Читать книгу The Wife Campaign - Regina Scott - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Whit wasn’t sure what to expect when he and Ruby’s father entered the withdrawing room a short while later. He had rather hoped Charles would prove true to his word and wrap Henrietta Stokely-Trent, at least, around his little finger. Whit had seen any number of ladies succumb to his cousin’s charm. Charles found it easy to converse, easy to smile. He found duty harder to swallow. Sometimes Whit thought they were exact opposites.

However, Charles had focused on Ruby Hollingsford, the two of them in close conversation as they sat across from each other in armchairs by the doors to the veranda. The candlelight from the brass sconce glowed in his cousin’s hair; his gaze was aimed directly at the feisty redhead.

But Miss Hollingsford seemed barely to notice. Her attention had wandered toward the door to the withdrawing room, and when her gaze lit on Whit, her lips curved.

For some reason, Whit wanted to stand a little taller.

“Looks as if you have a clear field, my lord,” Mortimer Hollingsford chortled as he passed Whit to stroll into the room. Whit blinked and quickly tallied his other guests. Instead of hanging on his cousin, Miss Stokely-Trent had discovered the ancient spinet he’d forgotten rested on the far wall and was tapping at the keys while her parents looked on and Lady Amelia sat expectantly on the sofa with her mother.

“How kind of you to join us,” Lady Wesworth said as if Whit had kept them all waiting. She glowered at her daughter. “Amelia was just saying how much she wanted to sing for you.”

Lady Amelia’s elegant brows shot up, and she visibly swallowed. If she had wished to sing, she now very likely wished herself elsewhere. Even though he could see her shyness, duty required that he encourage her, and the other gentlemen followed suit. But it was Ruby Hollingsford’s voice that won the day.

“I imagine you have a lovely voice, Lady Amelia,” she said, her own voice warm and kind. “I hope you’ll share it with us.”

Lady Amelia rose with a becoming blush. “Well, perhaps a short tune. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience Miss Stokely-Trent.”

The other woman eyed her as she approached the spinet. “I didn’t realize you’d require accompaniment. Don’t you play, Lady Amelia?”

The blonde’s blush deepened. “Not as well as you do, I fear.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Wesworth declared, but Henrietta Stokely-Trent appeared mollified enough that she agreed to accompany Lady Amelia. While they put their heads together to confer about the music, Whit drifted toward to his cousin and Ruby Hollingsford.

“I must say,” Charles was murmuring, leaning closer to the redhead as if to catch the scent of her hair, “that though your father may be a jeweler of some renown, he surely had his greatest gem in you, my dear Ruby.”

Whit couldn’t help frowning. How had Charles managed to gain the right to use her first name so soon? And what was this about a jeweler? Was that the source of his other guests’ disapproval? Were they so arrogant they looked down on a lady for having a father in trade?

Ruby Hollingsford shook her head at his cousin’s praise, hair catching the light. “You’ll have to do better than that, sir, if you hope to win one of these women.”

So she’d taken his cousin’s measure already. Whit tried not to smile as his cousin promised her his utmost devotion. Ruby just laughed, soft and low, a sound that met an answering laugh inside Whit.

Just then, Henrietta Stokely-Trent played a chord, and Lady Amelia began to sing. Whit was surprised to find she had a beautiful voice, clear as a bell and equally as pure. Ruby beamed as if she’d known it all the time. When Lady Amelia finished, the applause from all his guests was spirited.

Not to be outdone, Henrietta Stokely-Trent launched into a complicated sonata with precision and skill and earned a similar round of applause as well as a smug smile from her father.

Charles put his hand on Ruby’s, where it lay on the arm of her chair. “I would very much like to hear you play, Miss Hollingsford. I warrant you have some skill.”

Whit, too, wondered how Ruby would play. He’d have guessed with a great deal more emotion than Henrietta Stokely-Trent, but Ruby didn’t take advantage of the opportunity Charles had given her to preen.

She pulled her hand out from under his cousin’s. “I have little skill at the spinet,” she replied cheerfully. “And I’m not much of a singer either.”

“It is difficult for those outside Society to excel in the graces,” Lady Wesworth commiserated with a look to her daughter, who had returned to her side.

“Music, literature, poetry,” Mrs. Stokely-Trent agreed with a sigh. “Those are, indeed, the elevated arts.”

Ruby Hollingsford’s look darkened. “Oh, I learned to appreciate poetry. Shall I declaim for you?” She rose, head high, gaze narrowed on the two mothers.

“There once was a baker named Brewer, whose home always smelled like a—”

“Miss Hollingsford,” Whit interrupted, thrusting out his arm. “Will you take a stroll with me on the veranda?”

Everyone else in the room was staring at him. Ruby Hollingsford, the minx, turned her glare on him, yet managed a tight smile. “Surely I shouldn’t deprive your other guests of the pleasure of your company, my lord. Or isn’t that done in polite society? I know so little about it, after all.”

“Your knowledge is quite sufficient for me,” Whit said. “But I fear I must insist.”

He thought for a moment she would refuse, her face was so tight. But she slapped her hand down on his arm, and he opened one of the glass doors out onto the veranda and led her through. Behind him, he heard Charles inviting the others to play whist. Whit shut the door on their answers.

She drew away immediately, going to the edge of the veranda and putting a hand against one of the square wooden pillars that supported the roof. Night had crept over the dale. Above the trees beyond her, a thousand stars pricked out fanciful shapes in the sky. In the darkness, the River Bell called, eager to reach its joining with the Dove a few miles to the west. The cool air touched Whit’s cheek tenderly, leaving behind the vanilla scent of the fragrant orchids that crowded the meadow nearby.

Miss Hollingsford did not seem to appreciate the cool air or the scent. “If you intend to offer a scold,” she said, turning to gaze at him and crossing her arms over the chest of her gray evening gown, “get it over with or save your breath.”

The golden light spilling from the windows behind him outlined her figure, the tense lines and stiff posture. As he had suspected, the careless words a few moments ago had hurt.

“What I intended,” Whit replied, “was to apologize for my other guests. They diminish themselves in my estimation by their behavior.”

She took a deep breath and trained her gaze toward the meadow. “I should be used to it by now.”

She had obviously heard such slurs before. Why was it people felt so compelled to pick at each other? “You should not have to accustom yourself to abuse,” Whit told her.

She snorted. “Try telling that to Lady Wesworth. I’m sure she thinks she’s being edifying.”

“I intend to tell her. I thought it more prudent to speak to you first. One should not reward bad behavior.”

“Yet you rewarded mine.” She dropped her arms. “Forgive my fit of pique, my lord. I’ll try to keep my temper in check. Unless, of course, you’d like me to leave.”

She glanced back at him, brows raised. Even her tone sounded hopeful. She wanted him to send her packing. Having her leave would certainly solve part of his problem—one less woman to placate, two fewer guests to entertain. Yet she seemed the most practical person of the group, and he could not help feeling that, by losing her, he would lose one of his only allies.

“Please stay, Miss Hollingsford,” he said. “At least with you, I can speak plainly with no fear of losing my heart.”

* * *

Ruby ought to take umbrage. Was she such a hag that he could never admire her? So lacking in the social graces she embarrassed him? So beneath him that marriage was unthinkable?

But though she couldn’t see his face with the light shining behind him, she could hear the smile in his voice, feel his pleasure in her company, and she couldn’t be angry. Besides, he was right. It felt as if they were in this together.

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll stay. But you must answer a question for me.”

“Anything,” he assured her, taking a step closer.

Anything. She couldn’t imagine an aristocrat actually meaning that. What if she asked which lady he preferred? What if she asked whether an influx of cash from a dowry such as hers would be welcome in his finances? Somehow, she didn’t think he would answer those questions so easily.

She wasn’t even sure he’d answer the one that plagued her, but she tried anyway. “Why did you invite me? We’ve never met.”

“Likely not,” he agreed. “I’d remember otherwise.”

His tone was warm, admiring. Ruby smiled despite herself. “Well, it appears you know how to compliment a lady, my lord.”

He inclined his head, and she caught a glimpse of his grin. “It takes little imagination to find praise for beauty, Miss Hollingsford.”

She could feel heat creeping up her cheeks as he gazed at her. Did he think her beautiful? She’d had women enough complain about her red hair, as if she’d had any choice in the color. Then there were the men who ogled it, as if it somehow signaled her heart was as fiery. Some of them had learned it was a closer match for her temper.

And what was she doing wondering whether he found her winsome? She had no intention of competing for his hand, and she’d had a purpose in asking him that question.

“The other two ladies will appreciate your compliments even more, I’m sure,” she said, putting a hand back on the solid wood of the pillar to steady her thoughts. “I’d simply like to know why I’m among their number.”

He shook his head, gaze going out to the night as if it held the answer. “Believe me when I say that this house party was not my idea. Someone arranged it with the best of intentions, and I will honor those intentions to the extent I can.”

He was obviously shielding someone. Who would be so audacious as to sign an earl’s name to an invitation that could cause him to choose a bride? A parent came immediately to mind. Certainly her father would not be above such an action. Look at the way he’d manipulated her into coming to Derbyshire!

But Lord Danning had said he was an orphan. The only relative at the house party was Charles Calder. Had he arranged this? After conversing with him, she was even more certain they’d never met, despite her father’s remark. Now Ruby shook her head. Always it came back to her father. Very likely he’d encouraged Charles Calder to invite her. She could hear him now.

She’s a great girl, my daughter. You put in a good word with his lordship, and I’ll give you an excellent price on this diamond. She shuddered.

“Forgive me for keeping you, Miss Hollingsford,” the earl said, clearly thinking she’d shivered from the cool air. “I merely wanted you to know that I appreciate your presence here, and I’ll do all I can to make your time in Derbyshire enjoyable. Establishing a friendship with you and your father might be the best thing that could come of all this.”

A friendship with an earl? Surely such a thing was impossible. Oh, he seemed kind and considerate, his lean body relaxed as he stood there, rimmed in gold. By the tilt of his head, she thought those purple-blue eyes were watching her with kind regard. She steeled herself against them. She’d had warmer looks trained her way, and they’d promised lies. A shame the angler she’d met by the river this afternoon had turned out to be an aristocrat.

“Thank you for the explanation, my lord,” she said, pushing off the pillar and lifting her skirts to start for the door. “We should return to your other guests.”

He did not argue but merely opened the door for her and bowed her in ahead of him.

She thought she might be greeted by a fresh barrage of insults, but the other guests did not seem overly distressed by her and Lord Danning’s absence. Her father, Lady Wesworth and the Stokely-Trent parents had begun playing whist at a table brought in for the purpose, further crowding the withdrawing room. Mr. Calder was seated on the sofa between the other two ladies, and by the blush on Lady Amelia’s fair cheek and the smile on Henrietta Stokely-Trent’s pretty face, he was at least holding his own.

“You have a choice, Miss Hollingsford,” Lord Danning murmured beside her as they paused by the doorway. “Would you prefer to make the fourth in another game of whist, or would you like an excuse to escape?”

Ruby glanced up at him. His look held no censure. He truly was giving her the option to leave all these people behind. The very thought sent such relief through her that she knew her answer.

“You play whist,” she said. “I’ll run. And thank you.”

No one said a word as she slipped from the room.

The air in the corridor was still perfumed with the lingering scent of roast duck as she took the stairs to her room. Peace, blessed peace. No one to impress, no one to start an argument or berate her for simply being born without a silver spoon in her mouth. She filled her lungs and smiled.

And nearly collided with another man at the top of the stairs.

He caught her arms to steady her, then stepped back and lowered his gaze. He was not as tall as Lord Danning, and more slightly built, with hair like the straw that cushioned her father’s larger shipments and movements as quick as a bird’s. His dark jacket and trousers were of the finest material, the best cut. She couldn’t help the feeling that she’d met him before.

“Forgive me, sir,” she said. “I didn’t realize Lord Danning had another guest.”

Keeping his gaze on her slippers, he inclined his head. “I’m no guest, Miss Hollingsford. I’m Quimby, his lordship’s valet. I do hope you enjoy your time at Fern Lodge. I’m certain if you look about, you’ll find something of interest.” With a nod that didn’t raise his gaze to hers, he turned and hurried toward the front bedchamber, shutting the door with a very final click.

Odd fellow. She couldn’t recall meeting a valet before, unless she counted the manservant who assisted her father. But somehow she wouldn’t have thought them quite so subservient. Was Lord Danning such a harsh master? Perhaps she should do as Mr. Quimby suggested and keep her eyes open.

Unfortunately, it was her ears that troubled her that night.

The room she had been given was lovely to look upon, plastered in white with a cream carpet on the dark wood floor and golden hangings on the bed. A shame the designer had not taken similar care in the soundness of the structure. Ruby had just settled beneath the thick covers when she heard voices coming through the wall. Lady Amelia and her mother were evidently situated next door, and by the sound of it, Lady Wesworth was much put out about the fact.

“I have never slept two in a bed in my life,” she complained, so ringingly that the gilt-edged porcelain rattled in the walnut wash stand against Ruby’s wall. “Why can’t one of the others share?”

Lady Amelia must have answered, because there was silence for a moment before Lady Wesworth continued. “And why is she here at all? You cannot tell me Danning covets her fortune. With his seat in Suffolk and the leasehold here in Derby, he has quite enough to suffice.”

Interesting. At least she could cross fortune hunter off the list of potential concerns about Lord Danning. If she had been willing to consider him as a husband, of course.

“Well, I suppose she is pretty,” Lady Wesworth acknowledged to something her daughter had said, “but I doubt she came by that magnificent red naturally.”

Oh! Small wonder the minister preached against listening to gossip. She fingered a strand of her red hair, knowing that she came by it quite naturally.

“Oh, cease your sniveling, young lady,” Lady Wesworth scolded her daughter. “You can still have him. You must exert yourself tomorrow. Find ways to be close to him, and don’t let that Hollingsford chit get in your way.”

That Hollingsford chit reached for one of the feather pillows, thinking to block her ears before she heard any more.

“And he had the affront to advise me to be civil to her. Me! As if I needed to be reminded how to go about in polite society!”

Ruby paused in the act of covering her head. So Lord Danning had kept his promise and spoken to Lady Wesworth about her. His advice didn’t seem to have been taken to heart, but at least he’d tried. Remembering her own manners, she stuffed the pillow over her head and attempted to get some sleep.

In the morning, Ruby was swift to finish dressing in a green striped walking dress and disappear downstairs before she heard another word from her neighbors. She truly felt for Lady Amelia to live with such a termagant.

Ruby’s mother had died when Ruby was a child; she didn’t remember a great deal about her. She’d seen to her own needs until she’d gone to school, where a maid had been provided for her. Since graduating, she’d hired a maid in London, an older woman with an eye for fashion who sadly seemed to care more fervently for Ruby’s wardrobe than her well-being. So she’d never had a woman to fulfill what she’d always thought to be a mother’s role—fussing over her, encouraging her to reach her dreams. Somehow she’d always imagined such a person would be more uplifting than censorious.

If the other guests had heard anything of Lady Wesworth’s complaints, they did not show it. Ruby passed Mr. and Mrs. Stokely-Trent in the corridor, and both nodded civilly to her, making her wonder whether Lord Danning had spoken to them, as well. Charles Calder called to her from the withdrawing room, raising a silver teapot to indicate he had sustenance ready should she wish it. Very likely she’d need it; she could barely make out the lawn beyond the veranda it was raining so hard. But she had no wish to encourage him, so she waved him good-morning and hurried on.

She finally reached the dining room and stayed only long enough to grab an apple from the sideboard, then retreated to a room she’d spotted the previous day—the library. If ever any morning warranted curling up with a good book, it was this morning. Unfortunately, that room, too, was occupied.

Henrietta Stokely-Trent paused in her survey of the crowded walnut bookshelf on the opposite wall. The soft lace at the throat and hem of her white muslin gown was all frivolity. But the arched look she cast Ruby made it seem as if the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, which paneled two of the four walls, and the sturdy leather-bound chairs in the center of the carpet were hers alone.

“Good morning, Miss Hollingsford,” she said, inclining her dark head. “Looking for a novel?”

A novel, according to Miss Pritchett, the literature teacher at the Barnsley School, was considered by some the lowest form of literature. That hadn’t stopped her from sharing tales of the Scottish Highlands with her students, each book full of romance and adventure. But not all women were as open-minded as Miss Pritchett, and Ruby knew the offer of a novel was this young lady’s way of implying Ruby lacked the intelligence to read anything more challenging.

“Perhaps a novel,” Ruby replied, refusing to encourage her. She trailed a finger of her free hand along the edge of the spines nearest the door. “Or a Shakespearean play and some of Wordsworth’s poetry.”

“So you do know more than common rhymes,” the bluestocking surmised, watching her.

Ruby smiled. “I pick the poem to suit the audience.”

“Then you very likely chose well,” she said, to Ruby’s surprise. She moved to join Ruby. “I must apologize for the behavior of my family, Miss Hollingsford. Between our social connections and financial blessing, we tend to overestimate our own worth.”

Her gray eyes were serious, so Ruby decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “The actual estimate, I suspect, is impressive enough.”

“But lording it over others is hardly fitting,” Henrietta countered. Then she leaned closer and lowered her voice, as if suspecting someone might come upon them at any moment. “Still, I must know. What do you make of all this?”

Ruby glanced around the library, thinking it only polite to pretend to misunderstand. “It seems a fine space to me, although if it often rains so hard here a bit more light would be warranted.”

The bluestocking’s lips twitched, but whether from annoyance or amusement, Ruby wasn’t certain. Unlike her calculated movements, her face was soft, pampered.

“I suspect you know I was looking for a different sort of enlightenment,” she said. “You were the only one to manage a private word with the earl last night. Is he truly intent on courting?”

Ruby refused to lie, but neither did she feel comfortable confiding last night’s conversation with Lord Danning. He had intimated she was the only one he truly trusted, if for no other reason than because she had made it plain she did not plan to participate in this business of choosing a bride.

“You would have to ask him,” she replied, edging away from the woman, gaze on the line of shelves.

“And what of you?” the bluestocking pressed, following her. “You do not seem to be trying to impress him. By your own admission, you are not well-known to him. Exactly why are you here, Miss Hollingsford?”

Ruby set her apple on a shelf, yanked out a book and flipped to a random page. Better that than to tell the woman to mind her own affairs. “I was invited to a house party,” she said, gaze on the precise lettering going down the page, more design than words. “I have no interest in courting.”

“That seems odd for a lady our ages,” Henrietta replied. “Are we not told that marriage is the sum of which we might attain?”

Was Ruby mad to hear bitterness behind the words? “Marriage is often needed for money or prestige. I have plenty of the former and have no interest in the latter.”

“And love?” Henrietta pressed. “Have you no use for it either?”

Ruby closed the book and set it back on the shelf. “I honestly don’t believe the love written about in all these tomes even exists.”

Out of the corners of her eyes she saw Henrietta frown. “And your father is amenable to supporting you throughout your life?”

“He will grow accustomed to the idea,” Ruby replied with a fervent wish she was right.

“Then you are more fortunate than most, Miss Hollingsford.” She turned toward the door, and Ruby felt her stiffen. “Oh, good morning. I didn’t know you were there, my lord.”