The Elusive Miss Ellison Page 4

  “No, sir.”

  He nudged Midnight closer. Her steps shied away again. “Are you sure?”

  “I do not like horses, sir.”

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  She shot him a look of disbelief, but behind the mutinous lift to her chin he glimpsed fear. Guilt shot through him as he recalled her well-deserved reason for trepidation, and he mollified his tone. “Have you been to the village?”

  She nodded. “Mrs. Foster, one of your tenants, has been unwell.”

  “I trust she will soon recover.”

  “She’d recover a great deal sooner if her house were in better repair.”

  “Then she should repair it.”

  “Precisely how should a poor widow repair her house?” The gray eyes flashed. “Tenant housing is your responsibility, Lord Hawkesbury.”

  “Johnson is supposed to check—”

  “Yes, well, your bailiff is supposed to do many things.”

  “I will look into it.”

  “Soon, I hope.” Her voice gentled. “Mrs. Foster is a dear lady, but aged. Another winter in such housing might be her last.”

  Weight settled on his shoulders as she walked away. Wonderful. Yet more responsibility. He wheeled Midnight around and followed her. “I believe, even in these parts, that it’s not the usual thing for young ladies to be out walking without any escort.”

  Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “So Lady Milton tells me.”

  “What should happen if someone should wish to harm you?”

  She glanced up at him sideways. “Like carry me off to ravish me?”

  “Miss Ellison!”

  “Everyone around here knows me, and I don’t think anyone would dare try.”

  “You should be more prudent with your words. Green girls should not be so vulgar.”

  “But I am not such a green girl! I am three and twenty.”

  His eyebrows rose. Her fresh looks marked her as younger. “Young ladies of my acquaintance do not speak so vulgarly.”

  “But I am not such a young lady, and you and I are barely acquainted, so your opinions need not concern me.”

  “But your safety!”

  She shrugged again. “I have Mickey to keep me company. He’s as good as any person.”

  “That thing?” He sneered as the dog bounded across the meadow chasing a butterfly.

  Two splotches of red highlighted her cheeks. “That thing can bite, so pray do not misjudge what you cannot know anything about.” She turned and whistled. “Come, Mickey.”

  Without a backward glance she set off up the hill again, her marked independence leaving him in a mess of frustration—and reluctant admiration.

  TWO DAYS LATER—AFTER his now daily stern talk with his bailiff necessitated yet another long ride—an ale at the ivy-covered Pickled Hen had calmed Nicholas sufficiently to walk through the village to reacquaint himself with its lanes and stone buildings. St. Hampton Heath was a rather pretty village, with its Norman square-towered church taking pride of place opposite the village green. The shops were few but seemed adequate for the villagers’ needs, comprising the blacksmiths, carpenters, wheelwright, cobbler, apothecary, and the village shop. The cobblestones were smooth and even, geraniums leaned from the windowsills, and the bright leaves of the great oaks lining the village green seemed to shout summer as they had for hundreds of years.

  The sharp bark of a dog drew his attention to the church. The heavy wooden doors were open, beckoning. Somehow, despite himself, his feet drew him to the dim interior of the porch. From within came the clank of metal. He frowned. Surely nobody would be stealing the church’s few valuable artifacts? That’s what came of leaving the door open so just anyone could walk in! Mr. Ellison might hold good intentions but he was far too trusting.

  He peered round the corner. Stained glass spilled gold and rose onto the wooden pews, the only light in the nave. A shadowed figure stood at the altar, too far away to identify. The person touched the gold vessels then bent down.

  He stepped forward, about to reprimand the intruder when the quiet was broken.

  “‘When I survey the wondrous cross …’”

  His skin prickled.

  “‘On which the Prince of glory died …’”

  A wild beating filled his heart as the glorious singing echoed off ancient stone.

  “‘My richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride.’”

  He exhaled. How could a cross lead to anything but loss? He shook his head. The idea was preposterous!

  A sloshing sound replaced the song. Oh …

  He stepped back and moved outside, sunshine dogging his steps as he hurried away. Thank goodness she hadn’t discovered him. Thank goodness he hadn’t called out! How would he explain his objection to flower arranging—especially to the reverend’s daughter? His lips twitched. He could wager the last foot of Hawkesbury land that particular encounter would result in icy smiles from Lady Disdain!

  The blacksmith hailed him, and they passed more than a few minutes discussing his horses before Nicholas resumed his walk. He was passing along a path near the stream when a voice from an open window reached his ears.

  “Mrs. Foster, how are you today?”

  “Tolerably well, Miss Livvie.”

  He stopped. A Mrs. Foster lived in his tenant housing, so Miss Ellison had said. Perhaps if he stayed here, half hidden from the cottage by a tree draped in sweet-smelling honeysuckle heavy with creamy flowers, he might learn more.

  There was a sigh and then the thin crackling voice continued. “The bailiff was around earlier and said his lordship will make the necessary repairs as soon as possible.”

  “Oh! Well, I am glad he at least said so.”

  A wheezy chuckle. “It is good his lordship is here.”

  Silence.

  “Don’t you agree, Miss Livvie? ’Tis good the family’s back.”

  “Mmm, I suppose.”

  His brow knit.

  “I be thinking that since he’s here, mayhap he will.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Foster. Who will do what?”

  “Perhaps the earl will get that Johnson to finally fix my leaky roof.”

  “Perhaps.”

  He frowned. Miss Ellison’s dry tone spoke volumes.

  “He’s a rascal, that one.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly describe him like that. We don’t really know him, after all.”

  There was another wheezy cackle. “Not know Johnson?”

  A beat. “Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought you meant …”

  Nicholas’s frown deepened. Miss Ellison thought that little of him?

  “He is rather a handsome young man, I be thinking.”

  “Who do you mean?”

  “Why, the earl of course!”

  “Mmm? Oh, I suppose so, yes.”

  His lips curved. Praise from Miss Ellison was hard won, indeed.

  “I am sure he is greatly missed in London.”

  “I’m sure he misses it, too. I rather doubt he will be here for long. Our little village concerns surely cannot hold enough to interest him.”

  He frowned and whipped a nearby yellow flowering shrub with his riding crop as he strode back to the blacksmith’s. Yes, he was reaping an eavesdropper’s reward, but still …

  Why did Miss Ellison seem to have a kind word for everybody but him?

  AT CHURCH THE following day, he again observed Miss Ellison’s mysterious exit during the service. And later, he couldn’t help but notice the young man standing with the squire and Sophia, talking animatedly while Miss Ellison listened.

  Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. The stripling—for really, he couldn’t be more than one and twenty—was rather handsome, in a florid, somewhat dandified way. No carelessly knotted neckcloth for him. His waistcoat was decorated with ornate gold-and-cream flowers, and his coat fitted perfectly—although he suspected padding might have something to do with it. Handsome, certainly, though the girth of his neck su
ggested he would emulate the squire’s rotundity in a few years.

  Sir Anthony shifted, his eyes brightening as Nicholas came into view. “Good morning, my lord. Such a lovely day.”

  Nicholas agreed. Sophia drew closer and smiled up at him, Miss Ellison having moved away to talk with a young mother surrounded by a gaggle of children.

  He dragged his attention back as the squire continued.

  “May I present my son, Peregrine. He has just returned from university.”

  Slight bows were exchanged. Young Mr. Milton cast him a less than surreptitious glance. “M’lord.”

  Nicholas resolved to be polite. “Oxford or Cambridge?”

  “Cambridge.”

  “Ah. I’m an Oxford man, myself.”

  “My lord, would you do us the honor of dining with us today?” Sir Anthony beamed. “We are having a small celebration to mark Perry’s return.”

  He glanced at the eager faces and was all set to refuse when a thought struck. Refusing too many local invitations would set him up as proud, and he’d never get to the bottom of what was really happening with his estate. “I’d be delighted.”

  Sophia clapped her hands. “Wonderful! We will make such a merry party. Lavinia is coming, too.”

  He glanced across at the reverend’s daughter. Her cool-eyed gaze shifted away.

  He smiled. Suddenly lunch seemed a little more enticing.

  TWO HOURS LATER, with the last of the courses cleared away—along with the squire and his wife who had disappeared for a rest—the chatter around the table turned to talk of an outing to the nearby ruins of an abbey. He leaned back in his seat as Sophia and her brother made plans.

  “Livvie, what say you to an alfresco luncheon tomorrow? We can ask Catherine, too.”

  “I’d say it sounds like a wonderful idea. I hope you enjoy yourself.”

  Sophia’s pretty mouth dropped open. “Mean you not to come?”

  “I am otherwise engaged. I have promised Eliza Hardy a visit.”

  “For shame, Livvie! You would pass up a treat for yet another visit to one of your deserving poor?”

  “For shame, Sophy.” Miss Ellison’s tone was gentle. “Would you have me break my word to a poor, motherless girl for the sake of a few hours of amusement?”

  Nicholas flicked open his snuffbox with careless grace. “Coming at it rather too brown, Miss Ellison.”

  Her face tinged a delicate shade of pink but she said nothing.

  “Please, Livvie, change your mind.” Sophia grasped her friend’s arm. “You will not miss my company.”

  “But we will!” Perry’s face flushed. “I’m sure Eliza won’t mind.”

  “I beg your pardon, but how can you know what she minds?” Miss Ellison’s glance sharpened though her voice remained soft.

  “But she doesn’t need you,” Perry complained.

  “And how would you know what she needs? When did you last speak with her? You barely acknowledge her when you pass on the street. Do you think because she is poor and defenseless, she is not worthy of attention?”

  “I, er … no.”

  “No? Your actions tell a different story.”

  Sophia rolled her eyes. “Livvie, I do wish you wouldn’t get so het up about such things.”

  Miss Ellison’s brow creased slightly. “And I wish that people didn’t think that just because someone is poor, they are beneath our respect. They are people, with the same feelings and dreams as anyone so blessed to be born into a more privileged life.”

  Nicholas snorted. “Hardly the same dreams.”

  The gray eyes flashed. “While I cannot speak for all, I do believe that most people share similar goals.”

  “And those would be?”

  “To be loved and to love, and to feel one has a purpose in this world.”

  “This from your years of observation and experience, is it?”

  “Not just mine, sir, but from people who have lived longer than I.” Her head tilted. “Do you not believe that to be true? Do you not wish to feel accepted and appreciated, to know that your life has purpose and meaning?”

  Her words struck his heart like hammer on anvil, forbidding speech. How could she know the driftless state of his heart?

  “I would not have Miss Hardy feel that because she is poor she is therefore expendable. She is my friend, and I have given her my word.”

  Sophia sighed. “You and your words.”

  Nicholas drawled, “I gather Miss Ellison has high principles that do not allow the slightest modification.”

  Clear gray eyes lifted to study him. “I gather from that remark, sir, that you have no problem altering your principles to suit your whims and desires.”

  Heat crawled up his neck. “You have a very impertinent tongue, Miss Ellison.”

  She flushed. “Perhaps. But at least when I say I will do a thing, I actually do it.”

  Guilt flashed through him at the remembrance of their last conversation. “I said I would inspect the tenant housing, and I shall.”

  The slight lift of one eyebrow betrayed her doubt. “And I said that I would visit Eliza tomorrow, and I shall.” She turned and smiled at Sophia. “Please excuse me. Today has been lovely, but our maid Hettie has been unwell, and I must assist with tonight’s dinner preparations.”

  “I will drive you home.” Perry rose, his countenance brightening as it did whenever Miss Ellison glanced his way.

  “Thank you, but there’s no need.” Her cool smile offered little encouragement.

  “But I would consider it an honor.”

  “Thank you, Perry, but I simply must walk off that magnificent meal.”

  “I’ll escort you.”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

  “But—”

  “Do you think Miss Ellison unable to walk home?” Nicholas drained his wine glass, and eyed the tiresome gallant.

  “No.”

  “Worried for her safety?” He placed the glass on the table. “I have it on excellent authority that nobody would dare try to carry off Miss Ellison and ravish her.”

  Sophia’s gasp and her brother’s indignant “Sir!” paled into insignificance as a hint of a dimple hovered near Miss Ellison’s mouth.

  He inclined his head to the siblings. “I humbly beg your pardon.”

  He caught the amusement in Miss Ellison’s eyes before she reiterated her excuses to Sophia, offered a slight curtsey to the guests, and exited the room.

  He contrived to remain interested, but the zest had left the room. After another quarter hour of polite nothings, he made his excuses and departed.

  He caught up with her, mere steps from the twin cherry trees marking the drive to the Ellison estate. Her hat dangled from the ribbons, her hair spilling from her chignon, as she gazed at the trees, lost in thought.

  He pulled Midnight to a halt. “Miss Ellison, I’m pleased to see you’re almost home.”

  “As you can see.” She curtsied, mockingly.

  “No kidnappers or masked bandits accosted you?”

  “Surprisingly enough, no. Nor have they the hundreds of times I’ve walked this route before.” She stooped to pick some pretty yellow flowers from the side of the road.

  “Young Milton seems to have an eye on a particular young lady.”

  She straightened, her cheeks pink. “Perry may have an eye, but his mother has a care to ensure he marries someone with more to offer than some musical ability.”

  “You do not seem too dismayed.”

  “No. But then, I have yet to meet a man that has caught my eye.” With an expression that could only be described as a smirk, she dipped her head and walked purposefully up the drive.

  He watched the slight figure walk away. Irritation prickled within his heart, and he tapped Midnight’s flanks and rode away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHE SHIVERED. SOMEONE had left the vestry doors open, admitting a cold draft through the church building. Lavinia pulled the shawl closer as her father conti
nued his address.

  “Our Lord said: forgive and it will be forgiven you. Each week we recite the Lord’s Prayer, we say to God: ‘Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.’ But I ask you, do we really want God to forgive us the way we forgive others?”

  Lavinia swallowed. No, she did not.

  “Imagine for a moment, if our heavenly Father really did forgive us the way we think we forgive others. Would He let go of some of those sins we consider minor, like gossip or untruths, and focus on the sins we deem more important, like murder or lust?”

  The church drew a collective breath. Had Papa ever spoken of lust in services before? His preaching certainly allowed no sleeping today. She refrained from turning around to view the earl’s expression. She hadn’t seen him this week. Rumor had it he’d traipsed back to London. For a haircut!

  “That is how we judge, is it not? How often do we hold sins against others, whether they be petty, imagined slights, or even grave miscarriages of justice, while allowing our own weaknesses to slip through our fingers of blame? Thank God He knows we are but frail flesh. Thank God His forgiveness is complete.”

  She nodded and subtly stretched her back muscles, stiff from yesterday’s hard day of gardening, safe in the knowledge that the curtain screening her position at the pipe organ meant she remained unseen.

  “But in thanking God for His forgiveness, let us not pardon ourselves too quickly. Let us be mindful of those times when we need to exercise forgiveness for others and allow no room for offense to set in. Unforgiveness is a slow rot, poisoning our soul, hardening our heart to God and to others. But when we are quick to forgive every offense and wrongdoing, our hearts become softer and more responsive to God’s love, until we are like our Savior, who was able to forgive all humanity as He hung upon a cross.”

  Papa leaned against the pulpit imploringly. “Let us not require people to repent before we offer our pardon. We know we are all sinners, requiring God’s forgiveness. ‘While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.’ So let us do likewise, offering pardon to others, just as God offered His pardon to all mankind, even before mankind asked His forgiveness. In doing so, we represent Christ and His peace. Let us pray.”

  Lavinia bowed her head as emotions tumbled within. Yes, she wanted to forgive. Yes, she knew not forgiving would bind her soul. But something inside still demanded to hear the earl say, “I’m sorry.”