Lord Greywell's Dilemma

by Laura Matthews

  * * * *

  The next day a message arrived from Sir Edward announcing that he intended to arrive at Ashfield on the following day. Elspeth was very put out with him, and apologized to Greywell for this abrupt and unsolicited visit.

  Greywell laughed. “Abigail told us he was coming, my dear. We should have believed her. I have no objection to his visit. Far from it. I shall be happy to see him again."

  "He could have given us a little more notice,” Elspeth said crossly. “There's just time enough to have a room prepared for him. And if it's like the last time, he'll stay forever."

  "Ashfield is quite large enough to accommodate all of us without infringing on one another.” He regarded her for a moment, his head slightly to one side. “What is it you're really concerned about?"

  Elspeth looked down at the sheet of paper in her hands and sighed. “I wouldn't be surprised if he spent a great deal of time with Abigail."

  "I see. Well, that's his business, and I don't think we need worry about it."

  "It can't do your consequence any good to have a guest who spends his evenings—sometimes until the middle of the night—with a woman neighbor on her own."

  "My consequence, dear Elspeth, won't suffer in the least. I'm not responsible for your father.” He considered her frowning face. “And you aren't either. Please bear that in mind."

  They were sitting alone at the breakfast table, their meal finished. Greywell had been reading a paper, but he set it aside, next to the silver coffee pot. “Your father insists on being a law unto himself. You aren't going to change him, and if you try, you will only cause tension between the two of you. I promise you his activities won't affect me, and they won't reflect on you. In many ways you've inherited his stubbornness and determination, my dear, so you of all people should realize the hopelessness of trying to change him."

  "Are you saying you've found it hopeless to change me?” she asked, uncertain.

  "Not at all. I admit there were some things I worried about in the beginning, but I shouldn't have. You're a sensible woman, and I apologize if I made things difficult for you. I can only offer my distraught frame of mind as an extenuating circumstance. No, my dear, I'm quite pleased with you just as you are; I hope that doesn't sound patronizing; I don't mean it that way."

  "No, of course not. Thank you."

  "Perhaps I should inquire if there are things about me—habits, mannerisms, opinions—that you find offensive. I would do my best to correct them."

  Elspeth glanced sharply at him to see whether he was mocking her, but his countenance was perfectly serious. There was even a touch of apprehension about him, she thought, as though he expected her to find some unacceptable fault. “You're quite the nicest man I've ever met,” she mumbled.

  His features relaxed into a smile. “And you are by far too generous. But I shan't quibble. Shall we take Andrew out into the garden this morning?"

  The way he smiled at her had the odd effect of making her feel as though butterflies had gotten loose in her stomach.

  * * * *

  Greywell had brought Andrew's rocking horse out into the garden with them, and the child was joyfully galloping along on it, burbling as he rode. Elspeth had stopped to speak with Bates, who had decided to take a new position, since Andrew no longer needed her. The child took one of his hands off the handle to wave to her and very nearly fell off in the process, but Greywell steadied him, saying, “Perhaps we should put pillows around after all."

  "Oh, he's all right, aren't you, Andrew?"

  The child continued to babble happily, and Elspeth came to stand beside Greywell. “I talked to Bates. She wants to go to the Monroes. I'll miss her.” She shaded the sun from her eyes with one hand, since she'd forgotten to put on a bonnet before she came out. “Bates says Lucy can handle the nursery without any difficulty. I'm inclined to agree with her."

  "You manage everything so efficiently,” he teased, stroking her sun-warmed hair.

  How was she supposed to ignore the way his fingers twined in her tresses and absently massaged the back of her neck? “You might wish to be involved in decisions that affect Andrew."

  "I appreciate your consideration, my dear, truly I do, but I have the utmost faith in your ability to handle such matters.” He removed his hand to assist Andrew from the rocking horse. The little boy had spied an abandoned toy under a bush and was wobbling in his first steps toward it.

  Elspeth's eyes glowed with excitement, and she unconsciously grasped Greywell's hand to call his attention to the stunning event. She didn't look up at him, because her eyes were trained on Andrew, so she didn't see the double delight on his face, but she felt him squeeze her fingers. When Andrew inevitably fell, looking astonished that such a thing could happen, she quickly withdrew her hand and went to the child, laughing down at him with an abundance of good humor.

  "And what did you expect, love?” she teased when his face puckered. “It takes practice. Lots of practice. Upsy daisy.” She set him on his feet again and watched him toddle toward the toy, feeling as though she herself had accomplished something quite astonishing. But alongside the strong maternal feelings there was another, heady sensation, and she glanced under her lashes at Greywell.

  He was, of course, watching his son, and gave no indication that he had even noticed her unusual action in grabbing his hand. Probably he had pressed hers just as absently. Well, she was glad to know he thought nothing of it. Andrew had claimed the little rubber ball and was now attempting to gnaw on it.

  Elspeth took it away from him, and he pouted. “We'll have to wash it, first. You don't want a mouthful of dust, sweetheart. Come along now. We'll take it inside with us.” She picked the child up, smiling at him, and turned toward the house. Greywell followed, up the many stairs, with the rocking horse.

  "You should have had a footman carry it,” she scolded as they left the nursery together.

  "Probably,” he said, and smiled at her, “but I wanted to show you how strong I am."

  "Whatever for?"

  He looked at her for a moment without speaking. “My vanity, I suppose. Pay no attention to my whimsies, Elspeth. They're of no account."

  But the incident bothered her. When they had parted, he to go to one of the farms and she to check on the room they were preparing for her father, she could not clear her mind of her reflections on it. Such a remarkable thing for him to say—or do. Why would it matter to him if she credited him with strength or not? Actually, she was very well aware of his strength, and his masculinity. Too well aware of it, perhaps. When he was in a room with her, she felt an almost physical tug in his direction. Her body became wholly aware of his presence, and she longed for his touch. Not that she put it precisely that way to herself. When he stroked her hair or touched her cheek, she felt a warmth invade her flesh that made her glow with happiness. Most of the time she was given to crediting this response to her appreciation that he had come to accept her.

  At other times she faintly acknowledged to herself that it was more. Elspeth stood at the window, gazing absently out over the lawn to the wood beyond, where she and Francis had lain on the ground. But she wasn't thinking of Francis, any more than with a slight shudder at how close she had come to behaving too foolishly to be forgiven.

  How ridiculous she had been to think herself above human frailty! Obviously she was all too frail when it came to her body's desires. Had she inherited her father's proclivities? It certainly seemed so. Standing there, her forehead pressed to the glass, she admitted that she wanted to be held in Greywell's arms, she wanted to feel his hands on her naked body, she wanted to touch him and explore the mysteries of his sun-browned person. Most of all she wanted to know the full experience of making love, with him, to share that exotic passion that joined men and women, that released and bound at the same time.

  Drat her father! Why did he have to come to Ashfield at such a time? Just when she and Greywell might have worked something out between them. Well, she thought, straightening and t
aking a deep breath, she had one night before he arrived.

  * * * *

  There was one gown that Elspeth had not yet worn since her husband's return. Emily Marden had absolutely insisted she have it made up when they had seen a picture of it in Ackermann's Repository. The top was cut very low and square around the bust, and was tight to its shape. White crepe covered a white sarsnet slip which followed the lines of Elspeth's trim figure with astonishing fidelity. The fashion plate had dictated rather broad scallops, to which Elspeth had agreed, but she had refused the fancy trimming and the embroidery of crepe roses, thinking them too elaborate for wear in the country. Perhaps in London, she had said, but not at Ashfield.

  As she donned the dress she wondered if it hadn't been a mistake not to leave on the roses. Greywell was no doubt used to ladies who dressed much more elaborately. Why, if Caroline's gowns were any indication, he quite admired such an effect. But many of them had been purchased in London, and were no doubt only worn there, she reminded herself. Elspeth allowed her maid to arrange her hair so it was parted on the forehead and worked into light loose ringlets which fell over each ear. The back hair was braided and brought around her head so it formed a sort of crown. She wore a strand of pearls she'd inherited from her mother around her neck, but no other jewelry, save her wedding ring.

  Elspeth was still wondering if the dress were a little too special for an evening at home alone with her husband when she made her way to the North Drawing Room, where they always met before dinner. Greywell was already there, lounging comfortably against the mantel, his biscuit-colored coat fitting perfectly to his wide-shouldered frame. He looked incredibly handsome to Elspeth, his straight brown hair coaxed onto his forehead after the fashion of the day, and his gray eyes widening with appreciation as she entered. She liked the fact that he never wore his cravats as high or as elaborate as Francis did, that he always looked relaxed in the most elegant clothes.

  "You look wonderful,” he said now, coming forward to take her hand and lift it to his lips. “I'm sure I haven't seen this dress before. Is it new?"

  "This is the first time I've worn it.” A smile came and went from her lips. “I thought perhaps it wasn't quite right for a simple family dinner."

  "You could wear it every night, and I would only applaud your decision.” He released her hand and touched the pearls at her throat. “Were these your mother's?"

  Elspeth nodded, feeling choked at the touch of his fingers.

  "What you need is an emerald necklace to bring out the green in your eyes. There is one of my mother's, but the setting is too old-fashioned to appeal to you, I'm afraid. Even I find it far too heavy and ornate. Let me have it reset for you. I can send it to London and have it back in a matter of weeks."

  "I ... Thank you. It's not necessary."

  "No, I don't suppose it's necessary,” he drawled, “but I'd very much like to do it. You wouldn't refuse, would you?"

  His eyes were very close to hers. She was sure she could see the affection in them, and something more. Elspeth swallowed before nervously wetting her lips. “No, I wouldn't refuse."

  "Excellent. I'll send them tomorrow.” He rearranged the shawl about her shoulders so its gossamer threads did not conceal so much of the bosom her dress exposed. “You probably don't need this tonight, it's so warm.

  "I bought it to go with the dress."

  "Well, there is always something of a draft in the dining room, so perhaps you're wise to wear it.” He turned toward the tray Selsey had left on the sidetable. “Can I pour you a small glass of sherry?"

  Though two glasses were always set out there, Elspeth consistently refused to partake of anything before dinner. Tonight, however, she thought she could do with just a little, and agreed. When she had seated herself on the sofa, he handed her a half-filled glass of the lovely amber liquid and sat down beside her.

  "We should celebrate tonight,” he said, “since your father comes tomorrow and we won't have quite as much opportunity to be alone together."

  Elspeth was mesmerized by the way his eyes caressed her face. “Well, he wasn't around all that much the last time he was here. I never knew whether to plan on his being in for dinner. But then it was much as it had been at Lyndhurst.” She took a small sip of the sherry and held the glass tightly in both hands.

  "Perhaps we should invite Abigail to join us for dinner tomorrow night so we'll be sure to have his company on his first day."

  "I hadn't thought of it. First thing in the morning I'll send an invitation over to her."

  "Better yet, why don't we deliver it this evening? We could take a drive in the curricle. It's going to be a perfect night, you know, with a full moon and a warm breeze. I promise I'll drive carefully. I've never taken you out for a drive."

  It was true. They walked or they rode horseback, but he'd never taken her in the curricle. Had he done that with Caroline? Elspeth didn't want to think about the possibility. Driving at night was a little hazardous, but she had heard nothing but praise of his handling of the ribbons, and the night promised, as he said, to be perfect. The thought of driving over country lanes with him, seated close at his side, was too appealing to even think of rejecting. “I'd love to go,” she admitted just as Selsey arrived to announce dinner.

  * * * *

  Greywell had a pair of matched grays to draw the curricle. During his long absence, the coachman had exercised them regularly, but it seemed to Elspeth that they were exceedingly high-spirited animals, whose energy wasn't in the least dissipated by even the longest excursion. Her husband handed her into the carriage as the animals stomped restlessly, Greywell's groom at their heads. She was relieved when Greywell told the boy he wouldn't be needed.

  Pale white moonlight streamed over the landscape, turning the familiar countryside into a magic setting. Greywell kept the horses to an even, slow pace, chatting about his recollections of previous summers at Ashfield. He had become much more willing to speak of his youth and young manhood, to share insights into himself and his family. Elspeth listened eagerly, interposing questions as he went along. She was disappointed to have these reflections interrupted by their arrival at Abigail's.

  They were shown into a small room at the back of the house. Abigail was seated in a mammoth chair that dwarfed her small figure. Two cats, one orange and one gray, were lolling on her lap, and she didn't bother to get up when they entered, because, she said, she didn't want to disturb them.

  "We won't take a minute,” Greywell assured her, noting that for a change she was dressed almost presentably. “We wanted to let you know, in case you hadn't heard, that Sir Edward will be arriving tomorrow, and to invite you to dine."

  "That's kind of you,” she said regally as she stroked the gray cat. “Of course, I knew Edward was coming. He assured me he would be here to visit me shortly after his arrival. Now he may escort me to Ashfield to dine. That seems a perfect solution. I'd not want to draw him away from your table on his first day."

  Elspeth and Greywell exchanged an amused glance but declined Abigail's offer to join her for a cup of tea. “We're going to drive around for a bit to enjoy the summer evening,” Greywell explained.

  The older woman eyed them intently for a moment, taking in Elspeth's low-cut gown, and then nodded her head in approval. “A fine idea,” she said. “Take her to the Ridge Wood, Greywell. The view from there is not to be missed on a summer's eve."

  He ducked his head in acknowledgment and bade her good evening. Elspeth added her farewell before preceding Greywell from the room. She was not surprised when her husband turned the horses’ heads toward the spot Abigail had suggested, but she grinned at him all the same. “Who would have thought her such a romantic?” she asked.

  For it was indeed one of the loveliest spots in the area, even in daylight. Willows drooped their feathery branches down toward a stream where water babbled gently over moss-covered rocks. From the bank one had a view down over most of Ashfield, and it was a beautiful sight. Greywell tied the reins to
a tree and led her to where they could seat themselves comfortably on the rug he brought from the curricle. Lights twinkled in several windows of the house and stars shone above, but mostly the night felt velvety black, silent, luxuriously warm.

  Greywell seated himself beside her and put his arm about her waist, but he made no attempt to say anything. They sat in silence observing the scene before them, taking in its beauty. But Elspeth could not for long concentrate on the view; she was too aware of the warmth of his hand at her side, the length of his body along hers. She turned her head to look up at him, a shy smile curving her lips. “It's beautiful,” she said.

  Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes darkly glowing. Greywell tilted her chin up with one finger. “So are you,” he murmured, gently pressing a kiss on her waiting mouth. Then he drew back to regard her tenderly. There had been no time for her to respond; he hadn't expected her to. She blinked rapidly under his keen observation, her long lashes brushing her creamy cheeks.

  "I want you to know, Elspeth, that I'm very glad you agreed to marry me. You've given me more than I can hope to repay: Andrew's health and happiness, the efficient running of Ashfield, a calm and capable woman for my wife. I never thought to be so fortunate."

  "It is I who am fortunate,” she whispered. She lifted a hand tentatively to touch his face, to trace the firm line of his jaw, to lay a finger against his lips. When he kissed her finger and grasped her hand in his, she turned more toward him, pressing forward a little so her breasts almost touched the front of his coat. Both of his arms went around her to draw her against his chest, where he tucked her head under his chin and hugged her. It was less than she had hoped for.

  "We'll do very well together,” he said, his voice slightly constrained. “At least, I think so. You won't mind growing old with me?"

  "No, there's no one I'd rather be with,” she confessed, feeling a little forward, but not caring. She put her hands around his waist, letting her fingers play along his back as his were on hers. Still he made no move to kiss her again. She was very conscious of her breasts pressed against his chest. His fingers came up to stroke the back of her neck.