Murder at Morrington Hall. Clara McKenna
then he laughed. Stella yanked her hand away. Daddy expected her to spend the rest of her life with this man?
“Well, that’s all settled,” Daddy announced as he followed Lord Atherly into the room. Daddy pinned Stella with his eyes and smiled like the cat that ate the canary. A sour taste filled Stella’s mouth.
Daddy spied Mrs. Westwoode and her daughter and waddled over to them. “And who might these two such fine, beautiful ladies be?”
Mrs. Westwoode, unmistakably alarmed by Daddy’s approach, leaned back in her chair, trying to create distance between them. He stared down at her, his hands on his hips, his belly protruding, waiting.
Fulton, the butler, inadvertently coming to Mrs. Westwoode’s rescue, announced, “Tea is served, my lady.”
“Thank you, Fulton,” Lady Atherly said as a footman arrived with a silver tray laden with tea sandwiches and scones. “As to your question, Mr. Kendrick, may I present Mrs. Westwoode and her daughter, Miss Westwoode? They are our guests for the wedding.”
“Charming. Elijah Kendrick, the soon-to-be father-in-law to the viscount here, at your service, ma’am, miss.” Not having a hat, he pretended to tip his hat, nonetheless.
“Yes, well,” Mrs. Westwoode said, trying to calculate the appropriate response. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kendrick. Does anyone know where my husband is?”
“No, I’m afraid I haven’t seen him since luncheon,” Lord Atherly said.
“And Lord Hugh?” Mrs. Westwoode said. “Where is my daughter’s fiancé?”
Lady Atherly looked at her son, who shrugged.
“Where is the vicar?” Daddy asked. “Isn’t he supposed to be here too? I want to see if the man’s up to the task.”
“I can’t imagine what’s keeping him,” Lord Atherly said.
“Reverend Bullmore does love his food.”
“I am certain everyone shall join us soon,” Lady Atherly said, a forced smile on her face. “And I can assure you, Mr. Kendrick, that Reverend Bullmore is ‘up to the task.’”
“Don’t be offended if I don’t take your word on that, Lady Atherly. I always need to meet eye to eye with every man I do business with.”
“Pity. You must have to carry a step stool around with you, then.”
Lady Atherly’s retort evoked snickers from several members of the group.
As Mrs. Westwoode stifled a giggle with her hand, Daddy snapped, “Stella, you’re just sitting there. Why don’t you go find him?”
Since the moment her father arrived, Stella had been staring at him, at the small bald circle on the back of his head, to be precise, as if challenging him to acknowledge her, apologize to her. He hadn’t. What a surprise. But now what? She’d love a chance to explore this fantastic house, if you could call such an enormous building a house, but her father had demanded she search for the vicar. Stella gently rubbed her sore hand. She was done doing his bidding.
“Why don’t I give Miss Kendrick a bit of a tour of her new home?” Lord Lyndhurst offered unexpectedly. “Perhaps we’ll find the vicar while we’re at it.”
“As long as you bring back the vicar,” Daddy said. “We have a lot to discuss, and time’s ticking.”
“As long as you bring Miss Luckett with you,” Lady Atherly said.
Aunt Rachel, having stirred at the pronouncement of tea, rose from her chair and grabbed her cane. “I’m game if you are, girlie,” she said.
“Shall we?” Lord Lyndhurst said, leaning down and offering his arm to Stella.
Stella studied him. Why had he interceded? Without a hint in his eyes, his countenance, or his manner, she was quick to disregard any thoughts of his sincerity. But she’d made her decision. Stella took the viscount’s arm and rose from the chair. He smiled, a thin smirk of a thing. Was he mocking her again? Had she made the wrong choice to go with him? No, for a moment the smile reached his eyes. Stella pushed down the fear, the bitterness, the self-pity, the anger, the doubt, and the determination and forced herself to smile back as Lord Lyndhurst led her and her hobbling chaperone in search of the wayward vicar.
* * *
“This is the music room, or what I like to call the Blue Room.”
Stella could see why he called it that. Apart from the marble fireplace, the piano, and the crystal chandelier, everything in the room was a shade of blue. It reminded Stella of the ocean voyage she’d taken to get here. Yesterday she would’ve liked it.
“I don’t have much occasion to spend time in here, though Mother insists I attend when she hosts a musical night or a ball. Hasn’t been one of those in quite some time.”
“You don’t have to play tour guide for me, Lord Lyndhurst,” Stella said. “Our parents aren’t watching.” Neither was Aunt Rachel, who’d readily agreed to be left to rest in the conservatory, with a bit of sun on her face.
“Thank goodness for that.” He chuckled.
“Why did you offer to come with me to find the vicar?”
“We can’t have you getting lost, now can we?”
“That’s not why. I’m guessing either you want to ingratiate yourself with my father by compelling me to do his bidding—”
“Never.” The viscount’s vehemence surprised her.
“Or you dislike drawing-room chitchat as much as I do.”
He said nothing. Instead, he leafed through the sheet music on the Blüthner piano. It was Mozart’s “Dans un bois solitaire.” Since the viscount had admitted he wasn’t much of a musician, who played? Stella couldn’t play at all and certainly didn’t aspire to sing Mozart, but she enjoyed singing the likes of “Daisy Bell,” “After the Ball,” and “My Old Kentucky Home” for Daddy back home. Her singing performances were one of the rare times Daddy praised her.
Lord Lyndhurst leaned over and began tapping on the keys with his index finger, one key at a time. It was a slow, choppy melody Stella didn’t recognize. The notes, filling the room, were discordant in her ears. She wanted him to stop.
“When did you know?” she asked.
“Know what?”
“About this arrangement?”
“Which arrangement? The Mozart piece?” he said, continuing to play.
“This arrangement.” She wagged her finger back and forth between them.
“That we tour the house or that we seek out our tardy vicar?”
Stella, frustrated, reached over to block him from playing another note.
Clang!
She banged down on the piano keys. The viscount’s head snapped up in surprise. He stepped back from the piano.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“Pity you won’t speak of it, then.”
“I didn’t think I needed to.”
“And here I thought Americans were forthright.”
“And here I thought English sensibilities were too delicate to handle American frankness.”
“I can assure you, Miss Kendrick, I am not so delicate.”
“Very well. You want me to be frank? I’ll be frank. Our engagement. I’m talking about our engagement. I’m talking about the fact that I have not agreed to it. I’m talking about how everyone expects me to marry you, and I don’t even know you. I’m not sure I even like you. I’m talking about how I don’t want to marry you, and given