Regency Historical - Love And The Single Heiress Part 5

alight, thus ending the conversation. It was just as well since Andrew suspected any further comment on his part might have led to another argument. "Arguments are not conducive to successful courting," he muttered.

"What did you say, Mr. Stanton?" Poised in the carriage door, her hand resting upon the footman's, Lady Catherine looked at Andrew over her shoulder with a questioning gaze.

"Er, that I'm, ah, effusive at the prospect of, um, cavorting." Good G.o.d, he sounded like an a.s.s. Also not conducive to successful courting.

"Cavorting?"

"Yes. In the therapeutic warm waters." He prayed his skin didn't go pale just saying the words.

"Ah." Her expression cleared, but still bore remnants that hinted she hadn't entirely abandoned the notion that he might be a bit of a dolt.

Also not conducive to successful courting.

After exiting the carriage, Andrew took a moment to look about while Lady Catherine directed the footman regarding their luggage. The drive was shaded by ma.s.sive elms, sunlight spotting the gravel as it broke through the canopy of leaves. He pulled in a deep breath. The scents of late summer filled his head with a pleasing mixture redolent of gra.s.s and sun-warmed earth, and a pungent hint of hay that indicated stables nearby. Closing his eyes, he allowed an image to flicker to life, a glimmer of long ago when he'd enjoyed life in a place similar to this. Yet, as always when he permitted himself a glimpse into the past, the darkness quickly shrouded those fleeting happy memories, blanketing them with the shadow of guilt and shame. Of loss, regret, and self-condemnation. He opened his eyes and blinked away his previous life. It was dead and gone. Literally.

He turned and stilled when he noted Lady Catherine watching him with a questioning look. "Are you all right?" she asked.

As he had countless times before, he settled his painful memories and guilt deep in his heart, where they could not be seen, and showed an outward smile. "I'm fine. Just enjoying being outdoors after that long journey. And looking forward to seeing your son."

"I'm certain you won't have long to wait." As if on cue, the double oak doors leading into the house swung open, revealing a young man casually dressed in fawn breeches and a plain white s.h.i.+rt. He smiled and waved, calling out, "Welcome home, Mum!"

Spencer awkwardly made his way forward and Andrew's gaze was drawn to the boy's club foot. His heart pinched in sympathy for what the lad must suffer on a daily basis, not only from the physical discomfort, but the inner pain of being viewed as different. Flawed. His jaw tightened, knowing that a big part of the reason Lady Catherine and Spencer lived in Little Longstone was because of the cruelty and rejection the boy had experienced in London. Andrew well recalled the awkwardness of that age, nearly twelve years old, teetering on the brink of manhood. It had been difficult enough without the added burden of an infirmity.

Spencer was met midway down the path by his mother, who enveloped him in a hug which the boy returned with unabashed enthusiasm. A wave of something that felt like envy rippled through Andrew at the warm display of affection. He had no memory of what it was to be wrapped in a mother's embrace, as his own mother had died bringing him into the world. Spencer was nearly as tall as his mother, Andrew noted, and the lad appeared surprisingly broad-shouldered, while his gangly arms indicated he still had a lot of growing to do. He bore a striking resemblance to Lady Catherine, having inherited her chestnut hair and golden brown eyes.

Mother and son drew apart, and with a laugh Lady Catherine reached up-with her uninjured arm, Andrew noted-and ruffled Spencer's thick hair. "You're still damp," she said. "How was your visit to the springs?"

"Excellent." He frowned and leaned closer. "What happened to your lip?"

"I accidentally bit it. Nothing to worry about."

The frown cleared. "How was Grandfather's birthday party?"

"It was... eventful. And I've brought the most wonderful surprise." She nodded toward the rear of the

carriage, where Andrew stood. Spencer's gaze s.h.i.+fted, and when he caught sight of Andrew, his eyes widened. "I say, is that you, Mr. Stanton?"

"Yes." Andrew joined the duo and held out his hand to the young man. "Very nice to see you again, Spencer." "Likewise." "Mr. Stanton kindly consented to escort me home, and has agreed to remain on for a visit. He's promised to regale us with stories of his adventures with your uncle Philip." Spencer's smile widened. "Excellent. I want to hear how you outsmarted the brigands who locked you in the dungeon. I couldn't pry the story from Uncle Philip." Lady Catherine raised her brows. "Brigands? Dungeon? I've not heard of this. I thought you and Philip spent your time unearthing artifacts." "We did," Andrew a.s.sured her. "However, as your brother possessed an uncanny penchant for landing in sc.r.a.pes, I was forced to perform several rescues." Mischief gleamed in her eyes. "I see. And you, Mr. Stanton-did you never find yourself in need of rescuing?" Andrew did his best to look innocent and pointed to the center of his chest. "Me? I, who epitomizes the model of decorum-?" "There was that time Uncle Philip helped you escape those machete-wielding cutthroats," Spencer broke in, his voice ringing with animation. "Fought them off using nothing but his cane and quick wits.

They were after you because you'd kissed the one blackguard's daughter."

"A great exaggeration," Andrew said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Your uncle Philip is notorious

for hyperbole."

Lady Catherine's lips twitched. "Indeed? Then what is the true story, Mr. Stanton? Did you not kiss the blackguard's daughter?"

d.a.m.n. How did every conversation with her of late veer down these disastrous paths? "It was more like

a friendly good-bye peck. Completely innocent." No need to mention that the two hours prior to that friendly, goodbye peck were anything but innocent. "Her father unfortunately objected-rather strenuously, I'm afraid." He shrugged and smiled. "Just when it appeared I was about to become a human pincus.h.i.+on, a stranger strode into the fray, bold as you please, brandis.h.i.+ng his cane and shouting out in some foreign language. In truth, I thought he was insane, but he quite saved the day. Turned out to be our very own Philip, and we've been friends since that day."

"What on earth did he say to them?" Lady Catherine asked.

"I don't know. He refused to tell me, claiming it was his little secret. To this day I do not know."

"Which means he must have said something absolutely heinous about you," Spencer said with a grin.

"No doubt," Andrew agreed, laughing.

"Well, Spencer and I shall look forward to hearing more about your travels during your stay, Mr. Stanton. Shall we get you settled?" She held out her uninjured arm to Spencer. They started up the walkway, and Andrew fell in behind them. He noted how firm she kept her arm, enabling her to bear a great deal of Spencer's weight as he limped down the path. Admiration for her-for both of them-hit him. He knew the emotional burdens she bore, yet she did so with humor and dignity, her love for her son s.h.i.+ning like a warm glow of suns.h.i.+ne. And Spencer, in spite of the physical difficulties he faced, was obviously an amiable and intelligent young man who openly returned his mother's affection. Most certainly a lad any man would be proud to call his son. Andrew's hands clenched thinking of the boy's father rejecting him so cruelly.

They pa.s.sed over the threshold, stepping into a s.p.a.cious, parquet-floored foyer. A round mahogany table stood in the middle of the floor, its s.h.i.+ny surface bearing an enormous arrangement of fresh-cut flowers set in a porcelain vase. The bloom's fragrance filled the air, combined with the pleasant scent of beeswax. Peering beyond the foyer, he noted the wide, curved staircase leading upward, and corridors fanning out to the left and right. Several long tables decorated the corridors, all adorned with vases filled with cut flowers.

A formally attired, slightly built butler stood by the door like a sentinel, his spectacles riding low on his beaklike nose.

"Welcome home, Lady Catherine," the butler said in a voice far too deep and sonorous to come out of a man of such slight proportions. Indeed, it looked as if a stiff wind would knock the man on his posterior.

"Thank you, Milton." While handing him her bonnet and shawl, she said, "This is Mr. Stanton, my brother's business partner and a dear friend of the family. He'll be staying for several days. I've instructed that his things be taken to the blue guest chamber."

Milton bowed his head. "I shall see that the room is readied at once."

Spencer nodded toward the mahogany table. "Did you see your newest flowers, Mum?"

Andrew noted the slight flush that crept up her cheeks. "They are rather difficult to miss."

Spencer made a disgusted sound. "That one isn't nearly as large as the arrangement in the drawing room. They're turning our house into an indoor garden! Why can't they leave you alone?" He turned toward Andrew, clearly seeking an ally. "Don't you think they should leave her alone?"

"They?"

"The suitors. Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth. The Duke of Kelby. Lord Kingsly. Then there's Lord Bedingfield, who recently purchased the estate bordering ours to the west. Between them, they send enough flowers to make one feel as if one is living in a botanical prison."

Spencer made a disgusted sound. "I feel as if I'm choking on flowers. Don't you think they should stop?"

h.e.l.l, yes. Andrew forced himself not to shoot the floral tribute a sizzling glare. Before he could answer, Lady Catherine, whose blush had deepened to rose, said, "Spencer, that is very discourteous. Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth and the others are merely being polite."

Andrew swallowed the irritated humph that rose in his throat. Polite? Hardly. He had to bite his tongue to refrain from announcing that a man didn't send a woman enough flowers to sink a frigate just to be polite.

"Shall I arrange for tea?" Milton asked, wading into the awkward silence.

"Yes, thank you, but just for two. In the drawing room." She turned to Andrew. "I'll see you settled in, but then I'm afraid I have a previous appointment." She touched Spencer's sleeve. "Will you entertain Mr. Stanton while I'm gone?"

"Yes. Is your appointment with Mrs. Ralston, or with Dr. Oliver?"

"Doctor?" Andrew asked, his gaze jumping to Lady Catherine. "Are you ill?"

"No," Lady Catherine said quickly. "My appointment is with Mrs. Ralston."

Spencer turned to Andrew. "Mrs. Ralston is my mother's greatest friend. Unless the weather is foul, Mum walks to her house every day to visit and help her."

"Help her?" asked Andrew.

Spencer nodded. "Mrs. Ralston has arthritis in her hands. Mum writes letters for her and tends her flower beds."

Andrew smiled at Lady Catherine. "Very kind of you."

She appeared to blush. "Genevieve is a very dear lady."

"And fortunate to have such a staunch friend." Andrew returned his attention to Spencer. "And who is Dr. Oliver?" he asked casually.

"Another suitor, although he's quite nice, and isn't wealthy enough to send these gargantuan bouquets. No, the doctor merely gazes upon Mum with mooning eyes." Spencer proceeded to demonstrate "mooning eyes" by adopting a simpering expression and fluttering his lashes.

If any other woman besides Lady Catherine were involved, Andrew would have found the boy's antics highly entertaining. Instead, he grimly noted that Lady Catherine's cheeks flamed to crimson. He clearly recalled Philip mentioning that one of Lady Catherine's admirers was a village doctor. Based on her reaction, he strongly suspected this was the man. "What nonsense, Spencer," she said. "Dr. Oliver makes no such faces and is merely a friend." "Who stops by every day." "Not every day. And besides, he is only being polite." "It would appear that there is an abundance of polite gentlemen in Little Longstone," Andrew said dryly.

Spencer looked toward the ceiling. "Yes. And they're all intent upon courting my mother."

"It cannot be considered courting if I do not respond," Lady Catherine said in a firm voice. "Their interest will cease once they realize I am not interested."

Andrew cleared his throat. "Based on these"-he waved his hand, encompa.s.sing the trio of floral

arrangements visible-"they have not yet realized that."

"Lord Bedingfield now knows," Spencer said. "I told him myself when he called upon you yesterday afternoon."

"What on earth did you say to him?" Lady Catherine asked.

"I said, 'My mother is not interested in you.' "

A noise that sounded distinctly like a poorly smothered laugh emitted from Lady Catherine, followed by

a cough. Andrew bit back a smile of his own. Spencer was indeed a good lad.

"And what did Lord Bedingfield say?" Catherine asked.

Spencer hesitated, then shrugged. "Just something about children being seen and not heard."

Milton cleared his throat. "Actually, his lords.h.i.+p said something extremely unpleasant which does not

bear repeating, at which time I instructed him to leave before I set the dogs upon him."

Andrew's jaw clenched at the realization that Lord Bedingfield had clearly said something unkind to

Spencer.

"We don't have any dogs," Lady Catherine said.

"I did not feel it was necessary to point that out to his lords.h.i.+p, my lady."

Although there was hurt in his eyes, a smile flirted around the edges of Spencer's mouth. "Where upon

Lord Bedingfield departed, only to trip as he crossed the threshold-"

"-My foot somehow got in his way," Milton said with a stoic expression. "Most unfortunate."

"I'd never before seen the shade of red he turned," Spencer said, his grin now full. "Can't imagine how

angry he would have been if he'd known we don't actually have any dogs."

"Yes, I fear his lords.h.i.+p won't be coming back," Milton said with a perfectly straight face. "A thousand apologies for my clumsiness, Lady Catherine."

"I shall endeavor, somehow, to find forgiveness in my heart," she replied in an equally serious voice. She then turned and shot her son a huge wink.

Well, that was one suitor gone, Andrew thought with an inward grim smile. Unfortunately, there were still quite a few more who needed to go.

While her coachman remained with the carriage, Catherine entered Ralston cottage's modest foyer.

"Good afternoon, Baxter," she greeted Genevieve's imposing butler, tilting back her head to meet his obsidian gaze. "Is Mrs. Ralston at home?"

"The mistress is always at home for you, Lady Catherine," Baxter announced in his deep, gravelly voice. Relieved, Catherine surrendered her velvet bonnet and cashmere shawl to Baxter's ham-sized hands.

No matter how many times she saw him, Baxter's sheer height and breadth never ceased to amaze Catherine. He stood at least six inches over six feet, and his impressive muscles strained the confines of his formal black attire. His proportions, combined with his bald head, not to mention the tiny gold hoops adorning his earlobes, or the fact that he tended to answer questions with a monosyllabic growl, lent him a most intimidating air. Certainly no one encountering Baxter would ever suspect that he loved flowers, clucked over Genevieve's brood of cats like a mother hen, and baked the most delicious scones Catherine had ever tasted. He guarded Genevieve and her menagerie as if they were the crown jewels, and referred to Genevieve as "the one wot saved me."

Catherine knew they'd known each other in Genevieve's "former" life-the one she'd lived before settling in Little Longstone, and she was thankful Genevieve had a strong friend to help her. And protect her. Baxter's hands alone looked as if they could pulverize rock, and, according to Genevieve, they had on more than one occasion. Catherine prayed they would not need to know such violence again.