The Wedding Season (21 page)

“G
one?” Elizabeth’s voice cracked into a sob. “But why?”

She had missed Mr. Lindsey at supper the night before, but assumed he was wearied from his trip to Bennington Manor. As eager as she had been to receive his proposal, she had reasoned that he preferred to be rested when he spoke to her.

And now Papa, freshly returned from his morning ride, announced over breakfast that Mr. Lindsey had left at dawn for Gloucestershire.

“He has matters to tend to at home.” Papa lifted his newspaper like a shield between them.

Elizabeth glanced at Pru, whose sympathy radiated from her entire countenance. Mama gave her a sweet smile but shrugged. Jamie hung over his plate, toying with his eggs. Her brother was not given to drink, so his behavior could only mean he was as depressed as she was about their guest’s departure.

“Well.” Elizabeth stood and marched to Papa’s end of the table to peek over the paper. “I do not mean to be impertinent, Papa, but surely we have a right to know why our guest left so early and without saying goodbye to…to
any
one.”

Papa’s gaze was not devoid of kindness, but his lips drew into a thin line. “His business here was finished.”

“No. No, sir, it was not.” She glanced around the room. Everyone, even the footman, must know how she and Mr. Lindsey regarded each other. “He was to ask you for my hand.”

Papa folded and set aside the paper, stood and pulled her into his arms. “And so he did, my dear. But I denied his request.”

“You what?” She shook out of his embrace and stepped back.

His face now held no warmth. “You must trust me, Beth. I know what is best for you.”

Oh, yes, just as Grandpapa knew what was best for Aunt Templeton.
Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from blurting out her admiration for Papa’s sister. She and her sisters and female cousins often engaged in lively discussions about that piece of family history, with Elizabeth being first to say she would never show her parents such disobedience. But now she understood exactly why Lady Marianne Moberly had run away from home for love of Captain Jamie Templeton.

She blinked back tears and excused herself. Then promptly hastened upstairs to her bedchamber to count her pin money.

Inside the velvet-lined coach, Wilkes couldn’t keep his face straight. Ever since Philip granted him permission to give the news to the driver and groom, his valet had held his chin a bit higher and his lips in a smug grin. Now it was “milord this” and “milord that” from the three of them. When they reached home, they’d probably trip over one other to be first to tell the other servants.

The coach bumped along at a reasonable speed, guaranteeing another good day of travel, as yesterday had been. In this good weather, they should reach Lindsey Hall within three days even without pushing the horses.

Philip sighed. When his grandfather became estranged from his great-uncle during the Seven Years’ War, no one could possibly have foreseen that this branch of the family would inherit the title. Now he must brace himself to shoulder the additional responsibilities the Lord had placed upon him, including the seat in Parliament. And all without the woman he loved beside him.

His chest felt empty, as if his heart had been ripped out and left at Devon Hall. Indeed it had been. And all he had to carry home was the memory of Miss Elizabeth’s sweet face gazing up at him in trust that he would secure the right to propose to her. But he’d failed.

What else could he have said to Captain Moberly? It wasn’t in him to lie and certainly not about a matter as serious as releasing Whitson from his debt. And why should he? So the scoundrel could be liberated to find some other family to cheat?

Still, Philip would have been pleased to be a part of Captain Moberly’s family. Beyond the exquisite Miss Elizabeth, there was the kind, warm Mrs. Moberly, who spent many days in Portsmouth ministering to poor wounded sailors who’d served England and then been cast aside when no longer useful. There was gentle Miss Prudence, a good friend to her cousin. There was Jamie, the witty scamp who would grow into a good man like his father. Philip had actually entertained thoughts of introducing him to Lucy once her heart mended. And then the captain himself who, despite his stand on Whitson, would make a worthy replacement for Philip’s own father, giving sage advice about countless matters large and small. He had lost them all.

Something nagged in the back of his brain. Ah, yes. The biblical play about the unforgiving servant. The evening the children had performed it, he’d suspected collusion within
the family against him. But he could not credit that thought and still respect them as true, good-hearted Christians. No, it had been an innocent bit of entertainment with no more plan behind it than the play about the lame man. After all, in the play, the unforgiving servant had owed a great debt to his master. But what misdeed could be laid at Philip’s feet that he should be indebted to any man? Had he not spent his entire life choosing the good and the right thing to do? Was he not now planning to assume unwanted duties God had ordained for him? To whom did he owe anything? No one.

And yet…

The truth came crashing down upon him like a thundering ocean wave, and he nearly drowned in the force of it.

“Homer!” He thumped his cane against the roof of the carriage and felt the horses slow.

“Aye, milord?” the driver called down.

“Turn around, man. We’re going back to Devon Hall.”

Elizabeth could not believe Sophie’s words. Nor could she believe Di’s sober agreement. The sisters sat side by side on the parlor settee, a picture of grief.

“But how can you countenance such a thing?” Pru asked.

“Don’t you see?” Di appeared close to tears on her sister’s behalf, exhibiting a rare concern for someone other than herself. “Whatever Mr. Whitson may have done, he truly loves Sophie. I have seen it myself.”

“And you will be pleased to know—” Sophie dabbed at her tears with a silk handkerchief “—he has acknowledged that what he did was wrong. Why, he has even spoken with Mr. Smythe-Wyndham about the danger his actions may have posed to his immortal soul.” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Please, Beth dear, implore your Mr. Lindsey to devise a payment plan whereby we can return the ten thousand to him over time rather than putting my dear Gregory in prison.” She sniffed, and somehow her tear-covered face seemed almost pretty. Perhaps it was true love.

Elizabeth swallowed her own tears. “If it were possible, I would do so. But Papa has forbidden me to write to him.” And had been far too attentive these past two days for her to run away. Not that she planned to—not seriously, anyway. She knew her Mr. Lindsey to be an honorable man who held her father in great respect. He would not approve of her traveling to his side against her father’s wishes.

The glow faded from Sophie’s face, but she gripped Di’s hand. “At least one of us has good news.”

“Aha.” Pru sat up straighter. “Mr. Redding.”

Di blushed prettily. “Yes. And Papa has agreed.”

Elizabeth and Pru both left their seats to offer congratulatory embraces and many more tears.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Di said. “He does not possess a title, but he is a gentleman.” Her cheeks remained a rosy hue. “I freely confess that his father was a merchant who gained his wealth during the American rebellion. There, I said it. Now tease me as much as you wish.”

Elizabeth could find no cause for teasing. If one of her cousins could find happiness, what did the man’s rank matter? In fact, some titled men like Lord Chiselton considered themselves above the laws of decency and propriety, reason enough to abandon her former goal. No, she wished only to marry her ordinary gentleman, a far superior man to any other. But unless he and her father could resolve the discord between them, such a dream could not come true.

T
he midmorning sun broke through the trees and turned the long driveway into a mottled carpet leading to Bennington Manor. The air smelled fresh and clean, with summer scents of hay and roses wafting into Philip’s coach and clearing his head.

Yesterday, after he’d ordered his coachman to turn around, he’d reconsidered his destination, for he must deal with a matter of grave importance before seeing Captain Moberly. Never had he been so certain his actions were right.

At the door, a younger butler greeted him. Philip worried about old Blevins until he saw that worthy soul standing by, perhaps training the new man.

“I’ve come to see Lord Bennington, if you please.”

The butler eyed him up and down without expression, and Philip briefly wished for a mirror to check his appearance. Wilkes had done his best to groom him at the inn this morning—

He dismissed such silly thoughts and straightened his posture.

“Please tell him Lord Lydney is here.” He managed not
to stutter over this first use of his title, but indeed it did feel strange on his tongue.

The man blinked. “Yes, milord.” After a glance at Blevins, whose stony face didn’t change, he took Philip’s hat and led him into the drawing room, a bright chamber well-lit by sunshine beaming in through tall windows.

The fragrance of lavender in a dozen vases filled the air, while an abundance of artwork captured his attention. Most prominent were the statues of Zeus and Hera guarding the giant hearth and a large painting of a battle above the mantelpiece. In the center rode a man on horseback, and from his clothing, Philip assumed he was George II defending his Hanoverian throne against Stuart forces. Behind the king rode another black-haired soldier who looked very much like Captain Moberly. Perhaps it was his father, the previous Lord Bennington.

“Ah, Lydney.” Bennington entered the room with one hand outstretched. “Welcome back.”

Philip accepted the greeting, noting the older man’s weak handshake. “Good morning, Bennington.” How hard it was not to say “my lord.”

“Well, I must assume you’ve come to cart off the thief.” Bennington’s thick, gray eyebrows bent into a frown. “Shall I send for him?”

Philip hadn’t prepared exactly how to execute this battle, so, staring up at the late king’s portrait, he quickly devised a strategy.

“Yes, if you would be so good.”

Bennington winced but rang for a footman. “Bring Whitson.” He waved Philip to a chair. “Won’t you be seated?”

“I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind.”

The older man breathed out a long sigh. “And if you don’t
mind, I believe I shall sit.” He eased his well-fed body into a wooden, thronelike chair with red cushions. Around his light blue eyes, a red rim indicated some deep emotion. But whether it was grief or anger, Philip could not tell.

Whitson entered the room in a halting gait as if approaching the gallows. “Mr. Lindsey, I am at your disposal.” His pale face exuded no fear, only misery, and perhaps a touch of resigned courage.

His address confused Philip. A glance at Bennington, who shrugged, gave him no satisfaction. Had the earl seen fit to keep his title a secret? That was all the better for Philip’s plan, for he wouldn’t want his rank to influence this situation or intimidate his adversary.

“Good morning, Mr. Whitson.”
Lord, give me the words You would have me speak.
“I’ve come to tell you that I’ve forgiven your debt.” Behind him, he heard Bennington gasp.

Whitson swayed. “Sir?”

Philip swallowed, and his eyes burned. “As Christ has forgiven my sins with no demand for any works on my part, so I forgive you with no expectation of repayment.”

Whitson stared at him, his mouth working but no sound coming forth. At last he found his voice. “Oh, thank God. I thank You, God.” The man fell to his knees, his face in his hands. “I did not dare to pray for this, only for your mercy.” He gripped Philip’s hand. “I will be your servant, sir. Somehow I will repay the debt.”

Every part of Philip cringed at Whitson’s words and actions, but it would be arrogant to shake him off. “Stand up, man.” He gripped Whitson’s elbow and lifted, almost dragging him to a chair. “You need not repay me. It was never about the money but rather, your deceit.”
And my own pride
over falling for your scheme.
What was ten thousand pounds when he considered his recent inheritance? Not quite a trifle, but near it. “You may be certain that should you attempt another scheme of this nature, I shall prosecute you to the full extent of the law.”

Whitson nodded feverishly. “Yes, I see. Of course. But I never meant to deceive either you or Miss Lindsey. She is a delightful creature, so kind and good and beautiful and accomplished. It seemed an advantageous match. My intention was to use the dowry money, which you so liberally provided, to make my own business connections in London so that I could provide for Miss Lindsey in the long term rather than rely on your generosity. An old schoolfellow of mine named Rigsby vouched for me at Almack’s.” He paused to gulp in air and breathed out a strangled laugh. “How was I to know I would meet a remarkable woman of like interests as myself and fall madly in love with her?” A look at Bennington. “Lady Sophia and I are two halves of a whole.”

Surprised—and a bit worn out from Whitson’s lengthy self-justification—Philip nevertheless understood the concept of unexpectedly falling in love with a remarkable woman. He prayed Whitson wasn’t once again deceiving them all. But that wasn’t his responsibility, rather, God’s.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Philip gave Bennington a slight bow.

The old man rose from the chair with the vigor of a twenty-year-old. He strode to Philip and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Will you not stay and share our midday repast?”

“No, thank you,
milord.
” He couldn’t smother a tiny smirk.

Bennington chuckled, his pale eyes now bright with good
humor and perhaps even joy. “You cannot keep it a secret forever,” he whispered. “The newspapers, servants, gossip, etc.”

“No, sir. But let me enjoy my privacy a bit longer.”

Bennington still held his shoulder and now gave it a slight shake. “You are an extraordinary man, my friend. I am more than a little pleased to have met you and look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”

“May I return the compliment?”

During this exchange, Whitson’s eyes shot back and forth between them, but no comprehension registered there. “Mr. Lindsey.” He approached Philip. “You have given me back my life. Whether or not Lord Bennington gives me his daughter, I have much to repent of and much to be grateful for.” He reached out a trembling hand.

Without hesitation, Philip shook it, feeling a freedom of spirit he had not experienced since he first learned of the man’s plans to marry Lady Sophia.

As he made his way to his carriage, he treasured the sense of satisfaction filling his heart. But another more gratifying emotion swept into both heart and mind: his love for dear Miss Elizabeth. For now he must obtain Captain Moberly’s permission to marry her…or die trying.