by Regina Scott
Besides, Safton wasn’t sure he wanted to give up his favorite plaything just yet. The loss of Robert Greene was still too fresh. Nasty business that. He had been implicated, and that had put a dent in his activities. People who had cast a blind eye on his way of living in the past now asked entirely too many questions. Lord Hastings and his like were poking noses into matters best left alone. Where he was once welcomed to White’s and any other establishment he might choose to frequent, now more often he was avoided.
He had no doubt part of the problem was Whattling’s attempt to involve the magistrates in the boxing matches Safton arranged on occasion. That attempt had failed, but fewer gentlemen stood ready to participate, with their fists or with their wallets. Whattling’s continued companionship would surely help improve Safton’s standing. Without that veneer of respectability, he might not be able to gain entrance to all the places he needed to be to find appropriate people upon which to work his wiles. And Hastings approved of the fellow. With Whattling at his side, he might even fend off England’s spymaster.
No, Kevin Whattling was crucial to his plans, and George wasn’t about to let the fellow slip into peaceful matrimony so easily.
So, what to do? He strolled toward a group playing cards, and the men hurriedly finished their game and left. Taking one of the vacated chairs, he thumbed idly through the deck of abandoned cards, just as his mind thumbed through plans.
Whattling had resisted any overt effort at reconciliation, so there seemed no point trying that again. The better approach seemed to be foiling his plans with the heiress. Safton smiled, and seeing his smile, another two men hurriedly quit the room. If Miss Welch was interested in being courted, Safton had no difficulty in obliging her. He didn’t think he need go so far as to marry her, of course, but if she suddenly became damaged goods and Kevin Whattling lost interest in the woman in the process, that was all to the benefit.
He thought the remaining gentlemen in the room heaved a collective sigh of relief as he strolled out of the door for the evening, in search of bigger prey.
–
Jenny wandered along Curzon Street in her dove-colored pelisse, with Miss Tindale in black at her side and Stevens their footman behind her. Her usual constitutional wasn’t nearly as refreshing today as she had hoped. She didn’t have to analyze much to determine why. Kevin Whattling hadn’t mentioned yesterday when he intended to call again. As he had done so at every other visit, she was afraid that the omission could only mean he had lost interest in calling. She tried to tell herself it was all to the good, but she was feeling terribly dejected about the whole affair, as if she herself was somehow lacking.
He was really the most amazing man. If he did those activities he’d mentioned yesterday half as well as he implied, he was every bit as much of a scholar as she was. Still, for all the intriguing conversation, she had gleaned few additional facts about the man. In fact, he was marvelously skilled in conversing on a variety of topics while imparting little hint as to his own feelings on the matter. And she was fairly sure her own conversation was far more enlightening.
While her fortune had been enough to encourage him to call in the first place, obviously it could only have been her presence that had stopped him from calling again. She couldn’t help wondering what about her had offended him. Had she been too forward, not forward enough? Had her conversation repulsed him as too pedantic, or too frivolous? Or worse, had she been unable to arouse any return of feeling?
He’d claimed he wanted to feel some sort of affection for the woman he was being forced to marry. Mostly likely the only thing he felt for her was pity, pity for the rich spinster who didn’t know how to go about in Society. She shivered in her pelisse, pulled her silk shawl more closely about her, and increased her stride.
“Eugennia, please, slow down,” Martha moaned, obviously struggling to keep up. “Is there somewhere we must be? Are we late for some appointment?”
“No, Martha,” she said with a sigh, forcing her steps to slow. “We aren’t late for anything. We have no appointments. No one will care if we arrive anywhere, at any time.”
“What do you mean? Of course someone would care. What if we were late for Miss St. John’s discussion group?” Martha caught up to her and peered at her sideways. “Are you out of countenance again? It’s this Kevin Whattling fellow, isn’t it?”
Despite herself, Jenny felt her stride lengthening again. She tightened her gloved fingers around the strings of her reticule in determination. “I do not wish to speak about him, if you please,” she tossed back over her shoulder.
“But Eugennia!” Martha all but wailed.
Jenny ignored her. She had had enough. It was ridiculous to think she could completely change her life by meeting the right gentleman. Mr. Whattling could have been that gentleman, and all he’d done was turn her world topsy turvy. Why, he even had her doubting her own intelligence! It was not to be borne.
She put all her energy into walking, her sturdy half boots stalking along, and she was soon several lengths ahead of Martha and the footman. Belatedly, she realized she was being terribly rude. It was hardly poor Martha’s fault. She decided to go only as far as the corner of Curzon and Park Lane and wait. However, she hadn’t even reached the corner when a young boy in ragged trousers leapt out in front of her, ramming into her. She gasped, but as she tried to right herself, he snatched her reticule and tore it from her grasp.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
The boy turned a dirty face to hers, baring his teeth and growling like some kind of animal. Even as she shrunk back in horror, he reached for the ivory broach on the shoulder of her pelisse.
“Stop that!” a strong masculine voice ordered, and the boy’s eyes widened in fear. He dropped Jenny’s reticule and dashed off up the street, almost immediately hidden from view among the passersby on Park Lane. Jenny swayed, and two strong arms caught her. “Careful now. Everything will be all right.”
“Jenny!” Martha cried, hurrying up, panting, with Stevens just ahead of her. “Are you hurt? What did that awful brat do to you?”
“I’m all right, Martha,” Jenny managed, not at all sure of the truth of that statement. It had all happened so quickly that she wasn’t sure what she felt. Her rescuer set her on her feet and bent to retrieve her reticule. She turned to find herself regarding a vaguely familiar gentleman with raven hair and eyes just as dark. He wasn’t nearly as handsome as Kevin Whattling, of course, but his chin was squarer, his chest in the grey coat and white waistcoat broader, and his smile even more charming.
“Please forgive my interference,” he murmured, bowing to her and Martha in turn. “I couldn’t sit idly by and watch a lady be accosted.”
“Certainly not,” Martha said with a sniff. “We are forever in your debt, sir, er…”
“Safton.” He bowed again. “George Safton.”
“Miss Eugennia Welch,” Jenny managed, still a little shaken. “And my companion, Miss Martha Tindale.”
“Ladies, a pleasure,” he nodded, handing Jenny her reticule. “And may I say that it is a sad day for London when two such lovely young ladies cannot walk a city street unmolested.”
Martha beamed at him.
Jenny managed a smile. His attempt to charm was even more obvious than Kevin’s. In fact, Mr. Safton made it seem even easier.
“Thank you, Mr. Safton, for your assistance,” she told him. “We should not take up any more of your time. Martha?”
“Please, Miss Welch,” he swiftly countered, stepping to block her way. “I could not call myself a gentleman if I did not see you safely home. May I not walk at least a little way with you, just to make sure you’re all right?”
It seemed a bit encroaching, but Martha was preening, and, truth be told, Jenny wasn’t against having someone else in their party. She couldn’t imagine what the boy had been thinking to attack her like that, and it made her wonder what else might suddenly jump out on her way home. “Very well, then, Mr. Safton. This wa
y.”
He offered her his arm, and they walked back down Curzon, deeper into Mayfair. The neat town houses marched along beside them, each one brick or stone, looking so respectable that she found it difficult to believe she had been attacked so close to their solid front doors.
“The weather is certainly lovely for this time of year,” Mr. Safton remarked.
“How very astute of you to notice, Mr. Safton,” Martha replied in admiration. Jenny hid a smile.
“It is difficult not to notice, dear lady, with the sunshine brightening the walk and showing us all the lovely works of nature.” He included her and Martha in the statement, just as Kevin would have done, but somehow the sentiment did not ring true. She stole a look at him out of the corners of her eyes, but he was glancing at their surroundings. She looked away, only to continue her walk with the uncanny feeling that it was she who was being watched.
“Miss Welch,” he ventured after they had walked some way, “I believe we have a mutual friend in common. Do you know a Mr. Kevin Whattling by any chance?”
Jenny tried not to bridle, but she saw a light spring up in the man’s eyes and knew she must have betrayed herself. “Yes, I do. Is he a good friend of yours, Mr. Safton?”
“A very dear friend, at least, until recently.”
She shouldn’t rise to the bait, but she couldn’t help herself. “Recently? What changed?”
A quick quirk of his mouth said he knew he had succeeded in gaining her attention. She thought he might offer some gossip, for all he claimed Kevin a good friend, but he merely affected a sad look.
“I believe he may be having some kind of financial difficulty. Nothing serious, one would hope, or I’m sure he’d have come to me for assistance. Of course, Whattling is an ingenious man, as I’m sure you know. If he can’t find one way to raise the funds, I’m sure he’ll find another.”
“Perhaps he’ll find a rich heiress to wed,” Jenny replied acidly.
Martha gasped and turned the move into a coughing fit. Stevens obligingly thumped her on the back until she waved him off.
Mr. Safton eyed her as if he suspected the truth. But he merely offered a commiserating smile. “Oh, certainly not. Kevin Whattling would never stoop so low as to marry a woman for her money. He isn’t the type to offer praise where none is warranted.”
Oh, but her cheeks felt hot. He could not know he had scored, yet he pressed his point, as if determined to drive it home.
“No. Whattling is an honest fellow, at least he has been with any woman I’ve seen him with, and I’ve seen him with quite a few. He doesn’t send flowers or candy or hang about in the lady’s pocket day after day as if he did not trust her to think without him. He’s that sort of fellow.”
“Yes,” Jenny murmured, angry at the tears that seemed to be welling behind her eyes, “I somehow thought he was.”
Mr. Safton beamed at her. “Well, then, we agree. Kevin Whattling is a jolly good fellow. Perhaps we can all go for a drive some time.”
She stopped and turned to him. “I don’t know when I’ll next be seeing Mr. Whattling. If you should encounter him before I do, Mr. Safton, will you let him know that I’m not expecting him? It’s a rather odd message, I know, but I think he’ll understand.”
Mr. Safton frowned. “Are you sure? You almost sound as if you were dismissing him.”
She managed a laugh, but it sounded brittle even to her own ears. “Oh, la, sir, one cannot dismiss what one never had.”
His frown deepened. “Miss Welch? I hope I haven’t said anything to upset you.”
“Not at all, Mr. Safton. You have eased my mind; you have no idea. We are almost home now, and I feel quite recovered. I cannot in good conscience detain you any longer.”
He bowed over her hand as if he had no concerns that she was sending him, or his friend, packing. “Of course. Your servant, madam. And yours as well, Miss Tindale.”
Martha simpered.
He started to turn away, and Jenny sucked back a sigh. She ought to have known. It had simply been too good to be true. She would return to her normal routine, continue her studies, read and discuss books with Susan and Joanna, attend the opera, the theatre. She had done all that before and enjoyed it, but somehow she thought there would be a huge hole where Mr. Kevin Whattling might have been.
–
George hid his smile as he started to turn away. Using the street urchin had been a stroke of genius, if he did say so himself. He couldn’t imagine why Whattling hadn’t already convinced the heiress to elope to Gretna Green with him; she was obviously an innocent and a gullible one at that.
And she wasn’t nearly the ape leader he had thought. The spring sunlight brought out gold highlights in the ash blond curls escaping from her straw bonnet, and, when she peered at him with those large hazel eyes of hers, he could think of a number of ways to get her to marry him in far less time than Whattling was taking. Still, it was better to stick to his plan. His goal was to retrieve the wayward Whattling, not to capture Miss Eugennia Welch.
Something had warned him not to mention Robbie. If she had known Whattling was only recently out of mourning, she would most likely have brought it up at his probing. If he were the one to break it to her, he might inadvertently put Whattling in the role of martyr. Best to slip away now, his deed accomplished.
But the sunlight glinted on unshed tears, turning her eyes to silver, and, for some reason the day didn’t seem quite so successful. What was wrong with him? Was one walk in the company of a bluestocking enough to give him a case of morals? He had better act to ensure his progress before it got any worse.
“I hope you won’t mind,” he put in as she started to pass him, “if I call tomorrow, just to see that you are indeed unharmed from today’s escapade?”
She sniffed, a far more delicate and brave sound that her companion made, as if his words were balm to her wounds. “That is very kind of you, Mr. Safton. Say three?”
“Three it is.”
Her companion gushed out their address, and he bowed once more. As he strolled back the way they had come, he felt the urge to whistle.
“Well, at least someone’s happy today,” he heard Miss Welch say before he left her to trudge home.
Chapter Nine
Kevin knew that the best way to ensure his suit was progressing was to lavish his attention on Eugennia. Calling daily was a bit scandalous, but he didn’t have much time, and he had made his intentions abundantly clear. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him not to make an appointment before he left the day before. She didn’t seem the type to enjoy impromptu associations.
When he woke around noon that next day, he had every intention of dressing leisurely and strolling over to Mayfair to dance attendance on the lady. A knock on his door changed all that.
He had thought it might be Giles and Nigel, clamoring to know how his suit was progressing. He wasn’t entirely sure what to tell them. Any number of his fellow Corinthians claimed that becoming leg-shackled, as they termed matrimony, was the end of a fellow’s life. He had never seen it as such. Marriage had always seemed like the beginning of a new venture—two people agreeing to live for each other instead of themselves. He smiled thinking of Nigel and Giles’ stunned reactions if he ever admitted such heretical beliefs.
Nor could he admit that he was rather pleased with the lady he had chosen to court. Eugennia was every bit as delightful as he had thought she would be, if in a different way. Most of their conversations made him laugh, and the others made him think, a pleasant change from his usual conversations with his own set. He had hoped the touch of his hand would make her blush but was surprised to find that the touch of her hand made his heart race as if he were a green schoolboy. He had hoped to eventually grow fond of her, but he caught himself wondering what it would be like to kiss her, more, to hold her womanly curves against his chest through the night. A gentleman did not discuss such feelings with other gentlemen.
So, he pasted on a smile and opened the door, prepar
ed to dissemble. Lord Hastings raised a craggy brow.
“Good to see you in such decent mood,” he commented before strolling into the room.
Kevin stepped back, hand on the door. “Good to see you as well, my lord, but I’m afraid I’m not receiving today.”
Hastings glanced around the nearly empty room. “So it would appear.” His look speared back to Kevin. “It also appears the rumors are true. You’re in debt.”
Those brown eyes were too knowing. The Marquis of Hastings might fool many in Society with his dapper coats and well-groomed walrus mustache, but he had earned that iron-grey hair serving as England’s spymaster through the war with France. Kevin could brazen it out, claim he was redecorating or that his belongings no longer pleased him. Unfortunately, he had no doubt Hastings knew the whole of it. He was too good at his art to fail to have the information he sought about any of his associates.
His next words proved as much. “And how is Miss Welch today?”
Kevin closed the door. “As you know so much about me, I suspect you know I haven’t seen her today.”
“Yet,” Hastings said with a pleasant smile. “Do give her my regards. I’ve always appreciated an intelligent woman.”
“Or an intelligence woman?” Kevin quipped.
His smile broadened. “Even so.” The look disappeared as quickly as it had come, and his eyes narrowed. “I may have work for you.”
Kevin shifted on his feet. “Alas, my lord, I am no way fit for service these days.”