Love or Title: The Colchester Sisters Read online

  “Yes, Rachel has been staying there for some weeks now and I know that she has tried her best.”

  “But Esme is still interested in the young man? Well, she is young and I daresay she sees some importance in making her way in the world. Is she really to be blamed for such a thing?”

  “No, as long as she does not act upon it.”

  “And you think it is your business, George?”

  “Probably not, but I have taken to the young lady. I see something better in her than this and I would like to stop her from heading into an unhappy world of her own making.”

  “Then let us hope, for your sake, that Esme sees things your way,” Constance said and nodded urgently at the teapot, indicating that George should do the honors.

  “Yes, I still have hope.”

  Chapter 14

  When Esme was greeted warmly into Mrs. Dalton’s drawing room, she was glad that she had decided to come after all. Her mother, usually her bridge partner, had declared herself to be too busy to come although she had no objection at all to Esme attending alone.

  After all, it was a most sedate affair and Esme’s parents knew exactly who would be in attendance. The same fine people who attended for a convivial afternoon of bridge each and every week.

  Esme thought that the game would take her mind off things for a while. She had been secretly relieved that her beloved mother could not make it, for Elizabeth Colchester had tried to talk to her daughter more than once about her determination to set her sights on the Marquis of Longton.

  Ever since Lady Asquith’s summer ball, Esme was sure that her sisters had been petitioning their mother to intervene. Although they had not been a party to the little group on that night, they had both watched the Marquis intently and had, as was their custom, invaded her chamber that night with question upon question.

  Verity had been particularly vehement, having no romance in her soul whatsoever. In truth, Esme was not even sure that it was blood which ran through the young Verity’s veins and not pure common sense.

  And as for Jane, she was almost tearful in the offense she had taken on her sister’s behalf. How dare the Marquis dance the first two with those awful Burton girls, especially when they had already insulted Esme so thoroughly that the Marquis had been forced to apologize?

  But Esme had brushed it all aside, admitting a little of what Lady Rachel told her previously. She had talked of Daniel Winsford’s mood swings as if they were an affliction rather than a character flaw although it was clear that neither one of her sisters was convinced by her explanation.

  And her mother had approached her more than once in the days which followed, gently reminding her that she was precious and beautiful, clever and interesting. The sort of young woman who ought only to marry a man who was truly worthy of her.

  And as much as Esme thought she knew her own mind, she certainly had her own doubts. But she could hardly pick through it all with her sisters’ determination to have her see things their way and her mother’s loving care to make her wonder if she could ever make a right decision.

  Not to mention the fact that she was hardly being courted by the Marquis at all. He drew her towards him at one moment and seemed to push her away the next. She wondered what his own thoughts on the subject were. Did he think them to be drawing closer?

  “You have no partner today, my dear? Your mother is well, I hope?” Mrs. Dalton said, leading Esme by the arm to a table.

  “She is very well, Mrs. Dalton. She is just rather inundated with her charitable works at the moment and she sends her apologies that she is unable to attend today.”

  “Not at all, charitable works must be done,” Mrs. Dalton said. “And I am sure we can find you a perfectly good partner.”

  “Will I do?” George Wentworth appeared quite suddenly and stood at the side of the empty chair beside her with clear hopes that he would be invited to sit down.

  Esme was utterly amazed to see him there and, although she was sensible of the fact that her mouth was slightly agape, she seemed unable to control it.

  “Ah, Mr. Wentworth. Are you acquainted with Miss Colchester?” Mrs. Dalton said in what seemed to be a rather unconvincing little piece of theatre.

  “Yes, we are acquainted. Although it is true to say that we have never been properly introduced by a third party, Constance.” His use of Mrs. Dalton’s first name gave credence to Esme’s suspicions that the two knew each other rather well.

  “Oh, well then let me do the honors,” Mrs. Dalton said and laughed pleasantly. “Miss Esme Colchester, may I introduce you to an old family friend, Mr. George Wentworth.”

  “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Colchester,” he said and bowed so deeply that Esme almost laughed.

  “How nice to meet you finally, Mr. Wentworth,” Esme said and inclined her head before holding out her hand to indicate that he might sit. “Perhaps you would care to be my bridge partner for the afternoon.”

  “The very best of luck, my dear,” Constance Dalton said, laughing as she walked away. “You are most certainly going to need it.”

  Not ten minutes into their game, Esme realized exactly what Mrs. Dalton had meant. George Wentworth was truly the worst bridge partner she had ever played with in her life and she knew that they would not last long before being thoroughly beaten.

  “I realize I am not very good at this, Miss Colchester, but if you continue to roll your eyes so expansively, I fear they might roll clean out of your head and across the table,” he said and smiled at her.

  “Can you blame me, Mr. Wentworth? You have truly turned poor bridge playing into an art form.” And despite herself, Esme laughed.

  “Am I to take it that you would not be at all pleased to play a second game with me as your partner?” he asked and raised his eyebrows hopefully.

  “In truth, I am not sure I have the required patience for such an endeavor.”

  “I must say, I rather like you when you are being a little sharp.”

  “You mean to say you do not like me the rest of the time, Mr. Wentworth?” For reasons she could not explain, Esme was finding herself enjoying their conversation.

  It was certainly lively, if nothing else, and even a little fun. And she had to admit to being pleased to see him again, even if his initial appearance in Mrs. Dalton’s drawing room had been somewhat disconcerting.

  And for his part, Mr. Wentworth looked at his ease. He was wearing black breeches and a fawn colored tailcoat and waistcoat which suited his tanned skin and fair hair very nicely. But even sitting down, his height could not be denied. Surely, a man who stood out as he did could not be as mysterious as he seemed to be?

  She made a mental note to gently question Mrs. Dalton about the man if ever she had the opportunity. Perhaps that good woman would be able to provide her with one or two answers that would render him far less mysterious than he had been to date.

  “On the contrary, I like you all the time, Miss Colchester.”

  “By which you mean that I am sharp all the time,” she said and narrowed her gaze.

  “You are a little too quick-witted for me, I fear.” He laughed ruefully at having been caught out so easily.

  When the game was over, Mr. Wentworth easily persuaded her to take a seat with him for a while and a little tea.

  “So, I am bound to say that I believe you are watching me, Mr. Wentworth. Until recently I had never seen you in my life and now you seem to be everywhere that I am,” Esme said and realized that he truly was mysterious.

  Was this excitement that she was feeling? But how could she be excited by somebody who was such an unknown quantity to her? He could be anybody. She truly knew nothing about him. And yet that little frisson of excitement persisted. She was beginning to realize that she had spent as much time in Mr. Wentworth’s company as she had in the Marquis of Longton’s.

  “I watch everybody, Miss Colchester,” he said cryptically.

  “Why? To amuse yourself?”

  “Partly,
” he said and leaned easily back in the armchair opposite her, his smile almost lazy and very appealing.

  “Only partly?”

  “I suppose I watch people partly to be sure of who I am dealing with. Social events are very much the same from county to county, all over England in fact. I stand on the edge of it all and I watch the little pieces of drama being played out over and over again. The little dance that is danced to etiquette’s tune. So yes, I am a little amused by it. But moreover, it gives me an idea of exactly who I am dealing with. I watch the little dances with interest, you see.”

  “You make very little sense to me at times, Mr. Wentworth,” Esme said truthfully. “But perhaps that is because I still do not know who you are.”

  “I am Mr. Wentworth. George Wentworth,” he said with a mischievous smile. “And tell me, how is Lord Longton?”

  “I have not seen him since Lady Asquith’s ball last week,” Esme said, her spirit suddenly lowered by the very mention of his name. “I am afraid that I did not thank you properly for lending me your coat against the chill of the evening.”

  “You thanked me very well at the time, Miss Colchester, you need have no fear of that.”

  “Well, that is a relief if nothing else.”

  “You did not enjoy the evening,” he said, and it was a statement, not a question.

  “Not entirely.” Esme was determined not to elaborate on it with the man who was still, in essence, a stranger to her.

  “Tell me, have you spoken to Lady Rachel Marlow at all?”

  “Lady Rachel?” Esme said, sitting bolt upright on the couch. “You know Lady Rachel?” She realized that her tone was a little accusing.

  “Yes, I know Lady Rachel Marlow. She is the widow of a man who was my dearest friend, Peregrine Marlow.”

  “Forgive me, but I had not realized that Lady Rachel was a widow,” Esme said and felt suddenly very sad that such a young woman had been made a widow.

  “She does not speak of it much, Miss Colchester. They were greatly in love, you see, and she cannot trust her emotions to speak his name aloud in public.”

  “Oh dear, that really is terribly sad.” Esme felt a little stab of emotion herself.

  “Well, now that I have thoroughly saddened you, I fear it is time for me to take my leave,” he said and put his cup and saucer down.

  “But why did you want to know if I have spoken to Lady Rachel?”

  “I was just aware that she was staying Longton Hall, that is all,” he said, and Esme was not entirely sure she believed him.

  Did he know something of what Lady Rachel had told her when they had spoken so secretly at Longton Hall? And she could not escape the feeling that somehow Mrs. Dalton had more knowledge of the thing than she was admitting.

  “I see,” Esme said and nodded, realizing that she would get no further with him now. “Well, I am sure that you are determined to remain as mysterious as ever, Mr. Wentworth, so I will leave you to it.” She returned to her old self once more. “And obviously I thank you dearly for your contribution to the bridge game this afternoon,” she said in a tone which she hoped was amusingly sarcastic.

  “It was a pleasure, Miss Colchester. My bridge services are at your disposal any time.” He rose to his feet and bowed.

  “I shall remember that.” She laughed, inclining her head graciously to release him.

  Some twenty minutes after he had left, and once Esme had finished her tea, she decided that it was time for her to leave also. Mrs. Dalton followed her out into the hallway to supervise the return of her cloak and chattered happily as she did so.

  “I hope you have enjoyed the afternoon, Esme.”

  “Very much indeed, Mrs. Dalton,” Esme said, wondering if now might be the time to ask one or two impertinent questions. “Forgive me, but are you very well acquainted with Mr. Wentworth?”

  “I knew his father very well, my dear. They are a very fine family from Buckinghamshire. His father and I were distant cousins, which I suppose makes George Wentworth and I the same.” She chuckled, and Esme knew by instinct that the dear old lady was being evasive.

  “How lovely,” Esme said and smiled brightly, knowing that she would get nothing further from Mrs. Dalton either and not wanting to risk offending a woman she thought of as a friend. “Well, it was certainly nice to be introduced to him properly at last,” she said and held out her hands to take Mrs. Dalton’s. “Thank you for another wonderful afternoon, Mrs. Dalton. Next week I do hope to have my mother with me.”

  “And thank you for coming, my dear. Your company has been a delight as always.” Mrs. Dalton kissed her cheek before releasing her.

  Esme walked the short distance from Mrs. Dalton’s Colington townhouse to her father’s carriage. The driver was staring wistfully into space, clearly enjoying the warm and sunny day.

  He looked so content, in fact, that Esme thought it a shame to break the spell and interrupt him. She stood for a moment peering up at him, letting him have his last few moments.

  “So, you asked Mrs. Dalton about me then, did you?” The voice behind her was so low and quiet that she thought for a moment she had imagined it.

  But when Esme turned around, she found herself looking up into George Wentworth’s handsome face.

  “Yes, I did ask her,” Esme said with some defiance. “You spend your time watching people, Sir, whereas I prefer to take the direct approach.”

  “Indeed, you do,” he said and laughed humorously. “But do you really need to know a person’s background and public face before you can truly get to know them? You must ask yourself this, Miss Colchester; if that is how you choose to live, are you not missing out?” he said the last in a whisper, leaning in a little so that she felt his breath hot and warm against the side of her face.

  Straightening up, he began to chuckle good-naturedly before bowing and turning to walk away.

  She watched him leave with the same agape expression she had first greeted him with, in Mrs. Dalton’s drawing room. He really was a mystery.

  “Forgive me, Miss, I had not seen you there,” the driver said, jumping down behind her and making her start. “Here you go,” he said with a bright smile as he opened the door of the carriage and helped her inside.

  Chapter 15

  “You are ready very quickly for the Marquis’ ball, my dear,” Elizabeth Colchester said when she found Esme sitting in the drawing room alone waiting for them all. “Do you not want to go?”

  “Of course, we must go, Mama, we have accepted the invitation.”

  “That did not answer my question, Esme. If you do not want to go to the Marquis’ ball, I will not make you. And I know I can speak for your father and say that he would feel the same.”

  “There is no harm in going to a ball, Mama. And I have heard from Lady Rachel that the dreadful Burton sisters are not to be there. Michael Burton has some London engagement and they are to be trotting along behind him,” Esme said with more than a hint of bitterness.

  “I rather fear that the Burtons are going to become more and more of a problem as you get to know the Marquis and not less,” Esme’s mother said regretfully. “It is very clear to me that he would not be at all keen to give them up. And from what your sisters tell me, their poor behavior seems to have an effect on him.”

  “And yet you have seen him at his best, Mama. Is he not a fine young man of note then?”

  “I cannot help but think that it is a simple matter of his being of note, my dear.” Mrs. Colchester said and then held out her hands in front of her. “Do not look at me like that, my dear, for I am not trying to offend you or hurt your feelings. I just wish that I knew why it is you are so intent on the ideas that are held by society when neither your father nor I have ever sought to put such pressures upon you. There is nothing wrong in being proper, my dear, or even wanting the best for yourself and your children when they come along, but it must not be achievable only at the sacrifice of your own happiness. I am absolutely certain that life is not meant to be lived
in that manner.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” Esme said, and Mrs. Colchester looked surprised not to be on the receiving end of a volley of argument. “Your words are always the most sensible to me, always the worthiest.”

  “Well, for goodness sake, do not say as much to Verity. She sets a lot of store in common sense and she would not like to think that her silly mother held such a title.” She laughed and reached out to lay a hand on her daughters’ cheek. “You really are very beautiful, my dear, and I would never want to see you go to any less of a man than would deserve you.”

  Esme was suddenly taken by emotion, blinking furiously so that she would not cry and disarrange her appearance. But she could not help but rise to her feet and wrap her arms around her mother, holding her tightly, saying nothing in case her voice gave her away.

  “Good girl, come on then,” Mrs. Colchester said with a smile. “If you are intent upon going to this ball, then I suppose we must move.” She laughed.

  When they arrived at the ball, it was to be greeted by an extremely effusive Marquis.

  “Oh, my dear Miss Colchester, how very fine you look this evening,” he said, smiling at her brightly as he surveyed what she thought to be a very plain outfit.

  She wore a very simply cut gown of deep green with long white gloves and her hair was put up very neatly at the back.

  “Thank you, Lord Longton,” Esme said and smiled at him in the briefest way.

  He looked as handsome and as immaculate as ever, but somehow it did not have the same effect on her. Esme found herself wondering if the mysterious George Wentworth might be somewhere in the great ballroom of Longton Hall. But of course, he had told her that they had never been introduced and he seemed so disapproving of the man that it was very unlikely he would accept any invitation that the Marquis might send out.

  And for some reason, the idea that the man who had annoyed her so greatly in the past would not be there tonight made her feel a little low. She felt flat, as if the evening stretched out ahead of her interminably.