Miss Greystock sighed, her eyes wandering over to where several gentlemen stood chatting. “It has been rather therapeutic to throw myself into the long hours of work required by the countess.”
“Which I am sure have increased with the hosting of this house party.”
“Tremendously,” said Miss Greystock with a great deal of feeling. They both laughed, surveying all of the guests from their spot on the blanket.
Isabel leaned her head in, lowering her voice. “If I had to guess, I’d wager that the Bloomsburys require more attention than anyone else here.”
“Right again. They are guests at one of the finest homes in England, and yet you’d be amazed by how many things they find to be displeased with.”
They shared a knowing smile, and Isabel gained the courage she’d been seeking. “Miss Greystock, I wonder if it might be possible for me to seek your assistance without adding to your burden . . .” Hesitancy made her voice trail off.
“I’d be happy to help if I can,” Miss Greystock encouraged.
“It’s a rather sensitive topic, and one I’ve addressed with the countess, but I thought you might also aid me in my endeavor. You see, Anne’s dowry has increased—”
“Anne, your sister?”
“Yes, and I’d like it to be made known, to increase her chances of making a suitable match.”
Miss Greystock searched Isabel’s face. “Her dowry has increased, but not your own?”
Isabel shook her head. “Just Anne’s,” she said firmly.
“I see.”
“It’s a complicated situation, you see, but I feel it important to see my sister favorably settled as soon as possible.”
“I am, of course, happy to help. My position allows me a certain ability to . . . spread information among the guests.”
“I hoped as much,” admitted Isabel. “Thank you. If there is anything I could do for you in return . . .”
“Not at this moment, but I’ll keep your offer in mind.”
“Please do.”
Silence filled the space between them, though the air around them was filled with conversation, shouts from the battledore game, and laughter. Isabel absentmindedly touched the bruise on her temple as she searched for Anne.
Anthony took the vacant seat on the blanket near Miss Anne. Her eyes followed Tauney Easton as he went over to cheer on the heated game of battledore, taking place on the field to their left.
“And how are you enjoying the house party thus far, Miss Anne?” he asked.
She looked over in surprise, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Lord Anthony, I didn’t even see you sit down.”
“Perhaps I should have asked if the seat was reserved.” He tipped his head toward the battledore field.
She shook her head. “Oh, no. I don’t think Mr. Easton will be back for some time.”
“Fortuitous for me.”
Her wide blue eyes met his, and she blushed again. She turned her face away, motioning toward some of the food laid out on the blanket. “Have you already eaten?”
“I have. And though I’m tempted to eat more, Mr. Teirny challenged me to a game of battledore later.”
“Mr. Teirny is one of the latecomers?”
Anthony nodded. “Yes. He rarely shows up on time for anything. He enjoys the attention of a late arrival.”
“You must be good friends to know him so well.”
“Yes. Along with Beauchamp—Mr. Beauchamp—and Lord Ian. We all met in school.”
Miss Anne’s eyes widened as she tried to hold back a smile. “Lord Ian is the one who sang last night? With Miss Standish?”
Anthony laughed. “Yes, although describing his efforts as singing is perhaps too generous.”
Miss Anne’s smile turned to a giggle. “Well I thought it was very chivalrous.”
“That is not a word I’ve often heard used to describe him. I’m sure he’d be flattered. But the fellow does have a good sense of adventure. In fact, he mentioned to me that he and several other guests are going to meet up quite late—for a ghost hunt.” He lowered his voice. “Apparently Somerstone Manor has its very own apparition. I thought to see if you would like to join us.”
Miss Anne hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking up the hill to where her sister sat. “I’m not sure . . .”
“There will be a decent sized group, nothing improper. And”—he inclined his head to where Tauney Easton was now playing battledore—“several of the Easton brothers are coming.”
A smile crept across her face. “You may talk me into it yet.” Despite her attempts to measure her words, there was no hiding her eagerness.
With that, Anthony knew she would come. He turned his head slightly, following Anne’s gaze up to Miss Townshend. Even from this distance, her scathing glare could not be missed. Anthony just grinned.
6
Six: Mixed Signals
Anthony leaned against one of the busts in the Statuary Hall. The room was lit only by the moon streaming through the windows, making it all silver and shadows. He’d come early. He had felt restless in his room, and he wanted a place to think. This place seemed as good as any.
His thoughts returned to his conversation with Miss Anne at the picnic earlier today. This new approach to discovering Miss Townshend’s deceit had promise. It had been quite easy to talk Miss Anne into joining the ghost hunt once she knew Tauney Easton would be accompanying the party. And Anthony had a feeling Miss Anne would be much more forthcoming than her sister. He began tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for her and the other members of the party.
How very different the two sisters were, in both looks and disposition. Miss Anne’s hair was golden instead of a rich brown, and her blue eyes were wide and doe-like, holding nothing of the fire and passion that he’d seen so often in her older sister. And her manner was softer. Gentler. She was welcoming and warm and didn’t always require him to be on his toes.
Earning Miss Anne’s regard would be much easier than that of her older sister. Miss Townshend put up all sorts of walls if she caught even a glimpse of him. Which made uncovering her deceit all the more enjoyable. Anthony had always enjoyed a good challenge.
Of course, the episode last night hadn’t helped. Anthony touched his nose, which still proved tender. He’d felt the slightest guilt at the sight of the bruising on Miss Townshend’s head today, but at least he could say it had been unintentional.
Several voices echoed through the high-ceilinged room. Lord Ian and Tauney Easton. Anthony smiled, remembering how often Miss Anne’s gaze had been drawn to the latter over the course of the afternoon. He seemed to be a decent fellow, though Anthony had only spoken to him in passing.
The two approached and Anthony stepped forward. “I hope we end up with more feminine company before the hunt begins. It is highly improper to chase after apparitions when the numbers are imbalanced.”
The men laughed. Easton’s mouth quirked in a smile, highlighted by the streams of moonlight. “And it is always preferable to have some women to blame the shrieks on.”
More people filtered in, the crowd growing until there was a group of eleven or twelve. A hushed excitement filled the room, though the whispers grew in volume as they waited for the latecomers. Miss Anne came in at last, a timid smile on her face. Anthony crossed the room to welcome her.
Relief filled her features when she saw him. “I’ve been second guessing my agreement to come all evening. But there is a certain thrill to the idea, isn’t there? Though I’m certain Isabel would not approve.”
Anthony lifted a brow. “You didn’t tell her?” She rose in his estimation by degrees.
“She still has a headache from the bruise on her head. I didn’t want to worry her needlessly. It’s just a good bit of fun.” She motioned across the room. “Even Miss Easton is here, and you know how protective her brothers are.”
“Yes, indeed. I am sorry about your sister’s headache. I feel responsible.”
She shook her head. “It wasn’
t your fault.”
Her presumption of his innocence brought back his earlier guilt, but he brushed it aside. “Perhaps there is some way to convey my apologies, even if it was unintentional.”
“You are very thoughtful. And a woman never rejects such gestures.”
Silently, Anthony doubted her words. But the thought of vexing Miss Townshend with just such a gesture was intriguing. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Candles were quickly handed out, and Anthony took one, though he did not light it. He had one more role to play in order to embed himself in Miss Anne’s good graces. If all went as planned, he’d be in a position to inquire about the size of her dowry. And he could at last expose Miss Townshend for what she was: another woman determined to further herself, who would stop at nothing to achieve her goals.
“Come,” he said, leading Miss Anne by the elbow, “let us find a spot near the front.” He came to a halt at Tauney Easton’s side. “Mr. Easton, could Miss Anne share a candle with you? I’m afraid we are several short.” He held his candle behind his back.
Miss Anne looked at him in surprise, and he gave her a quick wink. Easton held his out, a pleased look on his face. “Would you like to hold it, or shall I?”
Miss Anne’s returning smile was far brighter than the candle. “I think you had better. I might drop it if I become frightened.”
Ian began leading the crowd forward, but Anthony stayed back, leaving the couple to themselves. Once everyone had moved up the stairs, Anthony headed back to his room, whistling. He was one step closer to uncovering Miss Townshend’s deception.
The next morning Isabel sat with her father, wishing her stomach would stop twisting in knots. She glanced at the large clock on the marble mantle, the minutes ticking by. The countess was late. Isabel wanted to get this conversation over with before church services; she couldn’t bear to let it weigh her down another moment.
Trying to distract herself, she gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over a small garden, blooming with color.
Her father’s brows furrowed. “Goodness child, what ails you? Your cheeks are rather flushed.”
A hand went to her cheek. “Are they? I was out in the sun all yesterday afternoon. With my bonnet on, of course.”
He peered at her closely. “Are you sure you didn’t catch cold when you were caught in the rainstorm? I still regret not being able to fetch help myself.”
“Nonsense, Father.” She set her hand on his knee, attempting a smile. “You know a little rain has never bothered me. Though that rainstorm rather tested my limits.” Or perhaps it was the man she’d crossed paths with during the rainstorm.
The swish of skirts signaled the countess coming through the door. “I do apologize for keeping you waiting.” She crossed the room and found a seat, for once her lap noticeably empty. “Sir George, how did you find the rest of yesterday’s picnic? Did you get drawn into a game of battledore? I realized after I left yesterday that I should have had you row me across the pond.”
He chuckled, creases forming around his eyes. “Ah, that would have been a delight. But no, I watched the young ones in their lively competition. Twenty years ago, yes. Perhaps even ten. But not now. Not with my gout.” He adjusted his leg, as if talking of it reminded him of the pain.
Isabel let the two chat for a moment, grateful the countess saw the wisdom of easing her father into the conversation that was coming. He looked happier, more relaxed than she’d seen him in a good while. Being in the countess’s presence seemed to keep his mind from wandering too far. Hopefully that would make this conversation easier.
Her father shifted in his seat, turning toward her. “Did you hear Lady Du’Breven, my dear? She asked you a question.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.”
The countess dipped her head in understanding. “I merely asked if any of the gentlemen here have caught your eye? I know for a fact you’ve turned a few heads.”
Isabel clasped her hands in her lap. “Well, I’ve banged into at least one.” She smiled briefly, trying to keep her tone light. “And I know that Anne is already all aflutter, though I daresay by tomorrow someone new will have caught her eye.”
“One of these times, she’ll surprise you and find someone who has the power to keep her affections,” said the countess with some authority.
“Nothing would make me happier. I do hope to see her favorably settled—sooner rather than later.”
“I believe there is another matter you would like to see settled.” The countess looked toward Isabel’s father. “Now is as good a time as any.”
Isabel drew a breath, trying to force down the nerves that had lodged themselves in her ribcage. With both sets of eyes, on her the awkwardness of the situation seemed to stilt the words on her tongue. “Father, I know I shouldn’t have, but I took the liberty of writing to your solicitor.”
“My solicitor?” Her father’s eyes grew cloudy with confusion. “Whatever for?”
“I requested that he come and meet with us while we are here. There’s a matter of grave importance that must be addressed.”
“I cannot imagine what could be so important that it could not wait until after the house party. Really, Isabel, it’s quite unpolished to conduct business while we are guests here, among our friends.” He gestured toward the countess.
The countess shook her head. “Not at all. Some things won’t wait, and I am difficult to offend. At least when it comes to old friends.”
Her father’s brows bent together in consternation. “And what is so urgent that it cannot even wait a fortnight?”
Isabel swallowed. “My dowry.”
“Your dowry?”
She hesitated for a moment, but the countess nodded, giving her courage. “Yes. And there isn’t an easy way to say this, but it is imperative that some changes be made. For all our sakes, but Anne’s especially.”
An hour later Isabel made her way back to her room to gather her things for the church service. Her steps were lighter, the weight on her shoulders considerably relieved. Her father’s opposition to her proposal had not been easily overcome, but thankfully, the countess had been there to smooth things over and reassure him that Isabel’s proposition was the right course of action. But, oh, the hurt in his eyes, the defeated expression on his face, had been almost unbearable.
It was necessary, she assured herself as she reached her room. And much better than the other alternatives, even if her father’s pride was a bit bruised. She opened the door and hurried to collect her reticule. As she entered, she was assaulted by the overpowering scent of lavender. Confused, she looked around. There, on her dressing table, rested the largest flower arrangement Isabel had ever seen. The height and width of the arrangement completely obscured the mirror.
Isabel took off her gloves and traced one of the stems. Who might have sent the flowers? She rubbed one of the rich purple petals, soft as velvet, between her fingers.
Finally, Isabel searched for a card. There it was, hidden in the back under some greenery. She hastily opened the envelope.
May these flowers serve as my sincerest apology for the bruise on your head. – Lord Anthony.
Isabel scoffed, ripping the card in two. Apology, indeed! It was his way of taunting her, a reminder of his threat to uncover the truth about Anne’s dowry. For every woman knew the language of flowers. And lavender conveyed only one thing: distrust.
7
Seven: Waylaid by a Waltz
Anthony followed the other men into the drawing room. Small groups formed around tables, and the room grew louder with chatter and laughter as cards were dealt.
Teirny brushed by him. “It’s too bad the wagers won’t be more interesting tonight, what with the ladies present.”
Anthony ignored the comment and stood back, perusing the room. His gaze was inadvertently drawn toward Miss Townshend, who looking especially lovely in a light-blue dress that accentuated her slender figure.
“There’s no dou
bt she’s a tempting armful,” Teirny said, following his gaze. “But she seems a bit overbearing. I prefer them a little younger and more naïve. Like her sister.” He nodded toward Miss Anne, who was crossing the room, heading in their direction. “And I’ve heard promising rumors about an increase to her dowry.”
Teirny’s commentary irked Anthony, though he couldn’t have said why. Miss Anne and her dowry had already been discussed at length over port this evening. He shrugged. “A rumor is just that, until confirmed.”
“Lord Anthony, good evening,” greeted Miss Anne.
“Miss Anne, good evening to you.” He bowed.
Instead of her usual smile, a worry line creased the center of her forehead. “This will seem very forward of me, but I wondered if I might have a word with you.”
Teirny raised his brows suggestively, but Anthony schooled his features to mask any surprise. “Yes, of course. Perhaps we could take those vacant chairs over by the window.”
She nodded and followed him to a quieter corner of the room. Anthony waited for her to take a seat and then sat on the edge of his chair, perplexed by the way Miss Anne fiddled with the folds of her dress. He’d only known her a few days, yet these were not her usual mannerisms.
“I’m listening,” he said, urging her on after a prolonged silence.
“Last night, what you did for me with Mr. Tauney Easton . . .” Her blue eyes wouldn’t meet his. “As much as I appreciated it, as much as it meant to me that you noticed . . .” She rubbed her hands together, letting out a breath. “It won’t be necessary any longer.”
Anthony interlaced his fingers, remembering Miss Anne beaming under Tauney Easton’s attention. “Has something changed? Did he do something?” He tried to make sense of the protective feelings rising within him.
Miss Anne shook her head, curls bouncing around her face. “Oh, no!” She lowered her voice. “Nothing like that. He is a perfect gentleman. It’s just . . .” There was something battling within her, fighting against what she wanted to tell him.
An Unlikely Courtship (Regency House Party: Somerstone Book 2) Page 4