The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(58)

William sat in his chair and smiled as if nothing untoward had occurred between them. “Emma, you’re looking splendid today.” His gaze swept to Daphne, and the smile he presented would have lit every ballroom in London that night with its brightness. “Daphne, a vision as always.”

Emma studied her brother with narrowed eyes but must have decided not to pursue it. “March, darling, are you ready? I’d like to get this torture over with as quickly as we can.”

“Shopping?” William smiled wily. “Emma, you shock me.”

She shook her head, and her glorious blond curls bounced as if laughing with her. “March needs a new dress for Lady Carlisle’s ball. Daphne and I are helping her.”

He narrowed his gaze to March. “Another new dress?”

Emma scoffed. “What do you know about it?”

“Nothing, and that’s the problem,” he offered.

His sister stared at him with her emerald eyes blazing, but addressed March. “Did William tell you that you couldn’t have a new dress?”

“No, of course not.” He answered before March could respond. “We were having a lovely discussion before you joined us.”

“McCalpin doesn’t care if we get her a new wardrobe every week, so I’m perplexed why you should,” Emma retorted. Her cheeks had grown bright red.

Daphne watched the exchange between the siblings, then abruptly stood in front of Emma. “William, I don’t think Somerton would take kindly that you’re deliberately provoking his wife. Nor would McCalpin care for your attitude toward March.”

“Always the defender, eh, Daphne?” He stood and gracefully bowed. “My apologies. I have my work patiently waiting for me in the library. If you ladies will excuse me?” He didn’t wait for a reply as he strolled out of the room.

Things had gone from pleasant to quite nasty within the last half hour. March didn’t even want to go shopping now.





Chapter Fourteen

The next morning, March rushed into the yellow salon to find a welcome sight. Hart sat in the gold settee surrounded by Faith, Julia, and Bennett.

As soon as he saw her, he stood. Not standing on ceremony, she rushed into his arms. “How we’ve missed you!”

He held her at arms length for a quick perusal and smiled. “I’d say London agrees with you. You’re the proper young woman I always knew existed under that attractive veneer of a sheep farmer.”

“Scratch the surface, and you’ll see she still exists,” March retorted. He always teased her about her abilities on managing the estate and the ever-increasing flock. Her merriment diminished when she stood close to him and noticed the thin lines etched around his eyes and the dark circles under them. “What is it?” she whispered.

“Later, my miss, when we’re alone.” He softly spoke the words for her ears only.

Bennett demanded his attention as he shared his adventures with the Duke of Langham and the museums that he’d attended since he was in town. Hart listened intently, but he looked tired, as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.

Faith shared her remarkable progress with Dr. Kennett and his daily calls. A pretty flush colored her cheeks as she compared how much they had in common. Hart smiled in sincere pleasure when she swept the length of the room, her limp barely noticeable this morning.

Julia was a little more subdued than usual, but she told Hart all about the handsome Earl of Queensgrace. She left out the posy tale, which was a blessing, but she surprised them all when she shared she wanted to introduce the young earl to Hart.

“I think he’s a good man, but I’d like your opinion.” She smiled at Hart, and his face softened at her request. “You’ve always been such a wonderful judge of character.”

“Jules”—Hart thinned his lips, a sign he fought for control—“that’s lovely. Of course, I want to meet this nonpareil of a man and make certain he’s worthy of your affections.” He leaned forward to ruffle Bennett’s hair. Her brother tried to swat his hand away, but Hart’s reach was too long. Soon he had Bennett giggling at their play.

March’s heart swooped and buzzed like a swallow at the familiar sight. The busy London Season lent little time for reflection, but with Hart’s visit, she discovered she missed their home, missed these exchanges, and missed the contentment she felt at Lawson Court. Even though the family faced incredible circumstances in Leyton, she missed Hart. He was part of their family, and she hated they all couldn’t be together.

Always astute, Faith caught March’s gaze and nodded. She urged Julia and Bennett to say their good-byes to Hart. She used the excuse they were late for an excursion to the circulating library.

Hart escorted them to the door. When they left, he closed it and came back to March’s side. Worry lined his face and creased his brow. She’d poured tea for them and let the heat of the cup warm her hands.

“Tell me what’s happened,” she said.

Hart sat next to her. As she waited for him to speak, disquiet vibrated between them like the strings of a pianoforte when someone unexpectedly struck a single key.

“It’s Lord Erlington. He’s sent for me.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, his pain evident. “March, he’s dying.”

“Oh, no.” She pressed her hand over her mouth to subdue the overwhelming stab of grief. “I’m so sorry.”