Page 15 of The Spinster’s Stolen Heart (Willenshires #5)

“ The Ghost At Marendale Manor ,” Rose read aloud, turning the book over and over in her hands. It was a smart, leather-bound copy, a gift from Timothy. He’d been given several copies of the book from his publisher, to distribute amongst his friends.

“It’s only volume one,” Nathan said, “but it’s quite compelling. I read the whole thing in one sitting. Timothy has done a marvellous job with his latest book. It’s already causing quite a stir.”

Rose chuckled, setting the book aside. “It is strange, being close friends with such a famous novelist. I feel rather guilty for not having read it.”

“I shouldn’t worry. He’ll probably read a passage or two tonight.”

They were in the carriage, rocketing through the night towards Timothy and Katherine’s home. A small soiree had been organized; a literary event meant to celebrate the publication of his latest novel. Mr. Rutherford was quite a household name now, connected with his expansive collection of novels, including the ones he’d published earlier in his career under a pseudonym. Katherine, who loved books and novels, was fairly beaming with pride at her husband’s work.

“It’s a ghost story, then?” Rose asked, faintly curious.

“Yes, but there are a great many other themes. There’s a romance, of course, between Lady Thomasin and the hero, Cornelius Rake. There’s something of a mystery regarding Marendale Manor itself, of course, and I have it on good authority that there will be bandits later on.”

Rose chuckled. “Timothy always had an excellent imagination. I am glad we can be here to celebrate tonight. I imagine the whole family will be there,” she paused, shooting a quick glance at her son. “Including Miss Randall.”

Nathan’s cheeks heated, and he hoped that the darkness of the carriage managed to hide it.

“No doubt,” he answered neutrally.

“The Davenports, too, will be there. Amanda is growing quite determined in her pursuit of you. Oh, I wish you did like her, Nathan. She’d make you a fine wife.”

He said nothing, staring out of the window, and after a moment, Rose sighed.

“But mayhap she would not make you happy , then?”

He swallowed, shaking his head. “Things would be easier if I could fall in love with her,” he admitted, “but I’m not. And she doesn’t love me , Mother. Besides, it won’t do her any harm not to get what she wants. She gets her way entirely too often.”

Rose sighed again, and leaned forward to take his hand.

“Very well, Nathan. I shan’t bring up this subject again, as I don’t wish to upset you. But please do think more about Miss Randall. She’s a sweet girl, and I… I want you to be happy. You’re shut up in that study of yours entirely too much. There is a life beyond your paperwork, you know.”

He smiled faintly, squeezing his mother’s hand.

“You are very good to me, Mother. I am not always the son you deserve.”

“Nonsense,” she huffed. “You are perfect .”

“Only a mother would think that about her children.”

Rose chuckled, releasing his hand and leaning back. “Nonsense. I am entirely unbiased.”

Before he could make a retort, the carriage slowed, and they were there.

***

Katherine and Timothy’s house was filled with a soft, warm light from countless candles, and the soft murmur of conversation filled the air. It was a markedly different sort of event than the usual parties and balls. There wasn’t even going to be any dancing.

Katherine’s brothers and their wives were there, of course. Even William and Lavinia, who were a few days short of the date they could officially return to Society after their honeymoon, but nobody seemed to mind very much.

There was no sign of the Davenports or Amanda, and Nathan allowed himself a brief sigh of relief.

Gilt seats lined with burgundy velvet had been set up in the library, arranged around a low platform. Books ringed the walls, neatly arranged in shelves. Nathan had been to enough of the Rutherfords’ literary evenings to know that guests were encouraged to browse the shelves, or even bring their own books.

A young lady, resplendent in a pale blue dress edged with silver thread, was standing by herself, inspecting the shelves. She glanced over her shoulder, and her profile was familiar.

Pippa.

A shiver ran down Nathan’s spine.

Clearing his throat, he glanced down at his mother.

“Excuse me, Mother.”

Rose nodded, head tilted, and he had every confidence that she knew exactly where he was going and why. No time to feel embarrassed, however.

Nerves fluttered in his stomach as he approached Miss Randall.

Why do I feel more nervous every time I approach her? Shouldn’t I feel more confident, not less?

She turned at his approach, her face pale and unreadable in the flickering candlelight.

“Miss Randall,” he greeted, giving a bow. She gave a bobbing curtsey in response.

“Lord Whitmore. I didn’t realise you were such a follower of Timothy’s works.”

He smiled faintly. “I enjoy novels very much, and of course Timothy is my friend. However, I think I would like his work even if he were not my friend.”

She stared up at him, unblinking. “I am surprised that you enjoy novels, Lord Whitmore.”

“Oh? Why so?”

Pursing her lips, she considered. “You seem so… so serious. I would have thought novels would be too frivolous for you.”

Come now, my good fellow, you possess the means to win her favour. Employ your charm. Perhaps a jest or a touch of mirth would serve you well.

“Well, don’t we all deserve a little frivolity at times?” he tried, flashing a nervous smile.

Miss Randall did not smile. She stared up at him, a faint line between her brows. She was certainly acting differently today. Had he done something wrong, said something he should not?

Abruptly, her gaze flicked over his shoulder, so rapidly that he almost missed it.

“Certainly,” she said, her voice low. “Excuse me, Lord Whitmore. The programme is about to begin, I think. I must find my seat.”

Without waiting for a reply, she hurried past him, clutching a book to her chest. Nathan turned to watch her go, and found Lady Randall standing a little way off, her face stony with disapproval. Miss Randall went straight to her mother, and the two women moved towards a pair of seats in the front row.

Nathan’s heart sank.

Oh, well done indeed. You scared her off.

She was right, though. The programme was starting. The other guests were filing into their seats, and by the time Nathan joined them, only one chair was left unoccupied. He was obliged to shuffle along a row and plump down in the middle, effectively trapped. He was also sitting directly behind Miss Randall, which was not intentional. Did she realise? Did she think that he had chosen that seat deliberately?

There was no time to worry about it. Katherine took her place on the platform, clapping for attention. An expectant hush fell over the guests.

“Welcome, friends and family!” she began, smiling around at them. “I believe you’ve all been to one of our literary evenings before – with the exception of my dear aunt and cousin. So, as we all know, there’ll be a series of readings and poetry tonight, and we can all discuss what we hear. To start with, however, I’m sure you all know that my dear husband, Timothy, has recently published another novel.”

There was a riot of applause at this, and Nathan watched as Alexander laughingly elbowed his brother-in-law in the side. Almost all of the guests loved Timothy’s work, and many of them had read his novels before his identity was revealed to the ton .

“I thought we could begin with a short reading from Timothy’s book, The Ghost of Morendale Manor, ” Katherine suggested, dropping a wink to her husband. “Would we all like that?”

There was more applause, and Timothy was obliged to get to his feet, red with embarrassment and pleasure, and took up his wife’s position. He was clutching his book in his hands, fingers tapping nervously on the cover.

“I spent a great deal of time on this novel,” he addressed them, clearing his throat. “I drew from real life more than for my other stories. While there are certainly ghosts and murders and haunted manors and perhaps even bandits later on, this book is, at its core, a romance. It’s about people , people like you and I, and the struggles we face.”

Nathan leaned forward in his seat. Well, you didn’t hear that very often in a novel. The more modern stories appeared to aim at being as fantastical as possible.

Timothy glanced among them all, cleared his throat one more time, and opened the book.

“I’ll start at a passage near the end. It was Katherine’s favourite, you see. It begins with a speech by Lady Thomasin.”

In front of him, Miss Randall shifted, her shoulders tensing. Nathan frowned ever so slightly. He had no doubt that Miss Randall would have had the opportunity to read the book. Did she know what passage Timothy was talking about?

“‘ The thing about love, ” Timothy began, eyes fixed on the page, “ is that it is unpredictable. Poets and storytellers would have us believe that it is instant, unmistakeable. They would have us believe it is shallow, which, after all, is what love at first sight must be. That’s not to say that it cannot blossom into something stronger, of course. But love at first sight is not love at all, but a sort of obsession, an infatuation that can be swept away like a rain-cloud in a gale.”

He paused, glancing up to gauge the reaction of the audience. Nathan looked around, too. The other guests were enthralled, leaning forward in their seats to listen. He found his gaze drawn once again to the back of Miss Randall’s head. Her shoulders were rounded, her head drooping. There was tension in her body now, a tension that had not been there before.

His chest constricted, and Nathan found himself longing to wrap his arms around her and console her for whatever had made her droop like a dying flower.

Of course, he could do no such thing, and ought not even to consider it.

“Proper love may, certainly, follow some of these fashions. It may come upon one at once, unstoppably, not unlike a runaway carriage striking an unwary pedestrian. It may occupy one’s senses, the entirety of one’s thoughts. The physicians are wrong, you know. One can die of a broken heart. I have seen it. Love, mostly, makes its own standards. It will come upon you as it chooses, and there is very little you can do about it. It’s a force which we poor humans cannot reckon with.’”

Timothy cleared his throat, glancing around at the audience. They were all leaning forward in their seats, eyes wide. Miss Randall’s head had drooped lower. Nathan’s hand was reaching out to rest on her shoulder before he knew what he was doing, and snatched it back.

“That may be true,’ said Cornelius, offering her a wry smile, ‘But I am not quite so eloquent as you, Lady Thomasin, not half as much. I must keep my speeches simple and short. I cannot reflect on the nature of love, I can only feel it. Let me say, then, that I love you. I love you, and this is not a thing I can argue with, not to myself or to others. I love you, and I was foolish to ever believe otherwise.”