by Lily George
“I am in my right mind, and I am not ill. I thank you for your concern.” Why had he even come here tonight? He didn’t desire to be at Brook’s. He’d much rather be at home, since he couldn’t entice Becky to accompany him to a ball. Now, if she were here, instead of John, he could be talking to her—telling her of his plans for Kellridge in the autumn, discussing how best to care for Juliet, and showing her the few wholesome pleasures of town life. Ever since yesterday, and that walk in Hyde Park, ’twas almost as if she were avoiding him. Could he have done something to displease her?
“How do you know for certain if a gal doesn’t like you?” The words burst forth before he could contain them. He closed his eyes. What a ridiculous mistake. Talking about Becky with a rogue like John. This would certainly lead to disaster.
“Oh, ho, so the lad is lovesick,” John chortled. “No wonder you forsake drink. Are you still eating, or are you wasting away from love, like a Byronic hero?”
“Now, see here. Sometimes I question why I even bother to hang about with a chap like you,” Paul began, and then paused. Well, he had always stayed with John and Daniel because they were good drinking friends, though Daniel was always rather more of a good friend than just someone to imbibe with. John was a good enough sort of fellow, just—now that the haze of too much liquor had long since lifted—rather shallow.
“There, there. No need to get all up in arms. I may be a rogue, but I can honestly say I understand the workings of the heart and its nobler emotions,” John replied easily, holding up his hands. “I haven’t heard you breathe a word about another woman—not in all seriousness, of course—since Miss Barclay died. You must admit that I had reason to be surprised.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Paul passed a weary hand over his brow. “When I was engaged to Ruth, our affection was mutual and almost predictable. She came of a noble family, and I had wealth. We met at a ball here in town. Our courting followed its usual course. Not that I loved her any less, but our romance was the stuff of primers—precise and conventional. This situation in which I find myself now is trickier.”
“Why so?” John put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. “The lady isn’t married, is she?”
“No, of course not.” Paul rolled his eyes. Why on earth was he even bothering with John? Because John was here, and Daniel was in Tansley, and since the female in question was Daniel’s sister-in-law, things could get thorny if he weren’t careful. “To some, it might seem that she is of a different background than mine, though she is as much of a lady—if not more so—than any debutante in any season.”
“Ah. This girl—she doesn’t have purple eyes, does she? Excuse me, I should say violet.” A smile hovered around John’s lips.
“How on earth did you know?” Paul hissed. He himself only began to feel it yesterday, in the park.
“You defended her so vehemently against my dubious compliments and affections that I thought it quite obvious,” John rejoined, breaking out into a grin. “She is a lovely creature, Paul. Quite unlike any lass I’ve seen in town.”
“She is, indeed.” Paul sighed. He might as well spill the whole story, since ’twas obvious that his emotions were on display. Who knew? Perhaps John could help him. Not likely, but one could always hope. “The problem is, of course, that she works in my household. I don’t want to impose upon her or expose her to any kind of untoward advance. But I genuinely like her company. I don’t think I am in love with her, but I crave her company beyond anyone else’s.”
“I assume you want the chance to get to know her better, but to what end? Do you honestly think you would marry her, should the opportunity arise?”
Marry Becky? Paul could list a dozen arguments to put that idea from his mind. “I have only ever known her as a friend of the family, or a servant in my household.” Yes, ’twas all true. Even so...
Paul sighed. “I admire her immensely. I do want to know her better, but it feels she’s suddenly begun to avoid me and I can’t fathom why.” He sat back, looking at his friend expectantly. Surely John would come up with a volley of jests, and then tease him once more.
“You haven’t answered my question,” John prodded. “Why do you want to know her better?”
“I don’t know about marriage or anything else at this moment.” He just wanted to be more in Becky’s company. When he was with her—well, it was hard to say, but her very presence was welcoming and warm. She eased the loneliness in his life, made him yearn to be a better man. “I just want to spend more time with her. To be friends, if nothing else. I invited her to a ball, and she wouldn’t go. Said she needed to attend to Juliet, though I promised to have a maid check in on the child and be with her at all times.”
“Well, you can hardly blame her for refusing a ball.” John shrugged. “You must see matters from her side. She may worry that she is being preyed upon, or that she will open herself to censure if she spends too much time in your company. Or she may not be certain that you are seeking her out. A ball would put her before all the eyes of society and would invite talk. Why not try for something a little less grand?”
Paul nodded. Perhaps there was something in what John said. At least his friend was taking this conversation seriously and not merely joking about. He hadn’t considered how Becky might feel about going to a ball, or that accepting his invitation might place her in a tenuous position. He had only wanted to celebrate—to give Becky the chance to wear a pretty dress, to dance with her, to show her the artificial elegance of a London ballroom and to hear what she had to say about it.
On the other hand, what if he offered to bring her to something more mundane? “Lady Cheswick is offering a musicale on Monday afternoon. Perhaps I could invite Becky to that. A musicale is more sedate than a ball—perhaps she would accept?” In the past he had always avoided musicales—boring, stuffy affairs they could be, with predatory mothers practically flinging their daughters in his general direction.
“Well, that’s better than a ball, but it still has a slight hitch. It’s a society event, and at the thought of any society event, she might cry off to avoid inciting any kind of talk.” John rubbed his thumbnail back and forth over the tablecloth. “What if...what if you invited her not because you want to spend time in her company, but because you think it might be an improvement for Juliet?”
Paul nodded, as John’s meaning dawned upon him. “You mean...tell her that the musicale might be an opportunity for her to learn more about music, and thus instruct Juliet as she grows up?”
John sat back in his chair with a self-satisfied smile. “You’ve said that Juliana was musically inclined. It stands to reason her daughter might be, too. Why not allow Becky the chance to see what a London musicale is like, so that she may start bringing up your ward to take her place in society as a talented and accomplished young lady? My mother always told me that ’tis never too early to begin. I believe my sister Jane first held a bow at two years of age.”
This was an excellent idea, for what John said was true. If Juliet were truly to grow up and display artistic talents, then her nursemaid and later her governess would have to instruct her. Becky, being a country girl, would have no knowledge or expertise in this, at least as far as how a young lady would display this talent in society. Did Becky even play an instrument, or sing? He had no inkling of her talents beyond her obvious beauty and charm, her penchant for drama, and of course, her deep affection for his niece.
He must get to know her better. And Lady Cheswick’s musicale was the perfect opportunity to do so.
“Upon my word, you give sound advice.” Paul beamed at his companion. “I daresay I never thought you capable of stringing two sensible words together, my good fellow.”
“Well, I shan’t do it often, I assure you. This was rather a special case. Now, may we please turn our attention to the delights this evening promises? I rather fancy a game of faro
.”
Paul shook his head, pushing his chair away from the table. London night life had decidedly palled. His usual heady rush of excitement when contemplating cards, drink or any other licentious behavior was simply no more. “I’m an uncle now, and a guardian. The desire to indulge in dissolution has completely fled me. I think I’ll go home.” He would discuss the possibility of his feelings for Becky with John, but nothing more. The newness of his acceptance of Christ was still too tender to share, particularly with an unbeliever like John. He would wait and talk it over with Becky and Daniel—people who could prop him up in faith, and not attempt to tear it down.
John shrugged and stifled a yawn. “Well, I say, have a ripping good time at home. I’m off to find a game.” Then he was off, winding his way through the crowd toward the back rooms.
Paul watched John’s progress, allowing himself a small, wry grin. Thanks to his dissolute friend, he now had the means to court Becky Siddons.
It only remained to convince the lady in question that she should accompany him to the musicale. Given how neatly she had evaded him thus far, this would not be an easy task.
* * *
’Twas only an embrace given in the excitement of the moment. She must not read too much into it.
Becky rolled over on her bed and jammed her pillow over her head. Paul hadn’t met with her that evening—not because he forgot, but because she requested they forego their usual nightly discussion about Juliet. She could still feel his hands holding her upper arms, no matter how often she rubbed them, or how tightly she wrapped her shawl about her. And she couldn’t sit down with him face to face when her emotions were still swirling about—just as he had twirled her about the day before.
The Becky Siddons of a few months ago would have already been planning her trousseau, based on that one moment in the park. She had progressed so far since those days. Surely she wasn’t some simpering ninny still believing that every man who passed her way was expiring for love of her.
His invitation to the ball was kindly meant as a gesture—merely that, and nothing more—to celebrate his victories. He had, after all, saved his father’s legacy from becoming forever stained with the blot of slavery. He had found his way to Christ. Surely those were a heady combination of triumphs, and he should rejoice in them.
After all, what he had done that day caused her to glow with pride. How many men, faced with the chance to make an enormous fortune, would turn away because of a moral objection?
Not that it mattered to her. But it was good to know that Juliet’s guardian was such an upright man.
Her head throbbed, and a slight tickle in her throat made her cough. She hadn’t felt herself since they arrived. If only she would feel well, perhaps she could handle her emotions better.
Until she could rein in her emotions and ensure that she wasn’t going to make a cake of herself over one quick embrace in the park, she would have to continue avoiding Paul. She must keep encouraging him to enjoy the time spent with his little niece, but she must absent herself whenever possible.
She was not marriageable material. So she had decreed when Lieutenant Walker wrote and announced, oh so casually, that he’d married another. Thus she must put her blinders to anything—or anyone—that might cause her to swerve from her path. Entertaining ridiculous notions about a man as important and—well, if she were perfectly frank—handsome as Paul Holmes was nothing more than a silly distraction.
She must go to church in the morning and pray for help in overcoming her ridiculous feelings. She could pray now, but the formality of a church appealed to her sensibilities. In church, everything would become more concrete.
London had churches, surely. She must find one and go to services—she could even bring Juliet along.
There was nothing for it. She couldn’t sleep. She might as well cease trying. The headache simply wouldn’t abate, and perhaps if she rose for a while, it would finally go away.
She groped in the dark for her wrapper, which was draped across the foot of her bed. Then she tied it around her securely and rose. She could check on Juliet. Not having Juliet’s room close to hers was so strange; she didn’t like it. In those few weeks at Kellridge, she had grown so accustomed to hearing Juliet’s deep, even breathing, and to being able to peep in on her at any time of the night.
She fumbled with the tinderbox on her bedside table until she struck a light and lit her candle. The guttering flame drove all the panic from her mind. She was just tired, that was all. A quick check on Juliet, and she would calm down enough to sleep.
She tiptoed across the floor and eased her door open. No telling if anyone was still awake. It was well past midnight according to the long-case clock at the end of the hall.
Outside Juliet’s door, she paused. A flickering light shone underneath. Surely one of the other servants hadn’t left a candle lit inside her room? That was dangerous—a sure way to start a fire. She wrenched the door open and gasped. A man—a large man—hovered over Juliet’s bed.
A scream caught in Becky’s throat and her heart pounded in her breast. Surely this man was trying to kidnap her darling girl! She put her candle aside and crossed the room in two large strides, casting her glance about for anything that she might hurl at the scoundrel.
The hovering figure straightened, and in his flickering candlelight she caught a glimpse of his face as he raised his finger to his lips. Her sudden strength dissipated, leaving her knees wobbly.
’Twas Paul, and not some footpad.
Paul quirked an eyebrow at her and motioned her out into the hallway. Becky followed, grasping her candle as she quit the room. The heady combination of relief and mortification at being caught in her wrapper made her head spin.
“I thought...I thought you were a footpad, bent on kidnapping Juliet,” she gasped as he closed the door behind them with a quiet click. “I am so sorry.”
“Nay, I am the one who should apologize. I never meant to frighten you. When I got home, I decided I would check on Juliet and make certain she was sleeping well.” He patted her shoulder. “Are you quite all right? You look rather pale.”
Was she all right? Well, she was embarrassed beyond measure, and weak as a kitten as her potent intensity fled. She nodded. Words were not even possible at the moment, not the way her teeth chattered.
“I’ve never really checked on Juliet before, so I can well understand your worry. ’Tis my fault, and I cannot apologize enough. It’s just—when I got home from the club, I needed to reassure myself she was all right.” He shrugged, shaking his head with a rueful gesture. “I know that sounds strange.”
“Not at all.” His concern was heartening. In fact, his entire manner toward his niece had changed so dramatically over the past few weeks that it warmed her heart. He treated her as a father should—concerned for her safety, involved in her upbringing, enjoying her company. That was as it should be. “I was worried about her, too. I don’t like being this far from her. I am used to having her so close by at Kellridge. So I came to check on her.”
“Everything is better at Kellridge, isn’t it?” He cast a reassuring grin her way. “Not to disparage my mother’s taste in houses, but this townhome simply isn’t as comfortable as home. It’s no matter. We will leave in a matter of months anyway.”
Months in London? Perish the thought. At Kellridge they had their own wing of the house, and she could come and go as she pleased. She could see her sisters again. Back in Tansley, Susannah could talk some plain sense to her—Nan most certainly would—and help her to overcome her runaway emotions.
“I am planning to take Juliet to church on the morrow,” she ventured. Might as well make her intentions known. Perhaps Paul could direct her to the closest place of worship.
“Excellent idea. May I join you? It’s been far too long since I darkened the doorstep of St. George’s.”
Of course his newfound faith would lead him to a desire to attend services. She had hoped for an escape for just a few moments—a place of quiet contemplation in which to ask her Father for strength—but it was not to be. The very man she was running from wanted to join them.
Of course, she must welcome him, for what he was asking was both good and honorable.
“Yes, certainly you may. In fact, I should need your help in finding St. George’s, since I am wholly unfamiliar with town.” Her head gave another painful throb. “Shall we walk together in the morning?”
“That sounds capital.” Paul took her hand in the crook of his elbow and escorted her to her doorway. “Until then. And I do apologize for scaring you so much.” He gave her a courtly bow.
“Not at all. I am sorry I was looking for something with which to strike you,” she rejoined.
Paul laughed quietly and, with a small wave, walked down the corridor. As she let herself into her room, she leaned against the closed door and took a deep breath.
Headache, sore throat, sleeplessness and terror. Really, she was acting more and more like a Gothic heroine.
She must grab hold of herself if she were to persevere through the next few months—not to mention the rest of her life in her chosen profession.
Chapter Seventeen
Walking to church with Becky and his niece—why, this was a natural and good feeling. For someone who had only recently found his way to Christ, this was an event that could best be described as exhilarating. Both of them had, in their different ways, brought him closer to God. He was prepared to give thanks for that, to begin his life anew as one who knew he could do nothing without Him. He desired to ask for guidance, as well—some sort of direction in his feelings for Becky Siddons. His conversation with John had awakened his sensibilities. Was he, in fact, developing some sort of tendresse for her?