Chapter Two
It goes without saying that both rank and wealth are desirable, along with a pleasant personal appearance and an amicable nature. However, such men are in generally short supply, and tend to be snapped up very quickly.
—Advice to Young Ladies
Paynton Hall, Buckinghamshire, a week later
B enedict Paynton stood by the library window, gazing out over the park, bare trees stark against the grey sky. The windows gave onto the drive, along which a carriage approached the house.
“Another young Miss come to bid for your hand?” Ben’s younger brother, Major Arthur Paynton, limped over to the window, leaning heavily upon his walking stick.
“It’s not an auction,” Ben said impatiently. “No matter how much it might feel like it.”
Arthur grinned. “Well, if you weren’t the heir to a title, wealthy, and still with all your teeth... ”
Ben rolled his eyes, under no illusion that his appearance would make any difference to husband-hunting mamas. “I wish you would get married,” he muttered, not for the first time. “Then Mother might leave me alone.”
“Following the drum is no life for a decent woman,” Arthur said. “You wouldn’t want me to give up my profession just so you could avoid the parson’s mousetrap, would you?”
Ben sighed. “No, of course not. I know my duty—but I’ve had my fill of young women who are more enamoured of my future title than my person.” And he wanted to be out riding his favourite hunter, not long recovered from a sprained hock.
“Who was it?” Arthur asked.
“Who was who?”
“The woman who turned you into such a cynic. I could ask Mother,” Arthur added when Ben did not reply.
“That’s blackmail!” Ben protested. But it wasn’t a secret, really. “A baron’s daughter I was courting last year. I overheard her telling a friend that I was boring, but it was worth putting up with what happened in the bedroom to have a title when Papa dies.”
Arthur grimaced. “At least you found out in time.” He leaned closer to the window as the carriage drew up and a footman handed down three women. “Two more candidates with their mother, I think.” He looked at Ben. “That’s five young ladies so far, by my count, and only two fathers with them. I thought you’d invited some friends of yours to divert the attention of so many females.”
“I did. But they’re going to a boxing match in Harrow today and will come on tomorrow. ”
“Aren’t you going to meet the new arrivals?” Arthur hobbled back to the fire and sank into a chair with a sigh of relief, rubbing his wounded leg. “You’ll never remember all their names if you wait until dinner to show your face.”
“Neither will you,” Ben pointed out.
“They’re not here to court me. Besides, I have an excuse—doctor’s orders not to be on my feet too much.”
Ben sighed, envying his brother a little—if he had been a second son, he would have been free to follow his own choice of career as Arthur had. He took one last glance out of the window, where the pale stone of his pavilion made a stark contrast with the dark water of the lake and the bare trees.
In the front parlour, Ben was confronted by what felt like dozens of pairs of eyes as he walked into the room. He blinked, and the crowd resolved into only three young ladies, with a handful of parents or guardians.
“Ben, I’m glad you’ve come.” His mother crossed the room to him. “Let me introduce you. Lord and Lady Farrell, I think you know my elder son, do you not?”
Lord Farrell stood and nodded. “Pleased to see you again, Paynton. Nice place you have here.” His approving gaze passed from the ornate Ormolu clock on the mantelpiece, to the equally elaborate gilded frame of the mirror above it, then on to the brightly coloured flocked wall-coverings. “Very nice, indeed.”
“We have my mother to thank for all this,” Ben said. The ornaments were not to his taste, but this was not his house yet and, God willing, would not be for many years to come.
“My daughter,” Lord Farrell said .
“Miss Farrell.” Ben bowed over the hand of a pretty maiden with glossy black hair and blue eyes; eyes that turned modestly downwards after a brief, assessing glance.
Mother moved on to the next group of people. “Sir James, Lady Gildthorpe, may I make my son known to you?” Miss Gildthorpe was a pretty brunette with a pleasant smile but had little to say in response to his remarks. Miss Neston, a serious young lady sitting next to her mother, Lady Neston, greeted him with a forced smile, but replied pleasantly enough to his attempts at conversation.
He suppressed a sigh of relief that there were only three young misses with whom he was expected to converse.
Then the door opened and Foster announced three more women. “Lady Ardley, Miss Ardley and Miss Cecilia Ardley.”
Mother hurried over. “I’m so pleased you could come, Lady Ardley, and that you arrived before the snow. Foster has a feel for these things, you know. He is hardly ever wrong.”
Snow?
“My husband sends his apologies,” Mother went on. “He intended to be here, but has been unavoidably detained in Town by parliamentary business. He hopes to join us tomorrow.”
“Thank you for inviting us, Lady Paynton.” Lady Ardley said. “May I make known to you my daughters, Katherine and Cecelia?”
Katherine was the older of the two; her brown eyes regarded the room with the same assessing gaze as Lord Farrell, and he thought a faint smile of satisfaction curved her lips. The younger sister was a beauty, as her mother must have been in her day; golden curls framed a heart-shaped face with rosebud lips, and her figure was nicely rounded. Like Miss Farrell, she had modestly downcast eyes, but the blush that accompanied her quiet greeting hinted that she might really be shy. That was more appealing than Miss Farrell’s pretence.
“I hope you had a pleasant journey, Miss Cecelia,” he said, as Miss Ardley wandered off and Mother and Lady Ardley started to pass on news about mutual acquaintances.
Miss Cecelia raised her gaze to his neckcloth. “Yes, thank you.”
“Have you come far?”
“Only from London.”
“I hope you enjoy your stay here.” His neckcloth still appeared to be the principal attraction, so he gave up and walked over to where her sister was inspecting the clock on the mantelpiece. “Miss Ardley. I hope you had a trouble-free journey?”
She turned. “We did, thank you. It is but thirty miles, and we stopped for sustenance at Uxbridge.”
How refreshing to find that this sister could speak more than a few words at a time, as well as look him in the face. She was not as pretty as Miss Cecelia, but well enough, and her eyes held intelligence. “You are admiring the clock, I see.” To his mind, it was an overwrought monstrosity, with an overabundance of cherubs, flowers, and foliage.
“It fits this room, but in general, I prefer simpler designs. And the natural beauty of marble or wood can often be more attractive than gilding.” She hesitated a moment. “I hope you don’t mind my plain speaking.”
“Not at all; my opinion is similar.” Something about her answer didn’t quite ring true to him, but he couldn’t work out what it was. “I trust your rooms are acceptable?” That was far from the most fascinating topic of conversation, but what else could one say to a stranger of whom one knew nothing?
“Very much so, thank you.” She glanced beyond him. “Excuse me, Mr Paynton, but I see my sister needs me.”
Ben inclined his head as she smiled and walked over to Miss Cecelia, sitting alone in the middle of a sofa. Such a contrast between the two sisters, in both appearance and personality.
Contrast—that was it! Miss Ardley’s pleased expression when she had first surveyed the room did not fit with her stated preference for less ornamentation; Mother’s taste in furnishings was nothing if not ostentatious. Perhaps she had been pleased with the room’s indication that the family was not short of funds? It wasn’t really fair for him to resent her assessment; a woman had to know that a husband could support her. He let out a breath and dutifully went to talk to one of the other husband hunters.
At dinner, Ben found himself seated between Miss Neston and Miss Cecelia. Mother was clearly doing her best to ensure he talked to the young ladies she had invited, but Ben thought she had made a misjudgement this evening. Miss Neston spent most of the meal talking to Arthur, on her other side—asking him about his experiences in the Peninsula, from the few snatches he heard—and Miss Cecelia answered most of his remarks with few words and an apparent fascination with the tablecloth. Miss Ardley, seated across the table, seemed amused by his dilemma; or was she just interested in what Arthur was saying? He couldn’t be sure.
“You looked like a lamb to the slaughter when you walked in,” Arthur said to him when the ladies had left. “How was your dinner? ”
“Getting a full sentence from the younger Miss Ardley is like getting blood from a stone. You were monopolising Miss Neston.”
“She was monopolising me, rather. Intelligent woman.” Arthur rolled the stem of his glass between his fingers, his lips curving as he cast a sidelong glance at Ben. “You could do worse than choose her.”
“If I want a wife who ignores me.” Although that might be better than one who talked too much.
He had the next few days to get to know these young women better. Father had issued no ultimatum about the timing of Ben’s marriage, only a request that he didn’t delay too long, but Mother would be disappointed if he made no effort while her guests were here.
If Miss Neston really had decided against him already—the thought dented his self-esteem a little—then paying court to her would satisfy Mother without the risk of ending up leg-shackled.