Chapter Three

B yron made his way to the drawing room for tea after having spent the entire day closeted with Benbrook’s steward. He would only be in the Lake District a week, and already two of those days had passed.

He appreciated the invitation from his aunt and uncle to visit them. They had been loving and supportive of him his entire life, and he had always looked forward to their rare visits to Bridgefield. The couple had wanted him to come and visit before now, but he had spent the last year immersed in learning all he could about being the Marquess of Bridgewater and his obligations to his tenants and estates. Besides Bridgefield, he also owned two smaller properties and had visited them on separate occasions.

While he thought his own steward competent and had learned much from the man, Franklin was getting on in years and had let his employer know that he would be retiring in the near future. Because of that, Byron had wanted to meet with Uncle Hugh’s steward at Benbrook, asking questions of him and seeing what he might learn.

Today had been enlightening. He realized now that he might wish to replace his own steward sooner, rather than later. It seemed Franklin was mired in the past and not quite up to date on newer farming methods.

Looking forward to finally spending time with his aunt and uncle the rest of the afternoon and evening, Byron headed to the drawing room for tea, only to be stopped by Mills. The butler reminded him that tea would be served on the terrace this afternoon and that Lord and Lady Benson’s guests had arrived.

As he approached the open French doors, he heard laughter, and it struck him. Mills had said guests . Plural.

He recalled Aunt Flora writing to him, extending the invitation to visit, which Byron had gladly accepted. When he confirmed the dates she wished him to come and arrived this week, she mentioned her close friend Lady Mathilda would also be visiting during a portion of his stay. Byron had actually met the woman years ago and found her to be quite delightful. Though reluctant to be sharing his visit with another guest, he had hoped her presence would not interfere too much with his own time with Aunt Flora and Uncle Hugh. Hearing now that others accompanied Lady Mathilda, Byron wished he would have had advance warning. He would have declined the invitation and suggested another time for him to come to Benbrook.

He paused, listening a moment. Yes, there were definitely others present besides Lady Mathilda. It soured his mood. He would simply have to make the best of things. He didn’t want to cut his visit to Benbrook short, but most likely, he would do so now. He could use replacing his steward as the excuse.

Stepping through the French doors, he caught sight of the four guests. Lady Mathilda had not changed much, although it had been a good decade since they had met. Three young ladies accompanied her. One was quite pretty but dressed in a manner that suggested she was a companion or governess. The other two might be some of the nieces Lady Mathilda had spoken so fondly of.

The pretty blond was so young that he guessed she would not be making her come-out for another couple of years.

It was the other one who drew Byron’s attention, though. She had the most beautiful shade of auburn hair, with bits of red, gold, and brown all spun together, the sun striking it so that her hair seemed to catch fire. For a moment, he longed to unpin it and run his fingers through the silky locks, a thought which had never occurred to him upon spying any woman.

It shocked him to his core.

He moved toward them, seeing as he drew near that the two young women also possessed the same cornflower blue eyes Lady Mathilda did. It was a striking color and added to the beauty of all three women.

Byron greeted Lady Mathilda first, since they had a previous acquaintance, and she insisted he call her Aunt Matty, as she had upon their first meeting. He agreed, and she introduced the two young ladies, who were, as he had guessed, her nieces. The other woman was the family governess. He greeted each individually, taking Lady Effie and Lady Mirella’s hands briefly—and managed to maintain a neutral expression when he touched Lady Mirella. The auburn-haired beauty moved something within him.

Something he had never felt—and could not afford to explore.

“Take a seat, everyone,” Aunt Flora said. “The teacarts have arrived.”

They did as requested, and Byron listed quietly as the conversation centered around where the four had been touring since they left Kent. He added nothing to the conversation until Lady Mathilda mentioned their time in Windermere and how much they had enjoyed it.

“I see,” he said brusquely, not really wanting to converse with her or any of them.

He caught Uncle Hugh frowning at him, and he told the group, “Today is Bridgewater’s birthday. It is one of the reasons we wished for him to come and visit us now. He is alone at Bridgefield, and we wanted him to be around family for his birthday.”

“Happy birthday, my lord,” all the women echoed in unison.

Lady Effie asked, “Which birthday are you celebrating, my lord?”

Byron thought it a rather personal question and that the girl was quite impertinent. Still, these were guests of his aunt and uncle and so he said, “I am five and twenty today, my lady.”

The girl then asked, “How long have you held your title, my lord?”

“A little over a year,” he said crisply, not elaborating, wishing the attention would turn away from him.

Lady Mirella caught his eye and smiled at him, which took his breath away. He had never had such a physical reaction to a woman, and it troubled him greatly.

“You know, my lord, it is quite all right for you to participate in this conversation at teatime,” she teased. “We may be four talkative women, but I promise that we do not bite.”

He felt himself flush, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

“I would love to see your gardens, Lady Benson,” Lady Mirella continued. “Since I have finished my tea—and Lord Bridgewater has barely touched his—perhaps he would not mind showing them to me.”

It was the last thing Byron wanted to do, being alone with this woman, but he realized his behavior had already bordered on churlish.

Looking to his aunt, he said, “I would be happy to show Lady Mirella the gardens, Aunt Flora, with your permission.”

“Of course, Bridgewater,” she responded, smiling indulgently at him. “We will see the two of you later. Enjoy.”

He watched as Lady Mirella dabbed a napkin to her lips, causing him to wonder what it would be like to kiss her. Quickly, he vanquished the improper thought and brushed his own cloth against his mouth, setting it aside and rising.

“The gardens are this way, my lady.”

They left the group and walked the length of the terrace, to where the stairs lead down to the ground. He took two steps and paused, realizing she was not following him. Turning, he looked up at her and saw the quizzical expression on her face.

Gently, she said, “My lord, the usual behavior is to offer your arm to a lady, especially when stairs are involved.”

He cringed inwardly, realizing his mistake.

Climbing up the steps, he said, “My apologies, my lady. I have been buried in the country for the past year, with no one but servants surrounding me. I am out of practice being around civilized company.”

With that, he extended his arm, and she placed her fingers lightly upon his sleeve.

The spark which raced through Byron was unlike anything he had ever known. It startled him that he had so strong a physical reaction to such a slight touch. Deliberately, he did not meet her gaze and instead guided her down the steps. He knew since they were taking a turn around the gardens that he should continue to allow her to hold his arm.

It might undo him, however, and so he let his arm drop when they reached the grass. Let her think him boorish. He would never see her after he left Benbrook.

Or would he ?

Thinking better of the situation, he said, “Perhaps you might be more comfortable tucking your hand through my arm, my lady. It will be easier to guide you along the garden path if you do so.”

“And your arm won’t get nearly as tired that way,” she said.

He caught her lips twitching in amusement. Again, a rush of desire rippled through him, and Byron decided being alone with her was dangerous. He would show her the gardens and then make certain he spent no more time with her unless others happened to also be present.

They stepped into the gardens and talked of various flowers. That is, Lady Mirella spoke. Byron merely listened. Partway through the gardens, they came upon a bench, and he asked if she would care to rest for a few minutes. She agreed, and they both took a seat upon it.

“You seem to know quite a bit about flowers,” he pointed out.

She laughed, the sound both musical and seductive. “That is thanks to my cousin. Lyric is the gardener in the Strong family. I suppose after growing up with her, she has passed along some of her knowledge about plants and flowers to me, and I did not even realize it.”

“You grew up with your cousin at Shadowcrest?”

She nodded. “Yes, there were four of us who are sisters. Effie is my youngest sister, while Georgie and Pippa are my older ones. They are twins. My cousins Lyric and Allegra are also twins, and they were born on the same day my sisters were. My aunt, whom I never knew, died giving birth to them.”

Lady Mirella frowned slightly, and he wanted to kiss away the small crease that formed above the bridge of her nose.

“Let me just say that my uncle is one who is not fond of girls. He had two sons already and decided not to have much at all to do with his newborn daughters. After a time, it was decided they would come and live at Shadowcrest. Mama was eager to take in Allegra and Lyric, and she is the one who raised them as her own, so they are more as sisters to me than cousins. Aunt Matty also had a hand in raising the six of us, and she is one of my favorite people in the world.”

“Is that why you and your sister accompanied her to Benbrook?” he asked.

“It actually was Aunt Matty’s idea for us to come and experience the Lake District for ourselves. She has spoken of it—and your aunt and uncle—often and fondly, and she wished for us to see the area for ourselves. Pippa and Georgie both wed during this past year, and they are honeymooning with their husbands now. Mama and Sophie decided to give a house party in Lyric and Allegra’s honor. I did not think it appropriate for me to be present during it since I have yet to make my own come-out.”

“Why is that?” he asked, being drawn in not only by her beauty but also by their conversation.

“The twins were to have made their come-outs this past spring but did not. It was a family matter, which I would prefer not to discuss, my lord, but they are eager to make a love match as others in my family have. They allowed Mama and Sophie to hold this house party for them after the Season ended.”

“Who might this Sophie be?”

“Oh, she is my brother James’ wife. James is the Duke of Seaton, and Sophie is his duchess.” She laughed again. “I have thrown quite a few names at you, Lord Bridgewater. I suppose I will need to test you at the end of our stroll to see how well you have been listening to me.”

Those cornflower blue eyes sparkled, drawing Byron in.

“But enough about me, my lord. Tell me about yourself.”

He deflected her question. “When are you to make your come-out, my lady?”

“I will be doing so next Season,” she revealed.

His heart sank. He had planned to attend next Season because it would be the debut for Jacinda Bowles.

And Byron intended to offer for his neighbor at the end of it.

“Will I see you at the next Season, Lord Bridgewater? I know your aunt and uncle do not frequent it. I do not recall Georgie mentioning your name this past year.”

“That is because I did not go to town for it,” he told her. “Lady Effie asked how long I had held my title. I was a soldier, Lady Mirella. A captain in His Majesty’s army.”

“You were a second son,” she observed.

“I was,” he confirmed. “My brother gained his title soon after he graduated from Cambridge.” Knowing he couldn’t admit the entire truth to this woman, he said, “My brother was in a carriage accident.” It was not quite a lie, but neither was it the entire truth.

Sympathy filled her face. “And you lost him. You lost your identity, as well.”

“That is an interesting remark,” he said. “What do you mean?”

“I suppose you were pushed aside most of your life, my lord. That your parents—your father especially—focused on his heir apparent. You entered the army, fully knowing it would be your career. Then you were ripped from all you knew and told to return to England, so that you might take on the title of the Marquess of Bridgewater. While I am certain you were an excellent army officer, you probably have floundered a bit, trying to find your way regarding the responsibilities of the title you now hold, all while mourning your brother.”

She was not only beautiful. She was intuitive and intelligent. But he wanted to clear up one thing.

“I did not mourn my brother as much as I thought I would. He was not the man I had believed him to be,” Byron admitted, thinking about Mrs. Smithson and her daughter.

Concern filled her eyes. “How so, my lord?”

He took a deep breath and slowly expelled it. “I will admit freely that I worshipped Dawson. He was the best of brothers, and we spent our childhoods together as the closest of friends. He taught me all I knew, from how to swim to how to fire a weapon accurately. I am a better rider and hunter because of the lessons he imparted.”

Hesitating a moment, he decided to plunge ahead. “But Dawson became someone I truly did not recognize after he went away to university. When he took his title, he continued in a lifestyle which I did not approve of.”

She placed a hand gently on his arm. “You cannot judge him so harshly, my lord. Your brother did what all young men do, sowing a few wild oats during his university days. Having the title thrust upon him at so young an age had to be difficult for him. Most young men in their twenties are gadding about town, enjoying life and their freedom from responsibilities. Your brother had to assume his obligations earlier than most. It takes longer for men to mature than women, I believe.”

“You are being most kind, Lady Mirella. Perhaps I am being too hard on Dawson. I think of the idealized version of him, the one I idolized, and he was not that man at the end of his life. The carriage accident I spoke of was no accident at all. I was trying to make it seem something it was not. My brother was deep in his cups and challenged our neighbor to race against him in Hyde Park. Both men crashed their phaetons into one another. Dawson’s death was instant, while Lord Hampton passed away the next day.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “My father and Lord Hampton were friends from boyhood. His estate and ours abut one another. The fact that Dawson was responsible for his own death, much less Lord Hampton’s, was a bitter pill for me to swallow.”

Lady Mirella squeezed his arm gently in reassurance. “And you had to deal with the mixed feelings within you regarding both their deaths, as well as the death of your career. I am certain it was difficult to leave behind the friends you had made in the army and the men you led in battle. It must also be very hard to put aside your disappointment in your brother.”

She removed her hand from his arm and placed it in her lap again. Byron squelched the urge to claim it again.

“You are most astute, my lady. It had never struck me that I was mourning for the career I lost. Yes, I was a decent officer. I thought I had found my place in the world, and it was very difficult to leave behind what I had committed heart and soul to. Especially because I knew nothing about being a marquess.”

He brightened. “But I am learning. I spent the entire past year at Bridgefield and my other two estates, learning all that I could from my steward and others. While I was happy to accept Aunt Flora’s invitation to come and visit her and Uncle Hugh, I will admit that I also wanted to view Benbrook with new eyes. How it functions. I was with the Benbrook steward the entire day, pumping him for information.”

She smiled, and that smile tugged on his heartstrings.

“You will be a remarkable marquess, my lord. I know it in my bones. I do not want to boast, but feel free to ask me questions about estate management. My cousin Caleb is the Shadowcrest steward, and I have done my own share of asking him how Shadowcrest is run. I would be happy to share any information I possess with you.”

He frowned. “Why would you have done so?”

“One day, I hope to wed. My husband and I will be responsible for all that happens on our country estate. While the bulk of its management will lie with my husband and our steward, I thought it important to learn all I can so that I would be able to understand those duties and help in any way I could.”

Byron could not think of a single woman of his acquaintance who would have taken the time to do what Lady Mirella had done. He believed most women in Polite Society had no idea what was involved in running an estate. But the woman seated next to him apparently did because she thought it would be important to one day share that load with her husband.

He yearned to get to know her better. To talk with her. Kiss her. See if they were suited for a life together. Yet the shadow of his father loomed over the both of them, and Byron felt the pressing responsibility of seeing his father’s wishes of uniting the Balfour and Bowles families come to fruition. Yes, he was mightily attracted to Lady Mirella.

But his future lay with Jacinda Bowles.

Rising, he said, “Shall we return to the house, Lady Mirella?”

A shadow flickered across her face, the emotion unreadable to him, but he sensed her disappointment. He hid his own as he offered his arm to her. They returned to the house.

“Thank you for showing me the gardens, my lord,” she said. “I will see you this evening at dinner.”

Byron watched her walk away, feeling a piece of him go with her. He cursed under his breath, wishing he didn’t feel the strong pull of obligation which his father had instilled in him.

Because in another life, he believed he might have found love with Lady Mirella Strong.