by Regina Scott
Kevin shook his head, rising. He suddenly had no interest in anything but his own company. “No, thank you, gentlemen. I think I’ve had enough for one night. As soon as I know what I want to do about Miss Welch, you will be the first to know.”
–
Jenny also found herself discussing Kevin’s unexpected visit with a friend. As she had predicted earlier, Miss Susan St. John came calling later that afternoon to speak about their next reading project. Jenny and Martha received her in the library, a corniced room lined with oak bookshelves, with chairs scattered about on the Aubusson carpets in pools of sunlight from the south-facing windows.
“I know you have your heart set on Mansfield Park,” she said in her straight-forward manner that had won Jenny’s respect from the first. “But I think we should start the books by this ‘lady of quality’ with the first, which was Sense and Sensibility.”
Martha nodded agreeably. Jenny couldn’t seem to find a logical reason to disagree, though it seemed to her that she’d had a flawless argument on the subject earlier. “Very well, if you feel strongly.”
“And we should increase our pace a bit,” Susan added, patting down the skirts of her green sprigged muslin dress. “It took us nearly a month to read Scott’s Waverly. If we are to keep up with all the new literature these days, we must do better. I think we should try to do Sense and Sensibility in ten days’ time.”
Martha nodded again. Jenny was going through the content of her wardrobe in her mind. The brown poplin was far too maidenly, but she didn’t own anything that could be called daring. “Yes,” she murmured, “that would be fine.”
“And I promised Lord Davies you’d donate your Egyptian collection to be viewed with the Elgin marbles.”
“How nice,” Jenny nodded, vaguely noting that Martha’s mouth had dropped open. The navy kerseymere was too dark but her grey lustring was too light.
Susan scowled, her eyes streaks of bright jade against the alabaster of her skin. “I knew it!” she declared with such vehemence that she set the dark ringlets framing her face to swinging. “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said. I suppose you’ve settled on a new course of study. We may as well discuss that instead, for you’ll be useless on any other subject until it has run its course.”
Jenny offered her a contrite smile. “I’m sorry, Susan. I seem to be easily distracted today. By all means, let us discuss the reading circle. I promise to pay closer attention.”
“But what is distracting you?” Susan demanded.
Martha sniffed, looking smug. “A gentleman.”
While Susan raised her fine dark brows, Jenny frowned at her companion. “Hardly a gentleman. It is nothing, Susan. Pray continue.”
“Nothing, eh,” Susan replied, glancing between Martha, who had the good sense to pale under Jenny’s glare, and Jenny, whose cheeks were heating. “Nothing you care to discuss with one of your closest friends?”
Jenny attempted to meet her gaze straight on but found herself studying the nearest bookcase instead. “You will only scold me for being foolish.”
“Eugennia Welch, a fool?” Susan leaned back as if astonished. “You know I would never think such a ridiculous thing. What have you done?”
“You may as well tell all,” Martha advised knowingly. “You can be sure she will not stop until you do.”
Jenny sighed. “Very well. A gentleman did come calling today, Susan. He asked me to drive with him tomorrow, and I accepted. That’s really all there is to it.”
“That is a tarradiddle,” Susan declared. “Miss Tindale is picking at her bombazine, so I know you are evading an issue. What is it? Was he ugly, is that why you fear to tell me?”
Miss Tindale snorted. “Ugly is hardly the word for him.”
Susan pressed a hand to her bosom. “Fat as well? Eugennia, he must be brilliant for you to agree to drive with him.”
Jenny caught herself smiling. “He is sufficiently impressive.”
“I cannot sit here and listen to you praise him,” Miss Tindale cried. “Miss St. John, surely you can make her see reason. The man is a cad, a fortune hunter. He so much as asked her to marry him, on the first acquaintance!”
“That is enough, Martha,” Jenny told her sternly. “You know I value your advice, but I must do as I see fit, especially in matters pertaining to the heart.”
“The heart!” Martha leaped to her feet. “Do you hear that, Miss St. John? She admits he has engaged her heart. This is far more serious than I thought. Eugennia, you must stop this.”
Jenny reached out a hand and tugged her back into her seat. “Now, Martha, calm yourself. I spoke without thinking.”
“An indicator in itself,” Susan put in. “Perhaps you ought to tell me everything. To start with, what is this paragon’s name?”
“Kevin Whattling,” Jenny replied. “You remember him, Susan. He was the very tall gentleman who asked me to dance at the Baminger’s ball during the Little Season.”
Susan blinked. “The splendid Corinthian? The one with the engaging smile?”
“The very one.” Jenny smiled. “I knew you would remember. He is apparently deep in debt and looking for a wealthy wife. I have no intention of accepting his offer, but I thought a drive might be diverting.”
“Diverting will hardly be the word for it,” Susan predicted. “Jenny, you must promise me to take Miss Tindale with you.”
Now Jenny blinked even as Martha preened. “Well, certainly, but why are you so adamant?”
“My dear, you and I have had little experience with such gentlemen, although I have certainly heard a great deal from my three sisters, who as you know are incorrigible flirts. Perhaps I can put this more logically. In the taxonomy of the animal kingdom, there are predators and prey. I’m very afraid, my dear, that your Mr. Whattling is the predator. I don’t think I have to tell you where that places you.”
“Thank the good Lord, someone with sense,” Martha said with a sigh of obvious relief. “Please, Eugennia, listen to her. When he comes tomorrow, tell him you’ve made a mistake.”
Jenny glanced between their concerned faces. Martha was overprotective, but she had never known her to be so outspoken on an issue. Susan’s intelligence and good advice were unquestionable. Was she making a mistake? Should she have refused his offer of a drive? She could easily have Fiching tell the gentleman that she was indisposed, then she could simply refuse to be home to him in the future. It wasn’t as if she had to even see him again, if she didn’t want to.
She smiled at them. “Thank you both for your care. I will think about what you have said. In fact, I doubt I will think of much else.”
Martha relaxed. “Good. Then we can have Fiching tell the fellow to whistle.”
“No,” Jenny replied, and Martha and Susan both startled. “I said I would think on what you said, and I shall. However, I shall also honor my promise to drive with Mr. Whattling tomorrow. There isn’t anything you can say to stop me, so we may as well choose another subject for discussion. I do not wish to hear another word on the subject of Mr. Kevin Whattling.”
Chapter Five
As Jenny had expected, twenty-four hours had indeed been a lamentably short time in which to prepare oneself to drive through Hyde Park with a handsome prince. Miss Tindale could not be convinced that such an outing was not some sort of heavenly comeuppance, but she reluctantly agreed to help Jenny find the right attire. However, as she deplored the shopping and fittings and primping necessary to maintain a stylish wardrobe, there was precious little from which to choose.
Her best gowns were those purchased for evening wear, which were totally unsuited for a drive through the park. Her day dresses were as a rule dark, perfect for a literary debate with her circle but much too solemn for an outing such as this. In the end, she selected a dove-colored silk morning dress with a matching pelisse trimmed in triple rows of black braid on the neck, sleeves, and hem. When Miss Tindale settled the black straw bonnet on her braided hair, Eugennia scowled at th
e picture she presented in her mirror.
“I look like the sour-faced old maid they all expect me to be,” she complained.
Martha stepped back, looking hurt. “It’s the best of the lot. Although I still don’t see why you must go through with this, perhaps Mr. Whattling’s attentions will convince you to visit that modiste Miss St. John recommended to you the other day.”
Jenny rose and shook out her skirts. “Modiste indeed. I haven’t even gone on this silly drive and already you want me to act like a simpering girl.” She put out her chin and squared her shoulders. “If Mr. Whattling is sincere in his attentions, he’ll take me as I am.” So saying, she strolled out the door and down the corridor.
She hadn’t even reached the stairs before her bloom of confidence withered. It was all very well and good to stand up to Martha and Susan; it was harder to convince herself. In truth, she’d spent much of the night regretting her impulsive decision in agreeing to this meeting. She saw nothing interesting in moving at a crawl through crowded Hyde Park, jerking one’s horses to a stop every few minutes to nod to someone one scarcely knew or cared about. She always felt as if her brain atrophied at such events. And she didn’t much care for the gossip that she knew she caused with her infrequent attendance at these social gatherings. Whatever had she been thinking of to agree to go today?
She reached the head of the stairs and saw Fiching on his way up. Below him in the entry hall, Kevin Whattling grinned at her. His tan tweed great coat made his hair appear golden. Through the coat’s opening, she could see chamois breeches hugging his powerful legs. His eyes, so much like the lapis in the stones she had purchased from the Egyptologist, would hold that telltale twinkle, she had no doubt. She swallowed and pasted a smile on her face. When a handsome prince beckoned, what could she do but respond?
He raised her hand to his lips as she reached the bottom of the stairs, and she almost faltered. Such an intimate gesture, so rarely seen these days. She swore her stomach flipped over, even though she knew that to be anatomically impossible. He solemnly presented her with a nosegay of violets and tiny yellow tea roses, and she lowered her head in the pretense of smelling them while she tried to regain her composure.
“Punctual as well as intelligent,” he said with a smile down at her. “You put half the women in London to shame.” He tucked her arm in his and led her to the door.
Martha was sputtering at the head of the stairs, but Jenny wasn’t sure she wanted to know whether her hair was out of place or her coat had a string loose. Fiching cleared his throat, and she frowned at him.
“I regret that the curricle only has room for two,” her prince murmured beside her. “But we will be out in public, so you need have no fear for your reputation.”
Behind him, Fiching was nodding his head vigorously. She didn’t need to look at Martha to know her companion would be scowling. This was what Susan had warned her about. He was using his charm to manipulate her into doing something she knew wasn’t exactly right. She glanced up at that potent smile and eyes one could drown in.
It was working.
She found herself smiling up at him. “Martha, we’ll talk when I return. I’m sure I can count on Mr. Whattling to behave as a gentleman.”
His smile was anything but gentlemanly. “I promise to be on my best behavior, Miss Welch.”
She handed Fiching the flowers and ignored his grin of triumph as her Corinthian led her out the door.
It didn’t take longer for her confidence to plummet once more than the walk to the neat white curricle with gold-rimmed wheels that stood waiting. She realized she should keep the conversation flowing and struggled to find something to say as he handed her up. Unfortunately, the touch of his hand on her arm sent fresh tremors through her body and seemed to drive any thought of intelligent conversation completely out of her mind. As he jumped up beside her, she looked ahead, and her glance fell on the pair of horses who drew the carriage. While she was no judge of horseflesh, she could see they were perfectly matched and as white as the enameled paneling of the carriage.
“What lovely horses,” she ventured.
To her complete dismay, he burst into laughter.
“I’m sorry, Miss Welch,” he said with a chuckle as the tiger who had been holding the horses jumped to the back of the carriage. He snapped the reins. “I had a conversation last night with the friend from whom I borrowed this rig, and I wagered him that a woman of your intellect would not discuss the weather, my cravat, or my horses. I stand corrected.”
Jenny colored in a blush. “It was my understanding,” she replied defensively, “that you Corinthians did not feel the day complete unless someone had admired your horses.”
“Ah, but these are not my horses.”
“Well, really, sir, there was no need to borrow others. While these are lovely beasts, I’m sure yours would have been fine.”
His smile froze, and he turned to watch the road. “I have no horses, Miss Welch. I was forced to sell my stables to pay my living expenses.”
Jenny focused on the road as well, fighting tears. No matter what she did or said, she made a fool of herself. She should have stayed home.
With this auspicious beginning, they trundled into Hyde Park.
The day was balmy for London in early March, and the main paths through the park were thronged with carriages, riders, and pedestrians enjoying the early spring sun. It was, if anything, even more crowded than Jenny had feared. He was forced to slow the horses to an amble, while he was greeted time and again by others intent on traversing the park in a like manner. Most were content to wave or call his name, and so Jenny was spared the necessity of having to find suitable topics of conversation. Several, however, attempted closer contact, and she soon began to fear Martha’s warning that her face would indeed freeze in this pointlessly polite smile.
Why had she thought a bluestocking and a Corinthian could have anything in common?
–
Kevin found himself enjoying the ride far less than he had expected. True, he hadn’t driven through the park since Robbie’s death, but he didn’t remember it being so crowded. What he really wanted to do was spend time conversing with Miss Welch, but every few moments someone else interrupted. He had no idea he was known to so many people, or that all of them had decided to go riding or driving in Hyde Park at half-past two in the afternoon on a Friday. He was beginning to lose patience with the whole process and tried to think of a plausible excuse for leaving so soon.
Miss Welch would surely think him inconstant if he simply took her home early. In fact, she had been growing quieter with each interruption. Glancing over at her, he saw that her round face was pale, her generous mouth compressed into a thin line. She obviously was having as poor a time as he was. Surely there was somewhere else he could drive her where they could be alone.
He glanced ahead again, calculating the distance through the trees to where the park opened near Upper Grosvenor. A good number of carriages and riders stood between him and freedom, but if he pushed it a bit, he should be able to make it in a quarter hour. He started to encourage the horses forward when he noticed the two riders they were passing on the left. Both were trying diligently to admire the scenery, pretending somehow that their blue and aubergine riding jackets blended in with the green of the park.
It was Nigel and Giles.
He scowled at them and had the satisfaction of seeing Giles whiten. Nigel scowled back. He had a sudden urge to whip the horses but refused to mistreat animals just to get even with interfering gentlemen, however well meaning. Friends or no friends, he refused to acknowledge the busybodies. At least, not while Miss Welch was at his side. He ignored them, determined more than ever to leave the park.
He was so focused on reaching Upper Grosvenor that she had to clear her throat twice before he realized he had been addressed. Turning, he saw the occupant of the open carriage they were passing on the right. The fine-shaped face was paler than usual, her large lower lip made larger in de
cided annoyance. The fashionable feathered bonnet failed to hide the dark profusion of curls or the long, pointed nose.
“Kevin Whattling,” the woman snapped. “Has your mourning made you deaf, sir? Or is it that you have forsaken polite company too long that you refuse to answer a lady’s call?”
Kevin inclined his head in a bow. “Countess Lieven, a pleasure as always. My only excuse for my rudeness is that I find it difficult to concentrate with so much beauty so near.” He hoped his smile indicated he included Miss Welch in the statement. Color was rising in her cheeks again.
The countess flashed him a tight smile. “I see you have recovered your usual charm. I can only say that it is about time you put that nonsense with Mr. Safton behind you. Mr. Greene’s death was a tragic accident; ruining your own life in atonement would have been far worse.”
He tensed, but the countess directed her sharp gaze at his companion.
“And Miss Welch, isn’t it? How nice to see you out as well. The spring sunshine does wonders for the spirit, does it not?”
She did not wait for his heiress to answer before she returned her gaze to his. “You must bring her by Almack’s some night, Mr. Whattling. I’ll send round a voucher. The dances won’t start until after Easter, but we are hosting a special ball before then, to reunite old friends and perhaps make new ones.” With a nod, she signaled to her driver to move on.
“Almack’s,” Miss Welch managed, voice stunned. “I never received a card for that hallowed establishment even when I came out eight years ago. How could one drive with you change that?”
Kevin brought himself under control with an effort. Surely there would come a time when the mere mention of his brother would fail to bring the memories crashing in on him. He managed to turn to Eugennia with a smile.
“I’m certain it was merely a matter of the lady appreciating your character. I shall be delighted to escort you to the special ball she spoke of.”
She continued gazing at him in a manner that left him strangely self-conscious. He focused on directing the horses around a large barouche that was blocking the way. Two carriages down, half a dozen left to go before he made it out of the park. Unfortunately, partially past the latest carriage, another female voice called his name.