately in love with since his university days. “Thank you, but I confess they were a shameful extravagance.’’
She laughed. “I daresay you can afford it.”
“Even so, I don’t like to spend money on myself.”
“Why not, if you have it to spare?”
He concentrated on slowing the horses to negotiate a bend. “I suppose it comes from having been a younger son, with expectations of a different life. Until I was twenty, I was intended for the church.”
“Were you really? I didn’t know that.”
“Well, I realized I was not cut out for the military, and I had yet to discover politics, so the church seemed the logical choice. It was all settled—until my brother died.” Even after eight years, the mere mention of Kit brought an ache of remorse. “Then I had to abandon the idea. But I’ve always felt vaguely guilty about it, as if I’d reneged on an agreement, or…”
Miss Langley raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “Yes?”
“I was going to say ‘cheated God,’ but that’s rather presumptuous of me, isn’t it?” Alex glanced sidelong at her with a rueful smile. “Still, I often worry I’m not upholding my end of a bargain. ‘For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.’ Spending money on myself only compounds the debt.”
At her pensive look, Alex frowned. He’d probably dug himself even further into the hole of her disapprobation. No doubt Major Wyatt enjoyed the best of everything—clothes, carriages, horses. The last time Alex had seen him, he’d been driving a red high-perch phaeton, its wheels picked out in gold. Wyatt would never allow a trifling thing like conscience to get in the way of his pleasures.
“Did you have to scale the church steeple?” Miss Langley asked.
He was grateful for the change of subject. “Almost.”
“At least you have a devoted admirer in Mrs. Spotterswood. You should have seen the dither she was in when she learned of your arrival. It seems she had nothing to offer you except—brace yourself, Ayersley—ordinary bread pudding.”
“They’re both very kind. Perhaps too kind. I don’t like to put them to so much bother. Fortunately, I’ve sent to London for my secretary and he should be here in a day or two. Once Oliver arrives, he can handle such errands.”
“Your secretary is coming? Do you intend to stay on, then?”
“For the time being.” He flicked the reins to urge the horses back into a trot. “How is Major Wyatt?”
Her forehead furrowed slightly at the apparent non sequitur. “He’s quite well, thank you. Though to be honest, I’ve scarcely seen him all week. He’s been busy with his friends from the Fifth. He was supposed to drive Harry and me today, in fact, and you see how that turned out.”
“Yes, I see.”
She looked down. “Oh, dear. I hope that didn’t sound disloyal. I do realize gentlemen can’t talk freely in the confining presence of ladies, and George hasn’t seen his brother officers in some time. I’m sure he’s been missing me every bit as much as I’ve missed him.”
The curricle was passing before old Mrs. Truitt’s cottage. On the other side of the low stone wall, the lady herself was ambling about her garden, cutting blooms from her rosebushes, a basket in the crook of one arm. She straightened to watch the carriage as they passed.
“Out with the young earl, eh, Miss Langley?” she called.
Alex touched a gloved hand respectfully to his hat. Miss Langley waved and called out a greeting, though he was sure she knew as well as he did Mrs. Truitt was too deaf to hear. The chestnuts trotted on.
“I was just thinking about your engagement ball,” he said after they’d driven a little further. “Forgive me, but at one point you seemed—distressed.” He glanced at her. “Or am I mistaken?”
She blushed, no doubt remembering how they’d nearly collided as she’d turned to flee the ballroom. He wasn’t sure how much of the officers’ conversation she’d overheard, but he’d heard enough himself to know it must have hurt.
“I suppose I was,” she said with obvious reluctance.
“Can I help in any way?”
“Thank you, Ayersley, but it’s—it’s all straightened out now.”
“I see.” So she was prepared to overlook Wyatt’s straying.
She lifted her chin and said with forced brightness, “Did you ever ask Fanny Sherbourne to dance?”
“No, I never found the chance.” Once Miss Langley had disappeared onto the terrace
with Wyatt, he’d spent far too much time staring after them, wondering what they were saying to each other.
“Ah, well. Perhaps it was for the best. Fanny sometimes has trouble making conversation too.” Miss Langley gave a soft gasp, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh—I didn’t mean—What I meant to say is, you like to discuss politics, and…” Her fumbling explanation died away.
“And most young ladies aren’t interested in such things,” he finished for her, pretending he hadn’t caught the slight. “Politics can be so very dry, after all. Voting budgets and determining which routes the roads should take…”
“And judicial reform,” she said with a look of relief at his mild response. “Not many girls come to parties hoping to talk about judicial reform.”
His jaw tightened. “No, I expect not.”
* * *
Oh, no. She hadn’t meant to offend him. Truly, she hadn’t. She’d just been so rattled by his question about the night of the ball, she’d had only half her mind on what she was saying.
“I’m sorry, Ayersley,” Roxana said when he went on staring fixedly at the road. “That came out wrong. I only meant you’re not one for idle chatter, while a girl goes to a party to…”
Ugh. She needed to stop talking before she sunk herself completely beneath reproach. He looked as equable as ever, thank heavens, but it clearly hadn’t escaped his notice she considered him poor company.
Well, what difference did it make? It was how she really felt, wasn’t it? He considered her frivolous and provincial, and she found him tedious and unsociable. But her attempts to shrug off her blunder only brought a keener sense of guilt. The earl had sounded so kind only moments before, when he’d offered her his help.
If only he weren’t so serious. Any other gentleman would have sensed she regretted her faux pas and teased his way past any awkwardness, instead of leaving her to feel shamed and conscience-stricken. They might even have enjoyed a little harmless flirtation about parties and ladies and suitable dancing conversation. But Ayersley was utterly flirt-proof.
They drove in silence for a time, her thoughtlessness hanging in the air between them. Finally he asked quietly, “Have you ever attended a hanging, Miss Langley?”
Ruined by Rumor Page 5