Page 23 of The Lady of the Lamps (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #1)

S pencer was pleased that their fishing expedition would take up most of the following day, for it meant spending time away from the ladies.

He did not dislike them, but he did not wish to be rude—and he thought he would have to be discourteous in order to make it clear to Miss Trentbridge that he would not be courting her.

The day dawned fine and bright, and he was relieved to see no dark clouds in the sky.

A hard ride across the estate and a day on the lake was just what he needed to get his mind off London, off Lady Beatrix, and off what he was going to do next.

Before the war, he had enjoyed hunting, but he still could not bear to hold a gun in his hand, let alone hear the shots ringing out around him.

He wondered if Montgomery had chosen fishing for that reason, or whether it was simply fortuitous.

Even without his unfortunate reaction to gunshots, he didn’t think he would have the stomach for hunting any more. Especially when it came to hunting for pleasure, when the quarry wasn’t even consumed. His feelings towards shooting and killing for fun had changed drastically since before the war.

“Your grounds are idyllic, Montgomery,” James said as they rode over to the lake on the far side of the estate.

“It makes me think I really must oversee some improvements to the grounds at Linton House… Father is quite happy for me to live there, but since I’m so often in the city, I confess I have not really put much thought into maintaining the place,” Timothy said, riding up alongside them.

“But when I’m here… I can see the value of a good groundsman and making sure things are kept on top of. ”

“Your wife may wish to have a say in where you live and how things are done,” James said, a cheeky smile on his face. They all knew that Timothy’s future wife—whenever he got around to wedding her—was not his favorite topic of conversation.

“Oh yes, I always forget that you’re betrothed. Has a date been set?” Montgomery asked.

Timothy sighed and shook his head. “After this house party, when I return home, I suppose it shall become necessary to do so. My father—and the lady in question—are unlikely to brook further delays.”

Montgomery chuckled. “Been enjoying your freedom, have you?”

“Just as all of you have,” Timothy said hotly. “I don’t hear wedding bells for any of you.”

James just laughed. “You asked the girl to marry you, Timothy. I’m not sure I feel much sympathy. Besides, you never know what might happen at a house party. Perhaps a church is in someone else’s future here…”

Spencer wasn’t sure if this was a joke at his expense about Miss Trentbridge’s interest in him, but he soon realized from the looks toward Montgomery that it was his flirtation with the elder Miss Trentbridge they were referring to.

Montgomery simply smiled. “Who’s to say? But I certainly don’t view marriage as the shackle you do, Timothy. I understand the girl may have been of your parents’ choosing, but are you so sure that marriage will be a terrible decision?”

Timothy looked uncomfortable. Up until now, none of them had pressured him about his reluctance to marry—though, privately, Spencer thought it rather unfair that Timothy had agreed to marry the girl and still had not set a date.

“I don’t like feeling like my life is decided for me,” he said with a pout that was erring on the childish.

“No one likes to feel that,” James said more kindly as they approached the lake. “But if you really don’t wish to wed her, then perhaps you should say something now, rather than just letting things drag on.”

Spencer stayed quiet as they dismounted and set up their rods. He did not wish to comment on anyone’s romantic interests—and even less did he wish to discuss his own.

Apparently, though, that would not be so easy to avoid.

They had been fishing for about an hour, with only a couple of bites between them, when Montgomery turned his attention to Spencer. “No marriage on your horizon, then, Leighton?” he asked. As usual, Spencer bristled a little at the sound of his title.

“No,” he said simply, and rather too brusquely.

But that did not deter Montgomery. “I know you did not expect to inherit, but you are a marquess now—surely you have some thoughts on who will inherit the title?”

Spencer’s hands tightened around the rod, and he had to be careful not to snap it.

Why could they not understand? The title wasn’t supposed to be his.

He was not the one who was meant to be thinking about the next Marquess of Leighton.

He was too broken to think of a wife, to think of the future at all.

Even being here was a step he would not have taken six months previously.

He did not wish to be rude, but frustration filled his words anyway. “I have no interest in who inherits after me.”

After all, he would be dead and gone, so why did it matter?

Montgomery seemed silenced by his rudeness, but James and Timothy were not. Perhaps they were just used to it; perhaps they thought there was something to gain from pushing him.

“We thought, perhaps, you might offer for Lady Beatrix…” James said nonchalantly.

At the mention of her name, Spencer’s hands tightened even more, and the rod began to bend.

“Lady Beatrix who?” Montgomery asked, intrigued.

“Chichester,” Timothy supplied helpfully. “The old Earl of Haxbury’s daughter.”

“Oh yes, I know who you mean. I heard she’s quite pretty, although never wed for some reason. She’d be a suitable marchioness, would she not, Spencer?”

“There will not be another Marchioness of Leighton,” Spencer snapped, loud enough to scare the fish away and make his companions look up in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. “But can we please drop the subject. Now.”

*

By the time they reached Aunt Elspeth’s home, Beatrix was keen to see her aunt. It was not an emotion she had felt before, but her aunt was her last close relative, and she wanted to feel like she belonged somewhere.

Unfortunately, her enthusiasm in the meeting was not reciprocated.

The hallway was empty and drafty when the butler showed her and Jemima in, and there was no fire lit in the parlor. It did not feel very welcoming at all, and Beatrix felt rather disappointed—until the butler explained that her aunt preferred to keep to her rooms these days.

Perhaps she is more sick than I thought. Perhaps age has hit her like it did dear Papa, she thought, feeling guilty.

“I will go to her,” she said, removing her traveling cloak. “If you could show my maid to my room, I will go straight to Aunt Elspeth’s,” she said, taking the stairs two at a time.

She knocked on the door before entering, and the sight that greeted her was, thankfully, not of her aunt in bed, but sitting by the fireplace, a tea tray before her.

“Good afternoon, Aunt Elspeth,” Beatrix said, warmth in her voice. “I hope you are well.”

Her aunt turned her head and focused her piercing eyes upon her. “So you came at last. Good, come and sit down—although you could have fixed your hair before coming to see me.”

Beatrix faltered in her step. Somehow she had forgotten just how critical her aunt could be. She smoothed the escaped locks back into her chignon and forced a smile on her face. “My apologies, aunt. I have been traveling for some time, and was concerned when we arrived that you might be sick.”

Her aunt tutted. “I may be getting old, but I’m not so ancient that I don’t know how a young lady should behave. Now, I can see you’re still in full mourning. I applaud the sentiment—you know I had a fondness for my brother. But you must not let it stand in your way.”

Beatrix took a seat opposite her aunt, and wondered how rude it would be to suggest ringing for some more tea. She was desperate for a drink herself.

“I don’t understand, why would it stand in my way?” Beatrix asked with a frown.

Aunt Elspeth tutted loudly. “You must wed, girl. Surely you know that. You should have married before your father died—and perhaps, without that ridiculous Trentham affair, you would have done. But that’s by the by—you have no money, no dowry, and you are fast approaching being an old maid.

You’re not unattractive, but looks fade—and you need a husband sooner rather than later. ”

Beatrix winced at her aunt’s cruel appraisal of her situation in life. Of course, she knew she needed to wed. And it upset her that she had been out so many Seasons without finding a suitable match that she wished to pursue… Well, other than one man. But there was no use thinking about him.

“I have in fact received a proposal of marriage,” she said, without thinking. She wasn’t even sure she wanted her aunt’s opinion on the union with Thomas—but it was hard to hear her character take such a bashing without retorting.

Aunt Elspeth’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “You have?”

Beatrix stuck out her chin. There was no turning back now. “Yes. But I have asked that we wait to wed until I am out of mourning.”

Aunt Elspeth shook her head. “Foolish girl. You don’t have time on your side. Who is this man, anyway? Does he have a good name? Money? An estate?”

The barked questions made Beatrix sad. Of course her aunt didn’t care whether the man was good or kind or had stolen Beatrix’s heart. He just needed to be wealthy.

Which, of course, he was.

“His name is Thomas. And he is the new Earl of Haxbury.”

“My, you work quickly. I am surprised, with how you have conducted yourself these past few years. But that sounds like a fine match… You will make a respectable countess. You will be provided for. You will pass your father’s title onto your own son one day.

Yes, very neat.” She almost looked proud of her, and Beatrix might have felt some warmth from that, except she had done nothing to deserve the praise—and her heart very much sank at the thought of her very neat, very suitable match.

“What if…” Beatrix began, fiddling with a loose thread on her black skirt. “What if he is not the right choice?”

Aunt Elspeth’s frown returned. “The right choice? My dear girl, you are five-and-twenty, with no father, no brother, no money, no estate. What choices do you think you have?”

Beatrix sighed. “I do know that, Aunt, I really do,” she said, and it was true—her aunt was only telling her the reasons she herself had come up with to say yes to Thomas. “But I do not wish to spend my life unhappy…”

“Unhappiness is a choice,” Aunt Elspeth barked.

“You may have had the luxury of choosing a man you were confident you would be happy with at seventeen—although if my brother had any sense, he would have arranged a good match for you that first Season—but now you most definitely do not. Accept the match and be grateful for it. What will you do otherwise? Live on the streets?”

Her harsh laugh turned into a cough, and Beatrix blinked away tears. “I could be a governess, or a companion, or—”

“You were born the daughter of an earl. You should be married and giving birth to a great line. If you decline this match, there will be no support for you here, believe that. You have turned down many matches, and then there was that foolish business with Trentham. You need to stop daydreaming girl, and make the right choice.”

“Yes Aunt Elspeth,” Beatrix said miserably, struggling to accept that Thomas really was the right choice.