Rules of Engagement: The Reasons for Marriage. Stephanie Laurens

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СКАЧАТЬ of course.” Lady Agatha promptly held out her hand, too relieved to have escaped further inquisition to risk more questions of her own. She needed time away from her nephew’s far-sighted gaze to assess the true significance of his unexpected choice. “Dare say I’ll see you at the Marshams’ tonight.”

      Straightening from his bow, Jason allowed his brows to rise. “I think not.” Seeing the question in his aunt’s eyes, he smiled. “I expect to leave for the Abbey on the morrow. I’ll travel directly to Lester Hall from there.”

      A silent “oh” formed on Lady Agatha’s lips.

      With a final benevolent nod, Jason strolled from the room.

      Lady Agatha watched him go, her fertile brain seething with possibilities. That Jason should marry so cold-bloodedly surprised her not at all; that he should seek to marry Lenore Lester seemed incredible.

      “I SAY, Miss Lester. Ready for a jolly week,what?”

      Her smile serene, Lenore Lester bestowed her hand on Lord Quentin, a roué of middle age and less than inventive address. Like a general, she stood on the grand staircase in the entrance hall of her home and directed her troops. As her brothers’ guests appeared out of the fine June afternoon, bowling up to the door in their phaetons and curricles, she received them with a gracious welcome before passing them on to her minions to guide to their chambers. “Good afternoon, my lord. I hope the weather remains fine. So dampening, to have to cope with drizzle.”

      Disconcerted, his lordship nodded. “Er … just so.”

      Lenore turned to offer a welcoming word to Mrs. Cronwell, a blowsy blonde who had arrived immediately behind his lordship, before releasing the pair into her butler’s care. “The chambers in the west wing, Smithers.”

      As the sound of their footsteps and the shush of Mrs. Cronwell’s stiff skirts died away, Lenore glanced down at the list in her hand. Although this was the first of her brothers’ parties at which she had acted as hostess, she was accustomed to the role, having carried it with aplomb for some five years, ever since her aunt Harriet, her nominal chaperon, had been afflicted by deafness. Admittedly, it was usually her own and her aunt’s friends, a most select circle of acquaintances, as refined as they were reliable, that she welcomed to the rambling rooms of Lester Hall. Nevertheless, Lenore foresaw no difficulty in keeping her hands on the reins of her brothers’ more boisterous affair. Adjusting her gold-rimmed spectacles, she captured the pencil that hung in an ornate holder from a ribbon looped about her neck and marked off Lord Quentin and Mrs. Cronwell. Most of the guests were known to her, having visited the house before. The majority of those expected had arrived; only five gentlemen had yet to appear.

      Lenore looked up, across the length of the black-and-white-tiled hall. The huge oak doors were propped wide to reveal the paved portico before them, steps disappearing to left and right leading down to the gravelled drive.

      The clop of approaching hooves was followed by the scrunch of gravel.

      Smoothing back a few wisps of gold that had escaped her tight bun, Lenore tweaked out the heavy olive-green-twill pinafore she wore over her high-necked, long-sleeved gown.

      A deep male voice rumbled through the open doorway, carried on the light breeze.

      Lenore straightened, raising a finger to summon Harris, the senior footman, to her side.

      “Oh, Miss Lester! Could you tell us the way to the lake?”

      Lenore turned as two beauties, scantily clad in fine muslins, came bustling out of the morning-room at the back of the hall. Lady Harrison and Lady Moffat, young matrons and sisters, had accepted her brothers’ invitation, each relying on the other to lend them countenance. “Down that corridor, left through the garden hall. The door to the conservatory should be open. Straight through, down the steps and straight ahead—you can’t miss it.”

      As the ladies smiled their thanks and, whispering avidly, went on their way, Lenore turned towards the front door, murmuring to Harris, “If they don’t return in an hour, send someone to check they haven’t fallen in.” The sound of booted feet purposefully ascending the long stone steps came clearly to her ears.

      “Miss Lester!”

      Lenore turned as Lord Holyoake and Mr. Peters descended the stairs.

      “Can you point us in the direction of the action, m’dear?”

      Unperturbed by his lordship’s wink, Lenore replied, “My brothers and some of the guests are in the billiard-room, I believe. Timms?”

      Instantly, another footman peeled from the ranks hidden by the shadows of the main doors. “If you’ll follow me, my lord?”

      The sound of the trio’s footsteps retreating down the hallway was overridden by the ring of boot heels on the portico flags. With a mental “at last”, Lenore lifted her head and composed her features.

      Two gentlemen entered the hall.

      Poised to greet them, Lenore was struck by the aura of ineffable elegance that clung to the pair. There was little to choose between them, but her attention was drawn to the larger figure, insensibly convinced of his pre-eminence. A many-caped greatcoat of dark grey drab fell in long folds to brush calves clad in mirror-glossed Hessians. His hat was in his hands, revealing a wealth of wavy chestnut locks. The newcomers paused just inside the door as footmen scurried to relieve them of hats, coats and gloves. As she watched, the taller man turned to survey the hall. His gaze scanned the area, then came to rest with unwavering intensity upon her.

      With a jolt, Lenore felt a comprehensive glance rake her, from the top of her tight bun to the tips of her serviceable slippers, then slowly, studiously return, coming at last to rest on her face.

      Outrage blossomed in her breast, along with a jumble of other, less well-defined emotions.

      The man started towards her, his companion falling in beside him. Summoning her wits to battle, Lenore drew herself up, her gaze bordering on the glacial, her expression one of icy civility.

      Unheralded, the hall before her erupted into chaos. Within seconds, the black-and-white-tiled expanse had filled with a seething mass of humanity. Her brother Gerald had come in from the garden, a small crowd of bucks and belles in tow. Simultaneously, a bevy of jovial gentlemen, led by her brother Harry, had erupted from the billiard-room, apparently in search of like-minded souls for some complicated game they had in hand. The two groups collided in the hall and immediately emerged into a chattering, laughing, giggling mass.

      Lenore looked down upon the sea of heads, impatient to have the perpetrator of that disturbing glance before her. She intended making it quite clear from the outset that she did not appreciate being treated with anything less than her due. The mêlée before her was deafening but she disregarded it, her eyes fixed upon the recent arrival, easy to discern given his height. Despite the press of people, he was making remarkably swift progress towards her. As she watched, he encountered her brother Harry in the throng and stopped to exchange greetings. Then he made some comment and Harry laughed, waving him towards her with some jovial remark. Lenore resisted the urge to inspect her list, determined to give the newcomer no chance to find her cribbing. Her excellent memory was no aid; she had not met this gentleman before.

      Reaching the stairs in advance of his companion, he halted before her. Confidently, Lenore allowed her eyes to meet his, pale grey under dark brows. Abruptly, all thought of upbraiding him, however subtly, vanished. The face before her did not belong to a man СКАЧАТЬ