Chapter Four

S ince meeting Morwenna on the committee of a naval charity in Portsmouth, Sally had stayed several times at Shelton Abbey, Lord West’s beautiful estate in the Leicestershire countryside. In recent years, her friendship with Morwenna had expanded to encompass all the Nashes and their circle. She loved each of them, especially the original Dashing Widows, Silas’s wife Caroline, gentle Fenella, and sardonic, brilliant Helena, her hostess this week.

When Helena invited Sally and Meg to stay as a brief respite from the whirl of the season, she’d been quick to accept. Even more delightful, Helena included Meg’s suitor, Sir Charles Kinglake in the party.

Perhaps in a smaller, intimate gathering away from London’s distractions, he’d finally offer for her niece. He must have courtship in mind, or else why accept the invitation? While he got along well with Helena and West – she’d observed he got along well with most people – they weren’t particularly close.

Sally had approached the house party, anticipating both her own enjoyment and a happy outcome for Meg and her beau.

But so far, four days into the visit, Shelton Abbey’s charms had failed to work their usual magic on her spirits. Sally felt discontented and unsettled. And the worst of it was that she wasn’t sure why.

Oh, the causes behind some of her grumbles were obvious. Sir Charles hadn’t yet proposed. Even if he did, he’d need to seek Meg in the stables, because the girl had devoted much more attention to Lord West’s thoroughbreds than to her future husband.

Sally hadn’t been sleeping well, and when she did sleep, odd dreams tormented her. Shaking and breathless, she’d open her eyes to darkness, with vague memories of running down endless corridors in search of something she never found. Last night, Caro had commented on her uncharacteristic distraction.

Now she sat on a red lacquer bench in the charming Chinese pavilion, trying to puzzle out the source of her fretfulness, a fretfulness that had started with Amy’s wedding nearly a fortnight ago.

Mercifully she was alone. The rest of the party, including eight energetic children, had taken an excursion to a local beauty spot. But she’d cried off, saying she had letters to write. This urge for her own company wasn’t her usual style either.

Generally she was an even-tempered creature, willing to make the best of circumstances. Through charity work, she’d even managed to find some purpose through the endless years of her marriage. She was someone who held her head high through any storm.

Except now there was no storm, and she had no real troubles. Yet yesterday, when she’d broken a vase in her room, she’d burst into tears like a hysterical girl.

“So you dodged the trip to the castle ruins with the children, too?”

The deep voice startled her, made every nerve tighten. Sally straightened and surreptitiously wiped away the few tears she’d shed, watching the late afternoon light over the lovely rose garden before her.

For a sensible, equable lady past first youth, she was acting more like a dizzy adolescent than Meg ever did. Even as a girl, she couldn’t remember crying over a sunset like a sappy heroine in a Minerva Press novel.

“Sir Charles, you caught me unawares.” As she cursed the husky edge to her voice, she tried to read his expression. But even in the wilds of Leicestershire, Sir Charles Kinglake’s perfect urbanity remained impenetrable.

She felt the familiar surge of admiration at the sight of him. He was casually dressed in a bottle green coat and buff breeches. The faint breeze ruffled his thick brown hair where the long rays of light discovered rich russet highlights.

He didn’t look like the elegant London gentleman who had escorted Meg and her chaperone to balls and the theatre. He looked in his element, as if the country suited him.

She must still be suffering the aftereffects of his unexpected appearance. Her heart was racing so fast that her breath caught.

“I’m sorry.” That very nice smile appeared, as did the charming dimples. “I’ve been here a few minutes, but you were so lost to your thoughts, you didn’t notice.”

Damn and blast. Had he seen her crying?

She plastered a bright expression on her face. “I was thinking how lovely it is here.”

“It is indeed.” Those attractive laughter lines deepened around his eyes. “Although anything that doesn’t involve four legs, a tail and a whinny looks good to me at the moment.”

She mustered a laugh at his disgusted tone, but her inexplicable edginess lingered.

Not that she could blame him for tiring of the company. So far, the talk had been very …equine.

Meg and Brand and Carey directed discussion toward horsey matters at any opportunity – and given Helena and West bred the best horses in England, opportunities had been numerous. Silas and Caro made some attempt to shift the focus, but with little success.

If Fenella were here, Sally would owe her an apology. It had been a complete waste of time, trying to hide Meg’s monomania from Sir Charles.

“Don’t you like horses?” she asked curiously.

Norwood had considered himself a great expert on horses. Actually Norwood had considered himself a great expert on everything under God’s heaven. The thought of her late, unlamented husband reminded her how much she liked Sir Charles, who spoke to her as if she had a brain between her ears.

Sir Charles ambled across to sit beside her and stretch his long, booted legs out across the tiles with their red and white chinoiserie design. That inexplicable catch in her breath was back. If the evening had been cold, she might understand it. But it was perfect weather for late spring.

He sighed. “Not for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

“Has it been very dull for you?” Without thinking, she placed her hand on his. At the contact, a strange frisson tingled along her arm.

All her earlier awkwardness rushed back, and she snatched her hand away to set it trembling in her lap. She really was acting like an idiot. Perhaps when she returned to London, she should consult her doctor.

Sir Charles surveyed her thoughtfully. “There have been some compensations.”

Ridiculously Sally found herself blushing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed. Before her marriage surely.

She hurried into speech. “I promise you that Meg does talk about other things. I think she’s just so excited to see all these champions in one place.”

To her relief, Sir Charles shifted that enigmatic brown gaze from her to the gardens. Sally immediately sucked in a deep breath to feed her starved lungs. For some reason, she’d felt quite lightheaded when he stared into her eyes.

“There’s no doubt she’s happy.”

“Ecstatic,” Sally said drily. No point pretending anything different, she admitted. At least Sir Charles didn’t sound particularly put out to run a distant second to West’s most recent Derby winner in the girl’s estimation. “Have you managed to ferret out West’s art collection? You said you were looking forward to seeing it.”

“I visited the pictures in the long gallery the day after I arrived, although they deserve a second look. Have you seen them?”

His good-humored interest should put her at ease. But her heart still skipped around like a grasshopper, and she felt unaccountably nervy in his presence.

“Not recently. I must admit when I come to Shelton Abbey, I spend most of my time gossiping with Helena and her friends. We all live so far apart. It’s nice to have a chance to talk fashion and scandal and family news.” She made an apologetic gesture. “You’ll think I’m hopelessly frivolous.”

This visit, she’d avoided those cozy chats. She didn’t want to face questions about this restless mood she was in – and she knew both Helena and Caro had noticed that she wasn’t her cheerful, chatty self.

When he smiled, the kindness in his eyes made her think yet again what a nice man he was. “As long as you aren’t gossiping about horses, I have no criticism.”

It was her turn to laugh, surprised that it came out quite easily. “Meg and the boys have added a different flavor to the visit.”

“A whiff of hay and harnesses?”

“Exactly.”

He stood and presented his arm. “Would you like to go inside and wander through the West collection with me? We have the manor to ourselves – no children playing blind man’s buff in the gallery, no horse-mad youth, desperate to discuss fetlocks and snaffle bits.”

Over the weeks she’d known Sir Charles, they’d spent many enjoyable hours touring London’s galleries, public and private. Meg had accompanied them good naturedly, but without showing much interest in the art.

Lord Norwood had been a sporting gentleman who scorned his wife’s cultivated tastes. Sally had loved talking to someone intelligent and well informed, who shared her love of beautiful things. In truth, Sir Charles was much more well informed than she was. And unlike many of the ton’s connoisseurs, he didn’t speak down to her as a mere woman. His genuine interest in her opinions had helped her confidence to blossom.

“I rather think I would.” She smiled up at him and rose to accept his arm. That odd little shiver rippled through her again, but this time she ignored it. The reaction must just be one more symptom of her recent distraction.

* * *

The next day, the weather changed for the worse, and everyone was confined inside, much to the chagrin of the horsier members of the party. In the afternoon, most of the guests played cards, or wrote letters, or joined in a riotous game of skittles with the children in the long gallery.

Charles had sought refuge in West’s library – as he’d predicted, well-stocked with books about horses. Now he stood at the window, watching the pouring rain and wondering where Sally was. Since their tour of the long gallery, she’d proven elusive. She wasn’t with the others. He’d hoped he might find her in here, but the room was empty.

These last days, she wasn’t acting like herself, and he was worried that it boded ill for his courtship. When he’d discovered her in the rose garden, she’d seemed unusually self-conscious and ill at ease.

For once, they’d been gloriously alone. Ah, if only she’d accept his advances, the setting had been perfect for romance. But some instinct had stopped him from kissing her. With every day, it became more difficult to hide his hunger, but he’d managed to resist temptation. Barely.

Sally moved through the world sheltered behind an oddly unbreakable shell of isolation. One might almost imagine she was a beautiful painting herself, and not warm, human flesh, ripe for a man’s touch.

If she hadn’t been married nearly ten years, Charles would almost call her lack of awareness innocence.

“Is this where you’re hiding, old man?” Silas Nash, Lord Stone, strode through the door with his usual energy, leaving it ajar behind him. Beneath the thatch of light brown hair, his features were alight with humor and intelligence.

Charles turned, grateful that someone interrupted his brooding. He liked Stone. He liked all the Nashes and their connections. And he positively envied Stone’s marriage to vivid, lovely Caroline. Eight years and four children had done nothing to cool the heat between them.

The nurseries upstairs were packed with the next generation of Nashes and Granges. Stone and Caro had brought their children, as well as Morwenna’s four-year-old daughter Kerenza, to Shelton Abbey to play with their three cousins.

“I came for a book.” And to track down one lovely Dashing Widow.

Stone joined him at the window and stared out at the gray landscape. “And to escape the horsey set, I’ll wager.”

Charles’s smile was wry. “That, too.”

“Nash offspring are flung onto their first pony before they can walk. But I must say even I have reached the limit of my interest in thoroughbred antecedents. Meg and West and the boys had gone back as far as the Byerley Turk, when I left the morning room in search of more sensible conversation.”

“I hope you’ve found it,” Charles said with a smile. “What are you working on at the moment?”

“A dwarf version of Caro’s tree for people who don’t have room for a bloody great orchard.” The “Caroline Nash” cherry tree he released a few years after his marriage had caused a sensation in horticultural circles.

“How is it going?”

Stone’s lips twitched. “Will it sound like a bad joke if I say I’m making small progress?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” His tone turned serious. “We’re actually at a critical point in the grafting. I hope in the master’s absence, my army of assistants back at Woodley Park are watching the shoots and not breaking into the wine cellars.”

“So why did you come to Shelton Abbey?”

Stone shrugged without resentment. “Caro and Helena haven’t had much time together over the last months, at least time away from the social world. And the children were clamoring to see their cousins. Family is more important than a cherry tree, however fine, even if I do say so myself.”

Charles’s envy of this man’s domestic contentment sharpened until it tasted like rust on his tongue. This, this was what Charles wanted. With Sally Cowan. Love. A passionate connection with a lovely woman. Children. A home where he found purpose and joy.

Yet Sally persisted in treating him like an acquaintance. It was enough to make a man want to join Stone’s unsupervised assistants and raid the claret cellar.

“I’m sure. Even horse-mad sisters.”

Stone nodded. “Even horse-mad sisters. Hel’s always been avid for the nags. It was something she and West had in common when they were young. I’m devilish glad they found their way back to each other.”

Charles eyed Stone in the flat gray light. “By God, you’re a romantic.”

Stone gave another shrug. “Life’s made me one.”

“You’re lucky.”

“I am indeed.” Stone’s smile expressed what he didn’t say. But Charles had witnessed the soul-deep happiness in his family and didn’t need any explanation.

Stone surveyed Charles from under his brows, as if unsure whether he should continue. “You know, you could be lucky, too.”

Charles frowned, although he wasn’t surprised Stone had noticed his interest in Sally. The Nashes were a notoriously clever family, and not just with horses and horticulture. “You’ve guessed that I’m contemplating matrimony?”

“It’s reasonably obvious, at least to a fellow who’s languished in just your situation.”

“I’m not sure the lady returns my interest.”

“Poor devil, I remember that feeling. It was damned wretched.” Stone sent him a straight look. “Of course, there’s only one way to find out whether you’re wasting your time. You need to declare yourself. Unless you mean to yearn after her until you’re both old and gray.”

Charles gave a twisted smile. “I never knew the meaning of terror until I set out to win a bride.”

Stone clapped him on the back. “Worse than facing a loaded pistol at twenty paces. But worth it in the long run.”

“Only if she says yes.”

“You’re a persuasive fellow. You’ll get your way in the end – and my advice is make your move while you’re down here. Fewer distractions.”

Charles had to laugh. “Are you saying my proposal isn’t interesting enough to capture the lady’s attention?”

“Heaven forbid, old chum. No, I’m saying that Shelton Abbey is full of isolated corners inside and out that a man can use to…make his point with a lady he fancies. And if you haven’t worked that out already, I’m a Dutchman.”

Charles had worked it out. Yesterday alone in the rose garden with Sally – and again in the deserted long gallery – she’d only just escaped a thorough kissing. But that damned air of fragility had stopped him.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I’m going about this all wrong. The subtle approach isn’t getting me anywhere. A siege might be called for, after all.”

Stone’s smile reeked delight. “That’s the spirit. I tried something similar to your slow burn pursuit with Caro, and nearly lost her to bloody West as a result. I remember how putting myself on the line scared me silly – but it won me my bride, so it was worth every collywobble.”

Charles frowned thoughtfully out into the rain. Was Stone right? Excitement bubbled in his veins as he imagined finally having Sally in his arms.

Perhaps it was time to shock her into seeing him as a husband.

He turned back to Stone who watched him with an unwavering gaze. “So Caro said yes when you declared yourself, and you lived happily ever after?”

Stone snorted with derision. “Not a bit of it, old man. She sent me away with a flea in my ear and told me she never wanted to see me again. I was convinced all was lost.”

“Hell’s bells,” Charles muttered.

“Worst day of my life. But I persevered, and eventually she relented. Even then, it took months to persuade her to marry me. With a widow, there’s sometimes the problem of once bitten, twice shy.”

Charles had long ago guessed that Sally’s silence about her marriage hinted at unhealed wounds. But Norwood had died four years ago. It was time for her to find new happiness.

With a surge of determination, he straightened and met Stone’s bright hazel eyes. “I’m going to propose to the girl and shame the devil. Then let the dice fall where they may.”

“Good show.” Stone’s smile radiated approval. “And I wish you the devil’s own luck, my friend.”