Authors: Jillian Hart
They all deflated.
“Is she leaving then?” Henrietta asked, and for once she sounded genuinely concerned.
“She has not confirmed her plans with me,” Whit replied, although some part of him refused to think of Ruby leaving. “However, I hope I can count on everyone here to encourage her to stay for the rest of the visit. After all, none of us would want gossip to tarnish her reputation and require me to insist on a marriage.”
Mrs. Stokely-Trent nodded. “Certainly not! Why, it's rubbish to think that dear girl would do anything scandalous.”
“I always liked her,” Charles put in, earning him a frown from Henrietta.
“You may count on my support, my lord,” Lady Wesworth intoned. “With Amelia as her friend, no one will dare impugn Miss Hollingsford.”
Lady Amelia nodded earnestly.
Whit inclined his head. “I was certain I could rely on your generous natures. I only hope the day's exertions don't prove too much for her.”
“We should send for Lord Hascot's physician,” Henrietta advised.
Having realized the limits of that physician's understanding of human anatomy, Whit could not agree. “I don't think that will be necessary,” he replied.
“I could make her a licorice tisane,” Lady Amelia offered.
“I'd be delighted to carry her to and from her bedchamber,” Charles said.
Henrietta's face darkened.
Interesting. It seemed Charles's attentions had found their mark, and the bluestocking favored his cousin. They'd make a good match, if only Charles had the wisdom to see it.
“I believe she is able to walk,” Whit said. “At the moment I would settle on persuading her to join us for dinner.”
The women evinced their eagerness to try, and it was all Whit could do to keep them from marching upstairs right then and there to fetch her down. Indeed, the ladies were already quarreling about this and that, the gentlemen shifting uncomfortably on their feet as if unsure which side to weigh in on. The hours between now and dinner yawned unmercifully. What was he to do with them all?
What Ruby had done when he was unavailable.
“Lady Amelia,” he said, loudly and firmly enough that the argument snuffed out and all eyes turned his way once more, “that licorice tisane sounds just the thing. Could I trouble you to instruct my chef on how to make it?”
She blushed, but rose. “It's no trouble.”
“I wonder whether he will have the necessary ingredients here in the wilderness?” her mother mused.
“If you give us a list,” Henrietta offered with a glance at Charles, “I'm sure Father would allow us to use his carriage to fetch the ingredients from the village. I would never trust a servant with so delicate a task.”
“Certainly not,” her mother agreed, rising with a look to her husband. “We'll go with you.” Mr. Stokely-Trent sighed, but came to join them.
Just like that, his guests were happily occupied. Whit bowed them out of the room and stood for a moment, basking in the quiet.
“Abandoned you, have they?” Ruby's father asked, coming up beside him.
Whit eyed him. “For the moment.”
Hollingsford elbowed him in the ribs, heedless of Whit's wince. “Well, what are you waiting for, my lad? Let's go fishing!”
Fishing? Lady Wesworth and her daughter had invaded his kitchen. His cousin would soon be at the mercy of the Stokely-Trents, and Ruby was languishing upstairs. Surely there was something more important he had to do.
“Fishing,” he said, feeling his grin forming. “Delighted.”
And so Whit managed to reach the Bell again for only the fourth time in a week. Guilt tugged at his boots, but he tried to ignore it. Surely his guests could manage for a few moments.
The sun had already gone down below the crest of the hills behind the Lodge, casting the pool in shadow. The Bell welcomed him with a friendly gurgle. He and Hollingsford stood a few yards apart, casting in different directions to avoid a collision.
“You've done this before,” Whit said after admiring the man's cast.
“Had a client invite me to the Dove once,” Ruby's father said, watching his fly dance along the water. “Struck me as a peaceful way to spend an afternoon.”
Whit smiled as he watched his own fly. “It is that.”
Hollingsford must have heard the sigh behind the words, for he eyed Whit for a moment before he began reeling in. “I take it you don't get too many such afternoons.”
“Not nearly as many as I'd like,” Whit confessed, giving the line a tweak.
“What you need,” Hollingsford said, “is a wife.”
Whit shook his head even as he drew in his line. Ruby was right. Her father was determined to make a match between them.
“My father,” he told Hollingsford, “was also certain a wife was necessary for happiness. I find myself wondering.”
“Oh, it's true,” Hollingsford maintained, pulling back his arm to cast again. “God made us male and female. Stands to reason a fellow can never be complete without his other half.”
That's how it had seemed to Whit about his mother and father. When his mother had died, his father had never been whole again. But were all marriages that way?
“Odd that you never remarried,” he said to Hollingsford.
The fellow's fly drifted lazily along with the current. “Ah, when you've had the best, my lad, it's hard to stomach the rest. Even Ruby understands that. It seems she will settle for nothing less than love.”
Neither would Whit. He cast as well, keeping his fly away from Hollingsford's.
“Of course, it doesn't help that she's gotten the notion in her head she'll never find love with an aristocrat. I blame that school.” Ruby's father glanced Whit's way. “I thought it would be the making of her, a fine establishment catering to the aristocracy and gentry. But poor Ruby was miserable so far from home out there in Somerset.”
After what she'd told him of her upbringing, he could imagine Somerset must have felt odd indeed, and he said as much to her father.
“No doubt,” Hollingsford agreed, pulling in his line once more. “But she did very well thereâgood marks in many areas, though she didn't favor music and such. Said she always felt as if she were on display. I was sorry to learn later that some of the other girls were unkind.”
Like some of his guests. “If they could not appreciate her sterling qualities,” Whit said, watching for a flash of silver in the pool that heralded the approach of a trout, “they were the losers.”
Hollingsford beamed at him. “That's what I told her. It would have all blown over if it hadn't been for that prank in her first Season.”
Whit frowned, reeling in. “Prank?”
“One of the girls from her school invited her to a ball. Fancy affair. Ruby had a new gown fitted, a garnet necklace just for the occasion. Like a princess she looked.”
Whit's frown eased as he imagined Ruby's excitement. “So what went wrong?”
Her father sighed as if the memory hurt him, as well. “When she arrived, the girl asked her opinion on a tiara her father had given her, then ordered her to leave. Made Ruby think she'd only invited her as an appraiser, because of me being a jeweler. She made it clear that she'd never actually invite Ruby into her house as a guest.”
Something hot pressed against Whit's heart. “That's abominable. I hope you spoke to her father.”
Hollingsford's mouth was tight. “That's the thing. Her father bought the tiara from me, not knowing anything about Ruby and his daughter. It was the girl's idea to turn it into that cruel jokeâthe father had nothing to do with it at all. He's been a good customer for years. Not much I could say.”
While Whit appreciated his predicament, he couldn't help thinking that Ruby deserved a defender, someone who would take her side, no matter the cost.
And he was not entirely surprised to find that he wanted to be that defender.
Chapter Eleven
R
uby spent the rest of the afternoon in her room, her maid hovering at the ready. She'd hoped it to be a time for thinking, for planning, perhaps for pursuing this habit the Lord had of answering prayers willy-nilly. Unfortunately, some of the occupants of Fern Lodge had other ideas.
First it was Lady Wesworth demanding entrance, drawing her daughter along with her.
“We are making you a tisane,” she announced as she stopped beside Ruby's chair and waved at her to keep her seat.
Such condescension was no doubt meant to be praised. “How very kind of you,” Ruby said with a smile to the ever-suffering Lady Amelia, who stood just behind her mother.
“It's licorice,” Lady Amelia confided, returning Ruby's smile shyly. “It smells delightful.”
“I find it wise to ensure one's good health after such an ordeal,” her mother said, noble chin as high as her generous chest in her creamy muslin gown. “And I think you were equally wise to refuse Lord Danning's misguided offer of marriage.”
Lady Amelia paled and bit her lip as if to keep herself from commenting. Ruby had no such trouble.
“I didn't consider it misguided,” she told the marchioness, shifting on the armchair to get a better look at her. “It was very chivalrous of him. I simply have no need to marry.”
Lady Wesworth drew herself up. “It is every young lady's duty to marry and carry on the line. England advances through its sons.”
“Through its daughters, too,” Ruby corrected her. “Otherwise I fear there'll be no more sons born or married.”
Laughter twinkled in Lady Amelia's blue gaze before she looked away.
“You are entirely too outspoken,” Lady Wesworth declared, brown eyes narrowing. “However, I gave Lord Danning my word that we would support you, and I intend to keep it. Come, Amelia.”
“One moment, Mother,” she promised, lagging behind.
Her mother was so used to instant obedience she didn't notice. Lady Amelia watched her out the door, then took a step closer to Ruby, lowering her platinum head and her voice, as well.
“Please excuse my mother, Miss Hollingsford. She has strong opinions about the place of marriage in a woman's life.”
“Obviously,” Ruby drawled, pulling her dressing gown closer.
Lady Amelia eyed the fire as if unable to meet Ruby's gaze. “I suspect it's because she married above her station. No one in her family had a title, you see. She doesn't like to be reminded of the fact.”
“I would think that would make her more in charity with others in the same position,” Ruby argued.
“Ah, but if she approves of them, Society might remember her more humble beginnings. No, her only hope is to pretend disdain.” She reached out and squeezed Ruby's hand, meeting her gaze at last. “Only know that I admire you, Miss Hollingsford. We'll be back shortly with the tisane.” With a smile, she pulled away and glided out.
Ruby shook her head. So Lady Wesworth had married up and now could not condone anyone else doing so. Small wonder she pushed so hard for Lady Amelia to marry a title. Every alignment drew attention away from her past. But how miserable for Lady Amelia, forever pushed and pulled for her mother's sake!
Still, because of her mother's demands, Lady Amelia had likely never had to fight simply to be treated fairly. And scoundrels wouldn't dare approach her for fear of her father. She'd never had her heart broken with silken promises that proved utterly false.
Oh, but Ruby refused to dwell on that. She shifted on the chair, but Philip's face persisted in coming to mind, first smiling so sweetly as he handed her a bouquet of violets, then scowling at her when she'd refused his proposition. She was almost thankful when her maid went to answer another knock at the door. This time, it was Mr. Quimby who entered.
The valet offered her a bow. “Miss Hollingsford, I just wished to say how sorry I am that our usually delightful Derbyshire countryside chose to be fractious today. Is there anything you need, anything I might do for you?”
He was all contrition, hands clasped before his silver shot waistcoat, head bowed. She could hear her maid behind her, fussing with the bedclothes, twitching the curtains farther off the window. It wasn't often the woman entertained such a presentable gentleman.
“I'm fine, Mr. Quimby,” Ruby told him with a smile. “Thank you for asking.”
He inclined his head. “And even before this happened, I understand that you were not enjoying your time with us.”
She was no doubt supposed to assure him on that score, too. “Not a great deal,” she admitted instead. “I'm still not entirely certain why I was even invited.”
He straightened in obvious surprise. “Why, I invited you, Miss Hollingsford. This house party would have been dreary indeed without you.”
Ruby frowned. “You invited me? On whose orders?”
“On my own, I promise you. You will not recall having met, but I saw you once when I was at your father's shop. You struck me as just the sort of young lady he needed to meet.”
Ruby leaned back against the seat. “Why? I'm not an aristocrat.”
He shrugged. “Neither am I.”
“Yes,” she pointed out, “but you're a valet.”
He raised a golden brow, look imperious. “And do you find fault with that profession, Miss Hollingsford?”
“No, in truth, Mr. Quimby,” she assured him hurriedly. “I'm certain it's a very noble profession.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn't go so far as that. You haven't seen the mess Lord Danning makes of his boots.” He rolled his eyes.
Ruby laughed in spite of herself. “You bear your burden with distinction, sir.”
“Of course. It is my enviable duty to see to all Lord Danning's needs, whether it is a perfectly tied cravat or a perfectly arranged marriage.”
Ruby raised her brows. “And does he agree to such a wide scope of duties?”
“Not in the slightest. Hence the need to set up this house party without his knowledge. I only hope he'll play his role well and pick a suitable bride.”
“I think you go too far,” Ruby declared, slapping her hands down on the arms of the chair. “No one should have to marry unless they so wish it.”
“I fear that isn't entirely true when it comes to the aristocracy,” Quimby said with a sigh. “The Danning estates are many and varied, requiring a steady hand at the tiller, if you will. The only other male in direct line is Mr. Calder.”
He stopped just short of maligning Whit's cousin, but Ruby saw his point. Charles was such a butterfly, flitting from one lady to another, always with a joke on his lips. Would he have the strength to lead an earldom, to help lead the nation?
“I suppose Mr. Calder would find his way, if necessary,” Ruby said.
Quimby wandered to the window, straightening the curtains with an apologetic smile to Ruby's maid. “Such lovely weather we're having, don't you agree? And, if I'm not mistaken, here comes your father back from fishing.”
Her father had gone fishing? Ruby rose to join Quimby at the window. Sure enough, there came her father, all smiles, a brace of trout hanging from one hand. Whit clapped him on the shoulder as they laughed.
Oh, but she wondered what those two had been discussing besides fish!
“If you'll excuse me,” Quimby said, stepping back from the window, “I will be wanted shortly. Please let me know if there's anything else I can do to assist you, Miss Hollingsford.” He bowed, Ruby nodded and he was out the door a moment later.
Ruby glanced out the window again, but Whit and her father had already entered the Lodge. Her father was so intent that she marry Whit. Was he pressing Whit to propose again? Didn't he understand how the thought of marriage, especially marriage to an aristocrat, concerned her? She might have forbidden him to mention Phillip's name, but that didn't mean he had to forget how the fellow had betrayed her! Then again, her father certainly had evidence of his own to indicate that the upper class had as many wiles as wealth, based on the actions of his clientele.
And why had Quimby been at her father's shop? On a commission for Whit? Her father claimed it was Charles who'd come calling, and Whit disclaimed all knowledge of the transaction. It made no sense.
Whichever way she considered the matter, she only had more questions! But one thing was certain. Despite Lady Wesworth's pompous statement, Ruby would do just fine without marrying. She returned to the chair by the fire and sank onto the seat to stare at the glow in the hearth. She could spend time doing good works, like Lady Thomas DeGuis...who was, of course,
married.
Or enlist additional support for her school in Wapping, perhaps from her friend Eugenia Welch, whose
engagement
had been announced shortly before Ruby and her father had headed north. Or maybe pursue a profession. Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam's wife was rumored to have been an apothecary, before she
married.
Oh, this was maddening!
It was possible, she supposed, that she might marry, someday. But only to a man who loved her with all his heart, despite any shortcomings. And there was nothing her father or Whit Calder, Earl of Danning, could do to change her mind.
* * *
Whit found Ruby much on his thoughts as he changed for dinner that evening. He had tapped on her door after returning from fishing, but Lady Amelia and Lady Wesworth were in the middle of administering the hard-won tisane, so he had merely sent in his regards and a hope that he would see them all at dinner. Indeed, he didn't much relish the thought of facing the others without Ruby's smile down the table to encourage him. And he wanted to assure himself that she had taken no harm from the day's adventures.
His heart couldn't help lifting when he sighted her standing by the veranda as they all gathered before dinner. She was dressed in a blue-on-blue-striped gown, with a pointed lace at the collar and long white sleeves tied with blue ribbons. He couldn't help thinking that the triple bands of lace along the hem would have been frightfully impractical on their walk that day, for all that they swung fetchingly as she came forward to greet him.
“And I see you were so very tired from our troubles today that you promptly went fishing,” she accused him, pretty face alight with a smile.
Whit shrugged. “If the trout are biting...”
“A gentleman must bite back,” Charles quipped, coming into the room behind him. “Ah, Miss Hollingsford, our heroine! Ready to take on another cliff, I've no doubt.” He bowed over Ruby's hand. “All I can say is that I pity the cliff.”
Whit took Ruby's hand from his cousin's. “See Lady Wesworth in to dinner, will you, my lad?”
Something crossed his cousin's face, but Charles inclined his head, and Whit had the satisfaction of walking with the woman of his choosing for once.
He was a little sorry to find when they entered the dining room that his butler had kept the same seating arrangements from the previous night, with Lady Amelia on one side of Whit and Henrietta on the other. While it maintained the peace, he found he would much rather have sat next to Ruby. The short distance between them, however, didn't keep his gaze from frequently seeking hers.
She seemed to have no trouble conversing with those around her, whether with Lady Amelia on her left or her father and Mr. Stokely-Trent on the right. In fact, she spoke with her usual spirit. Perhaps that was why he wasn't surprised when she announced she had a diversion planned for them.
“My father and I would like to invite you all to view the work of a promising new artist,” she said, glancing around at the other guests before returning her gaze to Whit's as if seeking approval. He nodded for her to continue. “He works in stone, Blue John to be precise.”
Henrietta frowned, and Lady Amelia cocked her head. But Mrs. Stokely-Trent clapped her hands, causing her husband to raise a brow.
“Oh, Blue John!” she cried rapturously. “The Dukes of Devonshire had two entire columns at Chatsworth made of it. Remember, Winston? We saw them when we visited.”
He nodded. “Purple-blue stuff with veins of yellow. Very pretty.”
“Very popular as well,” Ruby's father put in. “Going back thousands of years, I'm told. The Roman emperors favored it for vases and such.”
Whit caught Ruby smiling at how Lady Wesworth perked up at that.
“How is it formed?” Henrietta asked. “Where is it mined?”
“I can't answer the question about its formation,” Charles said, “but I believe the only source is here in Derbyshire.”
“Quite right,” Hollingsford agreed.
They all began to talk at once then, asking questions, exclaiming over the idea. Ruby grinned at Whit.
Minx! She was clearly pleased that she'd caused a hubbub, but he couldn't fault her for it. For once his guests seemed happy to be discussing the same subject. She and her father had found a way to keep them occupied, and he was grateful for it.
Unfortunately, with the next day being Sunday, they could not embark on the trip until the day after. But Whit knew a few options for the meantime.
“Who's for services tomorrow?” he asked over a second course of pineapple from the duke's conservatory and apricot ice.
Lady Wesworth immediately agreed, gaze appropriately pious, and Whit knew that meant Lady Amelia would be coming, as well. Charles looked ready to demur until Henrietta agreed, and her parents added their acceptance.
“I'd very much like to go,” Ruby murmured, so carefully he could only wonder what was going through her mind. He had seen no sign of unkind behavior toward her. She had fought for her right to be among them. What made her hesitate now?
He received the start of an answer when they attended Saint Andrew's in the village the next day. Whit knew the church was a little grand for a country chapel, with fine stone walls and a gilded steeple, but he couldn't help being proud of it. The gentry of the area had all contributed to make it finely appointed. The carved oak seats inside had been donated by an earlier duke. The Rotherfords had endowed the alabaster cross along with the stained-glass windows on either side of the pews.