Chapter Five

October 27, 1819

Elliott grunted as a gentle autumn breeze rifled through his hair beneath his top hat and flirted with the hem of his jacket. He was one of a group of house party guests that were walking to the country fair that had set up on the edge of his property to celebrate the end of the harvest season. Though the conversation was lively, he only paid it attention with one ear, for his thoughts were scattered.

Yesterday had been both maddening and confusing. Being dressed down so spectacularly by Lavinia only served to reignite the desire he'd apparently carried for her over the years, and that in and of itself was concerning. He was here at Wynneham Hall for the specific purpose of finding a woman to be his bride. Now that he was an earl, the requirements for said wife had changed exponentially.

Yet there was an insane niggle at the back of his mind that he might wish to ascertain if Lavinia had enough mettle to be a countess. Where the devil had that notion come from? The unexpected kiss after he'd pulled her from the mud had shocked him but that didn't necessitate him wishing to pursue her in a romantic capacity.

Did it?

Truly, it was too difficult to tell.

"One we reach the fair, Foxborough, do you plan on squiring me about or shall I attach myself to a different man?"

The sound of a feminine voice—an annoyed feminine voice—yanked him from his thoughts, and with cold disappointment snaking through his gut when he found a young lady just making her Come Out instead of Lavinia, he silently sent up a curse in his head.

"Ah, Miss Atwater." Hell's bells. She was nearly twenty years his junior. So much had happened in the world between his birth and hers. The urge to grimace rose, but he tamped it before it could do much damage. "Thank you for the reminder. I should think we'll tour at least part of the fair together. That is what the house party was about."

Safety in numbers.

A pout turned her lips downward. To be fair, Miss Atwater did have delectable lips, but they detracted from a rather large expanse of forehead. Besides, she was blonde, and he preferred women with dark hair, tresses that were nearly black if anyone asked. "I would have enjoyed visiting alone with you."

I'll wager you would. A trace of bitterness entered his person, for now that he was an earl and higher on the social ladder than a viscount, women were finding creative ways to get him alone, no doubt to call inappropriateness and force him into marriage. "I wish to spend time with as many of my guests as possible, so we will enjoy the fair together." Envisioning a future with this young chit as a wife, who probably only wanted him for the title and the coin, soured his stomach.

"Miss Atwater, don't mind the earl's grouchy disposition. I'm told the young Lord Farrington is having a difficult time making friends. Perhaps you could assist him since you have a bevy of them," Lavinia said as she caught them up at the edge of the fair.

"Oh?" The young girl's head turned in the direction of said newly minted viscount. "He is quite handsome, isn't he?"

Despite himself, Elliott looked at the man in question where he stood beneath an oak tree with a knot of people around his age. It was unfortunate his ears stuck out from either side of his head, but other than that, he supposed the young man had decent looks. Then his attention bounced to Lavinia. Was that mischief twinkling in her eyes?

"He is, and if you have an interest, you might wish to stake a claim before one of the other young ladies digs in." Lavinia took Miss Atwater's arm and steered her in that direction. "He's a much better potential match than Foxborough."

"But he's not an earl." A note of petulance rang in the young woman's tone.

"No, he is not, but consider this. He is not so old, and the earl will no doubt have a paunch before too long," she added in the world's worst stage whisper.

A paunch? "Bite your tongue, woman," he said beneath his breath while a hand stole to his belly. There might be a bit of flabby flesh there, but he still looked fit in his clothing, and it was only natural since he wasn't young.

"Oh, I didn't consider that."

"You should," Lavinia went on as if she were confiding deep secrets to Miss Atwater. "And he'll no doubt lose his hair soon. Can you imagine any sweet children you should have with a rapidly aging father like that?"

Both women giggled while they strolled ahead, leaving him by himself.

Elliott self-consciously put a gloved hand to his hair. "There is nothing wrong with my hair," he said, but there was no one directly around to hear him.

"If I were you, I'd tell one of those young men to fetch you a glass of apple cider or mulled wine. Men who are interested romantically in a woman will nearly fall over themselves to do little errands like that." Lavinia patted the girl's hand. "Best wishes. There is potential there, I think."

"Thank you, Mrs. Greenwich. You have so much wisdom. I guess I will too when I'm as aged as you." Then Miss Atwater happily ran over to join the younger members of the party. The men were quite happy at that turn of events.

By the time Elliott caught up to Lavinia, he chuckled. "Damn, but it must be tough knowing the girl you distracted from being with me because I'm so old thinks that same of you."

"Do shut up, Foxborough. I was doing you a favor by ridding you of a debutante." She glanced at him from around the brim of her bonnet. Amusement danced in her eyes. "You seemed quite ill-at-ease with her, and the last thing I'd want for a friend is to see him erroneously matched with a woman who is completely wrong for him."

"Of course, I'll thank you. Around people of her age, I feel quite ancient and no longer relevant." He looked over to where Miss Atwater held court in the middle of a bevy of admirers before they strolled off toward a fortune teller's wagon. "By the by, my hair is not thinning."

"Oh, I know that." Lavinia's laughter washed over him like a cleansing balm. "However, superficial thinking rules when people are that young and wrapped up in themselves. She was only after you for the title and boost in society. Had you married her, Miss Atwater would have probably left you to play at being some other man's mistress."

"That is a harsh assessment. Perhaps she would have been true." He offered her his arm, crooked at the elbow, and when Lavinia put her hand through it, he set them on their own way toward a different area of the fair.

"Perhaps she would, and you would have grown bored with her within a year, or at least long enough to beget an heir, leaving you to raise a babe alone."

That was a surprising assessment. He glanced down at her, but that damned headgear hid her face. "What makes you think she wouldn't welcome being domesticated?"

When she shrugged, she once more peered up at him. "Miss Atwater is young. She is more concerned with making her way through society and finding her place, putting her stamp on the beau monde. She is only interested in your title." For the space of a few heartbeats, she remained silent. "However, if you are interested in her for a wife, disregard everything I've said."

"Truth be told, I am not going to pursue her, for I have a feeling when she's in my company she is only a social climber." Then he frowned. "I suppose that only leaves Mrs. Wynnette."

"Ah, yes. The widow." Lavinia slowed her steps as they neared a wagon selling savory hand pies. "She didn't come out to the fair, did she?"

"From all I could understand, she didn't rise from her bed until noon. I have the feeling she more enjoys the late afternoon and evening hours." Why was he telling her all of this?

"The better to go on the prowl?" She waved to the young man who owned the cart and then ordered a beef and potato pie. "To catch you in an empty, darkened room?"

He tamped on the urge to huff. "Frankly, I don't pretend to understand a woman's motives."

"Then you intend to pursue her or let her do the same to you?" Was she asking for herself or because she was merely curious?

"I don't know." Once the vendor gave the pie to Lavinia, Elliott dropped a few coins in the man's palm.

"That is far too much, my lord," the man protested.

"Consider it my welcome and thanks." Then he led her away from the wagon, but his stomach rumbled from the savory scents. "I should have gotten one for myself."

"You may share mine." After she took a bite, she handed him the bit of newspaper the baked pie rested on.

One of his eyebrows rose. "For old time's sake, hmm?"

It hadn't been her intention to spend time with Elliott today. In fact, ever since that kiss, she had the feeling her footing was rather on shifting sand. For so many years, she'd known exactly how she'd felt about this man. To her mind, he'd caused Adam's death—in a roundabout way—and he should be held responsible. Yet ever since she'd said her peace to him and he kissed her, some of that anger and ire had faded.

Almost as if she'd needed to explode to the man's face, and now everything was back to an even kilter… except it wasn't. Not with him so close and his presence so big and all-consuming. She was extremely aware of him as a man, but none of that explained why she'd all but run Miss Atwater off from making a match with him.

"Right. I'd nearly forgotten when we attended a similar fair all those years ago." But she'd never forgotten any of her interactions with Elliott. They'd been seared into her memory and were now an integral part of her.

That year when he and Adam and vied for her affections had been very much like this one. There'd been a house party but held in Derbyshire. It had been longer than this one, but the fair was reminiscent of this one, and everyone was almost giddy for the harvest had been abundant and with the work behind them, both tenants, gentry, and peers alike had breathed a sigh of relief as they turned to the business of celebrating.

"I'd acted the nodcock that day," he said in a soft voice that brought her out of her musings. "It's not something I'm proud of."

Lavinia waved away the belated apology. "You were a young man, as was Adam." Though it had been thrilling to watch the both of them go through a gambit of "feats of strength" some of the travelers had created for them, said to secure the affections of a lady. "It was all in good fun." Though in that regard, Elliott had been the winner in most of the challenges, and he'd been splendid while doing it.

"All my life I have been competitive." After taking another bite of the hand pie, he passed it back to her. "I cannot seem to let something go, even when I'm clearly in the wrong."

As apologies went, it was good enough. She nibbled the savory pastry. "I'd believe you more if you fetched us something to drink." Would he take the bait? Was he still that idealist man who wished to please her?

"Do you fancy lemonade, apple cider, or mulled wine?" The emotions in his dark eyes were inscrutable.

"You choose. I am merely trying to decide if I should ride out the remainder of your house party or return to London."

"You aren't sufficiently entertained?"

That largely depended on how one defined "entertained." It was on the tip of her tongue to make jest of the disastrous first day, but she tamped the urge. "I find your plans quite adequate for a house party of this size, but truly, I have no desire to be around people any longer." At least that wasn't a lie. Ever since Adam had died—even before that when he'd been so weak he'd been confined to his bed the several months leading up to his demise—the need to socialize had faded. What was empty frivolity compared to real life and death situations?

"You have changed a bit from the girl I used to know." A frown took possession of his sensual lips. "What are you afraid might happen if you stay?" The question was asked in such a barely audible voice that she had to lean toward him to hear. "Surely my kiss from yesterday didn't frighten you."

It was the first time he'd mentioned it, for she certainly wasn't going to, even though the mere remembrance of it sent a thrill down her spine. "That kiss was quite tame when put against some of the things we did together in the past," she answered in an equally soft voice as they continued to stroll through the crowds attending the fair. Oh, those days had truly been glorious, and there had been nothing she wouldn't have done with him! "But no, I am not frightened." Heat blazed in her cheeks. "I thought that perhaps if you are searching for a wife, my presence here might put a damper on that, especially since after my outburst from yesterday, everyone at the house party knows we share a history."

And much of that history involved Adam as well. How could she separate the earl from her husband? Both of them belonged to her past, so why wouldn't Elliott stay there?

"Why did you really steer Miss Atwater away?" His eyes held an intensity she remembered all too well.

That frightened her. Not for what he might do, but what she might, for being in his company, in a world so far removed from London and mourning, made her want to do scandalous, delicious, impossible things merely because she was a widow and enjoyed certain freedoms. "I…" There truly was nothing for it. She shrugged, finished off the rest of the hand pie. After she'd swallowed the food down, she said, "The chit isn't right for you, and I don't want you throwing the rest of your life away on a woman who doesn't truly appreciate you, who doesn't appreciate everything you have accomplished in your life."

Did that mean she wanted him for herself? The longer Lavinia gazed at him with the crumpled bit of newspaper in her hand, the more confusion blanketed her mind.

"Ah, then you think I should pursue the widow?" The inquiry was accompanied by the roguish cock of a dark eyebrow.

"Obviously, the final decision lies with you, but consider your next steps carefully. You will only marry once since you are older," she held up a hand when he would have offered a protest, "and that means you have every right to be choosy. Mutual respect, companionship, desire are all good reasons to marry, but don't discount friendship, admiration, and a feeling of belonging. If you have all of those things with the widow, by all means join the hunt."

"And if I don't?" The words, so thrilling and whispered, sent excitement buzzing and twisting down her spine.

The sensation of falling assailed her. Oh, it was folly to remain anywhere near him, for all those old feelings rushed up out of their boxes to jump and dash around her, teasing, taunting, telling her she could perhaps find love a second time.

With the man she'd wanted in the first place. That thought brought with it a rush of heat and alternately an icy chill that swept down her spine, for it meant she might have been unfaithful to Adam during the years of her marriage when she'd thought about Elliott, when she'd been in the dark in her lonely bed each time he was away on a mission and her fingers would wander her body. Or when she'd thought that life might be a little bit better had she married Elliott for then she wouldn't be forced to watch Adam die more with each passing day.

I am a terrible person.

By willpower alone, Lavinia tamped them as best she could until such time that she could sort out her thoughts. "Find a woman you can have all of those things with."

For long moments, he stood close to her, peering down into her upturned face, and for a wild second, she thought he might kiss her right there in the open. Her heartbeat raced through her veins as if she'd run miles to be there, but at the last second, Elliott pulled away and put a bit of space between them.

"Right. You never told me your beverage preference," he said with a tiny shake of his head. Did that mean he battled with old feelings too?

"Uh…" Worse, though, what if the feelings she had were nothing except leftover sentiments for a time long past? Could the woman she was now care for the man he'd become? It was a conundrum indeed. "Mulled wine. I am in need of something fortifying, I think."

A trace of a grin flirted with his mouth. "Life has, indeed, become a sticky wicket. I can also attest to that, but I'll return in a thrice with your drink, Mrs. Greenwich."

Another round of heat went through her cheeks. "Do stop, Foxborough. You know you may call me Lavinia."

"Yes, but we do need to retain some veneer of decorum, don't you think? After all, I am one of the oldest people here and must live by example." With a wink, he strolled off toward a vendor's booth that sold wine in tin cups.

She watched him go, swept her gaze over the breadth of his wide shoulders, sighed about the way his breeches hugged his lean legs. Keeping him at arm's length would be a challenge, but the thought of leaving the house party had evaporated and blown away like dust in the wind.

Surely, this is folly. But then, some of the best moments of her life had been considered such as well. Only time would tell if this was also.