by Aubrey Wynne
“My mother spoke of planning a monthly event. I believe a tea for November, a dinner for December, and perhaps a ball in January.” Mattie offered the plate of small, crustless sandwiches and biscuits. “I must admit my nerves are getting the better of me, though Darby assures me I will blend in with the others.”
“Why would you want to do that?” asked Miss Pendleton. “I cannot wait for my first waltz. I’ve only been able to practice with my brother”—she gave Nathaniel an apologetic look—“and I can only imagine what it’s like…”
Her voice drifted off as she focused on choosing a treat from the plate. Nicholas’s smile widened at her easy distraction. She nibbled at a delicate fairly cake, her tongue darting out to catch the butter icing at the corner of her mouth. He stifled a groan and struggled for conversation to change the direction his mind was taking.
“I would be honored to be your first waltz, Miss Pendleton,” he said, surprising himself and receiving a pair of narrowed green eyes glaring at him. Bloody hell, he thought as his smile faltered, this chit could get me into trouble.
The lady froze in midbite at his words, as if the last thing she had intended was for him to request a dance. She finished chewing and then cleared her throat. “That would be nice, indeed, Lord Darby.”
Her tone confounded him. Nicholas was not used to a lady turning him down. While he was known as a rake, he was handsome and titled. He had learned how to use a smile, a tone, or a look to get what he wanted, when he wanted it.
“I am accomplished in the waltz,” he assured her. “I will not step on your toes or allow any mishaps.” He tilted his head and raised one brow, knowing the hole in his cheek sank deeper. He saw the blush creep to her cheeks and his confidence returned.
Lady Roberta flipped open her fan, her wrist moving back and forth rapidly. “Merciful heavens,” she gushed, “this will be a monstrous good time.”
Chapter Four
“Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.”
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
London
Mid-November 1819
The last week had been everything Hannah had hoped for; the only thing missing was Gideon. Her brother had been a grand host, escorting her and Aunt Bertie to Hyde Park when the weather allowed, a dinner party with a baron and another with the second son of a duke. Mercy, but she didn’t know how her aunt remembered all the names.
They had visited Gunther’s and ate ices, despite the temperatures outside. Lady Roberta introduced her to the decadent pleasure of ice cream and hot chocolate together. Cold then hot, cold then hot. Her mouth watered thinking of it.
She also took Hannah shopping along Oxford and Bond Street, unable to do without a pair of new gloves at Wedgwood’s and a variety of costly teas at Twinings. Hannah was already privy to her aunt’s satinwood tea caddy. The locked box had an ebony line inlay with two compartments that held an exotic variety of tea leaves and a glass mixing bowl in the center.
“Next week, we’ll stop at Grafton’s. I need additional trimmings for my new bonnet. It’s a bit plain,” mused her aunt as they sat in the parlor, sipping a cup of tea to warm them from their recent walk in the garden.
“Why did you not choose another if it wasn’t to your taste?” Hannah wondered aloud.
“Oh, I’m never quite satisfied with purchases or recipes. I always have to add or take something away.”
“Recipes? You are familiar in a kitchen?” She was always learning something new about this unconventional woman.
“My traveling has made me more self-sufficient than most women of my status. I tend to wander off to the less congested areas when I visit a country. Attach myself to some unknowing local so I see how the inhabitants live, not what the privileged want us to see. The sights, the smells, the sounds of foreign place hold such delight for me. I’ve learned I don’t need to depend on others.”
“Except your father-in-law’s solicitor,” Hannah countered with a smirk.
“Oh no, dear. I’ve made wise investments over the years, some with the help of your brother. If my widow’s jointure were to disappear tomorrow, I’d still be quite comfortable. I have my own solicitor for the rest of my funds, so that family really has no strings attached to me.” She said it with pride in her voice. “I was quite proud to be able to help your brother hold on to certain properties after your father died.”
“This townhouse for one. You realize he considers it more your property than his.” Hannah had come to realize that Aunt Bertie was not quite the buffleheaded woman many considered her to be.
While she was often impulsive in her social interactions, her words not always coming out with the correctness expected, Lady Roberta was clever with a quick wit. From the small gatherings and conversations this week, her aunt had displayed knowledge on a wide variety of subjects. Despite her eccentricities, Hannah found herself wanting to be more like Aunt Bertie.
But with a husband. Whose name was Gideon, Earl of Stanfeld.
“Aunt, did you never find a gentleman who would allow you to…be you?” She wasn’t sure why it bothered her that Aunt Bertie was alone, but it did. “Are you never lonely?”
“Lonely?”
“Yes, without a—a man.”
“Oh, gracious, you know better than that.” She chuckled. “I think you mean, specifically, a husband?” she asked with a raised brow.
Hannah nodded.
“At times, I get lonely. But many women my age are also widowed and alone. And to answer your first question, yes, several gentlemen.”
“That would not have tried to conform you?” Another surprise.
“Don’t look so astounded! I’ve been proposed to even past the age of thirty, men promising to give me free rein. They were either smitten and too malleable for my taste or had not a feather to fly with.” She leaned back, a faraway look in her eye. “But I refused to marry without sincere affection on both sides.”
“You never fell in love again?”
“Oh, I never said that.” Aunt Bertie busied herself with pouring more tea, an uncharacteristic look on her face.
Was that embarrassment? It couldn’t be. “You were in love, then, and it was not returned?”
Her aunt let out a long sigh. “I have not spoken of him in years.”
“Oh, please share,” begged Hannah. “Unless it’s too painful.” Perhaps it was unrequited love and better left buried.
“He was the third son of a marquess. I was almost thirty-three at the time. I was travelling in India, and he was in military service. Oh, how dashing he looked in uniform…” Her voice faded away, memories taking her from her recitation.
Hannah waited patiently and nibbled at a biscuit. She studied the frames on the mantel, picturing her aunt as a young woman, vibrant and flirtatious.
“He was quiet, reserved, and oh, so handsome. Broad shoulders, chestnut hair, and soft brown eyes that made you feel welcome and safe.” She paused and turned an emerald ring on her finger over and over. “I think I fell in love the moment I saw him. He said it was the first dance for him. It was so romantic, but then again, everything in India was so romantic.”
“What happened?”
“We came back to England. He had a small retainer and some land and wanted to be a country gentleman.” She smiled. “I wanted to travel and see more of the world.”
“Did he want to marry?”
“Oh, yes. He even insisted children were not of importance due to my age. There were plenty in his family, and he was not responsible for producing an heir. He was willing to compromise and spend half his time in England and the other half traveling with me.” She shook her head. “I considered it until I visited his estate. It was where he belonged, where he would be happiest. Chester was not an adventurer, he loved having a home and constancy.”
“Did he not try to convince you?” Hannah reached out and grasped her aunt’s hand. This was better than a novel.
“Oh, y
es. For an entire year. I was too afraid he would be unhappy or come to regret my corky tendencies. We were such opposites, and I had created an image of him in my head that I couldn’t change.” Aunt Bertie smiled, her eyes shining. “But in truth, I think I was too frightened to trust him, to believe that a man would give up so much for me. I preferred seeing him as a romantic figure, the dashing soldier in India, rather than chance his love fading.”
“Have you never seen him again?” Hannah was fascinated by this romance.
She shook her head. “I’ll tell you a secret I’ve never shared with another soul. Chester is my only regret. I saw him as a country squire, and I’ll never know if he might have been happy with me. If I might have been happy…”
“Why don’t you try to find him?”
“I kept news on him for several years, read of his marriage and the birth of two children. It comforted me to know that, and I let him go.” She stood abruptly. “It’s still a beautiful day. Let’s go for a ride, and see who is all the crack at Hyde Park, shall we?”
Aunt Bertie’s confession stayed with Hannah. People were not always what they seemed. It could be terrible sin against a person to set one’s mind against them because of what they appeared to be. Society had an image of Lady Roberta that did not do her justice. Her aunt had maintained an image of her true love that she’d been afraid to examine too closely.
She dressed for bed, and as her maid plaited her hair, Hannah’s mind drifted to her sister-in-law. Eliza had been terribly abused by her father, married off to a rich earl, who died within a year, and left pregnant. When Hannah had first met her and her young daughter, Althea, she’d considered the widow timid and shy. The countess would flinch if someone raised their hand too quickly. A weak woman who had no more spirit or courage than a mouse.
Yet when Eliza had been confronted with evil, first a highwayman and then her own father, she’d shown a valor that would make a soldier proud. Her sister-in-law carried a strength hidden deep inside, coming out only when needed, but it was there. Hannah had realized then the mistake she might have made by judging the woman too quickly. It was a good lesson to remember as she was introduced in London. A first impression may not always be the correct impression.
* * *
The next morning, their little family gathered in the dining room for breakfast.
“Did I mention Lady Matilda and Lord Darby will be joining us tonight for dinner? It’s Nathaniel’s last night, so I thought it would be a nice sending off.” Aunt Bertie dropped a lump of sugar into her tea and stirred. “I will miss you, dear nephew.”
“As will I,” agreed Hannah, “but I am pleased I’ve made a few friends before your departure. Lady Matilda and I have grown quite close in such a short time.”
“It grieves me to leave such beautiful ladies, but I have more females seeking my attention at home.” He set a full plate of eggs, rasher, and toast on the table and gave a gallant bow. “A man’s duty and all that.”
“Pish! We will still have Darby to attend to us,” Aunt Bertie added with a smirk at Hannah. “I believe the gentleman likes you as well as his sister does. I catch him staring at you often.”
“Me? No, he must be observing Mattie. He seems very protective over her, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but it’s more than that.”
Nathaniel’s fork clattered against his plate. “I don’t believe he would be a suitable match for Hannah, so please do not encourage it, Aunt Bertie.”
“Why ever not?” Her brown eyes narrowed, displeasure bringing down the corners of her mouth. “I thought he was a good friend of yours.”
“He is. But his reputation as a rake is not all unfounded. And he has no desire for leg shackles.” Nathaniel attacked his food with vigor, dismissing the subject. “Do you ladies have any appointments today?”
“Excuse me, but let’s go back to Darby. He’s a rake?” Hannah had not been privy to much of the gossip yet. It was hard to believe of Mattie’s brother. He seemed so thoughtful and jovial.
“Does he gamble?”
“No, he never gambles. His father almost lost their entire fortune due to some large stakes with a corrupt duke. The scoundrel had cheated, but no one could prove it. As a gentleman, Darby’s father was obligated to make good on the note.”
“Ah yes, the infamous debt of honor,” Aunt Bertie said with an indelicate snort. “Even to a cheat.”
“As I said, no one could prove it.” He shook his head. “It was the reason for his ill-fated betrothal.”
“I heard rumors about his brief marriage.” Their aunt clucked her tongue. “Poor thing, dying on her wedding night.”
“On the wedding night!” Hannah gasped. “I knew he was a widower, but I didn’t realize… Oh my, what happened?”
“The on-dits at the time claimed she committed suicide, she hung herself.” Aunt Bertie shuddered. “There was more to it than that, I’m sure.”
“Well, I don’t want this to be repeated because Darby is a very private man, despite his cheery countenance.” Nathaniel leaned forward, pinning Hannah with his gaze. “I know how tongues wag, and since he is a friend and you are becoming close with his sister, I will tell you the truth.”
Hannah put down her tea. “Continue, please.”
“It seems the late Lady Darby was with child when she consented to the betrothal. In fact, her mother and Darby’s mother were confidantes and came up with the scheme. One needed a father for the child, the other needed money to replenish the funds lost by the aforementioned gambling disaster.”
He paused to smear creamy butter over his bread and took a bite while his sister took in this revelation. “He discovered part of the deception on the wedding night, when she was not a, er… Well, you know. When confronted, she admitted to the plot. He was enraged, and rightly so, but he stormed out of the room when she would not identify the father’s name. We assume the guilt consumed her, and she ended her life that night.”
“How tragic,” exclaimed Hannah.
“As you might guess, he tends not to trust the opposite sex. His sister is the exception, and I believe that is due to her innocence.” He waggled the butter knife at Hannah. “Don’t get any ideas about saving a poor, heartbroken wretch. When he does finally marry, it will be for the purpose of producing an heir. He has no faith in love or the fidelity of women. You, my dear sister, deserve better than that.”
“I won’t argue with you, dear brother,” she mimicked. “As you know, I have my cap set for someone else. He couldn’t be more opposite than the unfortunate Darby.
“I told you, he—” Nathaniel groaned. “Good God, I give up. Aunt Bertie, my condolences to you throughout the next months, and may I wish you the best of luck?”
“Oh, my boy,” she said with a wicked glint in her soft brown eyes, “luck will have nothing to do with it.”
Chapter Five
“If music be the food of love, play on.”
William Shakespeare
December 1, 1819
“Thank you again, Nicholas, for escorting me tonight.” Matilda pulled her hand from the fur-lined muff and placed it on her brother’s arm. “It’s nice to have a friend my age. Hannah is so easy to talk to, and I can get so tongue-tied.”
“I’m glad you both get along so well. I like her too.” He patted her hand. “It’s the least I can do for my doting sister.”
Matilda was a thoughtful quiet girl. Her pale hair and luminous blue eyes gave her a fragile appearance, but he sensed an inner strength in her that she hadn’t realized herself yet. Still, he tended to be overprotective.
She was the only female in the realm that he trusted, and her innocence was to be guarded. While he was the first to admit she had been sheltered, he’d never concede to his mother that he’d planned on staying by Mattie’s side throughout the season. Regardless of his loathing for the plotting mamas and simpering daughters he’d have to face.
A smile or pleasant word came easily to his lips, and most women s
uccumbed to his lethal combination of charming rogue. The type of man they should avoid, a splendid fellow by appearance but smoky, hiding a dark side only whispered about. He encouraged the opinion that he was a bang-up cove—dashing, good-natured, plump in the pocket, but determined to remain a bachelor. His male peers saw a different side.
By his mere presence, dandies of a certain character would steer clear of Mattie, not wanting to risk the wrath of the dubious Earl of Darby. Any man facing him in the ring at Jackson’s Saloon recognized the dark determination in his eyes. He was known to have bottom, able to endure a beating and wait for the moment to plant a facer or finish off his opponent with a blow to the gut. That contrast of character was what made him dangerous and kept men wary.
He politely spurned attempts at further friendship and was considered unpredictable since few men knew him well. Darby was smiling and sharing a bottle with a group of aristocrats one night and a bruiser in the boxing ring the next. He preferred the solitude, having more important business to attend to. Besides Pendleton and Stanfeld, the only man he confided in was Walters. And the ex-Bow Street runner was the only person who knew of his incognito forays into the rookeries. The less society knew about his activities, the better.
The coach stopped in front of the fashionable townhouse near Berkeley Square. Lamps were lit along the street and on each side of the gate leading into the house. They were met at the door by the butler, the voice of Lady Roberta boomed from the drawing room on the right.
“Smith, did you procure a wooden plate? And the feather? Oh never mind, I’ve plenty of feathers.” A brief pause. “But we will need the plate.”
The butler tried valiantly to wipe the martyred look from his wizened face but failed. In a tired but placating tone, he answered, “Yes, my lady, I have secured the plate and two ostrich feathers, one large and one small.” With an apologetic smile, he announced the guests. “Lord Darby and Lady Matilda.”