Courting Intrigue: A Sweet, Regency Romance (The Bequest Series Book 2)

by Wendy May Andrews

  Violet wasn’t so sure about Lillian’s opinion. She no longer felt settled in her home. She supposed she ought to have realized it was no longer her home once her husband died and her stepson inherited the title. But since she was so comfortable there with Lillian and their staff taking such wonderful care of things, she had become complacent. That needed to change. And perhaps she ought to actually consider the idea of remarrying. Not to Lord Avery, of course, no matter how handsome he was or how she used to enjoy his company. If the man didn’t consider her suitable company for his daughter, he wasn’t worth her wasting any thought on him.

  She told herself that but then realized it was far easier said than done. The handsome gentleman seemed to have invaded her thoughts and was very difficult to dispel. Violet couldn’t shake her irritation over his persistent residence in her mind. It was probably the fact that he so obviously disapproved of her, she reassured herself as she prepared for the evening meal. She couldn’t help wondering what he would think of her in the modest, mauve gown. While she rather thought she was looking her best, she doubted anyone else would notice. A disconsolate sniff brought her to attention. She refused to allow one man’s opinion to bring her to depression.

  Violet resolved to speak to Lester about having a Season in order to find another husband for herself. She would phrase her request in such a way that he would see it was in his own best interests. And she would insist that she would require Lillian’s company. Then Lester would sponsor Lillian for her Season as well. She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t thought of it before. She would discuss it with Lillian as soon as Lester’s guests departed.

  Thus settled in her mind, Violet felt much more confident about the remainder of the house party, even if the Averys were there. She sallied forth from her room with her head held high, no longer perturbed by her nagging thoughts.

  Chapter Six

  Brock left his room, disappointed that he hadn’t been able to discover anything nefarious from the receipt he had found. Perhaps the viscount truly had just paid a bill. It happened. Brock himself never allowed his debts to pile up. His father had assured him he was most unnatural for doing so, but Brock didn’t allow that to weigh with him. He figured the tradespeople he worked with deserved their pay. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to work for a living and wouldn’t compound their challenges by not paying them. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have the money. He doubted the viscount was lacking in funds either. Ashburn Place, from what he could tell, was run quite efficiently and seemed to be productive. Of course, it cost a king’s ransom to run a house like this, so it might not be as rosy at it appeared. Appearances could be deceptive; he knew that for certain. In his line of work, he had learned that no one was ever as they seemed.

  Just take the viscountess’ niece for example. She was the most contradictory creature he had yet come across. Beautiful in a very understated way with her hair all scraped back and dressed in plain, boring gowns. She should have been attending the house party as one of the guests. Surely she was gentry, even if she wasn’t a noblewoman. But it would appear that she was running the household. She never sat still long enough for him to actually get a good read on her thoughts or feelings, but she didn’t seem to be working under duress.

  Brock had only seen her talking with her aunt once, but there had seemed to be genuine warmth in their interaction. Besides, Lady Violet was one of the sweetest women Brock had ever met, so he couldn’t envision her enslaving her niece under any pretext. And Lester, for all his debauchery, didn’t have the power to enslave her, unless he was holding something over her. But from their brief encounter, he also doubted the young woman would stand for any abuse of herself. She seemed perfectly capable of putting anyone in their place should they have the misguided notion of trying to take advantage of her.

  Unless she had indentured herself, Brock thought for a moment. It was possible she was working to support her family. He knew many of the gentry could find themselves in tight spots if their lands weren’t extensive enough to support a large family or the father had losses at the table. Perhaps her aunt had hired her assistance as a favour. Brock still didn’t like the thought of the young woman working so hard and not enjoying what she was owed as a matter of her birth, but it wasn’t really his place to even have an opinion.

  Once again, he realized he needed to dismiss the lovely young woman from his mind. This mission was the hardest he’d ever been on, and he had been in some dangerous positions before. But he had never had to work so hard to keep his focus. It was distraction that could get a man killed. Not that he truly believed he was in any kind of danger here at Ashburn Place, but it was the principle of the matter.

  What is it about this girl that has gotten under my skin? He had seen more beautiful women in the past. He had met people with far more difficult circumstances. And he knew many more intelligent people, both men and women. But she seemed to be a combination of all of those. Beautiful, intelligent, and obviously in need. It brought out every protective instinct he possessed, and it was only his mission that prevented him from seeking her out and trying to set her situation to rights. Well, his mission and his goals. He needed to finish this mission to achieve his goal of a quiet life settled in on his estates. Sedgwick was calling him home. It had been too long since he had felt settled anywhere.

  Before he was able to accomplish the task of forgetting about the lovely young woman, he came across her in the hallway. She was carrying a large crate.

  “Let me help you with that,” he exclaimed as he hurried to take it from her hands.

  “I’ve got it.”

  She didn’t seem particularly delighted by his offer of help, but Brock ignored her implied objection and held on tightly to the crate. She must have realized it would be ridiculous to struggle to retain her hold on it, so she let go. Brock was surprised as the full weight came to bear in his arms. She was surprisingly strong for such a slight woman.

  “Where would you like this?” he asked. While he was a strong man, he was amazed at how heavy the crate was and wouldn’t be disappointed to deposit it somewhere.

  “The ballroom,” she answered simply. Brock was almost certain the ballroom was at the other side of the large house. He stifled a groan.

  “How did you manage to carry this? You’re just a wisp of a thing.”

  Her soft chuckle shot directly to his midsection, making him weak. For a moment, he thought he would have to hand the crate back to her.

  “For one thing, I’m obviously much tougher than I appear. I’m not so very wispy. And for another, I’ve been carrying heavier and heavier items for years.”

  Brock wanted to put his burden down and question her further. And it wasn’t just because the blasted thing was heavy. He was overwhelmed with curiosity about the young woman.

  “Why have you been building up your stamina in this way?”

  She chuckled again. “It wasn’t an intentional exercise. Necessity is the mother of all invention, they say. I needed to carry heavier items, so I did.”

  “You aren’t very old. Where were your parents?” He was probably stepping beyond the realms of polite conversation, but he couldn’t help himself, and she didn’t seem to be offended.

  “They weren’t well, unfortunately. My mother was the loveliest woman you would ever lay your eyes on. But she was sickly from my birth.”

  “I’m sorry.” Brock now felt awkward for asking and wished he could change the subject. He was surprised by her matter of fact attitude and almost startled when she shrugged.

  “It does sound tragic, but it was all that I knew. And she always seemed so happy despite her weak health. The greatest tragedy is that she finally succumbed to that weakness.”

  “What about your father?” Brock hated the compulsion to pursue his questions but was relieved that she didn’t appear to mind.

  “He didn’t seem to be able to cope without my mother. They were the dreamiest people you would ever meet. I’m not sure
where they found me. I’m probably the most practical person you’ll ever come across. If I didn’t look so much like my parents, I would think I was a changeling.”

  Brock’s laughter surprised them both and once again weakened his arms. He was beginning to find the awkward load more than burdensome. Feeling heat fill his face, he finally stopped and placed it on the floor at his feet.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know how you managed it, but I need to stop for a moment.”

  The urchin by his side let out another husky chuckle.

  “I’m actually impressed with how far you managed without a break. I was needing to stop about every ten feet when I was carrying it.”

  Brock felt his eyebrows rising into his hairline. “Then why were you carrying such a burden? Why not enlist one of the footmen?”

  She shrugged. “Because I’m as stubborn as a goat and didn’t realize how very heavy I had filled the blasted crate, nor how awkward it was to fit my arms around, until I had already set out with it. By then, my stubborn nature had taken over and there was no way I was going to admit that it was too hard for me.” She paused for a moment before offering him a shy but sly smile. “Then you came across me and your gentlemanly offer of assistance wasn’t deniable.”

  Brock laughed. “You just wanted to see me fail, didn’t you?”

  “Have you failed?” she asked. “You carried it far further than I had thought you would manage, and you didn’t even complain. Rather you apologized as though you felt badly for holding me up. You are quite unexpected for an earl.”

  Brock laughed again. “What were you expecting an earl to do?”

  “Yell. Demand a servant. Ignore me. Really, the fact that I was carrying an awkward crate shouldn’t have even crossed your mind.”

  Brock’s amusement faded. “Why not? You’re a gently bred young woman working herself into an early grave.”

  “I am no such thing,” she replied with heat. “Well, yes, I suppose I’m gentry. But I’m not working too hard. And you will never convince me otherwise. I am absolutely certain that the human form is remarkably designed to perform work of various sorts. As long as one does not do too much at first, you can do whatever you put your mind to. And it most definitely won’t kill you.”

  “I’m sorry, miss, I meant you no offense.”

  She merely sniffed at him. “If you are quite finished resting, we could proceed to the ballroom. Or we could call a couple of footmen to finish the task. I would hate to do that, of course, because they are all busy elsewhere, but if you really cannot manage, there isn’t much other choice.”

  “I can manage,” Brock gritted out between his teeth.

  “I could take one side of the crate,” she offered cheerfully, moving closer as though she were going to grab hold of it.

  He could smell roses and freshly baked scones as she neared him, and he again felt swept with a wave of weakness, but he managed to turn so the crate was no longer in her reach. Nudging her out of the way with his shoulder, he repeated, “I can manage.” He didn’t appreciate her smug smirk, but he ignored it along with the protests his shoulders were screaming at him.

  “This is a really big house, isn’t it?” he remarked to break the silence.

  He was rewarded with her sweet laughter. “It most certainly feels like it when you’re trying to accomplish something. Or when you are burdened in some way.” She cast him a sideways glance. “You’ll certainly think twice before you offer your assistance to the next damsel you come across, won’t you?”

  Brock grinned. “You’re probably right, but I can be as stubborn as a goat as well, so it’s doubtful that I’ll be able to overcome my chivalrous side, even if this is a very good object lesson to think before leaping.”

  The girl returned his smile.

  “You’ve never told me your name,” he commented.

  “We haven’t been formally introduced,” she replied, pursing her lips into a prim expression that did not sit comfortably on her pixyish face.

  Brock wasn’t sure how serious she was, but while she was correct, they had not been introduced, surely the informality of a house party allowed for conversing without an introduction. She had said the same thing the last time he had tried to ask her name. It was more rude, in his opinion, to not even be using her name. Not that he could actually use her given name, although he was sorely tempted, if he actually knew it.

  While he was debating how to answer, her face split into a wide smile, and a giggle escaped her parted lips. “I was teasing you, my lord. You are far too serious, I am sorry to point out.” She twirled around on the tips of her toes then swept him an elegant curtsy. “Do I really look like the sort that stands on ceremony?”

  “Not at all,” he agreed with her, his face likewise splitting into a grin. “But you are correct in that you should be more careful than you obviously are prone to be. Not everyone your aunt has invited has the best of intentions.”

  The girl’s smile dimmed slightly. “I am always careful. And Aunt Violet wasn’t the one who invited the gentlemen.” There was a pause while she thought about it before adding, her tone confiding, “You could say she didn’t even invite the ladies, except in an official capacity. Lester told her who, in particular, he wanted invited. Of course, Lady Violet and I used our own good judgment before following through on his requests. We weren’t entirely confident that Lester’s choices were the most sound.”

  Brock tried to contain his amusement, but he couldn't deny that he quite enjoyed the girl’s humour. “But you still haven’t told me your name,” he reminded her.

  His amusement deepened as colour flooded her cheeks. For all her responsibility around the house and her obvious hard work, she was still a young woman, unused to social interaction with men of the ton.

  She again dipped into a curtsy, this one even more elegant than the last, he couldn’t help but notice, admiring her fluidity and grace. “My apologies, my lord. My name is Lillian Susanna Shaw. Formerly of Sherton but now really of nowhere in particular.”

  “Shouldn’t you be Miss Shaw of Ashburn Place?”

  Her smile was wistful. “I can see why you might think so, but I’m really no relation to Lester. My aunt is his stepmother. Of course, she is the viscountess until he marries and makes her a dowager, but the viscount is no family of mine. So, I am here on sufferance. Lester would prefer me gone, but since I make myself useful, he hasn’t forced the issue. But he will, if I’m not careful. Or if he gets too bored one of these days.”

  Brock watched as she looked away, apparently not able to meet his gaze, until it was obvious that an idea had occurred to her, and she turned back to him with a speculative gleam in her bright gaze. “Do you have many estates, my lord?”

  Brock’s eyebrows rose and so did the colour in her cheeks. “Yes, yes, I should know that already since you’re the important Earl of Sedgwick, but I will admit that I have allowed my reading of Debrett's to lapse.”

  He could only laugh. He hadn’t yet answered her question when she launched into further speech. “The reason I ask is I’m wondering if you might be in need of a steward or housekeeper on any of your estates. I’d be quite excellent at either position.”

  “If you do say so yourself,” he couldn’t help but mock, making her already blushing cheeks turn even more fiery.

  “I apologize if that sounded immodest, but I have been informally trained in both positions and have enjoyed the work immensely. I, of course, wouldn’t be able to acquire written recommendations from the lord or lady of this establishment, but the steward and housekeeper would certainly vouch for my abilities.”

  “Before you go any further, I’m going to have to interrupt you. I’m terribly sorry, but I couldn’t employ a gently bred young woman in any of my households. It would be scandalous for one thing, and would make me highly uncomfortable for another.”

  Her face fell comically. “I suspected as much.” Her sigh was dramatic but sounded sincere. “I guess it’s companion for me then.
”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Lady Vi assured me the only position it would be acceptable for me to acquire is that of lady’s companion. It is really what I’m doing now for her, but Lester refuses to pay me. And I cannot sit around for the next four years without making any extra money, besides the anxiety of never being certain if Lester would finally pitch me from the door.”

  “What is to happen in four years?”

  “I will receive the Bequest and am going into business.”

  Brock wondered if he would ever hear anything not surprising issuing from this girl’s mouth. “What sort of business?”

  “A bakery. In my home village. It shall be quite spectacular. I’m quite good as a baker. I know, that still sounds immodest, but really, when one is trying to sell one’s services, modesty is not the best virtue, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Brock had to laugh and agree. “I suppose you are correct, although I’ve never been in a position of needing to sell my services.”

  “No, of course, you haven’t. You’re a man, and an earl besides.” Her glum tone made Brock struggle to keep his amusement in check.

  “Wouldn’t you rather marry instead of going into business?” He felt the frown forming on his face, but he wasn’t sure if it was from puzzlement or if he was disturbed at the thought of her marrying.

  The young woman shrugged. “That’s what Aunt Vi is pressing for, but I’m not so sure that a member of the haute ton would really make me such a wonderful life companion. From what I’ve seen these last days with Lester and his friends, they do not represent well for the pack of you gentlemen. A sufficiently educated man NOT of the haute ton might be a possibility, but I haven’t the first clue where I might find myself one of those,” she added with a grin before continuing. “I would ever so much rather rely only on myself,” she concluded, a shrug evident in her voice.