Chapter Seven
At first, it looked as if the weather would cooperate. In the morning, clouds still darkened the sky, but the rain held off. Belmont watched from the window as his traveling coach rolled away. Maybe his luck had finally changed.
Rain began falling two hours later, but he refused to worry about it. Instead, he settled in for a long conversation with Lady Carrington.
She brought her embroidery hoop and sat beside the bed, working as they chatted. He watched as her deft fingers darted the needle in and out of the fabric. “What are you making?” he asked.
She glanced up, the corners of her eyes crinkling into a smile. “I am embroidering a gown for my oldest grandchild. Recently, she’s become very interested in beetles, so I am embroidering ladybird beetles and glowworms along the hems.”
“Beetles?” Lawrence winced at the incredulity in his voice. “Not that there is anything wrong with beetles, but it does not seem very feminine. . . I mean, not what I would expect a girl to like. . .” He quailed before Lady Carrington’s reproachful eyes.
“In my experience, girls are just as curious about the natural world as boys are. The difference is that people channel girls’ curiosity toward ‘more feminine’ pursuits.
My husband and I never saw the point in doing that.
Why not let children explore the world as much as they want?
” Lady Carrington dropped her gaze and went back to her embroidery.
“Why indeed?” Lawrence meekly replied. “I suppose I never thought of that.”
Silently, he wondered whether his own daughter might have taken an interest in entomology if he had encouraged her. Elinor adored both feathered and four-legged animals. Maybe she could have loved six-legged ones, too.
Lady Carrington must have guessed what he was thinking, because she leaned forward and patted his hand.
“It’s easier to be wise about raising children after they are grown.
When one is in the thick of things, one can only muddle through with the resources at hand.
I am sure you fathered your children as best you could according to what you knew. ”
Lawrence suspected there were many things he’d done wrong, particularly after Viola’s death. But he did not particularly want to discuss his failures as a parent. Instead, he changed the subject to the most clichéd conversation topic possible.
“The weather seems to have gotten worse rather than better. It sounds like a veritable hurricane out there.” The wind howled as it swept around the corners of the farmhouse, rattling shutters along the way.
Lady Carrington rose from her chair to peer out the window. “Yes, it looks dreadful out there. I hope the travelers are safe.”
As if in answer, the next gust of wind carried the cracking and smashing sounds that heralded a falling tree. Lawrence’s heart sank. Apparently, his luck had not changed. No one outside in that storm could be safe. He could only hope that Sally was not on the road.
The storm howled all night and well into the next day, wreaking havoc.
Two trees had fallen on the Lofthouse property; one of them completely blocked the road, preventing carriages and wagons from reaching the farm.
Reports trickled in of flooded roads and washed-out bridges throughout the whole parish.
Rain continued to pour even after the wind had died down. By the time the storm passed, Lawrence was well enough to rebel against his prescribed bedrest. He pushed a chair next to the window and sat there, peering out occasionally to watch the skies clear.
Two days after Miss Howell and the servants set out for Rushton, Lady Carrington visited Lawrence’s room with a smile instead of the worry lines she’d been wearing. She drew a chair up and settled down, her embroidery in hand.
“Good news, Your Grace. A team is working to clear the road. We may be able to get a messenger through to Rushton today or tomorrow.”
“I am not waiting for a messenger!” Lawrence protested. “We’ve been here for days. And I am so much better, there’s no need to stay longer. Even my headache is gone.” Mostly gone, he silently qualified. “I am going to Rushton myself.”
“I thought you might say that. Farmer Lofthouse cannot spare his horses today, but he thinks he could arrange transportation for us tomorrow morning, if you insist on leaving. How does that sound, Your Grace?”
“It will do,” he said grudgingly. He would rather leave today, but he supposed that was too much to ask for.
Something else bothered him, too. “I wish you would stop saying ‘Your Grace’ all the time. You’ve been caring for me as if I were your own family. Surely you can address me more familiarly?” They had met less than a week ago, but the constant proximity made it seem as if he’d known her for longer.
A doubtful crease formed between her eyebrows. “I suppose I could call you ‘Belmont,’ but I must confess to having many unpleasant associations with that name.”
Lawrence sighed. “Probably everyone who knew Cousin Anthony will feel the same way.” He had yet to meet anyone who genuinely liked the late duke.
Even Lawrence himself had little fondness for the Belmont name. After spending nearly five decades as “Lawrence Galliard,” he might never adjust to being addressed by his new title.
He drew a deep breath and stepped out on a limb. “My given name is Lawrence. Why don’t you call me that?” He held his breath as he waited for her answer.
Lady Carrington bit down on her bottom lip as she pondered. Lawrence started to say something about that, but he caught himself in time. He clamped his mouth shut. What was he thinking? He had no business telling her what to do.
But he did not like seeing those soft lips abused. At least, he assumed they were soft, though he did not know. The only way to know for certain would be to touch Lady Carrington’s mouth, which he certainly could not do. No matter how much he might want to.
He looked away, embarrassed. He must be fully recovered if the sight of a woman’s teeth worrying her lip was enough to arouse him!
“I do not mind you calling me Jane,” she concluded, “but I don’t know that I could bring myself to address a duke by his first name.”
Suddenly, getting her to say his name seemed like the most important thing in the world. “Two weeks ago, I was plain Lawrence Galliard,” he reminded her. “Try it.”
The wrinkle on her brow cleared, and a slow smile unfurled in its place.
“Very well, Lawrence. I will try to call you by name. At least when we are alone.” A pink flush bloomed along her cheekbones; she looked adorably bashful.
“Not that we will be alone much longer. You are almost fully recovered. Once we find your niece, you will no longer need my help.”
“I suppose you are right.” If anyone had asked, Lawrence would have said he could not bear to spend another minute as a cossetted invalid. At that moment, though, all he could think about was how much he would like to spend more time with Jane.
“Will I see you in town this season?” he asked hopefully.
She took her time answering. “Our family owns a townhouse in the West End, but I rarely visit London. Do you by any chance ever travel through Surrey?”
His heart sank. “Rarely.” More like never. “But you never know when my work might take me there. Sometimes I have to travel. . .” He was going to say “for a case,” until he remembered that he no longer worked as a barrister. “To look after my properties.”
Did even he own any property in Surrey? He would have to check.
“I will be sure to call on you whenever I do come to town,” Lady Carrington promised. “But I cannot say when that will be.”
Her answer did not satisfy Lawrence. If Jane did not visit London, he would simply have to think of a reason for traveling to Surrey.
If he didn’t own a property there, maybe he ought to buy one.
What if Belmont Court burned down? He would want an alternative residence in one of the Home counties, and Surrey would be just as a good a place as any.
He was probably getting ahead of himself, Lawrence realized. But he refused to rely on luck to bring them together again. He needed to strategize!