Bethany blinked, trying to digest that convoluted sentence. Nowhere in that chain of words was the information she sought. Oh well, perhaps the Countess would consider Bethany a rare find, too.
She could dream, couldn’t she?
The carriage stopped in front of a magnificent townhouse. The building was a fine example of the Palladian style of architecture. It had four Corinthian columns and three marble arches at the entryway. Very, very impressive. And quite out of Bethany’s realm of experience.
The coachman opened the carriage door and helped her down. After thanking him, she waited for the maid.
Elsie shooed her on. “Go ahead, miss. I’ll take care of your baggage.”
Bethany nodded then proceeded up the front steps of the townhouse. She stood by the black hardwood door for just a moment, then inhaled a sharp breath for courage.
There. Better. She picked up the brass knocker and rapped it twice against the door.
A small man in a grand uniform and white curly wig — perhaps it was the butler, Stevens? — opened the paneled door. His dark gaze traveled from her threadbare pelisse to the standing barouche in the street. He then inclined his head. “Welcome to London, miss. Please do come in.”
He held the door open wide. “I am Stevens, miss. You must be weary from your long journey. We were not expecting you until tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Stevens.” She stepped into the townhouse. “Yes, the coachman made good time.”
After one look at the elegant black and white-tiled anteroom, Bethany’s shoulders slumped. She was as out-of-place as a donkey in a stable of fine steeds.
Stevens took her pelisse and bonnet. “This way, miss.” He showed her to a blue drawing room, and waited until she entered. “I shall inform the master of your arrival.”
She sank down on a blue-flowered settee. The pale celestial blue walls, the polished hardwood floors and the blazing fireplace had to cost more than the sum total of all her worldly possessions.
Never mind, she chided herself. She had more important things to think about. Master, Stevens had said. Who was the master here? The Countess’ husband? Why would the butler inform the earl instead of the Countess?
So many questions. She touched her now throbbing temple to smooth away the pain.
The enameled door opened and in stepped the most handsome gentleman she’d ever laid eyes on. He was tall, so tall she had to lift her gaze to take in the length of him. His dark hair hung in tousled curls on his forehead while his long sideburns edged the line of his cheekbone. Dressed in a dashing woolen jacket, nankeen breeches and leather Hessian boots, he appeared as if he’d just entered the townhouse from an afternoon stroll. .
And speaking of eyes, she couldn’t discern the color of his. His eyes widened at the sight of her. Then he frowned.
She quickly stood and curtsied.
The young man hesitated for a second, and then bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Branford. I trust you enjoyed a pleasant journey.”
“Thank you, sir. I did.”
After she spoke, silence hung in the air and he seemed loath to break it. The man flicked his gaze over her, adjusted the cuffs on his jacket and paced along the ornate side table, all at the same time. He certainly wasn’t inclined toward conversation.
She tilted her head. Surely this young man could not be the earl. But whomever he was, his manner left a good deal to be desired.
“Excuse me, sir, but you have me at a disadvantage.” She kept her voice level and cool. “I am quite unaware of your identity.”
He stopped and lifted an eyebrow.
“Indeed?” He made another small bow. “My apologies. I am David Greyle. Lady Petunia is my sister.”
As if that explained everything, he settled into a tub-shaped chair situated across from her and seemed intent on keeping his gaze upon her person, all the while drumming his fingers against the armrest.
Bethany struggled to recall, but no knowledge of a Lady Petunia nor David Greyle entered her brain. “Forgive me, sir, but I’m not acquainted with Lady Petunia. Perhaps I am in the wrong house. I was invited by the Countess of Ingraham to visit — ”
“To be sure, there has been no mistake.” He waved a negligent hand. “I am the Earl.”
She blinked rapidly. She’d never met Lady Ingraham either, but if the woman had a married daughter as Elsie the maid had said, surely this man was too young to be the father. He could not be above thirty. Did that mean the Countess and the Earl’s marriage was a January and May connection?
How romantic! She looked at Lord Ingraham with new awareness. Her heart beat faster. He was such a handsome young man with commanding eyes, determined chin and a fine masculine form.
A more tedious thought intruded. Then again, perhaps he only married for money in order to refurbish an impoverished estate.
How very prosaic. She looked down her nose at him. After all, he was rather ill-mannered.
Lord Ingraham jumped up, causing the tassels on his Hessian boots to swing with the violence of his act. “Tea. Would you care for some?” He didn’t wait for her reply, but instead walked to the door. “I will have Stevens see to it.”
Without a backward glance at her, he left her alone in the drawing room.
How extraordinary. What a very odd man. And what an inauspicious beginning to my visit.
She bit her lip. Oh, I hope Lady Ingraham is more hospitable.
Bethany tucked a stray lock back into her chignon, folded her hands in her lap, and waited for the edgy earl’s return.
Good God! David closed the drawing room door, then leaned against it to collect himself. Miss Branford was the loveliest creature he’d ever seen.
For a moment he luxuriated in the agreeable sensations her pleasing countenance produced, then abruptly cast them aside.
Doing it too brown, Greyle.
To be sure, the girl’s fine features marked her to be a diamond of the first water. A rare jewel. However, there were many such jewels to be found in polite society, to say nothing of the demi-monde.
So what made this diamond different?
As he strode down the corridor, he continued to ponder his houseguest. There was something exotic about her looks. Perhaps the darkness of her eyes…the gracefulness of her neck…the fullness of her lips.
Greyle! He ran his hand through his hair, disturbing its careless symmetry. Put a cork in it. Miss Branford is under your roof, under your protection.
David slipped into his library, quickly wrote a note, then sealed it. Once again in the corridor, he searched for the butler and came upon him in the dining room, supervising the polishing of brass and silver.
“Stevens,” David gestured for the man to join him by the entry door. “Two things. First, send an assortment of refreshments in the drawing room for Miss Branford and myself.”
The second was a rather delicate matter. He lowered his voice. “And send a footman to the Weatherhaven residence on Berkeley Square to request Lady Petunia’s presence here immediately. Have him give her this.”
He handed the note to the butler. Inside was an earnest plea for his sister to spend the night, or for however long was needed, in the event Lady Ingraham had forgotten her commitment to quit Bath and chaperon Miss Branford. His mother was a good sort, but she tended to forget what she was saying as soon as the words left her mouth.
What a devil of a contretemps!
Here was this young thing, fresh from the country, now housed in a bachelor’s abode. Should the London tabbies get a hold of this juicy tidbit of gossip, Miss Branford’s reputation would be ruined.
Stevens bowed and immediately set off to make the arrangements. Which meant David was free to return to Miss Branford. He had left his guest alone for too long.
Bracing himself for only God knew what, he reentered the drawing room. This time, however, he purposefully did not close the door — for propriety’s sake.
“My apologies, Miss Bran — ”
By the stars, she had fa
llen asleep! Reclined against the back of the settee, she lay with her head turned and one arm hanging down over the cushioned armrest with the other hand limp in her lap.
He stepped closer for a better look. She appeared uncomfortable in that awkward position so he gently lifted her arm to her lap.
The movement did not awaken her. Since she was quite unaware, he was at leisure to peruse her comely form.
He took advantage of this fact, admiring the long line of her neck, her determined chin, the hollow of her cheek and the dark fringe of lashes curved in repose. A few tendrils of hair escaped her unstylish bun to curl softly about her face.
She wore a grey muslin frock caught under the bosom by a green satin ribbon. Both the satin and the muslin were nearly threadbare in spots. It was a simple gown, too plain for anything other than doing household chores.
Which meant her other apparel would most likely be in a similar state of unsuitability.
He had better make arrangements for a few visits to a modiste…and include the extra expense in his budget.
David turned away from his country cousin’s appealing visage. With a fashionable wardrobe, Miss Branford would be all the crack. She would not remain on the Marriage Mart for long.
He took another look at her. Perhaps he should allow her to sleep in private.
Stevens entered the drawing room, pushing a refreshment cart. The cart’s wheels squeaked on the hardwood floor so David held up his hand to stop the butler’s progress, then signaled that he should leave.
Stevens noticed the recumbent Miss Branford. He nodded, and walked very quickly over to David. “The footman has left to deliver your message, my lord,” Stevens whispered.
He bowed then left the room. Unfortunately, he closed the door. Its resounding thud reverberated throughout the room.
“Oh!” Miss Branford jumped. “Oh, pray, forgive me, sir. I must’ve fallen asleep.”
“Make yourself easy, my…Miss Branford.”
Blast. “My dear” had almost slipped out. He needed to guard his inappropriate warmth. “It is important that you feel comfortable here. After all, Grosvenor Square is your new home. For a time, at any rate.”
He rolled the squeaking cart over to the settee. “Stevens will serve — ”
“Do allow me. I would like to make myself useful.” She stood beside the cart. “Coffee or tea?”
“Tea. Plain.” He took a quick turn to the window, but no liveried carriage had stopped in front of the townhouse. When the devil would Petunia arrive? Or, more to the point, when would his mother?
He returned to his chair and watched the graceful way Miss Branford moved as she handed him the cup. The material of her muslin gown clinging to her feminine curves, initiating an improper response within him.
A heavy weight sat upon his broad shoulders. Even the cheery crackling from the fireplace couldn’t dispel the growing trepidation of his spirits.
After she sat, an awkward hush filled the drawing room.
He cleared his throat. “The Countess, as yet, has not returned from Bath.”
She stared at him as if wondering why this news would concern her. The innocent! Obviously she had little experience in the ways of polite society.
“However,” he continued, “Lady Petunia shall arrive shortly.”
Puzzlement lined her brow but she withheld any questions she might have had.
He admired her reticence. He —
Greyle!
Lord, here he was, drooling over her as if he were but a lad in leading strings again. How foolish could he be?
When the drawing room door opened, David turned to whomever entered as a lifeline.
“Bless me! Here you are, Ingraham. Where the deuce have you been? Been looking everywhere for you. Have you forgotten our dinner engagement?”
In strode Henry, Baron Penning, the most affable man of David’s acquaintance. Of middling height, Penning had a wiry, muscular build much to the approval of pugilist champion Gentleman Jackson.
Penning continued his march inside, then stopped abruptly when he noticed Miss Branford. “Lud, man, who have we here? Pray introduce me to your fair inamorata.”
Damn the fellow. David shot out of his chair. “Penning, allow me to introduce my cousin, Miss Branford, lately of Bamburgh, Northumberland.”
Miss Branford behaved very properly. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir.”
“The pleasure is all mine. Indeed.” Penning made an adequate bow. “Ingraham has all the luck, he does. My cousins look like pasty fishmongers, while his resemble angels.”
She gave him a saucy smile and cast her lashes downward. “Would you care for some tea, sir?”
“Indeed I would,” Penning bellowed, as if taking tea was an extraordinary idea. His tanned face flushed. “Indeed I would. A dash of cream, please.”
Blast. Miss Branford was not officially on the Marriage Mart, but by the way Penning was behaving, she had already attracted her first suitor.
By the bye, what was her given name?
David brushed that thought away. “Grab a seat, Penning. M’sister will be arriving at any second.”
Devil take it, his friend grabbed David’s chair, which meant the only logical seat left was on the settee next to Miss Branford.
Delaying the inevitable, David glanced outside. A dimly lit street empty of carriages greeted him.
He turned back around. “Lady Petunia and the Countess are to show Miss Branford the sights. Take her about, introduce to society.”
Miss Branford handed Penning his tea, then focused an unnerving gaze on David. “If it is not too much trouble, sir, I also would enjoy visiting Hookham’s Library.”
“You’re of a bookish turn of mind, hey?” Penning slapped his knee, to the detriment of his tea. Some liquid sloshed into his saucer. “I’d be happy to escort you. Hookham’s is near Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon. Whilst you browse the titles, I could throw a few punches.”
David sat at the opposite end from his guest. “No need for that, Penning. The Countess will be delighted to journey to Old Bond Street.”
“Lady Ingraham? She reads?” Penning could not contain his astonishment.
Miss Bradford’s eyebrows lifted in an expression of concern. “Sir, I can forgo a visit to Hookham, if it is inconvenient for your wife.”
“My wife?” A momentary panic invaded David’s system. He stared at Miss Branford to discern whom she was talking about. Then it hit him like a thunderbolt.
Penning, ill-mannered fellow that he was, guffawed.
David inclined his head. “My apologies, Miss Branford. As that lady does not yet exist, I pondered your meaning. My mother, Olive Greyle, is the current Lady Ingraham. Should I marry, she will then become the Dowager.”
Miss Branford’s cheeks shone with a rosy hue. Her hands shook, her voice quivered. “Oh! Please forgive me. I-I did not know.”
As both he and Penning sought to put her at ease, the Blue Drawing Room door opened.
“Here I am, Davy, to save the day.” Petunia, dressed in a particularly bright shade of yellow, forged ahead to the settee in a manner befitting a well-established society matron. “Good afternoon, my dear Miss Branford. We met briefly at Great Aunt Cordelia’s funeral. Do you remember?”
David leaned forward to get Miss Branford’s attention. Hard to get a word in edgewise once Petunia got started. “Miss Branford, this is my sister, Lady Petunia, newly married to the Viscount Weatherhaven.”
Normally he would not include so much information in the introduction, but in the light of Miss Branford believing him to be married, he did not want to perpetrate any additional misunderstandings.
A dazed expression overtook Miss Branford’s lovely features. “I am pleased to meet you, Lady Petunia. I am afraid I do not recall having the pleasure. There were so many people…”
“Of course, of course. Not to worry. Lord Penning, good to see you again, too.” Like a shot, she changed topics again, now addressing David. “How fa
st good news must travel! The polite world must already know about our delightful cousin’s visit.”
If it did, it was by Petunia’s mouth, not his.
She glanced at Miss Branford and clucked. “Gracious, here we are, chattering about like magpies, while Miss Branford is in dire need of rest. You haven’t allowed her time to freshen up since she arrived, have you, Davy?”
He glanced at his guest. She did look pulled down. He sighed. “No, I am afraid I have been remiss. Petunia will show you to your room, Miss Branford.”
“Thank you, sir.” She stood and made a brief curtsy. “I appreciate your hospitality.”
Reciprocating with a bow, he took note of her poised movements. “As I have a previous engagement this evening, I shall look forward to the pleasure of seeing you tomorrow, Miss Branford.”
Penning remembered his manners and bowed as well.
David watched both ladies leave the drawing room. With another sigh, he sat back down. “My peace and tranquility are at an end, Penning.”
His friend gulped down the rest of his tea, then rushed over to the sideboard. “You’ve the right of that, Ingraham, to be sure. Women tend to cut into a gentleman’s peace. To fortify ourselves for the whirl of activity ahead, let’s break open the brandy.”
“Pour generously for mine.” David extended his hand for the glass. Already he felt the irksome effects of having an attractive, unmarried female running rampant in the house. Deuced awkward indeed!
Chapter Two
Bethany remained quiet as Lady Petunia led her upstairs. Quiet on the outside, but tumultuous on the inside. Sometimes having an overactive imagination proved to be detrimental to one’s equanimity. In this case, believing Lady Ingraham to be the earl’s wife…goodness.
How mortifying!
Evidently Lady Petunia didn’t notice the silence for she opened the door, then buzzed about the pleasantly appointed room. Her light hair was so precariously perched in such an arrangement that Bethany feared her mass of curls would spill out from their confinement.
Susanne Marie Knight Page 2