The Wife Campaign

Ruby was just as glad to be left alone with her thoughts. There had to be a reason she and her father had been included in the earl’s invitation. But for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why.

* * *

Whit was also feeling the dining room a bit crowded as the visiting footmen brought in the second course. When he was in residence, he generally made use of Mr. Hennessy’s skills to serve rather than bothering with footmen. And he only ate a single course. If he’d been fortunate, it was of the fish he’d caught. But with a house full of guests, his chef had obviously determined that something more substantial was needed. And Whit had never been one to argue with strawberry trifle.

“So what do you plan for us, my lord?” Mr. Stokely-Trent asked from midtable, leaning back in his seat to rest his hands over the paunch of his stomach.

They all regarded Whit with interest. For some reason, he found his gaze centered on Miss Hollingsford near the end of the table. He hadn’t been sure of the color of her hair inside her bonnet as they’d stood by the river that afternoon, but when they’d met on the stairs earlier, he hadn’t been surprised to find it a deep red, like the fading glow of the coals at night.

Now it was sleeked back in a bun at the top of her head, and little tendrils like sparks framed her face. One corner of her mouth was drawn up, as if she expected his answer to be amusing. He would have been more amused if Quimby had given this house party some thought. Whit wasn’t about to sit around the Lodge conversing for a fortnight, and he hardly wanted all their company fishing. But his wants would have to give way to his duty, as usual—and duty dictated that he be an accommodating host, even to guests he had never intended to invite.

“Dovecote Dale is renowned for its sights,” he said. “Perhaps a walk into the hills. There’s a cascade about a mile up the side stream.”

Lady Wesworth fanned herself as if even the thought was tiring. “So long as we can take the carriage. I wouldn’t want Amelia to be exposed to the elements.”

By the pallor of the young lady’s creamy skin, Whit thought a little exposure to sunshine might not be remiss. Miss Hollingsford had been wearing a fetching ostrich-plumed bonnet to protect her skin this afternoon, and she positively glowed. She also looked less than impressed that a lady wouldn’t be able to make so short a jaunt.

“A visit to Lord Hascot’s horse farm might be entertaining,” Whit tried. “We can take the carriages there.”

“Does he raise draft horses, Thoroughbreds or common stock?” Henrietta Stokely-Trent asked.

“Are you a horse enthusiast?” Charles asked, leaning closer to her as if her answer meant the world to him.

She regarded him with a frown. “No,” she replied. “Just curious.”

Whit thought he heard a smothered laugh from Miss Hollingsford. She was enjoying his predicament entirely too much. “And what would you like to do, Miss Hollingsford?” he challenged.

All gazes swung her way. She dimpled at the other guests. “Return to London as soon as possible?” she suggested.

“What a tease,” her father said with a laugh. “I’m sure whatever interests you will interest us, my lord.”

“You could take us all fishing,” Miss Hollingsford added, with particular spite, he thought.

Mr. Stokely-Trent brightened, but Lady Amelia shuddered.

“Do you fish, Miss Hollingsford?” Charles asked, aiming his charming smile her way. Whit could only bless his cousin for intervening.

“Very likely for something larger than trout,” Lady Wesworth murmured. Unfortunately, in the small room, her voice was all too audible. Her daughter squirmed in embarrassment, but Mrs. Stokely-Trent nodded archly, and Mr. Stokely-Trent traded knowing looks with his daughter.

Whit frowned. Did they think Ruby Hollingsford a title hunter? From what he’d seen, nothing was further from the truth. In fact, given her questions at the river and the statement on the stairs, she had no interest in courting. It sounded as if she’d only accepted Quimby’s invitation at the insistence of her father.

“I’ve never had the pleasure of fishing,” she replied to Charles, and only the height of her chin said she’d heard the marchioness’s unkind remark. “What about you, Mr. Calder? Do you join the earl in his delight at capturing smelly creatures?”

Whit couldn’t help a laugh at her description of fishing.

“I do indeed, Miss Hollingsford,” Charles answered with a similar smile. “And I’d be pleased to teach any of you lovely young ladies the fine art. It takes patience, skill and daring, not unlike a courtship.”

Henrietta Stokely-Trent beamed at him. “I may accept that offer, Mr. Calder. I always like learning new things from a practiced teacher.”

“Then Charles would be perfect,” Whit teased. “He requires a great deal of practice.”

“Ho, a palpable hit!” Charles declared, fainting back in his chair as if wounded. “Miss Stokely-Trent, I will trade my services as an angler for yours as a nurse. Promise me you will never leave my side.”

“That might be difficult if you intend to fish,” Miss Hollingsford pointed out, but Whit noticed that the bluestocking was studying his cousin as if seeing his potential for the first time.

Now, there was a thought. What if he could pair up the ladies with someone else? That might take them off his trail. Charles was forever in need of funds, but he had a good heart and a sound mind. Henrietta Stokely-Trent could do far worse. Now who could Whit find for Lady Amelia?

As if her mother suspected the direction of his thoughts, she rose from her seat. “I believe the ladies are finished. Shall we wait for you gentlemen in the withdrawing room, my lord?”

Rather presumptuous of her to think he expected her to act as his hostess, but then he had escorted her in to dinner. Whit rose, as well. “If you’d be so kind.”

The other ladies stood and followed the marchioness from the room. Mr. Stokely-Trent eyed his wife, hands braced on the linen, but she cast him an imploring look and he excused himself, as well. Ruby Hollingsford offered Whit a grin as she sashayed past, but he was certain it had more to do with amusement than from any flirtation. Indeed, he rather thought he’d find greater enjoyment in the dining room in the company of Mr. Hollingsford and Charles than the ladies would have in the withdrawing room waiting for them.

How will I withstand two weeks of this, Lord?

As the footmen came forward to offer another drink, Charles and Mr. Hollingsford took the opportunity to move closer to Whit at the table. Neither of them seemed the least concerned with the turn of events. Charles had a smile playing about his mouth, as if he were genuinely pleased with the glimmer of a response from Henrietta Stokely-Trent. Hollingsford belched and covered the noise with his hand.

“Excellent dinner, my lord,” he said. “You’ve a talented cook.”

“I’ll be sure to pass your compliments to Monsieur Depavre,” Whit promised.

Hollingsford wrinkled his long, pointy nose. “Frenchie, eh? Normally, I prefer good English cooking, but he did very well.”

Whit hid his smile, knowing his chef’s opinion of so-called good English cooking.

“Better than usual,” Charles agreed, leaning back in his chair. “But I am surprised to be surrounded by so many guests, Danning. I thought it was to be just the two of us as usual.”

Whit could hardly tell his cousin the truth in front of Hollingsford. He still found it difficult to believe Quimby’s audacity. “It was a last-minute decision.”

“Well, I’m grateful.” Charles lifted his glass. “To the fairest ladies in England, all here at Fern Lodge.”

“Hear, hear,” Hollingsford agreed, and raised his glass, as well.

Whit joined them in a sip. They were lovely women. By the snippets of conversation he’d caught, they were intelligent, as well. Discounting the unkind attitude toward Ruby Hollingsford, any man would be lucky to court one of them. Yet none of them stirred his heart the way he had imagined a man should feel for his intended wife.

What was wrong with him? Had fifteen years of duty sucked the romance from his very soul?

Charles pushed back his chair. “Give a fellow a chance, eh, Danning? Wait ten minutes before joining us in the withdrawing room. That ought to give me sufficient time to steal a march on you.”

“If you can win a lady’s heart in ten minutes, you’re a better man than I am,” Whit said with a chuckle.

“You’ll find out shortly,” Charles promised, and he strode from the room.

Hollingsford chuckled, as well. “I like a chap with confidence.” He studied his glass, turning the stem this way and that with fingers as pointy as his nose. “If I may, my lord, I thought you had similar fire when we met this afternoon. But somewhere along the way you lost your spark. Is something troubling you?”

Whit regarded him. His head was cocked so that the candlelight gleamed on his balding pate, and his craggy brows were drawn down. He seemed sincerely perplexed and ready to offer support and guidance.

It had been a long time since Whit had seen such a look, not since his father had called him to his bedside fifteen years ago to tell Whit he’d soon be the earl. What would his father have said about this mess Whit found himself in?

What would Hollingsford say?

“I have a house full of guests to entertain,” Whit replied. “You heard them. They have little interest in seeing the sights, visiting the neighbors. I find myself wondering what I should do with them.”

Hollingsford grinned. “It’s not the sights or the neighbors they came for, my lord. I think you know that. They came here for you.”

The very idea made him want to stalk from the room, dive into the river and let it wash him out to sea. “I am unused to being the sole entertainment.”

“Now, then, it’s not so bad,” Hollingsford said, hitching himself higher in his seat as if he intended to deliver a speech. “You have three lovely ladies before you. It shouldn’t be so difficult to determine which you like best.”

Why had he even considered having this conversation? “I wasn’t prepared to begin serious courting,” he tried. “I haven’t given the matter much thought until recently.”

“No need to think,” Hollingsford insisted. “You take this lady for a drive, that one for a walk. You talk to them, ask them what they like, sound out their opinions, see how they relate to their Maker. Then, when you find one you like, you let her know and arrange for the banns to be read.”

Whit laughed. “You make it sound easy.”

“It is easy,” Hollingsford declared, reaching for the decanter the footman had left to pour himself another glass. “Courting is supposed to be fun. It’s the marriage part that takes work.”

Perhaps that was what concerned him. Surrounded by requirements, was he now to add the responsibility for a wife? He knew his duty to his family to marry and have an heir. It was a duty he took far too seriously to rush into a hasty marriage, especially now when he already had enough on his hands!

Besides, he couldn’t help remembering his father, sitting at this very table, staring at a painting of Whit’s mother that had then hung on the paneled wall. His gaze had never strayed to the food, as if she alone sustained him. He’d never even attempted to court again after her death. That, Whit couldn’t help thinking, was true love, that unbridled devotion, that all-consuming emotion. Having seen such a love, how could he settle for anything less?

“It’s not so bad, you know,” Hollingsford said, offering him the decanter. Whit waved it away. “Marriage can be a blessing. Someone to care about you, to encourage you. I still miss my Janey, and she’s been dead a good fifteen years now.” He took a deep draught from his glass, and Whit saw that his hand shook.

It seemed even Hollingsford had been touched by the tender feelings of love. Was it possible Whit might find it here at the Lodge, with one of these women?

Chapter Three

Whit wasn’t sure what to expect when he and Ruby’s father entered the withdrawing room a short while later. He had rather hoped Charles would prove true to his word and wrap Henrietta Stokely-Trent, at least, around his little finger. Whit had seen any number of ladies succumb to his cousin’s charm. Charles found it easy to converse, easy to smile. He found duty harder to swallow. Sometimes Whit thought they were exact opposites.

However, Charles had focused on Ruby Hollingsford, the two of them in close conversation as they sat across from each other in armchairs by the doors to the veranda. The candlelight from the brass sconce glowed in his cousin’s hair; his gaze was aimed directly at the feisty redhead.

But Miss Hollingsford seemed barely to notice. Her attention had wandered toward the door to the withdrawing room, and when her gaze lit on Whit, her lips curved.

For some reason, Whit wanted to stand a little taller.

“Looks as if you have a clear field, my lord,” Mortimer Hollingsford chortled as he passed Whit to stroll into the room. Whit blinked and quickly tallied his other guests. Instead of hanging on his cousin, Miss Stokely-Trent had discovered the ancient spinet he’d forgotten rested on the far wall and was tapping at the keys while her parents looked on and Lady Amelia sat expectantly on the sofa with her mother.

“How kind of you to join us,” Lady Wesworth said as if Whit had kept them all waiting. She glowered at her daughter. “Amelia was just saying how much she wanted to sing for you.”

Lady Amelia’s elegant brows shot up, and she visibly swallowed. If she had wished to sing, she now very likely wished herself elsewhere. Even though he could see her shyness, duty required that he encourage her, and the other gentlemen followed suit. But it was Ruby Hollingsford’s voice that won the day.

“I imagine you have a lovely voice, Lady Amelia,” she said, her own voice warm and kind. “I hope you’ll share it with us.”

Lady Amelia rose with a becoming blush. “Well, perhaps a short tune. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience Miss Stokely-Trent.”

The other woman eyed her as she approached the spinet. “I didn’t realize you’d require accompaniment. Don’t you play, Lady Amelia?”

The blonde’s blush deepened. “Not as well as you do, I fear.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Wesworth declared, but Henrietta Stokely-Trent appeared mollified enough that she agreed to accompany Lady Amelia. While they put their heads together to confer about the music, Whit drifted toward to his cousin and Ruby Hollingsford.

“I must say,” Charles was murmuring, leaning closer to the redhead as if to catch the scent of her hair, “that though your father may be a jeweler of some renown, he surely had his greatest gem in you, my dear Ruby.”

Whit couldn’t help frowning. How had Charles managed to gain the right to use her first name so soon? And what was this about a jeweler? Was that the source of his other guests’ disapproval? Were they so arrogant they looked down on a lady for having a father in trade?

Ruby Hollingsford shook her head at his cousin’s praise, hair catching the light. “You’ll have to do better than that, sir, if you hope to win one of these women.”

So she’d taken his cousin’s measure already. Whit tried not to smile as his cousin promised her his utmost devotion. Ruby just laughed, soft and low, a sound that met an answering laugh inside Whit.

Just then, Henrietta Stokely-Trent played a chord, and Lady Amelia began to sing. Whit was surprised to find she had a beautiful voice, clear as a bell and equally as pure. Ruby beamed as if she’d known it all the time. When Lady Amelia finished, the applause from all his guests was spirited.

Not to be outdone, Henrietta Stokely-Trent launched into a complicated sonata with precision and skill and earned a similar round of applause as well as a smug smile from her father.

Charles put his hand on Ruby’s, where it lay on the arm of her chair. “I would very much like to hear you play, Miss Hollingsford. I warrant you have some skill.”

Whit, too, wondered how Ruby would play. He’d have guessed with a great deal more emotion than Henrietta Stokely-Trent, but Ruby didn’t take advantage of the opportunity Charles had given her to preen.

She pulled her hand out from under his cousin’s. “I have little skill at the spinet,” she replied cheerfully. “And I’m not much of a singer either.”

“It is difficult for those outside Society to excel in the graces,” Lady Wesworth commiserated with a look to her daughter, who had returned to her side.

“Music, literature, poetry,” Mrs. Stokely-Trent agreed with a sigh. “Those are, indeed, the elevated arts.”

Ruby Hollingsford’s look darkened. “Oh, I learned to appreciate poetry. Shall I declaim for you?” She rose, head high, gaze narrowed on the two mothers.

“There once was a baker named Brewer, whose home always smelled like a—”

“Miss Hollingsford,” Whit interrupted, thrusting out his arm. “Will you take a stroll with me on the veranda?”

Everyone else in the room was staring at him. Ruby Hollingsford, the minx, turned her glare on him, yet managed a tight smile. “Surely I shouldn’t deprive your other guests of the pleasure of your company, my lord. Or isn’t that done in polite society? I know so little about it, after all.”

“Your knowledge is quite sufficient for me,” Whit said. “But I fear I must insist.”

He thought for a moment she would refuse, her face was so tight. But she slapped her hand down on his arm, and he opened one of the glass doors out onto the veranda and led her through. Behind him, he heard Charles inviting the others to play whist. Whit shut the door on their answers.

She drew away immediately, going to the edge of the veranda and putting a hand against one of the square wooden pillars that supported the roof. Night had crept over the dale. Above the trees beyond her, a thousand stars pricked out fanciful shapes in the sky. In the darkness, the River Bell called, eager to reach its joining with the Dove a few miles to the west. The cool air touched Whit’s cheek tenderly, leaving behind the vanilla scent of the fragrant orchids that crowded the meadow nearby.

Miss Hollingsford did not seem to appreciate the cool air or the scent. “If you intend to offer a scold,” she said, turning to gaze at him and crossing her arms over the chest of her gray evening gown, “get it over with or save your breath.”

The golden light spilling from the windows behind him outlined her figure, the tense lines and stiff posture. As he had suspected, the careless words a few moments ago had hurt.

“What I intended,” Whit replied, “was to apologize for my other guests. They diminish themselves in my estimation by their behavior.”

She took a deep breath and trained her gaze toward the meadow. “I should be used to it by now.”

She had obviously heard such slurs before. Why was it people felt so compelled to pick at each other? “You should not have to accustom yourself to abuse,” Whit told her.

She snorted. “Try telling that to Lady Wesworth. I’m sure she thinks she’s being edifying.”

“I intend to tell her. I thought it more prudent to speak to you first. One should not reward bad behavior.”

“Yet you rewarded mine.” She dropped her arms. “Forgive my fit of pique, my lord. I’ll try to keep my temper in check. Unless, of course, you’d like me to leave.”

She glanced back at him, brows raised. Even her tone sounded hopeful. She wanted him to send her packing. Having her leave would certainly solve part of his problem—one less woman to placate, two fewer guests to entertain. Yet she seemed the most practical person of the group, and he could not help feeling that, by losing her, he would lose one of his only allies.

“Please stay, Miss Hollingsford,” he said. “At least with you, I can speak plainly with no fear of losing my heart.”

* * *

Ruby ought to take umbrage. Was she such a hag that he could never admire her? So lacking in the social graces she embarrassed him? So beneath him that marriage was unthinkable?

But though she couldn’t see his face with the light shining behind him, she could hear the smile in his voice, feel his pleasure in her company, and she couldn’t be angry. Besides, he was right. It felt as if they were in this together.

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll stay. But you must answer a question for me.”

“Anything,” he assured her, taking a step closer.

Anything. She couldn’t imagine an aristocrat actually meaning that. What if she asked which lady he preferred? What if she asked whether an influx of cash from a dowry such as hers would be welcome in his finances? Somehow, she didn’t think he would answer those questions so easily.

She wasn’t even sure he’d answer the one that plagued her, but she tried anyway. “Why did you invite me? We’ve never met.”

“Likely not,” he agreed. “I’d remember otherwise.”

His tone was warm, admiring. Ruby smiled despite herself. “Well, it appears you know how to compliment a lady, my lord.”

He inclined his head, and she caught a glimpse of his grin. “It takes little imagination to find praise for beauty, Miss Hollingsford.”

She could feel heat creeping up her cheeks as he gazed at her. Did he think her beautiful? She’d had women enough complain about her red hair, as if she’d had any choice in the color. Then there were the men who ogled it, as if it somehow signaled her heart was as fiery. Some of them had learned it was a closer match for her temper.

And what was she doing wondering whether he found her winsome? She had no intention of competing for his hand, and she’d had a purpose in asking him that question.

“The other two ladies will appreciate your compliments even more, I’m sure,” she said, putting a hand back on the solid wood of the pillar to steady her thoughts. “I’d simply like to know why I’m among their number.”

He shook his head, gaze going out to the night as if it held the answer. “Believe me when I say that this house party was not my idea. Someone arranged it with the best of intentions, and I will honor those intentions to the extent I can.”

He was obviously shielding someone. Who would be so audacious as to sign an earl’s name to an invitation that could cause him to choose a bride? A parent came immediately to mind. Certainly her father would not be above such an action. Look at the way he’d manipulated her into coming to Derbyshire!

But Lord Danning had said he was an orphan. The only relative at the house party was Charles Calder. Had he arranged this? After conversing with him, she was even more certain they’d never met, despite her father’s remark. Now Ruby shook her head. Always it came back to her father. Very likely he’d encouraged Charles Calder to invite her. She could hear him now.

She’s a great girl, my daughter. You put in a good word with his lordship, and I’ll give you an excellent price on this diamond. She shuddered.

“Forgive me for keeping you, Miss Hollingsford,” the earl said, clearly thinking she’d shivered from the cool air. “I merely wanted you to know that I appreciate your presence here, and I’ll do all I can to make your time in Derbyshire enjoyable. Establishing a friendship with you and your father might be the best thing that could come of all this.”

A friendship with an earl? Surely such a thing was impossible. Oh, he seemed kind and considerate, his lean body relaxed as he stood there, rimmed in gold. By the tilt of his head, she thought those purple-blue eyes were watching her with kind regard. She steeled herself against them. She’d had warmer looks trained her way, and they’d promised lies. A shame the angler she’d met by the river this afternoon had turned out to be an aristocrat.

“Thank you for the explanation, my lord,” she said, pushing off the pillar and lifting her skirts to start for the door. “We should return to your other guests.”

He did not argue but merely opened the door for her and bowed her in ahead of him.

She thought she might be greeted by a fresh barrage of insults, but the other guests did not seem overly distressed by her and Lord Danning’s absence. Her father, Lady Wesworth and the Stokely-Trent parents had begun playing whist at a table brought in for the purpose, further crowding the withdrawing room. Mr. Calder was seated on the sofa between the other two ladies, and by the blush on Lady Amelia’s fair cheek and the smile on Henrietta Stokely-Trent’s pretty face, he was at least holding his own.