Lord Greywell's Dilemma (6 page)

There was a moment’s silence before Elspeth turned to her father to ask. “Have you rung for refreshment for Lord Greywell?”

Sir Edward, who had entirely forgotten, said, “We were waiting for you, my dear.”

“Would you prefer tear, or something stronger?” Elspeth asked their visitor as she rang for the footman. His eyes were gray, she decided as their gazes met. A rather interesting color, and unusual in their intensity.

“Tea will be fine, thank you.”

Her father usually had Madeira at any time past three in the afternoon, but he said smoothly now, “That will be fine for me, too, dear.”

Elspeth lifted her brows briefly in surprise, but did no more than relay her instructions to the footman. Tea, in Sir Edward’s oft-expressed opinion, was the worst-tasting beverage ever invented by man. He didn’t consider it redeemable, either, by adding a dollop of spirits. When visitors of whatever description came, it was his invariable rule to have his Madeira brought in with the tea, and Elspeth hadn’t considered it even necessary to ask him. The footman gave no sign that there was anything unusual in her order as he withdrew his bland countenance from the room.

Again there was a silence, with Lord Greywell and Sir Edward both watching her expectantly, as though she were responsible for the conversation which would ensue. Elspeth felt her irritation grow. There was nothing the matter with either of their tongues, and she didn’t want them staring at her disordered hair and crumpled riding habit that way. If someone had bothered to inform her they had a guest, she would have made herself presentable and not felt quite so much like an object of curiosity. She didn’t choose to think about why Lord Greywell had come.

“Hampden said your son was not very stout, Lord Greywell,” Elspeth finally stated. “I hope he’s stronger now.”

“I’m afraid not. He continues rather sickly despite our best efforts to strengthen him.”

Greywell’s eyes were hooded for a moment, and one hand tightened against the chair arm where it rested. “The doctor in our neighborhood, Dr. Wellow, says there are some infants who simply have a difficult time. He doesn’t know what the problem is.”

“Have you considered changing his wet nurse? Her milk may not agree with the child.” Elspeth ignored her father’s frown.

“Wellow doesn’t seem to think that’s the problem. He’s content to let matters rest as they are.”

Elspeth grimaced. “But then, the child isn’t his, Lord Greywell. Even the best of our doctors are not as knowledgeable as one might wish. If the child isn’t thriving after this length of time, surely some change should be made in its routine to seek a better solution. One cannot blindly continue to follow a path which is leading nowhere.”

Sir Edward interrupted sharply. “I’m sure Lord Greywell doesn’t follow any path blindly, Elspeth. He’s acting on the recommendation of his physician.”

His daughter said nothing as the tea tray was brought in. Mrs. Hinton had seen that Cook included Scotch shortbread and queen cakes and seed biscuits as well as bread and butter in honor of their titled visitor. As usual, Elspeth poured, inquiring of the viscount whether he took cream and sugar and passing the plate of cakes to him first. She prepared her father’s tea exactly as his lordship’s, since she assumed Sir Edward wouldn’t bother drinking it anyhow. And then, smiling blandly at the two of them, she rose, excused herself, and left the room.

Sir Edward stared after her retreating form, too astonished to protest until she had silently closed the door behind her. “I say,” he sputtered, awkwardly trying to dispose of the fragile cup so he could rise to follow her. Tea sloshed onto the saucer and dripped over the edge onto his previously immaculate pantaloons. As he dabbed at the moisture with a napkin from the tea tray, he growled, “Where the devil has she gone? She’s too fanciful by half, that girl!”

“Perhaps a call of nature,” Greywell suggested. Though he looked unperturbed, he was no less startled than Sir Edward by her sudden disappearance. It was not the sort of thing a well-bred young woman did, suddenly leaving a room where she was entertaining a distinguished visitor. And he was a distinguished visitor, if for no other reason than his title. She hadn’t indicated an intention to return.

“I don’t know what’s come over her,” Sir Edward insisted. He pushed his teacup well out of reach and wished he’d had the Madeira brought as usual. It would look foolish for him to ring again, either for the Madeira or for his daughter, and he momentarily forgot his intention of palming Elspeth off on Greywell in his recollection of an earlier event she’d confessed.

“This is the second time in a week she’s behaved so strangely. It was amusing, her knocking Blockley’s hat off with a queen cake, but you must admit it was odd. She’s such a damned paragon of every virtue, it really makes me wonder if she’s not suffering from a brain fever.”

“She looks perfectly healthy.”

“Oh, she’s always been healthy as a horse. It’s in here I wonder about,” Sir Edward said, tapping his head with a finger. “They get strange when they’ve never been married, you know. Take all sorts of notions about religion and doing good works and frowning on wickedness. Of course,” he added hastily, recollecting to whom he was speaking, “Elspeth’s a good woman. What she needs is a husband and an establishment of her own to distract her from all this morbid virtuousness. After all, what is there to occupy her in my house but a few small tasks each day? She turns her mind to the parish work, but it’s hardly enough for a woman of her generosity and stamina, don’t you know. And she’s very good with children, very good indeed. Just the sort of woman one would want overseeing one’s nursery.

Greywell regarded him with a noncommittal expression. When he had written to Sir Edward he had merely stated that he would be in Aylesbury for a day or two and asked if he might call on him. Sir Edward had written back that he would be honored to have Greywell stay at Lyndhurst for the duration of his business in the area. There had been no hint in either man’s letter as to the nature of the “business.”

And it was apparent to Greywell now that Miss Parkstone had not been advised of his coming at all. She would not have entered the parlor as she had, nor been introduced in the manner Sir Edward had chosen, if he were a guest she had expected.

On the other hand, she had known who he was. Through Hampden, of course. But her odd behavior indicated she guessed more than that. Her sympathy for his plight was evident enough in her questions, but her eyes had remained wary. She seemed a little too brusque and opinionated to fill the role of Angel of Mercy in which everyone was inclined to place her. All in all, she didn’t strike him in the least as a young woman who was willing to sacrifice her future to marrying him and devoting her life to his son.

When Elspeth did not rejoin them for tea, Sir Edward fidgeted in his chair while Greywell made polite conversation. It was not at all the sort of visit Greywell had expected, and he was irritated he’d left little Andrew at Ashfield to come all this way only to find himself discussing estate management with Sir Edward Parkstone, who wasn’t even interested in it.

What he should do was leave now, before any additional significance attached to his visit. But he found himself curious about Elspeth. Her looks were passable, he supposed, but mostly he was intrigued by her behavior. What was it Sir Edward had said about her knocking some fellow’s hat off with a queen cake? That kind of hoydenish behavior did not mesh well with her seriousness when she discussed Andrew’s illness, or her evident diligence in doing parish work and dealing with Sir Edward’s ill-begotten offspring.

The more Greywell spoke with his host, the more he realized Sir Edward was a hedonist of the most inveterate kind. His  pleasures were his first priority, and one which came well before his responsibilities as a landholder or father. He denied himself nothing, and expected the community to accept his peccadilloes with equanimity. Yet, in spite of that, he was an amusing rogue, drawing one into his conspiracy of debauchery with a wide grin and an almost boyish delight in his mischief.

“You wouldn’t believe the stratagems I go through to avoid the local rector,” he said now with a laugh. “He’s a skeletal fellow and sits at his upstairs window at the rectory on the edge of town just trying to catch a glimpse of me. Sometimes he doesn’t even have a candle lit, but you can catch the gleam of his clerical collar if you look straight up to the spot where he always sits. It’s unfortunate, of course, that he can overlook the whole village. Knows who’s gone to the Bar and Bell every night, or who’s slipped into whose house. One might expect that kind of spying from some old lady who hasn’t anything better to do with her time, but the rector! I ask you. So I’ve devised a route that takes me behind the village and through the orchard. Never meet a soul, which is a bit odd, if you think about it. After all, I’m not the only one out and about at night. Do you suppose they have even less of a care for his good opinion than I do?”

“I can’t imagine.” Greywell helped himself to a pinch of snuff.

“Blockley has a habit of preaching sermons about the evils of temptation, and he always manages to stare at any offenders during the course of it. I swear it’s like being in grammar school, where you have black marks put against your name for any misdeeds during the week, and are called upon to confess to them before your classmates.”

“This Mr. Blockley is the same one whose hat your daughter knocked off with a queen cake?” Greywell asked, fascinated.

“The very same. He was sweet on her for a while, but she’d have none of him. Not that I blame her. It wouldn’t suit me to have a man of the cloth for a son-in-law. I can’t think how he came to annoy her, and she wouldn’t explain to me. She’s not a gossip, mind you! Very close-mouthed she is, probably because she thinks it’s a sin to speak ill of other people. Almost everything is a sin in Elspeth’s book,” he informed the viscount, a melancholy light in his eyes. “I can’t imagine how she came to be that way. She was quite spirited as a child.”

“You don’t think perhaps she developed her . . . piety to offset your profligacy?” Greywell wondered with a wry smile.

Sir Edward pursed his lips. “I shouldn’t think so. What good would that do?”

“It wouldn’t necessarily do any good, but it might seem appropriate to Miss Parkstone.”

His companion considered this in silence. “Would she do it as an example for me, or in order to save my soul?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. It was just a thought,” Greywell said dismissively. He had no idea why he’d put it forward in the first place. If he had done it to shame the baronet, he was far out in his calculations. Though Sir Edward was intrigued by the idea, the insinuation of his wrongdoing left him totally unaffected. If anything, he appeared rather proud of his exploits.

“You may be right. Yes, I’m bound to think you are. And you know what that means, don’t you?” Sir Edward asked with obvious enthusiasm.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Greywell apologized.

“Why, when she marries and moves away from here, there will be no reason why she shouldn’t become an ordinary mortal again. None of this holier-than-thou stuff; there would be no reason for it.”

A nostalgic gleam appeared in his eyes. “I should like to see her as she was a few years ago, you know. My wife used to worry about her, but, Lord, she was a charmer, full of mischief and cute as a button. There wasn’t a girl in the neighborhood to touch her—to
my
mind. Mary thought her a bit of a hoyden, but there, anyone with a little spirit is bound to be looked on askance. I’ve seen it happen all my life. When you get to be my age, you stop worrying about what other people think, though. It’s a great relief.”

“I dare say.”

“All her mother’s money was settled on her; she came into it when she reached one and twenty. And of course she’ll have Lyndhurst when I die, though I shouldn’t think I’ll do that very soon. Still, you never know, do you? So she’s a bit of an heiress. Nothing excessive, but a good ten thousand in the funds. I’m not sure it wasn’t her money Somerville was most interested in. His family is always in the suds. But Knedlington doesn’t need to marry for a few guineas, and Tom Prestbury had known her since she was a child. She wouldn’t have any of them.” Sir Edward eyed him thoughtfully. “You’re a fine figure of a man, Greywell, but no better than Somerville, and your title won’t appeal to her if Knedlington’s didn’t.”

“I’ve hardly met Miss Parkstone,” Greywell demurred. “And I’ve just lost my wife.”

A shadow of pained recollection passed over Sir Edward’s face. “I know how it is, believe me. A part of me died with Mary. The best part, perhaps. That must be how Elspeth sees it.” He sighed and shrugged off his gloom. “But you go on living, even if it isn’t your choice. You’re fortunate to have several good reasons to continue, sir. There’s your heir to be raised, and your obligation to the government at the peace negotiations. I had little incentive. Elspeth was nearly grown, and there was nothing to involve my attention. Estate management has always bored me, more’s the pity. You don’t suffer from that problem, I gather.”

“No.”

“Well, you will find that Elspeth knows a great deal about it. She would be able to manage while you were away.”

“Sir Edward, by all means let us be frank. I did come to meet your daughter, though I’m not quite sure what possessed me to consider the scheme. It’s patently absurd in spite of its practicality. I can see it would be of as much benefit to you as it would be to me, and yet those are not necessarily its main facets. There is your daughter to be considered. Apparently she has no intention of marrying, if she’s turned down the gentlemen you’ve mentioned. I can’t offer her any advantage almost any of them couldn’t.”

“Ah, but you can. That’s what makes the scheme, as you call it, so eminently suitable. You can offer her a purpose, an outlet for her abundance of charity. I don’t think she wishes to marry, it’s true, but she really should. It will do her nothing but harm to dwindle into a bitter old woman. She’s uncomfortable living here with me, and she certainly cramps my freedom. How much better off she’d be at your home, taking care of your child. Elspeth would have the advantage of a home of her own without even the bother of a husband.”