Mistaken Kiss: A Humorous Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt Book 2)

by Kathleen Baldwin

  “I’m afraid the effect may be that I will be seen addressing a column rather than one of our visitors.”

  “Folderol. You are being difficult again.”

  Before they could debate further, Lady Tricot and her daughter entered the box. The rotund woman had an abundance of heavy black hair coiled on her head and a sizable mustache of the same color. Her lavender silk gown and gauze overskirt bore disturbingly large stains where the lady perspired. In the close quarters of the box, the smell became almost overpowering. Aunt Honore whipped open her fan. Willa supposed that this did not signal anything other than a desire to move the air about.

  Lady Tricot’s daughter, Alfreda, was the antithesis of her mother. So willowy Willa feared the girl might blow over in a breeze. Her astonishingly white hair was wispy and fine, making her appear almost ghost-like.

  Willa tried to draw her into conversation but found it difficult to hear the girl’s subtle replies. She leaned closer and caught tiny snatches of her visitor’s lilting responses.

  A noisy crowd gathered outside the doorway blocked by Lady Tricot’s ample frame.

  “See here, Lady Alameda, how well your niece gets on with my Alfreda.” Lady Tricot’s voice echoed around the alcove and out into the theatre. “Must bring the gel to my breakfast al fresco next Thursday. Everyone there, eh? A little gathering for good friends, you know.”

  “Thank you, Margaret. We shall make every effort.” Honore smiled tolerantly but offered no further conversation.

  After Lady Tricot pushed her way out of the box, it was as if a stone fell out of a dike. Callers flooded in, most of them gentlemen. Monmouth shoved through the crowd and handed Willa and Honore their glasses of punch.

  He whispered cryptically to Honore. “Done.”

  Her aunt nodded and one corner of her mouth curled up.

  They were up to something. Willa squinted, trying to bring her aunt’s countenance into sharper focus. Exactly what was done?

  She had little time to speculate. Monmouth stood at Willa’s elbow and performed the introductions.

  It was difficult for Willa to manage her punch cup and lorgnette at the same time. She let the eyeglasses dangle at her wrist and smiled evenly at each new blurry face. Next time, she vowed, she would wear her spectacles no matter what her aunt said.

  * * *

  Alex fidgeted in the queue outside Lady Alameda’s box. He overheard two matrons disparage Willa as they were leaving.

  “Impertinent gel. Didn’t even look at me when I was speaking to her.”

  “No?” The other woman clucked her tongue. “And she frowned at me, just as if she were the Queen Mother herself. Still, she is Honore’s niece. One can’t simply ignore her.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  Spiteful old cats, thought Alex. He stopped short. There it was again, that protective feeling. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have told his friends he was acquainted with her. He ought to stay as far away as possible.

  “Wearisome crush.” Alex scowled at Lord Tournsby and Harry Erwin. “Why are we standing about just to meet a chit from the country?”

  Tournsby grinned sardonically. “Alex, old fellow, have your wits gone begging? The chit has a prime figure, and she’s Lady Alameda’s niece. Old girl has pots of money and no daughter of her own. Your delectable young acquaintance might be the remedy for my bothersome duns, and a palatable morsel into the bargain.”

  Harry nudged Alex good-naturedly in the ribs. “Tournsby’s right. Demmed fine looking chit. Worth the wait, Braeburn.”

  Alex glanced at the ceiling and flexed his jaw. It was all he could do to keep from slapping the smirk off Tournsby’s face.

  “Didn’t think you would stoop to fortune hunting.”

  “Severe language, my friend.” Tournsby brushed a fleck of lint from his lapel. “Time I set up my nursery. My father brought it to my attention just the other day, directly after he made a rather unfortunate excursion to Whites.” He laughed without the least hint of shame.

  Alex muttered loud enough for his friend to hear. “I doubt there’s enough money in the national treasury to bail you and your sire out.”

  Tournsby shrugged. “Probably right. Still, every fellow seeks to improve his situation. Can’t fault me for that. If one must marry, why not do it advantageously, eh?”

  Alex exhaled loudly. “Because your taste runs toward a decidedly different sort of female, that’s why. This one would bore you inside of three weeks.”

  “Perhaps, but her money wouldn’t.”

  Harry tipped up on his toes to gander at Willa. “Don’t know what you’re on about, Braeburn. Take a look at her. Wouldn’t bore me in the least.”

  Alex pressed a restrictive hand on Harry’s shoulder, forcing the fellow back to ground. “Don’t make a cake of yourself.”

  “But have you seen her? She’s just my size.” Harry held his hand level, measuring up to his nose. “Lovely height. Don’t mind the red hair at all. Quite like it. A flame. Hope she has a personality to match.”

  Alex straightened his shoulders and looked down his nose at them. “Good Grief! You’ve both gone daft. She’s a vicar’s little sister. I had it directly from her brother she only has a modest dowry.”

  Tournsby’s eyes sharpened. “Oh ho, so you’ve checked into the matter. Well, perhaps the aunt has improved the situation. Monmouth hinted as much. We shall see. Look here, we have an opening, and you promised us an introduction.”

  Alex swore under his breath and reluctantly followed Tournsby and Harry into Lady Alameda’s box.

  He bowed beside Willa and softly called her name. She turned toward him like a lost child hearing a familiar voice.

  “Alex?”

  She couldn’t see. He caught the dangling lorgnette on her wrist and tipped it up toward her face. She held the cumbersome opera glasses to her eyes, and he watched her lips form a smile. She didn’t say anything. That smile perfectly communicated her rush of emotions.

  He must have stared at her mouth too long. She surprised him by tugging on his sleeve. He leaned closer.

  “Tell me the truth. No one else will. Is there something horribly amiss with this dress? I get the most awful stares from some of the other ladies. It’s indecent isn’t it?”

  He examined her gown. The view afforded him from his height was primarily of her ample cleavage. He cleared his throat. What could he say? The dress is within the bounds of decency, but it shows your figure off to perfection. Your breasts are incredibly beautiful. Quite stunning. Naturally, the other women would like to throw her off the nearest bridge. And the men would want—he took a deep breath and shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing is amiss.”

  She exhaled. Relieved. He could see it. Just like everything she thought or felt, he could read it as plainly as writing on a page.

  Tournsby dug his elbow sharply into Alex’s ribs. “Forgotten the introductions, old man?”

  Alex performed a halfhearted rendition of “May I present,” and suffered through Tournsby’s blatant flattery and leering. He noted, with pleasure, that after a fleeting glance at his incorrigible friend, Willa did not bother with the lorgnette.

  Although, she obviously liked Erwin. When Harry bowed, the wretch came nearly face-to-face with her. She bestowed one of her genuine smiles on him. She would like Harry. The odd little turnip was like a overgrown puppy, bouncy and guileless. Just her type.

  Alex turned sharp at Harry’s last remarks. What in blazes was he saying?

  “Must come! If you love horses, it’s the thing to do. Say you will? Braeburn’s entering a horse. A real goer. Can’t miss that, eh?”

  Tournsby nodded sagely. “Yes. Just so. Mustn’t miss the races.” Remembering protocol with more alacrity than their zealous companion, Tournsby shifted his address to Lady Alameda. “What say you, my lady? A day at the races? Not the derby, of course. Just a small affair out in Surrey.”

  Alex inhaled loudly and subtly shook his head, cueing Willa’s aunt. She must d
ecline. It wasn’t right to put Willa in places where he must be privy to other men pursuing her. The least they could do is hold court somewhere miles away from him. Egypt perhaps. Or Antarctica.

  The wicked woman grinned. “A wonderful suggestion. I adore the races. Yes, we’d be delighted.”

  Tournsby inclined his head. “My father’s landau is quite spacious. We might all travel together quite comfortably. Perhaps a small luncheon at an inn along the way?”

  Honore’s eyebrow lifted sardonically. “Your father still owns that rig? Thought he put it up for sale at Tattersall’s. No matter. We would be pleased.” She nodded and waved her fan, signaling an end to Tournsby’s audience.

  It was done then. Alex crossed his arms, annoyed at Lady Alameda and his scapegrace friend.

  Tournsby lavished another ingratiating bow on the countess, just as if the rascal wasn’t wishing to tweak Lady Alameda’s nose for her crack about the auctioning the landau. Tournsby excelled at pretense.

  It didn’t help Alex’s mood any to note that Harry was still dribbling over Willa like she was a Christmas pudding, stammering out overdone compliments and laughing like a twelve year-old girl at everything she said.

  Time to go. Alex hooked his pudgy friend’s arm, nodded at Tournsby, and bowed to Willa. “I hope you enjoy your visit to London.”

  Willa blinked, straining to see him more clearly. He read the way she wished to hold him in the box longer. She desired more of his company. But she restrained herself. Willa wouldn’t try to hold a man against his wishes. Not that she could hold him. No. That crestfallen expression in her eyes had absolutely no power to make him stay. He wished to go, and go he would. He couldn’t bear to remain one more instant. He tried to move. Not another moment. “Until Sunday afternoon, then.”

  She smiled.

  He thought for a moment the foot lamps on the stage had flared brighter. Perhaps, the play was about to begin again. He found a way to galvanize his feet. Good God, what was wrong with him?

  “I’m in love,” Harry gushed as they made their way out of the box and down the hallway.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Alex gave his friend a thump.

  Chapter 8

  Baa, Baa, Black Sheep, Have You Any Blunt

  EARLY THE NEXT morning, Alex rode out of town. He wanted a breath of air that was not scented with Tournsby’s plots nor Harry Erwin’s lovesick sighs.

  He didn’t have far to go before the fresh air cleared his head. Ah, the country, green fields and meandering hedgerows where nothing was delineated in a straight line, land of contented disorder. He smiled at the lovely curling farmland.

  It wasn’t long before he turned down a less traveled lane that led to a modest but well kept estate. Squire Harley hailed him from the yard. Alex’s horse’s shoes clicked on the cobbled courtyard between the mews and the house. A stable boy ran to take Alex’s mount.

  The gentleman farmer was a large man, almost Alex’s height. It was an easy thing for the squire to pat Alex heartily. “She’s doing well, son. I expect she’ll give birth any day now.”

  “Is she fit? Eating well?”

  “Aye lad. Fit as a fiddle. Come and see for yourself. It’ll do her a world of good to see you.”

  They headed for the stables. Alex found his one true love hanging her head over her stall door.

  “There you are, my beauty. As lovely as the day we first met.” She whickered and nodded, completely unabashed at his praise. He stroked her chestnut nose and patted her neck. “How are you feeling, old girl? Let’s have a look at you, shall we?”

  He led the thoroughbred out of the stables and into the yard. She swayed under the huge burden of the foal she carried. Indeed, Alex thought, it jolly well better be born any day now. Darley’s Lass couldn’t bear much more weight without injury.

  He pulled out a carrot he’d secreted in his pocket. As she contentedly crunched his offering, he gingerly checked her midsection.

  “Her teats are waxing. She’s overdue. Perhaps we should force the birth?”

  The squire shook his head. “I don’t recommend it. Often as not, that course turns out far worse than waiting. The farrier says she’s healthy enough. She’ll manage. Must be patient.”

  Alex nodded. “All the same, I don’t want to lose her. She’s given me four fine colts.”

  “Aye.” He laughed. “I don’t mind telling you, I’ve got a basket of eggs wagered on Mercury’s Son.”

  Alex nodded. “Not too many eggs, I hope. It’s his first race of any consequence.”

  “I’ve the advantage of having watched him exercise every morning. Never set eyes on a horse with as much wind in his sails as that one.”

  Alex stoked Darley’s neck and tried without success to suppress his proud grin. “I’ve no doubt he’ll make a good showing. It’s his mother, here, I’m concerned about.” Alex carefully checked her legs.

  The squire clucked his tongue. “No need to fret. It’ll be any day now. I’ll send word as soon as she begins to foal.”

  “Or at the first sign of trouble. I’ll keep you advised of my direction at all times.” He clapped a hand on the squire’s shoulder and faced him squarely. “I’m concerned about her, Harley. She’s not just any broodmare. Darley’s Lass is...” He frowned and looked away.

  The Squire nodded. “I know, lad. I understand.”

  Alex nodded, satisfied. “At the first inkling of change, send for me.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Alex rode away considerably more relaxed than he’d been in several days. Not so relaxed, however, that he didn’t mark the stranger at the end of the lane, a sturdy-looking fellow wearing a long coat, former soldier by the look of him. He lurked well back near the hedges until Alex turned onto the main road. When Alex glanced back, the stranger had headed up the lane leading to Harley’s estate. Must be yet another discharged soldier wandering the countryside in search of work, Alex surmised and dismissed his concern.

  * * *

  Alex approached his customary corner table at Boodles. Tournsby and Harry had their heads bowed together in earnest conference. A porter dressed primly in black silk knee breeches and standing at attention gave a slight start as Tournsby slapped his hand loudly against the table.

  “No. No. You simply cannot run her aground in her aunt’s sitting room. Have a little more finesse than that, Harry.”

  Harry sniffed defensively. “I don’t pretend to such things. Leave the finessing to you, I always say.” He tipped up his glass of Madeira.

  “Just as well.” Tournsby sneered.

  Alex signaled to the porter and sat down with them. “What are you on about?”

  Tournsby tapped one finger on the table. “Strategy, my friend. Strategy. A means to pulling myself out of the river tick.”

  The Porter set a Scotch in front of Alex. “Plan to run off to America, do you?”

  “Gad, no. Told you before. Lady Alameda’s heir.”

  Before Alex could erupt, Harry interceded. “Too fine a chit for that sort of thing, Tournsby. I mean to beat you out. Just see if I don’t.”

  Tournsby chuckled. “Small chance. Her aunt’s bound to hang out for a title.”

  “Not when she finds you haven’t a sou to your name.” Harry sat up a little taller in his chair. “I, on the other hand, will be solvent come quarter day.”

  Alex realized he was clenching his jaw. All the tension he’d sent sailing away this morning slammed back into his shoulders. “Turnips for brains, both of you. I told you before, she doesn’t have but a modest dowry.”

  Tournsby shook his head. “Monmouth says different. The rumors are true. Spoke to the old fellow not more than two hours ago. Chit’s bound to be the dowager’s new heir. He had it from the lady herself.”

  “Which means naught. Consider Lady Alameda’s history. For pity’s sake, Tournsby, she’s as mercurial as our good king, but without his morality.”

  Harry plunked his glass down. “Don’t matter. Most beautiful fema
le I ever met. A pocket Venus. Don’t care about her money.”

  Alex smiled patiently. “How very providential, considering there isn’t any.”

  Tournsby twirled the amber liquid in his glass. One side of his mouth twisted up. “What this, Alex? Trying to discourage the competition?”

  Alex didn’t bother responding. What difference did it make? None. None whatsoever. He raised his crystal tumbler. “By all means, gentlemen, strategize at will.”

  Tournsby glanced at him sideways, as if he wasn’t convinced.

  Harry, on the other hand, nodded affably. “More like it. Could use your help, Alex. Don’t want Neddie, here, making the gel’s life a misery, do we?”

  Tournsby chuckled dully. “That’s the spirit. But listen carefully, Harry old boy, don’t call me by that ridiculous nickname in public again or I’ll break your knees.” He paused long enough to make sure poor Harry grasped his meaning. “Now then, as I see it, we won’t want to be viewed as suitors. Too common by half. I suggest we discover what events our young quarry plans to attend. We put in an appearance, as if it’s merely a fortuitous coincidence. Then, contrive a way to get her alone. I believe a well-placed bribe might be in order. Alex, old chum, any blunt on you?”

  Alex rested his head on his hand, kneading his forehead, and muttered. “With any luck she won’t even see you.”

  Tournsby snorted. “Ha. You thought I didn’t notice? I’m not completely dull witted. Shortsighted, isn’t she? Even better. An accident. We orchestrate an accident. With her poor vision, what could be simpler?”

  Harry glared at Tournsby as the porter refilled his Madeira. “Never say you plan to injure the gel? Wouldn’t want to see her hurt. I’d have to call you out for such a thing.”

  Tournsby sighed with exasperation and answered flatly, hand over his heart. “Spare me, oh kind sir.” He flicked Harry on the side of the head. “What do you take me for? I merely intend to set up a situation in which I might emerge a hero.”