9. Chapter 9 #2
He paused, as if weighing the wisdom in telling me.
“Brant is set to inherit a title. My grandfather’s brother, the Earl of Bedford, is eighty-three and he has no male heir.
And since his title has a remainder intended for the second-born son of the Duke of Severton—if no male heir has come from his own body—that means Brant will inherit it. ”
“Brant is to become the Earl of Bedford?”
“Yes. The family seat and home are not far from here, near Hackness, less than ten miles away.” He lowered his arms. “So you see, Lily, there is a title to be had. As much as I despise these games, and do not desire my house to be overrun by scheming debutantes and mothers—” He paused. “I do want you to be happy.”
I was surprised at his declaration. “Thank you.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m certain the others will come when they hear the news.” He started to leave and then said, “I forgot the reason I came to find you. The tailor has just arrived from London.”
“Oh.” I blinked several times. I’d been waiting for his arrival. We had so much to do to get the Welby brothers ready for the house party.
“And I’ve heard word from my Aunt Eliza,” he said with a grimace. “She claims the plans for the summer festival are underway and the whole village is talking about it.”
I smiled. “That’s wonderful.”
He took a deep breath and looked as if he wanted to speak but was apprehensive.
“What?” I asked.
“Have you read her invitation yet?”
I glanced at the other two envelopes and saw that one was from her. “This?” I lifted it to show him.
“I believe it’s an invitation to a country dance at Raven Hall in a week and a half—to welcome you to the neighborhood, so to speak.”
“Raven Hall?”
“It’s her home—hers and her son’s. He lost his wife three years ago and Aunt Eliza has resumed the role of hostess there.
They used to have an annual ball but haven’t had one since the year George’s wife died.
This will be the first time they’ve hosted a dance since then, but it won’t be as formal as a ball.
They’re inviting the whole village and surrounding neighbors.
” He nodded at the envelope. “I’m certain she will explain things in detail in there—but she sent me a message as well, insisting that my brothers and I attend, since you and I are the guests of honor.
Apparently, you told her that you would be teaching my brothers how to dance and she has high expectations that they are ready. ”
“Have you attended one of her balls before?”
“Not since my parents died.”
I should have known.
“Perhaps—” He hesitated.
I waited.
“Perhaps this would be a good opportunity for my brothers to enter society. This will be a simple country dance, really. Nothing extraordinary.”
“I think it’s perfect.”
“I thought you would.” He gave me a slight bow and then left.
We were going to a dance, and we had just enough time to get a new wardrobe ready for the Welby brothers.
The rain had turned into a raging storm by evening, and with it came the wind. I lay in my bedchamber late that night, listening for the wailing sound that I’d heard the last time the wind blew against Pickering Castle, but it didn’t come.
I’d spent the afternoon writing letters, as discreetly as I knew how, to assure Mrs. Danby and the other mothers that their trip to Ravenscar would be worth their time.
I had to drop hints that Brant was an heir to the Earl of Bedford and was in need of a wife.
With that new information, I expected to receive letters of acceptance within days.
I had also written to Aunt Eliza, thanking her for the honor of a dance and assuring her that we would be there.
Then I had visited with Mr. Holderness, the tailor, and instructed him on the wardrobe I wanted him to create for each brother—Ames included.
Mr. Holderness and his two assistants would stay at Pickering Castle until the work was done, and they would be paid handsomely for their time.
That evening, after supper, I’d told Brant, Collins, Davis, and Everett that we would be putting their dancing to the test in ten days at Raven Hall, and we had spent the rest of the night dancing and practicing etiquette.
Ames had joined us once again, and just as before, the tension and awareness between us was so intense, I was certain the others had noticed it.
Yet, Ames remained distant.
My heart ached as I lay in my bedchamber, by myself, listening to the storm outside.
The memory of Patrick’s rejection was never far from my mind when I thought about my husband’s behavior.
The worst part about Patrick’s behavior had been the rumors and knowing I was at the center of society’s gossip.
The look of pity, and sometimes triumph, on people’s faces when they learned about my failure had been too much.
It was one of the reasons I was eager to leave New York for good.
Would the same thing happen if I told Ames I had fallen in love with him? How much worse would it feel if he rejected me and I had to see him every day? Or know that his brothers were aware of the situation?
The soft strains of piano music drifted into my room as the wind took a break outside.
I sat up, listening. Was that Ames? Was he playing again?
His music was breathtaking, and I could almost imagine his father teaching him to play, as his father had before him. It was hard to hear with the wind and rain, so I stepped out of bed, put my slippers on, and grabbed a shawl to wrap around my shoulders.
This time, I did not take a candelabra with me, since I was more acquainted with the castle now.
As I stepped out of my room and walked down the dark corridor, a strange noise met my ears. It was not the moaning sound from before, nor was it the piano nor the wind.
It almost sounded like . . . whispers—people talking. But it was muffled.
Frowning, I paused, wondering if some of the new staff were talking on the third floor. But would I hear them if they were? I had never heard anyone up there before.
I stood still for another moment, but the whispers disappeared.
What had I just heard? Had I imagined them?
That was an alarming thought.
Pushing aside the fear, I made my way to the main floor, walking around tools and materials left by the carpenters after their long day of work. I was soon at the music room.
Once again, Ames was at the piano, lost in the song.
He was playing a complicated piece by Johann Sebastian Bach from memory.
With his eyes closed, unaware that I was there, I could watch him without reserve.
Memories of the day we’d been in the secret stairway resurfaced, along with memories of being in his arms as we danced each night after supper.
His touch did something to me that no one had ever done—not even Patrick.
A single candelabra sent light over his handsome face, tempting me to interrupt him, to pull down the walls that kept him from me.
Yet something held me back. Something more than the fear of rejection.
I was afraid he wouldn’t trust me. With his past, his present, or his future.
I’d watched him enough to know that there were only a handful of people he trusted. His brothers and Freemont. Everyone else he kept at a distance, even his aunt.
If I wanted Ames to love me, he would first have to trust me.
And trust wasn’t something I could earn overnight.
It had to be gained through my dedication to his home, his family—to him.
Perhaps, when he realized I was just as determined to see his family succeed as he was, he would trust me like he trusted them.
I slowly slipped away from the music room, leaving Ames to play to his heart’s content.
I would show Ames I was trustworthy, by completing the renovations, preparing his brothers for society, and then hosting the most successful house party Ravenscar had ever seen.