Summer House Party Read online

  Only one way to find out. She followed him.

  Why the folly? Quentin moved silently around the side of Chapworth Grange, intent on Sir Thomas in the distance. He’d spent the afternoon with the fellow, engaging him in a debate about the advisability of selling Rose Cottage to the magistrate. Sir Thomas had been eager to offer better alternatives, quick to argue away any advantage Quentin proposed. Yet the man had stopped short of making him an offer.

  “We are at a house party,” Sir Thomas had said, leaning back in his chair. “We should see to all the niceties before making any decisions. We can discuss the matter further in a few days.”

  What else could Quentin do but agree? If he protested the delay, Sir Thomas might think him desperate and make an offer Quentin would only refuse. That refusal might raise questions in Sir Thomas’s mind as to why Quentin had brought up the subject in the first place. Besides, he didn’t think his father overly eager to sell to Sir Thomas or the magistrate, for all Quentin had urged him to return to Jamaica with him. His discussion with Sir Thomas had merely been a ruse to keep the fellow busy, too busy to confirm any plans for the port.

  Yet something about his host’s demeanor nagged at him. So, he’d retreated only to the landing, positioning himself to watch the library door. And when Sir Thomas bolted out and took the trouble to lock the door behind him, Quentin had slipped down the stairs and followed.

  Now he approached the folly cautiously, looking for the least sign of anything suspicious. Sir Thomas had bypassed the little building and positioned himself in the lane to the village. Quentin could see Sir Winston strolling closer, his heavy chin coming up as he sighted Sir Thomas. The two so-called pillars of the community stood and conversed, but he could not read their lips or catch a snatch of their conversation.

  “Hst!”

  He frowned, glancing to the bushes nearest the folly, which seemed to be quivering with agitation.

  “Hst!” A spectral hand poked out, beckoning him closer. Glancing at the two men to make sure they were still occupied in each other, he ducked behind the bush.

  “What do you suspect him of doing?” Kitty asked.

  She’d gathered the sky blue skirts of the dress she’d also likely borrowed from her cousin and crouched on the soft ground. Now her dark eyes begged him for answers she herself must be seeking.

  “Perhaps I should ask you that question,” Quentin countered, squatting beside her.

  “Lucy says it’s something to do with horse racing.” Her gaze returned to her uncle and the magistrate. “I fear he’s lost the estate gambling. It would be just like him not to think of anyone but himself.”

  She looked thoroughly put out with the fellow, lips tight and hands fisted in her skirts. But if she was right, she had cause for concern, for her cousin and herself. For why would Sir Thomas support a chaperone if he could not support his own daughter?

  But why would he work so hard to ruin Quentin’s family when his own estate was at risk? That made no sense.

  “I’m too tall to get closer without being noticed,” he murmured. “What of you? I want to hear what they’re saying.”

  “Too late,” she replied, gripping his arm to tug him down beside her. “Here he comes!”

  Quentin hunkered low, arms about Kitty’s slender frame, the silk of her hair pressed against his cheek. For some reason, she smelled like the lemon verbena his maiden aunt used for rheumatism.

  The gravel crunched as Sir Thomas stomped past.

  As the sound faded, Kitty released Quentin. “You follow him,” she murmured, rising. “I’ll talk to the magistrate. We can meet at the folly after the musicale to share what we learn.”

  She didn’t wait for him to agree but slipped out of the bush and strolled down the lane as if out for a constitutional. The magistrate greeted her with a fatherly smile, and the two started back toward the village. She clearly considered Quentin her partner in this investigation. She trusted him to do as she’d ordered.

  If only he could know what Sir Thomas was about and how it played into his future, and Kitty’s.

  Chapter Nine

  Kitty caught herself tapping her toe under the gray silk skirts of her dinner dress as she sat at the damask-draped dining table. She forced herself to still. She had made the seating arrangements for this meal days ago, long before she’d known Mr. Bitterstock would depart so abruptly or that Quentin would arrive and propose marriage. With everything that had been happening, she’d had no opportunity to change them.

  Now she was seated near the middle of the table, and Quentin, looking formidable in his evening black, had taken Mr. Bitterstock’s place near the top across from Lucy and next to Uncle. No one seemed particularly pleased with the matter.

  Still, she knew how to do her duty. She discussed the changes on the Continent with Mr. Danvers on her left, shared thoughts on the recent thrilling book by the author of Waverly with Mr. Fredericks on her right. All the while her ear remained tuned to the conversation higher up the table, and her mind sorted through the few facts she had.

  Sir Winston had been reticent to answer her questions when she’d approached him on the lane that afternoon. The elder statesman of the area, with white hair pomaded back from a heavily jowled face, had known her since she was a child.

  “If you have questions for your uncle, Miss Chapworth,” he’d said, jowls quivering, “you should follow him and ask. He just left.”

  “But my questions are so general,” she’d protested, careful to drop her gaze humbly. “I fear he’ll lose patience with me. You know how Sir Thomas can be.”

  He must know Sir Thomas’s reputation in the area, the story of his attack on Quentin years ago. When she glanced up, she found the magistrate stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Very well. What would you like to know?”

  Kitty drew in a breath. “I have been so careful about the arrangements for this house party. Did Sir Thomas just invite you to join us? We are already odd numbers at table.”

  He patted her shoulder. “There, now. I know how these things can weigh on a lady’s mind. Have no concern. I will be attending Sir Thomas tomorrow at eleven for billiards, but I have no plans to join you for meals.”

  Kitty cocked her head. “He met you out here merely to invite you to play billiards?”

  “Apparently so,” the magistrate said, tugging down on his paisley waistcoat. “We are old friends, after all. Normally, he might have sent a footman, but I imagine they are all busy at present, and he could not rely on Mr. Summers, seeing as how he was headed to Bristol.”

  So her uncle had sudden business in Bristol. And what would that be?

  She clasped her hands before her. “Oh, Bristol! How I love the shops there. So many goods from America and the West Indies. Perhaps I should send someone after Mr. Summers, see if he would have time to pick up sugar and ginger.”

  Sir Winston chuckled. “I highly doubt you could catch him, my dear. I believe a ship is expected and must be met.”

  “A ship,” Kitty pressed. “Uncle owns shares in a ship?”

  Sir Winston’s smile faded. “Now, then, this is nothing to concern you. I only know about the matter because my groom spoke to yours. If you have specific questions, you must apply to your uncle.”

  Only if she wanted to hear lies for answers. But it was clear Sir Winston knew no more of the matter. She’d thanked him and headed for the house, where she’d questioned the head groom, with no more success.

  What ship would have her uncle so concerned he’d order his steward to ride hard? He wasn’t in manufacturing, and the produce grown on the grange estate went to feed the family and guests. And what did any of this have to do with Quentin?

  Now she waited impatiently through dinner, while her uncle seemed content to lob barbed comments at Quentin, all of which he deflected with a laugh or a quip.

  She had no opportunity to talk to him after dinner either. Even though her uncle knew she had a musicale planned, he kept the gentlemen overly long at their p
ort so that it was nearly time to retire when they strode into the withdrawing room to join the ladies. Immediately, she caught Quentin’s eye, and he detached himself from the others to join her.

  “Who’s for some music, eh?” Sir Thomas demanded, rubbing his beefy hands together. “I have a rare talent in the family.”

  Lucy blushed prettily as her guests applauded, urging her to rise.

  “We must talk,” Quentin murmured beside Kitty. “I learned nothing of use this afternoon, but I’m certain your uncle is planning skullduggery, and I must ask your help to stop him.”

  Skullduggery? It must have to do with Uncle’s gamble. Kitty nodded to Quentin, a tingle going through her, but before she could answer, Sir Thomas raised his voice again. “Yes, yes, we are fortunate indeed. She is our little secret, you might say. Kitty, come play for our guests.”

  Her? Kitty stiffened as all gazes swung her way, some surprised, some clearly skeptical.

  “You are too kind, Uncle,” she said, heart starting to pound against her ribs. “But I must yield the floor to Lucy’s greater accomplishments.”

  Lucy smiled at her, but her father would have none of it.

  “Nonsense, girl,” he said. “About time you showed them what you’re made of. I warrant Mr. Adair would prefer to hear you play.”

  “Kitty has no need to prove herself to me,” Quentin said, gaze on hers. “I am already thoroughly besotted.”

  For a moment, looking into his eyes, she could almost believe him.

  “Well, I for one would very much like to hear Miss Chapworth play,” Mr. Willingham said. “I’m certain it will be quite illuminating.”

  Odious prig. She could see the cunning in his gaze. He wanted her embarrassed. He was still smarting over her set down earlier.

  “There you are,” Sir Thomas said, spreading his hands. “Stop posturing and play, girl.”

  Quentin must have realized that further protests were futile, for he took her elbow. “Allow me the honor of turning pages for you.”

  There was nothing for it. Kitty went to take her place at the pianoforte, Quentin at her back. The others settled on chairs and sofas. Beside their parents, the Eglantine girls watched with wide-eyed anticipation. She remembered gazing as raptly at Eugenia and shuddered at the comparison.

  Miss Gaffney and Lucy smiled encouragement, gloved hands folded neatly in their laps. Mr. Danvers and Mr. Fredericks nodded support as well. Mr. Townshend stretched out his feet as if getting comfortable. Mr. Cadberry already has his eyes closed as if expecting to be bored, and Mr. Willingham offered her a vicious grin.

  She wished she could play something brilliant, with complicated runs and trills, but she’d never mastered such things. She’d had more pressing engagements, like earning her keep, to allow her to spend the long hours required to achieve anything beyond proficiency.

  Quentin bent beside her, his voice a husky whisper in her ear. “Is there something here to your liking?”

  Besides you? Dangerous thought. She shifted on the bench, sifting through the sheet music on the stand. Her abrupt movements sent one of the pages sliding to the floor. He bent to retrieve it as someone stifled a laugh.

  She felt sweat trickle down her back.

  “Easy,” Quentin murmured as he returned the music to the stand in front of her. “I have seen you slay impertinent pups with a look. These people are no different.”

  “If only that were true,” she murmured back, as her uncle glared at her.

  “Kitty.” Her name, said with such fondness, forced her gaze to his. Those dark eyes held compassion and understanding and something far more. “Play something that pleases you. Pretend I am your only audience.”

  He might not be her only audience, but, she realized as she flexed her fingers over the keys, he was the only one who mattered. With a nod, she drew in a breath and began to play.

  Quentin’s eyes followed the notes on the sheet music, even as his ears followed the tinkling of the keys. She’d chosen a simple country air, and she played it softly, as if coaxing the instrument to tell the tale. His hand resting on her shoulder, he felt when the tension eased out of her to be replaced by an energy, a passion that sent a jolt up his arm.

  Why the reaction? Her playing was no more than passable, yet she brought him along with her as the music danced. When she finished, he found himself smiling. He gave her shoulder a squeeze as the other guests applauded. “Well done.”

  She smiled up at him, a dimple appearing on the side of her mouth as if marking the spot for his kiss.

  Willingham rose and approached the piano, forcing Quentin’s gaze away from her.

  “That was quite good, Miss Chapworth,” the fellow said as if surprised to admit as much. “I wonder if I might make a request.”

  Kitty turned her smile on him, but Quentin could see it was wary. “Certainly, sir. What would you have me play?”

  “A waltz,” he said. “If you could manage that, the rest of us might dance.”

  Her smile did not waver, but her tension returned. So, the pup thought to shackle her to the instrument while the rest of them had fun.

  “I fear you’ll need to find another accompanist,” Quentin said. “If there’s dancing to be had, I intend to partner my delightful betrothed.”

  Willingham’s cheek twitched. “Of course, sir. Excuse me.” He stalked off.

  As conversations started around them, the gentlemen importuning Miss Gaffney and Lucy to play or sing next, and the two Eglantine sisters wiggling in their seats as they awaited their turns, Kitty rose from the bench. “Thank you,” she said to Quentin. “But I fear I dance even more poorly than I play.”

  “Then it will be my pleasure to sit out with you,” Quentin said, taking her hand and leading her away from the piano.

  Sir Thomas had apparently had enough of music, for he rose. “Who’s for a game of whist?”

  Though Lucy frowned at the change of plans, the guests began pairing up. Mr. Danvers requisitioned Miss Gaffney and, after a brief but heated debate, Mr. Fredericks ended up with Lucy. The Eglantine girls giggled at Townshend and Willingham, leaving Mr. Cadberry and their parents to join Sir Thomas’s set. Perfect. Quentin directed Kitty toward the door and slipped with her down the corridor and out onto the terrace.

  The rising moon painted the garden in silver. Taking her hand, he led her past the reflection wavering in the pond and down the stairs to the lawn. A few torches here and there pointed the way to the folly at the edge of the estate.

  Another woman might assume he meant to start an assignation, but she immediately returned to their shared purpose.

  “What did you learn by following my uncle?” she asked as they started down the hill.

  “Precious little,” Quentin admitted. “He returned to the house and retired to his chambers to change for dinner. What did you learn from Sir Winston?”

  “Uncle apparently sent Mr. Summers, his steward, to Bristol about a ship,” she confided. “He seemed to think it rather urgent.”

  “Bristol,” he pressed. “Not Whitehaven?”

  “Whitehaven was never mentioned. Is it important?”

  Only to him and his father. Sir Thomas must not discover that they’d rerouted the ship to that port instead, a port where he had no influence to hold them.

  “Merely confirming what I heard,” Quentin told her.

  She lifted her silky gray skirts to climb the steps to the folly. Something rustled in the bushes, but the minx showed not the least concern. So much for being terrified of small creatures.

  Nor was she particularly concerned about him as he climbed to her side. In the moonlight slanting past the overhanging roof, he could see her eyeing him. “You are neither deaf nor dim, Quentin. Whitehaven is important. Why?”

  She was too clever by half. Kitty had played her part well, but never had he seen her take advantage of her newfound power the way Eugenia had. She remained the dedicated chaperone, the woman of wit and character he was coming to appreciate. She d
eserved to know all.

  He moved deeper into the shadows, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching from the house even now. “I haven’t been entirely truthful about the plantation, Kitty. We are doing better than expected, but for the last few years, every ship carrying our sugar to England has been kept on the quay for months. If I cannot find a way to unload the sugar faster, we may have to sell the estate here and after that the plantation. I could well end up the wastrel your uncle named me years ago.”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “Never that.”

  Her faith warmed the cool night. “I have had agents investigating the problem, and I finally discovered the culprit. Sir Thomas has been using his influence at the port of Bristol, going through friends of friends to stop the ships from unloading. You were right. He bears his grudges deeply.”

  “Bully that he is,” she agreed. She cocked her head. “So you did not propose an engagement to make peace for your father. You’re trying to stop a war.”

  He nodded. “Forgive me for not confiding in you sooner. I wasn’t sure who to trust.”

  He thought she might take umbrage, but she merely straightened and shrugged. “Between Eugenia and my uncle, you have little cause to trust those named Chapworth. How can I help you thwart Uncle? We cannot allow him to win.”

  He loved the fire in her voice, the determination. “You must be careful about taking sides,” he warned. “We both have cause to know that Sir Thomas is not an easy man to cross.”

  “Neither are you,” she said. “Look what you made of your life. You should be proud.”

  “I’ll take comfort in my achievements once I know the sugar has been sold,” he assured her. “But thank you for your support, Kitty. It means the world.”

  Her smile brushed him, as soft as spring rain. “As does yours. I can’t remember the last time I had a champion.”