What now? “It’s an odd time to call,” she said, rising. Mrs. Duncombe was busy with dinner preparations. Meg and Bixby were below stairs helping as well, and the major’s man had gone out to tend to some business involving the men’s horses.
“Be seated, Mother.” Wes strode to the door, looked back over his shoulder, and grinned. “I’ll play footman.”
The major watched him leave and then turned back to her. “I truly don’t wish to impose on you.”
“You are not,” she lied. “And the dog is very helpful.”
He did smile then, eyes crinkling, lips turning up in a way that made her almost feel giddy. “I’ve grown very attached to the little cur, but I fear we must part ways. Sancho has chosen you.”
“Oh, no, of course I cannot—”
“He’ll give you no option. He chose me the same way, just walked away from his last master and never looked back.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You must take him with you when you return home. I’m only in York for the quarter. And after that, I plan to… to travel.”
He smiled again. “Sancho is a good traveler, as long as there are no boats involved. Will there be boats?”
Before she could answer, the door opened, and Wes waved an arm with a flourish. “Look who is here, Mother.” A wizened lady with twinkling blue eyes entered.
It just needed this. Her mother-in-law had arrived.
The lady went right up to the major and reached for him. “Augustus Kellborn. When Westcott wrote I knew I must come and join you. What a pleasure to see you again.”
Honoria may as well turn the house over to all of them and go to an inn herself. Oh, but then she wouldn’t have her glorious view of the Minster and she wouldn’t be able to finally finish a painting.
* * *
Gus rested his spoon and patiently answered the dowager’s umpteenth question about his new estate in Cumberland. He’d inherited Whitlaw Grange from a childless relation, and after his first winter there, he understood why the man never married. It was a fine house for a man who liked hunting, fishing, and Roman history, but where a lady was concerned, not even the well-maintained manor house with its modern conveniences could compensate for the remoteness of the location.
They talked about mutual family members as well, Wes’s grandmother providing more details than he could. He’d been both gone for many years and a poor correspondent. But when she ventured into his military career, he parsed his words, and carefully avoided wincing at memories he’d sooner not discuss.
“Was Talavera as frightful as the papers reported?” The dowager Lady Twisden paused her spoon over the custard. “No, do not say a word. I know it must have been, and you don’t want to speak of it. And besides, Honoria is sending me that look.”
Honoria. Gus gazed down the table at the other Lady Twisden, Gus’s stepmother. Honoria—what a pretentious name for such a down-to-earth lady. She ought to have a pet name—Nora, or perhaps Honey, like the color of her hair. Yes, Honey would be better, as she was smiling, a sweet and genuine smile, directed at her mother-in-law.
She’d taken her mother-in-law’s arrival with amazing grace—after barely a flutter of her eyelids and a momentarily rise in her color, she’d embraced the older lady and ushered her upstairs to change out of her dusty carriage gown.
Following that, she must have gone below stairs and cast whatever spell had been needed upon the meager group of underpaid—if he was to believe Wes—servants so that they were able to sit down to dinner only a quarter hour later than planned.
Now, Gus sent her a grateful nod and turned to the dowager. “My mother always spoke fondly of you, my lady. Perhaps tomorrow when we are both rested from our travels, I may answer all those questions about Spain.”
“Oh, dear boy, you must not my lady me. You may call me Cousin Genny, as your mother did.”
He dipped his head. “And you may call me Gus, Cousin Genny, as Wes does.” He held his breath, wondering if Wes’s stepmother would allow him the intimacy of using her Christian name—the formal one, Honoria. He would save pet names for a closer acquaintance.
And a closer acquaintance there would be. She was just the sort of lady for him. On the practical level, she knew how to thrive in the country, but wasn’t averse to getting away and traveling.
But when she smiled at him and her color rose, practicalities weren’t foremost on his mind.
“What are your plans for your stay in York?” the dowager asked.
“Why, we’re here for the races, Grandmama,” Wes said. “They’re not for a few weeks, but we shall find ways to keep occupied until then. I should like to visit some of the stud farms in the area. Find a spare for my stable.” He lifted a hand. “Nothing extravagant, Mother.”
“And you, Honoria? Have you called on your niece?”
“Yes, I have, and we’ve met at a few social events. It’s been a whirlwind getting the house sorted, but I intend to call on her often now that we are both more settled.”
“Whatever will you do with the rest of your time, Mother?”
The lady sat up straighter, hiding what was must certainly be an urge to bristle at her impudent stepson’s tone.
“There’s a great deal of society in York,” Honoria said, her cheeks tinging a lovely shade of pink. “I’ve made the acquaintance of Lady Clune, and through her I’ve received invitations. For the inquiring mind, there’s much to see in York, a great deal of Roman history.”
Her eyes brightened at the mention of Roman history, and he was delighted to see they had a common interest to pursue while he pursued her.
She tipped her head and went on. “The York Antiquarian Society is quite active. I’ve been introduced to the director, Mr. Herbert Nedhelm, and his wife. And there’s to be a guest lecture by a visiting scholar, Dr. Malcolm Marr, who will speak on ancient Egyptian medicine.”
The mention of Marr drew him out of his romantic strategizing.
“Would that be Malcolm Marr, Strathnaver’s younger brother?” he asked.
“Yes.” Cousin Genny nodded. “I believe so. Is he not a particular friend of yours, Gus?”
“Since Eton,” he said. “I’ll look forward to attending his lecture.”
Wes laughed. “Roman history and Egyptian medicine. What else do you plan to do here, Mother?”
“Now that she’s turned you loose to run Twisden Manor, Wes, she’ll be painting, will you not, Honoria?” the dowager asked.
Color rose higher in the younger lady’s cheeks.
“Honoria was run ragged by that son of mine, Gus. She had little time to pursue her own interests. Not that Melton thought ladies should have their own interests.”
“Drawing pictures of old buildings,” Wes muttered.
“I am sure,” Cousin Genny said, “that we might find you a better drawing instructor in a city as big as York. Wes had a drawing instructor for a time, Gus, but I believe Honoria learned more from the lessons. You will see, Honoria, with help and practice, how much your work improves.”
“Oh yes.” Honoria picked up her glass, her cheeks now the same rosy hue as the wine. “What think you of this claret, gentlemen?”
Cousin Genny waved a hand. “I can see they’ve both had their glasses refilled, Honoria. Now, you must tell me more about your visit to Farnley Hall. Was Turner there?”
“Turner?” Wes said. “You visited Turner, Mother? By yourself?”
The flush in Honoria’s cheeks poured down into her modest decolletage. A yearning to see how far the pink flowed warred with an urge send Wes’s chair flying.
Had Gus stayed at an inn, he wouldn’t have stumbled across this sort of family tableau. Though Honoria was no blood relative of either of the Twisdens, the family was close. Only one’s beloved relations could inflict such embarrassment.
Aside from the color in her cheeks, Honoria held her composure. Gus stayed all his yearning and urges, curious to hear how she answered.
“I stopped with Bixby at Farnley Hall when I was passing through Otley. The housekeeper was most kind, and no, Mr. Turner was not visiting, nor was Mr. Fawkes in residence, else I wouldn’t have imposed.”
The mention of Fawkes jiggled Gus’s memory. “Would that be J.M.W. Turner?” he asked. How would a lady residing in rural Westmoreland be knowledgeable of that Turner? “I saw some of his watercolors in London.”
Her eyes lit. “I have never visited London, but the art tutor had. I’ve read of his work, and I was able to see some of his sketches and paintings at Farnley Hall. I admire his technique. What did you think of the paintings you saw, sir?”
Gus heard a note of challenge and groped for words. The man’s landscapes and seascapes were certainly dramatic.
She shook her head. “I suppose they’re not to everyone’s taste. My late husband was not fond of art either, unless the subject was hunting or dogs.” She turned a strained smile on Wes. “To answer your earlier question, I do intend to paint, but as I said, there is much history to explore in York, and I intend to see it all. This is, after all, an ancient city. Constantine was proclaimed emperor of Rome by his men here. In fact, I plan to begin my exploring tomorrow.”
Wes sighed. “It would be indiscreet for you to go exploring on your own. You must wait until the day after when I am free.” He signaled for more wine, and the rail-thin woman serving them strolled over. “Thank you, Bixby,” Wes said. “Tomorrow, you shall not have to perform footman duty. I’ll be visiting the agencies in the morning to bring in more help.”
“Bixby will accompany me tomorrow, Wes. Major Kellborn, this is my maid, Olive Bixby, who has been kind enough to serve us tonight. Do not worry, Wes. I’ll leave my jewels and my piles of gold at home. We two older ladies shall be perfectly safe walking the city walls and exploring the Shambles.”
Bixby looked unconvinced and kept her mouth closed as Rompole would not have done. Wes, an equally imprudent male, opened his mouth. “Mother…” He cleared his throat, preparing a pompous objection. More sensible than many young men who’d just inherited Wes was, but he hadn’t yet learned how to wield his new power tactfully, especially where this kind lady was concerned.
“I should like to accompany you, Lady Twisden,” Gus said. “If you’ll allow it.”
“You’ll find yourself stopping at every shop,” Wes said, “and no footman to carry the packages.”
Honoria sent her stepson a bland look before bestowing a polite smile on Gus. “Of course, you may join us, Major Kellborn. I daresay you’ll find us tiresome, and then you may make your excuses with a clear conscience and search out a pint of ale.”
Her hair shimmered in the candlelight, and though she held his gaze, her lower lip quivered just enough to tell him she was either nervous or amused. He would never find this lady tiresome.
She turned that bright smile on Wes. “As for you, dear boy, since you’ll be free the day after tomorrow, you and I shall pay a call on my niece, Patience, Lady Seahaven, and her young ladies.”
Wes sighed. “Of course. Are they pretty, these young ladies? I hope they are at least pretty.”
“What a question,” Honoria exclaimed. “I can safely say that I’ve seen all the girls, and Patience and her stepdaughters are all very comely. But remember, beauty is in the eye—or perhaps the heart—of the beholder, as I have always told you.”
Cousin Genny clapped her hands. “Well said, Honoria.”
“Indeed,” Gus said, sending the lady a long look. “I have always found that to be true.”
Cousin Genny grasped her grandson’s hand. “It’s what I ought to have told your father when he was your age, Wes. Your mother, God rest her soul, was too pretty for her own good. But the poor lass had not an ounce of sense.”
“Are the Bigglesworth girls spirited, Mother?” Wes asked. “I cannot abide a melancholy girl, no matter how much beauty. That was my own mother’s problem, wasn’t it, Grandmama? She wasn’t lacking in sense; she was just too gloomy. Father always told me it was my stepmother’s spirit that convinced him to marry her.”
“Your stepmother isn’t spirited, you goose. She’s sensible and stubborn, as she had to be living with my son in the middle of nowhere.”
Gus cleared his throat, sensing Honoria’s discomfort. She was studying her dish of half-finished custard. “And sensible stubbornness is a mark in any lady’s favor,” he said.
When she looked up, he couldn’t read her expression. “I shall not require you to join us in calling on my niece, Major. However, Patience is hosting a ball several days from now at the Smithfield Assembly Rooms, and I shall impose on both of you to attend the ball. In fact, I’m one of the sponsors for this event, and I intend for it to be a great success. Patience is a very young widow, only two-and-twenty, with several marriageable stepdaughters. I’m not asking either of you to choose a bride, though how wonderful if… Well in any case, I require you to dance with each of the young ladies, and Patience, as well.”
Cousin Genny chuckled. “Westcott, I’ll join with Honoria pushing you onto the dance floor. Cousin Gus, will you be so gallant as to dance with the young ladies?”
Gus tapped the table and furrowed his brow, pretending to think about the question. He sent his hostess his most imperious look, the one that set all the raw recruits shaking.
She blinked, and then held his gaze steady. There was a world of patience in the woman.
“I shall do it,” he said. “On one condition. Lady Twisden, Honoria, you must allow me two dances with you.”
Wes laughed. “Mother don’t dance.”
She blinked again, shuttering a flash of irritation. “I may be a bit rusty, but if you will risk some embarrassment and your toes, I agree to your terms, Major.”
“Never saw you stand up at a party,” Wes said. “Always pushing the young girls out onto the floor. Why, only last month, Ripton was complaining that you’d always…” He sat up straighter. “Why, Mother, Ripton is coming to York. He must have arrived by now, and I know he’ll call on you soon.” He turned back to Gus. “Jeremiah Ripton is local gentry, a good friend of my father.”
“I am sure, Wes, that it’s you he wishes to see,” Honoria said. “Best meet him over a pint somewhere.”
“Of course, he’ll call on you, Mother, especially now that both of you are widowed.”
She grimaced and signaled the maid. “Mother Twisden, shall we leave the two gentlemen to their spirits and withdraw to the parlor?”
“Yes,” Cousin Genny said. “But I’ll retire to my room. I have letters to write. Bixby, ring for Jones, please. She must be finished moving Honoria’s things by now.”
“I’ll help you up,” Honoria said. “In fact, I believe I’ll retire as well. Gentlemen, why not have your sherry in the parlor and turn in whenever you wish?”
Both ladies and the maid departed, leaving him with Wes.
This was certainly not the respite from Cumberland he’d expected. He’d thought to come to York to attend the races, take part in society, and perhaps… perhaps meet a lady he might want to marry, all from the sedate comfort of the doddering widow’s guest bedchamber.
And he found it was the widow he wanted.
Wes clapped him on the shoulder. “I hear that the taproom at the Golden Fleece is favored by some of the sporting men. What say you we have our nightcap there?”
A maid—a younger girl than the other—entered and curtsied. Wes sent her to fetch their hats, and within minutes, they set off walking.