He smiled and pinched her chin. “That is one benefit to my title and position—it will not be hard to overcome that small detail. Well, you had best go tell your mother of our plans. And when you tell your distinguished suitor, but sure to mention that I am coming. He will be so pleased to hear it, won’t he?”
Phoebe pressed her lips together but knew the skirmish was over. She turned and left without another word. Feeling as if he had just survived a gale, Tyndale sat down at his desk again. Instead of returning to his work, however, his mind turned to another idea that had occurred to him.
He had not expected Phoebe to make a match during her first Season. She was far too young for that. But perhaps it was time to direct her interests toward more respectable possibilities. Brighton would be full of the disreputable hangers-on that afflicted Society, many of them importunate scoundrels looking for an easy fix to their most pressing financial quandaries. But there would no doubt be many respectable young men as well who might be just the thing. He knew one thing—Phoebe needed to be married to someone she admired or she would never settle down respectably. Perhaps this house party would be the means of introducing her to such a gentleman.
It did occur to him, fleetingly, that perhaps he should also consider his own situation and find a suitable wife to marry. After all, he was the end of their family’s line. But he no sooner thought it than dismissed the whole idea. No, duty would only push him so far.
Chapter Three
As Joanna’s carriage rolled slowly up the steep hill to Havencrest, she feasted her eyes on the stunning view of the ocean. The vast reaches of the slate blue water under a sunny, blue sky made her long to go directly down to the shore, walk along the pebble beach, and drink in the salty breeze. However, as always, her exuberant spirit had to give way to propriety. It would be decidedly ill-mannered of her not to greet her hostess upon arrival—even though Mrs. Garvey would undoubtedly prefer to be left alone.
A footman came out of the house and let down the steps to the carriage. As he assisted her down, she looked up at the house and smiled, finding it to be just the way it had always been, a large rambling mansion.
Inside, Mrs. Daw came bustling towards her, her round cheeks made rounder by her wide smile. “Mrs. Thorne! You’ve arrived.”
“Hello, Mrs. Daw. Am I the first to arrive?”
“Why yes, ma’am. And a fortunate thing it is too. Mrs. Garvey will be pleased to see you.”
“Now, that’s a whisker and you know it. I take it that you have not yet informed her that the terrible day has arrived?”
“I thought it best to let her putter about in the conservatory in peace this morning while she could. Would you like to go to her there?”
“Yes, that will do as well as anything,” Joanna said, turning to look for Mrs. Pike. But since that lady was busy overseeing the footmen as they brought in their trunks, she did not wait for her.
Mrs. Daw led her through the house, though Joanna knew her way very well. She chattered the whole way and Joanna soon knew the whole guest list for the house party, how many servants they were expected to bring, and Mrs. Daw’s concerns about housing all of them.
“For as dear a man as Mr. Garvey is, he has no notion about how many rooms we have here. I have had too many people two to a room, including married couples—which we all know will make them as cross as crabs, but I ask you, ma’am, what else am I to do? But they should just see the servant’s quarters.”
“Speaking of servants, where is Morton?”
“Oh, he’s down in the wine cellar taking an inventory of what is down there. He must know it will be practically just as it was when last he was here since Mrs. Garvey drinks only the cordials she makes herself, but it is his duty, you know. The silver will next come under his scrutiny. Well, and he shall find it all is it should be, may heaven be my witness.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Joanna’s lips as she listened. She felt a great surge of affection for Mrs. Daw and determined to find time to join her for tea in the housekeeper’s room so they could have a proper coze. But for now, they had arrived at the conservatory.
Mrs. Daw went in, searching about the orderly rows of lemon and orange trees, through the palms, and at last found her quarry seeing to the collection of exotic orchids that were Mrs. Garvey’s pride and joy.
“Mrs. Thorne has arrived ma’am,” Mrs. Daw said in a properly subservient tone, gave Joanna a speaking glance, and bustled away again.
Mrs. Garvey, when she looked up, stared at Joanna for several long seconds. “No,” she cried, indignantly. “What day is it?”
“It is Sunday, ma’am.” Joanna dipped a curtsy and smiled, not at all disconcerted by her greeting.
Mrs. Garvey sighed heavily. “I do not think I can bear it, Joanna. Not again. Why that loose screw husband of mine chooses to inflict his unruly house parties on me every summer is beyond my understanding. He knows it isn’t good for my nerves. And the expense!” She clenched her fingers together in agitation, then paused as if surprised to find that she still had her gardening gloves on. She pulled them off and left them on her potting bench.
Joanna went to her and drew Mrs. Garvey’s hand through the crook of her arm. “I know, my dear friend. But I have come as always to support you through the ordeal. You know you need not do a thing. Mrs. Daw will see to everything.”
“But she has an unfortunate tendency to be frivolous when we have guests.”
“Mrs. Daw? Frivolous? How so?”
“Just last week, I saw the bill for the coal shipment. One would think it was the dead of winter for the amount she ordered. And she has put in an order to the fishmonger to have a delivery made every day—for prawns, oysters, turbot, salmon and I know not what else. And that is nothing compared to the butcher. You may trust that I canceled them immediately. She is a very good housekeeper in many ways, but she has no notion of economy.”
“Well, but you must feed the guests something you know.”
But Mrs. Garvey only sniffed. “We have a very good crop of turnips and cabbages. And I have several hens that do not lay anymore and must be culled. After a season in London, it would do them all a great deal of good to eat simple meals. It will improve their digestion immensely. I had a long discussion with Jacques about the meals I expect to see on my table.”
Joanna shook her head slightly, hoping that Mrs. Daw and Jacques would be able to prevail against their mistress. At the very least, she hoped that Mr. Garvey would eat at home more frequently this year than was his won't. All too often he spent the evenings eating at the Regent’s sumptuous dinners, but on the evenings he spent at home, she could be sure they would dine in rich splendor. It was always feast or famine in this household.
As she and Mrs. Garvey crossed the hall toward the drawing room, a beam of bright sunlight flooded in from the opening door. Looking to see who had arrived, Joanna saw two ladies and a gentleman coming up the steps. The elder lady was a matron with gentle features, as yet free from the ravages of age. She was pretty and it was easy to see that she had once been a beauty—though likely not as beautiful as the young lady next to her. Indeed, Joanna could not help but catch her breath at the vision before her.
With a perfect complexion reminiscent of cream and roses, the girl’s golden hair gleamed in the light, and her features were such as would make any artist long to reach for their brush and paints. Her brilliant blue eyes, rounded lips, and dainty nose were all perfection.
There was a spark of envy in Joanna’s breast that she could not deny. It was foolish of her, she knew. She had long since become inured to her own lack of beauty. When she had been very young, the same age as this girl was now, the torment had been great. How she had hated the sight of her own reflection—her eyes that tilted down at the corners and were a muddy green, her rather stubby nose and her lips that were too wide for her face. Time had brought wisdom if nothing else. There was no point in suffering over what she could not change, and certainly, it did her soul n
o good to resent those who had been better blessed than her. And so, when the girl’s curious eyes met hers, she smiled at her, tucking away all her insecurities to wrestle with later when she was alone.
But her smile faltered when she looked over the girl’s shoulder to the gentlemen coming up behind them.
He was tall enough that he had to duck through the doorway, and his shoulders were so broad with his driving cape on that he blocked out the light, showing his silhouette to be the ideal of any Corinthian. A powerful, athletic man it seemed. When the footman closed the door, she was able to see that his handsome face was marred slightly by a look of impatience and ill-humor. His eyes met hers, but only for a moment before they turned away, dismissing her immediately.
Joanna’s stomach sank as it always did when she was looked over, but she bit her teeth together and lifted her chin. Well, what did she care what he or any man thought of her?
“Well,” said Mrs. Garvey looking them over. “I do not know who you all are, but I suppose you’ll want some tea. Be sure to wash your hands before coming down. There is nothing I despise more than dirty fingernails in my drawing room.”
As used as she was to the odd things Mrs. Garvey said, Joanna didn’t even blink at this until she saw the look on the gentleman's face. His brows drew together and he turned one ear toward her as if sure he could not have heard correctly. Joanna’s ready sense of humor was often her downfall. A chuckle escaped her, though she quickly muffled it by pressing her lips together.
As Mrs. Garvey left them behind in the hallway, the young girl clasped her hands together, her eyes twinkling happily. “Oh, she’s every bit as eccentric as I’ve always heard.”
Feeling the beginnings of warmth toward her, Joanna stepped toward the two ladies. “Indeed, she is decidedly peculiar. And we are left with no one to introduce us. I am Joanna Thorne.”
“I’m Phoebe Lovell,” the girl said, dipping a graceful curtsy. “This is my mother, Lady Tyndale, and my uncle, Lord Tyndale.”
Joanna smiled at Lady Tyndale, her mind searching out the family ties between them. She had thought that the gentleman looked too young to be the girl’s father. So Lady Tyndale was a widow like herself. Was Lord Tyndale the younger brother or a cousin who had inherited? Now, why was she so curious? “Well, it’s lovely to meet you all, as unconventional as this is. But you’ll find that most things in this household are. Ah, here is Mrs. Daw to see you to your rooms.”
The two ladies followed the housekeeper up the stairs, but Lord Tyndale stopped a moment to ask, “Was that Mrs. Garvey?”
“Yes,” Joanna said, her mouth quirking into a smile at his incredulity. “She’s really a kind soul once you get to know her.”
“I see,” he answered, perhaps reading more into her answer than she had meant him too. “I know Mr. Garvey of course, though not well. But I’ve never before had the opportunity to meet his wife.”
“She doesn’t go into society very often,” Joanna explained.
Then Lord Tyndale smiled, taking her completely by surprise. The rather surly expression he’d worn till then eased into something warmer and more relaxed. He saw her now, even if only as someone who might enjoy a good joke with him. “It’s a great pity,” he said. “I imagine she might do a great deal of good with all the dirty hands of the ton.”
He nodded then and turned to follow the ladies of his family up the stairs.
Joanna stared after him, mulling over his words. Not a lover of society, it would seem. And a man with a sense of humor was rare enough that she couldn’t help but be intrigued, even as she had been annoyed with him earlier. He might even be the sort of gentleman with whom she could have a pleasant conversation if only he was married or too wealthy to be tempted by her fortune.
“What are you thinking about?” Mrs. Garvey asked as Joanna went into the drawing room and accepted a cup of tea.
“Oh, just about how a sense of humor can improve a gentleman.”
Mrs. Garvey pinched her lips together. “The only things that improve a man are distance and death, as you well know. Now, you may have a squeeze of lemon in your tea, but I know you don’t wish for sugar. You’re much too sensible for that.”
Joanna agreed, as she always did, and sipped the weak tea her hostess presented her. But little though Mrs. Garvey might realize it, she very much enjoyed sugar in her tea and gentlemen with a sense of humor.
Chapter Four
Tyndale had never in his life been in such a household as Havencrest.
The household had been in an uproar as a seemingly endless stream of carriages arrived for the house party. He had spent most of the afternoon in Mrs. Garvey’s drawing room, keeping a close eye on Phoebe until he’d gotten his fill of acting mannerly and escaped to go into Brighton. If only he had known to stay to dine at one of the many clubs Tyndale had never in his life been in such a household as Havencrest.
The household had been in an uproar as a seemingly endless stream of carriages arrived for the house party. He had spent most of the afternoon in Mrs. Garvey’s drawing room, keeping a close eye on Phoebe until he’d gotten his fill of acting mannerly and escaped to go into Brighton. If only he had known to stay to dine at one of the many clubs or hotels, he would have saved himself the very unpleasant experience of cabbage and turnip soup, stringy chicken, pickled calves feet, and elderberry wine.
By far the worst part of the meal was looking up from his plate and finding that Thorne woman watching him with barely repressed amusement.
He wanted to be in a foul mood, by thunder, and he deserved to be. How dare she nearly make him laugh?
Who was the woman? He spent so much time at his estate that he had few female acquaintances. From various catches of conversation he’d heard, he’d learned that she was Mrs. Thorne, and a widow of four or five years. His first impression was that she was very young, but his second, which came quickly, was that she was much too assured and forward to be an ingenue. Indeed, he’d once caught a certain hardness in her expression that hinted that her maturity had been hard-earned.
When he was finally free to go to his room that night and found himself thinking about her, he lost all patience with himself. That, combined with having only one candle, a paltry piece of soap for the wash basin, and darned sheets at last insured that he was able to fall asleep in as bad a temper as he’d wished. The devil take Phoebe and her house party.
One look at the boiled eggs and weak tea being served for breakfast and Tyndale once again headed into town, completely uncaring that he had abandoned his niece to her fate. As he rode down the road that sloped down toward Brighton, he caught sight of a path in the long grass and thought it might lead to a good view from the top of the cliffs. Turning that way, he followed it, content to take his time exploring on such a lovely morning.
The sun had broken through the thin clouds, burning off the dew and warming his shoulders. The sound of the surf was faint, and difficult to hear over the breeze that blew past, but it grew louder as he continued on. Soon, an edge of blue that was darker than the sky appeared over the top of the grass, and as the land sloped down, his eyes marked the edge where the ground fell away sharply to the sea.
A lone figure in a mulberry gown stood there, close enough to the edge to make him apprehensive. Her shawl and the ribbon from her bonnet blew backward, her skirts billowing and whipping in the breeze.
Dismounting, he walked forward, wondering if he should call out, but not wanting to frighten her. As he got closer, his horse whinnied, likely as cautious about the cliff’s edge as he was, and she turned.
It was Mrs. Thorne.
Her cheeks were pink from the wind, her eyes distant, and her generous mouth turning slightly down at the corners. But there was such an aura of melancholy about her that he stopped in surprise. “Mrs. Thorne?”
“Good morning, Lord Tyndale. Escaping to Brighton for breakfast?” She smiled then, just a bit, which eased his concern.
“I’m a rather large man, you see, and
it takes a fair bit more than eggs and tea to take the edge off my hunger.”
Her eyes lit with the humor he’d seen there last night. “I am neither large nor a man, but I admit to needing more sustenance as well. Which is why I bring my own tea and have scones and pastries delivered from a bakery in town every morning during my visit here.”
“You have come before.”
“Certainly. Since I’ve been out of mourning.” She turned to look out to sea again, brushing a tendril of hair that had escaped to blow across her face. “I grew up here. My childhood home borders Havencrest.” She pointed to her right, up the coast. “You cannot see it here, but it over this hill. I used to play all along here and Mrs. Garvey and I became fast friends as she often bandaged my scraped knees and scolded me for escaping from my governesses.”
Perhaps that was the cause for her melancholy then. “Your parents?”
“My mother died in childbirth when I was four. My father died three years ago. My cousin, Mrs. Pike, likes to believe it was from a broken heart, but I’m not certain he ever had one.”
Her last words rang with a harsh bitterness that made him look more closely at her.
As if feeling the weight of his scrutiny, she took a deep breath and turned back to him. “I am sorry, my lord. I shouldn’t have infringed on our slight acquaintance with such personal confidences. You…came upon me in a rather wistful state I’m afraid.”
“No, don’t apologize. I appreciate frank conversation. Will you accept my sympathies?”
She smiled but looked down as she shook her head. “Only because it would seem churlish not to. In matter of fact, though I may seem rather woebegone this morning, it will pass quickly—as soon as all the old memories have had their say. And then I shall once again be fit company.”
“I find you good company now.” He was not one to offer flattery, but her doubtful expression made him think that perhaps she was not used to receiving sincere compliments.
The Vexatious Widow (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 2) Page 2