by Abby Gaines
Dominic cleared this throat, the intention to deny all possibility of a house party etched on every feature.
Then Marianne stuttered, “Y-yes, indeed. I should enjoy a house party above all things. May we do it, Dominic?” She looked appalled and delighted at her own nerve.
“It sounds very jolly,” Mr. Beaumont chimed in, his eyes on Marianne.
Dominic stared at his sister. “Marianne, are you well?”
“I’m fine.” To their guests, she said, “When we have the party, you must all join us for the activities and excursions.”
“Delighted,” Mr. Beaumont murmured.
“We expect to have my niece staying with us next month,” Lady Shelton said quickly. “I know she’ll enjoy any excursions.”
Her husband’s exclamation of surprise collapsed into a muffled grunt. Serena suspected his wife had trodden on his toes to keep him quiet. From Dominic’s grim expression, it was clear he’d realized the niece’s visit was a hastily concocted plan to enter the girl in his hunt for a bride. His valet had clearly spread the news of his intentions far and wide.
“May we, Dominic?” Marianne asked again.
With nine pairs of eyes on him, he had no other option. “Certainly,” he said, his voice tight.
Serena pressed her lips together to avoid any hint of a smirk. He hadn’t wanted a parade of women through his house, but he would get one. Dominic would have every chance not just to choose a new wife, but to fall in love again.
Chapter Six
Two days later, Serena stood behind Marianne at the writing desk in the blue salon, reading the list of house party guests penned in Marianne’s elegant hand. Dominic would likely join them soon. Right now, he was doing whatever it was men did after dinner, while the ladies withdrew.
“It’s amazing how many locals, like Lady Shelton, happen to have unmarried relatives coming to stay at the very time of our house party.” Marianne smiled wryly. “Serena, you have no idea how thrilled I am that Dominic plans to wed. The thought of having to accompany the girls into society as they grow older...” Her face turned scarlet at the mere idea.
Serena squeezed her shoulder. “It’s just a shame you have to endure a house party in order for Dominic to find a bride. Which is all my fault, and I appreciate that you haven’t complained.”
“You know very well why I haven’t,” Marianne said.
“The delightful Mr. Beaumont.” Serena had hoped he would call after Wednesday’s dinner, but he hadn’t. He was doubtless busy getting to know the estate that would one day be his.
“I don’t suppose I have a chance with him.” Marianne twisted to face Serena. “This house party is a wonderful idea for increasing our acquaintance, but knowing me, I shall spend the entire two weeks looking like a—what’s the name of that fruit that Cook insists only foreigners should eat?”
“The tomato. Though in your case, maybe we should give it its English name—the love apple.”
Marianne rolled her eyes. “Yes, one of those. I’ve never heard of a man marrying a tomato, have you?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “But, do you know, Serena, I really want to try. If there’s any hope at all, I could never forgive myself for squandering it.”
“Exactly,” Serena said.
“And even if nothing comes of this house party for me—” Marianne set the pen back in the inkwell “—there’s a strong chance Dominic will meet a nice woman. If he marries, I can abandon my lady-of-the-manor duties and become a nun.” She sounded as if she was only half joking.
“Marianne, you know you enjoy your food too much for a nunnery’s plain fare.”
“Very true.” She sighed. “Besides, my blushes make me look so guilty, they’d never admit me.”
Serena laughed. When Marianne joked like this, when she wasn’t fussing about her herbal remedies or her damp cloths, she was so attractive, it was hard to believe she couldn’t catch Mr. Beaumont, or indeed any other man. A gentleman just needed to spend enough time with her to get to know her. The house party would be perfect.
“Tell me about the ladies on your list,” she said. “Are there any your brother might fall in love with?”
Marianne turned back to her paper. “He didn’t mention love. He said to invite women I thought might be good for the children.”
An improvement, at least, on “women who live within five miles of Woodbridge Hall.” Serena considered Dominic’s progress a personal victory.
“Don’t you agree it’d be nice for him to fall in love?” she said. If he opened his heart to a woman, it would be so much easier to open it to his children.
“I don’t think he could,” his sister said. “Not after Emily.”
“Was Emily very wonderful?”
Marianne leaned back in her chair. “She was...perfect for Dominic, I suppose. Calm and well-ordered, with never a hair out of place, always thoughtful of others. She was a most loving mother.”
“She sounds like a saint.” Serena was conscious of a metallic taste in her mouth.
“Emily had her flaws,” Marianne assured her. “She could be indecisive at times. But Dominic’s so decisive, that scarcely mattered.”
If indecisiveness was her worst fault, then Emily Granville sounded depressingly perfect. She and Dominic couldn’t have disagreed much.
Peace in the home was a good thing, of course. Even if it meant sacrificing robust discussion.
“Is there anyone on your list who’s like Emily?” Serena asked.
Marianne read the list aloud. “Lady Mary Carruthers, Sarah Seton, Annabelle Peckham, Penelope Carr. And their parents, of course.” A single lady of marriageable age couldn’t attend a house party without a chaperone. “Mrs. Anne Evans—another widow.” She grimaced at the memory of Mrs. Gordon.
“What qualities would you say Dominic might fall in love with?” Serena asked casually. “I mean, we should be sure to point those things out to him when these women arrive.”
“Oh...the usual, I suppose,” Marianne said.
“Marianne, you must be able to do better than that!”
“One doesn’t think about one’s brother in that way,” she said sheepishly. “Oh, I know, a gentle voice. That was one of the things he loved about Emily.”
Serena sighed and moved to examine the tapestry hanging on the wall between the two windows. It depicted Jesus healing a leper; some earlier Granville had reportedly acquired it during his travels in France.
“You know, Marianne, five children might seem rather a lot to a lady who has none. We need to show the children to advantage during the house party.”
“They’ll be confined to the nursery,” Marianne pointed out.
“Surely Dominic intends for them to at least meet his prospective wife. When they do, it would be too awful if Thomas chose that moment to release a lizard.”
“I can just see it,” Marianne agreed, laughing.
The more she thought about it, the more it occurred to Serena that something might go wrong. “Any encounter between the children and the guests will need to be well managed,” she reflected. Which went against her view that Dominic’s wife should love his children just as they were. But first impressions did count for a lot. “Maybe we should stage a musical performance.”
“Are the children very musical?” Marianne asked.
Serena wandered away from Jesus and the leper, and over to the window. Woodbridge land stretched as far as her eye could see. “I admit I’ve neglected that aspect of their education, since the older ones have a music tutor and my own skills on the pianoforte are mediocre,” she said. “But all children are adorable when they sing. They barely have to hold a tune.”
“And my nephews and nieces are especially adorable,” Marianne said.
“So true.” Serena grinned. “I’ll start training them in a small performance.”
“You’d make a wonderful mother yourself, Serena.” Marianne sanded her page to dry the ink. “I plan to invite two or three bachelor friends of Dom’s to the
house party, so that it’s not quite so blatant a marriage mart. Perhaps one of them will fall in love with you.”
Serena fiddled with the tieback of a bronze damask curtain. “I’ll be very much in the background, with so many eligible ladies present.”
“You have a case of the fidgets tonight, my dear,” Marianne observed. “Ah, Dominic, you’re just in time to approve my guest list.”
Serena turned quickly, to see him standing in the doorway.
He was watching her.
Or maybe looking past her, out the window.
Marianne pushed her chair back. “I’ll ring for tea.”
“I’ll do it.” Serena crossed to the fireplace and pulled the bell rope.
“Dom, take a look.” His sister held out her sheet of paper.
He muttered something under his breath, but took the list and scanned it. “I don’t know most of these women.”
“They’re all delightful,” she assured him.
Dominic stared down at the page for a long time. “Are you certain we need to do this?”
“Think of the children,” Serena said, chivying him. “If it will help persuade you, William had another incident last night.”
Dominic tsked. “I remember noticing there was no moon at all.”
“His sheets were soaked with sweat—and before you ask, my room is nearest his and I run much faster than Nurse.” Serena wrapped her arms around her middle at the memory of William’s distress. “He let me comfort him, but I feel so sorry for him. Every time the moon is obscured with cloud...”
Marianne sighed. “It’s too dangerous to leave a candle burning. Maybe Serena’s right, that if you marry...”
“There’s no guarantee a stepmother will cure his phobia,” Dominic said.
“The problem started after his mother died,” Serena said. “I believe that if he has a permanent mother figure, his subconscious worries might subside.”
“So I’m supposed to marry one of these women—” he dropped the paper on the desk “—on the basis of your intuition.”
“Inviting a few ladies to attend a house party with the thought there may be a match isn’t the same as walking down the aisle.” What Serena really wanted to say was Stop feeling sorry for yourself, and start thinking about your children. “You can step down off the gallows any time before you put your head in the noose.”
He laughed reluctantly, and his whole face lightened, making him devastatingly attractive. “What a delightful analogy.”
“It’s one of my father’s favorites,” she said. At Dominic’s raised eyebrow, she said, “Admittedly, Papa uses it about sin, rather than marriage.”
“Interesting,” Dominic observed. “So Reverend Somerton advocates waiting until the last second to resist temptation?”
She rolled her eyes. “Papa says we might feel we’ve as good as sinned merely by deciding to do so, but we still have a choice. We can pull back from it at any time.”
“Are you saying I can pull back from this madcap idea right up until my wedding day?”
“Certainly not,” she said. “Obviously a gentleman can never jilt a lady. But just because you have several prospective brides visiting, you’re not obligated to propose marriage to one of them.”
“A great relief,” he said dryly. He glanced at the list again. “Marianne, did you consider... What about Hester Lacey?”
“Hester!” Marianne said. “Of course. Is she still unwed? She must close to thirty by now.”
“We exchanged letters last Christmas and she didn’t mention she’d married.”
“I daresay she’d welcome the chance to change her old maid status,” Marianne said. “And she’s so nice.”
“She has the same name as Hetty,” Serena observed. Whoever she is.
“Hetty was named for Hester Lacey,” Marianne explained. “She was Emily’s best friend.”
A little shock ran through Serena, one she couldn’t explain. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” Dominic asked, frowning.
“So...Miss Lacey knows the children?” Was she as perfect as Emily?
“Of course,” Dominic said. “I haven’t seen her since she and her mother stayed a night on their way to Yorkshire, maybe two years after Emily died.”
“Hester Lacey,” Marianne said slowly. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of her. I’m certain you’ll approve, Serena.” She picked up her pen again and added Miss Lacey to the list.
Dominic’s snort said Serena’s approval was irrelevant.
“Wonderful,” Serena said brightly.
* * *
The next morning, Serena and Marianne walked the bridle path along Woodbridge’s eastern boundary. Serena dangling her bonnet from her fingers by its ribbons. The spring sunshine was so tempting, it was worth the prospect of attracting a dreaded freckle to feel the sun’s warmth on her face. The risk of freckling was low, she hoped, given the rays were mostly filtered through the trees.
“I’m certain I saw some lemon balm along here.” Marianne carried a basket for gathering wild herbs for the concoctions with which she treated her complexion. “In the glade next to the pond.”
“Will you apply it to your face?” Serena asked.
“Apparently one makes a tea. Which can be served cold.” Marianne avoided hot drinks outside of the compulsory evening teatime. “I don’t suppose it’ll work, though.” She made a sound of impatience. “I’m sorry to seem so gloomy. But, Serena, I’ve had enough. I have done everything that’s possible and reasonable, and plenty that’s unreasonable. I have prayed the prayer of Saint Paul, ‘Lord, take this thorn in my flesh away from me,’ every day since I was nine years old. But nothing changes.”
“He hears you,” Serena said.
“But why doesn’t He act? He can’t want one of His children to be so hideous, can He?”
“My dear, you know perfectly well you’re not hideous. You do a disservice to those with serious disfigurements.”
Marianne kicked a pinecone from the path, and didn’t respond. At last she said, “You’re always so right.”
Serena laughed. “What a thing to say! I detest people who are always right. With the exception of my papa, of course.”
Marianne’s mouth tugged into a smile. “I apologize. I should have— Oh, my.”
A horse and rider had rounded the bend in front of them. The black horse was magnificent. So was the rider—at least, Serena guessed, in Marianne’s opinion.
Mr. Beaumont lifted his hat. “Good morning, ladies.”
A sidelong glance at Marianne revealed a flush so deep as to be almost purple. Serena returned his greeting. “Are you visiting Woodbridge, Mr. Beaumont?” she asked. “I’m afraid it’ll be some minutes before we reach the house, and Mr. Granville is out with his steward.”
Beaumont smiled. He certainly was a nice-looking man. And yet Serena’s pulse failed to quicken the way it did when Dominic did something as unremarkable as raise an eyebrow.
“This path traverses the boundary between Woodbridge and Farley Hall,” he said. “I believe at this point I’m on Farley land.” He dismounted from his horse.
“You are indeed.” Marianne found her voice at last. “We are the intruders. I’m sorry.”
His answering smile held a gentleness that made Serena catch her breath. If this wasn’t genuine regard for Marianne, she would eat her bonnet!
“Are you helping me by clearing my land of weeds?” He indicated her basket. “That’s above and beyond the call of neighborly duty, Miss Granville.”
“I—I gather herbs in these woods,” Marianne stammered. “I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.”
“Of course not,” he assured her. He investigated her basket more closely. “Is that ragwort?”
“Yes, do you know it?”
“My nurse used to make a poultice of it when I had a bee sting. Here, let me hold that for you while we talk.” He took the basket from her, a chivalrous gesture that left Marianne more flustered than
ever. “What do you use it for?”
Marianne hesitated. “According to Nurse, it’s very good for inflammation.”
A neat evasion, Serena thought.
Mr. Beaumont eyed Marianne consideringly, but didn’t comment.
“We’re also looking for lemon balm,” Marianne said in a rush. “You wouldn’t know...?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ve gone beyond my knowledge of herbs in a few short seconds.” With his free hand, he steadied his horse, which was beginning to show signs of impatience. “My uncle knows a great deal more—he fancied himself something of an apothecary in his days at Oxford, and has quite a collection of volumes dedicated to herbal remedies.”
“How fascinating,” Marianne said.
For a moment, Mr. Beaumont’s mouth twisted, as if he heard such words too often from simpering misses. But Marianne couldn’t be further from a simpering miss, and the basket he carried was testimony to her genuine interest. Mr. Beaumont’s mouth softened. “I fear the books are sadly out of date, but perhaps you’ll have occasion to visit my uncle, and see for yourself.”
“Sir Charles isn’t known for entertaining,” she murmured.
Mr. Beaumont chuckled. “Believe me, I’ve noticed! The evenings are dashed quiet in this part of the world.” He spoke a calming word to the horse, which settled. “Do you go up to London often, Miss Granville?”
Poor Marianne turned puce with horror at the thought. “I do not,” she said. “I find it doesn’t suit my—my constitution.”
A flicker of Mr. Beaumont’s eyes said he understood. “May I walk with you on your quest?”
But a search of the glade next to the pond failed to turn up any lemon balm. “Thank you for your company,” Marianne said to him when they’d abandoned the hunt. “We must be getting home now.”
“If you’ve no objection, I’ll walk with you, at least as far as the Woodbridge lawns,” he said. “I saw signs of a poacher earlier this week, and I worry for your safety.”
Serena and Marianne walked in these woods often, and had seen no such signs. Serena wondered if Beaumont was conjuring an excuse to spend time with Marianne. A strategy she heartily applauded, since she was here to chaperone.