An Unconventional Courtship Read online

  The malicious amusement died out of her ancient relative’s face. Had it been anyone else, she might have thought she detected a trace of apology in his gruff voice. “After my wife died, I got out of the habit of society, and by the time you came here to live, no woman had crossed this threshold in years. You seemed perfectly content to have it so,” he challenged, going on the offensive again before the incipient attack of self-censure could take hold.

  “And so I was, Uncle,” she replied matter-of-factly. “And of course Isabella was in deepest mourning when she and the children arrived — there was no question of entertaining that first year. Afterward, we were engaged in making plans for Emerald’s come-out, and this past six months it has been just ourselves and the little ones.” Her shoulders went back in resolution and she continued briskly, “We shall just have to do our best to entertain Lord Altern without company. I daresay he will be quite content with only Emerald’s society, after all.”

  “I’ll thank you to make sure he doesn’t get too much of Emerald’s society,” growled the earl. “I won’t have that fool woman throwing the chit at Altern’s head, no matter how eligible he might be.”

  “Uncle!” Cleone exclaimed in deep censure. “You are most definitely beside the bridge with that remark. Isabella’s understanding may be no more than moderate, but —”

  “Moderate, hah! Generous of you. Deny if you can that the woman’s got more hair than wit.”

  Cleone’s eyes fell beneath the ice-blue challenge that age had scarcely diminished. “Well, I cannot,” she admitted frankly, “but neither can you deny that her principles are of the highest, and even if they were not,” she continued before the earl could deliver himself of the homily on the want of principle common to the entire female gender that was hovering on his lips, “Isabella never puts a foot wrong socially. She would never permit her daughter to live in any man’s pocket. She and Cousin Jack were very kind to me when I had my own modest season five years ago. There were occasions when Mother was too unwell to accompany me to parties, and Isabella generously stepped into the breach to act as chaperone. There is no questioning her inherent sense of what constitutes socially acceptable conduct.”

  Sensing the growing restiveness of her audience, Miss Latham cut short her argument. “Well, sir, I have taken up enough of your time this morning. I’m off to the nursery to tell the children that their mother and sisters return tomorrow. They’ll be so excited. I daresay we’ve grown deadly dull with nothing but our own company these past months. It will be delightful to have the family together again.”

  She whisked out the door, refusing to let herself gaze upon what her knowledge of him told her would be total disagreement writ plain on her uncle’s face.

  A second disbelieving “Hah!” followed her through the solid oak panels as she made her escape.

  By dinnertime the following afternoon, Cleone was forced to concede that her cheerful prophecy had been overly optimistic, though the first part had certainly been fulfilled. Young Charlie, age seven, and Louisa, age four, had been wildly excited at the prospect of a reunion with their mother and sisters. Shortly after the first transports of maternal affection had brought Lady Henley to happy tears at the visual evidence of their continued growth and blooming health, however, their persistent voices clamouring in shrill competition to inform their mama of all their newest accomplishments reduced her nerves, always irritated by travel, to a state where it was imperative to send for her maid to put her ladyship to bed with a restorative tisane until it was time to dress for dinner.

  The children had readily transferred their eager attentions to their elder sisters, but after a perfunctory kiss for each, Emerald excused herself to go to her bedchamber to supervise the unpacking of her London wardrobe. Cecily, who at seventeen alternated between periods of indulgence toward the younger ones and spells of self-conscious maturity when their company annoyed her, was in one of her disobliging moods at the moment, though she promised to join the children and Cleone for a late-afternoon walk around the grounds after she had settled back into her room. It fell to Cleone’s lot to soothe the ruffled feelings of the little ones, which she accomplished by proposing a rousing game of hide-and-seek in the shrubbery, to be followed by ginger cookies for the successful finders.

  The most disconcerting aspect of the homecoming had been reserved for the unexpected appearance, an hour after the arrival of his mother and sisters, of the Viscount Henley. It was at the moment when, having allowed herself to be “found,” Cleone was being escorted toward the kitchen entrance by a triumphant Charlie and Louisa that hoofbeats heading for the stables caught the children’s attention. Charlie was the first to identify the two riders, and he immediately broke into a run after the pair, all thoughts of gingerbread cookies forgotten in the deeper pleasure of seeing his splendid big brother again. Louisa was no less excited, but she was content to remain on the path holding her cousin’s hand until Philip reappeared with Charlie a few moments later, having left the horses in the care of his groom.

  Cleone, fighting a rising sense of uneasiness at seeing Philip here before the term had ended, nevertheless greeted him with a welcoming smile that drew a brief return. She watched in silence while the young viscount tossed his little sister up into the air gently before succumbing to Charlie’s ceaseless exhortations to be allowed to ride on his brother’s shoulders.

  As Philip squatted down to permit his passenger to climb aboard, Cleone got her first good look at his features, and the trouble thereon caused her to bite her lips for a second before venturing quietly, “Have you been sent down from Cambridge, Philip?”

  He nodded, reaching up to grasp Charlie’s hands as a sturdy nankeen-clad leg dangled over each shoulder. “It’s nothing serious, just a prank. They’ll have me back next term.”

  “I’m glad. Does your mother know? She didn’t mention it in her letter.”

  Lord Henley straightened up and they began to walk slowly toward the house, the slim young man carrying his crowing brother while his cousin, her eyes nearly on a level with his, held the hand of the little girl skipping along between them. “Of course Mama knows,” he said in some surprise. “I’ve been in town for over a sennight. I overslept this morning, which is why I didn’t come with them. Musgrove and I rode down later.”

  “Er … is Lord Brestwick aware of the situation?”

  Philip’s lips tightened, and he said with a hint of bravado, “Not unless Mama has broken the news for me.”

  “I don’t believe they’ve met yet. The trip was a bit tiring for your mother. She went upstairs to rest almost immediately.”

  Philip made no answer, and since Charlie broke in with eager questions for his brother, they finished the short walk without returning to the subject and parted in the corridor with Cleone taking the children to the kitchen for the promised treat.

  Thanks to the unexpected arrival of the heir, the atmosphere of the homecoming dinner was somewhat strained. None of those returning had chanced to encounter the head of the family until everyone assembled in the small sitting room before dinner, but his demeanour on greeting the returning females was a clear indication that the news of the viscount’s presence had reached him. Cleone had left her uncle after lunch quite satisfied that, if not warmly welcoming, he was at least complaisant in the expectation of seeing his family again. Noting his frozen aspect and short greeting to his son’s widow, she drew a long breath and resigned herself to an awkward evening. He was scarcely more welcoming to the girls. Cecily, who stood in awe of her formidable grandparent, curtsied nervously and edged closer to her mother. Emerald, made of sterner stuff, went boldly up the earl’s tall, still-erect figure and raised upon tiptoe to brush a kiss on his cheek.

  “It’s wonderful to see you again, Grandpapa. You are looking well.”

  “Harrumph!” snorted the earl, thawing visibly under the charm of her smile. “Rumour has reached me that you’ve taken London more or less by storm.”

  “Yes, Gran
dpapa.” Emerald lowered her eyes in maidenly modesty, then raised them in sheer mischief.

  “Didn’t manage to catch a husband, though, did you?”

  “Not yet, Grandpapa.”

  “Minx!” he muttered, pinching her cheek. “So I am to have the privilege of housing the intended victim of your final campaign, am I?”

  Emerald pouted prettily but was saved from a propitiating reply by the appearance at that moment of her brother.

  At once the earl’s aspect hardened as he looked past his lovely granddaughter to the young man hesitating in the doorway.

  At least Philip had acquiesced to the rigid code of dress demanded by his grandfather, Cleone saw with relief. He had discarded his pantaloons and donned the old-fashioned knee breeches that were de rigueur in Lord Brestwick’s day. His blue coat sat squarely on slim shoulders and his head was high as he crossed to greet first his mother, who followed his progress with adoring eyes that held trepidation as he then approached his grandfather. Philip was a fine-looking lad with regular features and a nicely shaped head covered in dark curls, but his appearance clearly afforded his grandsire no gratification.

  No one spoke as Lord Henley made his bow to the earl. Emerald slipped away from them to rejoin the ladies. The tension in the room multiplied as Lord Brestwick fixed his heir with a basilisk stare before replying to his greeting.

  “Am I correct in assuming your presence here means you managed to get yourself chucked out of Cambridge?”

  “Not permanently, sir,” the young man said. “They’ll have me back.”

  “If I choose to send you back.”

  To the relief of all parties, with the possible exception of the earl, his butler materialized in the doorway at that moment to announce dinner. Lord Brestwick pointedly ignored his grandson during the uncomfortable mealtime that followed. He made short replies to his daughter-in-law’s questions as to his health and addressed his infrequent remarks exclusively to his great-niece seated to his right.

  With the ease of long practice, Cleone and Lady Henley kept the conversation alive while the servants were in the room. Tonight Emerald was bubbling over with excitement in anticipation of a visit from her titled suitor, and she set herself to softening her grandfather’s mood with descriptions of events and anecdotes from her very successful entry into London society. Cecily, generally too timid to volunteer speech in her grandfather’s presence, was carried out of herself enough by dreams of a similarly spectacular come-out in the near future to abet her sister in recounting her experiences as a toast of the town.

  Observing the girls, both sparkling brunettes, though Cecily had not her sister’s extraordinary beauty, Cleone thought it just possible that Lord Brestwick’s mood would be improved by their artless delight and good humour. She had been aware that Philip had made no contributions to the general discussion, though he had carried on an occasional low-voiced exchange with his mother, and she was grateful that his sisters’ enthusiasm had covered his silence. She was beginning to indulge the hope that they would brush through the meal without active hostilities breaking out when the earl’s voice sounded loud in one of those unexpected silences that sometimes occur in the midst of busy conversations.

  “Where is your ring?”

  Emerald, who had paused for breath, sat blinking with her pretty mouth open while Cecily’s eyes flew first to the speaker and then in the direction of his gaze.

  “Were you addressing me, sir?” Philip succeeded in infusing his voice with the correct degree of casual inquiry, but Cleone had seen his fist clench involuntarily before he relaxed his fingers and raised the wineglass to his lips.

  “Where is the Henley emerald?” repeated his grandfather, enunciating each syllable as if speaking to a mental defective.

  “I don’t always care to wear such a large ring, sir,” Philip replied with perfect civility.

  His grandfather’s tones iced over and rose in volume and pitch. “That ring is older than the earldom. Every Viscount Henley since the first James has worn that ring until he died or passed it on to his heir on succeeding to the earldom. I expect to see it on your finger tomorrow.”

  “Well, actually, sir, it is a bit too big for my finger. I left it with Rundell and Bridge to have it adjusted.”

  “When will it be ready?”

  “I… Next week.” Philip’s eyes, Cleone noted, had failed to meet the earl’s frowning glare, and a nasty premonition seized her. She raised her glass to her lips and took a revivifying gulp of her wine, vaguely cognizant of her uncle’s voice ordering his grandson to retrieve the heirloom ring at the earliest opportunity.

  During the interval that the men remained in the dining room, Cleone was unnaturally quiet, permitting the chatter of the three women to wash over her while her thoughts remained with her male cousin. She would take her oath that something more was troubling Philip than merely being rusticated, though he could be forgiven for not caring to face his grandfather’s wrath on that count alone. If his mother or sisters knew of any more serious problem, it was not evident in their conversation, which dealt exclusively with plans for the entertainment of Lord Altern. The only time Philip was mentioned was when Emerald roundly condemned her brother for setting their grandfather all at odds just when she had been on the point of getting him to reconsider his refusal to hire a house at Brighton for the summer.

  This piece of fantasy brought Cleone’s attention back to the present. “You actually asked your grandfather to hire a house for the summer season after six months in London?” Her fascinated gaze roamed over the heart-shaped face of her cousin framed enchantingly by a mop of shining black ringlets in sharp contrast to her milk-white complexion. The other contributing factor to the spectacular colouring that distinguished the Honourable Miss Hardwicke and set her apart from other pretty girls was a pair of clear green eyes set under arched brows of jet black and fringed with eyelashes of the same hue. Her eyes were sparkling at the moment, and her chin tilted at a haughty angle as she returned the older girl’s look.

  “Yes, why not? Of course, it was Mama who made the actual request. She wrote to Grandpapa before we left London.”

  Cleone said nothing for a moment while she digested this, wondering whether it was a measure of Emerald’s success in society or an inflated opinion of her powers of persuasion that she believed she could influence Lord Brestwick to part with the necessary funds to finance a summer in a fashionable watering hole not twelve miles from home. She continued to examine the lovely face before her, noting that Emerald’s pout, which had not detracted a whit from her beauty, changed to a self-satisfied preening as her cousin’s silence goaded her into further speech.

  “Grandpapa is proud of my success in London. My dance card was always full, there was never an occasion when I did not have several gentlemen vying for my favours, and I received more offers than any other girl in town, including Mary Thornley with her hundred thousand pounds.”

  “Did you — did you discuss your various proposals with your friends?” Cleone controlled a betraying quiver of her lips by pressing them together.

  “Of course not,” Emerald replied with a toss of her curls. “No one would be that vulgar, but everybody knew just the same.”

  “In other words,” inserted Cecily, casting a look of exaggerated innocence at her cousin, “they all swore each other to secrecy and then bragged about the offers.”

  Emerald’s lofty smile was meant to squash her sister. “Don’t speak of matters of which you can know nothing.”

  “Just because I wasn’t allowed to go to ton parties, even though I am turned seventeen, doesn’t mean I didn’t observe what went on when those superior friends of yours came to call, even if you all practically ignored me, which was exceedingly ill bred of —”

  “Girls, please! If you continue bickering tomorrow, you will give Lord Altern a false impression of the family,” Lady Henley warned her daughters.

  “Cissie is just jealous because she couldn’t go to parties
and balls. She spent all her evenings stuffing her head with trashy novels from the Minerva Press.”

  “And what were you reading on the rare occasions when you didn’t have an engagement? The Beggar Girl and Her Benefactors, that’s what,” retorted Cecily.

  “Only because I was curious to see what you found so fascinating about romances. If they are all like that example, they are totally worthless, in my opinion.”

  “I notice that you read all seven volumes before you formed your opinion,” cried Cecily, glaring at her sister.

  “Girls, you are giving me the headache,” complained Lady Henley. “As if my nerves were not already worn to a thread after an exhausting season. I am not at all certain that I shall be able to undertake another such as this. My constitution has never been strong and —”

  “Mama, how can you say such a thing?” Tears swam in Cecily’s big blue eyes. “You carted Emerald all over town this spring. Why could you not have taken me too if you feared you could not endure another season? It’s not fair!”

  “Do not be making such heavy weather of a little upset, Cecily,” Cleone advised the younger girl in brisk, no-nonsense tones. “Your mother is understandably fatigued at the end of a very busy period. The clear air of the country will soon restore her health and spirits. Your turn will come. It is probably all for the best that your grandfather has declined to hire a house at the shore. Brighton in the summer heat can be as tiring as London. It will do you all good to spend a restful summer here.”

  “Speak for yourself, Cleo,” declared Emerald with a resumption of her pout. “Just because you disdain society and prefer to remain in the country playing chess and piquet with an old man doesn’t mean that every female feels that way. Grandpapa can well afford to hire a house in Brighton, and I have not given up trying to change his mind. If only Philip will not antagonize him!”