The Wedding Season (19 page)

O
n the second day after his intrusion into Bennington’s masquerade, Philip accepted the captain’s invitation to inspect the vast Moberly grounds. Early on, they rode in silence, watching as sunrise lifted the misty shroud from the land to reveal its hidden beauties. A myriad of familiar smells filled his senses: mown grass, wildflowers and fresh morning air, all of which imparted to him an invigorating energy.

This country manor was much like his own property, with rich farmlands, lush woodlands and a quaint village at the outskirts. Flocks of sheep grazed in the verdant fields, while playful otters plagued the snowy swans floating serenely on the ponds. Wild hares scurried about the apple orchard searching for fruit fallen before its time. A blue-coated nuthatch seized an acorn from beneath a giant oak tree and dashed away with its prize. Bees and common blue butterflies sipped the nectar of wildflowers. Even the gray stone ruins of an ancient castle reminded him of his beloved home.

At a pond in the glade, a pair of fallow deer trotted to safety. A wide-racked stag paused to stand guard until his
doe disappeared into the thick brush. Philip felt a kinship with the creature, for he longed to stand guard until assured of Miss Elizabeth’s safety.

These past few days, first being denied her company and then rescuing her from Chiselton, confirmed to him how much he regarded—no,
loved
—her. If he were certain of her feelings for him, he’d speak to the captain now. But should she not return his affections, they’d all be uncomfortable until Whitson was dealt with. For now, he must keep his sentiments to himself. But he must also devise a plan to present to Captain Moberly of how he would care for a wife.

They paused at the summit of a small hill from whence they could view the upper floors of distant Devon Hall. The fog, which lay across the lower landscape like a snowy carpet, receded beneath the rising sun.

“Seen enough?” Reaching down to pat the neck of his bay mare, Captain Moberly eyed Philip.

“Not really, sir. Your grounds are magnificent. I could stay out here all day.” Still, his heartbeat increased at the prospect of returning to the hall and seeing his lady, or so he had come to think of her.

The captain, however, seemed in no hurry to return home, and Philip began to feel ill at ease. So far, the Chiselton incident hadn’t come up in general conversation, and he was confounded as to how to introduce the subject to his host.

Yesterday morning, when the young ladies had returned home, the household had rejoiced in being complete again. The children had demanded a full accounting of the events, which, of course, could not be granted. But one would have never known anything was amiss from the way Miss Elizabeth and Miss Prudence had recounted the various games and diversions they had enjoyed. With the children satisfied they’d learned everything important, they had traipsed
off with their governess to their lessons. In the evening, when the family had gathered in the drawing room, no one would’ve guessed anything had disturbed their normal routine.

As they descended the hill, the captain guided his horse closer to Philip’s. “You must tell me about Chiselton.”

The question startled him. “Sir?”

“Come now, man, do you think Jamie could keep quiet about it?” Moberly scowled. “I had no idea you two rode over to the masquerade nor that there was an unpleasant incident. My son was thoroughly enraged but said you kept him from doing something hotheaded. I want to hear your account of it.”

The air went out of Philip’s lungs, and he had to pull in a deep breath before responding.

“Nothing much to tell on my part, sir.” He sent up a quick prayer he would say the right thing. “Jamie and I put together some costumes and—”

“Jamie talked you into going.”

“Yes, sir.” Philip gave him a sheepish grin. “Upon arrival, we parted company, and I happened to recognize Miss Elizabeth, even though she was masked, for I’d seen her costume before she left. She was talking with a rather ornately garbed man.” He refrained from referring to Chiselton as a gentleman. “This fellow led his reluctant prey to a dark corner and tried to force a kiss upon her.” Or something worse. “When she protested, he wouldn’t release her. I insisted he must. He was not pleased.”

They rode in silence for a short distance. At last Moberly spoke, his voice thick. “Permit a father to express his deepest gratitude. No material treasure would be sufficient to repay you.” The hint of despair in his tone struck Philip with sorrow. Even a heroic naval captain who’d protected British
interests around the world couldn’t protect his daughter from a devious peer with evil intent.

“Sir, you have befriended me in my distress and made me a guest in your home these many days. If there is payment to be made, it is I who should make it to you.”

Moberly nodded his appreciation. “I will speak to my brother about this incident, but I cannot expect too much. Chiselton is a fool, but he has wealth and influence. Of course I will not permit my children to go to Bennington Manor while he remains there.”

Philip could see the anger smoldering in the captain’s eyes. How hard it must be to hear of the assault on his daughter and not be able to challenge the perpetrator. Were he not a Christian, Philip would ride over to Bennington Manor this very day and settle the matter.

But where would that leave Lucy? He must use good sense, no matter how hard it was to postpone his revenge on both Chiselton and Whitson. And, indeed, when the time was right, he would find some way to avenge Miss Elizabeth’s affront without harming her reputation, just as he would deal with his sister’s betrayer.

The morning after Elizabeth and Pru returned home from Bennington Manor, they joined Mr. Lindsey and Jamie on the east lawn for a game of
paille maille.
With Mr. Lindsey new to the little-known game, Elizabeth and Jamie demonstrated how to play with the wooden ball and mallet. Each one hit a ball down the mown grass alley in an attempt to send it beneath a small iron arch. And each one proved how out of practice they were, to the good humor and merriment of all.

To Elizabeth’s delight, Mr. Lindsey managed to do at least as well as the others. Once again, he fit into the family
activities as if he belonged. And of course, he cut a fine figure in his black morning coat and tan breeches. With his wavy black hair tossed about in the wind, he appeared much as he had when he had burst into the church and interrupted Sophia’s wedding.

After several missed attempts, Jamie announced he would take his best shot by imagining a certain viscount’s visage on the ball. He placed his ball by the first arch, drew back the mallet and smacked the orb soundly. It spun across the grass, shooting directly through the distant hoop. He executed a comical bow, complete with a flourish of his hand. “There, Lord Chiselton. What do you think of that?”

Everyone, even Pru, laughed and applauded.

“Good show,” Mr. Lindsey said. “I may just borrow your inspiration.”

They enjoyed the game for an hour or so until the sun grew too warm and drove them inside for a midday repast.

After a brief lie-down, Elizabeth found Mr. Lindsey in his favorite spot by the windows in the library. His broad, welcoming smile reached clear to his eyes, and she permitted herself to bask in the kindness reflected there.

He stood and bowed. “Are you rested, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Yes, thank you.” She settled into the chair across from him, the better to see his handsome face. Any day he could be called away from here, and she wished to record his features so as never to forget them.

“I am glad you found me, for I’ve a question best asked in private.” He glanced toward the open door and nodded his approval at the footman, far enough away not to hear their conversation, close enough to ensure propriety.

A pleasant suspicion tickled Elizabeth’s brain. She could
trust this gentleman’s question would not at all resemble the viscount’s impropriety. “Very well. Do ask.”

He gripped the arms of his chair, as he often did. “I’d like to ask Captain Moberly for permission to…well, I cannot refer to it as calling upon you, for here I am.” He chuckled and shrugged one shoulder in the most charming way.

She laughed. Or rather, breathed out a happy sigh. “Yes.”

He wrinkled his brow. “Yes?”

Now she laughed in earnest. “Yes, please do speak to Papa. And do be encouraged, for I cannot think he has permitted us to spend so much time together without having the highest regard for you.” Oh, how she longed to reach out and grip his hand, but that would not be proper. “Do remember he has been approached by my two sisters’ suitors, and not a one has perished.”

“Ah.” Another chuckle. “Then I’ll do it without delay.”

As if summoned, Papa entered the room, and Mr. Lindsey stood. He exchanged a quick look of understanding with her, and she jumped to her feet.

“Papa, how well you look today.” But in fact, he actually looked somewhat careworn.

“Thank you, my dear.” He pressed a light kiss on her temple. “Now, you must excuse us. Mr. Lindsey has received his summons to Bennington Manor, and I intend to accompany him.”

A
bow string couldn’t have been pulled tighter than Philip’s nerves as he and Captain Moberly approached Bennington Manor. They rode up the tree-lined drive toward the brown stone edifice, whose broad, three-storied façade was even more impressive than the rear elevation Philip had see on his previous visit. When they reached the front, two grooms rushed from the side of the building to take their horses.

After dismounting, Philip straightened his coat and inhaled a deep breath. The pleasant fragrance emanating from the nearby bed of roses stood at odds with Whitson’s foul-smelling deeds he must now contend with.

“Steady, lad.” Moberly clapped him on the shoulder. “My brother is a reasonable man.”

“Thank you, sir.” Philip tried to pray as he approached the front door, but the heavens seemed encased behind a silent wall.

A butler greeted them, an ancient stick of a man dressed in black and topped with a silver crown of close-cropped hair.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lindsey, Captain Moberly.” The man bowed to each in turn.

Philip wondered whether the old fellow was losing his grip on reality. Most certainly, the captain should have been addressed first. Philip cast an apologetic glance at Moberly, who shrugged and shook his head. Once again, the man’s graciousness bound Philip’s heart to him. How he prayed today’s events wouldn’t destroy any chance he might have to marry Miss Elizabeth.

Blevins, the butler, took their hats, then led them without ceremony up the front staircase to Bennington’s first-floor library. He stepped through the open door and intoned, “Mr. Lindsey. Captain Moberly.”

Pity for the old servant welled up in Philip’s chest. This type of error in precedence might see the fellow set out to pasture, should some august personage complain.

Moberly nudged him into the room, and Blevins retreated, closing the door behind him. The room smelled of tobacco and, if Philip was not mistaken, bergamot, most likely from someone’s over-applied shaving balm.

Across the large chamber, Bennington sat in a red, thronelike chair behind a white oak desk, his gray hair curled impeccably at the sides of his round face. Two slender, middle-aged men dressed in black were posted like sentinels on either side of the unlit hearth. Whitson stood beside the desk, his eyes wide. Philip hadn’t seen him since the canceled wedding and, strangely, felt nothing at all. No rage. No fear. Certainly no charity.

“Come in, come in.” Bennington waved them to the chairs in front of his desk. “Sit, sit. You, too, Whitson.”

Like obedient minions, the three took their places across from him, with Moberly between Philip and his adversary.

“You’re looking well, Tommy.” The earl gave his brother a placid smile, then nodded to Philip. “Thank you for coming, Lydney.”

Philip’s chest constricted. “Lindsey, my lord.”

Bennington eyed him and smirked. “Oh, yes. Of course.” He shuffled the papers on his desk. “I suppose I was recalling an old political foe. Lord Lydney. Haven’t seen him in years. Old age and infirmity have kept him from taking his seat in parliament these six years. Just got word through my solicitors here that the old goat has passed on at last. God rest his miserable soul.”

An icy shroud descended upon Philip’s head and shoulders as its watery counterpart sluiced through his veins, numbing him clear to the ends of his toes and fingers. How could one freeze and burn at the same time? Lydney dead? Now his future was sealed. There was no escape. He gripped the carved oak arms of his chair, as if that would keep him from drowning.

“Are you ill, sir?” Bennington’s tone held a hint of amusement.

What possible pleasure could the earl take from another man’s distress? What did he know? Anger and fear flared inside Philip, but caution doused both. “No, my lord.”

“Are you certain?” Captain Moberly leaned toward him and gripped his arm. “You’ve gone pale. No, your color is coming back.” He chuckled. “You must forgive my brother’s seeming disregard for Lydney’s eternal soul. He is not as coldhearted as he sounds.”

“Of course not.” Philip forced a casual grin. Only a brother or intimate friend would dare to direct such banter at Bennington. But Philip wouldn’t be diverted from the task at hand. Shoving aside thoughts of the future, he stared unblinking at the earl, determined to avenge sweet Lucy. With a strong measure of resolve, he brought to mind her bitter heartbreak and ignored the memory of her letter stating her relief over learning of Whitson’s true character. And
of course, the scoundrel must not be permitted to keep the dowry.

“Shall we proceed?” Bennington beckoned the two black-suited men with an imperious wave of his hand. “These are my solicitors from London, Graves and Soames. Gentlemen, give us your report.”

“My lord.” Graves bent forward in an elaborate bow. Behind him, Soames copied the gesture. “We have thoroughly examined the document and the signatures—”

“My lord.” Whitson’s voice resonated with strain, but Philip refused to look at him for fear of at last losing his temper. “I’ve already admitted I signed the contract.”

“So you did, my boy.” Bennington’s bland expression didn’t mask the kindness in his tone. “Carry on, Graves.”

The dour solicitor glared at Whitson over his reading spectacles. “Ahem. As I was saying, we have examined the document, and it is a flawlessly executed legal contract duly signed by those named therein.”

“And there are no provisions for a
volte-face?
” Bennington’s arched eyebrows displayed only mild curiosity.

“No, my lord. Nothing about a change of heart.” Graves stepped back, and his colleague stepped forward. He glanced nervously between Bennington and Philip.

“My lord, according to the Hardwicke Marriage Act of 1753, a contract such as this cannot be used to force a marriage.”

Force a marriage? Now Philip’s latent anger rose to the surface, and he moved to the edge of his seat, ready to stand and declare they could keep their warnings, for he would never give Lucy to this scoundrel.

Captain Moberly once again gripped his arm. With difficulty, Philip settled back into the chair.

Soames gave him a smile that appeared more like a
grimace. “However, the Marriage Act did allow for Mr. Lindsey to take Mr. Whitson to court and sue him for breach of contract and thereby lay claim to the ten thousand pounds.”

Whitson squeaked out some unintelligible word, and at last Philip looked at him. Pale as a winter moon, the man looked stricken. “I haven’t got it.”

Graves moved up beside his partner and cleared his throat. “I must say, Mr. Lindsey, I cannot comprehend your turning over the dowry to Mr. Whitson before the marriage took place. Whatever were you thinking?”

Soames’s eyes widened, and he nudged his partner.

“Forgive me, eh,
sir,
I mean no disrespect.”

“But it is a good question, do you not think?” Bennington gazed at Philip as if asking him whether he played billiards.

The earl’s mild tone notwithstanding, Philip felt very much like a schoolboy called before the headmaster. The vast chamber suddenly closed in on him, but he managed to resist the urge to wipe perspiration from his forehead. “He said he needed the money for an investment to ensure his future. At my sister’s request but against my better judgment, I trusted him, not knowing he planned to invest in a London Season.” He stopped before his anger generated careless words that might insult the innocent Lady Sophia.

“Ah. I see.” Graves nodded, as though it made perfect sense, whereas Philip could at last perceive what a schoolboy’s error his generosity had been. He still had much to learn regarding his responsibilities and hoped Captain Moberly could advise him.

“Have you a solution?” Bennington eyed his solicitors.

The two men traded a look. Soames spoke.

“There are several options, my lord. Should you permit
Mr. Whitson to marry Lady Sophia, he can use her dowry to repay Mr. Lindsey. Should you decide against it, Mr. Lindsey has the recourse of the suit we mentioned, or—” he cleared his throat “—he can demand satisfaction on a field of honor.”

Whitson jumped to his feet. “My lord, I am not a man of violence.” His wild-eyed stare shot around the room, taking in all inhabitants but Philip.

Philip should have felt some degree of satisfaction to see his adversary—
Lucy’s
adversary—in such fear. But no such sense of triumph filled the emptiness within.

“Well.” Bennington’s tone remained languid, as did his posture. He studied Whitson, who looked as if he were taking a turn before the headmaster’s desk. “You’ll not have my daughter or her dowry until you repay Lydney…Lindsey.” The earl glanced at Philip.

Prickles of intuition crept up the back of Philip’s scalp. Somehow Bennington knew about him and hoped to goad him into some reaction. But he wouldn’t give the man what he wanted. At least not until this matter was settled.

“But, my lord.” Whitson gaped. “I have no funds, no prospects.”

“Pity.” Bennington waved one hand dismissively. “Very well, Lindsey, I turn him over to you.”

All eyes snapped to Philip. Now satisfaction flooded his entire being, body and soul, and he felt his lips curl upward in a sardonic smile.

“What say you, Whitson? Do you prefer debtor’s prison, or shall I demand satisfaction on a field of honor?”