Finding Miss McFarland

by Vivienne Lorret

  “Who else, then?” When it appeared as if her recalcitrant curls refused to heed his instruction, he released a slow breath as if frustrated, and lowered his hand. “Do you have another candidate lined up for your marriage bargain?”

  “Another?” she asked in a whisper. “How do you know it isn’t Montwood?”

  He gave a slight shrug. “Your reaction told me as much. You’ll find I know more about you than you believe.”

  Sitting this close to Griffin made her feel prickly and overly warm. “Surely, you have other things to occupy your time than to concern yourself with whom I marry. After all, it will not be you. Therefore, I don’t see why you pretend to care.”

  It was only a whispered parry, but apparently it struck nerve. His irises grew dark and clouded. Though he didn’t move, it seemed as if he’d crossed further into her space. “And why not?”

  She stilled. “Why not . . . what?”

  “Why wouldn’t you choose to marry someone like me”—he said, seeming to draw even closer—“though not me, of course.”

  Not me, of course. He emphasized the words much the same as she had, as if the fact that they would never marry was a foregone conclusion. And yet for reasons she couldn’t fathom, it irked her. Annoyance notwithstanding, she would never even consider marrying Griffin Croft or someone like him.

  She stopped leaning forward and sat straighter. “I told you my reasons. I won’t marry someone like you—or you, of course—because you require an heir. I want a marriage in name only. I want to live a life of my choosing.”

  “Yes, we’ve already established the reason for that. But you could marry a man who shared your vision of Warthall Place.” He hesitated, searching her gaze. “Surely that would be something to consider.”

  Suddenly, she grew conscious of each breath. The air tasted stale in this carriage, as if no amount of wind could slip through the seams in the door. “No,” she said, her voice a rasp. Lifting a hand to her throat, she unfastened the top button of her spencer. “I cannot breathe in here, Mr. Croft. Please let me go.”

  It didn’t matter that he wasn’t actually touching her—she felt restricted by him all the same.

  “Are you ill?” He reached out as if to take her in his arms. Against all reason, she wanted him to. Instead, he fisted his hands and dropped them to his sides.

  She tried to breathe, but no air filled her lungs. “I’m sure it’s nothing. A bit of dust from the path perhaps. I am well.”

  “Then allow me to see you home.”

  She shook her head. “No. I can manage on my own. I will be just fine on my own.”

  That was the life she wanted for herself, after all.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Who is she, Griff?”

  At the sound of his mother’s voice, Griffin turned from the window. Since night had fallen hours ago, there hadn’t been much to look at anyway—only purplish shadows that looked haunted to him. The same way Miss McFarland’s eyes had been that morning in the carriage over two weeks ago. Since then, he had not seen her. Or rather, he had seen her at Haversham’s, but he had not spoken to her.

  He lifted his brow, as if he hadn’t any idea to what his mother was referring. “She?”

  Octavia Croft’s keen, dark eyes narrowed. She crossed the drawing room. “The same one who has put this”—her finger touched just above the bridge of his nose—“furrow between your brows. I’ve seen it more often than not in the past few weeks. If truth be told, I’ve even seen it since near the start of the Season.”

  “There is no one,” he said, resigned. “Perhaps that is why I possess the mark of a worrier. I know you need me to find a bride. With little more than a month remaining of the Season, I’ve failed you yet again.”

  “There’s still time,” Calliope said from the doorway. Dressed in her night rail and dressing gown, she hid a yawn behind her hand. Then, as if to explain her appearance, when the others had gone to bed earlier, she said, “I couldn’t sleep. I’ve decided to tell cousin Pamela that I cannot be her bridesmaid.”

  Thankfully, this took their mother’s focus off him. She moved to Calliope’s side and led her to the sofa. “I know you’d once had your heart set on Lord Brightwell for yourself. But my dear, you made your choice years ago. You must put this matter behind you. We are family, after all.” She shook her head and released a sigh. “I’m grateful the two of you didn’t end up engaged first like that poor Miss Wakefield. I feel just terrible for her, now shunned by most of society.”

  “At least she has the support of her friends. They did not abandon her. In fact, I believe the elder Miss McFarland is amongst them.” Calliope looked across the room to Griffin as she burrowed into the corner of the sofa and hid another yawn. “And speaking of Miss McFarland . . . I could always take a lesson from her and schedule other plans for the day of the wedding.”

  “Now, what’s this?” his mother asked as she settled a fringed shawl over his sister’s lap. “I thought after our lovely visit early on, she was through with that nonsense, as if she could have helped what happened. I would hate to think of her staying away from any event for fear that being seen with you would cause that scandal to resurface.” She asked. “After all, that is no way for a young woman to find a husband.”

  Griffin chuckled wryly. “I can assure you that Miss McFarland is quite fearless in that regard. She knows exactly what she wants in a husband.” And what she doesn’t.

  Nevertheless, she was a mystery. Because, if he hadn’t known better, some part of her had seemed terrified by the idea of marriage—at least, a marriage in the truest sense. She wanted a marriage in name only. So what was it then? Was she afraid of the marriage bed?

  He dismissed the thought almost instantly. When they’d kissed, she’d shown no indication of fear or revulsion. In fact, her response had been as passionate and uninhibited as everything else about her.

  “Fearless?” Calliope asked, her gaze far away. “I don’t think any young woman can truly be fearless.”

  He thought of how Delaney had stood up for Buckley and how much she wanted to aid Mr. Harrison. “I think Miss McFarland is one of the bravest persons I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.” At least, until he’d mentioned marriage.

  “Then perhaps spending an afternoon with Miss McFarland might be the perfect solution for you, Calliope,” their mother said as she dropped a few peppermint leaves into a waiting teacup. “We should invite her to Springwood House when you visit Pamela. After all, it’s only a two-hour ride from London. Perfect for a single day’s outing. She’ll be just the distraction from any of your other worries.”

  Calliope mused over the possibility for what seemed like—at least to Griffin—an eternity. “I do enjoy her company. Though, I’m certain she won’t attend if she knows Griffin will be with us.”

  “Your brother will spend most of his time at the earl’s country estate, nearly five miles from my sister’s house.”

  Both his mother and sister turned to him as if waiting for an objection. Griffin controlled his features, refusing to reveal any eagerness. After an absence apart, he was looking forward to seeing Delaney more than he cared to admit. Much more. “Do what you will. Though I doubt she will accept.”

  And yet, he sincerely hoped she would.

  “What are you doing?” Bree asked from the doorway of Delaney’s bedchamber.

  Without looking up, Delaney stacked a tin of biscuits on top of a tin of chocolates and began to tie them with a ribbon. “I’m putting together a parcel to cheer Merribeth.” She was devastated for her friend. Merribeth’s romantic sensibilities had been crushed by the one man who should have cherished them. Instead, Mr. Clairmore merely gave her a reason to doubt the existence of true love.

  “It was an abominable thing for her betrothed to do, breaking their five-year engagement to marry someone else.” Bree ambled gracefully into the room. “Her story has been told again and again as a cautionary tale for us all to hold fast to our honor.”
<
br />   “Merribeth has her honor,” Delaney snapped. Pulling too tightly on the ribbon, she crumpled it beyond repair. “The only one who has lost it, if he ever had any, is Mr. Clairmore.”

  Her sister paled. “I didn’t mean to suggest . . .” She swallowed, the remaining words left unspoken. Ruination for any young woman was a terrible fate.

  Delaney smoothed down her phoenix feathers when she realized Bree wasn’t attacking her friend. She went to the carved rosewood chest of drawers by the window and retrieved a fresh ribbon.

  “It actually made me wonder about Mother and Father,” her sister said, staring at the miniatures of their parents on the far wall. “Is love such a fleeting thing, do you think?”

  That exact question turned a constant wheel in Delaney’s mind. “We have proof enough within these walls. Though I would hate to think it’s true in all cases, especially since Emma and Rathburn have only been married a fortnight. They deserve a lifetime of happiness together.”

  Bree released sigh. “I wish Mother had taken me with her. Having a Season is not as fun as I’d always thought it would be. I live under constant fear of doing something wrong, of becoming—”

  “An outcast like your sister?” Delaney supplied dryly.

  “Hardly anyone mentions your scandal any longer. Since the Earl of Marlbrook retired to the country for his health, they are more concerned with Mr. Croft and discovering who he’ll choose for a wife.” She paused to bend down and smooth her hair in the vanity mirror, her gaze flitting to Delaney’s. “Marlene Wickworth believes it will be her because he danced the waltz with her at Almack’s.”

  Knowing she was being watched, Delaney returned her focus to tying the bow. “I hope they will be happy together.”

  “It is unlikely. When he saw her at the Porter ball a few nights later, he quickly introduced her to a gentleman standing beside him.”

  Delaney smirked, easily picturing him doing just that. The same way she’d foisted Elena Mallory on him. It was hard to believe that was a month ago now. So much had happened since then. So much had changed in her.

  “Phoebe and Asteria have both mentioned that he’s been distracted of late.” Bree’s statement earned a look up from the bundle. “They suspect he might have feelings for someone, but he’s so reserved, they cannot be certain. He never appears to like one dance partner more than another.”

  It took Delaney a moment to realize she was simply staring at her sister, the tail ends of another ruined ribbon in her grasp. Her heart lurched backward, as if it had been pinched. Hard.

  Had Griffin Croft chosen a bride? The thought pained her more than she cared to admit. Why wouldn’t you choose to marry someone like me . . .

  Little more than two weeks ago—for the most fleeting moment—she’d actually thought he might have considered asking her.

  Though not me, of course.

  In front of her sister, she dared not reveal her secret musings. Bree was too observant and far too eager to share her observations with others, namely Griffin’s sisters. “Perhaps you are confusing arrogance for reservation on his part. He’s likely scolding each one of his partners in his mind.”

  “That is something Phoebe and Asteria would say.” Bree grinned. “Strange, but I didn’t think you were very well acquainted with Mr. Croft.”

  Delaney knew the exact shade of his eyes, the texture of his lips, the flavor of his tongue, and the feel of his hands memorizing each of her vertebrae. She knew his character as well. And even though he arrogantly believed she should heed his advice without question, he’d still kept her secrets and never once used them against her. “Your assumption is correct. I hardly know him at all. It was just a passing observation.” She shrugged and walked to the chest for another ribbon. “You know my tendency to speak before thinking.”

  “Are you unwell? Your cheeks are rather flushed.”

  “It must be from the sun coming in through the windows,” she said before realizing it was raining at that very moment.

  Fortunately, she was saved further inquiry when one of the latest maids knocked on her door. “Beg pardon, miss, but you’ve a caller. The young woman gave this to Hershwell.” She stepped forward and handed Delaney the card.

  Bree looked over her shoulder. “Calliope Croft? Imagine that. We were just speaking about her brother. Perhaps she’s come to share a bit of news regarding his mystery woman.”

  Delaney’s stomach felt queasy. “I don’t think we’ve established he has a mystery woman.”

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

  Downstairs, they greeted Calliope Croft and summarily ordered refreshments as they settled amongst the soft cushions of the chairs and settee. In the first half hour, they chatted amiably about the rain’s making way for new flowers and various topics of no consequence until they’d run them all dry.

  “I imagine you’re wondering why I’m here, Miss McFarland,” Calliope said after a while. “That is to say, I would come to call without a purpose in mind. I’ve found our few brief encounters quite enjoyable. I think we could be friends.”

  “Of course. We are already friends,” Delaney said and reached across the low table to squeeze Calliope’s hand. “If you called for any purpose, it would be a delight. My sister knows well enough I could produce an hour’s worth of conversation by discussing the latest ribbons at Haversham’s.”

  Bree laughed. “Sadly, it is the truth. Without you here, I’m certain we would both be at that particular shop, replenishing her supply.”

  “I must admit, I’m rather fond of Haversham’s as well. You were not too boastful in your praise.” Calliope smiled. “I wish we could have visited with you when we saw you there the other day. Although, I’m hoping to talk my brother into escorting us again someday soon.”

  “Nonsense. We could go together. No need for your brother’s escort,” Delaney added, in case it sounded as if she wanted Griffin to escort her or to call on her. She hoped her expression didn’t give away the fact that she had wondered what it would be like if he did. “Besides, I’m certain he has more important matters to attend.”

  The fact that he’d been escorting his sisters and Elena Mallory had brought her no end of irritation. At least, she told herself, it was irritation and not something more detrimental to her heart, such as jealousy. Whatever the feeling had been, it had raged inside her for the past two days.

  “Especially now when rumor suggests he’s decided on a bride,” Bree added, but with a peculiar intensity, as if she were informing Calliope instead of asking her to prove the rumor.

  Delaney wondered if her sister was capable of subterfuge. By now, she should know it was always better to draw out the information by pretending disinterest. For that reason, and most assuredly not out of her own curiosity, Delaney said, “I’m certain he’s received ample encouragement from a select few.”

  There now—that was a perfect example. She hoped her sister would take the lesson.

  Calliope pulled her gaze from Bree and blinked at Delaney. “Yes. It is my understanding that he has someone in mind. So far, she’s been the only one he’s favored all Season.”

  “Oh?” Delaney swallowed. There it was again, that painful pinching sensation. She’d hoped Calliope would admit that there wasn’t anyone to whom Griffin paid enough attention to warrant the rumor.

  “It can’t be true,” Bree said on a gasp. “Our cousin Elena Mallory had said almost those exact words.”

  Delaney stared wide-eyed at her sister, even as a terrible sickness began roiling in her stomach. Not her. Anyone else but her. And yet . . . no. Not anyone else either. It should be me, a fearsome voice whispered in her mind, startling her. If she didn’t know herself better, she’d almost believe this was jealousy. She’d almost believe that . . . she was falling in love in with Griffin Croft.

  Delaney fought the urge to lower her head in shame. After all the careful planning to live a life of her own choosing, had she ruined it all by repeating her mother’s mista
ke?

  Blast it all!

  “It would be unfair of me to divulge a name until he’s made his intentions known to the young woman herself.” Calliope shifted in her seat. “And while we are on the topic of weddings, I wondered if I might ask a favor.”

  “Of course,” Delaney said, employing her most practiced smile in an effort not to reveal her inner distress. “You need only ask.”

  “You are too kind, but I am not above taking advantage in this particular instance,” Calliope said with a small laugh. “You see, my cousin is about to marry a man whom I once considered a possibility for my own future.”

  “Oh dear! What happened?” Bree asked with an embarrassing lack of tact.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Delaney added quickly, casting a look of reproach to her sister.

  “It’s all right. After all, I believe you deserve to know why I would ask this favor of you,” Calliope began. “It happened at the end of my first Season when I was perhaps too young to know better. Lord Brightwell had asked for permission to court me, and my father had given his consent. It seemed our betrothal would happen any day. When the happy event occurred, however, I did not accept Lord Brightwell’s proposal.” She looked across the table with such regret that it silenced any impending question from Bree. “Because he is now marrying my cousin, I should like your company when I visit her in two weeks’ time.”

  Delaney knew what this meant. If she accepted this invitation, she would be linking her name with the Crofts, possibly opening herself up to scandal. Strangely, she no longer cared if their names were linked in scandal or otherwise. Perhaps she felt this way because she knew Mr. Croft was about to make a declaration of love for another woman.

  She refused to believe it was because of a foolish yearning on her part.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Griffin entered his uncle’s grand estate with none of the dread he’d felt weeks ago. In fact, after having ridden out of town on his horse alongside the carriages with his mother, sisters, and the Misses McFarland inside, he felt peculiarly invigorated by this jaunt in the country.