The Wedding Season (20 page)

“W
hy are they taking so long?” Elizabeth paced back and forth across the Wilton carpet before the drawing room hearth. At each outside sound, she dashed to the front window, thinking Mr. Lindsey and Papa had returned, only to see the breeze blowing a branch against the glass or a groom exercising one of Papa’s horses.

“And of course your pacing will bring them home sooner.” Pru threaded her silver needle and began to embroider a blue monogram in the corner of a linen handkerchief.

Elizabeth dropped onto the settee beside her. “How can you be so patient? Until Uncle and Aunt Moberly return next month, you cannot receive Mr. Smythe-Wyndham other than as our vicar. I should go mad waiting that long.” She tapped her fingernails on the settee’s ornately carved wooden arm. “At least I shall have Papa’s answer soon.”

“And surely there is no reason he should deny Mr. Lindsey permission to court you.” Pru’s careful stitches began to form the letter
P.

Admiring the work, Elizabeth leaned back to watch her cousin. As the youngest of three daughters of a man of modest means, Prudence exemplified her name. She sewed
her own clothing or wore Diana’s and Elizabeth’s castoffs and made her own handkerchiefs from old bed linens. Due to Papa’s success in His Majesty’s Navy and some wise investments, Elizabeth could purchase silk and lace handkerchiefs by the dozen, and her clothing was made by hired seamstresses. How Uncle Robert Moberly would provide dowries for his three daughters was a serious question. But each of these lovely girls bore their situation with grace.

“Tell me, Beth.” Pru’s eyes lit with merriment. “What title should His Majesty bestow upon Mr. Lindsey to make him worthy to marry you?”

Elizabeth elbowed her cousin’s arm. “Humph. Haven’t
I
learned my lesson? Promise me you will never tell my children about that foolish dream.”

“I would never consider it.” Pru shook her head as if to emphasize her pledge. “Have we not heard often enough of peers who were no gentlemen, even in regard to wellborn ladies?”

Elizabeth leaned her head on Pru’s shoulder. “Indeed. How wise your advice has always been that we should pray first for a godly husband.” She laughed softly. “And so I did but never failed to add ‘titled’ to that petition.” She lifted her head and glanced toward the front windows. No one approached. “Still, one must admit a title provides protections for a family. If Uncle Bennington sets himself against Mr. Lindsey, he is able to ruin him just as surely as Lord Chiselton threatened to do.”

“Thus we must trust our futures to the Lord. If God be for us, who can be against us?” Pru tied and clipped her embroidery floss, then selected a yellow strand to thread into the needle. “There is no earthly thing worth having if it is outside of His will. And no harm can come to us if we follow His plan for our lives.”

The truth of her cousin’s words fell upon Elizabeth like a touch from the Lord Himself, filling her with joy. She had not always taken Pru’s counsel to heart, but this was one gentle sermon she hoped to imbed in her heart forever.

“Very well, then. Whitson will find a way to repay the dowry or face debtor’s prison.” Bennington rose from his chair. “There is nothing more to say.”

The other men also stood. Philip released a quiet sigh of relief that Whitson had chosen repayment, for the burden of killing another man, no matter how deserving of death he might be, wasn’t something he wished to carry for the rest of his life.

“Whitson, you will retire to your room.” The earl’s sober expression brooked no objections, and the scoundrel scooted out the door like the rat he was. Bennington dismissed his solicitors with much more courtesy, assuring them that his servants would see to their comfort. “And now, Tommy, will you give me a few moments with Lindsey?”

Philip’s stomach churned. Which of two topics would the earl choose to hammer him with—Whitson of Lydney?

“Bennington?” The captain’s dark frown challenged the earl as only someone close to him might dare.

“Do not fear, my good brother.” Bennington chuckled lightly. “I shall return him to you unscathed.”

“Lindsey?” Moberly questioned Philip with an uplifted eyebrow.

“Have I a choice, sir?” Philip clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t relent in his suit against Whitson, no matter what the earl said. If good men didn’t stop the perpetrators of evil, no person, male or female, would be safe.

Bennington shrugged. “Go on, Tommy. We’ll be only a moment or two.”

“I shall call for our horses.” The captain gave Philip a reassuring pat on the shoulder and left the room.

“Now, sir,” Bennington said, “do you require any advice?”

Philip questioned him with a frown. “Advice?”

“Oh, come now, Lydney—”

“I say, uncle, may I have a word?” Chiselton sauntered into the library. When he saw Philip, his lips curled into a sneer. “Lindsey, what cheek of you to be here.”

Philip resisted the urge to knock that sneer off his face, the way Jamie had struck the
paille maille
ball. Perhaps later. First he must tend to Lucy’s situation.

Bennington blew out a harsh breath. “Not now, Chiselton. I am talking with Lydney here.”

Chiselton laughed, a thin sound, edged with nervousness. “Lindsey, you mean, my lord.”

Bennington leveled a harsh glare upon his nephew. “Do not correct me, boy. I am not yet in my dotage. This is the Earl of Lydney, as reported to me by my solicitors just this morning. As it was, of course, confirmed by the Committee of Privileges and soon to be in all the newspapers.”

Once again the icy shroud swept over Philip.
No, Lord. Why does this have to be?
He did not want this title, this position. He possessed not a whit of ambition for the elevation many men desperately sought. If the law of patents permitted, he’d gladly hand the title and all the wealth and land that came with it to his brother or anyone willing enough to wield its power. Someone like Captain Moberly, a true and good gentleman. But alas, no such refusal was permitted. Like a plague, the title would be attached to him until the day he died.

“Ah, Lydney.” Chiselton’s voice, high and shrill, cut into his thoughts, while a too-wide grin split the viscount’s face.
“If there is anything I can do for you, do by all means ask.” His words were laced with an insincere tone. “Do let me take you around London. I know all the right gambling dens, horseracing parks. And of course, the ladies—” He caught himself in midsentence.

If the viscount’s horrified expression weren’t so comical, Philip would slam a fist into his aristocratic nose. As it was, he barely possessed the self-control to turn back to Bennington.

“My lord, if that is all—”

Bennington emitted another of his maddening chuckles. “Yes,
my lord,
that’s all. Oh, but do remember, in order of precedence, your letter of patent is some fifty years older than mine. Do not be reticent in taking your place ahead of me. It does little for the entire peerage if one of our number pretends it does not matter. For indeed, it does.”

Without responding, Philip strode past Chiselton, who continued to mutter fawning gibberish at him. Downstairs, claiming his hat from Blevins, he granted the old butler his dignity by permitting him to open the front door. Yet Philip would much rather have exhibited a courtesy due to the man’s advanced years.

The thought struck him that Blevins must have overheard the news of his elevation and thus deliberately addressed him before the captain, while discretion had kept him from using the title. Servants heard everything and took great delight in being the first to pass on important information. Now everyone would know all about him. He could not escape. Perhaps Captain Moberly already knew, for he made no attempt to stop Philip as he rode his horse at full gallop all the way back to Devon Hall.

“T
hey’re here.” Elizabeth dashed to the front door, beating the butler handily, and threw it open. “Well?” She looked from Mr. Lindsey to Papa and back again as they entered the portal. A thread of concern wove through her at their sober demeanors.

“My dear.” Papa kissed her temple, just as he had before they left, then moved past her toward the front staircase.

Elizabeth watched him ascend the stairs with some dismay but then turned to Mr. Lindsey.

The gentleman’s frown became a smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth.”

“You may not pass until—” She stopped, realizing she had no right to demand an accounting, even if she did so in a playful manner. At least not yet. “I mean…”

He stopped mere inches from her and gazed into her eyes, his broad shoulders and height a pleasant distraction that made her heart beat faster and the breath disappear from her lungs. But the message in his eyes was unclear. Had he spoken to Papa regarding a courtship? Or had the business at Bennington Manor taken all of their attention?

“I fear we didn’t have a chance to talk about…” He glanced beyond her. “Good afternoon, Miss Prudence.”

“Mr. Lindsey.” Pru gave him a quick curtsy and a questioning smile. “You must come into the drawing room and tell us everything.”

He shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. Bennington’s solicitors confirmed the contract, and now Whitson must repay the dowry.” A frown wrinkled his broad forehead. “The earl refused to assist him and has canceled the engagement.”

“Poor Sophie.” Elizabeth moved toward the drawing room door in hopes Mr. Lindsey would follow. “But I can muster no pity for a man who deceived two good families.”

Mr. Lindsey remained in the entrance hall, an apologetic look pinching his fine features. “Forgive me. I should go upstairs.”

To speak with Papa? Elizabeth would detain him no longer. “Yes, of course.” Her heart tripped over itself, as it often had since this gentleman came to visit. “Do that.”

But his weak smile and accompanying wince did not suggest he planned to follow Papa and ask for her hand in marriage.

In the privacy of the guest room, Philip sat in a straight-back chair with his head in his hands and a sick feeling in his stomach. When he’d left home in a hurry, he’d prayed only that he might stop the wedding, not thinking exactly how he would pursue Whitson legally. But today, even a hard ride on an excellent steed hadn’t cleared his head. Now he must determine exactly how one went about seeing a man put in debtor’s prison. That could be accomplished only by returning home to seek the counsel of his own solicitors, for he had no desire ever to see Bennington’s men again.

But before he left Devon Hall, he must settle his nerves
and ask Captain Moberly for Miss Elizabeth’s hand. Taking a deep, bracing breath, he stood and began to pace the room, the better to think through the matter.

“Captain Moberly,” he said to the painting of some family ancestor hanging on the wall, “I understand that taking a wife is a great responsibility. However, despite my mere three and twenty years, I am certain I am prepared for it.” He paced in one direction, covering the five yards of the chamber in four steps, and back again.

The Tudor-era ancestor still frowned his disapproval. Philip cleared his throat.

“If you are concerned about Miss Elizabeth’s material needs, please know I possess sufficient wealth to ensure her care for the rest of her life.” Another thought emerged. “
And
in the style to which she is accustomed.” And then some.

The ancestor’s stare bored into him, cutting to the heart of the matter.

“Ah, yes. Of course you would be concerned about spiritual issues. Sir, my devotion to the Lord is steadfast. I shall honor my marriage vows and never betray her. I shall make certain our children are reared in our faith.”

The stare softened but still posed a question.

Philip sighed. “But unless you bring up that wretched title, I shall remain Lindsey to this family for as long as possible.”

“Ah, at last!” Wilkes stood in the door, his hands clasped together and his granite face lit with…joy? “My lord, congratulations!” He clapped his hands and then plunged them into the wardrobe, searching among the garments. “We must find something dashingly appropriate for you to wear to supper this evening. Ah, such good news, such very good news.”

Philip strode across the room and shut the chamber door.
“Shh! Do be quiet, Wilkes. The family doesn’t yet know, nor do I wish them to.” He would not have his title influence the captain’s decision or the way this good family regarded him.

“But, my lord—”

“Please! You must call me ‘sir’ until I am ready to announce it.”

Wilkes’s face crumpled into a frown, then molded once more into a granite façade. “Of course, sir. I beg your pardon.”

“Never mind, my good man. When we return home, I’ll announce to the household that you knew it first but kept it a secret according to my wishes.”

“Yes, my lord…sir.” The twinkle in Wilkes’s eyes bespoke his pleasure over being trusted with a treasured secret.

His valet helped Philip into a fresh suit and fussed with his hair, muttering that it needed a trim. But for Philip, impatience to complete his goal overrode excessive grooming.

“I must do this now, Wilkes. You do understand.”

The good fellow’s façade melted a little. “I wish you well, sir. The lady is very fortunate.”

“You are kind to say so.” What else would a faithful retainer say? “But I am the one who is blessed to own her affection.”

Philip descended to the first floor and eyed the footman at the library door. “Will you announce me, please?”

“Sir, he said you are to go in.”

Not at all surprised, Philip walked on wooden legs into the room that heretofore had always felt so welcoming. Captain Moberly sat behind his desk looking far more imperious than his titled brother. Or perhaps it was Philip’s fear that painted him thus.

“Come in, Lindsey.” A good sign he didn’t know about the title.

“Thank you, sir.” Philip walked across large room, struggling to recall his planned words. He stopped before the desk and sat in obedience to the captain’s gesture toward a chair.

Sir, I should like to ask your permission to propose…no…I know that a husband…would you consider—

“I am in love with your daughter.”

Moberly stared at him unblinking for what seemed an eternity. “I am aware of that, sir.” Somehow, his former welcoming demeanor had vanished.

As when they’d first met, Philip suddenly felt like an insubordinate sailor. Somehow he must plunge ahead.

“May I have your permission to marry Miss Elizabeth?” His voice sounded as high and thin as Whitson’s had just over two hours ago. He tried to still his pounding pulse with thoughts of his own honor compared to that miscreant’s scheming nature, but to no avail.

Again, an eternity seemed to pass before the captain responded. “You may not.”

His words felt like a
paille maille
mallet striking his chest. Did all fathers feel the need to test their daughters’ suitors this way? Hadn’t he proven himself already in the Chiselton incident? “Sir, may I be so bold as to ask why?”

Moberly stared beyond him for several moments, then turned icy blue eyes that cut into Philip like a rapier. “Do you recall the story concerning Mrs. Moberly’s brother I told the other evening?”

Fighting confusion and dismay, Philip scrambled to pull the shocking tale to the front of his mind. “Yes, sir. He was an American sea captain who tried to blow up your ship.”
He’d not had a chance to learn further details. “I can well imagine you hold no charity for him.”

“But before that, Templeton had done far worse.” The captain’s stare drifted back toward the window. “He came as a Loyalist friend to my father, the late Lord Bennington, a member of His Majesty’s Privy Council. But he was a spy sent to steal war plans for the Americans.”

Philip recoiled and could think of no response. Yet he recognized a kinship with Moberly’s family, for had not Whitson sneaked into his home like a spy? No wonder Mrs. Moberly didn’t wish to speak about her homeland, where her own brother had tried to send the man she loved to his death.

“While here, he won the affections of my only sister, and she ran away with him to the colonies, breaking the hearts of all who loved her.”

Indignation filled Philip’s chest, along with an added measure of empathy with this family. Now he understood why the captain had befriended him, for he too had seen a sister’s future destroyed. “Unspeakable behavior, sir. After he fired upon your ship, did you pursue him?”

Another span of time passed before the captain replied. “No. I forgave him.”

“What?” Philip clenched his teeth. So that was what this was about. His former suspicions now reasserted themselves. Moberly wanted him to release Whitson from all obligation. To set him free as if he had done nothing.

“I forgave him.”

The repetition hammered the words into Philip’s skull. Emotion choked him, but he managed to speak. “Why? How?”

“It took some time, but eventually I realized my bitterness took a greater toll on me than on my adversary. So, for my
wife’s sake and for my own, I released Templeton to God’s judgment.”

“Sir, you must forgive
me,
but I cannot see how this applies. In times of war, both sides must use all resources to defend their countries, whereas Whitson schemed to rob my sister of her future for no one’s benefit but his own. He took her dowry and spent it to win a well-connected wife.” Making the man twice the fool for not knowing what the future held, for Lucy’s rank would now be higher than Lady Sophia’s. “It was by half a more personal matter.”

One corner of the captain’s lips lifted. “A twenty-pound shot across the bow of a man’s ship is rather personal, as well, especially when one’s identity is clear.”

Philip stood and ran a hand through his carefully combed hair. Wilkes would complain. “And so you forgave this man, this Templeton.”

The captain remained seated, his icy stare once again piercing Philip. “Captain
James
Templeton, godfather of my son Jamie, and my lifelong friend.”

“Ah.” Philip found himself seated once again. “Then you are a better man than I am, Captain Moberly, for I shall not forgive Whitson until he repays the last pound he owes my sister.”

“Until he has paid the uttermost farthing?”

“N-no.” Philip’s insides twisted. “Well, yes, then. Exactly like the example the Lord Christ gave in the fifth chapter of Matthew. He is utterly unrepentant and should be thrown in prison until he pays the uttermost farthing.” But this was not at all like the biblical story from the same Gospel that the children had performed. For Philip owed no money or apology to any man. “So you won’t give your daughter to me because of Whitson?”

“I will not give my daughter to a man whose soul is filled
with bitterness and bent on revenge.” The captain rose, his military bearing making him seem all the taller. “When you have it within your power to let him go free and repay you over time.”

Rejecting the impulse to feel small in this man’s presence, Philip stood and returned his icy stare. What Moberly suggested was unthinkable. Whitson was a scoundrel and a thief. Society was best served by making it impossible for him to deceive and cheat another family.

“You are to make no appeal to my daughter regarding this matter.” The captain emitted a mirthless chuckle. “The Moberly women, as exemplified by my dear sister, can become quite willful when they want something.”

Philip’s face felt pinched, slapped, for he would never stoop to stealing away with Miss Elizabeth, but he could hardly call the captain out for this affront. “You insult me, sir.”

“Do I?” Moberly regarded him through narrowed eyes and with his chin lifted, as if expecting the gauntlet.

Philip glared at him, twice insulted. After several moments, he spun on his heel and strode across the room and out the door.

How could such a wise, hospitable man—a protective father of daughters—be so mistaken about how Philip should deal with Lucy’s betrayer?