He sighed. “At all events, it was an accident. In the meantime, we shall stable the horses at the Lintons, who have kindly offered, and rebuild. I for one look forward to the project and plan a few improvements and enlargements, though I was sorry to see our old steward’s handiwork destroyed.”
She looked at him more closely. “Will you be able to, do you think? How are you getting on? Does your arm not pain you?”
“It is naught. Aches a bit, but it is not broken as Sutton originally feared. Fingers itch like the blazes from whatever foul potion he applied. But otherwise I am well.”
“And your face?”
He grimaced. “You tell me. I dared look in the glass and thought myself ridiculous with these singed brows and swollen nose. The thing was bent as a boy, and now has been bent yet again.”
“You look . . . well, I think.” She hurried on. “And your eyes?”
“My vision seems unhindered, thank the Lord.” He studied her. “In fact, I believe I see more clearly now than I ever have before.”
She swallowed. “Do you indeed?”
He held her gaze a moment longer, blue eyes to blue eyes, and his were alight with something inscrutable. “Indeed.”
Chapter 39
Between a governess and a gentleman there was no easy courtesy,
attraction, or flirtation, because she was not his social equal.
—M. JEANNE PETERSON, SUFFER AND BE STILL
On Monday afternoon, Edward went out to the carriage to greet Judith, returning from another visit to her mother. She took his good arm and they walked companionably across the courtyard together, their pace made languid by the invitingly warm springtime air.
Miss Keene and the nurserymaid had brought the children outside to greet their stepmother. As usual Judith had eyes only for Alexander and took him from the maid, kissing and stroking the child.
Smiling at Audrey and Andrew in her stead, Edward thanked Miss Keene and then took his leave of his cousin, who broke off her cooing only long enough to smile at him before returning her gaze to her young son.
Edward returned to the library to see how his father was getting on. When he entered, he found the earl standing at the tall windows facing the lane. He did not turn when Edward entered.
“You are not thinking of marrying her, I trust?”
Edward stilled, instantly wary. “Why do you ask?”
“I have noticed the . . . change in your relationship of late. At least on her part.”
Had she changed? Warmed to him? He had thought so, but wondered if he only imagined it.
“And if you are entertaining marriage, I must know.”
Edward heard the concern in his father’s voice. “You disapprove.”
“Profoundly.”
Irritation surged within Edward. “I am surprised, considering, well . . . everything.” Had he not decided Olivia was his own daughter?
The earl looked out the window once more, rubbing his lip with thumb and forefinger. “I have my reasons.”
“Even if she is related to you, I don’t see how that signifies.”
The earl turned to Edward, expression stern. “You don’t see—that is exactly right. You don’t. You must trust me in this, Edward. I have your best interests at heart. Hers as well.”
“Her best interests? Which of us is beneath the other?”
“This is not about rank.”
“But you think it in her best interests to have nothing to do with me?”
“Romantically speaking, yes.”
Had he not loved Olivia’s mother? “That is rich, coming from you, Father. You who have always been so wise in your love affairs.”
“That is enough, Edward.”
But Edward pressed on. “Even if she is who you think she is, I hardly think that raises her station of life beyond my own. Miss Keene is—”
“Miss Keene?” The earl eyed him speculatively, a strange stillness in his countenance.
“Were you speaking of someone else?” Edward asked, confused.
“Ah . . . well . . .” Lord Brightwell cleared his throat. “I am afraid you must excuse me. I spoke without thinking.” The earl abruptly turned and strode across the room.
At the door, Lord Brightwell hesitated. “And you are quite right, Edward. I am not in the least qualified to give marital advice. You may disregard what I said.”
Edward frowned, but his father—for there was no other way he could think of the man—was already out the door. Edward had the distinct impression he had not been worrying about Miss Keene at all. He replayed the exchange in his mind. If his father had not been speaking of Olivia, had he somehow been referring to Miss Harrington? But she was no relation of theirs. That left only Judith. And why should his father worry about her?
After the conversation with his father, Edward realized he had left things unsettled with Miss Harrington for too long. She might still be expecting an offer of marriage. How strange that an alliance he had recently contemplated with pleasure, or at least contentment, now filled him with misgiving.
Feeling restless, he asked Ross to saddle Major and took to the open road. His arm was still wrapped, but he no longer needed a sling. What he needed was to ride. To think.
He road south and west, giving Major his head, then reined him to a pace the well-conditioned animal could sustain for a longer journey.
When he trotted up the tree-lined avenue to Oldwell Hall, a young groom hurried out, and Edward flipped the lad half-a-crown, directing him to feed and water his horse.
Oldwell Hall was a large manse barely more than a decade old, with a central two-story block and two recessed wings. To Edward, the boxy grey building looked more like a military fortress than a home.
He was relieved to see Miss Harrington taking a turn about the lawn, a parasol on her shoulder. Still unsure of what he would say, Edward strode across the avenue to meet her.
She must have seen him, for she turned and waited until he reached her. “Bradley, what a nice surprise,” she said with a warm smile. “I am afraid Father is gone to Bristol.”
“That is just as well, Miss Harrington, for I hoped to speak with you.”
A knowing smile lifted one corner of her mouth.
“May I walk with you?” he asked.
“Of course.”
Shifting the parasol to her other hand, she took Edward’s arm. Together they strolled across the lawn, damp from recent rains. The landscape was stark; only a few shrubs and a massive fountain ornamented the grounds. The temperature was mild, and the sun shone at intervals between passing clouds.
He cleared his throat and began in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone. “Do you recall you once said you wished your father would not pressure you, that you might”—he hesitated to verbalize the word—“marry as you pleased?”
She dipped her chin coyly, tentatively drawing out her reply, “Ye-ess . . .”
“Would you wish to marry a man, Miss Harrington, were he not heir to a title and peerage?”
She lifted her head and grinned. “Would this ‘man’ still be rich?” She laughed, but soon quieted. “Bradley, I am only teasing you. Has someone suggested I am only interested in you to become a countess?”
“Perhaps.”
Her brow puckered. “But . . . how could I not admire you? You are the future Lord Brightwell . . . as well as young and handsome and attentive.”
“And were I not?”
“My dear Bradley, we shall all grow older and less attractive in time. Though I shall find it a tedious bore not to have heads turn whenever I enter a room. . . .” She laughed again and awaited his chivalrous assurance.
“I meant, were I not a future earl,” he persisted.
A spring breeze fluttered the parasol ruffle. “Really, you are in a strange mood. You know perfectly well that you are your father’s heir. And if you were not, I would most likely have never even met you.”
“Some other fortunate chap would be walking beside you now?”
She grinned again. “Some other fortunate aristocratic chap.”
He nodded and walked on in silence.
She sent him a sidelong glance. “Why are we playing this game? Has your cousin Judith been riddling you with doubts about me?”
“Judith? What has she to do with it?”
Miss Harrington expelled a puff of dry laughter. “She wants you for herself, of course. Do not tell me you have never guessed.”
Edward drew in a deep breath. Had he? Had this been what his father was hinting about? Cousins married often enough, he knew, but Judith was almost like a sister to him.
Sybil Harrington gave him a discerning look. “Tired of your game, Bradley?”
He managed a weak smile. “Yes, I suppose I am.” He looked at her, then sighed. “Tired of the whole charade.”
“Good,” she said, blithely. “Are we . . . that is, will you be going to town after Easter?”
He shook his head and said quietly, “I will not.”
She twirled the parasol on her shoulder. “Being in mourning, I did wonder. Still, what a bore to endure the season without you. Father hoped we might avoid it altogether this year, if . . . ”
He knew what the “if” was. If he was going to propose marriage, then she need not go to London in hopes of securing a match.
As if suddenly aware of the change in him, she stopped walking and regarded him closely, cautiously. The earlier amusement faded from her brown eyes.