Chapter Eleven
Whitney trudged up the hill alone, her step light and a feeling of peace filling her soul. She didn’t look back to see if Lord Acton watched her go because she suspected he was still there, making sure she stayed out of harm’s way.
She smiled and pulled a stem of wild grass to twist between her fingers as she walked along. She was terrible, wasn’t she? Flirting, just a little, with an engaged man. She should be ashamed, but all she felt was intense relief to have been mistaken about his reasons for keeping Emily’s location quiet.
He was conflicted, and that was not an easy feeling to reconcile.
He wasn’t a monster. Yes, his sister had been scheming to make trouble for her friends. And yes, he had dallied with Whitney when he ought not to have given her a second glance. He was marrying an exquisite woman, the perfect bride. Alice was everything a proper gentleman could want in a wife.
Acton was charmingly protective, and it surprised her that she did not mind it in the least. He had spirited her away from what would have been certain injury, perhaps even death, from a misadventure of her own making.
And he was clearly upset that his evil sister was dying of consumption.
He suffered no weakness of character for showing compassion for the woman. He should have told his friends about Emily, but she could understand he was hesitant to upset them or make them live in fear again.
He might be a good man after all, though still far too handsome to completely ignore. She liked to look at him a little too much and too often. But she would draw one last sketch of him tonight and then tuck it away in her private collection. She would draw him on his knees, holding her hand as he asked after her health with such fear in his eyes it had made her heart skip a beat.
She had been happy today with him, if only briefly.
Lord Acton wasn’t the heartless scoundrel she’d made him out to be in her own mind, but she could not allow any further lapses of propriety to happen between them. He was marrying Alice Quartermane and that was the end of it.
The hub of activity in the Taverhams’ country home revolved around the kitchen garden, and Whitney made her way there. There were a few servants out and about in the garden, and she greeted each one as she made her way to an open doorway. Upon arriving at the estate, Miranda had taken over a chamber closest to the garden—for the view of the activity, she said—and Whitney could see her poring over her ledgers in the sunlight.
Whitney picked a sprig of rosemary and bruised it with her hands, making the scent wrap around her in soothing waves.
“We need rain,” Miranda complained as Whitney joined her inside.
“It will come,” Whitney promised, seating herself near Miranda and opening her sketchbook to a new page. Miranda looked lovely with the sun behind her like that. She began to sketch the marchioness’ face as she worked. “It always does.”
Miranda frowned at her ledger, tapping her pencil against the pages briskly. “Forgive me for worrying out loud. I’m not used to these matters, or living here yet. Managing an estate of this size is quite a lot of work.”
Whitney sat in a nearby chair and smiled at her friend. “What does the dowager have to say?”
“Nothing.”
“Have you asked her for advice?”
“I’ve thought about it, but she is as warm to me today as the day I returned.”
Whitney looked up. “Is that a surprise, given the marquess is avoiding her?”
“Not really.” Miranda rubbed her brow. “Damn it all. I cannot concentrate today.”
“Is there something on your mind?”
“Oh, everything. The weather, the harvest, the state of the wine cellar…” She laughed as she left the desk and sank into a spot beside Whitney. “Tell me you are enjoying your visit.”
“I am enjoying my visit very much,” she promised, twisting to rest her arm across the back of the chaise so she could still sketch the marchioness. She leaned upon her free hand, and talked as she moved her pencil with the other. “I’ve never been to this part of the country, and it’s lovely. Green and lush. Just the way I always imagined. My uncle Yardley would have said even a dead seed would grow here in a drought.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask, just how many homes have you lived in? You mention so many uncles and aunts I can barely keep track.”
“Seven homes in sixteen years. Four uncles, two aunts, and then I lived with my cousin, Martin.”
“I wonder that you were never eager for a home of your own? My years of wandering about have made me appreciate what I have now more than I might have done as a younger wife.”
“I managed some of them, especially for my unmarried uncles. They always employed terrible housekeepers,” she said with a fond laugh. “But now, how could I commit to managing a home, my husband’s estate, and still hope to see something of the world? If I married, my husband would control my fortune. He would control my future, too. I don’t imagine many would allow their wives to paint scandalously unclad gentlemen for the sake of her art.”
“Oh, I am sure you are correct on that score. Many men would find that sort of thing an embarrassment and an attack on their masculinity.” Whitney giggled but Miranda continued. “Responsibilities can put a damper on travel, but I would hope for your sake that there might be one man with an open mind who could fall in love with you and let you see the world, too. For me, it is such an effort just thinking about returning to Town next year for the season, with all this yet to understand.” Miranda sank back with a weary sigh, took up Whitney’s free hand and squeezed. “You know, Martin once claimed you’d never married because you were disappointed in love in your first season.”
She burst out laughing. “Does he still believe that? I never said anything of the sort to him, but it is not my fault if my cousin chose to latch on to the only thing my aunt Thomasina said that made sense.”
“Have you ever been in love?” Miranda’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Been swept away by a gentleman and thought maybe, maybe he’s the one for me.”
Whitney winced. “Well, if I had, you can tell that I’ve never received a proposal of marriage from him. Love and marriage have never been issues I had to decide upon one way or the other.”
Miranda studied her closely. “Whoever he was has no sense, and therefore could never deserve such a woman in their life.”
For a response, Whitney laughed rather than agreed.
“So, tell me more about this trip you wish to take,” Miranda asked. “When exactly does your adventure begin?”
Whitney told the marchioness her itinerary for the journey, her hopes for the adventure on foreign soil, and dreams of mingling with like-minded individuals. “What I’ve learned from my time in London society is that I’m not suited to doing the usual thing expected of proper young ladies.”
“I think you fit in with some people we know well,” Miranda suggested.
“But not with the majority, and that is a mark against me. Even Alice thinks I’m strange. She is so fixed upon making a good match, but doesn’t understand that having a husband could mean putting her dreams on hold forever if she had any others. I haven’t the selflessness to give up everything I’ve longed for the way she has.”
Miranda nodded, as if she understood. “Does it frighten you to think that you will be so far from everything you’ve known? And everybody you love?”
“A little, but I intend to write often.”
“I’m glad, because you know I won’t sleep well—”
“They’re here. They’re here!” Christopher bellowed as he burst through the door from the garden and then rushed away toward the entrance hall of the house, screaming about it at the top of his lungs.
Whitney grinned at the marchioness. “I think you have more guests.”
“Shall we go and greet them too?” Miranda asked with a laugh.
Whitney nodded and followed after Miranda, listening to the rush of feet in all parts of the house. New arrivals meant more work for everyone. A trio of carriages were coming along the drive at a sprightly pace and by the time Whitney gained the front steps, the carriages were drawing to a halt before them.
Whitney curled her hands over Christopher’s shoulders to hold him still as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “Wait. It may not be them.”
Just then, small heads popped out of all the carriage windows, and then more hands than the heads should owned began to wave frantically.
“It is them!” Christopher promised.
“I think you must be correct,” Whitney agreed, happy for the boy that he would have playmates his own age at last.
The family disembarked, a melee of children and servants and luggage around a pair of very rumpled parents.
Having met the couple before in London, Whitney held her arms out for baby Elliot even while pressing a kiss to the sagging mother’s cheek. “How lovely to see you again, Lady Carrington,” she murmured. “Let me give your arms a rest.”
“Oh, thank you.” Lady Carrington immediately turned to her cousin and hugged the marchioness tightly.
After a moment, Miranda began to squirm. “Agatha, my dear, a little air?”
“Sorry,” the woman said with a laugh as she drew back, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. “I’m still astonished every time I see you.”
Miranda cupped Agatha’s cheek, and then looked about them at the gathering children. “My word, you’ve all grown so much I barely recognize you all.”
Lord Carrington backed away and shook hands with the marquess, who was late arriving to greet the newcomers.
Whitney looked about for Christopher, and saw him standing with his arm draped over one of the children’s shoulders. The pretty little girl was nattering to him nonstop about their trip, from what she could tell.
Lady Carrington eased closer. “Mabel was so excited to be coming to see him that we had to sing songs for the last half hour.”
“Was that painful?” Whitney asked out the side of her mouth.
“You have no idea. My head is still ringing from the sound,” she confessed. “The joy of travel with children.”
“We should get you all inside for tea, and a little respite, too, wouldn’t hurt anyone, I think,” Miranda said, looking toward Whitney with a hopeful expression she interpreted quite easily.
“I’ll see to the children, shall I?” she offered.
Lady Carrington clutched at her arm. “If you could help them get settled, I would be forever in your debt.”
“I might just collect on that one day,” she said with a sly wink. “I’ll return when they are settled upstairs.”
“We’ll be in my parlor overlooking the kitchen garden for the afternoon,” Miranda called as the cousins made a fast retreat.
Whitney gathered the noisy children and servants with Christopher’s help and urged them all upstairs to unpack and claim their beds. There were many small side excursions, led by Christopher himself unfortunately, so the trip took some time. The Twilit Hill servants stepped in, redirecting the enthusiastic children, who wanted to see everything at once. They eased the way, and soon the children and nursemaids were taking tea in the nursery very happily.
Whitney returned to the marchioness’ office and discovered Miss Quartermane and her mother had arrived in her absence, taken over her favorite chair, and were idly flipping through her sketchbook.
She felt a twinge of annoyance as they shook hands. “How lovely to see you again,” she murmured as she retrieved her possessions. Alice and her mother had no right to touch her things, even if she had left them behind.
“We saw the carriages from the village and rushed to greet the newcomers,” Alice exclaimed.
She glanced around. “Is Lord Acton with you?”
“Oh, unfortunately not. You know how men are. He’s gone off to do something with Mr. Thompson. I think he said it had something to do with cattle.”
“Yes, of course.” She smiled quickly. “By all accounts, the earl must be very involved with his estate. It is a busy time of year for farming.”
Alice winced, and then glanced at the marchioness. She received a subtle nod and then drew Whitney to the far side of the room. “Actually, it is you I’ve come to see today. Since our time together is painfully short I was hoping you’d agree to my proposal.”
“What proposal?”
“You are my dearest friend, and you must know that I value your presence here at such a critical time in my life.”
Drat it. More talk of the wedding was in the wind.
“Alice, my plans cannot be changed,” Whitney said gently. “I have already booked my passage, and my travelling companions will be waiting to meet me at the docks. I won’t delay to attend your wedding.”
Especially when it was a marriage she didn’t support.
Alice rolled her eyes. “I wish you did not have to go. Out of all my new friends, I so wanted you to witness my triumph so you could tell everyone about it.”
“I am sure the day will be perfect.” Whitney stifled a groan. Friendships within the ton were so complicated. Being talked about were necessary and frequent activities if one wanted to be known and admired. Alice cared a lot about her reputation.
“I hope so. Given it will be here, beyond the reach of so many of my acquaintances, I was hoping you might be persuaded to stay for my sake.”
Whitney shook her head.
Alice pouted. “You don’t understand. It is the most important day in my life. We may not feel the same about marriage, but I want you there.”
“For what purpose?”
“We both know that a ladies standing in society is important and depends so much on the worth of her connections.”
“True.”
“Imagine what a coup it will be having you there, beside the Duke of Exeter and Lord Taverham’s guests for the ceremony when I speak my vows.”
Whitney considered Alice’s fevered expression. “I would think having Lord Acton beside you speaking his vows was more important.”
“Well yes, of course.” Alice’s smile dimmed. “He’ll be there too. I know you constantly deny that you don’t wish for a husband, but surely you see my dilemma.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
“You are much older than I, wise in ways I cannot imagine being. You could have already been married by now, a leader in society, given the size of your fortune and connections. They are far better than mine, and we both know it. You could have married anyone, duke or commoner. You always know who is worth encouraging.”
“Marriage should have nothing to do with fortune or connections,” Whitney protested.
“Of course marriage has everything to do with those things. They are what matter most in society,” Alice claimed with a shake of her head, making the ringlets bob and sway. “Why is it so wrong to marry and gain the respect of your peers? Carving out a place in society is important for women.”
“Such superficial desires are never more important than love.” Whitney clenched her jaw, noting Alice’s astonishment at her claim. She softened her voice. “Look, it is none of my business how you live your life, so long as you are happy.”
“That brings me to my reason for speaking to you today.” Alice grasped Whitney’s hands suddenly. “Do you think he really loves me?”
“I cannot answer that,” she told the woman, astonished at the question. “Men are very good at hiding their emotions from strangers, but if he tells you he does I would believe him.”
Alice worried at her lip. “He hasn’t said he does, but I think you can help me decide if it’s possible.”
“What?”
“I want to know if he loves me and if he’s worthy of my love.” Alice sighed deeply. “I mean, you can help me decide if he is capable of loving me before we marry.”
Whitney gasped. “How do you expect me to do that?”
“By flirting with him to see if he can resist you. You are very pretty for your age, you know, and men always clamor for the attention of popular women. No one will notice if you pay Acton a little more attention here in the countryside.”
Whitney could only stare at Alice, because she suspected throwing herself at Lord Acton wouldn’t bring about the confirmation of fidelity Alice hoped for. There was something between herself and Lord Acton still, desire and curiosity, and try as she might, she had been fighting those feelings for the sake of this friendship. “No!” Whitney protested. “What sort of friend would I be if I even considered it?”
“The very best friend I have. I trust you completely,” Alice promised, her eyes wide. “I know you wouldn’t ever try to steal him for yourself.”
“Of course I would not.” The idea was absurd. Acton was a man of his word. He was marrying Alice. She took a deep steadying breath. “You’re just feeling nervous about him. I’m told every bride feels this way at some point before they wed. It was you Acton asked to marry. You will be Lord Acton’s wife.”
“Lady Acton,” Alice said in a dreamy tone.
Listening to Alice whisper the name with such reverence filled Whitney with annoyance. Alice was marrying the title, not the handsome devil who owned it. Alice didn’t even seem aware of Lord Acton’s physical appeal. Whitney couldn’t do as Alice wished, but she could still guide her friend to discover the love she should want more than the title of countess. “Alice, if you want to know the state of Lord Acton’s heart, you’re going to have to find out on your own.”
Alice’s eyes lit up. “How do I do that?”
Whitney’s mouth grew dry, and she had to swallow a few times before she could get the words past her lips. “I recommend you seek out Lord Acton privately, alone, and see what happens next.”
Alice looked at her with a worried expression. “Are you suggesting I allow him to kiss me before the wedding takes place?”
Whitney had actually meant a little more than stealing a single kiss, but a kiss was a good place to begin. It was romantic. Acton would like that.
She glanced toward Alice’s mother, who was rising from her chair to join them. Alice’s mother would never approve of Whitney’s suggestion, and would probably lock Alice in her room if she suspected anything untoward was going on before the wedding.
She grasped Alice’s arm and forced her to walk about the room to delay Mrs. Quartermane from joining them. “If you want to know what he feels for you, seducing him is certainly a way to determine it,” she advised.
For a moment, Whitney feared Alice would faint—but then she nodded quickly. “I’ll do it. Tonight.”