Lord Greywell's Dilemma (7 page)

Greywell raised one elegant brow. “I did intend to return to Ashfield one day, Sir Edward.”

“Yes, well, these things drag on, you know. And by the time you returned, she’d be perfectly well established and probably not mind at all your being around.”

“The ideal marriage, in fact.”

“My dear sir, you have already had the ideal marriage, by all accounts. You cannot expect to duplicate that sort of arrangement, and in the meantime you would have a responsible woman looking after your interests.”

Edward leaned forward, his forehead furrowed. “You believe it is only my own comfort of which I think, and perhaps, for the most part, it is. But Elspeth is a good woman and she deserves to have a life of her own. She wouldn’t resent raising another woman’s child. She wouldn’t pine for being left alone the majority of the time. You would be free to pursue your own interests in London or elsewhere, discreetly. I’m not discreet, and I tend to leave a trail of brats behind me. They’re an embarrassment to her. She’d be better off out of the neighborhood entirely.”

“Even if that’s true, your daughter may not see it in the same light as you do. You couldn’t very well force her to marry.”

“No, nor would I be inclined to do so. But you’re a presentable young man, with exactly the right qualifications to appeal to her.” Edward stroked his chin with one short, square hand, studying Greywell absently. “You would have to convince her of the benefits of such a marriage. She suspects what’s afoot and she doesn’t like it.”

“Who can blame her? I wouldn’t at all appreciate it if someone were trying to arrange my life for me.”

“We’re not arranging her life, we’re offering her an opportunity,” Sir Edward said airily, and then added, “You may be sure, if it doesn’t meet with her approval, she’ll have nothing to do with it. She has a most decided mind of her own. Now, if you will excuse me, I want to have a look at the new mare before I dress for dinner. Please make yourself comfortable.”

“Will Miss Parkstone be joining us for dinner?”

Sir Edward looked startled. “Well, of course she will. Elspeth isn’t one to let a little difference of opinion deter her from her duty as hostess.”

“She didn’t stay to tea.”

“No, but she poured for us. I’m sure she’ll come to dinner.”

“Please don’t insist upon it.”

Sir Edward snorted. “It wouldn’t do the least good if I did,” he muttered as he left the room.

Chapter Four

When Sir Edward and Elspeth were dining alone, they dressed a little less formally than when they had company, but they did dress for dinner. It was a habit of long standing with them, and one Elspeth’s mother would never have thought to question. Elspeth found it rather irksome, and was wont to wear one of two different gowns alternately. She did, of course, possess an adequate assortment of evening dresses, because she was frequently invited to one of the neighboring homes to dine.

As she surveyed the contents of her closet with her maid at her elbow, she was tempted to wear either the beige round dress or the rose sarsnet as usual, but Sadie immediately fingered the blue crepe over white sarsnet, saying. “You’ll want this for his lordship, Miss Elspeth. It’s only been worn twice, and it’s very becoming to you. You can wear the necklace in the Grecian style, as you did to the Linchmeres.”

Elspeth considered the dress for a moment before reluctantly agreeing. From the moment she’d gotten it home, she’d realized there was something frivolous about the three-quarter-length crepe apron which fell from the bust and had tassels at each end of the bottom. Why she’d let Mrs. Padworth talk her into having it made up for her she would never know. It was too low around the bust, and even wearing a jet necklace wide over the shoulders hardly made up for the amount of bosom it exposed. And Sadie always insisted on dressing her hair differently when she wore it, as though the dress demanded something more exotic than the rather severe coiffure she ordinarily wore. But she submitted patiently to Sadie’s ministrations, wondering the while whether her father had actually persuaded Lord Greywell to come and offer for her, or whether he had merely somehow managed to induce the viscount to visit them in the hope he could achieve his purpose once Greywell was in residence.

Poor Papa! Elspeth was aware her father insisted on believing that half the young men in the neighborhood had, at one time or another, courted her, though how he had come by that impression was beyond her powers of imagination. It was true that occasionally a gentleman had called a few times and perhaps with a little encouragement would have called more frequently, but the encouragement was not forthcoming: Lord Knedlington had been such a boring fellow, and Mr. Somerville had heard she was an heiress. Tom Prestbury had shared her interest in music, and Chastleton was a lecherous old man, only intrigued by her nubile (in those days) charms. Which was reason enough to show him the door, as far as Elspeth was concerned.

Since the day she had found her father and Fanny Heyshott on the sofa in his study, she had determined to have nothing to do with men. As though it weren’t enough to ask a woman to abandon her home, give over her fortune, and risk her life producing progeny, a man apparently also found it necessary to inflict pain on a woman whenever the whim took him. For Fanny had most certainly been in pain. Her eyes were glazed with it, and her hands clutched frantically in paroxysms of agony. Had she not cried out in the most pitiful voice, “Oh, God, oh, God”? Had her body not contorted with waves of shuddering affliction? It was a bitter scene to behold, Sir Edward in no small pain himself, to judge by his groans.

Why did they do it? Elspeth could only see the sense in such mortification if one was intent on producing a child, and since there wasn’t the slightest reason why either Sir Edward or Fanny Heyshott should desire a child, she thought them quite crazed to indulge in such ludicrous behavior. There was no dignity in it, surely. Animals suffered it with patience, as she well knew from being raised in the country. Elspeth assumed they were driven by instinct to procreate, but adult men and women who hadn’t that excuse should be ashamed of themselves.

Not only, as in Sir Edward and Fanny’s cases, was it against the religious teachings of the church (they being unmarried), but it was against all logic for two people to willfully engage in an activity so obviously painful. It seemed perfectly reasonable to Elspeth that two people who wished to create a third might make the sacrifice, a sort of trial by fire, but for them to do it otherwise . . .

Sadie had arranged curls on either side of her face, and Elspeth studied herself dispassionately in the glass. Her honey-brown tresses were usually pulled straight back, giving her a fine, austere look, she thought, making her eyes look not a murky greenish-brown, but a clear and devoted hazel. When the curls softened her countenance, she realized her eyes looked rather sultry. It was not the sort of effect she was interested in achieving. People paid her respect when she looked pious; they paid
her attention when she looked fetching. A worldly sort of attention that made her feel corrupted. Men’s eyes became speculative, and women spoke to her of trivial matters like fashion.

Elspeth far preferred the kind of high-minded conversation that ensued when she looked serious and saintly. Not that she thought of herself as a saint, exactly; she felt sure no saintly women decked themselves out for parties with fancy gowns and crimped hair. Elspeth had spent some time considering this matter, and she was convinced that dressing well was less of a sin than embarrassing one’s father and one’s neighbors. The sacrifice was not too great for one of her inclinations to make.

So she accepted Sadie’s ministrations without demur, allowing the girl to powder her wind-reddened nose and arrange a jet armlet below the very full, very short sleeve of the dress. That her bare arms and shoulders showed to advantage in their soft whiteness she did not deign to recognize. Lord Greywell would have seen a great deal of shoulders and arms, and her father would be pleased to see her garbed in something “decent” for a change.

Ordinarily Sir Edward was waiting for her in the saloon when she descended, since he always took a little something before his meals. When Beeton ushered her into the room, however, she found only Lord Greywell, standing by the fireplace staring moodily into the flames. He turned as he heard her light tread on the carpet, momentarily surprised at her appearance. Somehow he had expected her to wear something awful in protest at his being there.

“You look lovely, Miss Parkstone,” he said politely. “I’m afraid Sir Edward hasn’t come down yet.”

“I might have known,” she replied with a wry smile that barely curved her lips. There was no speculative gleam in his eyes, which immediately made her feel more comfortable. She seated herself on the white damask-covered settee and followed him with her gaze as he retreated once again to the fireplace. This time he stood facing her, waiting to see if she would speak first.

“We hadn’t seen Hampden in some time before he visited last week,” she said conversationally. “His wife was my godmother, and a great friend of my mother’s. They’d grown up near one another.”

“You’ve visited Kent, then?”

“Several times, when I was much younger. Papa hasn’t traveled much since Mama died. He seems content to remain at Lyndhurst.”

Since it was obvious she wasn’t going to snub him, Greywell moved to take a chair opposite the settee. “Have you been to London, Miss Parkstone?” he asked as he smoothed his breeches. His evening clothes were impeccable: a fresh, starched cravat, with black waistcoat and coat and knee breeches. If they made him look somewhat somber, they also set off his figure to advantage.

“Only on the visits to Kent,” she admitted. “My mother took me to some of the shops and the Tower and St. Paul’s. She had intended that I come out there, but that wasn’t to be. My godmother would have done it, but she too fell ill. I can’t say that I mind. London, by all accounts, is a veritable den of iniquity.” But she smiled slightly when she said it, as though at a private joke she had no intention of sharing.

“Any city that size is bound to harbor every evil known to mankind,” he agreed. “And yet, London has its attractions. The theater, the opera, the shops, the entertainments. You would probably find some things there worthy of your interest.”

“No doubt.” Her brow puckered slightly as she mused, “Sometimes it surprises me that Papa has no interest in going. Not that he would take me if he did, but a city of that size . . . One would think the anonymity, the very range of possibilities, the sheer numbers of . . . people would attract him. Here, well, everyone knows him.”

“Maybe he likes it that way,” Greywell suggested, catching her drift. “Here he’s on his own territory.”

“Would you care for a glass of wine?”

“Thank you, no. My uncle mentioned you’re active in parish work, Miss Parkstone. Does it take up a great deal of your time?”

“Not an excessive amount, except around the times when we’re planning a fete.” Elspeth had returned her gaze to him, and now admitted, “It’s not a very large parish, and there are half a dozen of us who vie for the honor of doing the most work. I’m sure you’d consider it perverse of us; Papa does. Why is it we’d want to prove our mettle to people who already know exactly what we’re capable of?”

“Maybe it’s not a matter of proving yourselves, but of doing your share.”

“Perhaps.” She seemed dissatisfied with his response but allowed the subject to drop. Long ago she’d discovered other people weren’t as curious as she was about what motivated people to do things, and it seemed discourteous to press any subject which held no appeal for her companion. His halfhearted attempt to make a reply was almost worse than not saying anything at all. There was little that irritated Elspeth more than not being taken seriously, but she was unaware of the small expression of annoyance that came and went on her face. No one had ever bothered (or been quite brave enough) to tell her how expressive her face was of exactly what she was thinking, so she assumed she wore as efficient a mask as any other woman bred to country society.

Lord Greywell was a reasonably acute observer, and the flicker of annoyance did not escape his notice. When Sir Edward joined them the viscount was beginning to wonder once again whether he should have come to Lyndhurst at all.

“Ah, good.” the baronet announced, rubbing his hands together happily, “the two of you have had a chance to get acquainted.”

“Indeed,” Elspeth said dryly. “Lord Greywell has shared several fascinating perceptions with me.”

Goaded, Greywell retorted, “And Miss Parkstone has illustrated a most interesting turn of mind.”

Sir Edward beamed on them. “Excellent, excellent. I knew the two of you would have a great deal in common. It stands to reason.”

“Why?” Elspeth inquired. “Because you wanted us to?”

“Of course not.” He frowned slightly at her but turned to smile at Greywell. “Because you are opposite sides of the coin. I should have thought you’d see that, Elspeth. Lord Greywell has a problem to which you are the solution. And you have a problem to which Lord Greywell is the solution. What could be more perfect?”

“What indeed?” Greywell retorted, smiling sardonically past the baronet at the outraged Elspeth.

“I was not aware I had a problem,” she stated flatly, ignoring Greywell altogether, though she knew exactly what sort of look appeared on his countenance.

“Well, you do,” her father informed her succinctly. “In fact, you are a problem, my dear. It’s not that I don’t appreciate your companionship or your usefulness around Lyndhurst, but you need an establishment of your own. What is the value in your being here doing what my housekeeper could accomplish, when you could be employing your talents much more profitably elsewhere?”

“This is my home. And Mrs. Hinton could not accomplish the same things I do here.”

“She could accomplish as many of them as need doing.” Sir Edward ran one hand through his graying hair. “Lord, Elspeth, how did you become so stubborn?”

“Mama said I took after you.”