The Wedding Affair (26 page)

The central block of the house was a full four stories tall, built of red brick trimmed in pale cream stone. A row of ionic-style pillars framed the main entrance under a stone pediment. Off to the sides, a pair of nearly symmetrical two-story wings curved out from the main section. To Olivia’s surprise, they looked like a pair of welcoming arms, arching out to gather her in.

Welcoming
was the last impression she would have expected to get when standing directly in front of the main facade of a house the size of Halstead. She was still pondering the oddity of the sensation as the duke turned his team over to the groom and offered his hand to help Olivia alight from the curricle.

She was surprised he didn’t seize the opportunity to lift her down and hold her close, until the front door swung open and the butler appeared. Then she was startled to find herself longing to be alone with the duke, instead of about to face a crowd of new—and probably unfriendly—faces. If the rest of Halstead’s guests were anything like the bridesmaids…

Much of the company was already gathered in Halstead’s drawing room, and Olivia felt as if she was running a gauntlet as she entered. Had the bridesmaids really formed a line as if closing ranks against her?

She saw only a couple of friendly faces—Kate, of course, smiled at her from beside the fireplace, where she was standing with an elderly gentleman of military bearing, with the beady-eyed Lady Stone on his other side. From a long sofa at the far end of the room, a young woman with curly dark hair inspected Olivia at length. The young, slightly shabby-looking gentleman who was leaning over the back of the sofa to talk to the young woman seemed to realize he’d lost the lady’s attention, and he too looked closely at Olivia.

The duke took Olivia straight to his mother, who was seated in a tall-backed chair that managed to look like a throne. “Ah yes,” the duchess said coolly as Olivia made her curtsey. “I remember you and your little girl. You were harvesting grapes at the time we met, I believe.”

One of the bridesmaids tittered.

“You’ll have an opportunity to get to know them both far better, ma’am,” the duke said easily. “I’ve invited Lady Reyne to stay at Halstead through the wedding. And her daughter as well, of course, since she’s such a devoted mother that she refuses to leave the child behind.”

The duchess’s face turned to stone. “That is quite impossible, Simon. I don’t mean to be rude, Lady Reyne, but we simply have no space for more guests at Halstead.”

“Of course I understand, Your Grace.” So much for Simon’s plans, Olivia thought. He hadn’t bargained on his mother—and though technically he was the master here and his word was law at Halstead, Olivia wouldn’t care to go up against the duchess when she wanted her own way. “The duke did indeed invite me to join the house party, but I had not yet given him my answer. How silly it would be to inconvenience your household when, as you point out, I already have a perfectly good cottage in the village.”

The duke smiled. “Nonsense. I assume you haven’t yet put anyone in the nursery? I thought you must have overlooked that possibility. So the child and her nurse can be quite easily situated there. Mrs. Greeley can find a cot somewhere for Lady Reyne’s maid. Which leaves only Lady Reyne herself to be accommodated.”

“
Only?
” the duchess said. She sounded as if her teeth were gritted.

Lady Stone gave a little chuckle and turned to the military gentleman. “Five guineas says the duke wins out,” she said, not quite under her breath.

“There is still one empty bedroom in the main wing,” the duke said blandly. “Since my valet has kept it locked, I’m quite certain it is not in use.”

The duchess pulled herself up even straighter and puffed out her chest like a pigeon. “If you are referring to the empty room next to yours—the bedroom that will one day be used by your duchess—”

One of the bridesmaids gasped.

“—I think not, Simon. Not unless you plan to obtain a special license before the evening is over!”

The military gentleman rubbed his jaw and leaned down toward Lady Stone’s ear, but his voice resounded as though he were on a parade ground. “Make that wager ten, Lucinda, and I’m in. He won’t try to get past Iris on that one.”

“Sadly,” the duke said, “much as I would like to put your mind at ease, a special license could not be acquired on such short notice. I believe you will bear me out in that regard, Mr. Blakely?”

Until then, Olivia hadn’t noticed the vicar standing in a corner of the drawing room. In his plain black, Mr. Blakely seemed to fade into the shadows.

The vicar looked uneasily from the duke to the duchess, clearly trying to calculate if there was any way to agree with one while not offending the other. “I believe you are correct, Your Grace,” he said, and for a moment Olivia wondered which of the Somervales he was addressing. “Though I have heard a rumor since my arrival that the archbishop may be visiting somewhere in the vicinity. High Wycombe has been mentioned. If Your Grace were determined—”

The duke cut smoothly across the flood. “Rumor seems an inadequate foundation for making such a long ride with the outcome so uncertain.”

Olivia wondered what he would have done if the archbishop’s presence had been more than just a rumor.
He’d find a different excuse to leave the archbishop in peace, no doubt.

“In any event,” Olivia said firmly, “I couldn’t possibly agree to use a room that is reserved for the future duchess.”

To Olivia’s surprise, the duchess eyed her with something resembling respect. “Your guest has far more common sense than you do, Simon. Lady Reyne, I am sorry to be so disobliging, and I am in your debt for understanding my predicament.”

The curly-haired young woman on the sofa stood up. “An easy solution is available, Your Grace—one that would suit everyone.”

“Yes?” The duke and his mother spoke at the same instant. Despite their very different voices, Olivia thought she heard an identical note of fear in each one, and she had to fight down the hysterical urge to laugh.

The duchess glared at her son before she turned to the young woman. “Do share your insight, Lady Townsend.”

So that was Lady Townsend, Olivia thought, the young woman Kate had called Penny.

Lady Townsend moved away from the slightly shabby gentleman who had been leaning over her on the sofa. “We—my husband and I—are perfectly content to share a room.” She laid a hand on the arm of a handsome dark-haired gentleman who had been standing by the mantel and looked at him with what appeared to be adoration in her eyes. “I would be happy to have my things moved into your room, my dear, unless…”

For the barest instant, the gentleman beside her looked as if the mantel had come loose from the wall and tumbled onto his head.

Lady Townsend went straight on. “Unless you would prefer to come to me instead and leave your bedroom free for Lady Reyne to use?”

***

By the time Etta had finished pulling, tugging, poking, and prodding, Penelope was relieved to go down to the drawing room to face Halstead’s other guests and wait for the dinner hour to arrive. Most of the company was assembled already when she came in, but she barely glanced at the other faces once she noted the earl was not yet present.

Kate gently freed herself from yet another of Colonel Sir Tristan Huffington’s seemingly interminable stories about the war.

Penelope said, “I’m sorry, Kate. I had intended to help you today, and then I… well, I forgot entirely.”

“It all worked out. But I’m longing to know where you disappeared to instead, you and your husband. How lucky you are to be able to just go—without chaperones or… And what has happened to you, Penny? You seem so
different
.”

Penelope couldn’t stop herself from giving a little squeak. If Kate could see at a glance that something enormous had taken place today…

“Indeed she does.” Andrew Carlisle lifted two glasses from a footman’s tray and handed one to Penelope. “I was just telling myself you’re looking even more delightful than usual tonight, Lady Townsend, very sleek and modish. What have you done differently with your hair?”

Kate rolled her eyes and walked away.

Penelope knew she should have been relieved to discover that her unusually glossy curls, and not her afternoon in bed, were making people notice her. No doubt Andrew Carlisle had really meant that she’d been quite the antidote before Etta had arrived to take her in hand, but Penelope couldn’t find space in her heart to care what Mr. Carlisle thought. Or perhaps her lassitude was only because Etta had laced her corset so tightly tonight that Penelope had no room for
anything.
For the other women in the room, the discomfort of being limited to shallow breathing might have been a small price to pay for a compliment—but not for Penelope.

“Tell me how you and Charles found things at Stoneyford,” Andrew said.

Penelope considered. The earl had been so secretive about his intentions to visit his estate that she suspected few people had any suspicion how bad conditions really were at Stoneyford. Was Andrew Carlisle fishing for gossip? “Much as he expected, I believe.” She kept her voice expressionless. “Relatively unchanged from his last visit.”

“If the situation has not grown worse, it is good news. Come and sit down and tell me all about it.” He guided her to a long sofa and sat down beside her. But after a few minutes of jumping up repeatedly as each new lady came into the drawing room, he gave up his seat with a smile and leaned against the back of the sofa instead.

“I think your questions would be better directed to my husband,” Penelope said.

“You’re plainspoken, my lady. It’s a refreshing attribute, you know. Very well, if you don’t wish to speak of Stoneyford, we shall not. How is it you had lost touch with Miss Blakely?”

Suddenly, as surely as gravity pulled a dropped handkerchief to the earth, Penelope’s gaze slid to the doorway where her husband stood.

Always before when Penelope looked at him, she had seen the earl—aristocratic, elegant, perfect in dress and bearing. This time she saw him differently—as a young man bearing up under burdens she could not imagine. She could even detect traces of the boy who had watched helplessly while his inheritance was ruined.

His gaze flicked past her and on to the group by the mantel, and a moment later he joined Colonel Huffington and Lady Stone.

Penelope bit her lip. How easily he had dismissed her!

Andrew Carlisle leaned a little closer. “If I might offer a word of advice, my lady. A little lighthearted flirting with another gentleman often brings a husband’s attention back where it belongs.”

Was she so very obvious? “Your knowledge of such things must arise from your vast experience as a flirt, Mr. Carlisle, since I believe you have exactly none as a husband.”

He grinned. “That’s precisely the way to do it, ma’am! Now you lean a little closer and smile at me as if I’ve amused you greatly. And if you could manage just a tiny giggle…”

Penelope couldn’t help laughing. “You
do
amuse me greatly, Mr. Carlisle.” However she behaved, she told herself, the earl would probably not notice. He had turned his back toward her to concentrate on the colonel. So she might as well occupy herself in whatever way she could find to make the endless hours pass more quickly.

“Amusing people is my greatest talent,” Andrew Carlisle confided.

“And I am persuaded your willingness to be of assistance to a lady has no connection with your desire to discourage the attention directed at you by the bridesmaids.”

“I believe I have already been successful there.” His gaze roved over the guests. “Yes, not a one of them is paying me the slightest heed. Being a mere wage-earner has advantages, my lady.”

“But are you fulfilling your promise to the duke by taking yourself out of the running?” Penelope looked up archly only to realize Andrew Carlisle was not looking at her any more. She followed his gaze to where the duke and Lady Reyne had just appeared in the arched doorway.

No wonder Mr. Carlisle was staring, she thought. Even in an outdated dress, Lady Reyne had a presence Penelope herself would never be able to command.

Her flirtation with Andrew Carlisle had died aborning, before she could take it too seriously. She let her gaze drift once more to her husband—only to realize he, too, was focused on Lady Reyne.

Penelope told herself not to be silly. She wasn’t
jealous.
Every eye in the room, not just those of the gentlemen, was upon Lady Reyne. The way the duke and his mother were squabbling—with level voices and perfect manners, to be sure; but the truth was they were squabbling all the same—over whether Lady Reyne should remain at Halstead or be sent home to her dour little cottage had drawn everyone’s attention.

Penelope knew she couldn’t have handled the strain with anything like the calm Lady Reyne did. Perhaps that was the true difference between ordinary people and the quality.

She looked back at the earl, and this time she couldn’t pretend she wasn’t feeling green with envy. If just once he had looked at her in the way he was studying Lady Reyne… But he was her husband, and there was no changing the fact. Perhaps she should act the part.