Chapter Four
P
Arabella’s heart picked up pace at the sound of a servant’s voice echoing down the corridors of Lampton Park. “The Dangerous Duke’s here! The Dangerous Duke’s here!”
Mater turned to Arabella. “Would you be so good as to slip upstairs to see if Sorrel intends to join us in greeting the arrivals?”
Arabella had been given few responsibilities since taking up the job of companion, which worried her. She would not last long in this household if she had no purpose. She was grateful every time someone asked her to do something. Yet she hesitated at this latest assignment.
“I do not wish to impose upon her privacy.” Arabella was hardly in a position to invade Lady Lampton’s isolation. “I would not want her to be upset with me.”
“As you come to know Sorrel better, you will find her less overwhelming,” Mater said. “But I assure you she is good-hearted. You need not worry.”
It was not reassurance enough. “Perhaps if a member of the family—”
“You are not exactly a stranger, Arabella. Simply peek down the corridor and see if she is on her way.”
Not exactly a stranger. More than a servant. The brief phrases were encouraging.
Arabella made a quick curtsey and left the sitting room.
Footmen and maids were gathering in the front entry in anticipation of the guests stepping inside.
She quietly tiptoed around them and up the stairs.
Knowing time was short, she took the stairs at a fast clip, rendering herself more than a touch breathless.
No sooner had she reached the landing of the floor on which the family bedchambers lay than she spotted Lady Lampton only a few paces away.
Her eyes met the countess’s. How could she explain her presence without admitting she had been sent to check on her?
Such a thing would hardly be welcome, nor would it be loyal to Mater.
Navigating this family was proving more complicated than she had anticipated.
An explanation was not necessary; Lady Lampton spoke first. “Have they sent you as a spy?” She spoke in tones not entirely devoid of humor, which seemed to Arabella to be a good sign.
“If it is my husband for whom you are spying, feel free to tell him I have my walking stick handy, and I am not averse to using it.” Lady Lampton continued on with head held high and a wave of dignity rolling in her wake.
Arabella hadn’t the least idea what that message meant nor whether or not she was truly expected to deliver it. Amongst the Jonquils, she lived in a constant state of uncertainty, not knowing if she was proving disappointingly unhelpful or simply a nuisance.
The countess paused at the head of the stairs and looked back at her. “I do not move swiftly, as you have no doubt observed, so you have ample time to make your report before my arrival.” It was both an observation and an instruction.
“Yes, my lady.” Arabella descended as quickly as she had ascended.
At least she had a task.
She glanced at the entryway below as she made her way down the last portion of the front staircase.
The servants stood at petrified attention as a couple, who could have been none other than the duke and duchess, stepped inside.
Directly on their heels came a young lady, beautiful, poised, with ringlets of gold that most women would have given nearly anything to claim.
Arabella slipped around the gathered servants and moved toward the spot where Mater and Philip stood awaiting the opportunity to greet their guests.
“Is Sorrel coming?” Philip asked her in hushed tones.
She nodded. “She told me to tell you that she has her walking stick and is not averse to using it.” Arabella shrugged a little. “She did not elaborate.”
He smiled, though not broadly and not with true amusement. “She is displeased with me, apparently.”
“I did get that impression,” Arabella admitted.
“Lud, I hope this works,” Philip muttered under his breath.
Philip sauntered in the direction of the new arrivals. Arabella stayed back—Do not draw attention to yourself—and kept to the shadowed corner at the side of the stairs.
Mater joined her son. A moment later, Lady Lampton arrived as well.
Greetings were exchanged, with pomp and grandiosity on Philip’s part and barely concealed annoyance on the duke’s.
Lady Lampton’s expression remained as impassive as ever.
Where her husband was all bright colors and overt displays, she was the very picture of ironclad composure.
Though Arabella was yet disappointed at the notion of living at the dower house and not at the Park, where she felt so close to her long-lost earl, she felt some degree of relief at knowing she would not be under the same roof as Lady Lampton.
There was an unreachableness to her that Arabella found intimidating.
The servants were seeing to the guests’ trunks and portmanteaus.
Her Grace, Lady Lampton, and Mater were all exchanging the expected warm greetings.
Philip was waxing long about the joys of a well-sprung carriage, while the duke appeared to barely tolerate the uninterrupted flow of words.
By His Grace’s side, the golden-haired beauty waited in polite impatience.
Arabella leaned her shoulder against the side of the staircase, waiting to see if she would be needed.
The scene playing out before her was fascinating.
She was not overly familiar with fine visitors and the requirements of a host in greeting newly arrived guests.
The late earl had visited her uncle’s house now and then, always on some business or another.
His arrival had inspired much the same awe-filled formality in her uncle as the duke’s arrival was even now creating in the servants.
The earl, however, hadn’t appeared to require nor appreciate the grandiosity.
Philip looked as though he were thoroughly entertained by the current display.
As the Jonquils and the duke’s party made their way up the stairs, Arabella caught sight of someone she hadn’t yet noticed at the back: a gentleman, younger than the duke.
He held his back ramrod straight and broad shoulders squared, as if ready to face an enemy, yet he carried what appeared to be a case for some kind of musical instrument.
He must have been related to the young lady in the group; he had the same golden curls.
He was beautiful, if such a thing could be said of a man.
That beauty was tempered, however, by an aura of command and a fearsomeness she sensed in him.
He looked in her direction as he passed, the only member of the group to do so. She doubted he could make out much more than her silhouette, tucked as she was in the shadows. Yet his emerald-eyed gaze lingered as he took the first step.
She pulled back further into the shadows. No words were exchanged. He didn’t smile or dip his head as one would in acknowledgement of seeing her there. Yet he had noticed her, something few people ever did.
q
Linus followed the Lampton Park housekeeper down the corridor of guest rooms, but his thoughts remained in the entryway and with the lady who’d stood tucked into the shadows.
The faintest shaft of light had illuminated her face.
She’d not said a word, but she’d watched him.
Amongst his illustrious relations, he seldom drew anyone’s notice, but she’d seen him. She’d studied him.
He could not explain why, but her impression of him mattered. It mattered greatly. They’d not exchanged a single word—he didn’t even know her name—but his thoughts remained on her. He’d never felt such an immediate draw to any lady before. It both intrigued and unnerved him.
The housekeeper indicated the bedchamber that would be his for the duration of the party. He offered a thank-you and stepped inside.
He set the case he carried inside on the bed.
The latches opened a little too easily. He would need to tighten them.
His lyre sat securely inside, whole and unmarred.
Of course, the instrument had sailed between continents during wartime.
An uneventful and comparatively short jaunt between counties ought not destroy it.
Linus ran his fingers over the strings, setting them humming.
The familiar sound had accompanied him through countless journeys.
After the voices of his family had grown vague in his memory, those strings and the tunes he’d played with them had become the sounds of home to him.
He snapped the case shut once more. These memories would find him the moment he returned to Shropshire. He need not face them yet.
With a quick breath and a firming of his posture, Linus moved to the window. He told himself he meant only to survey the view beyond. If he were completely honest, he would have to admit that he hoped to catch even a fleeting glimpse of the mysterious lady he’d seen below.
The prospect offered views of a copse of trees and a bit of a side lawn.
Alas, no intriguing, if unnamed lady. It was a beautiful vista though.
Green and lush and alive. He did like that about being on land.
The sea offered its own sort of beauty, but the English countryside held a charm not to be found anywhere else.
His own family home boasted many lovely vistas.
He only hoped his ignorance of estate matters did not prove truly detrimental.
Perhaps Lord Lampton had a book or two in his library that Linus could peruse during the quieter moments of this gathering, assuming there were any.
If he was to be an active member of the landed gentry, he’d do well to figure out what that meant.
A quick question to a passing maid afforded him directions to the library.
Lord Lampton’s frivolity had led Linus to expect a somewhat neglected space, it being dedicated to more serious pursuits.
That, however, was not the case. The large desk showed every indication of being regularly used.
Several shelves’ worth of treatises on estate management sat near the desk without a trace of dust to indicate disuse.
He had likely best ask his host before removing any books, as they appeared to be regularly consulted. Perhaps during one of his rescue missions, he could turn the topic from fashion or gossip or whatever a dandy chose to expound upon to the possibility of borrowing a volume or two.
A young gentleman stepped inside the library.
Though Linus did not know the new arrival, he had little trouble placing him.
He was tall and slender, with light eyes and fair hair.
He was in many ways the very image of Lord Lampton, though likely at least a decade younger.
Linus felt certain this young gentleman was the earl’s brother.
“I didn’t realize anyone was in here.” The young Mr. Jonquil stepped back as if to leave.
“I do not require solitude,” Linus assured him. “I was looking for reading material.”
“Are you anticipating being bored at this house party?” A smile lay in the question.
“As I suspect you are brother to my host, I had best be very diplomatic in my answer.”
“Don’t lie on my account.” The young Mr. Jonquil stepped farther inside once more. “I am planning to be bored myself.”
Interesting. “Do you not enjoy house parties?”
“Did you at my age?”
He would guess the young man to be somewhere near eighteen or nineteen. “At your age, I was on board a ship.”
“You’re in the navy?” He stepped closer, clearly intrigued.
“Retired.”
“What do you plan to do now?”
Take up a position that ought to have been my brother’s. But he did not intend to delve into that matter again, even silently. “I will spend my time fending off boredom at house parties. That is my only concrete plan.”
That earned him a laugh, just as he’d hoped. His retreat from life’s unpleasantries had always been to a place of lightheartedness and jests. It had saved his sanity more than once.
“There is no one here to make a formal introduction,” Linus said. “Still, I think we can be forgiven for undertaking it ourselves. I am Linus Lancaster.”
“Charlie Jonquil,” he responded.
Jonquil. “You’re one of the earl’s siblings?”
Charlie nodded. “One of many.”
“Brothers and sisters?”
“No. Just brothers.”
The lady in the entryway was not the earl’s sister, then. A cousin, perhaps. She’d not held herself like a servant.
Charlie sat near the fireplace. Linus did the same. The young gentleman took a small figurine from the end table and tossed it from hand to hand.
“Are you down from Cambridge?” Linus asked.
Charlie nodded. “Summer holiday.”
Linus had assumed most students were overjoyed to be away from school for a time. Charlie, however, seemed to be anything but. “Would you rather be there?”
“Ask me again at the end of holiday, and I might say yes.”
The young gentleman didn’t want to be at school, but neither did he seem to want to be home, yet he also expected his preferences to change. There were few things Linus found more diverting than a mystery.
“What does your family have planned for the next fortnight?”
“I don’t know,” he said, still tossing the porcelain milkmaid. “They don’t really talk to me.”
That helped explain Charlie’s assumption that he would be eager to return to school after a little time spent with his family. Feeling overlooked at home would certainly do that.
“I, for one, am hoping for some kind of excursion to the river,” Linus said. “A navy man never can resist the pull of the water.”
“The Trent can’t be as interesting as the ocean.” Charlie tossed the figurine again, but it fumbled as he attempted to catch it. Several grabs didn’t save it, and an unpromising crack announced its arrival on the floor below.
“Ah, tare an’ hounds,” Charlie muttered. He bent down and picked it up. The milkmaid had lost both arms. He met Linus’s eye. “Don’t tell my mother.”
“I’ve never been a taleteller,” he assured the young gentleman.
“She’ll probably sort it out anyway,” Charlie said. “This kind of thing always happens to me.”
“Perhaps it’s a good thing for the dons that you aren’t returning immediately.”
Charlie tucked the broken figurine in a drawer. “It only happens at home.”
That was decidedly intriguing. It certainly added to the mystery young Charlie presented.
His host’s odd behavior, his brother-in-law and youngest sister’s animosity toward each other, and now this conflicted member of the Jonquil family. And, of course, the unidentified lady who refused to leave his thoughts.
Perhaps this house party would prove a better distraction from his own troubles than he had at first anticipated.