Marriage Deal with the Earl
Auteur·e
Liz Tyner
Lectures
17,7K
Chapitres
25
Chapter One
‘Lord Amesbury,’ the carriage driver called to him. ‘My apologies for getting misdirected. The instructions were confusing. I have the proper way to Mr Adair’s new location now.’
Unfamiliar with the new title, Quinton caught himself just before he looked around for his uncle.
Lord Amesbury. He wasn’t only Quinton Langford, the physician. He was now the Earl of Amesbury, a man he’d never truly expected to be.
He waited while the driver walked to the front of the vehicle. Moments later, the carriage jolted forward, stirring the rain-scented air.
Susanna. He wondered if widowhood had devastated her. When he’d been curious and asked about her, it was almost as if she’d disappeared.
Odd how the memory of her kept resurfacing in his mind, but he’d always had a grand time when they’d seen each other—until the day he’d told her he was leaving for university.
His carriage stopped again, and he saw the stone home, noting the sagging pediment surround in front. Little better than the decrepit home he’d been raised in—only bigger. Apparently, the tales were true.
He wanted to help her.
‘This be it,’ the driver said, voice proud, opening the door. ‘Two top windows bricked over from the inside just like the man said.’
Quinton stared up at the three-storey home and saw the windows, and that one of the lower panes also didn’t reflect as it should. A dark drapery concealed the interior.
Moving forward, he rapped on the scarred wooden door, hoping the house didn’t fall down from the added stress of his knock.
Finally, a butler answered, shoulders stooped and eyebrows thicker than the hair on his head. He remembered the man from the other home and saw recognition behind the unimpressed eyes.
‘Is Mr Adair in?’
The butler took his card, held it a distance from his sight and, after a squint, he nodded, taking his time. ‘The master is out, but—’
His demeanour changed, and he gave Quinton a decidedly not subservient glance. ‘Follow me,’ the servant instructed.
Quinton stared at the butler, surprised at the command in the frail man’s voice.
The older man didn’t stop on his journey up the stairway.
They moved upstairs into the dim hall, shadows obscuring the pictures on the wall, and the butler showed Quinton to the sitting room, an area overstuffed with a sofa, several chairs and a table snug against them. A piano hardly had room for the bench.
‘I will send Miss Susanna your way.’ The man’s words were commanding, but Quinton didn’t mind. Truly, his memories of Susanna had brought him here.
A short while later, light footsteps danced down the stairs. Then Quinton saw her in the doorway. He remembered her as if only yesterday he’d heard her laughter. He stilled, taking in the moment. Her dress had no lace or anything to make it stand out from a shopkeeper’s wife’s clothing, but still, she had a regal air and a genuine smile. She could have been the child of a royal.
‘The Earl of Amesbury.’ Susanna paused, studying him. She held what appeared to be a ragged ball in one hand and his card in the other. She walked closer and put the ball on a table, then propped the card against a vase and studied it a moment. ‘The title suits you.’ She nodded, her gaze still studious as she met his eyes. ‘It makes you look even taller.’
‘If I’d inherited a ducal title perhaps...’
‘Oh, no. I’m sure you’ve increased in height.’ She studied the top of his head. ‘Yes. You’re taller than when I saw you last, and you will just have to take my word on that.’
‘Then we must thank my boot maker.’
‘Amesbury. You have not changed—except for the height,’ she continued, voice rich, surrounding him with a music that erased every concern in his world. ‘And such a help to my father when he was ill. I did appreciate your reassurances.’
She still had on the lavender of half mourning, but it had been well over a year since her husband had died. She must have cared deeply for the wastrel.
‘And now you are Lord Amesbury. Do you remember that day we met?’
‘I do.’
‘At the picnic. You chased down the dog, and retrieved my doll.’ She took another step, laughter embellishing her voice even more. ‘And you brushed off Carolina’s dirty face, tried to remove the dog bite marks from her dress and presented her to me. You were my knight. And the other boy made fun of me. Yet you crossed your eyes and made him appear the foolish one.’
He’d forgotten how her face could sparkle.
‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen you,’ she said. ‘What brings you in this direction?’
‘I’d heard your father has had some difficulties.’ He stepped forward. ‘And I thought I might check on his health.’
‘He did have a sniffle recently, but it only scared us because he’d been so sick that one time. We believe he’s completely recovered. Now, he’s out searching for a man to assist with the work on the house. I don’t believe he is expected home until much later. He only left a short while before you arrived.’
He remained. Unmoving. ‘Since I’m not needed here, then I suppose I should be on my way.’ Neither spoke for a long moment. ‘If you’re completely certain your father is well.’
‘I am, but it is a delight to see you again. It would be wonderful to catch up, if you have time,’ she said. Her lips turned up, and he felt someone had dusted him with sunshine on a winter’s day.
‘But please give me a moment.’ She moved to the window facing away from the street. Slender arms extended, she tried to open it, but the wood didn’t move.
‘Let me,’ he said, stepping close enough to smell the freshness of soap and feel a fluttering brush of fabric against his arm.
With one heave he lifted the window, then heard the rasp. The scent of springtime lilacs drifted in through the opening.
He saw a little boy beneath look up. He’d forgotten she’d had a child.
She leaned out so far it was all he could do not to pull her back. He stood ready in case she lost her balance.
Picking up the ball once more, and tossing it to the child, she called out. ‘Play alone for a few moments, Christopher. I will ask Cook to fix apricot tarts for us soon.’
Then she waved Quinton aside, bit her bottom lip, gathered her strength and pulled the window closed with a thump. He wasn’t certain, but he thought a fleck of the ceiling’s plaster floated down to land on her shoulder.
He wanted to brush it away but felt it presumptuous.
‘It’s still a little too cool for me to leave the window open, but he appears to have already discarded his coat.’ She clasped her hands in front of her, then took a chair and indicated for him to be seated.
‘I never did offer condolences on the loss of your husband,’ he said.
She waved away his words, her voice losing its joie de vivre. ‘Our marriage was not always smooth, and I do think of him as a great loss. A terrible loss. An unforgettable loss.’ She tilted her head. ‘A loss, mainly.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘I truly was full of emotion when my husband died,’ she said. ‘But we had not lived together in years. I was deeply in love when we wed, of course. He was incredibly charming at times, but neither of us were truly happy together. It was sad. But it has made me...appreciate being a widow.’
‘I didn’t get on well with your husband.’
‘You were not the only one, Quinton.’ She looked at the fireplace briefly, then returned her gaze to him. ‘My husband would have been impressed that you are visiting. But everything impressed him...at first.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Because you were a physician, Quinton Langford, then. Not the Earl.’ She apologised with her eyes. ‘But let’s not talk about my husband. I try not to even think of him, although since we’ve moved here, it’s almost as if his memory has become larger instead of fading.’
She brushed her shoulder, dislodging the fragment. ‘I’m surprised you even knew where to find us. We’ve only recently relocated, and Father has plans to renovate this house.’ Her voice faded on the last word. ‘I think it is going to be more of an undertaking than he expected, but, of course, I could not say a word against it. He had a carpenter in yesterday to explain the repairs needed. He has more plans than I could imagine.’
‘Someone told me you’d moved.’ And he’d heard the family’s finances were strained. It was obviously true. ‘Living here will take you longer to travel to soirées.’
She shook her head, cheeks tightening. ‘I enjoyed them once, but not so much after I married. I like being at home.’
‘It suits you.’ He considered the top of her head. ‘You’re taller than I remembered, too.’
She lifted a folded handkerchief from the table beside him and acted as if she might throw the cloth at him. ‘Quinton Langford, I told the truth about you.’
‘So did I, Susanna Walton.’
She shuddered, dropping the handkerchief aside. ‘Please don’t call me that name.’
‘I won’t if it disturbs you.’
‘I tried not to let anyone know but I never adjusted to it. And when I moved back in with my parents, I pretended it was just a visit. They knew, though. Because I was so determined not to see him more than occasionally.’
‘I suspected.’
‘Well, you were always insightful. And you gave me my first kiss.’
‘I did not.’ His eyes widened. ‘That could hardly count, and actually you kissed me.’
‘I specifically remember. You were leaving to go to university and you visited me to say goodbye. And you gave me the sweetest kiss.’
‘It is kind of you to remember it that way, but you gave me the chastest kiss, half missing my mouth. A definite goodbye.’
She gave a cross between a squeak and a hum, and she had a regal upturn of her chin. ‘Remember it how you will. I doubt I can convince you otherwise.’
‘I doubt you can.’ He smiled. ‘Because I was there.’ He still remembered the sight of her running back inside, and the feeling that they would never again have the friendship he had so valued.
The blasted innocence. She’d been almost like the dolls he’d remembered her having—too unaware of the world to really know much. Needing to be protected. But it was not his place, and he was little more than a poor orphan at the time, though he’d had a wealthy uncle who’d been determined to push him ahead...not that he’d minded being given an opportunity. And she had been so far above him.
She looked at her handkerchief again, and then she folded it.
He suspected a sigh escaped her lips.
Susanna kept her smile firmly in place, busying her hands with the precise turns of the fabric, trying to make the cloth appear fresh from the iron.
It truly was wonderful to see Quinton again. He’d matured into such a stalwart man—but even as a youth, she’d been so impressed by the strength he possessed.
After he’d left for university, it was as if he’d forgotten she existed. She’d been hurt at the time that he’d only occasionally visited her family afterwards, and never seemed interested in contacting her. But she’d moved on. There were too many events to distract her, and he rarely appeared at any of them.
Then Walton had moved into her life.
A disaster.
After the first few months of her marriage, she’d refused to attend any occasions except those with family. Once she’d wed, Walton had been too familiar with the other ladies, and had hardly noticed when she was with him, actually preferring for her to remain behind. She’d been more than hurt. She’d never understood how truly innocent she’d been until then.
Walton, the man who’d so readily accepted her flaws before they were married, had hissed them at her in public so loudly she’d been afraid others would hear.
Most of their invitations had stopped arriving, or she’d burned everything that appeared to be a request.
She gave her head a quick shake, trying to relegate those memories to the list of things from the past to be forgotten.
‘I’ve not been to many events and plan to be attending more,’ he said. ‘But I don’t believe anyone has seen you out in society recently.’
She again shook her head. It had been better to avoid people than see their pity.
‘We did have a grand time as children that day we met at the picnic, though,’ she said, changing the subject to happier times. ‘And you were so kind to amuse me and keep me from getting bored.’
‘I’m sure I enjoyed it more than you did,’ he said.
‘So gallant of you. But then, you always were.’ Her gaze flicked away. ‘Mostly.’
‘Mostly...?’ Quinton appeared as if a bug had fluttered into his vision.
She took in a breath. ‘After you began studies at the Royal Physician’s College, you never visited again until father was ill.’
‘Before I left the first time, I visited you that day, and asked if you wished for me to write to you. And you said...no, before kissing me goodbye.’
Susanna stared at him. She would never have told anyone no with the emphasis he’d placed on the word.
‘I told you I was not much for correspondence.’ She shrugged. ‘That was all. And you said you were not either.’
‘I was overwhelmed with studies and learning and such, and I didn’t write to anyone, but I would have written to you.’ He studied her as if she’d been daft to think otherwise.
She said nothing.
‘I would have written at least a few times,’ he admitted.
‘Only a few?’ she asked, her happiness fading. ‘That’s what I meant. I sensed that in you. The distance. After we were older.’
‘I was on my best manners—my best behaviour—when we spoke. I had had it drilled it into my head that I had better not misbehave and I had better treat all the women in society like angels.’
‘You were treating me like an angel?’ She laughed, softly. ‘I guess I didn’t grasp that. I just noticed you were dear, proper and sometimes extremely distant.’
‘You were...you were—’ He took in a deep breath. ‘You could say you were changing from a child who enjoyed dolls and lightness and laughter to a young woman who didn’t want me to correspond with her. I understood.’
‘I said we could still be friends. And then someone kissed someone.’
His brows lifted. He lowered his chin. ‘I assure you, that was a goodbye kiss. Not an...until later kiss.’
‘So, you avoided me,’ she said.
‘Yes. That’s what one does with the still-can-be-friends-but-don’t-contact-me friends. And then one is given a kiss goodbye.’
‘That isn’t at all what I meant when I said that. And then you all but disappeared until father was ill.’
‘I don’t always understand the intricacies of society,’ he said. ‘But I am fairly certain I know how, um, personal predicaments end politely, or get nipped in the bud before even starting.’
‘I remember.’ She raised her voice. ‘I said firmly, and emphasised, that we could still be friends.’ Her tone softened. ‘I just was not inclined to write.’
‘Truly, I wasn’t either.’ He flexed his fingers. ‘Sitting all day at a desk got old quickly. But I’m so grateful I had the opportunity for the education. It meant a lot.’
He waited, then added, ‘And you were not telling me to take my leave?’
‘We had enjoyed ourselves the times we saw each other.’
‘You smiled easily. Except I didn’t like it that one time.’
‘You ran into a tree. At first, I thought you were making a jest.’
Quinton remembered the incident. Now it made him smile. He’d been running because his uncle had summoned him to leave—three times. He’d looked back to tell her goodbye, still running. Then he’d turned around just as he’d careened into a tree. The bruise on his cheek had been prominent. That had been one of the few times in his life he’d been embarrassed.
‘Someone said it must have been a big man who’d hit me, and I said, “Tall as a tree, and just as solid.”’
‘I thought you were just pretending not to see the tree,’ she said.
‘The tree moved. I’m sure of it.’
‘Yes. It did. A tremendous amount. Perhaps a leaf.’
‘So we can agree on that?’
‘We can agree on many things, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘We just don’t always choose to.’
‘Like the first time we met, and you kept testing me about your dolls. As if I could remember Lady Matilda Margaret Montague and Lady Louise Whatever-Whatever and those tales you wove about their pets who did not have simple names either.’
‘Their pets were important,’ she said.
‘You were so insistent,’ he recalled. ‘And no doll needs so many imaginary pets, one of which is a lion, and another an elephant who has a talking bird.’
‘Lady Matilda did.’
‘You lined your toys up by order of rank. I swore you kept changing their peerages.’
He’d been astounded that one little girl could possess so many toys and be allowed to have them with her.
‘I may have,’ she admitted. ‘To keep you on your toes.’
She glanced to the window. ‘And later, I never thanked you for taking care of my father. I was so happy when I visited and saw you were watching over him.’
She stood, and he rose as well. ‘I’m rambling on. And you’re here to see my parents. I’ll fetch my mother.’
‘I was concerned about your father. But if he’s not ill, then I don’t need to wait for him.’
‘I’m happy Father is well, but I’m sorry your trip was wasted.’
‘Hardly wasted,’ he said. ‘Seeing you again... I hope you start attending events again.’
‘Sometimes I miss it. But...’
‘When I was at the last soirée, I saw someone from a distance and at first I thought it was you. Then I remembered how you were quite accomplished at dancing—at speaking with everyone.’
She laughed. ‘I suppose I did well because I like dancing. But those days are over. I have a little boy now, and my days are taken up with more mundane events.’
‘Such as tossing a ball out of a window?’
‘Yes. Someone has to do it, I suppose.’ Her complaint ended on a smile. ‘The governess is visiting her family today.’
A silence followed, and he considered the past, the present and the future. Susanna was in financial difficulty. He’d heard rumours her father’s finances had been suffering. It was obviously true.
‘I must tell Mother you’re here,’ she said. ‘She would be upset if she didn’t get a chance to speak with you. I am so pleased you visited, Lord Amesbury. And please don’t correct me. It sounds very impressive. I’m happy you’re doing well. I will be back after I collect Mother.’
She was exiting so prettily, as if she hated to leave. In the doorway, she hesitated and looked back at him.
He wondered if he was again being told they could still be acquaintances, but only from a distance. He wasn’t sure.
And in that instant, he understood why he remembered her so well.
Susanna had been the only woman he’d ever seen who had such a regal air but could charm anyone from a peer to a servant to a dog who’d tried to abduct her doll.
‘You truly did enjoy our friendship?’ Although he still wasn’t certain he’d misunderstood.
‘Quinton, you toss that thought right out of your head if you think otherwise.’ She spoke as if scolding him, and yet, it was pleasant.
She could still help him as she had when they were youngsters. Back then she’d told him how he was to interact with the peerage and schooled him on manners. True, his mother’s sister had done the same, but it had sounded much better from Susanna.
Susanna was a woman with a child and reputable parents, and one who did not court adverse attentions. She could increase his status within society and give him an immediate air of respectability that would protect him as he moved among the people who were shunned by the most prosperous.
He’d not felt the stain of his past when he’d been at university. He’d been proud of the knowledge he had gained. But as an earl, he didn’t want his past resurfacing—the childhood with a mother only one step from the brothel, and an aunt who’d allowed him to clean the rooms for the ladies who worked for her. Not only that, he’d had a society father who couldn’t take care of himself.
He studied the room again and compared it to the estate he lived in now, and the home her father had lived in previously. Her finances had definitely taken a turn for the worse.
‘Of course, I had a fondness for you.’ She hesitated. ‘But I don’t correspond with anyone.’ She stepped forward and took his right hand.
‘What about your husband when you were courting?’
‘No. Now that I look back, we didn’t even stay in contact long. I suppose marriage truly tests a companionship.’
‘Well, if that’s how you look at it, that’s a test I’ve yet to take.’ He lifted her fingertips slightly. ‘But I’m willing to take the challenge.’
‘I’m sure you would make an admirable husband.’ Her words ended on a smile.
He saw acceptance in her gaze. Shared memories.
‘If you truly believe I will make an admirable husband, then will you consider marriage?’
The words he’d spoken surprised him, but the thought didn’t. Susanna always appeared so upstanding.
He remembered seeing her father and mother get into the carriage after Sunday services. Susanna and her two sisters had crowded in, almost sitting on each other’s laps, and their carriage had left in a completely different direction than he’d travelled. His uncle hadn’t even been willing to transport him to the door of his home, and had only taken Quinton part of the way.
She studied him.
‘Will you?’ he asked again. ‘To me?’
