Susanne Marie Knight

by A Noble Dilemma

  The Viscountess dashed about, taking great delight in pointing out happy features such as a tall, cheval mirror in the corner of the room, an excellent view of Grosvenor Square from a southern exposure window and an empty wardrobe closet

  Bethany gave those features only a cursory glance. Truth be told, she was far more interested in the Chippendale writing desk stationed in front of the window.

  “So here you have it.” Lady Petunia held onto one of the bed’s posts and swung around on it before sitting on the mattress. “Please feel free to place your personal possessions wherever you wish about the room. I’ll send for a maid to help you. This is your new home, Miss Branford.”

  Bethany spotted her portmanteau next to the wardrobe. It contained all her worldly goods. “Thank you, my lady, but there is no need for a maid. My possessions are very few.”

  “Truly?” Lady Petunia frowned. She eyed Bethany’s gown in a critical manner. “We shall go shopping to rectify that matter.”

  Words tumbled out of Bethany’s mouth before she had a chance to edit them. “But I cannot afford to indulge in new clothes.”

  “Nonsense.” The Viscountess waved her hand as if banishing poverty. “Davy will sport the blunt. He is as rich as Croesus. Or at least I think he is.”

  “I cannot impose on the earl, my lady.” Agitation welled up within Bethany. A beautiful arrangement of fragrant roses on the bedstand attracted her attention. She removed a white rose and twirled it by the stem. “That would not be seemly. You must know that we are not even truly related.”

  “Pish tosh. Your father married a relation of ours. Not too close a connection, I admit, but then you also took care of our father’s favorite aunt, our great aunt Cordelia. Why should my brother not sponsor you?”

  She got up and swung around on the bedpost again. “And you must call me Petunia. I admit ’tis a rather peculiar name. ‘Peculiar Petunia’ is the horrid moniker Davy likes to tease me with. I have my revenge. All I need do is use his middle name and he shuts right up.” She flashed a mischievous grin. “Would you like to know this deep dark secret?”

  “Um, I’m afraid that would not be proper.”

  “Tosh! ’Tis Petruchio. Amusing, is it not? Our mother has a penchant for flowers and for Shakespeare.” She giggled.

  “Oh.” Bethany flushed. Lord Ingraham wouldn’t be pleased that she knew his out-of-the ordinary middle name. She put the rose back into the crystal vase. “My given name is Bethany. Bethany Anne.”

  “Bethany.” Petunia smiled. “That’s a lovely name. So unusual.”

  Bethany withheld her own grin. Not as unusual as Petunia!

  A thought occurred. “What did you mean when you entered the drawing room? You said you were saving the day.”

  Petunia gave a playful shrug. “Only that since my mother has not yet arrived, we cannot have you unchaperoned in a bachelor’s residence. London gabsters are sticklers for this type of impropriety. But you’re not to worry, Bethany. Weatherhaven can spare me for a few days. I’m certain Mama will turn up soon, just like a bad shilling.” With a laugh, she headed for the door. “Now, I’ll leave you to unpack and rest. Dinner will be at seven. It’s too bad of Davy not to join us, but then again, I’m certain we shall manage to entertain ourselves. We can discuss our plans for tomorrow then, yes?”

  She closed the door before Bethany could answer.

  Bethany sank down on the mattress. Her spirits sank with her. Her host, the Earl of Ingraham, had to have been regretting his kind impulse to house his distant country cousin. His solitude cut into, his concern about her reputation, his bank account reduced…

  She set her regrets behind her and hurried over to her portmanteau. Time was a precious commodity; one she couldn’t afford to waste. With any luck, she could work on her novel. Perhaps, before long she could send it off to a publisher.

  And have the publisher accept it.

  And earn money so she could leave the earl’s hospitality to set up her own household.

  She sighed. That was asking for a great deal of luck.

  The next morning, David took refuge from his houseguests by cloistering himself in the comfort of his private study. Not that his houseguests had disturbed him as yet. Nor was the study such a restful place; it was small and distinctly modest in its furnishings.

  An unpretentious cherrywood writing desk, a few pictures scattered haphazardly about the walls, a bookcase, also cherrywood, filled with books and papers pertaining to English law — the study was rather Spartan, but sacrosanct. It was the place he could retreat from the outside world to concentrate on estate and parliamentary matters.

  Pulling out the ledger for his Highfield Manor estate in Northampshire, he whiled away the time by double-checking figures recorded by his steward.

  The hours passed quickly. At the sound of the mantel clock over the tiny fireplace chiming twice, he looked up. Two o’clock. How very gratifying that no one had disturbed his solitude in the interim.

  He pushed away from the writing table. With his sister temporarily in residence here, that fact was passing strange.

  What was the minx up to now?

  Noises from the main part of the townhouse intruded, drowning out the cozy crackling from the fireplace. David stood. His seclusion was at an end.

  After a knock on the study door, Stevens entered. “My lord,” he bowed. “Lady Ingraham and a Mr. Fenwick have arrived from Bath.”

  “Mr. Fenwick?” That name did not conjure up an image. “Who is this fellow?”

  The butler’s formal white wig seemed to flap on the man’s head. “An…acquaintance of her ladyship, sir.”

  Obviously Stevens disapproved of this Mr. Fenwick. David sighed. What imbroglio had his mother got into this time?

  “Where is Lady Ingraham, Stevens?”

  “In the Blue Drawing Room, my lord.”

  David paced the small area of his study. “Is Lady Petunia about?”

  “Her ladyship has not yet returned from shopping, sir,” was the butler’s prompt response.

  David nodded. He understood women well. The lure of drapers on New Bond Street could not be denied. Especially when his sister’s protégée was in dire need of an updated wardrobe.

  “Miss Branford is with Lady Petunia, I presume.”

  “No, milord. The young lady is still in her room.”

  “Indeed? At this hour?” Good God, she wasn’t a languishing sort, was she? Prone to fanciful ills? Always going into a decline? She must have been, for what female did not wish to go shopping?

  He paused in front of the fireplace. That thought was unkind. He should be charitable. After all, Miss Branford had traveled far. She had drifted off to sleep in the drawing room last evening. Perhaps she still needed additional rest.

  “I shall join Lady Ingraham directly, Stevens. Have refreshments sent to the drawing room.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Stevens bowed and left the room.

  David put his ledger away, brushed back his hair and straightened the points on his waistcoat. Undoubtedly, his mother had obtained a new cicisbeo, therefore she would be in one of her coquettish moods. Dealing with her when that was the case was fatiguing in the extreme. Only the late earl had been able to reign in his flirtatious Countess.

  He sighed again. The dear woman was well into her dotage — five and fifty, if she was a day. And so like her daughter, in many ways.

  As he had wondered about his sister, now he pondered his mother. Would the Countess of Ingraham ever grow up?

  With each passing day, Miss Hasbrouck became more accustomed to her affluent but rather gloomy surroundings. She became familiar with her two new charges as well. The motherless boys, just five and six years old, took to her straightaway, and enjoyed every expression of affection that she bestowed. Gentle hugs, a ruffling of their hair, soft kisses on their cheeks at bedtime…the children had quite engaged her heart. They were so very darling.

  Their father, on the other hand, was another matter. He was a ma
n of mystery. Very tall with dark hair hanging down his forehead in windswept curls, Lord Innis seemed to hold her in contempt. His stormy, dark brown eyes silently disapproved of everything she did. He —

  The noise of a carriage door slamming shut startled Bethany from her writing. She glanced over at the bedchamber’s ormolu clock. Goodness! It was after two in the afternoon. Had Petunia finished shopping? Was that her outside, arriving back at the townhouse?

  Bethany rushed over to the window in time to see two people walk toward the entrance. The top of a blue velvet poke bonnet came into view along with the brushed beaver top hat of a gentleman. From this vantage point, it was difficult to determine if she recognized either of the two. Perhaps the lady was her benefactor, Lady Petunia. She looked closer. No. The hair spiraling out of the poke bonnet was darker than Petunia’s. Plus the woman was of a sturdier build.

  Bethany exhaled a sigh of relief. Lady Petunia would not take kindly to her protégée still being abed. Bethany had gotten out of today’s shopping expedition on the condition that she’d be dressed and ready by the time Petunia returned to the townhouse. Petunia had been most insistent, and Bethany could not go back on her word.

  Taking a sip of cold tea, she felt her stomach growl. Obviously she needed more sustenance than liquids. She’d forgone the pleasure of breakfast this morning to concentrate on writing. After all, why think of food when she could put pen to paper instead?

  For a moment she dwelt upon her handsome hero, Lord Innis. She smiled and sighed at the same time. When she imagined this character, she pictured her host, Lord Ingraham. That was another of her little secrets — never to be revealed. There could be no doubt about it; he would become incensed if he ever learned that he figured in a Gothic novel.

  Her grin widened.

  But now the ormolu clock read a quarter past two. She hurried to dress. The townhouse contained a large library, or so Petunia had said. Bethany could pass the time perusing books.

  “I am excessively glad to be back in London, David. The company in Bath was beginning to thin most intolerably.” Olive Greyle took a sip of tea then discarded the cup in its saucer. She sat back on the settee and cast a fond glance over at her companion. “Fenwick and I were at sixes and sevens, deciding what we should do next.”

  David had not seen his mother since leaving for France in May. Physically, she was unaltered. Still pleasantly plump. Still dressed in the first stare of fashion. But she now had an animation about her that had been absent six months ago. The cause for her vibrancy was not difficult to discern. The man on the settee, Randolph Fenwick, was the reason.

  Fenwick, a slender man closer in age to David than the Countess’, was a rumpled-looking fellow. Unkempt dark red hair, large liquid brown eyes, a rather sorrowful expression — the sort of man women often described as romantic.

  More boldly put — good in the bedchamber; useless in a crisis.

  In the tub-shaped chair across from her, David studied his mother and amended his thought about being unaltered. A beam of fading sunlight from the nearby window caught the Countess’ hair. Instead of its original light brown color, her hair gave off a distinctly reddish glow.

  Henna? Was she so smitten with this Fenwick character that she resorted to artifice? Was the color intended to mimic Fenwick’s red hair?

  The conversation continued without him, so he brought his attention back to his mother’s words.

  “But Fenwick, dear, you must stay here with us. ’Tis not to be borne for you to take inferior lodging at a hotel.”

  Good God! Evidently the Countess had become dicked in the nob during David’s absence from England. Even the impropriety of the suggestion that her cicisbeo stay —

  “My lady, it is very good of you to offer. However, I wouldn’t dream of imposing upon you and the earl,” Fenwick said smoothly. He slid his limpid gaze from the Countess to David. “I have made arrangements to stay at the Clarendon.”

  Before his mother could register her protest, David tilted his head. “Excellent choice. I am certain you will enjoy your accommodations.”

  Not that he cared a whit about the fellow’s enjoyment. Personally, he wished Fenwick to the devil.

  Or rather, to the point: when would the bounder take his leave?

  Sometimes a butler could anticipate his master’s desires. Perhaps Stevens would enter the drawing room with an urgent message, triggering Fenwick’s departure.

  David eyed the open door out into the corridor. If he concentrated hard enough, Stevens just might appear.

  A head did appear but it wasn’t the butler’s. His houseguest, Miss Branford, peeked into room.

  “Oh! Please excuse me.” Her cheeks blushed vivid pink with embarrassment. “I was looking for the library.”

  David stood and quickly strode over to the doorframe. The girl was just as lovely as yesterday. Perhaps even more so, since she was rested. Looks aside, he was grateful for her intrusion. Indeed, it was providence. She had come along as an answer to his unspoken wish for a diversion.

  “No need to apologize, Miss Branford.” He placed his hand under her arm and, ignoring the plea in her eyes to let her be, firmly led her to the settee. “Allow me to introduce my mother, Lady Ingraham.”

  Miss Branford stepped away from him, then made a pretty curtsy. “I’m very happy to meet you, my lady. I greatly appreciate your very kind invitation.”

  His mother’s blank-eyed gaze revealed that she did not remember Miss Branford’s identity.

  “Mother, this is our cousin, Miss Branford. You and I exchanged correspondence about her visit.”

  That jogged the Countess’ memory. She patted the empty cushion in the middle of the settee. “Yes, yes, indeed. Please sit, my dear. I have heard so much about you. You and I shall get along famously. I just know we will.”

  Miss Branford meekly obeyed and folded her hands in her lap. Her cotton morning gown appeared dingy next to the colorful blue flowered fabric of the sofa…and the Countess’ flashy finery.

  Fenwick had already gotten to his feet and David extended his hand in Fenwick’s direction. “And this gentleman is Mr. Fenwick.”

  The man made a small bow. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Branford. I, as well, have heard much about you. As I can see with my own eyes, there has been no exaggeration.”

  If possible, the girl’s rosy blush deepened.

  Fenwick’s mournful countenance lit up with a smile. “May I have the pleasure of escorting you two ladies around Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon?”

  The Countess clapped her hands together. “What a splendid idea. A carriage ride! Yes, and the most fashionable time to be seen at the park is between five and six. Shall we say, five o’clock, then, Fenwick?”

  Miss Branford glanced up at David with another pleading look in her deep hazel eyes. Evidently she did not care for the idea but as her hostess expressed delight, she could do naught but agree.

  Once again he disregarded her plea. The girl would have to rely on another Sir Galahad to rescue her.

  Then again, his interpretation of her expression could have been completely wrong. After all, what did he know about her ways? His acquaintance with this chit was of less than a twenty-four hour duration.

  “Done then.” Fenwick bowed again. “Until tomorrow, ladies. My lord.”

  As soon as the slippery fellow left, David exhaled in relief. His duty now was to attempt to lessen the man’s hold over the Countess. Or divert her attention toward a more worthy object for her affection.

  His mother turned her rabid interest on Miss Branford. “You are just down from Northumberland, are you not? So very far away. You must tell me all about Aunt Cordelia’s passing, my dear. Did she suffer?”

  The young woman paled and lowered her gaze. “She did suffer for a brief time, ma’am, with a high fever. I confess it was quite dreadful to see, but, mercifully, Great Aunt Cordelia had a speedy release. I believe she was as comfortable as could be expected at the end.”

&n
bsp; Miss Branford’s sentiments did her much credit. He admired her fortitude and the strength of her deportment. She seemed to be a young woman without an ounce of guile, without a drop of deceit.

  Again, he was reminded of a rare jewel. For some reason, this thought disturbed him.

  He stood. “Ladies, I have some pressing business to attend to, so I shall leave you to get better acquainted.”

  His mother waved an imperious hand. “Do go on, David. Never fear, Miss Branford and I will be bosom bows by the time we see you again for dinner.”

  Dinner. He darted his gaze over his houseguest’s appealing form as if she were on the dinner menu.

  Greyle!

  This mooning over the country cousin had to stop. He bowed to his mother, and then to the appetizing dessert. “My apologies, ladies, but I fear I will not be able to join you tonight. I am dining at my club this evening.”

  He had not planned to eat at Brooks’ until just this very moment, but thank the heavens he thought of it. In addition, he would banish his inappropriate longing for Miss Branford by paying his mistress a long overdue visit.

  David took his leave, then strode out of the drawing room as fast as was humanly possible. He never imagined having houseguests would prove to be so unsettling.

  Chapter Three

  The weather for the latter part of October was still comfortably tolerable. David placed his beaver topper squarely on his head, then left Palace of Westminster. For the past three days, he had worked inside the government office. In fact, ever since his houseguest had arrived.

  Not that he was avoiding Grosvenor Square.

  He looked up at the late afternoon sky. Instead of hailing a hackney carriage, he would walk back to his townhouse. A long haul, to be sure, but after discussions with Lord Castlereagh, the Foreign Secretary, and Lord Liverpool, the prime minister, David needed to clear his head.

  This meeting had been in preparation for next month’s Parliament session. The upcoming debate promised to be a grim one. The summer’s unending rain had yielded a dismal harvest with the almost total failure of the potato crop, and in turn had caused a sharp increase in the cost of corn. Exports dwindled, fields laid fallow, factories dismissed workers. The list of serious woes seemed endless.