Chapter Twelve
Con knew Miss Stanhope had been irritated with him, especially since she had ignored him throughout dinner. He shouldn’t have provoked her by teasing her when she mentioned the possibility of him trading the name cards which Lady Pebble had placed on the table.
He had redeemed himself, however, when he spoke up for her regarding the issue of the men smoking cigars as they lingered over their after-dinner brandy.
She made a valid point. He himself had caught the scent of cigar smoke on his clothes, as well as his skin and hair, while seated in drawing rooms. While it was a pleasant experience to light a cigar and puff upon it as he sipped his brandy and visited with other gentlemen, the aftereffects were most unpleasant.
It had not been difficult to support her on this issue, and it was good the other men present agreed to abandon the habit for the entirety of the house party.
Her fingers now rested against the ivories, ready to play, and he caught the rose scent from before.
Standing by her side, he had a delightful view of her breasts as he glanced down, the rounded globes calling out to him.
Deliberately, he drew his gaze from them to the page of music.
If he were to turn the page when necessary, he better do so.
If he didn’t, Miss Stanhope was bound to know what had drawn his attention away and scold him thoroughly.
Actually, he would not mind her doing so.
When angry, it brought color to her cheeks, making her very enticing.
Still, he followed along as she began to play.
She had mentioned being adequate at the instrument, but he thought she played the pianoforte beautifully.
It made him curious to hear her play the violin, despite the fact she said she was not accomplished in doing so.
She had taken it up after her father’s death, and that had to have occurred sometime in the past two-and-a-half months.
No one could be expected to play brilliantly after so short a time, especially since she had no music tutor to guide her.
She finished playing, and polite applause sounded from the house party’s guests. Rising, she exited from the other side of where he stood.
“Thank you. I must also allow the other ladies to entertain you, as well.”
This was the part Con dreaded. Not every lady could play the pianoforte well, and it could be painful listening to them do so. Of the five young ladies present, he guessed at least two of them were terrible at it.
He offered his arm to her, and she was polite enough to take it. He guided them to an available settee for two and thought progress had been made when she actually allowed him to take a seat beside her.
“Who else would care to entertain us?” Lady Pebble asked, glancing about.
“I will,” a quiet voice said, determination in her tone.
It was Miss Lawson who had volunteered. Con had spoken to the shy young woman in the drawing room before dinner and realized it took a great deal of courage on her part to do so.
Springing to his feet, he asked, “Might I turn the pages for you, as well, Miss Lawson?”
Her cheeks pinkened. “No, my lord. I shall play from memory.”
Con seated himself again, his leg brushing against Miss Stanhope’s gown. Actually, against her leg, truth be told. The settee was narrower than he’d first thought it. He was glad to see Miss Stanhope did not pull away. Then again, she would not be the kind of woman who backed down from anything.
It made her all the more appealing to him.
From the first keys struck, it was obvious Miss Lawson was incredibly talented. The guests sat in awe for the next several minutes and when she finished, they burst into applause. For her part, Miss Lawson stood, giving a shy smile, and returned to her seat.
“Marvelous, my dear,” praised Lord Pebble.
He had learned that Miss Lawson was a relative of Lord Pebble’s, but even Con could see the viscount had had no idea how well she played.
“You play beautifully,” Lord Cramer commented, his interest in the young lady obvious. “Might we take a turn about the room, Miss Lawson? I would enjoy hearing more about your music. And you.”
Other conversations began breaking out, but he had led them to a settee apart from the other guests.
“I suppose you seated us here to isolate me from the others,” Miss Stanhope said grumpily.
“Perhaps it was because I wanted you all to myself,” he said flirtatiously.
Seeing her frown, Con changed tactics.
“I wished to seat us apart from others because I have an apology to offer you, my lady. We made plans for me to—”
“No apology is necessary, my lord. You are not in my debt in any regard. Besides, we barely know one another.”
His gaze was steady upon her. “I would like that to change.”
“I would not,” she said crisply.
“I still wish to give you my most sincere apology.” When she started to speak again, he raised a finger. “Please allow me to finish it.”
She sighed, looking put out, but kept silent.
“I was to call upon you the afternoon after the Purlington ball,” he began. “I meant to do so. I even planned to send flowers to you.”
Her brows arched in surprise, but she said nothing.
Gathering his courage, he told her, “The reason I did not call upon you was very personal. When I arrived home from the ball, one of my father’s footmen came to tell me that he had collapsed.
I rushed home. The doctor was already there.
Papa was in pain. To this day, I know not what caused his death.
Only that it happened moments after I arrived. ”
Con paused, swallowing, the memory of that night still raw within his soul. “I still had so much to say to him. He was such a good man. Beloved by his children and a wonderful uncle to all my cousins.”
Suddenly, her hand covered his. “I am so sorry. That must have been difficult.” She removed it quickly, most likely not wishing for anyone else present to see the intimate gesture.
He blinked back the tears which had formed in his eyes.
“It was. Then I had so much to do. People to meet with. Decisions which had to be promptly made. We left town that next day, taking Papa home to Marleyfield. He loved the place so much. We buried him in the Swanford cemetery. I will admit that it took days for my head to clear.”
Gazing deeply into her eyes, he added, “When the fog lifted, I realized that I had not gone to see you. Not even thought to write a note to you, explaining my absence from town. You went to ton events and must have noted my absence, and I was in anguish, worried about your feelings. I thought to write to you. To explain myself. To offer up my heartfelt apology.” He hesitated.
“I chose not to do so. For that, I am ashamed.”
“You needn’t be,” she said, her tone comforting.
She removed her hand from his. “I, too, understand all that is involved with the death of a loved one. When Papa died, I had to plan his funeral. Notify so many others. Send the death notice to the newspapers. Meet with Ollie and help him make the transition from steward to viscount. Because of this, I do understand how you had to focus on what was at hand. Calling upon me was unimportant in the midst of such a life-altering event, my lord.”
He had to ask. “When did Lord Samuel pass, my lady?”
“The afternoon you were to visit,” she said dully, and his heart ached. Not only had he neglected to even her send a note, but she had dealt with such heartache over losing her father.
This time, it was Con who placed his hand over hers. “I regret not coming to see you. I am sorry I never wrote to you.”
“It does not matter, my lord. I understand—and accept your apology. I, too, must apologize. I have behaved poorly in your company. That is unlike me. I hope you will also accept my apology.”
He squeezed her fingers. “I do.”
Then he removed his hand before it became awkward. He glanced about, hoping no one had seen them touching. Even within a house party, gossip could spread like wildfire. He would not want Miss Stanhope’s reputation to suffer because of a careless moment.
“Your cousin seems a good fellow.”
“He will make for a wonderful viscount,” she agreed. “Ollie is very thoughtful regarding his tenants. He recently turned thirty. He is ready to settle into his title—and marriage.”
“I recall Lord Pebble mentioning this house party was given in Lord Samuel’s honor.”
“Yes. He hopes to be betrothed by its end.”
“And what of you, Miss Stanhope? Do you have a similar aim?”
“Not at all,” she said brusquely. “I have no wish to ever wed. I am happy with the quiet life I now lead.”
“You are dressing much better,” he told her.
She removed her spectacles and slipped a handkerchief from her sleeve, polishing them.
“Is it appropriate for a gentleman to mention a lady’s wardrobe?” she asked.
“It is—if they are friends.”
Miss Stanhope asked, “Are we, my lord? Friends?”
“I would like to think we are,” he said. “In all honesty, I have never spoken so openly to a woman in my life. I felt a kinship that evening in the garden with you. A closeness. I hope you will consider us to be friends.”
“I will. As long as there is no kissing involved.”
Her words jolted him. “Have you thought of our kisses as much as I have?” he asked, yearning in his voice.
“I think that an inappropriate topic of conversation, Lord Marley,” she said stiffly.
He wanted to believe that she had thought about them as much as he had and said, “I have not been able to forget them. I do not want to forget them.”
“Well, I do,” she said. “If we are to have any kind of friendship between us, then we must pretend that it did not happen.”
“I cannot do so, my lady,” he said softly. “I still think of kissing you each day. I even do so in my dreams.”
A deep blush filled her face. “It is not a topic I care to discuss, my lord.”
She started to rise, but he took her arm, gently tugging so that she sat again.
“I will not bring them up again. Unless you do first,” he told her.
“Thank you,” she said, gazing out over the room, deliberately avoiding his gaze.
“Which of the ladies present to you believe might make for a good wife for your cousin?” he asked, simply wanting to remain in her company, not truly caring what they spoke about.
“My answer will sound biased, but I think my friend Miss Tweedham would be a good match for Ollie. She has also shown an interest in him, and I intend to encourage him to give her careful consideration. If it is not Miss Tweedham, I think Miss Lawson might also make him happy. Ollie is so jovial. I believe he could draw Miss Lawson from her shell.”
He smiled. “You are as much of a matchmaker as Lady Pebble is.”
She turned, meeting his gaze. “I like to see others happy, especially those who mean a great deal to me.”
“My sisters both made love matches,” he shared.
“Lucy fell in love with the Marquess of Huntsberry during her come-out Season. Their daughter Elziabeth is six months old. And when my sister Dru went to visit Lucy in the country, she fell in love with one of their neighbors. She is now wed to the Earl of Martindale, and their son Beau is a little over two months old. I had planned to visit them and meet my nephew for the first time, but this house party came up.”
She smiled wryly. “You mean the house party you were not invited to.”
“True,” he agreed. “Fortunately, I was available and able to balance the numbers.” He paused, gazing intently at her. “It was fortuitous that you are also in attendance.”
“If I did not know better, my lord, I would think you somehow manipulated things in order to be here at Pebblestone. With me.”
It surprised him how astute she was.
“Do you believe in fate, Miss Stanhope? I think it led me here so that I might see you in person and be able to apologize. Especially since you say you are not planning on returning to the Season. I might never have seen you again if not for Lord Clay being called away.”
Con knew he lied to her. He should admit that he had convinced Lord Clay to pass on the house party in order for Con to take his place. But Miss Stanhope still didn’t quite trust him.
And he needed her to do so. Badly.
“Fate. Coincidence. It goes by several names,” she said airily. She glanced about. “I see others are taking their leave. I will do so, as well.”
He rose and offered her his hand. When she took it, it felt so right. A warm feeling washed over him.
“Goodnight, my lady.”
Con watched her leave, wondering why this particular woman had claimed a piece of his heart.
All he knew was somehow, some way, he was going to convince this woman to become his countess.