Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

A ndrew forced a smile. "Do you argue with my reading preferences?" He held out his hand for the book. "As a lad, I always wanted to take to the sea."

He and Beecham had heard the vicar's arrival. The voice that met them in the hall was like a scratch on metal. He knew this type of woman. He had hired a governess like her—once. An embittered old spinster. He'd fired her the first day when he heard her tell Phoebe that a lady should never appear too sunny. Unfortunately, one couldn't fire a guest.

"Oh." Miss Langston's eyes grew wide at his declaration.

Lady Henney made the introductions and reacquainted them with Lord Beecham. "I'm sure your guests are in need of a rest before tea," she said to Lady Annette.

"Of course, I'll show you to your rooms." Lady Annette ascended the steps, the couple behind her. The vicar's sister mumbled something about high and instep and so many stairs . She was quite out of breath by the time they stopped at a blue door just past his own room. Wonderful.

"You will be in the blue room, Mr. Langston." Lady Annette turned to his sister. "And across the hall is your room."

"The yellow door?"

"We call it primrose."

He grinned, watching Lady Annette take in a deep breath.

"How clever. Colored doors," she sniffed. "At least it's not green. I hate green."

Demmed woman had only been in residence a quarter of an hour and was already a thorn in everyone's side. He wouldn't allow Miss Langston to bully this lovely creature.

"Yet it would be the most beneficial color for you, ma'am. It represents calm, known to soothe anxiety. It's also in the middle of the color spectrum and provides balance." He needed to give his valet a bonus later.

Lady Annette jerked her head around, her eyes wide as she realized he'd followed them. Her lips pressed together in a tight line. She was trying not to laugh. He wasn't the host, so he grinned back at her. She scowled, a pitiful attempt to scold him since she was still holding back a laugh. "I didn't realize colors could be educational and so important to our wellbeing."

A footman arrived with a trunk. "Where does this go, my lady?" he asked Lady Annette. She looked at the vicar with a raised brow.

Mr. Langston shrugged, uncertain. "It's both of ours, actually. My sister felt it unnecessary to bring two for such a short stay. Please"—he motioned to the servant—"bring it into the…" He cast a nervous glance at Annette, then his sister. "Put it in the yellow room. Once she's finished unpacking, I'll fetch the trunk myself."

"No need, sir. Just yank the bellpull, and I'll get it for you."

Annette opened the primrose door, and the footman followed both women into the room. This interaction had informed Andrew that sister and brother resided under the same roof. Lady Annette would wither away like a flower in frost if she were exposed to that mean-spirited woman day in and day out. Or become her.

Not if he had a say in the matter. Andrew decided the character of the vicar made no difference if his sister would be living with them. This suitor was already being crossed off his list.

At least when Miss Langston surveyed the room, she found nothing to complain about. When Lady Annette returned to the hall, he had already shown the vicar his quarters. After both guests had closed the doors, he held out his arm, indicating he'd follow her.

"Thank you," she whispered as they descended to the drawing room.

"The eye of your storm," he whispered in her ear. "Just come to the center whenever you need me."

She nodded.

"When do they leave?" he asked. "After dinner?"

"Perhaps she's just tired, and her mood will improve after a rest."

"Your tone is sarcastic." He could smell the jasmine in her hair.

"You are quite a perceptive man." Again with the humorous sarcasm. He enjoyed her wit.

Andrew studied her long, graceful neck as she moved down the stairs. A few dark curls fell against it, moving as she did. He wanted to reach out and touch one, to see if her hair felt as satiny as it looked. Another mystery of life, Drew, he told himself. For he knew he should never touch her. This morning had been instinct, acting as if he were a green boy instead of a mature man almost her father's age.

They entered the drawing room to find Lady Henney and Beecham in a heated discussion. "Just give the man a chance. We can't hold his sister against him."

"Horsefeathers! If she pulls him around by the bull's ring, then Nettie will forever be in her shadow. Did you see the footman only bring up one trunk? She is lady of the house, and I doubt she has any intention of changing—" Lady Henney saw them at the door and rearranged her face into a smile. "Are they all settled, then?"

"Yes. And I don't think we should jump to conclusions. Perhaps Miss Langston doesn't travel well. Remember how William would get nauseated every time he rode in the carriage? Didn't we bring his pony along sometimes when he needed fresh air?"

"Yes," said Beecham, "but he was young and outgrew it. She's an adult."

"If my opinion counts," added Andrew, "I side with Lady Henney."

"Of course it does." Beecham pulled at his cravat and gave his fiancée a side-glance. "We must stick to the plan, though, and let Nettie decide."

"Thank you, Papa." Lady Annette plopped down onto a wingback chair.

"Who arrives tomorrow?" asked Andrew. There had to be better choices than this namby-pamby.

Lady Henney tapped her chin. "Lucius is accompanying the next two gentlemen. Mr. Fitzjames, fourth son of Viscount Fitzjames, is heavily invested in textiles but does not own property outside his London rowhouse. Which makes the dowry appealing but not necessary, though Nettie would not enjoy moving to Town if he chose to remain."

Andrew noted the grimace on Lady Annette's face.

"Mr. Hawkesbury has just sold his commission and is returning to civilian life. It seems he acquired an interest in politics while serving and may pursue in that direction. Not ideal, but Nettie does have a keen mind and could engage him in some stimulating debate." Lady Henney smiled at Lady Annette. "She has so many talents."

This elicited a snort from the subject. "Resourceful would be a better word."

"A talent that comes in handy more than you may realize." Andrew didn't mind humor, but he wouldn't allow this woman to belittle herself. "Time in the army taught me that. Resourcefulness can save lives."

The smile he received for his words warmed him. Here was a wonderful woman who had been scorned for a ridiculous reason. He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her that all men weren't idiots. She'd look at you like some old lecher. No, he'd stay with the kindly father persona and help her the best he could.

* * *

"Shall we retire to the drawing room, ladies?" asked Lady Annette after they'd finished dinner.

She'd changed into a flowing silk dress, a carmelite shade that matched her dark hair and made her eyes seem brighter, more of a sea green. Her thick tresses were pulled back in a tight bun, softened by the curls along her cheeks. Andrew realized she'd dressed for her guests, showing she could be a vicar's wife with the muted colors and hairstyle.

Mr. Langston had taken notice. He engaged Lady Annette in conversation, asking about her good deeds in the village. His face wore an almost happy expression, the nervousness fading as he drank the fine French wine. And with each glass, he noted his sister's scowl deepened. Andrew felt an inkling of respect for the man when he continued to ignore the viper. "Gentlemen, what if we forego the brandy and join the ladies?" asked the vicar, smiling benevolently at Lady Annette.

"I don't think—" began Miss Langston.

"Wonderful idea," interrupted Alice. "No reason to be so formal for such a small gathering."

Andrew wanted to laugh when Miss Langston huffed herself out of the chair and moved sullenly to the drawing room. He wondered if she'd planned to harass, er, question Lady Annette, and the vicar had foiled her plans. Good .

Once the men had their brandy and tea had been ordered for the ladies, Beecham made a suggestion. "I'm quite full from that delicious dinner. How about a game of Courtiers so we can move a bit?"

Andrew wondered what Miss Langston would do if he chucked her under the chin to rid her of that frown. He'd noticed her apparent disapproval when her brother had accepted a glass of brandy. The man was getting foxed. It definitely improved his personality.

"Splendid idea," exclaimed Mr. Langston. "I'll be the first king, but does anyone mind if I don't sit?" No one dissented, so the men set down their glasses, and everyone stood in the middle of the room, facing the vicar, who began with a brisk march. The others joined him, knees going up and arms pumping. As no one laughed, he began the next movement, bending over and swinging his arms back and forth like an ape.

Lady Henney giggled, ending the game and sending her to the middle as the next monarch. She put her thumb to her nose and wagged the rest of her hand at the others, who repeated the action. When the viscountess pushed her backside out and wiggled it, Lady Annette broke into loud laughter, causing Miss Langston to gasp. Andrew wasn't sure if it was the unladylike guffaw or not wanting to wiggle her bum.

Andrew, on the other hand, was next to Lady Annette and was delighted with the movement. The viscountess resumed her place next to Beecham, who promptly kissed her cheek with a grin. "Thank you for the lovely view, my dear," Andrew heard him whisper into the lady's ear.

He was sorry to see Lady Annette move to the center of the room. When she took her place as the next queen, Andrew felt a distinct emptiness beside him. He'd wanted to grab her hand and pull her back. It was foolhardy, for he barely knew her. Yet there was some bond, some invisible tie that pulled at him, kept him near to her.

The dark-haired beauty pulled up her gloves, thinking of what to do. Then she fisted one hand, raised it above her head, and swung her arm toward the group. Disaster followed. Everyone but the vicar repeated the motion. Mr. Langston, however, shrank back and put his arms in front of his face, as if someone were trying to strike him. He looked around, his face turning red, and offered a sheepish smile as everyone stared at him.

"It was just that my sister told me…" He trailed off, but the damage was done. His sister glared at him, mumbling something about a long-tongued cad.

Andrew watched Lady Annette's face crumble, blinking furiously. She was valiantly forcing back tears, and his ire roared. "You worry that a woman, in the middle of a game, might plant a facer on you?" he asked incredulously. "You are not man enough to court a woman of Lady Annette's stature. Apologize at once or you'll answer to me."

"And me," added the earl.

"I only… perhaps the wine…" Mr. Langston tripped over his words. "I am truly sorry, Lady Annette. Perhaps I should retire for the evening."

"Yes," agreed Beecham. "That would be best."

At that point, Lady Annette began to laugh. A laugh so hearty, she was soon wiping tears from her cheeks. She bent, her arms around her waist, shaking her head until a few rogue curls fell from the chignon.

"She is not fit to be a vicar's wife. I knew this was a fool's errand," shrieked Miss Langston. "If it wasn't for the dowry, I would never have allowed my brother to come."

"Dearest," pleaded the vicar, "don't insult our host."

She turned on her brother with vehemence. "I told you to avoid the liquor tonight, so you wouldn't act like a buffoon. See what you've done?"

"I believe it would be best for all to retire. A good night's rest will give us a fresh outlook in the morning." Lady Henney took charge of the situation as efficiently as any officer in battle, beckoning to her fiancé to follow. She got behind the Langstons and corralled them toward the door. "I'll have some warm milk sent to your rooms to help you sleep. Perhaps some biscuits too. Tomorrow we'll all have a fresh start."

"Yes, ma'am." The vicar sounded like a small boy who had been reprimanded.

Andrew tried without success to keep the sneer from his face. He looked over his shoulder at Lady Annette, now sitting with her head in her hands.