Knight For A Lady (Brides By Chance Regency Adventures Book 3) Page 4

  Niall could swear his inward groan was echoed in Miss Westacott’s light eyes. Nor did Miss Burloyne look to be best pleased with this effusive plea.

  But he had underestimated Miss Westacott, who produced a smile of great charm. “If you put it like that, ma’am, how can I resist?”

  Niall almost gave in to mirth and was betrayed into unwise speech. “You would enliven any gathering, Miss Westacott, I have no doubt.”

  Faint colour crept into her cheeks, and the look she threw him held an echo of that pokered reserve.

  Somewhat to his relief, Lady Tazewell did not wait for what answer she might make to this. “Then that is settled. Be sure I shall expect to hear when you are sufficiently recovered to indulge us.”

  “You will be the first to know, Lady Tazewell, the moment my uncle allows me to stray from the house.”

  The touch of irony Niall detected was lost upon the youthful Lady Tazewell, who rose from her chair.

  “We must leave you now, for my husband has engaged a painter and wishes me to sit for my portrait. Come, Delia. How I shall keep still for the better part of an hour, I really don’t know.”

  “I’ll read to you, Jocasta,” chimed in Miss Burloyne, obediently rising.

  Miss Westacott’s brows rose. “But had you not exhausted your supply of reading matter?”

  Lady Tazewell blushed and giggled. “Caught out! I declare, I need my old dragon of a governess to curb me.” She bent down and captured Miss Westacott’s hands between her own. “I said it to persuade you. Will you forgive me?”

  It was done so prettily Niall no longer wondered how Tom had become smitten with the chit. Nor was the girl’s charm wasted upon Miss Westacott, whose genuine laugh sounded.

  “It was ill done of me to challenge you, Lady Tazewell. The habit of correction is hard to break. You will think me as much of a dragon as your old governess, I dare say.”

  Lady Tazewell’s tinkling laughter assailed Niall’s ears and he winced.

  “I had forgot you have been lately a teacher. But you could never compare to my Dragon. Besides, you are much too young and beautiful.”

  “Beautiful? Good heavens, Lady Tazewell, you must be perfectly blind!”

  There could be no mistaking Miss Westacott’s astonishment. Niall, himself startled by the pronouncement, regarded her with new eyes while Lady Tazewell appealed to her friend.

  “Don’t you think so, Delia? Oh, I know Miss Westacott is not at her best, but only look! Are not her features quite classic?”

  “Oh, desist, Lady Tazewell! I wish you will not seek to flatter me in such a way.”

  “But I’m not flattering you. I truly think it, I promise you.” To his intense embarrassment, she appealed to Niall. “Lord Hetherington, support me in this. You are a man. You must surely see —”

  “Jocasta, do stop! You are embarrassing poor Miss Westacott.”

  Miss Burloyne, much to Niall’s surprise, spoke in a sharp tone at variance with her usual sycophantic manner. But it had the effect of arresting Lady Tazewell’s raptures.

  A giggle escaped her and she looked both mischievous and contrite. “Oh, dear, now I am obliged to apologise all over again.”

  “Just stop talking, Jocasta, and all will be well. You are incorrigible, you know.”

  Lady Tazewell, her eyes dancing, closed her lips firmly together. Niall was eyeing Miss Burloyne with new interest, wondering if there was more to the woman than met the eye. Miss Westacott, on the other hand, looked to be thoroughly amused.

  “I must thank you, Lady Tazewell. You have succeeded in making me feel perfectly at home. I might as well be back in Bath, presiding over a clutch of schoolgirls.”

  Lady Tazewell burst into laughter and again caught at Miss Westacott’s hands. “I wish you had been my governess. I should not have subjected you to one tithe of the mischief I gave the Dragon.”

  “She has my sympathies.”

  Which produced another gale of laughter. Miss Burloyne, evidently quite out of patience, intervened. “Jocasta, you will be late.”

  “Heavens, yes! Goodbye, dear Miss Westacott.” She turned on Niall. “We must leave you to entertain her, Lord Hetherington.”

  A quick curtsy from Miss Burloyne, and the two ladies went off in a flurry of muslins, gloves and parasols while Niall held the door for them. He closed it, hearing the two voices break out into twittering chatter in the hall. Without intent, he glanced across at Miss Westacott and threw up his eyes.

  “If that is a sample of what you had to put up with in Bath, ma’am, I can only say that I sincerely pity you.”

  Miss Westacott let out a low laugh. “She is little removed from the schoolgirl, but her heart is warm.”

  He came forward and took the nearest chair vacated by the youthful Lady Tazewell, speaking without thought. “The other surprised me. I believe she may be wearing a public face. I have not previously seen her let her guard down.”

  “Miss Burloyne? She is a year or two older, I think. But it seems a well cemented friendship.”

  He lifted his brows. “Evidently not enough to satisfy Lady Tazewell’s thirst for amusement. I suspect you may be importuned a great deal.”

  “I hardly think so. I have much acquaintance with these butterfly minds. I suspect her interest springs rather from curiosity than a desire to befriend me.”

  “Curiosity about what?”

  The old reserve re-entered her face. “I cannot imagine.”

  Niall frowned. “Yes, you can. Don’t fob me off!”

  Her eyes flashed. “Oh, are you curious too, sir?”

  “Inordinately. But I shan’t be so crass as to enquire into your private concerns.”

  The spark died and he saw her hands clench briefly.

  “My story is far too mundane to be of interest to anyone.”

  Niall eyed her, doubting what she said. From Miss Westacott’s guarded manner it was obvious there was something distinctly out of the ordinary in her immediate past. Why, for one thing, had she left her post? Not, it struck him, purely on account of her illness, though that was no doubt her excuse.

  He found her eyeing him with acute suspicion and laughed. “Don’t fear me, ma’am. I would not pry for the world, even though you intrigue me.”

  She looked away. “I can’t think why.”

  “Then you should mend your attitude, ma’am.”

  Her gaze flew back to his. “In what way?”

  “If you will be so prickly, you will inevitably invite question.”

  Miss Westacott eyed him, her expression hard to read. Her voice, when she spoke, was cold. “Did you come here on purpose to retard my recovery?”

  “On the contrary, I came to see how you did.”

  “As you see, I am doing a deal better.”

  Niall did not know whether to be irritated or amused at the determined formality of her tone. He matched it. “In fact, Miss Westacott, I came in hopes of seeing your uncle.”

  The startled expression in her eyes gave him a moment of satisfaction he knew to be unworthy.

  “Why?”

  He relented, smiling. “Because I have been remiss. I should have visited him long since, but I did not know the vicarage was in the earldom’s gift.”

  Her features relaxed. “I see. I dare say the exigencies of your role are taxing when you are unused to them.”

  “I had no notion how close I stood to the succession, if you want the truth of it.”

  The curious eyes surveyed him. “Would it have made a difference if you had?”

  He was brought up short. “I’ve never thought of it, but of course it would not. With my cousin so young and two healthy sons, the succession should have been secure. I should never have expected to take the title.”

  “Indeed not. But you are under a severe disadvantage, I can see, not having been brought up to the expectation. In the ordinary way, I imagine sons are well educated in their duties by the time they take possession.”

  “If I am to judge
by my friend Tom Tazewell, yes. Though I believe it is not always so.”

  Once again he came under a regard he could only describe as measuring.

  “You are finding it an irksome burden.”

  It was a statement. Niall felt oddly elated that she understood him so readily. He shifted his shoulders in a trifle of discomfort.

  “I am ungrateful. Many men would give their eye teeth for such an opportunity.”

  A tiny laugh escaped her. “So you are striving for a gratitude you cannot feel when all your instinct is to run away? Believe me, I can fully enter into your sentiments.”

  Niall warmed inside. He was tempted to probe, but the remembrance of the way Miss Westacott could poker up stayed him. He opted for simplicity.

  “It’s refreshing — nay, comforting — to find someone who can understand.”

  He was rewarded by her smile, and it struck him that Lady Tazewell was right. She was beautiful. Not striking in the way a toast of Society might be, to be admired by all. Yet the planes of her oval face, despite the gauntness of her cheeks, and perhaps her pallor, accentuated by the midnight hair, was reminiscent of the statues of alabaster from the ancient world.

  Something stirred within him, and Niall’s mind emptied of all thought as he stared at her.

  Chapter Four

  Edith met Lord Hetherington’s gaze, unable to help wondering what was in his mind. For an instant she had suspected him of cherishing a slight attraction towards her. His manner, however, was so far removed from the insinuations to which she’d been subjected, to her heavy cost, she felt unable to judge. In a bid to deflect any possible move in that direction, she fell back upon formality.

  “I dare say my uncle will be some time. Should you care to return on another occasion?”

  “No, I shouldn’t.”

  The harsh tone caused her to shrivel inside, reviving the memory of the dreadful day when the life she’d made had been cut short. Edith turned her gaze to the window, staring out at the village green and the bank of cottage shops beyond it. A film of moisture made the scene blur and she bit her lip, fighting against the prick and rise of tears. She had not wept since that night, and this was no moment to be succumbing to weakness.

  “Miss Westacott?”

  The softer note almost undid her and she could not respond.

  “Miss Westacott — Edith — look at me!”

  Without will, she turned her head, pulling her brows together and tightening her lips.

  Lord Hetherington’s rough features wore an expression of concern and she could not doubt he’d noted the moisture at her eyes.

  “Was it something I said?”

  She shook her head, swallowing down the persistent lump.

  His frown intensified. “Good manners prompts me to leave you, but I cannot bring myself to do so when you are in such distress.”

  She drew in a tight breath and forced the words out. “There is nothing you can do, sir. Let it be, if you please.”

  He continued to eye her in silence, and the steady regard had an oddly soothing effect. Had he attempted words of comfort, she’d have been tempted to attack with anger. Presently the uncomfortable symptoms subsided and she dredged up as natural a voice as she could assume.

  “I’ve not offered you refreshment.”

  He made an impatient gesture. “I need nothing.”

  “But I do. Would you be kind enough to ask Mrs Tuffin —” She broke off as the door opened and the housekeeper appeared with a tray. Relief allowed her to speak more naturally. “Oh, you’ve anticipated me, Mrs Tuffin. I was just about to ask. Is it coffee?”

  Lord Hetherington jumped up and moved out of the way as the housekeeper made for the table behind the day-bed.

  “Coffee it is, Miss Ede. Reverend don’t like me to waste the tea.”

  Edith glanced at her visitor. “For my part, I find coffee revives me better. Will you take a cup, sir?”

  “Thank you, I will. Black, Mrs Tuffin, if I may.”

  The resumption of a casual tone eased Edith the more, and she was able to answer with her usual lightness. “Is that a habit acquired in the field, my lord?”

  “Probably. Cream was rarely part of our rations.”

  “I confess I prefer it larded with cream, though I had not been used to sugar until I came here.”

  Mrs Tuffin began to cluck. “You need it, Miss Ede, that’s what Reverend says. You need plucking up, he says. Plenty of milk, eggs and cheese.”

  Edith took this without comment, accepting the well-sweetened coffee and sipping gratefully at the hot brew.

  “I’ve made scones, Miss Ede, for later, but I put in some cheese straws along with them and they’re still warm from the oven.”

  Knowing her uncle would be quoted at her if she refused, Edith took the plate on which the housekeeper had placed a couple of the pastries, and laid it on her lap with a word of thanks. Mrs Tuffin did not bustle out until she had pressed cheese straws upon his lordship as well. When they were alone again, he set them down on the tray uneaten.

  “You had best at least taste them, my lord, or you will offend Mrs Tuffin.”

  He threw up his eyes and picked one off the plate. “If you insist.”

  “Well, I don’t see why I should be the only one to suffer.”

  Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “I am not recovering from an illness, Miss Westacott.” He bit into the pastry and his brows rose. “Tasty indeed. Your uncle is to be congratulated.”

  Edith had to laugh. “Yes, she is an excellent cook. I wish I might do justice to her efforts.”

  “You will, in time.”

  She sipped her coffee, regarding him over the rim of her cup as he lifted his own to his lips. “Are you a soothsayer, sir?”

  He choked, and her conscience pricked. She waited until the coughing subsided.

  “That was ill done of me.”

  But Lord Hetherington was laughing. “Horrible girl! How could you exercise your wit at my expense just then?”

  Laughter bubbled in her and she could not hold it back. “I will say not another word until you’ve finished drinking.”

  “Too kind. For your information, ma’am, I have some experience of the effects of severe illness on the body.” She looked a question and he shook his head. “Not myself, no, but I’ve seen men debilitated by fevers, dysentery and wounds. And nursed them, come to that.”

  Her interest aroused, Edith watched him take another draft of his coffee. “The Army appears to equip a man for all manner of emergencies. Have you seen a deal of action?”

  “Intermittently over the years. I’ve enjoyed it when it came.”

  She opened her eyes at him. “A fighter, sir? I fear you’ll have scant opportunity to indulge your preference in Itchington.”

  Lord Hetherington surveyed her with a kindling eye. “On the contrary, if you continue in the village.”

  A chuckle escaped her. “You must blame my profession, my lord. I learned to use my tongue so that I might spare the rod.”

  “A disciplinarian, ma’am? I do not envy your pupils.”

  “Yes, I deserved that.”

  His laugh warmed her unexpectedly. Edith suppressed the feeling, taking refuge in sipping her coffee. He did likewise, glancing away from her, almost as if he noticed her reaction. She hunted for an innocuous subject and fell back upon his earlier comment.

  “Pray tell me what is enjoyable in battling your fellow man in the field.” She caught his glance and put out a hand. “Oh, I am not teasing you, sir, I am interested.”

  His brows rose. “I can’t think why.”

  “Because I am evidently missing something. I had thought it was all gunfire and smoke and screaming men.”

  He winced. “That too, and I don’t pretend to pleasure in that. But it’s not pleasure. How can I explain? Yes, I can, though. It is what one might call fire in the belly.”

  The change in him was startling. His eyes, alight with that fire, she supposed, were bright with echo
es of his thoughts as he spoke.

  “It’s a feeling like no other — a roaring giant inside me who can conquer the world.”

  Mesmerised, Edith regarded him with her cup stilled half-way to her mouth. He caught her glance and at once looked conscious, the tanned skin darkening.

  “I beg your pardon. It’s hardly a fitting subject for female ears.”

  Edith let out an irritated breath. “Don’t spoil it. And I asked you, remember.”

  “Yes, but I had no business to speak of such things. I don’t know why I did so. I never have before. You are a terrible influence, Miss Westacott.”

  Edith found herself relishing the scold. Why, she could not imagine, but it pleased her that he had been betrayed into speaking freely. She answered in kind.

  “Well, I am glad of that, for I am now enlightened as to why the village males insist upon battling on the green any time they are in their cups.”

  He burst out laughing. “You are utterly without proper feminine conduct, Miss Westacott. I wonder at your being permitted anywhere near young female minds.”

  She struggled with the immediate shaft that went through her, chiding herself for being over-sensitive. Lord Hetherington could not know, would not deliberately taunt her. To her intense relief, before he had a chance to notice the change in her, the door opened and her uncle came in.

  “Lord Hetherington! Goodness me, sir, I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  His lordship had risen. “Not at all, sir. I have been well entertained.”

  “By Edith? I am so pleased. Not that it’s quite proper to be with her unchaperoned, but we won’t regard that.”

  Lord Hetherington looked dismayed, glancing at Edith. “Ought I to have gone when the ladies left?”

  “By no means,” she said, chagrined. “I am not a girl, Uncle Lionel. I’m a schoolmistress. There can be no impropriety.”

  Her uncle came to the day-bed and patted her shoulder. “My dear, I should never accuse you of impropriety. Nor could I suppose Lord Hetherington to be guilty of importuning you in any way, not after his kindness the other day.” He turned from her to offer his hand to the guest. “Mrs Tuffin says you wished to see me, my lord?”