Rhonda Woodward (6 page)

Chapter Six

Walking through the hushed, dark halls, Stone bypassed the staircase that led to his bedchamber and continued on to the library.

Shutting the doors behind him, he crossed the room to a large burled walnut cabinet and poured himself a shallow brandy.

With a contemplative frown, he replaced the crystal stopper, then moved to the massive fireplace. Resting his foot on the brass fender, he stared into the flames, watching the massive logs burn. His well-trained servants always kept this room at the ready for him.

“Well, I am a bit surprised to see you still up. Mind if I join you, Stone?”

Stone turned to see Roger Spence-Jones’ tall frame filling the doorway.

“Come in, Roger,” he said to his old friend. “Care for a brandy?”

“Please,” Roger said, approaching. “I must not have gotten enough exercise today. Can’t seem to sleep.” With the ease of an old friend, the blond man moved to one of the overstuffed leather chairs in front of the fireplace and seated himself, stretching his legs before him.

Pushing away from the fender, Stone went to the cabinet and grabbed another glass. “I’m looking forward to a good day of hunting tomorrow,” Stone said over his shoulder as he poured the brandy. After putting away the decanter, he handed Roger the snifter

and settled in the opposite chair.

“I am, too,” Roger said, before taking a sip
.

Getting comfortable again, Stone loosened his neckcloth and crossed his ankles. A few moments of silence ensued before Roger cleared his throat.

“Amelia and I were surprised that you had not mentioned there would be any more guests arriving. Although I had not the opportunity to converse with Miss Thorncroft, her brother and Mrs. Thorncroft were excellent company. Your new guests certainly helped make dinner more interesting.”

And the rest of the evening as well,
Stone thought, taking a substantial swallow of brandy before responding.

“They are an interesting family.” Stone chose to ignore Roger’s implied question about the Thorn-crofts’ unheralded arrival. Although he and Roger had shared confidences since their days at Harrow, Stone did not feel comfortable sharing information about the somewhat awkward circumstances of how the Thorncrofts came to be at Heaton.

Roger did not press him on the matter and continued his observations about the new guests. “Steven Thorncroft’s manner, though a little tentative, grew more engaging and pleasant as the evening passed, and I found Mrs. Thorncroft, despite the fussiness of her attire, charming.”

Stone nodded his agreement. “I must give her credit. Although she was the oldest person at the table, she did nothing to stifle the exuberance of the evening.”

“Did you happen to notice that by the end of the meal Mattonly seemed quite enthralled with the pretty matron? I found it rather fun to watch that little drama unfold,” Roger said, chuckling.

A smile came to Stone’s lips as he remembered their friend’s unusual behavior.

He and Roger relaxed into companionable silence over their drinks, slouching further into the warm leather chairs.

Stone admitted to himself that after meeting the Thorncrofts this morning, he had expected them to behave in a provincial and amusingly gauche manner. Obviously his judgment had been completely wrong.

As he continued to stare into the leaping flames, he pondered the new arrivals, Miss Thorncroft in particular.

Roger broke into his thoughts by saying, “For all her charm, I got the distinct impression that Mrs. Thorncroft is on the hunt for a husband for her daughter.”

Stone shrugged. “In my experience, all mamas with daughters of a certain age are like bloodhounds when it comes to hunting a husband.”

Roger chuckled at Stone’s acerbic observation. “You would know better than most. But Miss Thorncroft is an attractive young lady. Maybe Mrs. Thorncroft will be successful. After all, you, Stothart, Elbridge, and Mattonly are all unattached.”

“I shall leave the field open for the others,” Stone offered in a dry tone.

He did think Roger correct in his assessment of Mrs. Thorncroft’s intentions. However, she might have a problem on that front, for Miss Thorncroft’s unique personality could prove off-putting to a potential suitor.

Miss Thorncroft had certainly been the biggest surprise of the evening, he thought, taking another swallow.

At first he had given her little notice. As they all sat down to dinner, he had observed her perfect posture and composed expression and dismissed her as missish and dull.

But as Charlotte and Lydia, the merry widows, had grown more tedious in their attentions toward him, Miss Thorncroft had caught his notice.

The mischievous laughter in her eyes had taken him by surprise. The cheek of the girl to look so amused at his predicament! Usually it took only his direct gaze to quell even the sturdiest constitution. But Miss Thorncroft had met his stare without flinching. Quite unexpected.

Later, when she had interrupted his liaison with Felicity Walgrave, he had done his best to discomfit the chit. Her eyes had sparkled even in the moonlight, despite the fact that he could discern that her sensibilities had been truly shocked by what she had seen.

He smiled at the memory of their walk through the moonlit garden. It really had been bad of him to tease her, but to her credit, she had given as well as she got.

Truthfully, he had wanted to hear what she would say next. He would never have guessed that such a sheltered miss would be so quick-witted.

To his surprise, he had enjoyed their brief conversation, although her comment about his being dangerous had perplexed him. “You are the kind of man who will attempt to steal a lady’s heart for sport,” she had stated boldly. He had been about to dismiss her assessment out of hand, but something in the conviction of her tone had silenced him on the subject.

Plainly, Miss Thorncroft did not think him quite a gentleman. Frowning, he lifted the snifter. He watched the flames in the grate twist and distort through the glass.

How absurd. For if Nicholas Edward Charles Morley, fifth Earl of Haverstone, was anything, he was a gentleman.
What an opinionated little minx,
he thought mildly, taking another sip of brandy.

That comment had not been the last of the evening’s surprises. As he had said good night to her in the open doorway, the glow from a nearby wall sconce had revealed her features. Her startling beauty had suddenly struck him. Odd that, for during dinner he had not thought her more than passing pretty.

However, Miss Thorncroft’s beauty was not to his usual taste. He’d always been partial to lush blondes, lush brunettes. . . . All right then, he’d always been partial to
lush
, he conceded with a lopsided smile.

Miss Thorncroft might not be lush, but she certainly was prettier than he had first thought. With sparkling, intelligent eyes, a heart-shaped face, and that elegant figure—well—it was a mystery such loveliness had escaped his notice during dinner.

Perhaps it was because he rarely bothered conversing with unmarried misses. They usually had nothing of interest to say and often went off in gales of giggles for no apparent reason.

No giggling from Miss Thorncroft. And no fit of the vapors. She had not even launched into a priggish sermon on morality. She was certainly an unusual young lady.

Although her shock at finding him with Lady Walgrave had been evident, he admired her attempt to behave with aplomb. For all his teasing, truth be told, he felt a little embarrassed that Miss Thorncroft had caught him in such roguish behavior.

He would have preferred not to reveal his companion’s identity, he thought, frowning at having done so. Then, shrugging pragmatically, he dismissed the concern. Better to disclose all to the unpredictable Miss Thorncroft than chance her doing something silly—like apologizing to Lady Charlotte for the interruption. He certainly did not need the headache that situation would cause!

Now here he sat in his library with good old Roger, instead of lying in his bed with Felicity Walgrave.

“You know, Roger,” he said to his old friend, “tomorrow might turn out to be quite an interesting day.” It rather surprised him to realize that he was looking forward to it.

***

The next morning, wrapped in a heavy robe and nestled in the large window seat carved out of the thick stone wall, Mariah raised her cup of chocolate to her lips and sipped with satisfaction. Outside, a bank of low black clouds rolled in from the west. Rain streaked down the windowpanes, and the nearest clouds intermittently glowed with flashes of lightning. The sound of rumbling thunder grew nearer by the minute.

Mariah knew that mere rain would not discourage the gentlemen from hunting, but she wondered if the lightning would prove too dangerous for them to venture outdoors.

She felt bad for Steven, for she knew how much he had wanted to join the grouse shoot.

After another nearby rumble of thunder, Mariah swung her legs off the window seat and set her cup and saucer on the tray the maid had placed at the foot of her bed.

Her thoughts, for the countless time, returned to the earl. She did not know what disturbed her more— stumbling upon him kissing Lady Walgrave, for never before had she seen passion so boldly displayed, or her unexpected conversation with him afterward.

Despite her initial shock, she realized that she had felt a certain daring thrill at their frank discussion. As close as she and Steven were, she could never imagine openly discussing the ways of men and women with him.

She had fully expected the earl to dismiss her, and now she felt ashamed that she had been flattered that he had not.

As her deeply ingrained sense of propriety pricked her conscience again, she admitted to herself that she should have done the proper thing and returned to the house as quickly as possible. Mama would have apoplexy if she knew what had happened, but Mariah did not intend to enlighten her.

It did surprise her that the earl had taken her direct speech so well. Shaking her head, she had to admit that her stay at Heaton had begun in a completely different manner than she had expected.

Having finished her breakfast of hothouse fruit and toast, Mariah decided to have a bath before starting her day.

Standing, she pulled her robe close against the morning chill. Just then she heard a tap at the ornately carved door.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Harris, her maid, entered the room.

“Good morning, miss. I thought you might like a nice hot bath on this dreary morn. There’s a tub ready for you in the chamber beyond.” She gestured toward the door on the other side of the room.

Mariah smiled at the older woman. “Thank you, Harris. Sometimes I suspect that you are clairvoyant, for I was just wishing for a bath.”

“My grandmother was fey, miss, so I might have a touch of the second sight.”

“No doubt,” Mariah said with a laugh.

As she passed the window, she saw that the clouds had grown blacker and lower across the expanse of rolling countryside.

“It is too bad about the filthy weather. I dearly wanted to continue my exploration of the grounds. I am itching to sketch one of the views,” she said, conceding to herself that the exercise would have the added benefit of keeping her out of the house and away from the other guests.

“My bones tell me we are in for bad weather for a few days, at least,” Harris said, moving the tray to tidy the bed.

“Your bones are never wrong, Harris. Please rest your legs as much as possible,” Mariah said as she crossed the room.

“I’m not in my dotage, Miss Mariah, and if I’m too idle, I stiffen. But thank you.”

Mariah smiled at the woman’s stubborn tone. Harris had been her maid for almost ten years, and Mariah had learned early on that the good woman had a very wide obstinate streak and took great pride in her position in the Thorncroft household.

Closing the door behind her, Mariah thought the room appeared even smaller with the enormous copper bathtub taking up so much space.

After removing her robe and nightgown, Mariah gingerly dipped a toe into the tub. Though hot, the water felt deliciously inviting. Stepping in, Mariah lowered herself, shivering slightly as the steaming water warmed her faintly chilled skin.

To her delight, the bathtub was so large she could recline fully. Leaning her head back to rest against the tub, she closed her eyes for a moment and savored the cocooning warmth.

She knew she could linger over her bath, since she had likely awakened before most of the other guests. It had always been her habit to rise unfashionably early.

Opening her eyes, she noticed a flannel cloth and a cake of soap on a small table next to the tub. Trying not to slosh water, she leaned forward and picked up the soap. As soon as her wet fingers caressed the cake, the scent of wisteria assailed her senses. Rubbing it between her hands, Mariah inhaled deeply as a wave of spring suddenly enveloped her.

She found it rather ironic that after dreading the visit, everything about Heaton enchanted her eyes and senses.

Except the thought of her next encounter with Lord and Lady Walgrave. Never before had she been confronted by such an awkward situation. She prayed she would be able to comport herself in a normal fashion when next she encountered the earl’s paramour and her cuckolded husband.

Another low thrum of thunder penetrated the silence of the antechamber. If she could not explore the grounds, she decided, she would ask the housekeeper to give her a tour of the house.

Despite the storm—and the dreaded encounter with the earl and Lady Walgrave looming ahead—Mariah realized that she was actually looking forward to the day.

***

Some time later, after making her way to the morning room, Mariah discovered that Steven, George, and Lady Davinia, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Spence-Jones and Lady Charlotte, were already present. Relief mingled with her pleasure, because neither the earl nor Lord and Lady Walgrave were in the room. Facing them could be avoided a little longer, at least. She assumed the rest of the guests were late risers like her mama. After bidding everyone good morning, she sat on the sofa next to her younger brother. Lady Davinia, looking sunny in pale yellow despite the dreary weather, smiled at Mariah. “You are just in time, Miss Thorncroft. Young George was just about to share some very exciting news.” “Oh?” Mariah looked down at George’s smiling face. “You’ll never guess, Mariah! The Master of Arms is going to show me the armory! I will not only get to try on a suit of armor but he will show me the swords and shields and maces.” By his expression Mariah could tell her little brother felt very near to heaven. “How very exciting.” “I would not mind taking a look at the armory myself,” Mr. Spence-Jones put in. “Would you mind if I joined you on your tour, young man?” Mariah smiled at the fair, solid-looking man, liking his indulgent attitude toward her brother. “I would like that, sir,” George replied. “Why don’t we all have a look?” Mrs. Spence-Jones chimed in, her dark eyes alight with interest. “I think it would be an excellent way to spend this dull morning. Besides, I take the greatest interest in everything about Heaton,” Lady Charlotte proclaimed from her seat by the window. “I think it would be great fun,” Lady Davinia agreed, looking to Steven with a warm smile. Taking note of the partiality Lady Davinia showed