A Regrettable Proposal

by Jennie Goutet

  Stratford used that opportunity to voice his own request. “Miss Daventry, I haven’t had a promise, but I hope you will spare a dance for me.” He knew there was a pleading quality to his voice, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “Of course,” she said. Their attention was diverted by Sir Braxsen’s entrance just as the doors to the assembly closed to further guests.

  “It seems we are all of us tardy this evening,” Stratford said, and watched idly as Sir Braxsen made a beeline for where they stood. He knew he’d have no chance to converse further with Miss Daventry until their dance.

  “Braxsen, well met,” Stratford said. “I expected you would not be far behind your comrade. But who do you partner with when Major Fitzwilliam is dancing with Miss Ingram?” With a guilty jump, Stratford caught himself and looked around to see if Lady Ingram had heard the reference to her daughter, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw her in conference with Mrs. Brooks.

  “I dance with whomever is on the sidelines,” Sir Braxsen returned. “If she’s heir to a great fortune, all the better.” He gave a roguish smile.

  “There are not many of those,” Stratford said. “Best to look out for a young lady of character.”

  “I believe there are even fewer of those,” Sir Braxsen replied. “I shall have better luck pursuing a fortune.” Stratford could not tell whether he was serious.

  The first set was full, so Stratford staked his claim next to Eleanor while his sisters went into the hands of their waiting partners and Lydia passed from Major Fitzwilliam to the next promised gentleman. He saw the major’s frown as he watched her leave and didn’t envy the man. Before Stratford and Eleanor could take their places in the set that was forming, the Master of Ceremonies brought two newcomers to the debutantes on the sidelines and encouraged them to fill the set.

  With a shrug, Eleanor turned her face to his. “The set is full.”

  Struck by her nearness, and his hope of triumph after so many days of wrestling to come to a decision, he suddenly felt tongue-tied. “Did you wish to be dancing?”

  “I’m content to stand on the sidelines,” she replied, her bright gaze following the swish of skirts and click of boots in front of them. She did indeed look content. Had she accepted her suitor already? He wished he could ask.

  “Have you—”

  “Will you now—”

  Each laughed self-consciously, but Stratford bade her continue, and she asked, “Will you now have a chance to go to your estate as you’d wished? I hope the affairs are well in hand.”

  Stratford was standing as near to her as he dared, and her scent, as fresh as spring flowers, made it hard to concentrate on her words. He took a step back and answered. “Ingram’s fall has put off the visit. Most of the affairs I can manage by correspondence, but I must go soon, be it just for a week.”

  “You have put off your visit for Lord Ingram. You’re a good friend to have, my lord.”

  When she smiled at him like that, it made his heart skip in a queer way. He almost blurted out—Call me Stratford—but caught himself in the nick of time. Good heavens! What if she were already betrothed?

  He pretended to move further back from the dancing couples as an excuse to pull her close. “I have noticed, Miss Daventry, the same can be said about you.”

  The first dance finished, and Eleanor put her hand on Lord Worthing’s arm and followed him onto the floor. Just as well they’d missed the other set because this one was a waltz, and there was no one she would rather dance it with. He placed his hand on her back, waiting for the music to begin, and her knees felt weak from that light pressure.

  If only she might know how he felt. Lord Carlton did not hold back from expressing his admiration, to the point where it overwhelmed her. Sometimes she suspected Lord Worthing admired her as he had once confessed, but then he would say something that seemed indifferent, or he would shutter his expression so she had no idea what he was thinking.

  Tonight, however, something had changed. He had changed. She was prompted then to search his face to see if she had not imagined it.

  When their eyes met, she received a shock. The look he gave her was purposeful. Resolute. At that moment, the music started and he moved, pulling her into the steps. It took a full turn around the room before she could recover her composure enough for conversation. After the first look, his expression went back to being indecipherable, and she wondered if he had been affected.

  Perhaps not, for he smiled down at her and raised his eyebrows. “Not once have you stepped on my toes.”

  She had tamed her wildly beating heart and was ready with a reply. “You are surprised, my lord. Are the other ladies you dance with so heavy-footed?”

  “No, I am only admiring the lightness of yours,” he teased back.

  Eleanor liked this side to him and suspected he did not show it to many people outside his family and closest friends. “Well, I must own myself to be agreeably surprised in you, my lord,” she returned with a glimmer of a smile. “You have a sure way about you when you dance that I would not at all have guessed upon first making your acquaintance.”

  “Ah.” Lord Worthing nodded sagely. “Are you referring to my lack of conversational arts or my ineptitude at making a decent proposal?”

  A bubble of laughter escaped her. “So you’re willing to concede that there were some manners lacking in your address. Never fear, my lord. You’ve more than made up for it in these last weeks.” Eleanor paused and then added, reflectively, “I suppose you can’t but avoid learning diplomacy living with two sisters.”

  “I’d spent too long in the Peninsula to remember my manners,” Lord Worthing said. “But, as you say, my sisters have not been slow in reminding me of them.” He leaned down to murmur, “Nor, I might add, have you.”

  Her heart lifted at the intimate way in which he spoke those words, though the words themselves were nothing special. Her feet barely touched the ground as they spun, and when the waltz ended, he held her close for a minute longer, releasing her only long enough to lean in and say, “I’ve never had so much pleasure in dancing as I have with you, Miss Daventry. I hope I will have many more occasions to do so.” The smile he gave her cracked her last defense, and she could barely feel her legs as he led her to the sidelines.

  Eleanor knew her face was expressive, and that the pleasure she felt was patent to all, and she thought she did not care. But when she looked to her right, it was clear her sentiment was not universally shared, for just then she caught a set of sharp eyes turned in her direction. It was Harriet Price, and the look of speculation in them brought a chill to Eleanor’s spine. This did not bode well.

  Eleanor was still wondering how she might handle meeting Harriet that evening when Lord Worthing led her toward the other side of the room, where her gaze clashed with Judith Broadmore’s. Eleanor was taken aback by the hatred brimming in the other woman’s eyes, and her steps nearly faltered.

  Then she grew indignant. Why should she cower? She had nothing to be ashamed of. It was Miss Broadmore who had thrown off Lord Worthing, not the other way around. It was Miss Broadmore’s loss, and she must face it and move on.

  As Eleanor bolstered her confidence through this reasoning, they stopped so Lord Worthing could exchange a few words with Sir Braxsen, and she glanced at the other side of the room, where she discovered Harriet still staring at her. Agh! Hemmed in on both sides! she thought with a sudden, panicky bubble of mirth. Where was Lydia so she could share this with her?

  Her humor and confidence fled, however, when Lord Worthing stiffened and pulled away from her. As she felt the physical loss of his presence, understanding dawned. He has perceived Miss Broadmore and wishes not to be seen walking so closely with me.

  When Lord Worthing turned to her, his eyes were full of concern. “Miss Daventry, I had intended to bring you to the refreshment table, and now I find I cannot. Pray, forgive me.” He looked as if he regretted having to abandon her, and the thought gave her some small comfort, but it wa
s small indeed.

  Then he glanced toward Miss Broadmore again, and Eleanor’s gaze followed his. She must keep her feelings in check because Lord Worthing’s heart did not belong to her. And she must seriously consider Lord Carlton, whose heart, it appeared, did. No matter how she might feel, she would be a fool to hold out for one who had no serious intentions of marriage. Or who has those intentions only when he is drunk. She forced herself to give a light shrug.

  “It is of no matter, my lord,” Eleanor replied. “Look. Lydia is sitting this one out. Will you bring me to her?”

  No sooner had Stratford brought Eleanor to Lydia’s side than he left. Lydia was immediately claimed by her next dance partner, leaving Eleanor alone, and Harriet Price lost no time in coming her way, a sequence of events that felt most unjust.

  “Eleanor,” Harriet said, with an arched brow. “What a surprise to find you here. I’ve heard about your inheritance, and I suppose that must surely open any door. How lucky for you. First you have a guardian who can smooth over your”—she leaned in—“less-than-desirable past, and then he leaves you with an inexplicable fortune that begs one to understand the cause behind it.”

  Eleanor smiled sweetly, though it cost her. “Most people are not as motivated by jealousy as you are to search for cause.”

  Harriet’s eyes narrowed. It was war. “I do not know how you were able to hoodwink the patronesses to secure you vouchers, but you have not fooled me. What have I to be jealous of? I am the daughter of a baroness, and as such will always be better than you.”

  “Then let me not detain you any longer,” Eleanor said, her cheeks stiff from smiling. Harriet turned on her heel and marched to the nearest group, where Miss Broadmore was holding court.

  They deserve each other, Eleanor thought. Then—good! No false pretense needed. Still, never before had she felt the want of partners more acutely.

  Stratford regretted leaving Eleanor so abruptly, but he couldn’t ignore the urgency in Fitz’s signal. He made his way to the entrance of the card room to meet him. Inside, they took the last free table in the corner, where the level of noise precluded any threat of someone eavesdropping. “You have news?”

  Fitz nodded. “I’ve instructed my man to send any urgent message to me, no matter where I am, and he’s a resourceful fellow.” He leaned in, voice low. “Headquarters was broken into. It was Ingram’s office. I don’t want to leave the investigation at this critical point, so I’m hoping you can pass on the information for me. I’ll be looking for any clues that connect the break-in at headquarters to the one in Ingram’s library. And,” he shook his head, looking weary, “following up on some possible leads at Boodle’s.”

  “I’ll go see Ingram first thing tomorrow,” Stratford said, “but perhaps not so early as to arouse suspicion from his household. He doesn’t want anyone to suspect something’s amiss.”

  “No, no need,” said Fitz. “In any case, there’s nothing he can do. I’ll report as soon as I’m able. But first let me tell you what I know.”

  Fitz left immediately after their talk, and Stratford returned to the ballroom, feeling at a loss. Miss Daventry was dancing, of course. He didn’t have it in him to play the gallant to another young lady and could not order his sisters—and, he must not forget, the Ingram party—to leave without provoking questions he was unable to answer. Stratford felt every bit as weary as Fitz had looked and wished the evening might end quickly.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The morning after Almack’s, Eleanor accompanied Lydia to Lord Ingram’s chambers since he was now well enough and indeed appreciated the visits, even if it meant a detailed recount of last night’s adventures. Still vaguely dissatisfied with how her evening had ended, Eleanor forced herself to add her mite to Lydia’s enthusiastic description, teasing Lord Ingram at the end with, “I was certain you’d not wish to hear a word about Almack’s.”

  “When you’re stuck in bed, any entertainment is better than none at all,” Ingram said. “Now.” He folded his hands on his lap. “Had you chose the silk accents or the satin?”

  Eleanor was obliged to laugh, but Lydia answered in all sincerity. “The blue dress with satin bows. I danced nearly every dance, and I swear I’m worn to the bone. So many people asked after you, you would have been most gratified. All the usual people, but there was also a Miss Georgiana Audley who’d just arrived in town. When we were introduced, she mentioned having made your acquaintance.”

  Lord Ingram looked up at this. “Miss Audley is returned?”

  “Yes. She was shockingly brown, but I daresay the London air will do her good. Her mother has passed away, and her father brought her home to settle affairs.”

  Ingram frowned. “When did her mother die? Did she say?”

  “No, but I imagine it to be of recent date. She’s still in half-mourning and refused to dance with anyone.”

  Lord Ingram digested this but made no further comment except to say he hoped Lydia would pass his regards the next time they met. With effort, it seemed, he turned the conversation back to the ball. “And you, Eleanor, had you all your dances claimed?”

  “Nearly,” she said. “I was not disgraced at any event.” Her mind involuntarily went to her encounter with Harriet Price who, by the look of it, was eager to bring about Eleanor’s downfall. Her joy at dancing with Lord Worthing could not stand under the combined forces of his having abandoned her for Judith Broadmore and Harriet’s assault immediately following the dance.

  Lydia pulled Eleanor out of her brief reverie with the words, “Stratford said he would come visit you today.” After a wild flash of hope, Eleanor realized, of course, Lydia had been talking to her brother.

  “I do hope he will be so obliging. It’s an intolerable bore just lying about like this.” Perhaps regretting his frustration, Ingram flashed them a smile that Eleanor thought must make some young lady’s heart flutter somewhere.

  “Fred, are we not company enough?” Lydia glared at him.

  “I apologize for this black humor of mine. You are, of course.” Ingram pulled on the pillow behind his head so he was more upright. “The truth is, I’m itching to get up and do something, but I know I can’t. I’m fixed in this position until the bone has set, or so the doctor says.”

  “Well, let us hope Lord Worthing does come to relieve your boredom,” Eleanor said. “However, we can amuse you between the two of us, can we not, Lydia? Where is the backgammon game?”

  “So you mean to stay and indulge an invalid,” Ingram said. “By all means, bring out the game. If you’ll just pull the bell, Hartsmith will know where to find it. Oh, speak of the devil. Hartsmith, do you know where a set of backgammon can be found?”

  The butler, his hand still on the doorknob, waited for Lord Ingram to finish. “I will bring the set straight away, my lord. But here is Lord Worthing wishing to see you, and the cook is waiting only for your summons to send up a luncheon.” Eleanor looked up as Lord Worthing entered the room, but her gaze dropped as soon as he looked her way.

  “Ah, Stratford, you’re here,” Lord Ingram said. “We were just speaking of you, and you’re in time to sit for lunch.”

  Lord Worthing shook his head. “I hadn’t meant to inconvenience you all. Ingram, I came to have a word with you today, but I can come back later.”

  “No, Stratford,” Lydia insisted. “You must join us for lunch.”

  Ingram brooked no argument. “Hartsmith, set another plate at the table, would you?” Turning to Stratford, he added, “No sense in watching me try to balance a plate on my lap. Go join the ladies for a civilized lunch, then come up afterward and we can talk then.”

  Lord Worthing allowed himself to be persuaded and followed the ladies downstairs, where Lady Ingram moved to sit at the head of the table. After greeting Stratford and ordering the fruit and sandwiches to be passed around, she called to Lydia to explain what’s this she’d heard about Mrs. Dartmouth’s informal party to hear Mrs. Bannings sing. Lydia launched into what she knew of the
affair, and Lord Worthing addressed Eleanor at his side.

  “I’m hoping we might see you Saturday evening at the theatre if you care to join us in our box. Anna and Phoebe will both be there. Are you and Lydia free?”

  “No, my lord. I’m afraid I’ve already accepted an invitation to dine at Lord Carlton’s house and attend the theatre with him and his sister.” She looked up and caught the disappointed look in his eyes before he averted them. Reaching for a small cake from the plate in front of her, she strove for a normal tone. “Lydia declined the invitation, and I’m not sure what she’s planning.”

  Lord Worthing did not reply right away. At last he said, “I see I’ve come too late, then. Never mind. I was honoring Frederick’s charge to escort you, and though I know you’re perfectly well taken care of, I didn’t want to neglect my duty.”

  That was a daunting speech. He thinks only of his duty. Do not hope, she scolded herself. However when she compared his words of duty with the disappointed look in his eyes, she couldn’t help but think the words were just a mask. Hope took root and sprang up anew. Eleanor darted a glance at Lydia, but Lady Ingram kept her attention. She must carry this end of the conversation on her own.

  “Are your sisters enjoying the Season?” Eleanor asked, after a space.

  “Yes, I believe so.” Lord Worthing took a sip of water, then after a quick glance at Lady Ingram, turned to her and said in a quiet voice, “Miss Daventry, I apologize for leaving you so abruptly after our dance last night.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, her eyes on her plate. “You had other obligations to attend to.”

  “I did have other obligations. It was only that I’ve been trying to discover what I can after Ingram was hurt, and I saw … someone signal to me urgently so I had to leave you.” He caught her eye. “I assure you, little else would have torn me from such delightful company.”

  “I see.” Her eyes darting to his, Eleanor had only time to respond as much before Lady Ingram asked Lord Worthing about his likelihood of attending the soirée where the soprano was to sing. He responded that he had not yet received an invitation, and the topic drifted to upcoming performances at Covent Garden. There was no time for more private conversation between them, but when he passed her a plate, his fingers grazed her hand and, startled, her eyes met his. He risked a fleeting smile before turning his attention back to Lady Ingram.