Authors: Jillian Hart
“Have you no answer for me?” Whit asked.
Have You no answer for me?
Ruby begged.
Something urged her to respond. Perhaps it was Whit's look, or his words, or a quiet voice inside her. She swallowed. “Yes, my lord. I would very much like you to court me. I can only hope we won't live to regret it.”
* * *
Whit felt as if someone had offered him the deepest trout hole in the river and an entire lifetime to fish it. He wanted to lift Ruby in his arms, twirl her around the room, shout at the ceiling for the sheer joy of it.
But such were not the actions of a belted earl or a gentleman. So, instead, he bowed over her hand, held it only slightly longer than was reasonable and offered to escort her back to her father.
She raised a fiery brow as if he ought to know full well she was capable of walking on her own. “I'll go talk to my father,” she conceded. “After that last chortle over his win, he's likely to undo all the good you've done in keeping them happy.”
She hurried off to the card table, and Whit thought that, despite her brave words, her trim figure seemed to waver just the slightest, as if his request had shaken her.
It shook him, too. In truth, that day in the cavern, when he'd realized Ruby's attempt to rescue him had put her in danger, the world had seemed to tilt on its axis. He had never considered himself afraid to face adversity, but the thought of losing Ruby had terrified him. Somehow, she had become important to him.
So, on the trip back, while nodding to conversation instigated by Lady Wesworth, he'd offered a prayer for wisdom, for understanding. The answer had come from an odd direction, and he'd blinked in surprise.
“What did you say?” he'd asked Lady Wesworth, interrupting her strident monologue that had made her daughter sit with knotted hands and set Henrietta's soft face to hardening.
“What?” she'd said, frowning.
“You quoted something. I'm sure of it,” Whit had insisted.
Her brow had cleared. “I said a gentleman must look at breeding and accomplishment when seeking a wife. We are told a woman of valor, a lady of accomplishment, is a crown to her husband.”
A woman of valor. Could there be any better description for his valiant Ruby?
His heart had swelled at the thought. But in his world, such feelings had only one proper outcome, an outcome Ruby had refused, until tonight.
He felt a smile growing and realized that Lady Wesworth was regarding him in a decidedly odd manner, as if she could not tell whether he was mad or dyspeptic. He turned to the windows but immediately realized why she might be concerned. He couldn't remember such a grin on his face!
He was going to court Ruby Hollingsford.
She wouldn't make it easy. Something frightened herâher, his redoubtable Ruby! Whatever it was, he was determined to surmount it. And if there was something lacking in his own heart, if he struggled to express some concepts to her satisfaction, then he'd have to work on that, as well. He hadn't led an earldom for fifteen years without learning how to persevere.
Of course, he still had five days of this house party to survive first.
They all spent the evening playing whist again, and he was able to partner Ruby at last. She was a quick player, tossing her card out the second Charles on her right played his. Yet as quickly as she played, she always played exactly the right card. As a result, they won two rubbers by the time the parents began making noises about retiring.
“Allow me a word before you go,” Charles murmured to him as they bowed the ladies and older gentlemen out. Whit nodded absently, more interested in the smile Ruby offered on her way out the door than in his cousin's request. The room seemed to cool as she disappeared, and he suggested that Charles join him in the library instead.
His cousin spent a moment checking behind the drapes and around the larger furnishings before joining Whit on one of the leather-bound armchairs in the center of the room.
“Is there a French spy at large?” Whit teased.
“Very likely,” Charles said with a rueful smile. “Though not in Dovecote Dale, I would imagine.” He glanced at the paneled door as if to make sure it was closed, then lowered his voice all the same. “I would prefer to keep your guests ignorant of this conversation.”
Whit raised a brow but waited for his cousin to continue.
Charles cleared his throat, adjusted his spotless cravat, stroked his hands down the arms of the chair, then snapped his gaze to Whit's.
“I must ask you, Danning, about your intentions toward Henrietta Stokely-Trent.”
Whit leaned back, smile quirking. “I have none. And you?”
Charles grinned. “I have far too many.”
“Do you claim yourself in love, then?”
Charles nodded. “Hopelessly so. She's so clever, Whit. You never know what fact will pop from her mouth. And she is forever curious, about any number of things. Do you know she asked me to teach her to shoot? What other woman would even show interest?”
Ruby came to mind immediately. She'd said she boxed and could fire a pistol. He had no doubt they could find any number of interesting pastimes to pursue together.
“Have you spoken to her father?” Whit asked.
Charles fiddled with the brass tacks that held the leather to the wood of the chair. “I have not. For one thing, I wanted to make sure your feelings weren't engaged, as well.”
“Not in the slightest,” Whit assured him.
Still Charles avoided his gaze. “And for another, I was hoping you'd speak for me.”
“Why?” Whit challenged, sitting straighter. “You can't fear him.”
Charles made a face. “
Fear
might be too strong a word. But his reaction concerns me. He's so set on a title, Danning, or at the very least a fortune. Lacking both, I am not encouraged about my chances.”
He edged forward on his seat, raising his gaze at last. “I thought if you were to talk to him, explain my expectations, my admiration for his daughter, he might be persuaded to see me differently.”
Surely Henrietta's father would have greater respect for Charles if his cousin spoke to the man outright. Yet, given Winston Stokely-Trent's respect for a title, Charles was probably right that he'd be more likely to listen to Whit.
“I'll speak to him,” Whit promised. “But see that you do so, as well. To marry Henrietta, you may have to fight for her.”
Charles clapped both hands on the armrests. “I will, Danning. Count on it. Whatever it takes to win the fair maiden, I intend to do, no matter the cost.”
Whit admired his determination, for he very much felt the same way about Ruby. He could only hope he could find a way to overcome her reservations.
Chapter Fourteen
W
hit managed to catch Henrietta's father at breakfast the next morning and requested a moment of his time in the withdrawing room before the others rose. He was hoping for a quick conversation so he could wait for Ruby. He could imagine any number of ways to spend the day with her: showing her the intricacy of casting, taking a picnic among the orchids. But Stokely-Trent had other ideas.
“I've been meaning to speak to you, my lord,” he said, coming into the room behind Whit and stopping just short of the fireplace, legs splayed in his chamois breeches. “I do believe you're attempting to pawn your cousin off on my girl.” His paisley waistcoat-clad stomach jutted out as if it protested, as well.
“And I take exception that you would consider my cousin the inferior man,” Whit countered. He crossed his arms over the chest of his brown wool coat as he stood by the hearth and was pleased his ribs only murmured a minor objection.
Stokely-Trent waved a plump hand. “Of course he's inferior. He lacks a title, he lacks a fortune and he lacks property. My girl could do better on her family name alone.”
Interesting that he put the title before the stability of fortune and property. The Stokely-Trents moved in high circles, yet it seemed they, too, felt the need for a title to be fully accepted.
“Charles may lack a title,” Whit countered, “but he has true affection for your daughter.”
Henrietta's father shook his head. “Perhaps too much affection, for any number of things. I understand he has accumulated a sizeable debt gambling.”
Would the gossipmongers never cease making up tales? “Interesting,” Whit replied, lowering his arms and shifting on his booted feet. “I wonder how he managed to finance his gambling if he has so little to his name.”
Stokely-Trent blinked, then recovered to raise one finger, pointing it at the ceiling. “Very likely on his expectations, my lord. Everyone knows he is your heir, and you are not yet wed.”
“At thirty,” Whit replied dryly, “I can reasonably be expected to sire an heir.”
Henrietta's father puffed out a sigh as he lowered his hand. “The very fact that you're speaking to me about your cousin tells me it won't be with my girl. Have you settled on that Hollingsford chit, then?”
Whit drew himself up. “I asked you here to discuss Charles's matrimonial hopes, not my own.”
Normally, when he gazed down his nose and drew down his brows, using what Quimby called his lordly look, his staff and those with lesser titles jumped to do his bidding. Stokely-Trent took a step forward, narrowed his eyes as if about to make a business deal.
“Think, Danning,” he ordered. “You need a woman who will do you credit, who can help advance your influence. I can see the attraction of that red hair, but you must look at pedigree to find a proper wife.”
Was everyone in his class a snob? Whit met him gaze for gaze. “Ruby Hollingsford is clever, capable and caring. She has the skills to help manage my affairs, the confidence to stand beside me in any social setting. I would feel fortunate should she respond favorably to my suit.”
He snorted. “She's the one who's fortunate, to think of catching an earl. She may have been educated at the Barnsley School, but she isn't our kind.”
Whit's jaw tightened. “If by our kind you mean a title-hunting bully, I quite agree.”
He puffed up like a dead fish left too long in the water. “Now, see here, Danning.”
Whit closed the distance between them. “No,
you
see here. If I choose to marry Ruby Hollingsford, it will be because we love each other deeply, share the same values and are willing to work side by side. That, sir, makes a marriage, not the prestige or power that might accrue from it, not the benefits that might be provided to the parents. Now, are you willing to discuss my cousin and your daughter, or should I tell Charles he would be wiser not to associate with your family?”
Stokely-Trent held his gaze a few moments, eyes narrowed, but Whit saw the doubt that slowly replaced the determination. He looked away with another shake of his head. “Very well, my lord. I'll say no more about your infatuation with Miss Hollingsford. But do not expect me to toss my girl away, merely because some son of a second son shows interest.”
Whit told himself to accept the first victory and focus on gaining another for Charles. “I believe it goes beyond interest. Charles would like to pay his addresses. He has my blessing. He and his family will always be welcome at my table. And I plan to give him one of the unentailed estates on his marriage. He will be able to provide for his wife and children.”
Stokely-Trent nodded slowly. “That is something, I suppose, though I still say my girl is worth more.”
“Every father wants the best for his children,” Whit acknowledged, taking a step back. “But her happiness is not a minor consideration, and I do believe she cares for Charles, just as he cares for her.”
He nodded again, then blew out a breath. “Very well, my lord. I'll listen to the fellow, if he is so bold as to approach me.”
“That's all I ask,” Whit replied, inclining his head. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other guests I should see to.”
The smirk on Stokely-Trent's face said exactly which guest he thought Whit had in mind. In that case, he would not be wrong. Whit felt as if he'd stepped in mud and couldn't wait to be with Ruby's refreshing honesty instead.
* * *
Ruby came down to breakfast filled in equal parts with anticipation and anxiety. She'd spent half the night tossing and turning, wondering what she'd done by agreeing to let Whit court her. He was an aristocrat, for pity's sake! There would always be those who would whisper she'd married him for his title or he'd married her for her dowry, that she was beneath him. Did she want to spend the rest of her life subjecting herself to such nonsense?
She'd even thrown the matter to God.
“Is this really what You want?” she'd asked the ceiling of her box bed. “Did I understand You right? Why won't You say something?”
“Oh, go to sleep, you silly girl!” Lady Wesworth had bellowed from next door.
She had finally soothed herself to sleep by assuring herself it was not a fait accompli. Whit could court her all he wanted. In the end, she did not have to accept his proposal.
But it was not Whit's voice she heard as she approached the dining room that morning. Lady Wesworth's demands echoed down the paneled corridor.
“You are not making enough of an effort, Amelia,” she was complaining. “You must take every opportunity to spend time with Danning.”
Lady Amelia murmured something in response, as quiet and agreeable as always. It did not assure her mother.
“Playing the piano and listening to a fellow are not enough. That bluestocking at least is original. I never thought to say it, but you must be as bold as Miss Hollingsford.”
Ruby bit her lip to keep from laughing. Lady Wesworth may never have thought to say something admirable about Ruby, but Ruby had certainly never thought to hear it!
She stamped her feet the last few yards of the corridor before entering to make sure they knew she was coming, then smiled at them both from the doorway. “Good morning, Lady Amelia, Lady Wesworth.”
“Good morning, Miss Hollingsford,” Lady Amelia murmured, gaze on the table linen and graceful hands hovering over the silver teapot next to her. “There's some lovely chamomile this morning. Shall I pour you a cup?”
“That's very kind of you,” Ruby said, coming into the room.
Lady Wesworth glowered at her daughter, and Ruby could only wonder what the poor girl had done wrong this time. Was there some Society rule about being too friendly?
She ventured to the sideboard and filled her plate with shirred eggs and spinach, buttery rolls and fresh raspberries with cream, then went to sit at the table near the young lady. Lady Amelia handed her a china cup patterned with bold iron-red leaves edged in gold.
“And where are all the gentlemen this morning?” Ruby asked after a few bites in silence. “Out fishing so soon?”
Lady Amelia shuddered, but whether for the early hour or the thought of the pastime, Ruby wasn't sure.
“I do not believe they have risen,” Lady Wesworth said as if this were some great moral failing.
“Then we don't know what they have planned,” Ruby surmised, taking a sip of the chamomile.
“Lady Amelia,” Lady Wesworth announced, “is going fishing with Lord Danning.”
Lady Amelia choked. Indeed, she sputtered so hard, Ruby rose from her seat to help her. Lady Amelia held up a hand to forestall her and managed to catch her breath.
“Yes,” she said, swallowing convulsively. “I am going fishing. Do say you'll join us, Miss Hollingsford.”
“I hardly think that's necessary,” her mother protested.
It wasn't necessary. Lady Amelia would not require a chaperone. The anglers would be outdoors, in ready view of much of the house, as well as anyone passing along the road. But Ruby recognized desperation gazing back at her from the lady's sapphire eyes.
“I'd be delighted to join you,” Ruby said, returning to her seat and picking up the damask napkin she'd dropped in her haste. “Perhaps between the two of us, we can endeavor to catch something.”
“I have no doubt,” Lady Wesworth said, anger simmering in every syllable.
Ruby simply smiled at her and took another sip of her tea.
She was thankful that Whit joined them shortly after. He didn't appear to have spent a sleepless night. His golden hair was pomaded in place, his eyes twinkled and his cravat was casually tied above his coat as if he were ready for adventure. But then, she supposed Mr. Quimby would not have allowed him to go out looking less than perfect.
He didn't even finish his greeting before Lady Wesworth informed him of her plans for Lady Amelia.
To do him justice, he only hesitated a moment before smiling at the lady. “How delightful,” he said to Lady Wesworth. “And will you and Ruby be joining us?”
She sat up straighter. “I have correspondence I must catch up on.” Her look to Ruby dared her to say otherwise.
“I'll join you,” Ruby piped up with a grin.
He seemed to settle on his feet. “Excellent,” he said, smile growing so dazzling she nearly forgot the topic of the conversation. “Give me a moment for some sustenance, and we'll see what can be done.”
Because Lady Amelia had been so kind when Ruby had entered, Ruby thought the lady would offer Whit a cup of tea, as well. But Lady Amelia sank lower in her seat, long fingers crumbling her roll, as if she rather hoped everyone would just forget about her existence.
Whit set his plate down beside Ruby's and pulled up a chair. “And how are you this morning, my dear?”
Nervous, concerned, absolutely mad. She smiled back. “Fine. You simply couldn't wait to fish again, could you?”
He smiled as he forked up a mouthful of the eggs. “I am a creature of habit.”
“Perhaps we shouldn't disturb you then,” Ruby offered, watching how his hands shaped around the silver fork, his body leaned forward over the table, so strong even in repose. “I'm sure Lady Amelia and I can find some other way to entertain ourselves if you'd prefer to go alone.”
Lady Amelia's head came up. “Oh, certainly, my lord.”
But of course he was too much a gentleman to agree. “Nonsense,” he said with a smile to Lady Amelia before focusing back on Ruby. “Nothing would make me happier than to share my favorite pastime with you.”
Lady Amelia sighed.
Ruby had to admit she shared the woman's trepidation. She'd seen Whit on Sunday. He'd stood so patiently, so intently, as if every part of him was attuned to the water rushing past.
She didn't think she had the same patience, and she truly didn't want to disappoint him. Besides, she and Lady Amelia could hardly follow his example and wade into the water in skirts!
He seemed to have considered their inexperience at least, for when they all gathered in his fishing closet a short time later, he immediately began explaining.
“I was hoping one of the other practiced anglers could join us,” he said as he selected various pieces of equipment from the shelves and hooks of the room. “Unfortunately, Charles has already gone out shooting, Mr. Hollingsford is still abed, and Mr. Stokely-Trent felt the need to converse with his daughter.”
Ruby wondered what that was all about, but she managed to keep herself from asking.
“So,” he continued, turning to them with a smile, “you will have to make do with me. I take it neither of you have fished before.”
Ruby shook her head and saw Lady Amelia do the same. While Ruby was wearing a gray walking dress and brown boots, the lady wore another of her frilly muslin gowns, this time with a spencer as blue as her eyes over the top. Ruby refused to comment on the impracticality of standing on a rocky shore in the matching blue slippers peeking out from under the lacy hem.
“Then allow me to instruct you.” He took down a narrow, leather-bound book and opened the cover. Lady Amelia shrank back against the wall with a gasp.
“Easy, my dear,” he said. “These are not what they seem.”
Ruby looked closer. What had at first looked like dead flies stuck on brass pins were instead bits of string and feather cleverly tied together to resemble nature's pests.
“Did you make these?” Ruby asked, reaching out a hand to touch the one constructed from a mallard's feather.
“Many of them,” he replied, and she could tell by his smile he was trying not to sound too proud of the fact. “Some belonged to my father and a few to my grandfather. Never fear, Lady Amelia. You gave me a great compliment by assuming they were real.”
She ventured closer as well and peered down into the book of flies. “They are very convincing.”
“They must be. Their sole purpose is to deceive the fish so that he will take a bite, and when he does, we have him.”