A Spinster by the Sea Read online

  When Augustus’s panic had subsided, and he’d shooed the young lady into the corridor—and not escorted her back to her door—he’d been left with a sense of vast and tired pity.

  Some of which was for himself.

  “You cannot gallop back to Town just yet,” Lily replied. “If Miss Baxter’s companion is to attend the house-party events with her, then the numbers still don’t match, do they? Lady Deschamps has hit upon a solution, and your leaving will upset her plans.”

  Tindale gazed past Lily’s balcony to the serene silvery ocean in the distance. “I will hate this solution.”

  “Lord Hume Billingsley will join the guests this evening, and that, my dear Augustus, means you aren’t going anywhere. I overheard Camelia cooing over Billingsley’s acceptance earlier this morning. He’s newly out of mourning, and a house party by the sea offers him a respite from grief and loneliness.”

  “Out of mourning?” Augustus did not like the sound of that one bit.

  “He’s a widower, and his wife’s passing has left him well fixed with two young sons. You do know he has a past with Miss Baxter?”

  A little boat with one triangular white sail came around the headland to the west. Augustus wished he and Anne were on it.

  “I am aware of Billingsley’s past with Miss Baxter.” He was also aware that Anne had paid off Billingsley’s debts. That was not the act of a woman indifferent to her erstwhile suitor.

  “Then you won’t be nipping back to London, will you? Our hostess is giving the young ladies another eligible to consider, and she’s stirring the pot, of course.”

  The little boat made good progress sailing close to the wind. Who was enjoying the freedom of the waves in that small, intrepid vessel? Who had put out to sea the better to appreciate the lovely spring day?

  “I am off to enjoy some solitude on the beach,” Augustus said.

  Lily’s needles went still. “You will warn her, won’t you, Augustus? Miss Baxter is softhearted, for all she seems so self-possessed. She deserves to be warned, lest that cousin of hers toss her at Lord Hume’s head.”

  Nobody tossed Anne Baxter where she did not want to be tossed. Augustus would make sure of that much. “I will take a solitary walk on the beach before the big-game hunters stir from their rooms, and I might stop by Miss Baxter’s cottage to exchange a civil greeting. May I escort you anywhere before I leave?”

  Escort being a euphemism for pushing Lily’s chair. She could stand unassisted for brief periods and even take a few cautious steps, but such exercises pained her needlessly.

  “I am content on my sofa for the nonce,” she said. “Fly to your damsel, Augustus, and recall that she’s to rejoin the party for tomorrow’s picnic.”

  “She might cry off.”

  “No, she will not. If any woman in all of polite society is incapable of crying off, it is she, more’s the pity. Away with you.”

  Augustus tarried long enough to kiss Lily’s cheek, then changed into his oldest pair of riding boots and struck out for the beach path. He was not running from the formal garden, precisely, but like that little sailboat, he made good time.

  When he reached the beach, Anne was already there, her half boots and stockings piled on a rock, along with a floppy straw hat, parasol, and wicker hamper. She sat on the sand, building some sort of structure on the border between dry land and the tide line.

  “The next high tide will wash that away,” Augustus said, perching on the rock to remove his boots and stockings.

  “That’s half the pleasure of creating a sandcastle. The sea will reclaim my efforts, and I can start anew or pretend I would never waste my time with such foolishness.” She shaded her eyes with a sandy hand to smile up at him. “Good day, Your Grace.”

  Her smile was genuine, though a little hesitant. Augustus dropped to his knees beside her. “I dreamed of you.”

  She was using a small glass to create mounded crenellations on her castle walls. “You need not flirt with me, sir. Build us a moat, why don’t you, to hold back the tide?”

  “You are supposed to say you dreamed of me too.” Augustus considered the slope of the beach and the angle of the tide line. He used a stick of driftwood to mark out a wide half circle about six feet from the castle.

  “You can cease playing the gallant, Tindale. I made it through last night’s outing, and now I have a day to recover before tomorrow’s picnic. That moat is rather distant to be any sort of fortification.”

  “The oldest castles had multiple mounded fortifications. I’m an old-fashioned sort of duke.”

  Augustus had no idea what sort of duke he was, but he was an honest man: He’d dreamed of Anne Baxter. It occurred to him, however, that she might have multiple fortifications, and for good reasons.

  He set himself to scooping out a ditch on the sea side of his moat line and piling up the sand on the castle side. “Do you regret kissing me, Anne?”

  “No.” Another smile, bashful and genuine. “You are prodigiously inspired at kissing, Your Grace.”

  “I was prodigiously inspired to put my best foot forward—or my best lip.” He was smiling, too, and tempted to steal another kiss, but no. The beach was in view of the cottage and parts of the inn. No stealing anything here. “I stopped by Lily’s apartment this morning. I think you have an ally in her.”

  Anne considered her tower, which was squatty as towers went, but then, it was made of sand. “Mrs. Northrup is a dear, and she is your friend too, Tindale. I should have brought more cups and such. May I have your stick?”

  Augustus passed over the requested item. “Lily gave me a warning that I think was meant for you.”

  Anne used the stick to drag a curving design into the outer wall of her tower. “I do not care if the Daleys call me names. I went through that whole mess once before with Billingsley. Eventually, the gossip moves on.”

  She had a sure, steady hand, and her tower was quickly acquiring what looked like vines of ivy.

  “About Lord Hume. He’ll be among the guests at the picnic tomorrow, and, Anne, he’s through his period of mourning and possibly looking for a step-mother for his children. I thought you should know.”

  Augustus watched Anne closely for signs of ire, pleasure, anything. Instead, she set down her stick and gazed out across the water, her expression utterly composed.

  “I wish I were on that vessel,” she said, gesturing toward the little sailboat, which had crossed more than half the horizon, “with enough provisions to get me to France.”

  “I wish we were both on that vessel,” Augustus said. “I will be remarkably attentive to you at the picnic, Anne, and you must promise not to let me out of your sight. To quote Lily, Lady Deschamps is stirring the pot, adding another eligible to the mix. Billingsley apparently inherited means from his wife.”

  Anne resumed drawing with her stick. “He’ll use that wealth wisely, though I’m sorry for his loss. Hume was never the problem in that family, and he loves his boys. I’ve seen him in the park with them, flying kites for them and playing tag. Build your moat, Your Grace, and I will share my hamper with you.”

  Augustus resumed scooping out sand with his hands. “Don’t you ever get angry, Anne? Don’t you ever want to rip up at the stupidity that passes for polite society?” Did she wish those boys playing catch had been hers?

  “Yes, I lose my patience, but then I read a good play or novel, or I take Helen’s children for an ice. I work at my embroidery and make something lovely and useful. I will get a dog, I think, when I return to Town. A nice, big, friendly hound who will woof at me in greeting.”

  The knees of Augustus’s breeches were soaked, his hands were dirty, and he was… enjoying himself. “A dog is a good idea. I’ve always liked dogs. They are honest.”

  “Precisely. Horses are honest as well, while cats are too honest. I do believe you should have been a dyker, Your Grace. That moat qualifies as a seawall.”

  They argued about the Dutch practice of reclaiming land from the sea. They argued about breeds of dog. They shared Anne’s sandwiches and her flask of tea, and by the time the sailboat had disappeared around the eastern headland, Augustus knew himself to be a man in love.

  He had not kissed Anne since coming upon her on the beach, but he had delighted in every minute spent in her company. That mattered enormously, though he had no idea if his feelings were reciprocated.

  He parted from her shortly after noon, knowing he’d be expected for the luncheon buffet at the house party. He carried Anne’s effects to Rose Cottage, bowed over her hand in farewell, and made his way back down the beach past their sandcastle.

  By the time they’d finished construction, the sandcastle had become fanciful, with bailey walls higher than the castle tower. Augustus made his way back to the western path, musing on the wisdom of giving Anne a puppy—she would probably want to pick out her own canine—when he noticed the sandy dirt at his feet.

  His own boot prints were easy to recognize, because one heel had a nick along the outside edge. Two smaller pairs of prints were mixed in with his own tracks, though. Either diminutive men, or ladies. Two ladies who wore the same size boots.

  Somebody had been spying on him and Anne.

  When Augustus took up a plate in the buffet line an hour later, he noticed the Daley sisters across the terrace in earnest discussion with Lady Deschamps. They were looking at him and using their fans to hide their words.

  They had intruded on the time he’d spent with Anne. That angered him to the point that he nearly hurled his plate of food at the nearest portrait. Instead, he asked the Daleys and Lieutenant Thurlow to share the meal with him, and all the while, he wished he and Anne were both on that boat headed for France.

  “Miss Baxter.” Lord Hume Billingsley bowed over Anne’s hand quite correctly. “You are looking splendid.”

  Hume hadn’t raised his voice, but he didn’t need to. Anne curtseyed with equal correctness, knowing every gossip, tabby, and Daley sister was looking on.

  “My lord, a pleasure to see you.”

  He squeezed her fingers gently and offered her the self-deprecating smile that had first gained Anne’s notice. “Thank you. You are gracious as always. Shall we enjoy the garden?”

  The picnic party was assembling in the out of doors and soon to make a slow progress down to the estate’s private beach. Hume had apparently chosen this moment to ensure the whole assemblage could observe his reunion with a former intended.

  Not exactly an ambush, but as displays of felicity went, disconcerting for its boldness. Anne took his arm and recalled that she’d truly liked Hume Billingsley. He wasn’t proud, and he was quietly intelligent. He’d told Anne his financial particulars before the solicitors had even started wrangling.

  “I heard your news,” he said. “Please allow me to say that Corbett Hobbs hasn’t a brain in his head, and now we know he hasn’t an iota of honor in his heart either. Even for him, such behavior is beyond the pale. I considered calling him out.”

  “I hope you discarded the notion?” Anne offered a pleasantly vague nod in the direction of Lord Bertram and Lieutenant Thurlow.

  “I did, reluctantly. You would not appreciate having your name become involved in a matter of honor, and I have cost you enough already.”

  “Old business, my lord. Old business that old friends need not remark.”

  They descended the steps as if making an entrance at a formal Mayfair ball. Heads turned, conversations paused. Anne should be accustomed to such rudeness, except… she wasn’t. She increasingly had no patience for it whatsoever. Had Tindale not asked her to attend, she would be on the Rose Cottage beach right now, building another fanciful sandcastle.

  “How are you, Anne?” Hume asked when they’d turned down a path bordered with silvery-green lavender. “You can be honest with me.”

  “I am managing. Lady Deschamps’s gathering allows me to show my face without running the gauntlet of the whole carriage parade. Cousin Helen has been loyal.”

  Tindale had been more than loyal. Where was he, and had he made Lord Hume’s acquaintance?

  Anne’s escort plucked a sprig of lavender, brushed it with his fingers, and held it to his nose. “I sought you out in part because it’s good to see you, and I won’t have anybody thinking we are less than cordial. I also sought you out to offer a warning. The news will be all over London soon enough, though I suspect I’m the only person aware of it here.”

  The lavender fragrance was bracing, a perfect complement to fresh sea air and a beautiful spring morning. Anne was abruptly certain that this was the last event she’d attend at Lady Deschamps’s house party.

  “Has something happened to Lord Corbett?” If so… Anne would feel some guilt, of all things. Had Corbett married her, she might have been able to curb the worst of his stupid wagers and excessive drinking.

  “In a manner of speaking. Erskine Duddington nipped off to fetch his auntie to Town from Biggleswade—the auntie from whom he hopes to inherit. Whose coach should Duddy see heading south at a great rate while Duddy tooled north, but Lord Corbett Hobbs’s? The crests were turned, but Lord Corbett drives a distinctive conveyance. Bright red wheels do stand out.”

  Anne settled onto the nearest bench. “Please sit with me, Hume.”

  He came down beside her, while on the terrace, somebody had inspired a ripple of laughter. The other guests could not know the news Hume brought, not yet, but within a few hours, by means of express letters and quiet talk, the whole gathering would know.

  “Is there more?”

  “Duddy asked around at the next change and learned that Lord Corbett’s traveling companion had abandoned him in Peterborough. She disappeared with some German princeling of mature years.”

  Anne said the only thing she could think to say. “I appreciate the warning.” But what did Hume expect her to do about Corbett’s folly reaching its inevitable, Drury Lane conclusion? “Tindale predicted this.”

  Hume peered at her. “Tindale, as in His Grace of Tindale? Lady Deschamps didn’t tell me he was here.”

  But she’d apparently told Hume that Anne was on hand. “Lady Deschamps deserves a dunking in the Channel. She should not have recruited you in furtherance of her schemes.”

  Hume rose and extended his hand. “She said you were struggling under a weight of woe and mortification. I knew that could not be true, but I thought you could use a friend.”

  He winked at Anne, and she recalled something else about him. Hume could wield his charm with a subtlety that masked shrewd intent. When he’d told her of his straitened circumstances, he’d adopted the air of a martyr parting with reluctant confidences. In fact, he’d made the tactical choice to more or less throw himself on Anne’s mercy, and his judgment had been vindicated by her subsequent generosity.

  When he’d next gone courting, he’d been at least solvent and his family’s situation much improved.

  Anne accepted his hand and rose. “I am always happy to see my friends, but Lady Deschamps has taken advantage of your good nature to make up her numbers and cause talk. In the opinion of Cousin Helen, I am bearing up a little too well. I believe every bachelor on the premises would thank you if you showed marked attention to either Daley sister.”

  Hume grimaced. “Those two. My late wife did not have kind things to say about them.”

  Anne’s opinion could not be rendered without resorting to profanity. “Tell me of your boys,” she said as the group on the terrace began to move down the steps en masse. “They must be very lively.”

  His lordship waxed eloquent as only a doting papa could, and in this, Anne sensed that he was sincere. He and his late wife might not have been a love match, but they’d made a go of their marriage, and his children would want for nothing.

  “Tindale is smart,” Hume said as they wandered along in the wake of the greater crowd. “Witness, he’s only now emerging from the house. If I were Lady Deschamps, seeing the new duke engaged at my house party would rank as the coup of a lifetime.”

  “His Grace is learning very quickly not to be deceived by the appearance of a gracious welcome. I doubt Lady Deschamps’s ambitions will be realized.”

  “You know Tindale?” He posed the question with studied casualness.

  “We are acquainted. His Grace has been nothing but kind to me, so don’t think to add to the drama here. I will endure this shell-gathering outing and then return to the obscurity I hope to enjoy for the rest of my life.”

  Hume patted her hand. “You need time for the bruises to heal. I understand, believe me, Anne. I am here to help. I will be your loyal vassal and—”

  Anne halted. “Pax. Having greeted me with all the cordiality of an old friend, you will now make your bow before Cousin Helen. I forgot my shawl, and the sea breezes can be fresh.”

  Anne had not forgotten her shawl. She’d left it on the terrace on purpose, in case she needed to extricate herself from any disobliging situation. That Hume’s company fit that description was unsettling, but Anne had the distinct sense he was up to something.

  “Very well, then,” he said, bowing over her hand. “I will wish you a most pleasant outing and say again how lovely it is to see you. I mean that, Anne.” He gazed into her eyes for the space of three heartbeats, then sauntered off, all blond good looks and excellent tailoring.

  Anne was relieved to see him go, also resentful. Why wouldn’t he be glad to see her? She’d saved his family from ruin and kept her mouth shut about the whole business.

  The whole old business, as she’d said. She made her way back to the terrace as the guests began filing down the path that led from the park to the beach.

  She needed time to think, to consider the significance, if any, of Corbett’s failed attempt at an elopement. Corbett’s bottomless pride would smart terribly, and if Anne was lucky, he’d pop over to Paris to lick his wounds.

  When had she last been lucky?

  “There you are.” Tindale crossed the terrace from the doorway to the conservatory. “I waited on Lily’s balcony until the enemy retreated. Lily hopes you will stop by before the day is over.” He picked up Anne’s shawl from the back of a wicker chair and draped it around her shoulders. “I am delighted to see you and would kiss you silly were we not in plain view of the house and grounds. Good morning, Miss Baxter.”