As soon as she could, she politely broke off the conversation in order to peruse the bookshelves. Occasionally she picked out a book and looked through it with interest. When she reached the row where the spinster book had been, she warmed with amusement at the memory of the night she’d bought it. That book had certainly provided some interesting ideas and experiences—even if Alice hadn’t been using it to find love and romance. Thus far, she’d used it for warming up irascible men to be not quite so irritating. But that wasn’t a book title that would draw a lot of buyers.
With a wry chuckle at herself, Alice left the shop and made her way home.
Miss Penelope Rolland was, in real life, somewhat less of a beauty than advertised. While not exactly stout, she was a trifle too filled out for her short stature. She had rather a wide face, too, and a short nose that turned up at the end. However, with the help of a first-rate ladies’ maid and dressmaker, she managed to look pretty enough. Her gown was a flattering shade of blue, and her dark brown hair was braided and twisted so artfully behind her head that it was a veritable work of art.
These were Douglas’s first thoughts upon meeting her, along with the suspicion that she had the self-confidence of a young lady who was constantly told she was beautiful because she was rich.
She greeted Douglas warmly, her blue eyes sparkling in the gaslight. Her gaze traveled over his well-tailored suit with an air of approval. That confirmed to Douglas that however long it took to repay the tailor, it would be worth it.
“So you are the Mr. Shaw I’ve been hearing so much about.”
“Have you?” Douglas feigned surprise, though he was well aware that Mr. Henley had already told Miss Rolland’s father all about Douglas’s successes and prospects.
Her father stood beside her, inspecting Douglas with what was probably a very different set of criteria than his daughter’s. Mr. Rolland had come from a reasonably wealthy family, but he’d greatly enlarged his fortune through smart trading in stocks. He did not look like a man who would be willing to bestow his daughter’s generous dowry on just any suitor.
Douglas met his gaze confidently, prepared for any type of interrogation Mr. Rolland might pursue, but for the moment, Mr. Rolland simply welcomed him inside and offered to introduce him to the other guests.
Now that Douglas was in the thick of it, he found his excitement was overcoming his earlier concerns. He’d breached an important threshold and was in the inner sanctum of London’s upper classes. He shook hands with the gentlemen and repeated the requisite niceties to the ladies. He was not yet rubbing elbows with the aristocracy, as there were no titled persons at this party. But those things would come in time. Douglas noted the look of pleasure on Mr. Henley’s face, a reflection of how well he thought things were going.
Mrs. Henley had come, too, and kept throwing worried looks at Douglas as though afraid he’d make some grave mistake. Even after all his years of working with her husband and the increasing ways Henley had been relying on him, her relationship with Douglas was still strained. Maybe her distrust of him was precisely because of his growing importance to the company. After all, her fortunes were bound up in Henley and Company as well. He suspected she didn’t like having to rely on someone with Douglas’s lowly origins. Mr. Henley never seemed to think twice about Douglas’s background, whereas his wife never seemed to forget it.
Nor did it help that she was Archie Clapper’s cousin. Clapper was bound to speak ill of him to her, as he did with everybody. Douglas had the feeling Mrs. Henley believed more of Clapper’s bilge than she ought to. He would have to work hard tonight to impress her, but he accepted the challenge as a point of personal pride.
There were about twenty guests at the party, enough to fill Mr. Rolland’s generously sized dining room without overcrowding it. As far as Douglas could tell, there was only one other person there who might be a rival for Miss Rolland’s hand: a junior bank officer by the name of Edward Busfield. The first indication he was in the running was when he was designated to take Miss Rolland from the drawing room down to dinner. Douglas had the honor of escorting Miss Rolland’s widowed aunt. Judging by the smile on the elder lady’s face, she was quite pleased with this arrangement. By contrast, although Miss Rolland accepted Busfield’s arm with a gracious smile, she allowed her gaze to rest on Douglas for a long moment before she was led off by her escort.
Busfield seemed respectable enough, but in Douglas’s estimation, he was not a man who would stand out in a crowd. Miss Rolland exchanged pleasantries with him during dinner, but he did not command her full attention. She kept sending glances at Douglas. Although to be fair, she spent a lot of time looking at everyone, seemingly interested in what each guest was doing and attempting to catch snippets of all the conversations at the table. Collecting gossip to disseminate later with her friends? Or just naturally curious? Douglas didn’t know her well enough to make a guess.
After dinner, the ladies left the room so the gentlemen could enjoy brandy and cigars. That was when Douglas’s initial impressions of Busfield were confirmed. He came across as little more than a drone for his bank and added nothing of interest to the conversation. By the time the men got up to rejoin the ladies in the parlor, Douglas had reached the conclusion that despite the gaps in his social experience, he could be considered a better prospect for any lady’s hand.
He was given greater reason to believe this when Miss Rolland made a beeline for him as soon as he entered the parlor. She was accompanied by her aunt, who suddenly had several urgent questions about banking and widows’ pensions that she wished to address to Busfield. Confidential questions that had her taking Busfield by the elbow to another corner of the room. Had the two women planned this as a distraction so Miss Rolland could speak privately with Douglas? It was an idea he was happy to consider.
Miss Rolland smiled up at him. “I thought you all would never be finished with your brandy and cigars. Things are so dull without the men around.” There was a coy smile playing around her lips.
“Tell me, Miss Rolland, what is it you ladies talk about while we are arguing over politics in the dining room?”
“The usual things, I suppose.” She began to tick off items on her fingers. “The upcoming flower show, what we shall wear to Ascot, and—”
“Gossip?” he supplied, giving his voice a teasing lilt.
Miss Rolland’s lips puckered into a mock pout. “Shame on you, Mr. Shaw, for thinking so ill of the ladies. I was going to say our plans for the week.”
“Well, those sound like more important matters than politics.”
“My aunt and I were discussing a little excursion to Finsbury Park in search of butterflies.”
Here was a turn to the conversation he’d not been expecting. “Butterflies?”
“Are you interested in lepidopterology? I myself am a devoted lepidopterist.” She sounded as if she thoroughly enjoyed the feel of those words rolling over her lips.
Given the vocabulary he’d heard her use so far this evening, Douglas had a wicked thought that these were perhaps the largest words she knew. “I must admit I don’t know much about butterflies, although I certainly enjoy looking at them.”
She smiled again, as though Douglas were flirting with her. Was he? Inwardly, he shrugged. He didn’t know a lot about these things, but he could recognize when a person was enjoying his company.
“Well, they are a passion of mine!” she said. “I have a lovely collection. Perhaps I might show it to you sometime.”
“I’d very much like to see it. Doesn’t collecting butterflies require a lot of travel?”
“Oh, I’ve been all over England. But there are still a few specimens that I am told I might be able to find right here in London. In fact—” She paused for a moment to survey the room. Her gaze lit upon her father. He was on the other side of the parlor, and she seemed satisfied that he was too engrossed in conversation with Henley to be paying attention to her. “In fact, I intend to go to Finsbury Park tomorrow. Thi
s is the time of year when one can sometimes find the Colias croceus, the clouded yellow butterfly that migrates from the continent.” She paused, focusing her gaze on him. “I don’t suppose you ever go walking out toward Finsbury Park on a Saturday afternoon?”
It was an invitation, clear as if she’d written it on gold-edged paper. A park where perhaps not so many of the well-to-do might be found. How interesting.
“Why yes, as a matter of fact, I often go up there to, er, enjoy the view. I was thinking I might stroll out there myself. Perhaps around . . .” He paused. What was the best time of day for finding butterflies? He had no idea. “Perhaps around midafternoon?”
“I will be leaving for the park just after luncheon. Wouldn’t it be surprising if we met?”
“Yes, very surprising indeed,” Douglas agreed.
Breaking free at last from the elderly aunt, Busfield came over to join them.
Douglas had no further opportunities for private conversation with Miss Rolland. The rest of the evening was largely taken up with business talk between him and Mr. Rolland and Mr. Henley.
As he was leaving, Miss Rolland bade him good night with a warm handshake and a smiling look that seemed to confirm their “accidental” meeting for tomorrow. Although he had no way of knowing, Douglas was pretty sure Miss Rolland hadn’t offered up any opportunities for an accidental meeting with Busfield.
On top of an evening that had gone well for his business, knowing he’d bested a bank officer in this regard made Douglas feel that tonight had been an unqualified success.
CHAPTER
Fourteen
It’s perfect!” Lucy enthused, draping the scarf around Alice’s neck. “This shade of blue is exquisite. Perfect for your skin tone. I don’t know why we didn’t get this one before.”
Once more they were in Drake and Sons department store, but this time it was Alice’s idea. She had decided to take Douglas’s advice and try to add more interest to her wardrobe. It was purely for business purposes, of course. She wasn’t going to do anything out of vanity. “A woman’s vanity springs from her desire for love; by winning love, she thinks she has won power over the man.” So said the spinster book, at any rate—and Alice definitely did not desire either love or power over men. She was merely interested in expanding her potential for success.
“I’m so happy to see you taking an interest in fine things!” Lucy said as they left the store. “Shall we go to my dressmaker’s next? I would love to see you fitted up with a pretty new gown.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t time today,” Alice replied. “I have another errand to run.”
While this was true, it was also a good excuse to avoid the dressmaker’s shop. A new gown from the dressmaker Lucy patronized would be far out of Alice’s price range. While Lucy would undoubtedly offer to pay for it, Alice could not in good conscience accept such an expensive gift.
“What could be more important than a new gown?” Lucy asked with innocent honesty.
“I’m going to the Strand. I need to buy a penknife for sharpening pencils.”
Lucy looked less than impressed. “That sounds terribly dull.”
Alice laughed at her reaction, all the more so because Lucy didn’t realize she’d made a pun. “Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to come.”
“All right, but I shall get you to that shop soon!” Lucy threatened. She paused before getting into her waiting carriage. “Yes, I do like that color on you,” she said, looking at Alice’s scarf. Like last time, Alice had worn it out of the store rather than having it wrapped. Lucy added, “I like to think I’m the one who changed your mind about fashion, although I expect some other person may have been the reason for it.”
“I beg your pardon?” Alice asked, startled. She could not think how Lucy could possibly have guessed that Douglas had put this idea into Alice’s head. Alice rarely mentioned him to Lucy, and when she did, it was only in passing and relating generally to things at work.
Lucy gave her that knowing smile—the one that always meant she was wrong about whatever she thought she was right about. “I received a letter from Fred yesterday. He asked me to send you his very kindest regards.”
“Ah yes,” Alice said, choking back a grimace. “How very kind of him.” She thought it best not to reveal that it had been a man at work who’d sparked her interest in improving her wardrobe. Lucy might jump to a new and equally wrong conclusion.
Was it better or worse for Lucy to make assumptions about Alice’s interest in Fred rather than thinking something similar about a different man? That was too hard to decide—and neither, she told herself firmly, were correct.
She gave her friend a quick good-bye and set off toward the Strand.
Douglas had been walking around Finsbury Park for perhaps half an hour when he finally located Miss Rolland and her chaperone. Given the size of the park, it might have taken much longer except Miss Rolland seemed to enjoy shrieking with delight as she waved her butterfly net in the general direction of her prey. Her chaperone, a plump, gray-haired woman, was more subdued, standing far enough away to avoid the wildly swinging net.
Douglas strode up the hill, calling out, “Miss Rolland! What a pleasant surprise to see you here!” He said this to keep up the ruse of the accidental meeting, not knowing whether the chaperone was in on the charade. He didn’t take any particular satisfaction from these little games men and women were supposed to play, but it wasn’t so bad if he thought of it as similar to the way businessmen would cut and parry during negotiations.
Miss Rolland paused midswing. “Oh!” She turned to face Douglas as he closed the distance between them. “Mr. Shaw! How wonderful to see you again.”
“May I say you are looking quite lovely today.” It was a line he had memorized, but he felt no guilt saying it. Miss Rolland’s summer frock of white muslin edged in navy blue was very fetching, and the tinge of pink in her cheeks from the sun and exercise did her no harm.
“It’s very kind of you to say so.” She smiled sweetly at him as she placed a hand on her heart. “I’m sure the wind has blown my hair into a rat’s nest.” She gave a little laugh as she tucked a stray curl under her hat.
Was she fishing for another compliment? He figured a woman could never have too many of those. But if he was going to flatter her, he was going to stick to the truth. “You look charming.”
She beamed at him in response. So far, so good.
Miss Rolland turned to her chaperone. “Mrs. Glover, it appears the sun is turning your nose quite red. I should hate for you to suffer a burn. Perhaps you might like to take a rest in the shade?” She indicated a park bench located under the trees.
“Thank you, miss. That’s very kind.” Mrs. Glover retreated to the bench—which, Douglas noted, was a comfortable distance away, giving them room to speak privately.
Once they were alone, Douglas asked, “Have you managed to find that elusive Colias croceus?”
She looked at him blankly.
He pointed toward her net, which now lay forgotten on the grass. “The clouded yellow butterfly.”
“Oh.” She shook her head. “No, only a few grizzled skippers. I already have specimens of those. But I am not discouraged. After all, the sport is in the chase, is it not?”
She took his arm as though he had offered to escort her somewhere, and began walking. Although taken by surprise, Douglas smoothly fell in step with her.
The spring breeze carried a bouquet of pleasing smells. As he took a deep breath to enjoy them, Douglas noticed some of the floral scents were emanating from Miss Rolland. He suspected she was adept at using every tool in her feminine arsenal for attracting men.
“It was Papa’s idea that I take up lepidopterology,” she said, smiling up at him from time to time as they walked. “He feels I should cultivate some intellectual interests in order to be well rounded. However, I like it because it provides plenty of opportunities to get outside. Much as I adore dinner parties and dances, there are times when life ca
n be so stuffy indoors. Especially if there are too many people about when one wants to have a private conversation.”
“A very astute observation.”
She looked pleased at the compliment. “Isn’t it nice that we should happen to meet like this, where we can enjoy the lovely day and get to know one another better?”
“Indeed it is.” How interesting that she was keeping up the pretense about the accidental meeting even though no one else was within earshot. Douglas wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. Did she actually believe her own fantasies?
She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Tell me all about yourself, Mr. Shaw. I want to know everything.”
“Hmm.” Douglas allowed a hint of a teasing grin to warm his features. “That might take a while. Might we narrow down the topic?”
“I already know about your profession and your prospects.” She spoke as though those were only minor details. Douglas knew just how important they were. They’d opened the door for him to meet her in the first place. Not to mention how crucial it was that she marry someone who could support her. She continued, “Papa has told me he believes you will go far in life.”
“Did he?” This was gratifying news.
“He thinks highly of you. Everyone does. Except perhaps for Mr. Busfield.” She giggled. “But I suspect what he said about you was prompted by envy.”
It would seem Miss Rolland’s brand of flirtation involved playing him against another suitor. Did she wish to stoke a competition between him and Busfield? Douglas was curious to know if the man had actually spoken ill of him, or whether Miss Rolland was misrepresenting his words. He decided to take a neutral stance.
He gave a casual shrug. “I’m afraid I don’t know Mr. Busfield well enough to form an opinion of him.”
“Let’s not spend any more time talking about him,” Miss Rolland chided, even though she’d been the one to bring up the subject. “I want to know about you. Which part of Scotland are you from? What was it like growing up there? It seems an exciting and mysterious place.”
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