A Seasonal Pursuit (Regency Christmas Brides #1)

Chapter Three

CHAPTER 3

T he only thing that kept Rose from a completely sour mood as she arrived at Fairview was the spectacular sight it was and its rather perfect situation.

The roads had been dreadful, as one might have expected in the weather, and her head ached abominably from the swaying and discomfort of the carriage. Her eyes were tired of the passing scenery, lovely though Yorkshire was, and the cramped space of the carriage felt rather pokey after so many hours. She had not slept well at the inn, and the maid she had brought with her had fixed her hair so tightly this morning that her neck positively throbbed with tension.

Her mother and sisters had insisted upon her using a maid, which Rose had not had to endure for at least six years, saying that it would also make her travel less dangerous, as there would be two of them. Considering Rose was not traveling with a fortune and was far beyond her bloom, the idea that her going anywhere alone was in any way a tempting prospect for villains was laughable, in her mind. But arguing was not an activity she enjoyed, and the squealing, overly cheery suggestions of her sisters lessened when she accepted the minimum. Anna, in particular, had given her a list of benefits a maid would provide her on this trip.

She should never have left her letter from Aunt Edith lying around. Their snooping eyes found it the very next time they took tea at the family London house, and Rose had not had much of a say in anything ever since.

To say that Fairview was a welcome sight would be an understatement. But she had not anticipated the loveliness of it either, which served to lighten her discomfort just enough to cause a smile.

The house itself seemed to extend for miles in either direction, the immaculate stonework shifting from tan to grey in color when the sun ducked behind clouds. Windows dotted the entire lengthy facade, and the details upon the tops of each window and along the surface of the roof were so beautifully gothic that Rose wished she had brought some novels with her for ambience. Columns and stairs and terraces seemed to appear from the oddest portions of the place, and yet flowed with perfect continuity among the style and framework. It was, without a doubt, the grandest house that Rose had ever visited, let alone been invited to.

Suddenly none of this seemed like such a terrible idea after all.

The expansive front drive was filled with carriages, and men, women, and, shockingly enough, children were disembarking from them and starting up the stairs. Everyone was bundled in winter-appropriate travel attire, but the air was not so cold as to be frigid today, which must be a comfort to the parents.

Children at a house party. Why? Who would wish to travel with their children at this time of year? And what in the world were children going to do for two weeks at a strange house with adults who were almost certainly going to be more focused on making merry, making mischief, and in her case, making matches? Children did not belong at house parties, and the fact that Lady Standhope did not seem to agree with that notion made Rose all the more confused about this situation. Family parties, certainly, but a social house party?

Rose had several nieces and nephews and she adored them all—though she much preferred the younger age of children to the alternative—but surely even her sisters would agree that there was a time and place for them in social situations.

What if this was a collection of families that had been invited for Christmas at Fairview and not select individuals or couples who might be influential and like-minded? What if there would be no marriage prospects for Rose among the gathering? What if Aunt Edith was teasing Rose with this scheme and had no intention of her succeeding?

What if she was only teaching her a lesson?

It wasn’t such a far-fetched idea. Aunt Edith had always been eccentric, after all, and in her waning years, she could have grown slightly mean-spirited as well as more outspoken. Rose had never offended the woman, as far as she knew, but one could never truly account for the intentions of the superior-minded.

She watched another carriage unload as she waited in the line and felt a wash of relief as two women disembarked, but no children. They were younger than her, which was not surprising, and were clearly sisters by their similar appearances. Neatly dressed, not overly exuberant, and neither of them were waiting for men to get off horses or the like before proceeding into the house.

Spinsters and families, then, if nothing else.

Better than her being singled out and alone.

Rose watched as servants unloaded trunks and boxes from coaches and wagons, proceeding into the house at ground level rather than going up the stairs, and she found herself nodding as she pictured the layout of the estate in her mind. Not that any of it mattered where she was concerned, but it was always interesting for her to understand the way rooms and floors were arranged in country houses. And when a house looked like this, she was even more curious.

She might spend the entire two weeks exploring Fairview instead of looking for a spouse. Her time would probably be better spent doing so, and she would certainly enjoy it more.

A man disembarked from the next carriage, and no woman followed him, nor children. He was perhaps five-and-thirty, and wore the plain, dark clothing of a clergyman.

Always an interesting possibility, a man of the church. She was not particularly religious herself, but she had also learned that not all men of the church were religious either. Some merely appreciated the appearance of piety, some enjoyed a life of service and charity, and some simply needed an occupation that was not as demanding as the army as or as intellectual as the law.

One unmarried man, at least. If he was the only one, her object would be easy enough.

She snorted to herself as her carriage moved closer to the house. As if her aunt would really believe Rose would fall in love with a clergyman or curate.

Why had she made the distinction of marrying for love, or at least affection? Rose was not prone to flights of fancy or feelings of whimsy at her age, especially after her experience in Society. She might never find love or affection, and even when she was younger, it hadn’t happened.

Now she was meant to find it in two weeks.

Ridiculous, frivolous notion.

She didn’t even know if Aunt Edith had married for love. That might have been something she ought to know, especially if she was taking up the charge the woman had set her. The sheer hypocrisy of demanding she—and her cousins—marry for love if she had not done so herself !

She might have to write a letter to Colin on the subject. He could uncover the truth and possibly release them all from this idiocy. If they held the trump card collectively, Aunt Edith might give way.

After a few more carriages, it was finally Rose’s turn to unload, and she took a quick moment to glance down at herself once her feet touched the gravel of the drive. Her coat was a simple grey, but the trim was a deep green and the hem of her skirts matched. Her bonnet also matched, and her hair, apart from making her head ache, did look fetching beneath it, unless she had dislodged something on the drive from the inn.

Perfectly presentable, as her mother would say. That had been all anyone had expected of Rose for the last several years, and she loved the ease of such expectation.

She nodded at her maid—whatever her name was—who began seeing to her bags, and moved towards the stairs, following the same path the other guests had trod. They were not exceptionally long, but there was a full turn in them to reach the first floor of the house, which felt more like a detail that ought to have been reserved for stairs within the house rather than without, but Rose was no architect. And the matching set of stairs just opposite her on the other side of the entrance did add some texture to the front facade, she supposed.

Finally mounting the top step and terrace, Rose forced her smile to be more than the simple upward curve of her lips, seeing Lady Standhope just inside the door. She’d never met her before, but the way the grey-haired woman in fine clothing was extending her hands to everyone ahead of Rose seemed to indicate her identity as hostess adequately.

She was taller than Rose had expected, and as plump as was age appropriate, her coloring rosy and her countenance full of good humor. Her voice was a trifle on the trilling side for Rose’s taste, but women over the age of fifty could speak however they liked, in her estimation. She personally planned on going rather gravelly in tone when she reached that age, and let people wonder how she had managed to get her voice and throat such a way.

Her smile became rather forced as she dragged her mind back to the present, approaching her hostess with what she hoped was still a perfectly presentable appearance.

“Ah, Miss Portman!” Lady Standhope greeted with the sort of natural effusiveness that one could not dislike. “I was so delighted when Lady Edith told me to expect you.” She took Rose’s hands in both of hers, her hands slightly chilled and well-moisturized. “Now, I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I have invited families and friends, but there will be plenty of candidates for you to choose from for your aunt’s requirements.”

Rose’s smile began to make her cheeks ache with its force. “Lady Standhope, I—”

“No, no, no,” the older woman interrupted, squeezing her hands tightly. “I will not be hounding you the entire time. I can assure you, my time will be taken up with far too many things. You are to be your own mistress entirely in this endeavor. I shall be available to assist you, should you have need of me, but in this, you will be on your own.” She winked and nodded excessively, the dangling baubles among the ribbons of her hair swaying precariously as she did so. “No one likes to be examined every minute of every day, and no romance can flourish when so observed. And even at your age, dear, I do believe in romance. Now, kindly follow Peter here to your rooms. Refresh yourself and rest. We will not officially gather until dinner, which will begin promptly at half four.” She gestured towards her right, clearly indicating that Rose was dismissed and should move in that direction, and sure enough, a young and somber faced footman stood there waiting.

Rose curtseyed to Lady Standhope and did as indicated, wondering if the good lady intended to hold all conversations with herself rather than with those in her company. Time would tell, she supposed.

The thought alone earned her a sigh for herself. It would not do to consider her hostess to be any sort of ridiculous creature, especially if she might need her help to accomplish what Aunt Edith wished. And Lady Standhope did have a delightful home here at Fairview. Surely she had earned the right to be whatever sort of ridiculous she wished to be without being singled out for it.

Up on the second floor, valets, maids, footmen, and guests were going in and out of bedchambers in a flurry of movement up and down the corridor of rooms, not a single creature taking notice of her, nor of each other. There were so many rooms that she was struggling to keep track of how many she had passed and which door led to her chambers among the collection of them. How in the world did Lady Standhope expect to keep up with the names and details of all of them while she hosted them?

None of the children were running about in the corridor, Rose noticed with some relief. She took a few steps closer to her footman/guide. “Are the children in another part of the house, Peter?”

“The families are in the west wing, Miss Portman,” Peter informed her with a deferential nod. “A nursery for the children and the parents near enough to wait upon them, if necessary. All in this wing are childless.”

Rose nodded, doing her best not to smile, as it would certainly not do to appear pleased.

Even if she was.

“Here is your bedchamber, Miss Portman,” Peter said soon after, gesturing to the room at his left, door ajar and beautiful daylight streaming through the windows.

Rose paused before entering, taking a moment to note the watercolor of dogs at a pond to one side of her door and an ornate looking glass of gold at the other. She would mark her destination by those items, if ever she lost her way.

The room itself was charming, clean, and boasted a marvelous view of the grounds to the north, the dip of a hill in the distance providing something of a vista of the lands beyond. It was a gorgeous piece of England, there was no mistaking it, and even in the dormancy of winter, she could see herself walking a great deal out in such beauty. The temperatures were not so cold, after all, and they were unlikely to receive the snow they had the previous Christmas.

House parties, as she understood it, usually allowed for the guests to do as they pleased during the day, and spending time out of doors when it was fair might just be what she chose to do.

She would, of course, be in the library when the weather prevented outdoor wanderings.

“If you need anything, Miss Portman,” Peter was saying, bringing her back to the moment, “do let your maid know and she will inform one of us.”

Rose turned back to him and began removing her bonnet, not having to force her smile now. “Thank you, Peter.” She tossed the bonnet to one side and nodded at him.

He bowed and departed, leaving her alone in the room, though the bustle from the corridor was certainly audible. Her trunk sat in the corner and the armoire sat open, though none of her belongings currently hung within. Her maid must be somewhere below stairs or still trying to find her way up. It was an extraordinary distance to go, so she wouldn’t blame the poor girl. She imagined the servants were taking note of the plans for the evening so as to dress their masters and mistresses accordingly, but Rose wasn’t about to occupy her thoughts with such clutter.

She wanted a nap, and she suspected, based on the tall and rather fluffy-looking bed nearby, that she would be able to do so better here than she had in several days.

With a barely restrained squeal, she ran to the bed and jumped upon the surface, flinging herself upon it with a splayed inelegance that quickly morphed into a deep sigh of comfortable satisfaction.

It was as heavenly as she had hoped it would be.

“Sorry to intrude, but can I just say…?”

Rose squeezed her eyes shut, wincing dramatically before pushing herself up on her hands and craning around to look at the door.

Tall, dark, and handsome stood there, somewhere in his thirties, dressed like the perfect country gentleman, and he was smiling ruefully at her.

Clearly, he had seen the whole thing.

There was no excuse to be made, so Rose only cocked her head, raising a brow in spite of her flaming cheeks.

His smile deepened. “I was thinking of doing the same thing in my room. Was it worth it?”

It was impossible for her to say if he was teasing her or not, but she was long past pretending at anything with anyone anymore.

“Yes,” Rose told him simply. “Thrilling, and now I look forward to my rest more than ever.”

He nodded precisely once. “Excellent. I shall go and do the same. I shall let you know of my experience at dinner.” And then he was gone.

Rose blinked at the empty doorway, then lay back down, grabbed a nearby pillow, and screamed out her mortification into its depths.