An Inconvenient Engagement Page 16

  “Thank you, Pen.”

  Far to the north in Lytchley, William rode quietly through town. Evening had fallen, and the moon was rising over the fields and shining white on the light stone walls. The mare walked with the straight-legged bounce of a horse with unspent energy. He was attuned to the small cottage nestled in the bend of the banked road, and the mare’s steps were guided there by intuition.

  He stared hungrily at the upper windows, wondering if she was there or if she was downstairs in the parlor. What might she be doing? The horse bobbed up to the cottage and stopped. Before he could turn her, the door opened.

  Alastair stood backlit with the candle and firelight. “Sir William? You are very welcome, sir.”

  “I was just riding by.” He felt like a fool. What would he say to her? “Well, give my regards to your niece.”

  “I will certainly write them to her.”

  “Write them?” William frowned and went still.

  “Yes, she is in London with Miss Pratt for the next fortnight.”

  “London!”

  “Yes, you may well be surprised. Quite the shock when Miss Pratt invited her. But, so good for her to meet new people and see new things.”

  “As you say,” he hardly knew what he was saying. “When did they leave?”

  “Just yesterday morning.”

  A pause, then, “Well, good night.”

  He turned his mare away and urged her to trot. London? How had she left for London without his knowing? A fortnight? Anything could happen. She could be lost, hurt, meet someone.

  This last gave him pause – meet someone?

  He urged the mare into a canter, completed the journey home and left the mare with a groom before heading indoors. He was standing by his desk when there was a sound at the door.

  “Mr. Rivers, Sir.” Butler announced, and Rivers stepped in.

  “Sir, the coal has been delivered, and I have sent some to Mrs. Thornton as you requested.”

  “Coal,” William repeated.

  “And, Lucketts say their hay harvest was ruined by the snowstorm. The other farms got theirs up in time, but we will be short on hay for the year. We are going to have to order in hay for the winter. I thought we should buy now while supplies are high and costs down, then use our lot when that runs out.”

  “Hay. Erm..Yes. By all means. Suggestions?”

  Rivers looked at his master and repeated, “That we order now…mayhap from Loughtons. Save ours for when prices go up.” He repeated. Master was really quite distracted.

  William shook himself. “Excellent notion. Oh, Rivers, I have heard from a friend in London, Fothergill of Fothergill, Fothergill, and Soames. They have need of a clerk and are willing to take on young Henry.”

  Rivers’ eyes lit up. “That’ll please the lad. When does he start?”

  “I thought of taking him up in the next couple days – get him a suit made, that sort of thing.”

  “That is soon – I will have to tell his mum. But surely you don’t need to take him.”

  “Nonsense. I was thinking about visiting George and his mother anyway. He can ride in the carriage with me.”

  “He can ride post, Sir.”

  “Let him get used to the carriage – he will take plenty while in London. How soon can he be ready?”

  “I will ask his mum.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I am sure she will do her best…”

  “Excellent. If it is a question of laundry, you know, just send his clothes as they are, and the staff will wash them in town.”

  When Rivers left, William called for Leavitt. “We are leaving for London tomorrow morning. I will need clothes for a week. Can you manage it?”

  “Of course, Sir,” Leavitt responded. “Will we be staying at Lincoln House?”

  “Yes.” William was less than enthusiastic. “Can you have word sent to warn them of our coming? Also, Henry Rivers will accompany us and probably need to board for a day or two until we get him settled with the Fothergills.”

  “Of course. I will arrange it.”

  When Leavitt was gone, William paced with impatience to be gone. Where would she be in London? The Pratts? Weren’t they over by Vauxhall? That was not too far away from the Lincoln House, but, Lord! He would have to contend with Delia, his stepmother. And George would be suspicious. Let him. He was hurting noone but himself…surely.

  Penelope and Eliza strolled the garden arm-in-arm. They were well into their third day and Eliza was enjoying being away from the recent trauma in Lytchley. It was somehow freeing to be in a place where she did not have to worry about seeing Sir William, although there was a part of her that still secretly hoped to see him around every corner. Mrs. Ainsworth, Penelope’s chaperone, walked behind them, and Penelope said, “It is not the fashionable time of year for the gardens, and there are no entertainments, but still it is pleasant!”

  “It is lovely! I can’t imagine what it must be like in summer!”

  “Father brings me sometimes – we get a supper table and listen to the music playing and watch the people go by. Last summer, we watched a balloon go up and ate ices! Some nights there are fireworks, and we can hear them from our house!”

  “It sounds exciting! I would love to see fireworks!”

  “You will have to come visit next summer, then. We will have a lovely time!”

  Eliza was silent. Penelope let it pass for a moment, then asked, “Is anything the matter?”

  “It is only that by next summer I shall be working in a stranger’s home caring for their children.”

  “What? No!”

  “Yes. I placed the advertisement just before we left Lytchley. I hope to have an answer by the time we return.”

  “Oh, Eliza.”

  “It is to be expected. I can’t stay in Lytchley for the rest of my life. Not when I can help support myself.”

  “But a governess! Oh, Eliza, I can’t bear it.”

  “Nonsense,” Eliza said briskly. “If I can, everyone else must. But, I admit, it makes this adventure all the more wonderful.” She was quiet a moment, then asked, “When will we see your father?”

  Penelope was suddenly serious. “I don’t know – when his business allows him time, I suppose.”

  “May I ask...what happened to your mother?”

  “She died two years ago. We thought at first it was consumption, but the doctor said it was a type of cancer of the lungs. It is why Father took the country house in Lytchley. To get me out of London for much of the year.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  “Yes. You lost your mother when you were very young, I understand.”

  “Both parents, but yes. My aunt was like a mother to me, then I lost her as well.” She paused a moment, “Uncle is not quite the same.”

  “No! Nor is Father! I hardly see him, and even then he is distracted with business. I miss my mother.”

  “Henrietta is lucky…”

  “Yee…es,” said Penelope somewhat doubtfully. “I mean, of course. But Lady Loughton is very strong in her opinions and rather severe upon Henrietta. I think sometimes it is quite a trial to her.”

  “I have always envied her.”

  “It is strange. I admire and love her as probably my dearest friend, and yet I have never envied her. But oh! What I wouldn’t give for a quarter of her wardrobe!”

  Both girls laughed.

  “Miss Denham, Miss Pratt.” They were arrested by the familiar voice coming from behind them. Eliza’s eyes widened as she took in the tall form, brown hair curled over his forehead and the deep hazel eyes gazing rather intently at her.

  “Sir William?” Both girls curtseyed, and he bowed in acknowledgement. Penelope was surprised by the tightening of Eliza’s grip on her arm.

  “Would you do me the honor of introducing me to your friend?” He glanced at Mrs. Ainsworth. Penelope made the introduction. Mrs. Ainsworth chattered for a moment then went silent and William turned back to the girls.

  “We are
surprised to see you in Town. Is anything amiss in Lytchley?” Penelope asked.

  “I am in town on business and thought I would visit the Gardens. I must say they are rather disappointing in winter. I had heard such stories of entertainments.”

  Penelope smiled. “Yes, it is out of season. But if you come in summer you will not be disappointed.”

  “Miss Pratt was telling me about the balloon flights they have,” Eliza found her voice.

  “Indeed! I should like to ride in one someday.”

  “Should you not be afraid? Think if it fell!” Penelope shuddered.

  “If other men are not afraid, then why should I be?”

  “I should like to see the fireworks!” Eliza interposed, meeting his eye.

  “Oh, my dear,” cried Mrs. Ainsworth, “You would not! The noise is fearful loud. Quite the assault on one’s senses.”

  “I have a feeling Miss Denham would be well able to handle fireworks and balloon ascents, Mrs. Ainsworth,” said Sir William with a grin and a glance at Eliza.

  They walked together a short way, then Sir William said, “If you and Mr. Pratt are not otherwise engaged, perhaps you would do me the honor of dining at Lincoln House this week. My stepmother would be very happy to meet you, and my brother would be no less happy to see you both again.”

  “I will certainly ask my father, and if he is not otherwise detained by business, I am sure he would be happy to dine with you.”

  “Excellent.” He bowed to them again and added, “Just send word what evening you are free and we will plan on it.” He smiled and caught Eliza’s eye before turning down the next lane and striding away.

  “Well!” cried Mrs. Ainsworth. “Imagine meeting Sir William here, all this way from Lytchley! Extraordinary.”

  “That is certainly an appropriate expression,” said Penelope.

  “What is he doing here?” Eliza’s voice betrayed strong emotion.

  “Business, he said. It is odd, though. Ranelagh Gardens is much closer to Lincoln House.”

  Eliza said nothing. She had recovered from the initial shock of seeing him so far from home. She could not attend to Mrs. Ainsworth, and Penelope remained silent for some time.

  Sir William, here! In London! Eliza’s heart beat rapidly, closing her throat and making speech impossible even as Mrs. Ainsworth clucked away and Penelope mused. He had looked at her, so intently. And they were to dine with him! How to bear it?

  “And we must dine with him….” She whispered.

  “Yes, my father will be happy to oblige him. I think he would gladly put aside any business meeting to be the guest of Sir William.”

  Eliza realized she was gripping Penelope’s arm tightly and suddenly loosened her grip. “Sorry – the shock of seeing him, I suppose.”

  “Yes, it certainly was a surprise.” Penelope looked meaningfully at her friend.

  “He has shown my family such kindness,” said Eliza.

  “Indeed! Henrietta and I are agreed that he has been the perfect gentleman.”

  Mrs. Ainsworth was suddenly accosted by an acquaintance and stopped. Eliza stood in front of a fountain and fidgeted with her shawl.

  “Eliza?” Penelope said very quietly. Eliza turned to look up at her friend who was watching her quite compassionately. “I only want to say that you can trust me, if you ever wish to confide in me about anything.”

  Behind them, Mrs. Ainsworth was still chattering on. “Oh, Pen.” She paused, then reached into her pocket and pulled out William’s handkerchief and handed it Penelope. She fingered it for a moment, noting its masculine shaping of the simple “S” embroidered on it.

  “Eliza,” she whispered, “is he truly engaged.”

  Eliza took the handkerchief back and said, “Yes. There is nothing to tell. If there was, though, it would be a relief to tell you.”

  Penelope squeezed her arm and together they turned as Mrs. Ainsworth finished her greeting and bustled after them. As one, they turned to stroll back toward the entrance to the gardens where their carriage was waiting. The journey home was short, and once there, Penelope called for her father to deliver Sir William’s message.

  They were in luck, for Mr. Pratt was at home. He was in his room, writing a letter when they entered, and Penelope went in and handed him Sir William’s card. “Father, we are invited to dine with Sir William Strathom at Lincoln House this week. He asked us to state the day we are free.”

  Mr. Pratt was a short, dark man with foxy features and a sharp eye. He frowned at this news, and Eliza could see his mind working. “Thursday evening would be best, I suppose. I will write him and suggest it. Friday if not…” He quickly scrawled a note and handed it to the butler to have sent to Lincoln House.

  At that moment, a discussion was taking place at that very house.

  “William, what is all this about?” Delia Strathom, second wife to William’s father, reclined on a chaise in an exquisitely decorated parlor. She had blond hair, wide blue eyes, and a child-like face despite her age.

  “What do you mean?” William stood looking out the window.

  “Why are you here in London? I thought you were quite immersed in the country life.”

  “I thought I would bring young Rivers up to Fothergill’s.”

  “He could have come by post.”

  William shrugged. “Perhaps I just wanted to visit. Oh, before I forget, I happened upon some friends and invited them to supper this week.”

  “You did what? Invited who?”

  “Some friends from Lytchley.”

  Her eyes widened with impatience.

  “Mr. Percival Pratt, his daughter, and her friend.”

  “Let me guess who the friend is…” George interposed dryly. William shot him a threatening glance.

  “I think you could have had the decency to consult me first, William! I know this is your house and I really have no say whatsoever in who or when we are to entertain, but I had hoped that by this time you would have entrusted me with the running of what is, for all purposes, my home!”

  William bit back a retort and instead said evenly, “I was taken aback by seeing them here so far from Lytchley. It was the oddest thing.”

  “Indeed. Very odd. Ranelagh Gardens?” George commented.

  “Er, no,” said William. “Vauxhall.”

  “Ah. Yes. Didn’t I hear that the Pratts live near Vauxhall?”

  William cleared his throat. “As I said, I spoke rather casually as we tend to in the country. Perhaps I erred.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Delia made a little moue that might have been fetching twenty years earlier. “Oh, poor William, so behind the times being stuck out in the country. I still do not know why your father chose that out of the way place!”

  “Well, happily there is Lincoln House for you. I rather like Lytchley and the farms.”

  Delia shuddered delicately. “I don’t mind telling you I abhorred it. That terrible Loughton woman – always staring down that long nose of hers! The daughter was always rather sweet.”

  George looked uncomfortable. Then, with a sly look at his brother, said, “So, how is Miss Lockley? When are we to expect her and his Lordship for supper?”

  “Err…they are still in the country, I believe.”

  “You believe, or you know?”

  “I know.” He said, though he suddenly could not recall.

  “When will she be coming to Tredwell?” asked George.

  “Next month. Before Christmas,” said William.

  “How festive!” said Delia drily.

  “Will you be coming for Christmas, Mother?” William directed toward Delia.

  “Oh, William. Such a generous thought.” She evaded answering, however, and said instead, “Such a generous gift you made George of the gig. Much smaller than Frederick Daggerly’s barouche, but I daresay you were right. Such a pleasant little addition to our establishment.” Her lip curled ever so slightly, but William feigned not to notice.

  “I am glad. How is th
e Chestnut faring in London?” This to George.

  “Well, I must say. Remarkably well. I’ve named him Hermes – god of the winged feet. He is nimble enough in traffic!”

  “Excellent. We may have to thin the stable at Tredwell.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Snowstorm took out nearly a third of the hay harvest. We are having to buy hay from the neighboring estate.”

  “That is bad news,” said George with a frown.

  “Yes, we may have to economize this winter.”

  Delia sat up at that. “What? All of us? But I thought George and I lived on the business investments.” Delia was shrill with panic.

  “We all do. The money goes into an account and is distributed out as needed, Mother.” George explained.

  “But I can’t think of how we could economize any further! I have engagements that must be met.”

  “And I have financial obligations that must be met. I assure you, I will be retrenching as well.”

  “Vulgar term! Retrench indeed. Well, we can start with this little dinner you plan to throw. Hodgekins!”

  William glanced heavenward and downed his drink. “I must ride over to Fothergill’s and check on Henry Rivers.” He motioned for his coat and strode from the room, leaving her to plan a plain dinner in retaliation. Delia had never been attached to him and had fought the attention his father had bestowed upon him. His father had married a much younger woman for his second wife when William was but five. Shortly after, he had been granted the baronetcy, and the event had gone to young Delia’s head. She enjoyed her station, and her clothes and jewelry, no less so than since her husband had died. While not entitled to any of the income, she had been granted a life interest in the townhome, and as such, could live there. It was William’s generosity, however, that paid her bills.

  George stood and went to the window to watch his brother. William vaulted smoothly onto the horse’s back and reined him around deftly. He saw him hesitate, looking over toward the Thames in the direction of Vauxhall. “Don’t do it, brother,” he muttered under his breath. William paused for only a moment, before turning toward the west and the direction of their lawyer’s home.