The Wife Campaign

“You have a choice, Miss Hollingsford,” Lord Danning murmured beside her as they paused by the doorway. “Would you prefer to make the fourth in another game of whist, or would you like an excuse to escape?”

Ruby glanced up at him. His look held no censure. He truly was giving her the option to leave all these people behind. The very thought sent such relief through her that she knew her answer.

“You play whist,” she said. “I’ll run. And thank you.”

No one said a word as she slipped from the room.

The air in the corridor was still perfumed with the lingering scent of roast duck as she took the stairs to her room. Peace, blessed peace. No one to impress, no one to start an argument or berate her for simply being born without a silver spoon in her mouth. She filled her lungs and smiled.

And nearly collided with another man at the top of the stairs.

He caught her arms to steady her, then stepped back and lowered his gaze. He was not as tall as Lord Danning, and more slightly built, with hair like the straw that cushioned her father’s larger shipments and movements as quick as a bird’s. His dark jacket and trousers were of the finest material, the best cut. She couldn’t help the feeling that she’d met him before.

“Forgive me, sir,” she said. “I didn’t realize Lord Danning had another guest.”

Keeping his gaze on her slippers, he inclined his head. “I’m no guest, Miss Hollingsford. I’m Quimby, his lordship’s valet. I do hope you enjoy your time at Fern Lodge. I’m certain if you look about, you’ll find something of interest.” With a nod that didn’t raise his gaze to hers, he turned and hurried toward the front bedchamber, shutting the door with a very final click.

Odd fellow. She couldn’t recall meeting a valet before, unless she counted the manservant who assisted her father. But somehow she wouldn’t have thought them quite so subservient. Was Lord Danning such a harsh master? Perhaps she should do as Mr. Quimby suggested and keep her eyes open.

Unfortunately, it was her ears that troubled her that night.

The room she had been given was lovely to look upon, plastered in white with a cream carpet on the dark wood floor and golden hangings on the bed. A shame the designer had not taken similar care in the soundness of the structure. Ruby had just settled beneath the thick covers when she heard voices coming through the wall. Lady Amelia and her mother were evidently situated next door, and by the sound of it, Lady Wesworth was much put out about the fact.

“I have never slept two in a bed in my life,” she complained, so ringingly that the gilt-edged porcelain rattled in the walnut wash stand against Ruby’s wall. “Why can’t one of the others share?”

Lady Amelia must have answered, because there was silence for a moment before Lady Wesworth continued. “And why is she here at all? You cannot tell me Danning covets her fortune. With his seat in Suffolk and the leasehold here in Derby, he has quite enough to suffice.”

Interesting. At least she could cross fortune hunter off the list of potential concerns about Lord Danning. If she had been willing to consider him as a husband, of course.

“Well, I suppose she is pretty,” Lady Wesworth acknowledged to something her daughter had said, “but I doubt she came by that magnificent red naturally.”

Oh! Small wonder the minister preached against listening to gossip. She fingered a strand of her red hair, knowing that she came by it quite naturally.

“Oh, cease your sniveling, young lady,” Lady Wesworth scolded her daughter. “You can still have him. You must exert yourself tomorrow. Find ways to be close to him, and don’t let that Hollingsford chit get in your way.”

That Hollingsford chit reached for one of the feather pillows, thinking to block her ears before she heard any more.

“And he had the affront to advise me to be civil to her. Me! As if I needed to be reminded how to go about in polite society!”

Ruby paused in the act of covering her head. So Lord Danning had kept his promise and spoken to Lady Wesworth about her. His advice didn’t seem to have been taken to heart, but at least he’d tried. Remembering her own manners, she stuffed the pillow over her head and attempted to get some sleep.

In the morning, Ruby was swift to finish dressing in a green striped walking dress and disappear downstairs before she heard another word from her neighbors. She truly felt for Lady Amelia to live with such a termagant.

Ruby’s mother had died when Ruby was a child; she didn’t remember a great deal about her. She’d seen to her own needs until she’d gone to school, where a maid had been provided for her. Since graduating, she’d hired a maid in London, an older woman with an eye for fashion who sadly seemed to care more fervently for Ruby’s wardrobe than her well-being. So she’d never had a woman to fulfill what she’d always thought to be a mother’s role—fussing over her, encouraging her to reach her dreams. Somehow she’d always imagined such a person would be more uplifting than censorious.

If the other guests had heard anything of Lady Wesworth’s complaints, they did not show it. Ruby passed Mr. and Mrs. Stokely-Trent in the corridor, and both nodded civilly to her, making her wonder whether Lord Danning had spoken to them, as well. Charles Calder called to her from the withdrawing room, raising a silver teapot to indicate he had sustenance ready should she wish it. Very likely she’d need it; she could barely make out the lawn beyond the veranda it was raining so hard. But she had no wish to encourage him, so she waved him good-morning and hurried on.

She finally reached the dining room and stayed only long enough to grab an apple from the sideboard, then retreated to a room she’d spotted the previous day—the library. If ever any morning warranted curling up with a good book, it was this morning. Unfortunately, that room, too, was occupied.

Henrietta Stokely-Trent paused in her survey of the crowded walnut bookshelf on the opposite wall. The soft lace at the throat and hem of her white muslin gown was all frivolity. But the arched look she cast Ruby made it seem as if the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, which paneled two of the four walls, and the sturdy leather-bound chairs in the center of the carpet were hers alone.

“Good morning, Miss Hollingsford,” she said, inclining her dark head. “Looking for a novel?”

A novel, according to Miss Pritchett, the literature teacher at the Barnsley School, was considered by some the lowest form of literature. That hadn’t stopped her from sharing tales of the Scottish Highlands with her students, each book full of romance and adventure. But not all women were as open-minded as Miss Pritchett, and Ruby knew the offer of a novel was this young lady’s way of implying Ruby lacked the intelligence to read anything more challenging.

“Perhaps a novel,” Ruby replied, refusing to encourage her. She trailed a finger of her free hand along the edge of the spines nearest the door. “Or a Shakespearean play and some of Wordsworth’s poetry.”

“So you do know more than common rhymes,” the bluestocking surmised, watching her.

Ruby smiled. “I pick the poem to suit the audience.”

“Then you very likely chose well,” she said, to Ruby’s surprise. She moved to join Ruby. “I must apologize for the behavior of my family, Miss Hollingsford. Between our social connections and financial blessing, we tend to overestimate our own worth.”

Her gray eyes were serious, so Ruby decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “The actual estimate, I suspect, is impressive enough.”

“But lording it over others is hardly fitting,” Henrietta countered. Then she leaned closer and lowered her voice, as if suspecting someone might come upon them at any moment. “Still, I must know. What do you make of all this?”

Ruby glanced around the library, thinking it only polite to pretend to misunderstand. “It seems a fine space to me, although if it often rains so hard here a bit more light would be warranted.”

The bluestocking’s lips twitched, but whether from annoyance or amusement, Ruby wasn’t certain. Unlike her calculated movements, her face was soft, pampered.

“I suspect you know I was looking for a different sort of enlightenment,” she said. “You were the only one to manage a private word with the earl last night. Is he truly intent on courting?”

Ruby refused to lie, but neither did she feel comfortable confiding last night’s conversation with Lord Danning. He had intimated she was the only one he truly trusted, if for no other reason than because she had made it plain she did not plan to participate in this business of choosing a bride.

“You would have to ask him,” she replied, edging away from the woman, gaze on the line of shelves.

“And what of you?” the bluestocking pressed, following her. “You do not seem to be trying to impress him. By your own admission, you are not well-known to him. Exactly why are you here, Miss Hollingsford?”

Ruby set her apple on a shelf, yanked out a book and flipped to a random page. Better that than to tell the woman to mind her own affairs. “I was invited to a house party,” she said, gaze on the precise lettering going down the page, more design than words. “I have no interest in courting.”

“That seems odd for a lady our ages,” Henrietta replied. “Are we not told that marriage is the sum of which we might attain?”

Was Ruby mad to hear bitterness behind the words? “Marriage is often needed for money or prestige. I have plenty of the former and have no interest in the latter.”

“And love?” Henrietta pressed. “Have you no use for it either?”

Ruby closed the book and set it back on the shelf. “I honestly don’t believe the love written about in all these tomes even exists.”

Out of the corners of her eyes she saw Henrietta frown. “And your father is amenable to supporting you throughout your life?”

“He will grow accustomed to the idea,” Ruby replied with a fervent wish she was right.

“Then you are more fortunate than most, Miss Hollingsford.” She turned toward the door, and Ruby felt her stiffen. “Oh, good morning. I didn’t know you were there, my lord.”

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