Finding Miss McFarland Page 7

  Asteria nearly clapped with glee. “That is a nice trick, inviting us to call when my brother could hardly refuse.”

  “Our carriage is at your disposal,” Griffin offered, unable to keep the smirk from his lips. There’d be no avoiding him this time. Her spy could not have prepared her for this circumstance. “My sisters and I will simply return to Haversham’s on a future outing.”

  Pink brushed Delaney’s cheeks again as she drew in a breath. “Apparently, my cleverness has already abandoned me. Truly, I was merely doing a service for my sister. She enjoys your company immensely. I never intended to imply she’d confided an interest in having your brother pay a call on her.”

  “Then he could call on you while we visit your sister,” Phoebe said with a glint of triumph.

  Griffin felt his own triumph stir and wondered what it would be like to pay a call on Delaney McFarland. Would they sit across from each other, engaging in courteous conversation while pretending that the kiss in the Dorsets’ conservatory never happened? Or would she again confess to a strange crackling sensation beneath her skin and feeling as if she was about to catch fire?

  “Oh dear. I’ve done it again.” Miss McFarland’s gaze was apologetic until it glanced across his. Then, he could have sworn it turned to challenge. “You see, I will not be at home for visitors. I have another engagement I must attend.”

  His sisters exchanged looks of disappointment. If it weren’t for his ire suddenly being piqued at knowing that this was her way of avoiding him, he might have felt disappointment as well.

  Asteria stepped forward. “But you will be at the theater tonight, will you not?”

  She opened her mouth but closed it directly, apparently at a loss for an excuse. Now, it was his turn to gloat. Before he could say something to incite her even more, however, the door of Haversham’s jingled again and out stepped Miss Mallory.

  “Elena, you are just in time.” Miss McFarland sidled up to her instantly. “I’m sure you must know the Misses Phoebe and Asteria Croft. And of course, you’re acquainted with Mr. Croft,” she said nearly inaudibly. “But have you met Miss Calliope Croft?”

  Miss Mallory was only too delighted to make the new acquaintance.

  Griffin watched as Miss McFarland’s gaze turned calculating. Even though they’d barely spoken, he felt as if he knew each of her looks. A sense of certainty filled him. In fact, he knew what was coming before she opened her mouth to speak.

  “Only moments ago, Miss Mallory and I were conversing of her desire to attend the theater this evening,” Miss McFarland said, that small dimple taunting him. “Alas, my father’s box only seats six, and those are all taken. I believe your uncle’s box, though, is quite large, is it not, Mr. Croft?”

  Mis-ter Croft. He could almost taste her syllables on his tongue.

  “It is.” He clenched his teeth together in a grin. Obligated now, he looked from Miss McFarland to her cousin. “Miss Mallory, it would be my great honor if you would accompany my sisters and me.”

  When Elena Mallory’s pinched face opened into a grin, he felt as if he were seeing a direct descendant of ancient dragons. It appeared as though she possessed two rows of jagged tips sharp enough to bite through leather. He was suddenly quite nervous for his boots.

  Miss Mallory tittered, a high-pitched whinny issuing through her nose and piercing his ears. “I’d be delighted, sir.”

  “Lovely,” Miss McFarland said and aimed a rather cheeky wink in his direction when no one else was looking. The air rushed out of Griffin so suddenly that he felt as if he’d taken a punch to the stomach. The wink took him off guard. And yet, already, he wanted her to do it again.

  Then, too quickly, she made her excuses, leaving them in her cousin’s care. And to Griffin, she’d somehow taken away the vibrancy of the afternoon at the same time.

  A mad urge to follow her trampled through him, but he remained on the walking path outside the shop. The shifting of his boots on the ground was the only indication that he wrestled for a moment.

  “Allow us to drop you at home, Miss Mallory,” Calliope offered, gesturing to the carriage. “It is fortunate for us that our brother knows everyone’s address, so we needn’t ask for it.”

  The eldest of his sisters cast him an impish smile.

  He hated that he was about to fall into her trap, and he blamed Miss McFarland for all of it. Especially for unsettling him. When he saw the culprit this evening, he would be sure to pay her back in kind.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I’m truly going to be ill, Griffin,” Asteria said as he escorted her below stairs during intermission. Calliope and Phoebe had stayed behind. He suspected, however, that the younger of the twins was speaking for all of his sisters. “Miss Mallory is in our box this instant, leaning across to Lady Amherst—one of the most notorious gossips in all of London—making claims against Lord Rathburn and Miss Danvers. You should march up there this instant and come to her defense.”

  “I hardly know Miss Danvers. Such an act by a gentleman who is not amongst her or her family’s coterie might incur more damage than assistance.” Although, he could see his sister’s point. He needed to put a stop to the gossiping ninny before she sullied someone’s reputation.

  Miss Mallory’s barely veiled innuendo of Rathburn’s previous involvement with an actress had been enough for him to clear his throat and mention that his younger sisters were new to the sights and sounds of town. Unfortunately, she hadn’t taken the hint. In fact, she’d actually offered to escort the twins to more functions and help him act as chaperone.

  He’d had enough. Clearly, a private and very blunt conversation was needed.

  “I meant you should come to Miss McFarland’s defense.” His sister stared at him as if he’d half a brain. “Surely, you’ve heard the rumors that Miss Mallory is a cousin of hers.”

  “I have,” he admitted and ignored the twinkle of mischief in his sister’s blue eyes, as if he’d just been caught raiding the kitchen for gingerbread. “Still, I don’t see what that has to do with Lord Rathburn and his betrothed.”

  “Miss Danvers is a particular friend of Miss McFarland’s. Therefore, it stands to reason that Miss Mallory is merely attacking her by way of Miss Danvers’s reputation. After all, Phoebe and I have heard from more than one person who remembers the way Miss Mallory stood in the McFarlands’ ballroom last year, gloating all throughout the . . .” She pursed her lips as if searching for a delicate way to put it.

  “Incident,” he supplied. Oddly, the term sparked a glint of unexpected warmth through him.

  “Incident sounds much better than abominable horror, which is how Phoebe and I refer to it.” She nodded in acceptance but gave him the knowing look she’d adopted recently. “It’s fortunate that Miss McFarland has a friend in you.”

  He ignored the comment. “When we return to the box, we’ll make a very public exit with Miss Mallory, sending a clear message of intolerance.”

  “Oh, yes! That will be perfect.” She nodded eagerly but then turned thoughtful. “No. That will not do. A public exit will cause more people to wonder at the reason, and then Miss Mallory’s gossip will only spread faster.” Her gloved finger tapped against her chin as she frowned. “She’s put us in a terrible predicament. I’m not afraid to say that I do not like her one bit. Although . . . it was clever of Miss McFarland to put her in your path, pretending disinterest.”

  “You manage to see pretense where there is none.” The only reason a woman would put another woman in a gentleman’s path would be to ensure that he understood she had no interest. Griffin used the same tactic when introduced to a debutante with whom he didn’t want to dance—he simply introduced her to the nearest gentleman and quickly took his leave. “Not every person’s actions are part of a grand plot, as you and Phoebe seem to imagine.”

  “Oh, but you are wrong. Phoebe and I have a chart that helps us.” She paused and looked askance at him. “Well, the reason isn’t important. You’ll have to trust me.”
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  He knew by now that it was better not to ask.

  Just then, he saw Miss McFarland and her friend Miss Wakefield turn the corner from the refreshment area, heads bent together as they whispered. Their collective frowns told him well enough that they’d heard Miss Mallory’s claims. A fresh sweep of irritation at the young woman in his uncle’s box fell over him.

  Griffin escorted his sister directly in their paths and greeted both of them in turn. “How are you enjoying the play?”

  The two exchanged a look.

  Miss McFarland’s expression transformed into one of fiery determination in the quick jut of her shapely chin. A gleam flared in her gaze. “Better, now that we have spent all this time conversing with our good friends, Miss Danvers and Lord Rathburn,” she said, elevating her voice slightly, seemingly so that the few still lingering in the gallery might overhear.

  While he’d given her credit for being clever, now he witnessed her devout loyalty as well. He suddenly decided that her friends were most fortunate indeed.

  “But I thought . . . oh.” It took Asteria a moment to catch on, but she quickly recovered. “When I saw you leave before intermission, I’d wondered if you were off to speak with your friends.”

  Miss McFarland reached out and squeezed his sister’s hand, an affectionate smile on her face. “Yes, and we have great news as well, but it would be wrong of me to boast about it.”

  “Surely not too boastful,” Miss Wakefield chimed in, as if the entire exchange had been rehearsed. “Naturally, it would pain us to conceal our glee for having received an invitation to picnic at Hawthorne Manor.”

  This was news. There hadn’t been a party at Hawthorne Manor in years. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the eavesdropping Leticia Cumberland—a particular friend of Lady Amherst’s—and quickly knew Miss McFarland’s plan would work.

  “Although since it is only for the wedding party, it would be wrong to let everyone know. So it will have to be our secret.” The moment when Miss McFarland said those words, her gaze met his. A familiar tint of pale pink blended with the freckles on her cheeks.

  They shared a secret as well. He inclined his head, trying to ignore the sudden rush of heat. “You honor us with this confidence.”

  “Might I share this news with my sisters, once I return to the box?” Asteria asked, rather too slyly.

  “Of course,” Miss Wakefield responded and stepped forward to link arms with her. “Just as I will share the news with my aunt.”

  Miss McFarland glanced to her retreating friend and his sister, and then to him. She drew in a quick breath. “I must be off as well. Thank you, Mr. Croft, for—”

  “Keeping our—I mean, your secret?” He couldn’t help the teasing grin that curled the corners of his mouth. “It was entirely my pleasure, Miss McFarland.”

  That lush violet gaze narrowed for an instant, and he felt another stab of heat. “I do hope you are enjoying my cousin’s company this evening,” she said. “I must warn you, however, if she has a cup of punch waiting for you, I would not drink it.”

  He tucked the odd remark away for the moment since the orchestra went from tuning their instruments to the beginning of the score. “Trying to dissuade any potential interest I might have in another woman, Miss McFarland?” Extending his elbow, he silently offered to escort her to her father’s box.

  Surprisingly, she accepted. Together, they moved up the stairs behind his sister and Miss Wakefield. With each step, the lavender flounces over Miss McFarland’s bodice shimmied, drawing his attention and increasing his desire to explore what lay beneath. He had no idea how such a small bosom could entice him so.

  “Hardly,” she said, her tone edged with saucy provocation. “I put her in your path solely to bring you misery.”

  He allowed his gaze to roam over her slender throat, her freckled face, her flaming, unruly hair, not understanding how such a combination could appeal to him.

  Yet unaccountably, it did. “Then why the warning?”

  “You did my friend a service just now, and I thought it only right to return the favor.” She reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear, where two silver combs attempted to keep the mass of auburn curls from tumbling free.

  When the lock sprang forward again, this time he reached out and tucked it in place. The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on Miss McFarland. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

  Griffin abruptly lowered his hand. “Sometimes a firmer hand is all that’s needed,” he mumbled by way of an excuse.

  The curl bounced free again. A look of firm resolve replaced the shock in her violet petal irises. “And some things rebel against any type of restraint, Mr. Croft.”

  Without another word, she turned to join her friend under the dome of the rotunda, not realizing the havoc clambering through him whenever she was near.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Father, do you think I could wear Mother’s sapphire necklace to the Moncrieff ball tomorrow evening?” Bree asked before taking a dainty bite of the braised lamb on her plate. “I’m told the color would complement my eyes.”

  Sitting across the dining room table from Delaney, Bree seemed oblivious to the way the mention of their mother only brought her absence into sharp focus. Their father’s hand stilled briefly before he resumed cutting into his chop.

  With a terse nod, he said, “You may. But only if your sister isn’t planning on it for herself. Needless to say, there’s no reason to give her an excuse to run off to the jewelers tomorrow and charge up my account.”

  Delaney didn’t bother to be offended by the comment. The truth was, she’d been known to make that excuse. She still felt she should protest, however, strictly as a matter of principle.

  But before she could say a word, Bree added, with a different sort of bite, “She already has her own jewels that match her eyes.”

  Instantly, she knew the reason behind it. Their mother had given Delaney her necklace shortly before her debut. Even though their mother had been absent for both of their debuts, Bree had yet to receive a gift for hers. Never once, until this moment, had the thought occurred to Delaney.

  Thinking back to the promise she’d made to their mother, Delaney felt ashamed for not having taken better care of her sister’s feelings through all this. Not to mention, there was a great deal of anger toward both of their parents for creating all this idiocy in the first place.

  “Mother’s sapphires suit your coloring perfectly,” Delaney said to her sister as a small token of kindness.

  “Then it’s settled,” their father said. The terseness of his words indicated that the subject was closed, and further mention of their mother or her jewelry would not be welcome.

  They ate in silence for a time. Gil McFarland opened his embossed gold watch and placed it on the glossed teak table beside his silverware. Delaney despised the sight of it. Without a word, he made it patently clear that he would rather be anywhere else than with his daughters at dinner.

  He usually spent time at his club or working late hours in his study, pouring over account ledgers and managing his many estates. As a second son, he took great pride in exceeding both his father’s and elder brother’s income.

  “Did you read the letter I left on your desk about Mr. Harrison and the children of Warthall Place?” Delaney asked, knowing full well he couldn’t escape her this time.

  “I did.”

  “And?” She dared to hope he would use some of his wealth to aid Mr. Harrison in expanding Warthall Place.

  Her father expelled a breath. “The answer is the same as it was the first seven times you asked.”

  When Delaney had first met Mr. Harrison and heard him utter the words, “Everyone deserves to have a sense of purpose,” she’d felt an instant connection. All her life, she’d known her purpose was to marry advantageously, as her mother had done. In other words, it never mattered who she was as a person, only the money mattered. Yet the idea that marriage was her only purpose left her feeling empty. Or at
least, until she met Mr. Harrison and realized that she could do some good for someone else, especially through such a marriage to Montwood. As soon as he agreed to her terms . . .

  “Mr. Harrison visits workhouses and orphanages,” she continued, “in search of children who normally aren’t given many opportunities because of misfortune.”

  “Delaney,” her father warned, his knuckles whitening on the grip he had around his fork and knife.

  “These children are seen as a burden because of a missing limb or lack of sight, instead of being given a true objective and the means to support themselves for the rest of their days—”

  “Enough!” His silverware clattered against the plate.

  She knew she shouldn’t have pushed him, but she had as little success in keeping her mouth still as she had the rest of her person. In fact, she was probably the reason her father hated these weekly dinners. After all, he’d married so that someone else could see to the messy business of raising the children and keeping up appearances—that, and for her mother’s fortune, of course. He never wanted to be bothered with his children.

  Yet as a member of the ton and having two daughters of marriageable age, he would have to be bothered at some point. Since Mother had gone away, more often than not in these past years he’d been forced to hire a chaperone to remove the burden of having to spend any more time than absolutely necessary with his daughters.

  Unfortunately for him, even the most reputable decorum instructor earned a night off once a week.

  “Miss Pursglove informs me that you attended a picnic this afternoon.” Her father directed this to Delaney, even though he stared at his watch with each word.

  “Yes, sir.” While she wanted to go into detail and share the wonder and magnificence she’d seen at Hawthorne Manor, she couldn’t bear to see him react in his typical manner. His fork would still over his plate. He’d release an exhausted breath through his nostrils. And in his gaze, she would see how desperately he wanted to quit the room.