The Elusive Miss Ellison Page 17

  “Ah. You may need to show me that verse.”

  “Gladly.” She tilted her head and smiled up at him, causing his chest to throb painfully. “You mentioned another favor?”

  “Only if you are not too tired?”

  “I am not.”

  “Would you please accompany me to the long gallery?”

  “Of course.”

  He led the way to the long hall. A bank of large windows spilled light onto the wall containing dozens of ancestral portraits. She examined the paintings intently, a small smile on her face, before she sank onto a small settee, positioned to view the pictures in all their glory.

  “We have a great many more paintings in the gallery at Hawkesbury House. But Uncle Robert never liked to throw away his ancestors.”

  “Casting off one’s family members must count as the height of incivility.”

  “Indeed.”

  She glanced around. “I remember coming here as a girl. Your uncle knew I liked looking at the pictures. I’ve never known my grandparents, and my family is small, so it gave me such a sense of comfort to see the years of family so honored.”

  What a different perspective to his mother’s. She had banished these particular portraits, labeling them old-fashioned and unsuitable for Hawkesbury House.

  “Did you discover the special family emblem?”

  “The badger?” She smiled. “I’m surprised you don’t consider that my personal emblem.”

  “Far be it from me to ever point that out to a lady.”

  “No, not when you’re such a gentleman.”

  They shared smiles.

  He dragged his gaze away and focused on a painting of his great-grandfather posing astride his horse, Jupiter. Uncle Robert had always said Nicholas was the spitting image, from the dark hair and mismatched eyebrows to his love for horses.

  She rose, and peered at it more closely. “That house in the background?”

  “Hawkesbury House.”

  “It looks very grand.”

  “It is. Which is why my mother prefers living there when not in London.”

  “I have always thought the Hall here very convivial.”

  “I agree. I think it more pleasantly situated, too. Hawkesbury House is much too dark and has too many ill-conceived additions. The Hall is much nicer, more fitting as a family home.”

  He hoped she didn’t misinterpret that last comment. But there was no knowing smile or flirtatious comment such as would trip from the tongue of so many young ladies his mother deemed suitable. Instead she was frowning.

  “What is it, Miss Ellison? You seem displeased. Surely it’s not the color of the draperies? I assure you they are very fine. Although my mother is demanding an overhaul.”

  The smile was fleeting. “The color of your draperies holds little interest for me.”

  “What an unusual female you are! Every other female of my acquaintance seems to hold very decided opinions about the colors and the furnishings of my houses. Why not you?”

  She glanced about abstractly. “I should not like to be so rich.”

  “No? And how rich should you like to be?”

  Her eyes were serious. “How many houses do you have, sir?”

  “Three. Or is it four? My solicitor assures me the hunting lodge in Scotland is mine and not my cousin’s, yet my cousin does not seem quite convinced.”

  “And how many of them do you actually live in?”

  “Only ever one at a time.”

  She shook her head. “It seems quite wrong for one person to have vacant houses when others have such poor housing or indeed none.”

  The lightheartedness disappeared. “Are you moralizing again?”

  Her cheeks pinked.

  “What would you have me do, Miss Ellison? Move all the poor into my homes? I assure you, there may prove some difficulties with such a scheme.”

  She studied the floor, her lips pressed together. “I’m sorry, I … I believe I am rather tired after all, Lord Hawkesbury. Please excuse me.”

  And before he knew what had happened, she’d dropped a small curtsey and hurried away to the music room, where the abrupt halt of the pianoforte and low voices suggested she had found her aunt once again.

  Leaving him feeling bereft, adrift, and calling himself every kind of fool.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  AFTER DINNER CONSUMED in her room, followed by a fitful night during which Lavinia worried what she’d say to the earl when she saw him again, her courage at finally descending the stairs for breakfast was rewarded with the news that the earl had gone for a long ride earlier.

  She ate with her aunt and discussed the weather, now considerably clearer than the inclement conditions of the past few days, and then repaired to the music room while Aunt Patience visited the village. The music helped calm her frayed emotions. She was midway through the second movement when the door opened.

  “Miss Ellison, I am sorry to disturb you, but you have visitors.” Giles inclined his head. “In the blue saloon.”

  Anticipation hurried her steps to the hallway. “My father?”

  “Alas, no.”

  “Is the earl returned?”

  “Not as yet.” He cleared his throat. “Would you be requiring tea?”

  She blinked. “I could not wish to presume …”

  He waited.

  She drew in a deep breath. “If the visitors are still here after a quarter hour, or if the earl returns, then yes, tea would be lovely. Thank you, Giles.”

  “As you wish.” He smiled.

  She checked her appearance in the large hall mirror, smoothed her hair into something acceptable, glad her effort to cheer herself meant she’d chosen to wear her nicer morning gown.

  Martins opened the door. She smiled her thanks then stopped in surprise.

  “Livvie!” Pink satin and blond curls flew at her. “We were so worried!”

  Lavinia drew back from the satin-encased arms almost smothering her in a hug, and laughed. “I am much improved now, Sophy.”

  “I am so glad!”

  “We are all very thankful.” Lady Milton offered a tight smile.

  “Indeed, we are!”

  The squire’s genial expression put her at ease to be seated and ask him about the harvest and other village matters. His recounts and Sophy’s bright chatter proved quite diverting, although Lady Milton’s frown and continued silence were somewhat disconcerting.

  “Would you like tea, Lady Milton?”

  “I beg your pardon?” The frown intensified, and she glanced at the door again.

  “Mama, Livvie asked if we would like tea.”

  “Tea? Oh, yes, thank you, tea would be nice. It’s rather cool out.”

  After giving instructions to a footman, Lavinia returned her attention to her guests. “It feels an age since I was outside.”

  “Of course, my dear.” The squire smiled. “You should be protected from the elements—”

  “Where is your aunt?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Lady Milton leaned forward, her dark eyes snapping. “Perhaps Miss West did not explain matters clearly, or your recent illness has made it difficult to remember how a young lady should behave, but there are some people who would be scandalized by a young woman staying in the house of a single gentleman!”

  Her breath caught. Could a slapped face sting any harder?

  “Mama!”

  “I’m sorry, Lavinia, but I think your behavior most improper. I know you don’t have a mother to advise you, but I would have thought a reverend’s daughter would be more aware of what the gossips will say!”

  Her eyes burned. She pressed her lips, desperate to prevent an angry retort—or tears.

  “Lady Milton,” a deep voice drawled from behind her, “perhaps you can tell us what the gossips intend to say?”

  One quick glance around the room had been enough to gain everyone’s measure. The squire and his daughter sat stupefied, Lady Milton looked furious, while Lavinia’s pin
k cheeks and downcast bearing spoke volumes.

  “My lord! We did not expect you—”

  “Evidently.” He shot the squire’s wife a look that had quelled lesser mortals.

  “I am sorry, I did not mean to suggest—”

  “Suggest what, ma’am?” His gaze narrowed. “That Miss Ellison had ulterior motives in becoming sick? That she intended to become unconscious, and somehow in her unconscious state manipulated the situation so as to end up here? Or are you suggesting that she deceived Dr. Hanbury, my entire staff, Miss West, and myself by merely pretending to have smallpox and such severe influenza that her survival is indeed miraculous?”

  He paused for breath. Lady Milton’s foolish mouth had fallen open.

  “I am sure, ma’am, that you could not possibly conceive such ill-natured things. Why, the very thought is repugnant!”

  “Repugnant!” Sir Anthony echoed, glaring at his wife.

  “And anyone who even dared to impugn my character and contemplate that I would be so dishonorable as to take advantage of such a calamity must know they need never darken the doors of my house again.”

  “My lord, I did not mean to cast aspersions on your character at all!”

  “Merely Miss Ellison’s?” He lifted a brow. “Surely you must realize Miss Ellison is a most superior female, without conceit, without a devious bone in her body. Anyone who presumes to think otherwise is a fool!” He offered his blandest smile. “And I am persuaded you are no fool.”

  The door opened to admit a servant carrying the tea tray, his entrance swiftly followed by Miss West, whose quick survey of the room seemed to readily surmise the situation.

  “I am terribly sorry. I was detained at the apothecary. Dr. Hanbury reminded me to ensure Lavinia does not travel until he determines she is strong enough.” She moved to Lavinia’s side and frowned. “Are you quite well? You seem a trifle flushed.”

  “I am a little tired,” she replied in a low voice.

  “Perhaps a rest will be necessary after tea.” Miss West’s dark eyes glittered as she glanced around the room. “I must confess, I certainly had not anticipated such a party.”

  Lady Milton half rose from her position on the settee. “We can leave now, if you prefer.”

  “Nonsense.” Nicholas shot Miss West a glance. “Miss Milton has barely had a chance to talk with Miss Ellison. Let us not interrupt their time together.”

  He assisted Miss West by handing around the cups and saucers, noting Lavinia’s studied avoidance of him and refusal to meet anyone’s gaze, although Miss Milton’s chatter did manage to coax a small smile from her.

  He glanced at the squire. “I was inspecting the recent improvements to some of the estate housing, to see how it holds up under the recent weather. I am pleased to report the new roof does exactly as it ought.”

  Lavinia peeped at him, a small smile peeking out before her attention returned to Sophia. Satisfied, he allowed Miss West to carry the conversation as he sought to hear the girls’ words.

  “It feels an age since we saw you.” Sophia sighed. “Mama did not want me to visit earlier, in case I came down with something.”

  “She was wise.”

  “I don’t know why you had to visit the Thatchers, Livvie.”

  Lavinia’s eyes shadowed, before she offered a gentle, “How are the children coping?”

  “I haven’t spoken to them, of course, but from all accounts, they are coping well.” Sophia flicked a plump curl over her shoulder. “It must be hard to lose your mother like that.”

  He glanced sharply at Lavinia’s pressed lips and rapid blinking. “I imagine, Miss Milton, it’s very difficult to lose your mother regardless of circumstance.”

  Silence filled the room.

  The remainder of tea was consumed in an awkward hush.

  Not long after, the Miltons rose and made their departure, which was swiftly followed by the removal upstairs of Miss Ellison and Miss West. The tea things were cleared away, and Nicholas sat alone, ruing the years of habitual sarcasm that now proved so difficult to contain, and wondering what repercussions would eventuate, for himself and for poor Lavinia.

  “I cannot believe she thinks that of me!”

  “I cannot believe she had the nerve to say such a thing.” Aunt Patience wore a scowl the likes of which Lavinia had never seen. “It is a credit to you that you held your tongue.”

  “I doubt she would have believed my denials, anyway.”

  And that was the hard truth. Her innocence was impossible to prove. Humiliation covered her indignation like thick goose grease did a burn.

  “Perhaps she’ll believe the earl. He looked thunderous, didn’t he?”

  Lavinia nodded. But had the earl appeared too anxious to deny any wrongdoing? Would his assiduous attention not provide further speculation that he may indeed hold something akin to affection for her in his heart? Or was this complete and utter fantasy, fueled by her stupid imagination and exacerbated by illness? She groaned.

  Aunt Patience looked at her sharply and then pulled back the bedcovers. “Come, I think it’s best for you to rest.”

  She agreed meekly, removing her shoes and lying under the blankets. But although she prayed and tried to believe things would somehow work out for good, the mortification continued to ebb and flow, the questions whirled, and heaviness of heart made sleep impossible.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  NICHOLAS SPURRED MIDNIGHT through the increasing rain showers in a futile attempt to forget the stupidity of yesterday. He was a fool, a complete and utter fool, to have allowed himself to be so easily goaded by that woman. Despite the title, Lady Milton was no lady.

  He should have resisted and held his tongue as Lavinia did, but something about how she looked so defenseless, like a baby bird faced with a snarling Brindle Terrier, had wrung his heart—and wrung sense from his brain.

  Midnight cantered up the slope toward the Hall, his hooves thundering across parkland that had yet to turn to mud.

  “Come on, boy. Nearly there.” Icy chips of rain slithered down his neck. The Hall suddenly loomed in front of him, its lighted windows the promise of comfort.

  Midnight veered toward the stables, his breath misting in the cool air. Nicholas ducked his head as he entered. Stable hands appeared from dim recesses.

  “The weather’s blowing in.” McHendricks reached for the reins. “Getting nasty out.”

  “I hope conditions have improved around here.”

  “They must have if you can now make such remarks.”

  Nicholas nodded, appreciative of the head groom’s willingness to overlook his foul temper of before. He strode to the house, walked inside, stripped off his gloves, and halted at the sound of laughter. Laughter? How long since he’d returned to a house of laughter? His childhood had consisted of cold propriety and continual competition with James. He took a step toward the sound and hesitated. He hadn’t seen Lavinia since yesterday morning. Was she still avoiding him?

  “Welcome back, sir.” Giles hurried forward and took his cloak, hat, and gloves, before handing him a small towel to dry his face. “Miss West and Miss Ellison are in the library.”

  “Thank you, Giles.”

  He strode to the library and opened the door. Two heads lifted, one eyed him warily.

  “Good afternoon, Miss West.” He nodded. “Miss Ellison.”

  “Hello.” Her eyes seemed lit with genuine gladness, her warm smile eliciting his.

  His pulse danced. What would it be like to have a wife waiting for him with a welcome warmer than any paid servant’s? He stepped nearer. “I am glad to see you look more refreshed.”

  “I was a little tired yesterday.”

  “Tired of her visitors,” Miss West offered drily.

  “It was kind for them to come. I did enjoy talking with Sophy. I have missed her.”

  Nicholas smiled. So his hint to the Miltons at church hadn’t been entirely in vain. “I thought I heard the sound of laughter as I came in.”

>   She lifted the book in her hands. “I’m reading Twelfth Night. I was in the mood for something comical, and this has always been my favorite Shakespearean play.”

  “Now why does that not surprise me? I might have supposed you to be a fan of Viola’s proclivity for action.”

  Her eyes rounded. “You know the play?”

  “‘When mine eyes did see Olivia first, methought she purged the air of pestilence.’”

  “Olivia, did you say?” Miss West raised her brows.

  “Of course, ma’am.” Ignoring her speculative look, he sat on the sofa opposite Lavinia and stretched out his legs. “I studied it at school. I hated it at the time, but then I was a callow youth.”

  “Caring more for your horse than your studies?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Lavinia smiled, and he couldn’t help but respond in kind. There was something so right about the way she looked, seated in front of the crackling fireplace as rain pattered the windows. The tension of the previous morning seemed forgotten, replaced by a sense of camaraderie that gave an ease to things now.

  “I always thought Olivia quite an insipid character.”

  He glanced at Miss West. “I agree. Apart from beauty, she has little to recommend her.”

  She nodded, as if satisfied, and perused her slim volume of poetry.

  “I have always felt quite sorry for Malvolio. He is treated extremely poor.”

  “You surprise me, Miss Ellison. Sympathy for one so proud? I would think you would enjoy his set down.”

  “I do not enjoy seeing anyone in pain, sir.”

  “Your compassion does you credit. But Malvolio’s pretensions merely blind him to reality. ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.’”

  Her eyes widened.

  “You seem surprised I know something of the Bible.”

  “Pleased, sir, rather than surprised.”

  “I must confess, I did not recognize its truth until, like Malvolio, my pride was assailed.”

  Her expression shifted into something akin to regret. “But sometimes the method of destruction can be overly harsh.”