Page 8
Gwendolyn wished Lord Ellisfield would leave her alone.
They stood in a crowded reception room where guests gathered to enjoy light refreshments and become acquainted while waiting
to be taken to their rooms. There had to be close to fifty people milling around. Lady Orpington had turned her over to his
lordship while, with an annoyed Magpie tucked under her arm, she flitted around clasping hands and kissing the cheeks of her
acquaintances. Mrs. Newsome had disappeared down a hall to a room where the other companions gathered.
However, the décor of the reception room was spectacular. Angels cavorted across the ceilings and around star-shaped lamps that Lord Ellisfield said a great uncle had brought back from the Ottoman Empire. Four wall-sized tapestries depicting different stories from the Bible hung over cream walls. “Those are from when the family was more pious,” Lord Ellisfield confided. He also pointed to the parquet floor. “The family crest is inlaid in the center along with the family motto.” He said this as if she should be impressed.
She was. The flooring was lovely. A far cry from the cold stone floors of her beloved Wiltham. She couldn’t imagine how much
parquet cost to keep. “What is the motto?” she asked politely.
“ We reign forever ,” he said proudly, and she smiled, because it wasn’t a very interesting motto as far as those things went.
She had to admit that Lord Ellisfield was a remarkably handsome man with his square jaw, fair hair, and even features. Considering
the few portraits she had noticed upon entering Colemore through its baronial entrance hall, he was one of a long line of
attractive people. She could almost hear Dara’s enthusiasm at the attention he was paying her. He also acted sincere, if one
discounted the waft of drink and horses on his person.
Or that he had endangered everyone in the coach by doing something infantile. Gwendolyn was not a fan of immaturity.
She also tried not to keep looking at the door, hoping Mr. Steele would join them soon. She feared she was in need of rescuing.
Maybe because of the drink, Lord Ellisfield didn’t notice her distracted air. Instead, he enthusiastically wished her to befriend
his three riding companions, who seemed to follow him around like Magpie trailed after Lady Orpington. “This is Mr. Penrose
Mason—”
A somewhat pudgy man, with thin hair that he wore swept forward, bowed over her hand. “Mr. Mason,” she said in acknowledgment.
He blushed furiously. However, he responded in a bored, affected drawl that annoyed her. “Misss Lannnssscarr.”
“And this is Captain Royce McGrath—” Lord Ellisfield continued.
The sandy-haired captain wore a uniform jacket of what seemed to be his own design since Gwendolyn had not seen anything like
it before on a soldier around London. It had a collar so high, he could barely move his head. She wondered how he’d managed
to ride comfortably being so propped.
“—and the Honorable Franklin,” Lord Ellisfield finished.
Gwendolyn had heard of Mr. Randell. He was a Member of Parliament. Her smile was genuine as she said, “My sister is married
to Michael Brogan. Perhaps you know him?”
Mr. Randell’s eyebrows rose to his hairline in disdain. “The Irish man?”
“Yes, the well-known, highly respected, up-and-coming Irishman who is one of the leading Members of Parliament,” she agreed
cheerfully, adding the lilt of Ireland to her words, and Lord Ellisfield laughed.
“You take no prisoners, do you, Miss Lanscarr?” he said in admiration.
“I see no purpose to it,” she replied. “Nor do I appreciate having my heritage disparaged.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he answered, and then smiled to himself.
“Is something amusing, my lord?” Gwendolyn asked.
“Mother said I might find myself intrigued with the house party this year. It is why she in sisted I come.” He waited a beat and then said, “I believe she is right.”
“Miss Lanscarr intrigues you, eh?” Lady Orpington said, coming upon them. She signaled for one of the Middlebury footmen in
their deep-purple-and-silver livery.
The man approached as if wary of what she wanted. “Magpie needs a walk.” She shoved the dog into the man’s arms. Magpie snapped
her thoughts on the matter; however, the servant was quick, or prepared. He held Magpie at arm’s length and made his way through
the guests.
“Don’t let Magpie close to one of those male hounds,” Lady Orpington shouted to the man as if remembering a sudden concern.
“You remember what almost happened last year.”
The footman kept walking.
Gwendolyn wasn’t going to ask what had almost happened last year. She was conscious of several of the guests hiding chuckles,
whether at Lady Orpington’s imperial manner or because they knew what had transpired.
Oblivious to anything other than her own wishes, Lady Orpington turned to them, and Gwendolyn realized that Lord Ellisfield
looked upon his godmother with true affection. The expression humanized him, and perhaps he wasn’t as arrogant as Gwendolyn
had labeled him.
“Who intrigues whom?” a feminine, cultured voice echoed. Lady Middlebury joined their group. Lord Ellisfield’s three friends
quickly stepped back.
“You just wish to hear me say you are right, Mother,” Lord Ellisfield answered.
“About Miss Purley?” she asked. “I came over here to let you know she and her friends have come down from upstairs.” She looked to Lady Orpington and Gwendolyn. “I’m certain you have made Miss Purley’s acquaintance in London. Her father is Archibald Purley.”
Gwendolyn did indeed know Miss Purley.
Archibald Purley was a wealthy banker held in high esteem by Society. His daughter had been one of those who had done her
best to spread malicious gossip about the Lanscarr sisters. Gwendolyn looked around the room and caught sight of not only
Miss Purley but also her friends Lady Julia and Lady Beth. They followed her around the way Lord Ellisfield’s friends trotted
after him.
Without thinking, Gwendolyn let go a sigh of annoyance, and immediately regretted it.
“Is something the matter, Miss Lanscarr?” Lady Middlebury asked.
“The travel,” Gwendolyn improvised with a small wave of her hand. “I’m certain you understand, my lady.”
“Mrs. Nally, the housekeeper, will be over soon to lead you to your rooms.”
“That will be excellent,” Lady Orpington said. “After all, we want to be fresh for the cards this evening.”
“Ah, yes, Miss Lanscarr was to be your partner,” Lady Middlebury said before her expression turned carefully regretful. “Unfortunately,
dear, dear Ellen, we aren’t playing cards this year.”
Lady Orpington’s head snapped back as if she had been bopped on the nose. “ Why not? We play cards every year. It is what we do.”
“But there is nothing that says we must,” the marchioness answered serenely. She might have tried to move away to see to other
guests, except for Lady Orpington sliding a step into her path.
“Franny, it is what we do. We come here and play cards. I brought Miss Lanscarr with me to play cards.”
The corner of their hostess’s mouth tightened. “We are not this year. Excuse me. I need to see to my guests.” She walked away.
Lady Orpington appeared ready to swoon from the outrage. She looked to Lord Ellisfield. “I can’t believe...? No , this can’t be true.”
“I know nothing about this,” he replied gently.
Her ladyship righted herself. Her eyes were still puzzled and angry, but she seemed to gather herself. “Well...” She paused
as if ready to say something else, but then repeated, “Well.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Lord Ellisfield offered.
Lady Orpington nodded. At that moment, Lady Middlebury called her son over. “My son, I need you here for a moment.” She was
standing with Miss Purley, her friends, and her father.
Now it was Lord Ellisfield’s turn to sigh heavily. “You will excuse me, but don’t move,” he said as an aside to Gwendolyn.
“I will be back.”
He went to join his mother, his three friends marching behind him.
As he approached his mother, Miss Purley’s gaze swung to welcome him, and then widened as she caught sight of Gwendolyn. She
acted surprised and then alarmed to see a Lanscarr here.
It gave Gwendolyn great pleasure to smile and give a small finger wave. Miss Purley refused to be baited. She turned her attention to Lord Ellisfield.
“She doesn’t wish me to defeat her, to reestablish myself as the best player,” Lady Orpington said for Gwendolyn’s ears alone.
“She is afraid. She knows how determined I am.”
For a second, Gwendolyn thought she referred to Miss Purley, but then realized she was talking about Lady Middlebury.
“She might have other activities in mind for her guests,” Gwendolyn felt she should suggest.
“ Pfffft ,” was the rude reply. “She is doing this to spite me. Magpie. I need Magpie. Where is my Magpie? What did that servant do
with him?” She charged off to track down her dog.
And Gwendolyn found herself alone. Fortunately, Mr. Steele entered the room. She was relieved to see him and would have smiled,
until she realized he wasn’t by himself. A lovely, very curvy and petite redhead walked beside him. She gazed up at him with
nothing short of adoration.
To his credit, Mr. Steele appeared uncomfortable. However, the woman seemed to glow, and Gwendolyn had a sense, in that way
women seemed to know things, that they were not strangers to each other.
She’d always heard that jealousy was an ugly emotion. It wasn’t until this moment that Gwendolyn understood what people meant.
She had never been jealous in her life, but now a mixture of anger, inadequacy, and alarm took hold of her.
She watched as the couple stopped in front of an arrogant-looking man with a beak of a nose. He was almost as tall as Mr. Steele. The three of them spoke. It appeared the woman was introducing Mr. Steele to the other man.
There was a stiffness in Mr. Steele’s movements, as if he was forcing himself to be affable ? It was a strange word to attach to him. Perhaps that is how he believed his new persona Nicholas Curran would behave...
except instinctively she knew this was more than just discomfort. She wondered why.
She tried to catch his eye. Should she rescue him? Did he need her help?
When she couldn’t make Mr. Steele notice her efforts, she did something that she wouldn’t have done in other circumstances—she
began walking toward the trio, intent on discovering what was going on.
Mr. Steele seemed to sense her approach since his back was to her. He half turned and motioned her forward.
“Lord and Lady Rabron,” he said, “may I introduce you to Miss Lanscarr. She is Lady Orpington’s whist partner.”
Lord and lady. The redhead was married. Gwendolyn could have collapsed with relief.
“How interesting,” Lord Rabron said, without sounding interested. His gaze barely touched her. Instead, he seemed to search
the room for something that was “interesting.” Or someone more worthy of his time.
Lady Rabron was not so haughty. She gave Gwendolyn a warm smile. “You must be very good at whist. I’ve heard tales of Lady Orpington’s play.” Her lashes might have been blond, but they were the longest Gwendolyn had ever seen on a woman and made her cornflower-blue eyes stand out all the more in her pale face. The effect gave her a feminine, otherworldly air that most certainly would draw men to her. Well, that and the ample bosom she proudly displayed.
“Do you play, my lady?” Gwendolyn asked politely.
Lady Rabron started to shake her head, but her husband deigned to join their conversation and answer for her. “She has no
head for strategy. She wouldn’t survive. I can’t even teach her chess.”
An urge to stomp on his arrogant foot almost overtook Gwendolyn. Lady Rabron merely smiled and gave a helpless shrug of perfect
shoulders, her blue eyes searching out Mr. Steele as if she needed him to defend her.
Gwendolyn’s jealousy came roaring back because she couldn’t have acted defenseless if her life had depended upon it. She also
had little patience for women who became fluttery and silly in the face of rude men. Especially those to whom they were married.
It seemed to her that marriage should give a woman some agency over telling her husband when he was disrespectful. Or behaving
like an ass.
“Are you enjoying your first visit to Colemore?” Lady Rabron asked Gwendolyn, who decided to take the high road and spare
the woman’s husband the sharp side of her tongue.
“I’m overwhelmed,” she confided. “How many guests will be with us?”
“I’m not certain,” Lady Rabron said. “This is our first year as well. Reginald is looking forward to the hunt—”
“Do you hunt, Curran?” Lord Rabron asked Mr. Steele, interrupting his wife.
He deserved to have both arrogant feet stomped on.
“Not if I can help it,” was Mr. Steele’s reply.
“Pity.”
Gwendolyn edged herself between Lady Rabron and her husband, wanting to give him a taste of what it meant to be cut off. It
was a kinder action than the foot stomping. “You were saying?”
Lady Rabron almost gasped. She knew what Gwendolyn was doing. Or perhaps she was surprised someone wished to hear her out.
With a nervous smile, she said, “I was saying there are thirty-five bedrooms, and I am told they are all full. But then the
table only sits sixty in the main hall, so I imagine Lady Middlebury must limit the number somehow.”
“Are you suggesting some guests will not be allowed to eat? Worried about your own meal, my dear?” Her husband chuckled as
if he was very clever. He had moved closer to Mr. Steele so that it was men on one side, women on the other.
Forget stomping on his foot. Gwendolyn wanted to elbow him so hard he would double over in pain. Then she would push him into
the potted plant located right behind him. She was also frustrated that she was torn between jealousy over the hungry looks
Lady Rabron kept sneaking at Mr. Steele and the desire to champion the clueless woman. What woman with any common sense would
marry someone like Rabron?
Fortunately for his lordship, at that moment, Lady Middlebury decided to address their guests. “Welcome, everyone. Welcome. My husband and I are pleased you could join us. You will see him at dinner,” she assured them as if someone had asked. “Remember, we keep early hours at Colemore. Dinner will be served in an hour and a half. Cook has designed a menu that will certainly please you, Lord Kirkham.”
“Beefsteak?” the gray-haired lord barked out.
“And plenty of it,” she confirmed. “But first, we have some new faces in our company. Let me introduce Admiral Abbott—” She
waved a graceful hand in the direction of a stern-looking man who had heavy jowls as if he’d spent his time at sea scowling.
Guests murmured greetings.
“—Miss Gwendolyn Lanscarr.”
Heads turned in Gwendolyn’s direction. She lowered her head demurely. She knew her role.
“Lord and Lady Rabron—”
Lord Rabron appeared pleased with the attention.
“—and my dear, dear friend Lady Orpington—who brought us Miss Lanscarr—has also given us her nephew, Mr. Nicholas Curran.”
Mr. Steele stood as stoic as any Corinthian would if he was worth his salt—tall, confident, and radiating masculinity. Female
hearts from every corner of the room fluttered in response.
Of course, Gwendolyn understood why women were attracted to him. Yes, Mr. Steele was handsome in a dark and wild sort of way. But there was also an energy about him, a sense of purpose, especially when compared with the other young men in the room.
They were an indolent group. Mr. Randell was in government, but she didn’t sense he had any true passion for the position
the way her brother-in-law Michael did. She suspected that Captain McGrath spent more time deciding on the buttons for the
military jackets he wished designed than in actually serving king and country. And Mr. Mason was just a lost cause, a man
trailing behind other men so that he could fit in.
As for Lord Ellisfield...? She sensed he had some worth. Granted, he was heir to a vast fortune, but she preferred men
who forged their own lives.
It must be the gambler in her, she decided. Her father had always advised his daughters to seek opportunity. And if Gwendolyn
was going to put money on the value of someone, it would be on Mr. Steele over any other man in this room.
A question directed to the marchioness caught her attention. “What is this I hear, my lady, that there will be no whist tournament
this year?” The speaker was Lord Kirkham, a man of middling years. Lady Orpington had introduced Gwendolyn to him earlier.
Her ladyship stood not far from him, Magpie in her arms. She’d been stirring the pot.
Lady Middlebury was unperturbed. “We are doing new things this year, my lord,” she answered.
“And what new things are those?”
She gave him an expansive smile to include the room and answered, “Whatever I decide.”
Her declaration was met with a polite ripple of laughter. No one would join in criticizing her decision because she was the
hostess to a party so exclusive it bestowed upon each guest a bit of importance in Society. In fact, Gwendolyn believed that
if Lady Orpington was wise, she would end her whist campaign now and accept defeat.
Knowing few would question the whist decision further, a triumphant Lady Middlebury stepped back toward the door. “My lord
husband and I shall see you at dinner. We will gather in here beforehand.” She walked out into the entrance hall.
“What else is there if we don’t have the tournament?” Lady Orpington said, proving that she was not crying quarter.
Lord Kirkham grumbled, “I’m not up for hunting. Too much fresh air.”
“It would be good for you,” someone called out jovially, and the conversations resumed, although many were being escorted
to their rooms by maids in the Middlebury livery. Among the first to be led away were, to Gwendolyn’s happy relief, Lord and
Lady Rabron.
Gwendolyn turned to Mr. Steele. She wanted his thoughts on this sudden change of plans about the card game. However, an older
woman stepped between her and Mr. Steele. She elbowed Gwendolyn out of the way with a breezy and insincere “I beg your pardon”
before smiling up at him.
“I’m Dame Agnes. No, we haven’t been introduced, not formally,” she said before Mr. Steele could ask. “However, we are in the country. Some liberties may be taken. Especially since I am of advanced years. But I so wished for you to meet these young gentlewomen.” She angled him toward Miss Purley and her friends and began introducing Mr. Curran to them. The young women were all smiles and gleaming, hungry eyes.
Mr. Steele did not seem to mind their open admiration... or notice that Gwendolyn had been rudely cut out of their conversation.
She found herself standing awkwardly alone.
At that moment, Mrs. Nally, a jovial-looking woman with apple-red cheeks, approached her. “Betsy will take you to your room,
Miss Lanscarr,” she said, referring to the maid by her side.
Gwendolyn had no choice but to leave Mr. Steele to Miss Purley and her friends and follow. As she left, she noticed Lord Ellisfield
and his companions had commandeered a decanter of whisky.
And not far from the door, Lady Orpington continued whipping up her insurrection against the whist ban. Few seemed to share
her outrage.
However, Gwendolyn’s strangest observation was that, as the maid led her to the double staircase in the entry hall, they passed
Lady Middlebury. She had gone out the door and yet had not traveled far.
Instead, she lingered in the hall, just out of sight of the reception room entrance. She appeared focused on someone in the other room to the point she seemed to barely register anyone around her.
Gwendolyn stole a look in that direction, and realized Lady Middlebury had her sights on Mr. Steele. By the harsh set of her
features, she did not like what she saw.
The hard knot of Gwendolyn’s jealousy vanished. He needed her. He might not want her help in his search for answers, he might even be overly distracted by Miss Purley, but Lady Middlebury
either suspected or knew who he was. She was going to keep an eye on him. He’d not be allowed to poke around freely.
Gwendolyn could. She had no secret identity. She could do what he could not... and make herself useful to him.
Abruptly the marchioness took off down the main hall.
Gwendolyn pondered her hostess’s behavior. Did Lady Middlebury know her husband had a love child? Did she suspect that child
was Mr. Steele? Or Mr. Curran, as he was being called?
Illegitimate children were not unusual among the ton where most marriages, especially of the very wealthy, were arranged. Many men openly acknowledged their bastards. That Lord
Middlebury did not suggested that he had kept a secret from his wife.
Lady Middlebury’s suspicions might explain her imperious canceling of the whist tournament. She knew Lady Orpington hoped to restore her honor. Denying her the opportunity was a punishment, quite possibly because Lady Middlebury felt betrayed by her old friend.
The maid took Gwendolyn up another set of stairs, and then another. The two wings of the house had not been later additions
but seemed to have been part of the original build.
One curved staircase off the entry hall led to what they called the East Wing; a second staircase was closest to the West
Wing. On each floor, the staircases met at a landing. Guests could choose to go left or right, whichever their preference.
The maid took Gwendolyn to the third floor, which she referred to as the “guest hall.” She turned to the right. This was the
East Wing. The walls were decorated with landscapes of Colemore and Kent over the years with paintings of horses and livestock
for balance. A porter was stationed at the landing between the wings to see to guests’ needs.
The maid took Gwendolyn to one of the many paneled doors lining both sides of the hall, opened the door, and stepped back
for Gwendolyn to enter. Gwendolyn was impressed.
The bedroom was spacious with a window overlooking the front drive. The furnishings were somewhat severe but balanced by the buttery color of the walls and the blue draperies and linens. Molly had already unpacked Gwendolyn’s luggage and had a dress for dinner laid out on the bed. It was one of the white muslin gowns that had become Gwendolyn’s trademark around London. White went well with her coloring, and she liked the air of serenity such a simple frock gave her. This one had a soft white stripe sewn in the material, and the low-cut bodice was edged with just a hint of lace.
“The water is fresh in the basin, miss,” the maid said. “Your abigail should be in to see you shortly. This room doesn’t have
a maid’s cupboard, so her bed will be in the servants’ quarters with the others. They should all actually be eating their
evening meal around this time.”
“Thank you,” Gwendolyn murmured, impressed that Colemore saw not only to her comfort but also that of the servants.
“Will there be anything else, miss?” the maid asked.
“Thank you, I’m fine.”
The maid withdrew, shutting the door behind her. Gwendolyn moved to the window. All was quiet on the front drive, a sign that
the majority of the guests had arrived. Most would be in their rooms like she was, preparing for dinner.
It was the perfect time for a bit of prying. She could always claim she was giving herself a tour of the house.
Gwendolyn quickly changed for dinner without waiting for Molly. She kept her hairstyle simple, splashed on a bit of her favorite
toilette water because it reminded her of Ireland’s green meadows, and then cracked open the door. She checked to see if anyone
was out in the hall. Not even the porter was at his station. Someone must have sent him off on an errand.
She quietly slipped out of her room.