Chapter One
Lady Mary
Devon 1821
It was amiserable night. For the hundredth time I was regretting accepting his invitation, familial obligation or naught, and I’d only been at his estate for two days.
Lightning blanched the faces of the guests in the sitting room, the rumble of thunder following like a slow-moving rock slide.
“I think the storm is moving away.” Miss Walker turned up the wick on the oil lamp next to her chair, her voice brimming with more hope than confidence.
Our host, and, unfortunately, also my brother-in-law, rolled his eyes. “It has been coming on us, steadily closer, this entire evening. One would think a country mouse would be more familiar with such tempests.”
My two days’ acquaintance with the ‘country mouse’ had left me an unfavorable impression of her person, but I disliked my husband’s brother even more. “Truly, Perrin, we are all feeling imprisoned by this weather, but it is no reason to act boorishly. I’m certain Miss Walker has better things to do with her time than study storm patterns.”
The little I had learned about the woman made me wonder if this were true. Miss Charlotte Walker, a plain but agreeable looking woman in her thirties, was the nearest neighbor to theEarl of Perrin. At least the nearest with any significant social standing. She was the only child of a sickly baron and apparently had never wed in order to take care of her father. She had proven a dull conversationalist and an atrocious partner at whist, but neither of those conditions earned an insult from her host.
“Oh, it’s all right.” Miss Walker tittered, the uncomely curls that framed her face jiggling. “Ishouldknow more about the natural world having lived in the country all my life. The earl is perfectly correct.”
I ground my jaw. The woman was also insufferably ingratiating in her behavior to Perrin. I would have thought my brother-in-law would have liked her better for it.
“Well, I for one have never seen the like of this storm.” Lord Havenstone stood and stretched. He was a baron from the north of the country who had apparently attended Eton with Lord Perrin. From our two days’ acquaintance I’d learned he was subject to bursts of joviality which were quickly dampened by his wife. “Lady Havenstone and I had hoped to do some riding on your southern lands, but it looks to be raining the entire week of this house party.”
His wife looked up at him from the settee. “The riding on our property isn’t much different. Our estate is quite as large as Perrin’s.”
“Yes, but we don’t have those lovely sea cliffs,” Lord Havenstone said wistfully.
“My lord does have an impressive estate,” Mr. Taylor agreed. If there were a contest between who could be more obsequious to my brother-in-law, I wasn’t sure who would win, the neighbor Miss Walker, or Perrin’s secretary, Jeremiah Taylor. Mr. Taylor had drawn up a chair next to another guest, Miss Smith, and when he wasn’t paying the young lady compliments, he was doing everything in his power to bolster his employer’s ego.
Not that it needed further bolstering.
“Shall I continue reading from where I left off last night?” Miss Smith lifted the Mary Shelley book from her lap. She tucked a strand of her light brown hair behind her ear. “It’s a good story for a dark and stormy night.”
“That will be a strong inducement for me to join your father in the billiards room.” Mr. Bertram Withers shifted in his chair, a frown creasing his face. He’d arrived this morning and said little all day. He was of a stern, taciturn disposition, and I wondered at his accepting an invitation to anything so merry as a house party.
But Bertram had always had a core of kindness. He must feel the same sense of familial duty as I did. He was Perrin’s brother-in-law, as well, his sister having married the earl. I wasn’t quite sure what that made us, his sister’s husband having been my husband’s brother. No direct relation, certainly, but there was a connection. I rubbed my breastbone. One that had grown thin over the years.
There had been a time when we used to see each other often. Lord and Lady Perrin, Bertram and his wife, Martha, me and Cavindish. We’d come together for holidays. Enjoyed each other’s company. Well, as much as our differing personalities would allow.
But then my Cavindish had died, much too young. At least he hadn’t suffered through a protracted illness like Bertram’s wife had. The last time I’d seen Martha, the pain had clouded her mind. And she’d grown so thin, had trouble feeding herself, and was too proud to want help.
And then Lady Perrin had left us not two years past, and from such a stupid cause. Falling off a ladder while tending one of her climbing vines in her garden.
One would have thought that as Bertram, Perrin, and I were all widowers and widow connected by family, our common grief would have brought us closer.
One would be wrong.
“Mr. Withers, that is most unjust.” Mr. Taylor leaned closer to Miss Smith. “Miss Smith’s readings are most compelling.” He turned to her. “You speak so well, you know.”
Miss Smith angled her body away from the secretary. “Yes, I’d always heard that was one of my more admirable features. Some women can paint masterpieces. Others write works advocating for universal human rights. I can talk.”
Mr. Taylor furrowed his forehead. “Uh…. Yes. Quite.”
I smothered a snort.
Bertram removed a deck of playing cards from an inside coat pocket. He plucked a card from the top of the deck and rolled it between his fingers. “We could play a round or two of faro. I know Perrin is always eager for a chance to recoup some of his losses.”
Perrin grunted, digging the knuckle of his thumb into his chest. “Not tonight.” Another wave of thunder rattled the windows. “Damn this storm. Not only will it trap us all indoors together, but I fear it will keep my remaining guest away, and I had so wanted him to join us.” He accompanied that last remark with a significant look to myself, one I wasn’t sure how to interpret.
