Rhonda Woodward (3 page)

“No more pouts,” she said with a sigh.

***

Two mornings later, in defiance of her mother’s strict instruction to be ready to leave for the two-day trip within half an hour, Mariah lingered over her breakfast. This might be her last peaceful morning for many weeks.

Her enjoyment of the solitude disappeared the moment she saw the door open and Steven enter.

After one look at his sheepish countenance, she turned her gaze away.

Without a word he prepared a plate from the sideboard and then seated himself next to her at the long mahogany table.

Tense silence filled the air for several minutes. Setting her napkin aside, Mariah pushed her chair back to leave.

“Dash it, Mariah!” Steven put his fork down with a clatter. “You cannot still be angry with me.”

Mariah halted her movement and sent her brother a scathing look. “Of course I am, you dolt.”

Steven sat back, deflated. “Well, I guess I cannot blame you. In truth, at the time it seemed like such a good idea to mention your dowry to the earl.”

She relaxed, leaning against the seat back. “Really? Why would you think such a stupid thing?”

A flush rose to his cheeks. He pushed his plate away and sent her another pained look. “Because I was rather deep in my cups that night.”

At least he had the good sense to seem ashamed, Mariah reluctantly conceded. Beneath her anger she realized that she felt more sad and disappointed than angry. She and Steven had always been close, so it hurt that he would be as eager as Mama and Papa to offer her to the highest title willing to have her.

“I am sorry, Mariah. I never should have said anything about you to the earl,” Steven said.

“No, you should not have,” she said softly, knowing he would sense her impending forgiveness. What was the point of being angry with her brother? He was only following Mama and Papa’s lead.

Steven smiled. “You might not find it so bad at Heaton. Everyone says it’s an impressive estate.”

“Well, it should be.” Her tone was dismissive as she refolded her napkin.

“You know, there may be an eligible gentleman attending the house party you might actually like.”

She glared at him again. “You do not fool me. You would go to Heaton with or without me.”

His sheepish look returned. “The Earl of Haverstone’s set is all the crack. It would certainly be a feather in my cap to be taken up by them. But even if you don’t meet a worthy young man, you may make some friends and receive a few invitations to balls and such in Town next Season.”

Mariah shrugged dismissively. If she never went to London again it would suit her fine. Being dragged to Town, Season after Season, with Mama growing less hopeful and more desperate, had made each year more miserable than the last.

This year she had finally received a respite from the tedium of a Season. Seeing the futility of driving up and down Rotten Row every day, Mama had given in to Mariah’s persistent entreaties to avoid London, and they had spent the Season in Bath instead.

Unfortunately, Mama’s dream of Mariah attracting a titled gentleman had been ignited anew upon being introduced to the Earl of Haverstone and some of his friends while visiting Julia Allard and her cousin Lady Farren.

But once again nothing came of it, and they returned to Thorncroft Manor, Mama defeated and Mariah relieved.

“I care nothing for London,” she told Steven in a firm tone. “I would like, above all things, to remain here with my sketchbook and the parish school to keep me company.”

“You are talking like an old maid. You are a very pretty girl. I can’t imagine why you haven’t had dozens of offers.”

“Because Mama reaches too high. Plum titles are not thick on the ground, you know.”

Steven picked at his food. “I don’t like to hear you sound so bitter.”

Mariah smiled wryly. “Oh, it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. I rarely rail at Mama and Papa anymore. I have learned that arguing is a waste of energy. I shall do what I have done for five years— ignore any men Mama manages to present to me. It has worked quite well so far, and Mama will eventually have to give up.”

Steven looked little surprised. “Do you truly never wish to marry?”

Mariah met her brother’s serious gaze with an intense gleam in her hazel eyes. “The thought of being tied to a man who only wants Papa’s money is completely repugnant to me. Wouldn’t it be to you?”

Steven contemplated the question for a moment. “I, too, would prefer that my spouse care for me over my money.”

“Then please cease bandying about the size of my dowry to all and sundry.”

“I will never mention it again,” he vowed.

For the first time in days, the two smiled at each other.

Chapter Three

“Excuse me, my lord. A Mr. Thorncroft and family have arrived.” Stone, seated at his desk in the library, looked up from his papers in mild surprise. “Mr. Thorncroft?” “Yes, my lord. I have placed them in the gold salon.”

Stone laid his pen aside. “Did I invite a Mr. Thorncroft and family?” Frowning, he noticed the usually unflappable butler’s face looked a little pinched.

“I do not have them on the list Mr. Willoughby gave me.”

Leaning back against the leather squabs of his chair, Stone searched his memory for a Mr. Thorncroft. “My secretary is a very efficient chap, so I must have forgotten. Didn’t think I knew anyone named Thorncroft.”

“They seem respectable.”

Stone’s eyebrows rose at this neutral-toned comment. He found it very telling that Jarvis would even comment on a person’s respectability. Pushing back his chair, Stone stood and walked to the door.

“How do my other guests fare?”

“No one has come down for breakfast yet, although Lady Charlotte rang for chocolate a little while ago.”

“Very good. I will go have a look at our mysterious visitors and decide if I shall escort them out myself or have you do the job,” he said, grinning slightly at his butler’s alarmed expression.

Leaving his library, Stone walked along the painting-lined corridor toward the gold salon. When he came to the wide staircase, he hesitated. Looking down at his riding attire, he debated whether to change into something a little more formal.

Shrugging, he continued to the salon, wondering who the devil were Mr. Thorncroft and family.

With a gesture to the footman indicating not to announce him, Stone opened the door and strode into the room. His gaze swept the four people inside, who quickly rose at his entrance.

The instant he saw Steven Thorncroft, Stone hazily recalled a late-night conversation on a London street. He also recalled tossing out an invitation. Gad, he never thought the pup would take the offer as anything more than politeness.

Next to Steven Thorncroft stood two women and a young boy who looked about ten years of age. The older woman, obviously his mother or some other close relative, smiled widely. By their likeness, Stone knew the young lady and the boy must be Mr. Thorncroft’s siblings.

“Good morning, Mr. Thorncroft. How very good to see you. Welcome to Heaton. Won’t you please introduce your friends?”

“Gladly, my lord,” Steven responded with a bow, his smile widening. He presented his mother, an attractive woman with green eyes, light brown hair, and a prodigious amount of jewelry for so early in the morning. Mrs. Thorncroft curtsied deeply and began to speak in a rushed, breathless voice before completing her bow.

“Your lordship is too kind to invite us to your house party. I arrive with my husband’s regrets that he cannot partake of your generous hospitality, for business at his mills keeps him terribly busy.”

Stone found himself momentarily mute at Mrs. Thorncroft’s speech. He must have truly been in his cups to invite the entire Thorncroft clan without quite realizing he had done so.

“I understand perfectly. Perhaps he shall be able to join us at another time.”

Steven Thorncroft then presented his sister, who curtsied with lowered eyes and flushed cheeks. Though she was unadorned with jewelry, an expert hand had obviously cut her moss green traveling costume. Out of sheer habit, he allowed his eyes to discreetly sweep her face and figure as she rose from her curtsy. Slim and above average in height, Miss Thorncroft had a pretty, heart-shaped face and wavy light brown hair. He had no notion of her eye color, for she had still not raised her gaze to his.

Mrs. Thorncroft finally brought the boy forward and introduced him as George Thorncroft. After bowing stiffly, the youngster quickly scurried back behind his mother.

“I am delighted that all of you could come to Heaton. Lords Stothart and Mattonly arrived some days ago,” Stone stated, gesturing for everyone to be seated. “I am sure, Mr. Thorncroft, that you must be acquainted with them.”

Steven swallowed nervously. “Ah, no, I have not had the pleasure.”

Stone felt another jolt of surprise at Thorncroft’s words. All the bucks in Town knew Bart and Mattonly. “We will have to rectify that. Mr. Woburn and the Walgraves will be with us for the next few weeks. They must be known to you?”

Noting Mr. Thorncroft shifting in his chair, Stone waited patiently without allowing his polite expression to slip. The rest of the Thorncrofts remained mute.

“No, we have not been introduced, my lord.”

“Well, I have a whole house full of people. You must be acquainted with someone. Let us see. Mr. and Mrs. Spence-Jones? Mr. Elbridge? Lady Davinia Harwich?” Lud, Stone thought, it seemed this odd lot did not know anyone. How tedious.

At that moment Miss Thorncroft spoke up in a surprisingly clear and well-modulated voice.

“I have had the pleasure of meeting Lady Davinia, my lord. We met this past spring in Bath. My mother and I spent several pleasant evenings in her company.”

Stone’s gaze moved to Miss Thorncroft’s features as she made this announcement. Her unusually golden hazel eyes sparkled beneath dark lashes.

“Bath? I, too, visited Bath last spring. I wonder how we missed each other. It is not a large town— especially if we have a mutual acquaintance.”

At his words, he saw her expression instantly close. She inclined her head but made no reply.

“Excuse me, my lord.” The little boy spoke up. “May I take a closer look at the suit of armor I saw in the grand hallway? I promise not to touch.”

“Now, George, watch your manners,” Mrs. Thorn-croft admonished, her cheeks growing pink with embarrassment.

Stone smiled at the sturdy little boy. “Not at all, Mrs. Thorncroft. Young George can look at the armor with my blessing. In fact, another room holds a suit of armor that is quite small. It may still be too big, but you may have some fun trying it on. My steward, whose family has been with mine for generations, knows the way of getting into it.”

“Thank you, sir,” George said, his eyes shining in barely contained excitement.

Mrs. Thorncroft sent Stone a beaming smile. “You are very good, my lord.”

After a brief inclination of his head, Stone gave a smile that encompassed them all. “I must beg your indulgence. I have a number of matters to deal with this morning. I shall leave you to the capable hands of Mrs. Billings, my housekeeper. We are quite informal here. We have breakfast in the morning room, unless you prefer to partake in your rooms. I shall next see you at luncheon, where I will be able to introduce my other guests. And you, Mrs. Thorncroft, Miss Thorncroft, will be able to reacquaint yourself with Lady Davinia. I again bid you welcome. Please do not get up.”

With another polite smile, he rose and left the room. Reaching the grand staircase, he took the steps two at time, allowing his features to relax into the amusement he felt. Of course, once he had a look at Mr. Thorncroft he remembered their brief encounter in London some months ago. It had been on the street after he had a bad night at the tables.

The details of their conversation were a little sketchy. It had been late, and he recalled that he had finished a bottle of port with the last few hands. He did recall that Thorncroft had been rather amusing.

Stone did not doubt that he had invited the pup to Heaton. Four more guests would go unnoticed by the servants. However, he would never have invited a child or a country miss to this particular house party. Some of his past parties had become legend among the
ton
for their sophisticated revelry.

The Thorncrofts would no doubt put a damper on the freedom he and his guests had grown used to enjoying.

What an odd lot, he decided. Beautifully dressed, fine manners, yet patently awkward and ill at ease. They glaringly lacked what the
ton
called polish.

He could only hope that the Thorncrofts would soon realize that they did not belong at such a gathering and go home to whatever backwater they had obviously come from.

Upon entering his vast bedchamber, he saw Stolt, his valet, overseeing the footmen pouring hot water into the large copper tub in front of the fireplace. Even though autumn had arrived in full and the weather had turned bitter of late, he would not forgo his morning bath.

“Good morning, my lord. I trust you enjoyed your ride,” Stolt intoned as he bowed.

“Yes, quite bracing. I expect we shall have a hard frost soon,” Stone said as the valet helped him out of his snuff-colored riding jacket.

“I noticed we have some new guests this morning, my lord.”

“Yes. The Thorncrofts. I am hoping that their visit shall at least prove amusing.”

***

“I wonder that we did not meet in Bath,” Mariah drawled, making her voice as deep as possible. Though it was inaccurate, Steven and George laughed at her imitation of the earl’s low, smooth tones.

“The Earl of Haverstone is utterly insufferable,” she stated, resuming her normal voice. She moved to a chair in the beautifully appointed sitting room adjacent the bedchamber her mother had been given. She could hear Mama in the next room, directing the servants while they unpacked her trunks.

“I sat down to dinner with him at Lady Farren’s townhouse in Bath. We actually exchanged a few pleasantries across the table. I do not believe he finds me even vaguely familiar. And”—she snapped her fingers—“I would lay odds that he did not recall inviting you to this house party, Steven. From the look on his face when he entered the salon, I would also bet that it took him through the introductions to even recall ever having a conversation with you.”

Steven shrugged, sliding farther down into the overstuffed chair. “The Earl of Haverstone is a busy and important man. I do not wonder that he did not instantly recall meeting me. Nevertheless, he was awfully kind to invite us. Besides, you can’t accuse him of being a fortune hunter if he does not even remember that I told him about your dowry.”

“You can be assured that Mama will have no trouble throwing that last bit of information into the dinner conversation. Dash it, I just want to go home.”

“I don’t care what you say, Mariah. I like the earl,” George piped up from his place at the window seat.

“What do you know?” She waved a dismissive hand in her little brother’s direction. “You only say so because he will let you play with the armor.”

George sent her an impudent look.

“Don’t you think Heaton is grand, Mariah?” Steven asked.

“Well, I confess that as we came up the drive I thought the grounds lovely in all their autumn glory. And the house, if one can call such a vast place a house, is impressive and beautiful. It does not seem the least bit drafty, especially compared to the Inn last night. But we do not know anyone here, and you know Mama’s overt matchmaking will only put me to the blush.”

Steven shrugged. “I can understand your frustration. However, I am looking forward to spending a few weeks in these splendid surroundings. We have not been here above a few hours, and I have already received a note from the earl inviting me to join the hunt tomorrow.”

“Lovely,” Mariah pronounced with a sarcastic edge. “The men will be hunting all day, enjoying this bracing weather, while the ladies stay trapped indoors with nothing to do but gossip.”

“Didn’t you bring your needlework or sketchbook?”

“Yes, I did. Maybe I will take my sketchbook to the lake I saw in the distance from my bedchamber window.”

“We can always explore the house,” George suggested.

“Yes, that should take days, at least. For now, I wish to explore the grounds.” She rose and left the room with both her brothers frowning after her.

***

After several hours Mariah felt she had had a good stretch of her legs. Under any other circumstances she would have certainly enjoyed a visit to this amazingly beautiful place.

As she slowly strolled along a meandering gravel path that led from the house to a lake and woodland, she hugged her leather sketch case to her chest against the biting chill.

If she found Heaton this hauntingly beautiful beneath gray skies and with half-dead leaves rattling in the wind, then what would it look like in the budding of spring, the abundance of summer? Mariah fairly itched to pull out her sketchbook and pencils, for at every turn some new prospect or angle would inspire her to another page.

Dejectedly, she knew that little time remained before she would need to prepare for dinner. With dread, she forced herself to contemplate the evening ahead.

If entertaining at Heaton followed the fashion of other country house parties she had attended over the years, everyone would gather in one of the salons before dinner. This would give the guests a chance to visit before being paired up at the dinner table.

Those moments always made Mariah feel awkward because her mama usually started throwing out nonetoo-subtle hints about the size of her dowry.

Now that Mama knew the earl had lost a fortune gambling last Season, Mariah feared that her mother’s inferences would be even less subtle.

In addition, Mariah felt nervous about the stultifying sense of shyness that sometimes overcame her. Despite feeling at ease among her family and close friends, she tended to be shy among strangers. She found it rather odd, because her parents were both wonderfully open and gregarious.

Papa, although not as verbose as Mama, fancied himself as something of a local squire and loved nothing better than the local assembly balls. The parties at home often lasted until the wee hours.

Mariah had never been blessed with easy manners among company. Occasionally, she struggled with a certain paralyzing self-consciousness that nothing seemed to ease. In cases such as tonight, she usually tried to attach herself to a lively older woman. Lively older ladies loved Mariah because she listened to their gossip with avid attention and never spoke of herself.

Of late, she had pondered the reason for her shyness, for it caused her no end of distress. She had known since childhood that her parents loved her dearly, but they had always intended for her to marry very well. Not just a respectable gentleman from a good family—no, her parents, especially her mama, wanted nothing less than a title.