Meet Me At the Castle (7 page)

As she offered her hand, he bowed over it. “Lord Simmerton, how wonderful it is to see you.”

His smile didn’t falter. “Miss Albright. A delight to see you. I hope I haven’t intruded on your day? Perhaps I should have left my card and vacated forthwith.”

The twinkle in his eyes warmed her to him. “Not at all. I’m pleased you’re here. Will you have some tea?”

“I’m in a slight rush this morning. I can stay but a moment.” After he returned to his chair, and she sat in the one across from him, he asked, “You’ll be at the ball tonight?”

She hesitated, wishing there was an excuse to leave off the festivities. “Of course.”

There. It was done. She would do her duty and like it.

He glanced toward the door. “Your aunt isn’t joining us?”

“I’m afraid not. I think an open door is enough to maintain proprieties, don’t you?”

His eyes widened a little, but then he chuckled. “I think you are very different, Miss Albright.”

“Different?”

“It’s meant entirely as a compliment. So many young women I’ve met lately are vapid and uninteresting.”

“Why, thank you. Have we known each other long enough to be certain how interesting I am?”

Lord Simmerton’s laugh this time was full-throated and caused her to laugh as well. “A woman of information and good humor. Another quality I admire.”

Heat rose in her face, and she turned the conversation away from her. “Why are you here at this time of year? There’s no Ascot and few concerts to be had. No society as you would find during the season.”

His brow lowered as he glanced toward the floor. “My father passed away, and I stayed in London after the season, taking care of his holdings and settling his affairs.”

She schooled her face into proper commiseration. “I’m terribly sorry about your loss.”

“Thank you. He was ninety-five and in failing health for a few years.”

Her eyebrows twitched upward at hearing how the man had been. “And you are so young.”

“I’m six and thirty. Not so young as many imagine.” His gaze turned serious, those blue eyes taking her in intently. “Now that I have my father’s title, it is time for me to marry and settle down with a wife and children.”

Ah, so he was here to do his duty as well. Could he seriously be considering her as his wife?

He veered the conversation in another direction. “Have you been to Ascot?”

“Three times.”

“Did you like it?”

“The horses are fascinating.”

He chuckled again. “More so than the people.”

His grin lightened her mood. “Sometimes, yes. Have you visited the Royal Enclosure?”

“Yes. More than once. You?”

“Once.”

“Perhaps next season you’ll have an invitation to the Enclosure once more.”

For the next half hour they talked, and she admitted to herself that his kindness and sincerity was as genuine as it had been each time she’d spoken with him. She took her aunt’s advice to heart and remembered that many great marriages emerged from friendships. If she could not have Damian as her husband, she could set her cap for this man and do very well for herself. She told herself it didn’t matter that she didn’t want Lord Simmerton.

Lord Simmerton departed soon after with promises to see her that evening.

Her aunt came from another room nearby, face aglow with a huge smile. “Well done, my dear. I think you’ll have him in no time.”

“Shall I? There are many far more beautiful women in London with a great deal more money. It doesn’t seem…practical that he would want me for a wife.”

Her aunt’s face fell. “My dear, I know there’s something going on that you haven’t told me.”

Unease tickled Elizabeth’s spine. “About what?”

Aunt Ophelia’s brow was smooth, her eyes clear of anger. “Let us go into the parlor.” After they returned to the parlor, closed the door and sat on the settee, Aunt Ophelia looked grave. “I sense a melancholy that worries me greatly. Is that the real reason why your father sent you to London?”

“You must know why. Surely he told you.”

Aunt Ophelia folded her hands in front of her. “That you were weary of the countryside and wished to leave Penham Manor. He told me you wished to look for a husband and feared time was running out before you would become a spinster.”

Elizabeth was unsure for a moment how much she should tell her aunt. She left the couch and walked to the window overlooking the street. As she looked at the heavy sky, her mood was as sooty as the air outside. “My stepmother could not wait to be rid of me. Above all things she wishes to see me married. Then I shall be out of her way.”

Aunt Ophelia joined Elizabeth at the window and gently touched Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I suspected as much.”

Elizabeth looked sharply at her aunt but said nothing.

“I’m afraid I’ve always been wary of Anne’s motives,” her aunt said. “When your father contacted me, and spoke of what he had planned for you, I knew it could not all be true. But…don’t you want a husband?”

Elizabeth felt like a rock had lodged in her throat. She sank onto the window seat. “In truth, no.”

“But you must.”

“There isn’t a man I could abide marrying in all of London. No man I would have except—” Her hand flew to her mouth to stop the heedless flow of words.

“Is there someone you wish to marry but it is forbidden?” her aunt asked, sitting opposite Elizabeth on the large window seat. She clasped Elizabeth’s hands gently.

“No.” Elizabeth squeezed her aunt’s hands.

Looking doubtful, Aunt Ophelia frowned. “You fear you are too long past the age for marriage? It is a reasonable fear.”

“No.”

“Your beauty alone is much commented on and admired by every man you meet. You are without match, an incomparable.”

“Oh, Aunt.”

“It is true. And your ability with needlework and painting is very favorable. No man could wish for more in a wife. I can see Lord Simmerton is unusually keen to know you. That must count for encouragement.”

Elizabeth smiled weakly. Perhaps she had given her father’s sister less credit than she deserved. “You are very kind.”

Aunt Ophelia dropped Elizabeth’s hands and sighed heavily. “If you’re looking for some incredible romance, my dear, it is not practical. Your late uncle and I had no love for each other when we married, but as time passed we discovered a great affection for each other that was enduring and everlasting. It was more than we could have hoped. That is what you must strive for. Love is…I don’t know. I’ve never had this love you speak of.”

Elizabeth gazed out at the clouds that cried huge tears. “I have a great affection for my brother George. I don’t want that with a husband.”

“You misunderstand me. Passion may not last. It is better to have a strong union of mutual affection. I wouldn’t press upon you any man who was unkind, or that I knew would treat you unjustly. I want you happy, Elizabeth, just as your father does.”

Elizabeth turned to fix a steady gaze on her aunt. “He is not concerned with my happiness or he never would have destroyed my paintings.”

Aunt Ophelia gasped. “Destroyed?”

“I see he didn’t tell you how he planned to break my will. How he knew that my art is more precious to me than anything but for…”

Aunt Ophelia released her hands and stood as Elizabeth’s voice trailed away. “How could he do such a thing? It is insupportable. Tell me more.”

Elizabeth explained the scene that had occurred, and when she finished Aunt Ophelia wrung her hands and her lips drew down in sharp disapproval. Elizabeth didn’t tell her aunt about Damian.

“I’ve never known you to tell a falsehood, Elizabeth, and I know my brother well. Though perhaps not so well as I once believed. I’m very sorry this has happened to you, my dear.”

“Thank you. I shall go to the ball tonight. I won’t subject you to gossip and conjecture, Aunt Ophelia. I shall smile and make polite conversation and perhaps dance with Lord Simmerton.”

Aunt Ophelia smiled gently. “And if he makes an offer of marriage?”

Elizabeth’s smile was rueful. “What choice do I have but to take it?”

“Well, then, let us get you ready for the evening. Time flies swiftly and we have few hours before the ball.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I long to be back at Cromar. I shall start my paintings over.”

“My dear,” Aunt Ophelia said, “there is one thing you must acknowledge. It is not healthy for you to continue to paint Cromar. Can you try to find something else in your life to paint? Penham Manor is a wonderful place. I imagine you may be able to paint it in all its glory.”

Elizabeth tired of hearing about how she must paint other things. In the back of her mind she knew someday she would paint other places. As a child she knew the world offered more for her than the confines of Penham Manor. How she was going to achieve this goal of seeing the outside world she did not yet understand. It lay just outside her grasp, like in a dream where she could not quite reach a door no matter how hard she tried.

Deciding to appease her aunt, she said, “Of course.”

The edge of happiness Elizabeth had found today with her aunt would not replace the listlessness in her body and soul. Life might return to normal when she returned to Penham Manor or if she accepted marriage to a suitor such as the Earl of Simmerton.

Yet without Damian the days could never be quite as brilliant or the nights so intense.

Nor could her paintings of Cromar be as meaningful.

* * * *

Chickering House, west of London, glittered with all the trimmings of a family well able to afford the finer things in life. Elizabeth, who enjoyed lovely and elegant things, did not care for the heavy touches of baroque in the house. If she had this home as her own she would lighten the furniture, do something to breathe new life into it.

How unlikely. Penham Manor, once so beloved to her, would remain in her mind as the place where her paintings had been destroyed.

Inside the ballroom on the second floor, Elizabeth watched the sumptuous affair like a spectator and not a true participant. Sitting on a chair in a secluded section, she watched couples step through dances and tried not to wish Damian could be with her. Holding her hand. Swirling with her across the floor. But that could never be. Something held him from her. And she knew in her heart that if she discovered why, it would break her soul in little pieces.

She’d danced twice with Lord Simmerton and each time he was warm and encouraging in word and deed. He’d gone off to dance with two elderly ladies, and all the women simpered after him. When she saw that he was as attentive and sincere with two other young women at the event, Elizabeth wondered if she’d imagined he paid special attention to her.

A chill trembled through her, much as it had earlier in the day, and nausea rolled in her stomach. Perhaps she would leave early.

“Why, there you are,” said a smooth, feminine voice.

Lady Deaning made her way delicately through the crowd, her dress of green duchess satin shimmering in the light from a hundred candles. Standing as tall as most men, she commanded the attention of many in the ballroom. Her lustrous silver blonde hair, her thin nose, full lips, and flawless skin were beyond beautiful. She was a social flower much praised or maligned, depending on who was speaking of her.

Her husband, Sir Edward Deaning, lavished her with gifts, clothing, and whatever she wished with great regularity. Sir Edward, Lady Deaning, and their three equally obnoxious children planned to leave for their country estate in Derbyshire in less than a week and saw the ball as a last chance to socialize with the London set.

Elizabeth smiled and didn’t mean it. “The ball is wonderful. Thank you for including me in your festivities.”

Lady Deaning’s skirts brushed against Elizabeth’s and the older woman gracefully fluttered her open fan.

“With pleasure. I hear you are in London for only a fortnight more. Hardly enough time to take in the sights, I should not wonder.”

“I’ve been to London many times and taken in all the worthy sites.”

“But of course there are always new things to be seen, new people to meet.” She sat in a chair next to Elizabeth. “I noticed Lord Simmerton has circled the room more than once with you.”

Elizabeth heard approval in the statement. “And?”

The older woman sighed. “Well, he is the catch, isn’t he? You should do your best to show interest. After all, there is more than one woman in the room after him, and at least three or four are younger than you. Richer, too.”

Elizabeth took offense at Lady Deaning’s tone, but what could she say to the woman who’d invited her here? “Of course. But I’m not certain I want to show interest.”

Lady Deaning seemed unaffected by Elizabeth‘s statement and continued with, “I imagine, though, that the advantages of Penham Manor keep you occupied most of the year. Who needs a man when you have an estate such as that?”

“Yes. The gardens and grounds are always beautiful, despite the time of year.”

“Do tell me, is what they say true about that awful castle on the hill but a short distance from Penham true?”

Elizabeth snapped to attention. “Cromar Castle?”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably. “What do they say about the castle?”

Lady Deaning smiled. She snapped her fan closed. Her eyes glittered with conspiracy and delight. “Heavens then, do let me enlighten you. Cromar is terribly old. It is also most haunted.”

Elizabeth nodded, her smile indulgent. “I heard as much.”

“Well, then, you know the half of it. For centuries no one with sense has gone near the place. They say that it was abandoned in the 1600’s during the time of the Civil War. The castle belonged to a Royalist by the name of Damian Cromar.”

Elizabeth gasped and her heart felt as if it might stop. How had she avoided hearing this information, living so close to the castle?

“My dear.” Lady Deaning laid a hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “Are you quite all right?”

“Yes, I think so,” Elizabeth said. “My apologies. I think perhaps it is too warm in here.” Elizabeth opened her fan and welcomed the brush of cool air on her face as she used the fan. When the other woman said nothing, Elizabeth smiled. “Do please go on. I’m most intrigued.”