For the past few days, she hadn’t responded to a single missive, but only returned them directly—tickets to the museum and Vauxhall Gardens included. Both respectable places to visit during an afternoon. He even took great care to gain permission from her uncle, who was willing to grant chaperonage to Aunt Lavinia.
“So, tell me, Miss Bourne, are you through punishing me by declining my invitations?”
“Punishing you?” A small puff of laughter escaped her. “I suppose I was in a way. And you still owe me recompense.”
The tilted tips of her lashes winked in the sunlight and caught the corner of a sly grin. And suddenly he knew he was forgiven.
An inexplicable surge of warmth filled his chest, his heart pounding sure and steady. “What shall it be? Do you intend to commandeer my carriage again?”
Grinning, she fussed over the tray. “Tempting, but no. Splash of milk, no sugar?”
He nodded, surprised that she could have known. Then he remembered their tea on the terrace.
Throughout his life, he’d drunk thousands of cups, prepared by himself and by others, and yet he’d never noticed until this moment how intimate it was when someone else poured for him.
He watched as she removed her gloves and set them aside. Her arms were now bare from capped sleeve to delicately boned hands. Every movement was all ease and grace, the brush of fingertips over porcelain, the turn of her wrist. The noisy world beyond the window faded away beneath the soft whisper of steamy liquid filling the cup, the soundless stirring of the spoon, and the subtle aromas of tea and fresh linen. And all of it, he just realized, was disconcertingly, pleasingly homey.
After adding a nip of sugar to her own cup, she brought them both to the desk. Then taking the chair opposite his, she continued their conversation, ignorant of the peculiar thoughts running inside his mind.
“To make up for your horrid behavior, I want a wholly unrestricted conversation.”
He took a sip of tea, puzzling over why it even tasted different, the flavor enhanced to a rich, earthy elixir, smooth on his palate and far too easy to swallow. Briar Bourne made an excellent cup of tea. “In my company, you are always free to speak on any topic.”
“Then I want to know about your wife.”
“Except for that one,” he amended and set his cup down crisply in the saucer.
Across from him, she said nothing but sipped her tea with unnerving patience in her steady gaze.
Damn it all to hell. “Why would you want to know about her?”
“Because she is the one woman you decided to marry. And, I hope you can forgive me, if the memory is too painful, but I’m curious what it was that drew you to her and made you fall in love.”
He swallowed down a wry laugh. “If your ultimate goal is to find a woman with her particular and most cunning characteristics in order to entice me into marriage, then you’re wasting your time.”
This, of course, did nothing to deter Briar. “How did you meet her?”
“She was a friend of my brother’s wife and visited the house often after they married,” he explained, swallowing down a rise of bitterness. “Not having reached my majority and under the guardianship of my brother after our father died, I lived there as well.”
“So you saw her often and a companionship grew between you?” She paused seeming to mull this over. “Was she pretty?”
“Yes, and I was naive enough that I could not see beyond her raven hair and flashing violet eyes. A foolish young man, barely out of university, I did not even know there were women like her, so free and vivacious. And when Marceline wanted something, no obstacle was too great, no means of manipulation off limits.”
Briar sighed, clearly misunderstanding, her eyes filled with flying Cupids and heart-shaped arrows. “Was she so in love that she was willing to do anything to have you?”
He looked toward the open window, wanting to avoid the memory that was still too close at hand, even after all these years. “You are partly right. She was willing to do anything, even to suffer the floundering attentions of a gangly younger brother in order to have a place in the earl’s family.”
In the earl’s house. In the earl’s bed . . .
“You speak as though you don’t believe she loved you,” Briar said, her tone listing downward. “Oh, Nicholas, that is a terrible burden to carry inside your heart. Don’t you see? This is precisely the reason you should marry again. And I vow to find you someone who will leave you in no doubt of her affections.”
He turned to tell her that it wasn’t possible. That the years had changed him and he was no longer a foolish young man. But seeing the hopeful eagerness in her expression, he didn’t have the heart to crush her dreams.
Chapter 16
“. . . certainly silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an imprudent way.”
Jane Austen, Emma
Later that week, and sitting across from Mrs. Teasdale in the parlor, Briar frowned at the Post folded in her grasp.
“‘Luckless titled gentleman of relatively good breeding seeks wife—heiresses need only apply. Send all correspondence to the editor of this fine circular,’” she murmured in disgust. “I cannot believe he took out an advertisement for a wife.”
She knew it was Lord Holt. After all, who else could it have been? Abruptly Briar felt a renewed wash of shame for having molested him on the terrace.
“Perhaps that’s what you should do, dearie,” Mrs. Teasdale said amidst the ever-constant clicking of her knitting needles. The new project was a long triangular shape, with uneven rows and yarn the speckled white-and-gray color of a dirty lamb.
She had become a constant figure at the agency, the first patron to arrive each morning and the last to leave each afternoon on the three days they were open. There were some days when she was the only patron. Although, after the news of Miss Throckmeyer’s elopement had taken Briar’s blunder out of mainstream gossip, they did have a small trickle of new clients. But what they needed was a flood.
Brooding over the paper and the loss of the client that never was, Briar propped her chin on her fist, slouching. If ever a moment called for a good slouch, then this was surely it. “We already have advertisements in two different circulars. Ainsley has even thought of pasting notices around the shops in town, to draw more people in.”
“Mmm . . . I’ve seen them and they’re a bit flat, to my way of thinking. They need to have a bit of spark.”
At the mere mention of the word spark, gooseflesh scattered down her arms making the tiny hairs stand on end. That was precisely what she wanted—sparks for every one of her clients. She sat straight. “What do you mean, precisely?”
Mrs. Teasdale pointed to the paper with one of her needles. “Make folks think they’re coming here to meet that one fated person. Not to be put on a list. Not everyone is patient enough for that. And besides, the Season’s coming to an end, isn’t it?”
Yes, it was already May. It was no secret that many people were scrambling to find a match before the Season was over. Much of society had already planned to travel to the seaside, or to their country estates, and away from the heat and stench of town. In fact, Briar usually spent a few weeks in north Hampshire at the Duchess of Holliford’s country estate.
All the more reason to make haste. “You may be on to something, Mrs. Teasdale. It would have to be anonymous, of course. No direct mention of the agency.”
She could just imagine Ainsley up in the house roof over something like this. But what a perfect idea, regardless.
Briar shot up from the chair and began to pace in the open area in front of the door, thinking of Temperance and Daniel. “I won’t mention their physical descriptions at all because I believe a person who is serious would want to gain a sense of character first. I’ll leave out a mention of dowry and income as well. Two thousand pounds is enough to bring in many an unscrupulous person.”
“Sadly true. Brings to mind my fourth husband.”
Bri
ar was lost in thought, seeking the perfect phrasing, and the instant it came to her, tingles coursed down her limbs. “I’ve got it! ‘Sensible maiden from an upstanding family seeks husband from the same. Gentleman preferred.’ And then for him, ‘Fine gentleman with a small country estate seeks steadfast bride. Debutantes preferred.’”
“I like that,” Mrs. Teasdale said, tapping the needle against her chin and nodding. “Very good. I imagine, you could write a slew of them.”
“If it works, that’s precisely what I plan to do.” It would take a bit more coin from her dowry, but she wouldn’t need that anytime soon. She wasn’t even remotely interested in looking for a husband until she’d made her mark on the matchmaking world.
Then, after Temperance and Daniel, Briar would take out an advertisement for every one of her clients. Except for Nicholas, of course, because he wasn’t a client. He was . . . hmm . . . she wasn’t entirely sure. The object of a challenge? A mere tutor?
No, to her, he was more than that.
After the lesson of the angry kiss, she felt as if they’d reached a deeper understanding. That fierce, stolen moment seemed to have unlocked a door between them. The barrier of tutor and pupil had given way to the beginnings of a friendship. After all, he wouldn’t have revealed so much about his marriage to just anyone. She’d heard the pained edge in his tone when he’d spoken of his loss and her heart had twisted, feeling raw and tender toward him.
It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask more about his life. Not just about the short duration of his marriage, but everything. What was he like as a child? What were his dreams of the future? Did he once have a dog, a fondness for sweets, a favorite color?
Frankly, she was surprised she hadn’t leapt across his desk, a crazed look in her eyes, and said, “Tell me every thought you’ve ever had . . .”
And in that new, barrierless moment between them, she would have written down each detail on scraps of paper, stuffed them up her sleeves, down her chemise, rolled them up inside her gloves. Just to keep them with her.
Even now, she still felt greedy, needing to know all about him but not understanding the sense of urgency teeming through her. This new friendship of theirs was different than anything she’d ever experienced. And since she wanted to experience everything life had to offer, she never wanted it to end.
So perhaps while trying to find him someone irresistible, she should make sure that this woman could be her own friend as well. And then Briar could keep a small part of him with her always.
* * *
This past week, Nicholas had found himself away from his townhouse in the afternoons, especially on the days when he knew Temperance was anticipating a visit from her friend. He didn’t intentionally set out to avoid Briar but he knew it was better if he kept his distance.
After all, he didn’t want her to imagine that he planned to repeat what had happened during their last encounter, or that he’d find a reason to pull her aside and kiss her each time he saw her. Because he wouldn’t. He had far more control over his actions.
Besides, he was her tutor. Older. Wiser. A man of the world.
Men of the world did not spend their days thinking about clandestine kisses as if they’d been turned back into awkward, green pups fresh out of university.
Men of the world met with their solicitors and stewards, they caroused with old friends, visited clubs, spent evenings at Sterling’s. And when they were at gaming hells, men of the world focused on the cards and the women whispering lewd promises in their ears. They did not catch themselves glancing out across the street to a matrimonial agency, interested in the light they saw burning in one of the windows, and wondering if it was hers.
Only a fool would do that.
Unfortunately today, his efforts of escape were foiled by Aunt Lavinia. She’d stopped him to discuss a letter she’d received from his mother, wanting to know when they might be retiring to the country. During their conversation, Viscount Eggleston and his lovely niece dropped off a parcel of freshly baked scones on their way out for new ribbons and handkerchiefs.
But that had not been enough for Aunt Lavinia. She’d invited them to stay for a visit and tour the garden, instead.
“After all,” she’d said with a bright-eyed grin as she’d linked arms with the charming viscount, “the shops will be there tomorrow, but the blooms may well be spent today.”
And that was how Nicholas had found himself seated beneath the ivy arbor on the terrace, determined not to think up different ways to lure Briar away for a moment or two.
“Your cousin seems miles away this afternoon, Temperance,” Briar said with a certain wiliness in her tone. “Either that or he is glaring at the last scone because he is angry that Mrs. Darden refuses to give up her recipe.”
Nicholas felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth, but resisted the urge to make a comment. It would not be wise to engage in playful banter. He might forget that both his cousins sat at the same table, while his aunt and her uncle observed them from a bench beneath a canopy of shade trees on the far side of the garden.
Temperance laughed. “For that, I might even wag a finger at my scone . . . if anything more than a crumb remained on my plate. But you are right. Nicholas does seem rather preoccupied. What do you think the cause could be, Daniel?”
“Nothing so dramatic,” Daniel said, a glimpse of his former self in the grin on his face. “When we were in the country, his primary goal of existence was digging irrigation trenches on his land. Surely all he requires is a shovel in order to be content.”
Nicholas focused on him, heartened to see the new changes that appeared every day, subtle but noteworthy. Daniel spent less time in his rooms. Even though he still preferred to stay home rather than attend a soiree, he joined the family for dinner and afternoon tea. And now, he was ribbing Nicholas.
It seemed that none of them were immune to Briar’s effervescence. Surely this was a good development toward getting Daniel married by Season’s end.
“Quite amusing,” Nicholas said, a wry grin on his own lips as he glanced from one cousin to the next. Then his gaze settled on Briar. This afternoon she wore a frock in his favorite color—the exact shade of deep blue that her eyes turned when she’d been thoroughly kissed. “But Miss Bourne was correct. I am quite cross that this is the last scone.”
He leaned forward to take it.
But suddenly he wasn’t the only one reaching for the plate. The four of them shot forward, chairs sliding back, raking sharply on the stones. Surprised shouts of laughter followed. The playful slap of fingers. Then Briar sat back, lifting her prize above her head as if it were a trophy cup.
“See here. That’s hardly fair. Mrs. Darden is your own cook, and I am your dearest friend.”
“My sister is quite right. You likely have a dozen waiting for your return.”
Briar grinned without shame. “Pitiful attempts. You’ll have to work much harder if you want to make me feel guilty enough to rescind my prize. You forget, I have two older sisters who are quite skilled at that game. My lord, would you care to try?”
Nicholas eased down into his chair, fighting the impulse to eat the scone directly from her hand, nibbling her fingertips, licking every morsel. “Miss Bourne won it fairly.”
“Thank yo—”
“If she can enjoy the flavor,” he continued solemnly, “even though it is now tainted by the greed and selfishness of her actions, then who are we to deny her?”
He shrugged his shoulders, lifting his hands in innocence.
Briar lowered her scone. “Very well done. You are quite skilled at manipulation. It must be because you are so much older than the rest of us, and you’ve had more years of practice.” Then, with a cheeky grin, she broke off a piece and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm . . . greed and selfishness . . . positively scrumptious.”
Temperance threw her napkin at her friend, laughing. “You sound just like Nicholas when he ate the last three from the previous batch. Wholly unrepenta
nt, the pair of you.”
Nicholas didn’t like the way that phrase rolled off his cousin’s tongue. And he certainly didn’t like the pleasurable jolt he felt hearing the pair of you. “Mind what you say, Teense, or I will not drive you to the opera tomorrow evening.”
“Are you in earnest?” Temperance gasped. At his nod, she jumped up from her chair, nearly upending it onto the stones. “This will be splendid. Just splendid! Oh, but of course, you are inviting Briar as well, or else you would not have mentioned it in front of her.”
“It would have been rude otherwise,” he said, adopting a bored countenance as if he wasn’t taken by surprise as well. He was fully aware of the faux pas should he not extend the invitation to all those present. So why did he bring up the opera if he’d been trying to stay away from Briar?
She eyed him shrewdly as if trying to figure him out, too. “I would love to accept. However, permission is for my uncle to grant.”
Instinctively, Nicholas knew that would be her answer. Perhaps that was the reason he’d mentioned it now, instead of sending a written invitation. He’d learned already that those tended to return with refusals. And it was a matter of happenstance that her doting uncle was present.
“Then I will ask him this instant. Daniel, come with me in case he needs to be persuaded.” Temperance rushed over to his chair, and after a few tugs on his coat, a patient, brotherly sigh, and the shriek of chair legs sliding back, they left.
Briar watched them go, shielding her eyes from the light with her free hand, then she turned back to him. “Are you going to make an excuse to leave the table as well?”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
She lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. “It seems that you’ve been avoiding me these past few visits.”
“Have I?”
“Mmm . . . the same way that I avoided you after that evening at Almack’s. I must have done something to bother you, or make you cross, but I cannot fathom what it could be. Unless . . . you’re afraid that I will hound you with questions regarding the type of woman you would prefer. Or demand to know your favorite qualities and desired temperaments. I have an unending list.”
Ten Kisses to Scandal (Misadventures in Matchmaking) Page 17