Rhonda Woodward (7 page)

her brother, Mariah smiled. She had instantly liked the beautiful young lady when they had first met in Bath. Though it was too soon to hope for anything truly romantic, she hoped that this budding attraction between the lady and Steven would continue to flourish. She knew her brother well enough to tell that beneath his cordial demeanor he was more than a little attracted to the lovely Lady Davinia.

“I wonder where Stone is.” Lady Charlotte pouted, fretfully smoothing the skirt of her russet-colored morning gown. “I do hope he will join us, for the earl always tells me the most interesting stories. Alas, I know that he often reserves his mornings for the care of estate matters.”

Looking at the elegant blonde, Mariah could almost feel sorry for her. By the possessive, proprietary tone that she used regarding the earl’s activities, it seemed clear that the beautiful widow felt that the earl belonged to her.

Even if Lady Charlotte managed to bring the earl up to scratch, any chance of happiness would no doubt be ruined. His faithlessness and indiscretions would cause her nothing but heartache.

On the other hand, Lady Charlotte might be of the temperament to ignore that kind of behavior. Mariah had met a few such women over the years and never understood their willingness to tolerate a husband who could disrespect them so grievously. She knew her attitude could never be so accepting toward marital infidelity.

The others rose in preparation for George’s tour.

“Will you be joining us, Mariah?” Steven asked, as she remained seated.

“I beg you all to excuse me, but I believe I would prefer to write a few letters this morning.”

It was true. She did want to write letters, but she also wanted to put off meeting the earl until the last possible moment. It had been one thing to speak so frankly with him in the veil of moonlight, but it would be a completely different proposition in the clear light of day. Maybe if she stayed in this smaller salon she could avoid him for a little while longer.

After the others left, Mariah wandered to a small desk on the other side of the room. It stood in front of a multipaned window that afforded an expansive view of the parkland. She watched a few moments as the trees and shrubs swayed and bent in the raging storm.

As she had suspected, there were writing supplies in the desk, and she set her hand to a long letter to her friend Julia, the Duchess of Kelbourne. Mariah began to describe almost every detail of what had already occurred during her visit to Heaton.

Soon time lost its measure as the rain rapped against the windowpane in rhythm with the scrape of her quill across the foolscap.

At the sound of the door opening, Mariah turned to see Mrs. Ingram, Lord and Lady Walgrave, and Mr. Woburn stroll into the room.

With a sinking heart, Mariah pasted a smile to her lips.

“Ah, Miss Thorncroft, you seem to have found a productive way to spend this gloomy morning,” Mrs. Ingram called as she and her companions settled themselves comfortably in the overstuffed furniture.

Rising, Mariah bobbed a quick curtsy. “Good morning.” Her smile encompassed them, and her eyes briefly met Lady Walgrave’s confident gaze. Then she resumed her seat at the desk.

Lady Walgrave, elegant in a dove gray gown and paisley cashmere shawl, yawned delicately and watched Mariah for a moment.

“You make me feel guilty, Miss Thorncroft. I, too, should be attending to my correspondence. I owe so many of my friends a letter that I do not know where to begin. Therefore I shall put it off another day. Am I not shockingly lazy, my love?” the lady said, sending this last comment to her husband.

Lord Walgrave, his portly frame lounging in a wing chair by the fireplace, responded with a harrumph as he opened his newspaper with a crisp rattle.

Trying not to stare, Mariah could only marvel at Lady Walgrave’s nonchalant demeanor. Obviously Mariah’s presence did not disturb her in the least. How on earth could someone betray her husband and then refer to him as “my love” the very next day?

“This blasted weather has certainly curtailed our hunting,” Mr. Woburn lamented from his stance by the window.

“Quit blubbering, Woby,” Mrs. Ingram chided. “We will have a perfectly lovely time indoors. Now, let us get to know Miss Thorncroft a bit better. I did not have a chance to converse with her last night.” The redhead turned her gaze to Mariah.

“That is a good idea, Mrs. Ingram,” Lady Walgrave quickly agreed. “I, too, would like to learn more about Miss Thorncroft.”

Mariah could not miss the arch smile the lady sent her way.

Out of politeness, Mariah turned from her letter to listen to the women. At least the gentlemen appeared to have no interest in learning more about her, she noticed with some measure of relief.

“So, Miss Thorncroft, which balls have you attended in past Seasons?”

Mariah fiddled with the silver inkwell lid while she searched for a proper answer. She did not intend to tell these women that she and her mother had only hovered on the fringes of Society.

“I particularly enjoyed Lady Farren’s entertainments. And of course the theater and the opera are always diverting.”

Mrs. Ingram and Lady Walgrave exchanged glances.

“I do not believe I know Lady Farren. Do you, Lady Walgrave?”

“No, I am not acquainted with Lady Farren,” Lady Walgrave quickly replied.

“Lady Farren is a relation of the new Duchess of Kelbourne,” Mariah siad.

“Ah, I see. What of Almack’s? My memory must be failing me, for I do not recall meeting you there.”

Mariah decided she liked Lady Walgrave even less than she had last night. The lady knew very well that there would be little chance for someone like Mariah to receive approval from any of the patronesses, and to quiz her about it revealed the lady as patently disingenuous.

Even Mr. Woburn turned from the window to gaze at Mariah with sudden interest.

Feeling a flash of anger, Mariah looked directly at Lady Walgrave. “I never attempted to gain vouchers.”

Lady Walgrave’s blond brows rose in surprise. “How singularly unique. I have never met anyone who did not wish to attend the assemblies. I believe Miss Thorncroft is an original,” she finished on a girlish titter that set Mariah’s teeth on edge.

Making no reply, Mariah turned back to her letter. After carefully dusting it with fine sand, she picked it up and rose to leave. Giving everyone her most polite smile, she said, “Please pardon me. I should have joined my mother some time ago.” Without waiting for a response, she dropped a shallow curtsy and left the room.

Chapter Seven

“This engraved silver goblet was given to the third Baron Morley by King Charles the Second in 1678. Baron Morley was my lord’s great-grandfather several times over.” Mrs. Billings picked up the goblet and held it up for Mariah’s interested inspection.

“There is a very good painting of him on the other wall, miss,” the housekeeper said, replacing the goblet and moving farther down the great hall. “You can see the goblet depicted on the table next to him.”

Mariah followed the housekeeper, her slippered feet whispering along the polished floor. Glancing around the vast room with pleasure, Mariah owned that she was thoroughly enjoying her impromptu tour of the earl’s home—even more so because, to her immense relief, the rest of the guests appeared to be otherwise occupied.

Moving closer to the large portrait the housekeeper indicated, Mariah studied the earl’s ancestor with great interest.

The man in the painting wore a long, curly wig, and lace fell from underneath the wide cuffs of his fancy blue coat.

Her gaze traveled back up to the face. The current earl bore little resemblance to the man in the painting. Lord Morley had a rather plain face. The only resemblance to his descendant was the proud expression and the blue eyes.

“If you will come this way, miss, I will show you several interesting portraits that explain the importance the Morleys have played in the history of our country. There is also a lovely painting and miniature of Alice of Surrey.”

Feeling curious at the note of pride in Mrs. Billings’ voice, Mariah turned from the portrait to follow the knowledgeable housekeeper.

As they moved farther down the hall, Mariah continued to marvel at the multitude of artwork and fascinating objects—all on display to show the illustrious history and extreme wealth of the Morleys.

How the earl could put all of this in jeopardy by gambling away fortunes made Mariah shake her head in dismay.

On the verge of asking Mrs. Billings a question, Mariah heard footfalls echoing from the other end of the hall. Turning, she saw Lady Walgrave and a few other houseguests approaching—including the earl.

With her heart pounding furiously, Mariah did not know where to look. Feeling a blush come to her cheeks, she tried to smile politely, praying that this encounter would not prove embarrassing.

The earl, walking ahead of the others, smiled at Mariah with complete ease. She envied his aplomb. She also admired the way his dark blue coat molded perfectly to his shoulders and highlighted the clear blue of his eyes.

“Evidently Miss Thorncroft has found a distraction from the furious weather outside. We have come to join you on your tour of my house,” the earl said with a sweeping gesture that took in the room.

So much for avoiding him this morning,
Mariah thought wryly.

“How delightful.” Mariah smiled at the earl before turning to Mr. and Mrs. Spence-Jones. “Did you enjoy the armory?”

“Indeed we did,” Mr. Spence-Jones stated, and his wife concurred.

“We enjoyed ourselves so much that we are continuing the tour of Heaton, with an expert guide,” Mrs. Spence-Jones said, sending a smile to the earl.

Steven and Lady Davinia, who had trailed behind the rest of the group, stepped forward. “I think exploring the house is a lovely way to spend such a dark and dreary day,” Lady Davinia said.

Mariah thought Lord Stothart, Mr. Elbridge, and Mr. Woburn appeared more resigned than pleased to be part of the tour. Lady Walgrave stood at the earl’s elbow, looking sublimely satisfied.

Mariah wondered why Lord Walgrave and the merry widows had not joined them, but she decided not to ask.

“Mrs. Billings, I thank you for conducting the tour thus far, but I shall continue from here.” To Mariah’s surprise, the earl moved to her side as he spoke to his housekeeper.

“Of course, my lord.” Mrs. Billings curtsied. “His lordship is much more knowledgeable about Heaton than I ever hope to be,” she said to Mariah.

“You have been most informative, Mrs. Billings. Thank you for taking the time to show me around.”

“My pleasure, miss.” The housekeeper curtsied again before taking her leave, her chain of keys jingling with every step.

“I say, Stone, if we must gawk at all your riches I would rather not have to listen to a dry-as-dust history lesson on top of it,” Mr. Elbridge opined, causing the other gentlemen to laugh.

“I think it will be vastly fun to have Stone give us the real stories,” Lady Walgrave said, sending the earl a blatantly intimate smile.

Mariah caught the knowing amusement in the look that passed between Lady Davinia and Mrs. Spence-Jones. But what could have been an extremely awkward moment passed with ease since the other guests joined in expressing their desire to hear the earl.

“I will share with you the story of my favorite ancestor. Hopefully, I will not bore anyone with the telling.” He sent a dry look to his friend Mr. Elbridge.

The little group followed the earl to the end of the hall, where a large portrait framed in heavy gilt hung on the huge expanse of wall.

Stopping before it, they all gazed up in unison, waiting for the earl to speak.

“This is Alice of Surrey.” He gestured at the painting.

Standing behind the others, Mariah tilted her head to study the painting. The note of affection and pride in the earl’s deep voice could not be missed.

The woman in the portrait faced the painter full on. Mariah got the impression that the lady had been tall. Her gown, depicted in rich hues of burgundy and gold, looked almost lifelike. Ropes of pearls hung beneath a large ruffled collar, and her fingers were covered in golden rings.

Mariah had always been of the opinion that Elizabethan clothing looked decidedly uncomfortable, but the earl’s ancestor wore the odd garb as regally as any queen.

Alice of Surrey had an oval face, a complexion pale as ivory, large dark eyes, and dark hair. The face was that of a young woman, but the expression showed maturity, and there was a hint of humor to the set of her mouth.

Mariah felt a spark of interest and wanted to learn more about the mysterious lady—especially why the earl and his housekeeper referred to her in such awed and respectful tones.

“Alice was a fascinating, tenacious lady,” the earl began, as everyone turned to listen to him. “As the fifth daughter of a poor knight, Alice had few prospects of bettering her circumstances.”

“ ’Tis her poor father you should feel sorry for. What a chore to find husbands for five daughters,” Lord Stothart offered with a guffaw.

“Actually, there were seven daughters,” the earl explained with a chuckle, gazing up at the portrait affectionately.

“I would hate to have so many sisters. How did she ever rise to such glorious heights?” Lady Walgrave asked the earl.

“The true making of Alice began when she somehow managed an invitation to Queen Elizabeth’s court. Alice had no dowry to speak of, but she was a fetching little thing with a keen intelligence. She had the good fortune to become the bosom bow of the redoubtable Bess of Hardwick and spent her time at court very wisely. Bess shared her knowledge of politics, the law, and how to avoid palace intrigue. Alice caught the attention of Robert Morley. Robert was a relation of the Cavendishes and much favored by the queen. Robert and Alice married after a very brief courtship, and she cleverly aided Robert’s rise in power at court. Alice had just as good a mind for business as Bess, and I am sure she would be just as well known as the famed Countess of Hardwick if she had had as many husbands.” He finished with a wry smile, as everyone laughed.

Smiling, Mariah turned back to the portrait, marveling at the power this long-dead woman had held. How in the world had she managed it? How surprising and . . . and wonderful that the earl so obviously admired his ancestor, Mariah thought with the oddest catch in her chest. Her own papa, as kind as he was, would no doubt show nothing but disdain at the idea that a mere woman could have a good head for managing money.

“Did she only care for business matters?” she asked, still gazing up at the portrait.

“Indeed not,” the earl said, stepping to her side as some of the others moved on to other objects of interest.

“Alice was fond of dancing and playing the harp,” he explained. “She also loved to travel in an era where travel was not as easy as it is now. She adored receiving jewels and wore rather too many at once—thus piquing Queen Elizabeth’s annoyance, for she liked to be the most bejeweled woman at any given occasion.”

Mariah laughed at the image the earl had conjured. “Then Alice was a brave woman on many fronts.”

“Yes, a fascinating character altogether. Despite her varied interests, her greatest passion had been the creation of Heaton. From the size of the windows to the stables, Alice oversaw the smallest details. Her husband, Robert, who became the first Baron Morley, soon realized that it was useless to try to withstand her desires. As I wander the rooms, I often think that he was right in letting her have her way.”

“Indeed.” Mariah gazed up at the fan-beamed ceiling, then around the well-designed mahogany-paneled room. “I have rarely encountered a more beautiful, perfectly appointed house.”

“Thank you.” The earl bowed slightly. “Over the years I have read and reread her diaries. Alice has taught me much of the intricacies of life. Because she was quite educated for a woman of her era, she knew there could be more to our existence than struggle and strife. She longed for beauty and had the indomitable courage and intelligence to go out and create what she desired.”

At the deep, unexpected inflection of love and admiration in the earl’s voice, Mariah felt a swift rush of emotion well up in her chest. Going over what the earl had just said, she continued to stare at the woman in the portrait.

Suddenly a keen longing rose from the deepest recesses of her soul. A yearning for a different life than the one she saw before her. She closed her eyes for a moment against the unexpected prickle of tears.

Mariah had received a very fine education as well. But what was the point of an education if she could not go out and use it as Alice had done? She raised her tear-filled gaze to the blurring portrait once more.

Instantly Mariah felt an affinity with the earl’s long-dead relative. She understood Alice’s yearning for independence and beauty. Mariah realized that she had the same desires but had never fully faced them until this moment.

The years of learning had opened new vistas in her imagination. Education had created longings for more experiences and dissatisfaction with the limitations her parents had put on her future.

If only, if only
. Her heart whispered the lament over and over. The earl’s story about Alice tapped into a well of yearning within her that she had never suspected existed. She blinked several times as the tears threatened to spill over.

“How lucky she was,” she began with a fierce half-whisper. “How lucky not to have been hemmed in by convention and fear. How truly blessed she was to have been able to pursue her dreams.” Mariah heard the fervency in her voice and glanced around quickly, nervous that she was making a spectacle of herself. Relaxing with relief, she saw the others were scattered around the room. Mariah quickly turned away as Lady Walgrave looked back with a fierce frown twisting her lips.

The earl looked down at her, a dark brow raised in curiosity. “Don’t we all pursue our dreams, in some fashion, Miss Thorncroft? Is that not our nature?”

“Maybe the nature of
men
, my lord. Nevertheless, few women, no matter in what station in life they find themselves, are ever as blessed as Alice. No matter how capable, intelligent, and intrepid, a woman would rarely be
allowed
to follow her dreams.” She looked up into his surprised blue gaze and marveled at the words she heard herself speak. Where had she developed the temerity to voice such outrageous opinions?

“You are very unusual, Miss Thorncroft. I would not have thought that a sheltered, gently brought up young lady would have the opportunity to develop such strong views.” This time his voice held no tease.

“Even gently brought up young ladies manage to experience some of life’s darker aspects, and that breeds strong opinions.” She sent him a wan smile, grateful that her tears were receding.

He continued to hold her gaze, frowning slightly. “If you have a great desire for something, as Alice did, why not throw caution to the wind? We all have shackles that bind certain areas of our lives, but why not tempt the Fates and follow your dreams?”

Unnerved by the intensity of the earl’s piercing blue gaze, she turned her eyes from his, feeling confused. It took her a moment to formulate her response.

“You have given me much to think about, my lord. But I know that I could never completely throw caution to the wind, as you say. What one discovers—what
I
have discovered—is that life is difficult enough without any interference from us. Why add to it?”

“I am curious to know what the Fates have thrown at you that has made life so difficult.”

Mariah could not bring herself to answer his question. The unanticipated emotions swirling within her were too raw for her to reveal. Biting her lip, she looked away.

“I see that I ask too much,” he said softly. “Then tell me this. You are obviously intelligent and capable—what prevents you from doing what you wish, as Alice did?”

Mariah shrugged in dejection and turned back to the portrait. “I am neither so brave nor so foolish as to emulate your ancestor. A woman can do little on her own, and I do not have an indulgent husband, as Alice did.”

The earl stood silently next to her, and the chatter of the other guests suddenly seemed far away. Mariah wondered if he were trying to think of a polite way to extricate himself from this strange conversation.

“I cannot argue with your opinion, Miss Thorncroft. And I will say that I can empathize with your point of view.”

At this unexpected comment, Mariah looked up into his eyes. “You can?” She tried to keep the note of skepticism from her voice.

“I know you will find it hard to believe, but I, too, have not been able to pursue my dreams unfettered.”