The Wedding Season (15 page)

F
or his early morning Scripture reading, Philip found the familiar passage in Acts that the children had re-created the night before. Once again, wonder welled up inside him over this remarkable family. Teaching the little ones to perform Bible stories was an extraordinary way to ingrain Scripture into their mental and moral constitutions. So much better than requiring that they endure the droning sermon of a vicar or curate, whose words must be incomprehensible to their young ears. Philip would remember this experience when…
if
the Lord blessed him with offspring.

At the end of his reading, he prayed for the Moberly household, Miss Elizabeth in particular. Last evening, she had appeared as moved as he by the children’s performance, but he had no opportunity to speak to her about it. As he’d noticed yesterday over breakfast, she seemed to be struggling with some concern. But after yesterday’s outing at the ruins, he realized it wasn’t his place to offer assistance when so many caring family members surrounded her.

In his prayers for his own family, he asked that dear Lucy might recover quickly from Whitson’s treachery and that
Bennington’s solicitors would arrive from London hastily to set matters to right. The sooner this travesty was behind them, the better.

Just as Philip closed his Bible, Captain Moberly’s valet, Hinton, arrived with shaving supplies. He brought with him the suit Philip had worn on the ride from Gloucestershire, having refreshed the garments with whatever mysterious method valets employed. Grateful for the assistance, Philip felt like a new man when he went downstairs to the morning room for breakfast, where he met young Moberly.

“Going down to Southampton.” Jamie waved a small bun covered with strawberry jam. “Want to ride along?”

“I thank you, sir.” Philip gave the idea a moment’s consideration, but another day of riding held no appeal. “Permit me to beg off today, and I’ll go with you next time.”

“Very good.” Jamie slapped Philip’s shoulder in a brotherly manner and trotted away.

Philip followed the aroma of sausages to the buffet. A footman, the room’s sole inhabitant, informed him that the ladies were still sleeping and Captain Moberly was taking his morning tour about the manor grounds.

Now that was a ride Philip wouldn’t have minded. He often wondered how other landowners inspected their properties. Father’s untimely death six years ago, when Philip was only seventeen, had left several matters unsettled, several responsibilities untaught. Although his loyal steward had done his best, Philip always sensed some important gaps in his education. Perhaps, if invited, he could join the captain another day.

He helped himself to a plateful, once again grateful for the hospitality Moberly had bestowed on him. The fare at any inn couldn’t compare to the offerings of a devoted
family cook. And the backache he’d developed from tavern mattresses during his journey disappeared after one night in the Moberly guest room’s feather bed.

The footman offered both coffee and tea. With a bit of guilt, Philip chose the more expensive tea. He must find a way to repay his host for the expenditure required to keep a guest. Perhaps his steward could advise him on an appropriate gift to send after everything was settled here.

After finishing his breakfast, Philip nodded his appreciation to the footman. “Can you tell me, my good man, where I might occupy myself without disturbing the family?”

The servant must have anticipated his question, for he didn’t hesitate. “The conservatory, sir. Captain Moberly has a tropical garden that produces year ’round.”

“Ah, very good.” Philip took directions from the man and quietly maneuvered his way through the house to the large glassed-in room attached to the rear. He’d noticed it yesterday and wondered what might be growing there. His own hothouse produced a small selection of fruit and herbs, but he’d like to increase its variety and yield.

When he opened the glass door, a warm blast of air swept over him, bringing the scents of lemons and strawberries. A middle-aged gardener and his young apprentice greeted him and continued their labors.

Philip wandered down the rows of plants, finally settling on a stone bench to admire the herbs and vegetables. Through the open back doors, he could see the outside garden soaking up a light rain. For the first time, he noticed the overcast sky, a certain sign of his displacement from the familiar. At home, he always considered the weather before planning his day.

Everywhere he looked, the profusion of greenery heralded
a vibrant newness of life. Strangely, instead of admiration, the sight stirred up a familiar hollow ache just under his ribs. His vicar suggested it was loneliness, possibly an indication that the time had arrived for Philip to marry. But he couldn’t begin his quest for a bride until he exacted justice for Lucy. Further, he had no idea how to find an appropriate wife. If the Lord willed for Philip to marry, He would have to bring the right woman into his life.

The inside door swung open, and Miss Elizabeth entered, charmingly dressed in a pale green gown of sprigged muslin whose color reflected in her eyes and turned them the color of a turquoise gemstone. The now familiar jolt under his ribs replaced the ache and brought Philip to his feet.

“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth blinked. “Good morning, Mr. Lindsey.” She had not expected to see him here. “Please sit down, sir.” Locating the gardener nearby, she relaxed. The man’s presence ensured propriety.

“Will you join me?” Mr. Lindsey waved to the bench where he’d been seated. His blue eyes shone with a look she could not discern but found very attractive.

Having forgotten why she had come to the conservatory—perhaps a sprig of mint for her tea?—she accepted his invitation. “Did you sleep well?”

“Indeed I did, thank you.” His gentle smile brought warmth to her cheeks. “I thought never to see you without your charming cousin. Is Miss Prudence well?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “The poor dear has one of her rainy-day headaches.” She eyed the hazy windows, which were steamy from the rain. “Perhaps the weather will clear this afternoon, and she will feel better.”

“Please give her my regards.”

“Yes, of course.”

They sat quietly for several minutes until their silence engendered merriment within her.

“And so, Mr. Lindsey.” She gave him a playful grin. “With the inclement weather, will you spend your morning in the library reading
Johnson’s Dictionary?
”

Mr. Lindsey chuckled, and his eyes reflected good humor. “I was depending upon that for my entertainment, but perhaps you can suggest another activity.”

“Hmm.” Elizabeth gazed toward the windows again and pasted on a thoughtful expression. She should not have inquired about his plans. But with Jamie on an errand and Papa about his usual business, someone must entertain their guest. Mr. Lindsey deserved that courtesy, even though he was not a peer. And one diversion came to mind. “If you like to sketch or paint, you may join Mama and me in the parlor.” As the words came out, she wished them back. “Unless you consider those pastimes only for ladies.”

His dark eyebrows arched. “Are they? Then we should tell Mr. Blake he must cease his etchings and devote himself solely to his poetry.”

“Oh, you know of William Blake?” She wasn’t exactly certain why, but Elizabeth reveled in their mutual knowledge of the obscure artist. “I believe Papa plans to purchase one of his paintings. He is not widely known but quite gifted.”

“I agree. Well, then, I’ll join you in sketching, though I fear I’ve not much talent for it.”

“Mama can bring out the best in anyone.” Elizabeth’s pride in Mama’s skill vied for preeminence with her present enjoyment of Mr. Lindsey’s company. She noticed for the first time the silver flecks in his blue eyes and wondered if
she could capture that shade on her palette. Yes, it was just as well that they were joining Mama. Too much private discourse with Mr. Lindsey could be dangerous to her peace of mind.

“I should like to spend time with Mrs. Moberly.” Mr. Lindsey’s expression brightened. “I had hoped to ask her about America.”

“You must permit me to warn you off that topic.” Elizabeth gave a mock shudder. “She has been cross with her home country ever since the thirteen colonies rebelled against the Crown and formed their own government.”

Mr. Lindsey returned an exaggerated gasp, even as his eyes twinkled. “I thank you, Miss Elizabeth. You’ve saved me from a grave blunder.”

After a shared moment of laughter, their conversation moved to the garden. Elizabeth gave him a tour and stood quietly by as he questioned George, the gardener, about the orange and lemon trees and the variety of herbs. His eagerness to learn impressed her, for here was a man diligent in all his duties, an admirable quality. She could just imagine how well he tended his own property, however large or small it might be.

She confessed to herself she enjoyed the gentleman’s company. Last night, he had fit right into this household like an old friend, like the dear people her eldest brother and sister had married. How easy it was to forget why he was here. And to forget her vow to marry only a peer. But somehow she must not forget, must turn her thoughts back to Lord Chiselton.

Last night when she and Pru had retired to their shared bedchamber, her cousin had fallen right to sleep. Thus Elizabeth had had no chance to relate Lord Chiselton’s parting words. Yet somehow she felt certain that, despite the
viscount’s seeming arrogance and self-centeredness, what he’d said to her privately yesterday afternoon could change her entire opinion of him…
and
her future.

“Y
ou have underestimated your skill, Mr. Lindsey.” Elizabeth peered over the gentleman’s shoulder at the drawing of Jamie’s spaniel. The dog lay in front of the parlor’s blazing fireplace staring toward the door in anticipation of his master’s return. They had agreed the beast made the perfect subject for their artistic endeavors. While Mr. Lindsey’s proportions were somewhat off, his depiction of the dog’s winsome black eyes showed promise.

“I thank you, Miss Elizabeth.” He set down his charcoal and wiped his fingers on a cloth. “May I return the compliment?” Studying the picture on her easel, he tilted his head, glancing from the spaniel to her drawing, then to his own illustration. “Ah, I see my error. The ears should sit lower.”

Smudging the darker lines with the cloth, he picked up the charcoal stick and began making his corrections. As he concentrated on his subject, his countenance took on a most charming and youthful look, like that of an eager student who has just discovered a new principle. He glanced at her and smiled. “The spaniel is devoted to his master, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and obedient as well. He’ll stay right there until Jamie returns.”

Thinking of returns, Elizabeth could not imagine what was keeping Mama. She’d put them both to work on their drawings, then traipsed off to greet Papa when he returned from his morning ride. Now Elizabeth must consider how their being alone in the drawing room might look to an unexpected guest—Lord Chiselton, for instance. Still, a footman stood outside the open parlor door, so she doubted anyone would find the situation improper.

In any event, she felt entirely safe and comfortable in Mr. Lindsey’s company. Too comfortable, actually. And despite the long silences between Mr. Lindsey and herself, the longer Mama was absent, the more Elizabeth hoped she would continue to delay her return.

Which was nonsense, of course. She’d met this gentleman only yesterday under the most awkward circumstances for her family. How could she possibly have become so fond of his companionship in such a short time?

“What do you think?” Mr. Lindsey leaned back from his work and frowned.

“I was just thinking—oh.” Elizabeth realized his meaning just in time to keep from saying exactly what she’d been thinking. “That you do possess artistic talent.”

Despite the rain, Wilkes arrived the next afternoon in Philip’s traveling coach, the bold fellow having learned of his location at Bennington Manor. He brought with him clothing, letters and Father’s Wogdon and Barton dueling pistols. Fortunately for Philip’s standing with the Moberly family, Wilkes had tucked the weapons in his clothes trunk and didn’t reveal them until he and Philip were alone in the guest room.

“Just in case, sir.” Wilkes wore his usual blank expression, except for the hard glint in his eyes.

An uneasy feeling crept through Philip. “Is Miss Lindsey well?” Lucy had never been given to hysterics, but she’d also never been betrayed by a fiancé. Perhaps a duel would be necessary after all. Christian or not, he couldn’t permit her to be utterly crushed. Honor would require that he demand satisfaction from Whitson and prevent him from destroying another young lady’s health and future.

“I believe her letter will provide that information, sir.” The briefest frown bent Wilkes’s eyebrows before his face once again became a mask.

Philip slumped into the desk chair. “Best read it right away.” He accepted the letters from his valet, one each from his sister, his brother and his steward.

Apprehension filled his chest as he broke the first seal, but Lucy’s news wasn’t what he expected. Instead, she wrote that their kinsman, Stratford Lindsey, had died the day Philip had left for Hampshire. This distant cousin had never been in good health, but they’d all prayed he would enjoy a long life. “Perhaps if I had accepted his proposal instead of Mr. Whitson’s,” Lucy said, “his health would have improved.”

Philip must post a letter tomorrow to assure his sister she bore no fault for Stratford’s demise. He’d been a man of great faith, and they could rest assured of seeing him in heaven when their own times came.

Although Philip’s heart wrenched at the sad news, he also experienced relief that he wouldn’t have to be God’s instrument in another, less honorable man’s demise. For Lucy went on to say she’d resigned herself to Whitson’s true character and felt grateful she’d been spared a lifetime with him. Brave girl! He prayed she hadn’t written that for his benefit. Of course, her acceptance of the situation didn’t absolve Whitson of his duty to return the dowry, but it made Philip far less inclined to demand satisfaction in a duel.

But Stratford’s departure now placed another weight upon Philip’s shoulders that he could hardly contemplate. Would not contemplate until the final cog in God’s machinery fell into place. Perhaps the Almighty, in His great mercy, would grant him a reprieve.

The two-day drizzle grew into a rare summer storm that threatened to delay the arrival of Uncle Bennington’s London solicitors. The dismal weather also put into jeopardy Aunt Bennington’s summer garden party, a tradition at Bennington Manor for over half a century.

“The event was instituted by our grandfather, the second Lord Bennington,” Elizabeth explained to Mr. Lindsey over an afternoon game of whist. “It began as a replacement for the annual Midsummer Eve festival, which of course is pagan in origin. Grandpapa could not countenance such celebrations, yet he and Lady Bennington desired some sort of diversion after the London Season. They decided to hold a large garden party a week or more after Summer Solstice so as to make a distinction. When Parliament lingers, of course, it must sometimes be postponed until July.”

Jamie won the trick and gathered his cards. “We have bowling, billiards, dancing, racing, grouse hunting, that sort of thing. It goes on for days until everyone is agreeably exhausted and goes home.”

Mr. Lindsey’s bemused expression spoke clearly of his disinterest. He would hardly be welcomed at her aunt and uncle’s annual party. “Oh, dear. We did not mean to advertise an event that will exclude you.” She had noticed his sober demeanor ever since the arrival of his valet, but did not think it her place to inquire about the cause.

“Ah. Of course. Sorry, old man.” Jamie gave an apologetic
shrug. “I’m not much for all that myself. I know the girls are expected to attend, but I’d prefer to stay home and read.”

“Oh, Jamie, what nonsense.” Pru laughed as she dealt the next hand. After a day abed, she’d regained her color and joined them for the afternoon activities.

Mr. Lindsey’s eyes and crooked smile exuded lighthearted amusement, and Elizabeth’s heart skittered about within her. “You’ve all been most generous in entertaining me. I believe when the time comes I can manage on my own for a few days.”

“Oh, indeed.” Jamie covered an artificial yawn with his free hand. “You can spend your time reading
Johnson.
”

Mr. Lindsey laughed. “So the ladies told you about that. I don’t suppose I’ll ever be free of that incident, shall I?”

“Not in this house.” Jamie fanned his cards and smirked.

Mr. Lindsey’s good humor and graciousness only added to Elizabeth’s admiration. Try though she might, she could not find a single fault in the gentleman, despite her attempts to give Lord Chiselton first place in her thoughts. Nor had the viscount done anything to ensure her interest, such as calling upon her. Of course the storm made travel difficult and perhaps even dangerous. Still, the significance of his parting words had begun to fade from importance. Had he been harmlessly flirting with her? Surely not. He was her best hope for the type of marriage she wanted. Where else in her neighborhood was she likely to encounter a peer?

“Are you going to play?” Jamie nudged Elizabeth’s arm.

“Oh. Yes.” She laid a trump card on the leather-topped table, then snatched it up. “Oops. I have a diamond after all.”

Jamie crowed. “And now we all know you have the king of clubs.”

Even Mr. Lindsey grimaced at her blunder. “An interesting move, to be sure.” But no censure colored his look or tone.

Pru sent her a playful grin. “What were you thinking about, Beth?” The silly way she batted her eyelashes brought heat to Elizabeth’s cheeks. Pru knew Elizabeth’s thoughts all too well. Knew all her secrets. Even what the viscount had said. And frowned upon every word.