Chapter Four
Con was surprised at how much he had enjoyed Miss Stanhope’s company at supper.
She had fit in well with his family, which was no easy thing for an outsider to do.
They were so comfortable with one another, and she was a stranger to them, yet Miss Stanhope had not shied away from questions.
She had also freely entered the conversation, where most young ladies in her position would have been intimidated, sitting at a duke’s table.
One of the most interesting discussions of supper had been listening to her and Val discuss a book Con had read once before. Now, he wanted to read the novel again.
And get to know Miss Stanhope better.
They moved to the ballroom again, which was empty, and headed for the French doors leading out to the terrace.
He enjoyed the moment the cool breeze floated over him.
July in a crowded London ballroom could become most unpleasant.
Con decided when he became the Earl of Marley, he might consider holding a ball outdoors.
Surely, it had to be better than ones held in stifling ballrooms, with ladies fanning themselves and gentlemen wishing they could shuck their coats and waistcoats.
Unfortunately, the terrace was full of others. He glanced down and saw other couples sitting on the stone steps leading down to the garden, as well as spying two couples entering the gardens.
Easing Miss Stanhope through the crowd, Con guided her down the steps.
“Would you care to stroll the gardens?” he inquired, noting she looked immediately to them as another couple entered.
“I suppose we could,” she demurred. “It seems others have the same idea.”
They moved toward the entrance to the gardens, which had a group of lanterns in front of it. Picking up one, he held it in his right hand, as Miss Stanhope had hold of his left arm.
As they moved along the path, she inhaled deeply. “Oh, the scent of flowers is so pungent in the night air. It is as if flowers sleep all day and come alive at night.”
“I had not thought of it that way, but you are right,” he agreed. “It seems much easier to catch their scent now.” He breathed in. “I smell sweet peas. And roses. How about you?”
He halted their steps, and she bent, sniffing a bloom. “Hmm. Delphiniums. And jasmine.”
She righted herself, and they continued along the way. Con could see a few lanterns ahead of them when they reached a fork in the path. The lights were to the right.
Instead, he chose the path which went left, not quite certain why he did so, seeming to want a quiet moment with the lady he escorted.
“Have you enjoyed the Season this year, my lady?”
She laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that caught his attention. “This Season has been much like last Season. And the year before that one.”
“So, you have been out three years?”
“Yes, my lord. Unwed—and with no prospects.”
He halted again. “You say it so . . . blithely. Not many ladies would be as happy as you are in your position.”
“You must know I would never be a choice of any gentleman perusing the Marriage Mart.”
Con gazed at her intently. “And why is that, Miss Stanhope? You are most attractive, even if you are hiding your figure behind a poorly tailored gown. Are you trying to keep suitors at bay?”
He sensed her hesitation. “Pardon me if I have become too personal. It is not my business to comment on the cut of your gown.”
She tugged on his arm, and they continued along the path.
“You are correct. I do hide myself. On purpose.”
“Why so?” he asked, very curious about her reasons.
“You have a great wit. You saw how those at my cousin’s table flocked to you.
They enjoyed conversing with you and hearing what you had to say.
It surprises me that you do not have a line of bachelors at your elbow, fighting to gain your attention. ”
“Perhaps because I do not want a line of bachelors, my lord. I do not wish to have any suitors at all.”
They had come to a bench, and he guided them toward it, indicating for them to sit. Con set the lantern on the ground and looked at Miss Stanhope. Part of her face was in shadow, but he could see enough to know she regarded him with a pensive look.
“Since we will only be together this one time on this one night, I shall tell you of myself,” she began. “I am an only child. My mother died soon after giving birth to me. My father depended upon her for everything, and he transferred that dependence to me.”
“Was that a heavy burden as a child?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I did not know anything else. I only know he has seemed helpless my entire life. Papa cared for Mama a great deal. He might have even loved her. The reason we remain in town all year is because he does not want to be in a place where they lived together. He has told me how painful it is to enter a room and think of her no longer being there. Playing the pianoforte in the drawing room. Sitting at the breakfast table. Because of that, we stay here.”
“He must trust his estate manager a great deal to neglect it as he does.”
“Oh, my cousin Ollie serves as Stanfield’s steward and is its future lord.
He sends monthly reports to me. I can tell you about crop yields and our tenants and their families.
Why, only yesterday, I received a letter telling me of the birth of a new babe.
I will embroider a blanket and send it to Mrs. Roberts. ”
“Does Lord Samuel also read these reports from your cousin?”
She chuckled. “No. Never. Papa does not trouble himself with anything about his estate or his household. Ollie runs one, with advice from me, while I run the other on my own.”
She told him a bit about the country estate in Dorset, near Weymouth, and how much she loved the country.
“We have only been back to Stanfield a handful of times during my life, but I know it is a place I want to live when I come into control of my dowry in three years’ time.
And I will have lovely neighbors. Lord and Lady Pebble are nearby.
Lady Pebble was my mother’s dearest friend, and she and the viscount have treated me as a daughter all these years. ”
“Is that why you fight to keep gentlemen away? Because you enjoy your independence?” He sensed her hesitation. “You do not have to answer that question, Miss Stanhope.”
“You are correct,” she said softly. “I have always valued being independent. As long as my father’s household runs like clockwork and all his needs are taken care of, I am left to do what I wish.
I make sure rooms are cleaned properly, rugs beaten and bedclothes washed.
I have hired the best cook available, and the meals placed on the table are to Papa’s liking.
I even visit with his tailor and recommend what additions he needs to his wardrobe and select the materials to be used in making it up.
Even doing all that, I have much time to spend on my own.
I pursue my interests. History. Architecture. Literature.”
“No one tells you what to do,” he said quietly. “It is as if you live as a man.”
“Exactly,” she agreed enthusiastically. “Why would I wish to have strangers woo me and wed one of them? I have everything I need for now. When I turn five and twenty, I have access to my dowry if I have not wed by then. I plan to retire to Dorset and live in a cottage on Stanfield lands. Ollie has already approved of my plan, and as he will be the viscount someday, there is no foreseeable problem.”
“Except loneliness,” Con said. “It is all well and good that you can come and go as you please, but won’t you miss companionship? Or the idea of one day having children?”
She did not answer, so he said, “I will share with you that I am lonely. Val—Millbrooke—and I have been with one another most of our lives. We went to school together. University together. We even shared rooms in town after we completed our education. Now, I do not begrudge him finding Eden. They are madly in love, but I find myself walking about the rooms, longing for someone to talk with.”
“His Grace has wed. You should do the same,” she recommended.
“I cannot. My title is a courtesy one. There is no land or income attached to it. I could not court a woman and wed her, only to return to live in three tiny, dark rooms. I receive a small quarterly allowance, akin to a lady’s pin money.
How could I wed and expect a lady to be happy in such circumstances? ”
Con shook his head. “No, I will not consider marriage until I have become the Earl of Marley.”
“So, that is why you have never called upon a lady,” Miss Stanhope mused.
“You know that?” he asked, shocked.
She chuckled. “Oh, I know a great deal, my lord. When a wallflower is near, others speak openly, as if she is not there. I hear a great deal of gossip. I can tell you all about which gentlemen have been unfaithful in their marriages. Which ladies are increasing and have yet to share that publicly. Which children are giving fits to their mamas. Which men have run up debts in gaming hells. I listen—and learn. I am an invisible bystander.”
He took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “You could be so much more. You are clever and kind. Full of life. Enjoyable to be around. If you let down your guard and did not dress to frighten gentlemen away, you could have numerous men eating from the palm of your hand.”
Con felt the tension within her. “If I did what you said, then they would come calling. Papa would not refuse if one offered for me, and then I would be trapped. I would be as a bird whose wings had been clipped, forced to wed someone I did not wish to, spending the rest of my life in a prison, freedom just outside my grasp.”
“Not all men are jailers, Miss Stanhope.”
“No, but one can never be certain which ones would be. As things stand now, I have my freedom as long as I see to Papa. When I reach my majority and can access my dowry, then I will choose to live the life I wish to.”
“Will this not anger your father, your leaving suddenly?”