The Wedding Season (14 page)

“W
e will not stand on formalities,” Lord Chiselton said after presentations had been made. His smile seemed to invite friendship that transcended rank.

Yet Philip’s first assessment of the man hadn’t been favorable. Perhaps it was due to the warm welcome extended to the viscount by Miss Elizabeth. A foolish reaction, of course, especially when he learned from their brief conversation that she’d known the man when she was but a child. Thus, her enthusiasm upon seeing him again was understandable. But Philip had noticed an inappropriate stare akin to lechery in Chiselton’s eyes as the young ladies first approached him. Even Whitson hadn’t shown such impropriety toward Lucy.

The other gentleman, a Mr. Redding, displayed only the most proper manners, a perfect sycophant for the viscount. Philip chided himself for this lack of charity, but he could find no pleasure in being here. If not for Miss Elizabeth’s plea, he would have returned to Devon Hall. But after they dismounted, she seemed to prefer the other man’s company.

“Today,” Chiselton went on, “we are all students of history,
gazing into the past amidst these remarkable ruins. Imagine the souls who lived in this place, baking their bread over there.” He pointed to the stone remains of what had probably been a large community oven. “Taking shelter from a winter storm in yon dwellings.” One hand fisted at his waist, the other raised like an ensign at the front of an expedition, he strutted toward a row of crude foundations that appeared recently excavated. “Ah, how I do love Britain’s history.”

The others followed him, adding their agreement like so many toadies. Well, not everyone. Jamie rolled his eyes once or twice at Chiselton’s remarks. Philip found it comical that the viscount had assumed the role of guide, as if three of his companions hadn’t grown up in this place.

Lagging behind, Philip sauntered up to the group just as Miss Elizabeth looked his way.

“Mr. Lindsey, I have heard of Roman ruins near Gloucestershire. What can you tell us about them?”

As all eyes swung in Philip’s direction, he felt a pleasant kick under his ribs from the lady’s attention. So she would not discount him altogether.

The viscount lifted his aquiline nose and glared at him briefly before softening his expression. “By all means, Lindsey, do tell us.”

Philip shrugged. “I fear there’s not much to say, Miss Elizabeth. They’re like most, I suppose. Some impressive. Some commonplace.” He wouldn’t be dragged into a competition with this man.

“No doubt.” Chiselton’s sneering grin, which quickly disappeared, set the man’s character firmly in Philip’s mind. Like most peers, he exhibited an insufferable arrogance, a sense of privilege precluding any obligation to those less fortunate.

Philip shuddered away his fears about his own future. Could any man wear the mantle of nobility in a truly noble manner?

Disappointed by Mr. Lindsey’s response, Elizabeth surmised he was much like Papa. Quiet but not remote, a little taciturn but not truly aloof. She would like to become better acquainted with him, to understand the man hidden behind those deep blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

No, no. She would not.

What she truly wanted, or
should
want, was to become better acquainted with Lord Chiselton. The youthful viscount seemed to know everything, from the way the Romans mixed concrete to how they built roads all over the ancient world. Further, he possessed a willingness to share his vast knowledge on a variety of subjects, a virtue, to be sure. Further still, he held the Chiselton title in his own right and had sat in the House of Lords for three years since reaching his majority. Why, he took part in decisions affecting England and all her colonies. Wealthy as a potentate, this young man had an excellent future.

Well formed, moderately handsome and half a head taller than she, he presented an appearance that was quite impressive. His sense of fashion could not be improved, although Elizabeth thought he did wear a rather heavy shaving balm…or was that cologne? And perhaps he could do without a few of those rings on his hands. And maybe the gold cufflinks and ruffled cravat were rather much for a picnic.

On the other hand, the taller Mr. Lindsey wore borrowed clothing and no other jewelry than a simple silver cravat pin, but he did have a quietly distinctive air about him she could not deny.

While the servants set out the repast, the group dispersed.
Jamie strolled away with Mr. Lindsey, while Lord Chiselton wandered toward the food-laden table and began to supervise. Elizabeth and Pru made good use of their fans, waving away the heat of the day.

Pru looped her free arm around Elizabeth’s. “Have you noticed Di’s interest in Mr. Redding?” Her frown revealed a mild concern.

Elizabeth eyed her other cousin and her companion, who stood facing the downward slope of the hillside. In the small valley below, a flock of sheep grazed on the thick green grass and drank from a small pond. But from the way Di leaned toward the gentleman and gazed up into his well-formed face, Elizabeth doubted the two were discussing that pastoral scene.

She bit back a laugh. “Hmm. Shall we remind her of her vow to marry only a peer? I don’t suppose Mr. Redding is heir to a childless relative’s title, but one never knows about these things.”

“Silly.” Pru nudged her. “I’m more concerned about the gentleman’s character.”

“But surely her cousin would not introduce her to the wrong sort.” Elizabeth turned a more critical eye toward Mr. Redding. His fashionable black coat and tan riding breeches appeared new, as did his black beaver hat. His grooming was impeccable. The few remarks he had made during their tour of the ruins indicated he possessed both wit and an education. She rather liked the way his brown hair curled around his slender face. Based on appearances only, she would not mind his inclusion in their family.

“One would hope Lord Chiselton would protect her.” Pru’s forehead wrinkled. “But that is not what concerns me. Have you ever seen Di look at any gentleman with such rapt attention? And she met Mr. Redding just this morning.”

Elizabeth turned toward the ancient Roman oven, where Jamie and Mr. Lindsey stood laughing like old friends. Then she glanced at Lord Chiselton, who was sampling the bread rolls and cold meat slices. “But why is that a cause for concern? At breakfast, were you not attempting to tease me into an attraction to Papa’s guest, whom we met
just this morning?
”

“Perhaps I should not have teased you.” Pru smoothed the frayed cuff of her riding coat. “Still, Mr. Lindsey’s character appears obvious to me. Consider the sense of honor and the
courage
it required to risk Uncle Bennington’s wrath to defend his sister’s rights. And of course I trust Uncle Moberly’s discernment unreservedly, and he clearly likes Mr. Lindsey. Still, we should never choose a husband in haste, for we could spend the rest of our lives regretting it. Think of poor Sophie’s hasty decision.”

“Indeed. I am convinced Mr. Lindsey has saved her from great sorrow.” Elizabeth’s heart dipped in sympathy for their cousin, whose sweet but plain face had never attracted the attention of gentlemen. “And to think she met Mr. Whitson at Almack’s.”

“Whoever sponsored him will be mortified when they learn of his deception.” Pru’s blond eyebrows dipped into a frown. “It is a cautionary tale for every young lady.”

“What are you two gossiping about?” Jamie returned to their company, with Mr. Lindsey following.

Their guest, whom Elizabeth had seen talking enthusiastically with her brother, now appeared taciturn once again.

“More to the point—” she brushed a leaf from Jamie’s shoulder to distract him so she would not have to answer his question “—what were you two laughing about? It’s poor manners not to share a good story.”

Trading a look, the two men chuckled, and an agreeable
sensation swept through Elizabeth’s heart. Jamie was a dear but the least practical of her three brothers. If Mr. Lindsey befriended him, perhaps he could be a good influence. After all, the gentleman owned and managed property, which required a certain maturity.

“Very well, then, if you will not tell us—” she grasped Pru’s arm “—shall we join Lord Chiselton at the table?”

“Must we?” Jamie wrinkled his nose. “I never cared much for him when we were children, and he hasn’t improved with age.”

“Tsk.” Pru’s disapproving cluck did not match the merriment in her eyes.

“Now, Jamie.” Elizabeth tapped his arm with her fan. What flaw did her brother and cousin see in Lord Chiselton that she could not? But they were nearing the table, so she could not ask. “Mr. Lindsey, you have not yet told us the cause of your laughter.”

“Oh, that.” He pulled out a chair for her. “We discovered mutual interests in both horse racing and dogs. We were trying to outdo each other with stories of their antics.”

“I see.” She sat down and looked over her shoulder into his twinkling blue eyes. “Well then, because I know all of Jamie’s stories, you must tell us yours.”

“Ah, hounds,” Lord Chiselton said. “A subject near to my heart.” Seated at the head of the table, he appeared to have once again assumed the duties of a host. Never mind that Elizabeth’s mother had arranged this entire meal and sent her own servants out to serve it. For a moment, his presumption nettled her, but she brushed the sting away. As a peer, no doubt he was accustomed to taking charge. There was nothing wrong with that.

While the viscount launched into a saga of ears and tails, Elizabeth studied Mr. Lindsey, who sat across from her. He
listened to Lord Chiselton, and occasionally his eyes flickered with interest. At other times they reflected boredom. But the viscount prattled on, apparently oblivious to his audience’s response. Despite his loquacity, he did manage to clean his plate.

In the brief intervals between the viscount’s discourses, Mr. Lindsey spoke quietly to Pru on his right and Mr. Redding on his left, each of whom responded with interest. Of course Di cut him completely, refusing to answer when Mr. Lindsey spoke to her. Elizabeth chided her cousin with a cross look, but Di lifted her nose and sniffed in her arrogant way. Yet Mr. Lindsey simply breathed out a quiet sigh and resumed his gracious discourse with Pru.

Yet even as she scolded herself for making comparisons between the gentleman and the viscount, she was forced to admit that Chiselton was the less pleasant companion.
But still a peer,
she reminded herself.

And I shall marry a peer.

S
tanding in the corner of Captain Moberly’s library, Philip perused the shelves hoping to find a book to hold his interest until supper. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the west windows, making the titles on the book spines clearly visible and providing adequate light for reading, at least for a while.

The smell of leather and tobacco and old books reminded Philip of his own library, which his father had stocked with every essential work of literature, sparing no expense. From these two walls of books, Philip surmised that Captain Moberly possessed a similar interest in the world of knowledge. He ran his fingers over the titles, as if that would help him make his choice.

Shakespeare always provided an insightful diversion, but he felt the need for something more spiritual in nature. Perhaps Milton could help rid his mind of the afternoon’s outing and fill it with interesting information to discuss, should the need arise. Although he couldn’t count himself a desired guest, he’d been invited to stay and would offer his share of conversation to help make the evening pass pleasantly. More pleasantly than the day, he hoped.

He’d enjoyed riding with Jamie and the two young ladies, especially Miss Elizabeth, until they’d encountered that other party connected to this vast Moberly family. While Redding possessed an amiable and courteous disposition, both Lady Diana and her cousin the viscount hadn’t missed an opportunity to demonstrate their scorn for Philip. Lady Diana had cut him directly, acting as if he weren’t present, while Chiselton had kept trying to engage him in a boasting competition, never mind the topic. Dogs, horses, imports, America, even the weather, all were thrown down like gauntlets. Philip’s minimal experience with Society made him wonder if this sort of conversation was normal. If so, he hoped never to mingle with such people. Yet the day might come when he had no choice.

Milton’s
Paradise Lost
didn’t prove to be the hoped for distraction. Satan’s complaints against the Almighty sounded much like Whitson’s sniveling attempt this morning to justify his breach of contract. Philip shoved the heavy volume back onto the shelf and pulled out the most recent edition of
The Gentleman’s Magazine.
He’d not read his own copy yet and wondered what news he would find.

As he expected, along with the usual domestic news, the magazine contained articles regarding the ongoing fears of invasion by France and news that the Prince Regent was facing a clash with the United States. Although Philip disliked the conflicts, he couldn’t criticize their causes. Was not every quarrel about money and power? In fact, his very reason for being in Hampshire was to demand material satisfaction from Whitson. Sometimes a country—or a man—had to exact justice, whether for his family or for property, even if it required force to compel another party to do what was right.

His chest burning with renewed anger over Whitson’s betrayal of dear Lucy, Philip returned the quarterly to its place. He must settle his emotions before attempting any social interaction with his hosts.

He found
Johnson’s Dictionary
and moved a wing chair to face the shelves at an angle so sunlight could illuminate the pages. This was as good a time as any to increase his vocabulary, for he performed poorly at parlor games involving riddles. If his hosts preferred games over conversation, he’d have difficulty keeping up.

Lost in his studies, he barely noticed the click of the library door. But the subsequent girlish laughter thoroughly startled him.

“Sh. Shut the door.”

Miss Elizabeth’s voice? He couldn’t be certain, for the lady spoke in a whisper.

“Now you must tell me everything.” This time, Miss Prudence spoke. “What did Lord Chiselton say to you?”

Philip was highly curious to know what the viscount said to Miss Elizabeth, but honor demanded he must not eavesdrop. He stood quickly, dumping
Johnson
on the floor with a thump, and turned to face them. “Good evening, ladies.”

Both gasped, then eyed each other with mischievous glances and pressed hands to lips, apparently struggling to cover their laughter. Miss Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed pink, and her dimple made an appearance, enhancing her beauty.

Philip felt a jolt beneath his ribs, a strangely pleasant sensation becoming all too familiar in this lady’s company. He struggled to suppress it. Until the matter of Lucy’s dowry was settled, he had no business looking to his own marriage prospects. No matter how beautifully Miss Elizabeth smiled.

“Why, Mr. Lindsey, what a surprise.” With much difficulty, Elizabeth swallowed her silliness and offered Mr. Lindsey a pleasant and, she hoped,
mature
smile. How dreadful if he thought her a mindless chit given to giggles and gossip. But why should she care about his opinion?

“Yes.” He picked up the large book he’d dropped a moment ago and placed it on a shelf. “Captain Moberly granted his permission for me to use his excellent library.”

Another laugh escaped Elizabeth. “And you chose to read a dictionary?”

“Yes.” He made his way around the chair. “A man should never cease seeking knowledge.” No apology or embarrassment colored his tone. Interesting.

“No, he should not.”
Unless he believes he already knows everything.
Elizabeth could not imagine Lord Chiselton reading a dictionary.

He stared at her for a moment, then moved toward the door. “If you ladies will excuse me—”

“You needn’t leave,” Pru said. “We can sit and chat until supper is announced.” She waved toward the grouping of upholstered chairs by the windows.

“Or—” Elizabeth sent her cousin a quick frown “—we can join the others in the drawing room.”

“Or—” One of Mr. Lindsey’s eyebrows quirked in a mischievous expression. “
I
can join the others in the drawing room, and you ladies can finish your discussion of Lord Chiselton.” He grimaced. “Forgive me. That was unnecessary.”

Elizabeth bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing. She did not dare look at Pru. “There is nothing to forgive, sir. Please, let us all go. I am certain Mama and Papa will wish for our company.” She felt a mad impulse to tell
him what the viscount had said, but that would be unkind. Best to tell Pru later when they went to bed.

They exited the room, descended the wide front staircase, and made their way to the drawing room. Everyone was there, even the children and their governess. A mild sense of foreboding struck Elizabeth. Surely her family would not engage in their usual antics in front of this stranger. But there was no turning back.

“Ah, there you are.” Seated on the blue settee, Mama directed them to their chairs. “Now we can begin. We are about to be entertained by the children.”

Elizabeth glanced quickly at Mr. Lindsey, expecting to see boredom. After all, it was not the custom of most families to put forth their children in this fashion. But just as it had this morning when he first arrived at Devon Hall, the gentleman’s expression softened as he looked at the little ones.

“Quiet now.” Seated in his favorite chair, Papa presented a regal picture, with his handsome, noble visage and full head of graying hair. He gazed fondly at the little troupe of performers. “Helena, you may begin.”

Elizabeth’s six-year-old niece sat at the pianoforte and laboriously plunked out a Mozart tune, or a vague semblance thereof. When she finished, the adults applauded and voiced their praise. Again Elizabeth noted Mr. Lindsey’s generosity, for he clapped his hands along with the others.

“Very fine, my dear,” Papa said. “Now, what else do we have?”

The five-year-old twins, Lewis and Guy, stepped forward into the center of the room wearing ragged robes from the attic’s costume chest. Guy slumped down on the floor with one leg bent to the side and put on his best pitiable expression.
Eleven-year-old Frances, strangely self-conscious, blushed as she stood up with her Bible.

“We will now present a play from Acts 3, verses one through eleven.” She proceeded to read about the disciples Peter and John praying at the temple in Jerusalem for a lame man. Now in costume, Helena played John, and Lewis made an impressive Peter. Guy, always the most dramatic, put on a performance as the cripple that no doubt would have pleased William Shakespeare.

Elizabeth and her brothers and sisters had presented this story to their close relatives several times, but she never failed to get chills up her back when “Peter” extended his hand to the “lame man,” who leapt to his feet, danced around and cried, “Praise God!”

Again the adults applauded with much enthusiasm, and Elizabeth saw a look of wonder on Mr. Lindsey’s face. More of a glow, actually, as if he had seen the actual miracle instead of a simple portrayal by children. A strange and agreeable sentiment filled her chest at the sight. Like Papa, this gentleman was a man of true faith, a rarity among their acquaintances. A rarity among all the men she had ever met.

But she could not decide whether this was a reason to become better acquainted with him or to avoid him altogether.