His Impassioned Proposal (The Bridgethorpe Brides) Page 5

  “The eye patch will make you the dandy of the ball,” the white-haired tailor said, peering though his spectacles. “The young ladies love their soldiers, in uniform and out.”

  Turning to face the man, Stephen asked, “Do I still reek of the battlefield? How do you know I wasn’t injured in an accident?”

  “It is in your stature. Men of quality are all taught to stand straight and tall, but none does it so well as the man who has served his king.”

  Stephen refrained from checking his stance in the mirror, instead giving the tailor instructions on where to send the purchases.

  Before returning to his rooms, he paid a visit to Hatchard’s Bookshop. His father’s library hadn’t been damaged in the fire, but Stephen couldn’t resist the chance to indulge himself in a few books. He hadn’t read for pleasure in many years.

  He hadn’t done anything for pleasure, now that he thought on it, in longer than he cared to think.

  With one last stop for meat pies and tea from a vendor on the street, he made his way back to Eaton Place, where he curled up with one of his new books, polished off the pies and fell asleep in the parlor chair.

  Waking early, as was his habit, Stephen strolled through Hyde Park with the nannies and dog-walkers, enjoying the occasional bark and childish giggle. A stray thought had him wondering if any of his school chums laid claim to one or two of the tots. At twenty-four, he assumed most of his contemporaries had not yet submitted to the parson’s mousetrap, but one never knew. Over the coming winter he’d write to some old friends and plan visits in the springtime.

  The solicitor, Mr. Needham, ushered Stephen into a private office immediately upon his arrival, and motioned for him to sit. After the expected pleasantries, Needham got down to business. “As you probably are aware, your father’s will left everything to you, since your mother passed with him.”

  “I’ve some questions regarding his holdings. One of my father’s friends mentioned something about mills, and Father having sold off some of the land.”

  “That is correct. Mrs. Lumley’s cousin, Mr. Carr, offered your father an investment opportunity four years ago. Mr. Carr had a small woolen mill in Bingley, in West Yorkshire and needed capital to increase the size and expand his production. That initial investment paid off well enough the two men built another mill in Sowerby. Your father has doubled his living these past two years.”

  Stephen took all this in. The farm had supported his family in reasonable comfort, since they were not extravagant people. With the income doubled, he could take Jane to London each year, if she wished, to enjoy the season. He couldn’t afford rooms in Eaton Place, but somewhere slightly further out. They could enjoy the theatre, and might gain invitations to some of the assemblies.

  He would not be wealthy enough to compensate for his lack of title in the minds of many in Town, but surely Jane would be content with the number of invitations they received.

  Mr. Needham cleared his throat and Stephen realized he’d been woolgathering. “If you’ve estimated what repairs will run on your cottage, I can have a bank draft drawn up for you to include your quarterly funds. Your father had no outstanding debts that I am aware of, and no one has contacted us for settlement.”

  “Thank you,” Stephen said. He went on to explain the current plan for repairs, and Needham wrote out the bank draft.

  “I’ve listed the two mills in which you share ownership, and the address of your uncle in Yorkshire. He has been notified of the transfer in ownership to your name, so there is no need for you to contact him as far as the legalities are concerned.”

  “Thank you. I’ve received a letter of condolence from him but wanted to learn exactly what the arrangement was before writing him.” Stephen rose and took the offered papers, which he pocketed.

  “Again, let me extend my condolences. We will miss working for your father, and look forward to meeting your needs in the future.”

  Stephen took his leave and returned to the street, where he stood searching the shops in both directions. He was unused to not having his day mapped out, a battle plan to set his company of men to. With his business done, he was free to return to Larkspur Cottage, but had no desire to rush off. Yet he had no idea what more to do in London.

  Without making a conscious decision, Stephen began to walk back the way he came. The streets were busier now with chaperoned pairs of young ladies strolling wherever young ladies went, and gentlemen showing their appreciation of the fairer sex. He tried not to stare at the sights of the city, not wanting to appear the country bumpkin, but he hadn’t been to London since he was a small child. He would have to make arrangements to use Knightwick’s rooms again during the Season, so he might escort Jane in a thorough exploration.

  Or perhaps he’d have his solicitor enquire into rooms for let. It would seem he could afford his own residence.

  As he neared Hyde Park, a familiar voice called out. “Stephen!”

  David trotted up on one of his bay thoroughbreds, stopping near where Stephen waited. “Excellent timing. I was on my way to Tattersalls. Have you finished your business? You shall join me.”

  Nothing sounded more tempting than a visit to the horse auctions, now that he thought about it. “I’d love to. Are you buying or selling?”

  “I might buy a mare if there is one that interests me, but I’ve come to look at the curricles.” David appeared as eager as Stephen could recall seeing him.

  “You’re in need of a gig, are you? Perhaps to offer some fair young miss a ride?” Stephen teased.

  David laughed. “Don’t expect to find me escorting any young ladies about. I’ll wait for Knightwick to succumb to those shackles before I consider it. No, I have a matched pair I want to try my hand at racing, but Knightwick won’t let me use Bridgethorpe’s gig.”

  “Well, we did cause a fair bit of damage to the coach and phaeton that one time.”

  “That was eight years ago. I have a much finer hand with the ribbons these days. Ah, well, I suppose this is as good a use for my winnings as any. They’re auctioning off Clemmeyer’s Stud today, so we’ll see a great selection of conveyances and horseflesh. We’d better hurry.”

  The auction house was packed, but then Stephen had heard it usually was. Anyone with any interest in horses and racing was generally in attendance. One could gain inside knowledge that might help when betting during the racing season, or simply see what animals one’s own horses might compete against in the near future.

  As David had mentioned, there were a number of coaches for sale of varying sort, including several phaetons and curricles. When his cousin pointed at two very similar gigs, Stephen followed him over to inspect them.

  “You should bid on this other one, Stephen. We can train our teams together.”

  Stephen shook his head. “My father’s coach will get me where I need to go.”

  “But think of how pleased Jane would be to be seen in Hyde Park beside you.”

  “I don’t have the proper pair of horses to pull one of these. Jane would be quite put out when she is bounced out of the gig due to a mismatched team.”

  David laughed. “If they don’t have a matched pair up for sale, we can probably find something at Fernleigh to match one you buy here. There are several horses in the stables that would do well in the harness.”

  “You are determined to have a training partner, I see.”

  Sobering, David faced him and spoke softly, to keep their conversation between them. “You need something to do with your life. Once you’ve repaired Larkspur, what then? Jane will need little convincing to marry you. And one can spend only so much time working on filling your nursery—”

  “Someone should have told your father that.”

  David clapped him on the back, then pushed him toward the auction hall. “And yet he still had time to produce one of the top racing stallions in the country.”

  Both men grew quiet upon the reference to Zephyr. How could a horse vanish completely?

  Once the
auction was finished, Stephen asked about the horse as they left the auction house, the proud new owners of two curricles and a pair of carriage horses for Stephen. “Your father never recovered from losing his top stud, did he?”

  David shrugged. “For the first year after Zephyr disappeared, he put all his efforts toward finding the horse. But we could see it was taking a toll on him. The weight of his sorrow has crushed him. You saw him when you came to Bridgethorpe Manor.”

  “I did. I thought most of his haggard appearance was due to my father’s death.”

  “He was already worn down when that news arrived. I fear he will lie down one day and never get up. He is present at dinner with us and spoons some food into his mouth, but doesn’t join in the conversation. He rarely sits in Parliament. Now that Hannah will be coming out, I’d hoped he would revive somewhat, as she was always his favorite.”

  “He used to tell me you all were his favorites. And I was his favorite nephew.”

  A sad smile broke across David’s features. “He did used to say that, didn’t he? Any time he had one of us alone, he’d whisper that we were his favorite. Knightwick and I ended up in fisticuffs over it one summer.”

  Stephen squinted up into the sunlight for a moment. “I imagine that was one benefit of being a singleton. I always knew my father favored me best.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jane perched stiffly beside Hannah in delicately upholstered chairs in the ornate sitting room at Carrington Abbey, silently stitching away a perfectly dull afternoon. Lady Carrington and her three daughters, all wearing pale pink dresses with too many ruffles, filled the settee and a side chair, while Lady Bridgethorpe and Lady Marwick read on the chaise. When Jane poked herself with her needle yet again, she sighed and stuck her finger in her mouth.

  “You will ruin that piece if you don’t stop bleeding on it,” Hannah whispered with a teasing gleam in her eye.

  Jane tipped the fabric so her friend could see her work. “I fear my needle skills are what have ruined it. I wish I had my paints.”

  Lady Carrington looked up from the straw bonnet to which she was applying lace. “What’s that, girls? Do speak up so we all may have our part in the conversation.”

  Sitting up straighter, Jane felt as though she were a child whose governess was taking her to task. “I only said I wished I had brought my paints. It appears to be another warm afternoon and the view of the lake is quite striking.”

  “It is a beautiful prospect, isn’t it? But you mustn’t spend so much time out of doors. You have finally succeeded in allowing those horrid sun spots on your nose to fade.”

  Jane’s eyes widened as she looked at Hannah, and they both fought to not laugh. “Yes, ma’am. I am grateful your daughters have shared their thread with me so I might remain indoors on such a sunny day.” Although she tried to avoid doing so, she glanced at her mother only to see her glaring back, one eyebrow lowered. Jane picked at the knotted tangle in her thread and pretended to enjoy herself.

  Lady Florentia, the middle of the three daughters, who along with her older sister was out in the marriage mart, jumped up suddenly and ran to the large window overlooking the front grounds. “I hear a carriage. It’s two curricles. Mama, look, someone is coming.”

  “Sit down, girl. No lady should appear eager for a gentleman’s company. Barrington will inform us who is calling.”

  Lady Florentia marched dutifully back across the room and resumed her seat. “Perhaps they will take us out for a drive.”

  “I did not schedule an outing this afternoon,” Lady Carrington responded with a huff.

  Jane tried not to yawn at the thought of driving with any of the young men attending the house party. Lady Carrington didn’t have the cachet to draw the more exciting guests Jane would enjoy visiting. As she stabbed her needle into the cloth again, she wondered what that meant about her own standing in Society. Jane’s father was a mere baronet, so she had no aspirations of landing a husband with a title. It seemed, however, that men with titles made for more interesting company. Or was it just the men at this party in particular who were so dull?

  Perhaps it was the fact that Stephen was home but not in attendance, even though she was trying hard to keep him from her thoughts. In fairness, any of the Lumley men would enliven things, but Knightwick and David had made their excuses not to attend the week-long party. When footsteps sounded outside the room, Jane looked at the parlor door just as the butler opened it.

  “Mr. David Lumley and Mr. Stephen Lumley,” Barrington pronounced. The two young men entered and bowed to the room. Butterflies stirred in Jane’s middle when she saw them. Closing her eyes, she cursed her body for defying her desire to treat him like any other gentleman.

  “Lady Carrington, I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion, given that I declined your invitation to stay,” David began. “But my cousin and I were driving past in our newly-acquired curricles and thought perhaps the young ladies would enjoy a brief jaunt.”

  Driving by. Jane refrained from rolling her eyes. Carrington Abbey was on the way to neither Bridgethorpe nor Larkspur. She was quite surprised to see Stephen there, having thought he’d either be overseeing the repairs on his home or in London.

  Lady Florentia and her sisters begged their mother to allow them to take a drive. Apparently making such allowances would add to the pleasure of her guests, and thus improve the reputation of her party, as Lady Carrington agreed.

  David requested the service of two grooms to ride behind the curricle seats and act as chaperones, since the seats were only large enough for two. After pelisses and bonnets were donned, the party descended the stairs and the gentlemen set off with Hannah and one of the other guests as the first riders.

  Jane and the remaining young ladies stretched their legs in the park beside the house while they waited. The movement helped calm her nerves. She couldn’t name a reason why she was so nervous about seeing Stephen, for she knew which curricle she’d be expected to ride in. One minute she wished to get the meeting over with, and the next she wanted to make her excuses and run inside. She was behaving like a girl at her first ball, for pity’s sake. Her hands shook, so she balled them into fists as she walked, unable to focus on what the other young ladies were speaking of.

  It seemed like hours passed before she finally sat beside him. In spite of the coolness of the fall afternoon, she shivered, yet her leg burned where it pressed against his thigh. She attempted to scoot further away. When she glanced at him, his smile was warm, his eyes glowing with the kind of excitement she remembered from their younger days.

  “Your visit was quite unexpected,” she said.

  “I wish I could claim to have devised it to spend time with you while observing my mourning period, but it was David’s doing. I ran into him in Town after I met with my solicitor.” He explained the purchase of the vehicles and horses.

  “I don’t mean this harshly, but I’m surprised at your acquisition of a carriage. Was your father’s damaged in the fire?”

  “No, the carriage house was safe, as were the horses. I bought this with an eye toward the future.”

  The only purpose Jane could imagine for such a sporty conveyance was the desire to appear fashionable, which was so far removed from what she thought she knew as Stephen’s character. “I don’t understand.”

  “With the right team of horses, I could do quite well racing the curricle.”

  “And that is how you see your future? Racing curricles?”

  He turned his gaze on her, squinting into the sunlight. “The Lumleys have made a name for themselves in the Jockey Club. As has your father. There’s no shame in racing on wheels instead of on horseback.”

  She looked away, seeing the Abbey off in the distance. “It’s not shameful, but I thought you intended to farm like your father.”

  He shrugged. “My father sold most of his land. I must find something to do with my days.”

  “But race winnings and betting on your team surely won’t earn you the li
ving you mentioned you desired.”

  “It doesn’t have to,” he said casually and didn’t elaborate.

  Jane reminded herself it wasn’t her place to ascertain how large a living Stephen received. One drunken proposal didn’t signify he intended to offer for her properly. Her shoulders drooped slightly. One minute she wanted to go back before their discussion in Bridgethorpe’s library to start afresh, the next she was determined to forget him.

  Life had seemed so much easier when she didn’t have to consider the other young men, none of whom stirred any excitement inside her. They weren’t her Stephen.

  But then, neither was Stephen.

  He was still one of her oldest friends and one with much upheaval in his life. If racing a curricle gave him joy, he deserved as much. He also deserved to be surrounded by good friends. She decided to act like one, even if it frustrated and confused her to do so. “Did you find Larkspur Cottage badly damaged?”

  “Just the one wing. Simmons has probably finished with the initial repairs by now.”

  “You aren’t rebuilding the wing?”

  His expressive brown eye, the undamaged one, locked onto hers. “I thought that might be an area in which my wife would wish to voice an opinion.”

  Oh. When she’d last spoken with him, he’d sounded as if a wife was the last item on his lengthy list of chores to finish, one he really didn’t care whether he scratched off. She fought the whisper of hope that swelled in her that he did plan to marry. “Yes. Many young ladies enjoy bestowing a bit of their own tastes on their new homes.”

  “And you, Jane? Do you look forward to decorating a house?”

  “I’ve honestly not given it much thought.” When she and Hannah visited, they talked of many things, but never about the houses they hoped to live in, and rarely about the men they wished to marry, until recently. For Jane, the latter had been understood, and the former didn’t matter. She would have followed Stephen anywhere he wished to live. “I think, perhaps, since I had no notion of when you might return, I put it from my mind.”