“I should think not!” Miss Whitchurch said through another giggle. “A new wife and a nephew in one afternoon.”
“As I said before, you found yourself an outstanding young man, my girl,” the gentleman said with a second dose of pride. “You will be a countess—the most beautiful countess…”
“That is Lady Emma,” Miss Whitchurch declared. “I shall be content to have Lord Thompson’s devotion. I am not a woman who requires the admiration of the masses. Lord Orson wishes to someday be Prime Minister, and Lady Emma shall play a large role in his success, for she is a wonderful hostess. Of course, her parents are diplomats on the Continent, and she has known the formality of such matters since she was young. I am confident Her Ladyship will shine in that role, and I hope equally to be of service to Lord Thompson in his vision for a different London than currently exists.”
“Lady Emma’s beauty is not the reason Lord Orson chose his wife, is it?” Freya asked in concern.
“Heavens, no,” Miss Whitchurch explained. “My dear Lord Thompson says his eldest brother had been interested in Lady Emma for some two years before they were actually in each other’s company. God has a way of placing the right person for our lives in our path just when we most require them,” Miss Whitchurch declared. “Emma grew weary of Lord Orson dragging his feet, and so, with Lord Graham’s encouragement, Emma proposed to Orson outside of his gentleman’s club, with a crowd looking on. Ironically, it was the perfect situation, for the first time Orson ever saw Lady Emma was when she was protesting for abolishing women’s disenfranchisement.” Miss Whitchurch blushed. “I fear Lord Thompson would still be waiting if I had to speak my devotion before a large gathering.”
“I thought you just said that you proposed to His Lordship?” Freya challenged.
“I did, but it was when we were alone at Macalhey House,” Miss Whitchurch confessed, with a side glance to her father, whodid not comment on his daughter’s confession, but rather asked Freya a pointed question.
“Do you plan to marry soon, Lady Freya?”
Freya swallowed the tears rushing to her eyes. “My father is in negotiations with a baronet.” She swallowed the bile rushing to block her throat. “Sir Patrick is a widower and must wait until his mourning period is over next month to speak his actual proposal. Such is the reason I must return to London after your daughter’s wedding. I must prepare myself to speak my acceptance.” She looked away then, out the small window, but from the corner of her eye, Freya noted when her friend stopped Mr. Whitchurch from asking more questions.
With the ideaof Lady Freya’s arrival still on his mind, Aaran arrived back at Thom Manor. He had purposely joined Thompson and his brother’s land steward in inspecting the fallow fields. To keep himself strong, he would be required to avoid her until after the wedding. Then she would depart for London, returning to her father’s home and forever banished from Aaran’s life, but likely, not from his private thoughts. He dismounted in the stable yard and loosened the girth.
“Yet, you are quite frightened of me.”
Lady Freya’s words continued to follow him around.
Fear her? Why in Hades should I fear her? She is simply a girl masquerading as a full-blown woman.Aaran sighed heavily in resignation.
How in Hades has she become the voice in my head? Her opinions are those of a girl, not someone who knows anything of the world. Yet…
Aaran removed the saddle and handed it off to a waiting lad. “Thank you, Brantley.” A nicker of a horse caught hisattention, and he noted that Miss Whitchurch’s new coach had returned from its errand.So, Lady Freya is within. Aaran found his breathing had hitched higher. There was another coach also waiting to be tended. “Whose coach is that?” he asked Thompson.
“Cannot speak with confidence,” Thompson responded as he presented orders to his stable master for the remainder of the day. He turned to Aaran, “But I imagine,” he said as they made their way to the back of the manor house, “it is Hartley and several of our men from the Home Office. Before we left London, Hartley meant to purchase a larger coach, one more suited to both his Home Office position and being his father’s heir. Likely has not had time to put the family crest on it.”
When they reached the drawing room, the door was open, and voices, as well as laughter, drifted to where he and Thompson stood in the doorway.
Hartley was speaking to several of the ladies with both Miss Whitchurch and Lady Freya being among them. “This point has only one of my pieces. If you are fortunate and land there, you force me onto the bar and will not be able to move again until I am blessed with a means to step down from the bar.”
Aaran did not like the idea that Lady Freya had yet to notice him. Instead, the lady was watching Hartley and James Kepper with her complete attention. Finally, she looked up smugly as she moved her draught.
“Excellent move,” Mr. Hartley declared with a smile directed at Lady Freya. “Now, I must throw the dice and pray I land on an unoccupied space, which I doubt is possible, for you, my lady, have filled them quite full. If I cannot move, as prescribed by the rules, it will again be your turn.” Hartley’s hand brushed against Lady Freya’s ungloved fingers, and Aaran wished to jerk Hartley’s hand from where it rested near hers. Hartley’s darkhead and Lady Freya’s red one were bent over the board in concentration. Regret rushed into Aaran’s chest.
Benjamin broke the tableau by walking into the room to greet Hartley and the others, and Aaran followed. Hands were extended and shaken. Congratulations were spoken all around. A moment of awkwardness fell upon the room until Lady Freya said softly, “Might we finish our game, sir?”
Hartley shrugged his innocence. “You, my lady, simply smell the victory you think is close at hand.”
The others shifted to where they might converse together, but Aaran’s attention remained on Hartley and Lady Freya. Aaran was well aware of Hartley’s obvious skill in the game, and while Duncan’s assistant eventually won, he kept the outcome close so Lady Freya would know pride in her efforts. Justin Hartley performed as a true gentleman, but the idea did not sit well with Aaran. When the man bowed over Lady Freya’s hand, it was all Aaran could do not to rise and slap Hartley’s hand away or, better yet, slap Hartley’s face with a glove and challenge him to a duel. Unfortunately for him, Aaran had no right to challenge anyone who paid Lady Freya attention. It had been his idea not to pursue her.
“I think I will go up and freshen my clothes,” he told Thompson, “and then I have several letters to address.” However, before he could make his exit, Lady Annalise rose to claim his arm and tugged him to where she sat upon a settee.
“You cannot escape,” Her Ladyship declared as he seated her and joined her there.
“I thought the smell of horseflesh would affect your composure,” Aaran said obediently.
“Oh, no, I am generally over that period,” she replied with a gentle smile, while she absentmindedly stroked the growing curve of her midsection, “though the scent of vanilla still does crazy things to my poise.” She grinned again.
Aaran relaxed just a fraction. “You only say that because you know vanilla is Theodora’s favorite scent,” he accused.
“Really?” she asked with a playful swat of his arm. “I had not noticed such was true.”
“Will you ever forgive Dora for taking credit in discovering Alexander had a second infection?” Aaran asked softly.
