by Regina Scott
–
Kevin wasn’t sure what to expect of his meeting with Jenny when he called the next day. She’d had time to think, and she could well berate him for his behavior the previous day. Perhaps her butler would refuse him entrance. But Fiching greeted him warmly and led him to the sitting room, where Jenny waited in a high-necked navy kerseymere gown that somehow reminded him of the way her curves had nestled against him. Miss Tindale narrowed her eyes at him and stabbed her needle into her embroidery as if she wished it were his heart she attacked.
He was careful to choose the chair across from Jenny even though the seat next to her on the sofa beckoned. No need to push his advantage, not when just the sight of him seemed to have set her hazel eyes to sparkling, her delectable cheeks to reddening. He leaned back and prepared himself to spend the next quarter hour prosing on about boxing.
But she didn’t ask about boxing. Indeed, she seemed rather distracted, plucking at her skirts, rubbing her fingers along the nub of the white sofa.
“And how go your studies?” he ventured when the silence stretched.
Miss Tindale snorted, but Jenny managed a smile. “They are progressing, thank you.”
“She’s reading the books,” her companion informed him with a quelling frown to her mistress. “Isn’t that right?”
Jenny started. “Yes, of course, Martha.”
Kevin smiled at her. “I never appreciated what one can learn from books until I met you, Miss Welch.”
Her eyes widened, color fleeing. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t read?”
Kevin gave her his most charming smile, realizing he would have to go carefully on what was obviously a sacred subject to her. “Of course I can read. I simply find other pursuits more entertaining.”
She peered at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a second nose. “Really? How very odd. When was the last time you read a book?”
“An entire book?” he hedged, trying to think. He was sure he’d better remember accurately, for she’d surely ask him title and text next.
“Yes, an entire book.”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I suppose it hasn’t been since Eton. I don’t actually read much, not even The Times.”
She stared at him, eyes wide. “Didn’t you even read The Corsair?”
He chuckled. “I never particularly liked Byron as a person. I can’t imagine I’d like anything he chose to write.”
“Then you do have preferences,” she persisted. “Do you enjoy poetry, novels, plays, essays, or treaties more?”
“Novels, I would say,” he replied, though in truth he wasn’t sure there was much of a difference. “But nothing overly melodramatic.”
“Certainly not,” she agreed.
Miss Tindale sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. Fanny Burney wrote such wonderful stories.”
Jenny scowled at her. “Stuff and nonsense. Those works being published anonymously by a ‘lady of quality’ are far more entertaining. Do you know Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Whattling?”
This time he did not hesitate to smile. “I haven’t had the pleasure of reading it, Miss Welch, but I can tell you who the author is.”
“Really?” Color and sparkle returned. Even Miss Tindale leaned forward.
Kevin crossed his legs at the ankles, enjoying his moment of notoriety. “Indeed. She has charmed Society. Even the Prince Regent is a most devoted reader, I understand.”
“It’s not that shocking Caro Lamb, is it?” Miss Tindale guessed. “I don’t think I could abide it if it were, although she’s always threatening to write something dreadful about Society, I hear.”
“No, Miss Tindale, not Caro Lamb. She is a Miss Jane Austen, whose father was a clergyman in Hampshire.”
Jenny nodded. “That makes sense. She has an innate understanding of country life that makes her characters seem so real. One would almost think she knew them.”
“So I have heard,” Kevin replied.
Jenny eyed him. “My friends and I are currently reading Sense and Sensibility. Perhaps you would care to join us in discussing its merits and demerits.”
Nothing would have pleased him less, but the way she made the offer sounded suspiciously like a challenge, and he was still too much the Corinthian to let any challenge go unaccepted. “That would be delightful, Miss Welch. Just tell me the day and time.”
Miss Tindale rolled her eyes and mumbled something as she renewed her attack on the embroidery on her lap.
“It is short notice, I’m afraid,” Jenny told him. “We are discussing it tomorrow at two.”
“That should not be a problem,” Kevin replied, wondering how long it could take to read a story written by the daughter of a country clergyman.
“Excellent,” she said. The gleam in her eye told him he had been right to accept the challenge. He only wondered whether he would be able to live up to it.
He met his first obstacle that very afternoon when he found he hadn’t enough money in his pocket to so much as purchase the book from a bookseller. And the nearest lending library to his apartments somehow didn’t believe his tale of being a long-time patron. Annoyed and shamefaced, he was forced to track down Giles and Nigel at White’s and beg for the fee. When he admitted the reason, they both stared at him.
“A—a book?” Nigel sputtered. “Have you gone mad?”
“You aren’t actually going to read it, are you, Kev?” Giles pleaded. “You’re just going to carry it under one arm, as a sort of prop. She is a bluestocking, after all, Nigel.”
“I don’t care if she’s the heir apparent,” Nigel said. “No man should have to stoop so low. What does she expect you to read, some female track against gambling?”
“Nothing so horrendous, old man,” Kevin assured him. “Just the latest novel by that Austen woman Prinny was so set on. You may have the book when I’m finished with it if you’d like.”
“What do you take me for?” Nigel demanded. “I wouldn’t have the thing in my house, no matter what the Regent thinks of it.”
“He isn’t exactly known for his taste,” Giles put in “if you’ll pardon my lack of tact.”
“You needn’t look so horrified, gentlemen,” Kevin repeated. “It’s only one book, and it’s only to make a good impression. We are agreed that that should still be my plan, are we not?”
Nigel mumbled something, but Giles nodded.
“Very well, then,” Kevin continued. “If you can stand to loan me a bit more, I think we shall contrive.”
“If you ask me,” Nigel grumbled, fishing in the pocket of his waistcoat for a yellow boy, which he tossed to Kevin, “you should be taking a stronger tone with her from the first. You can’t wait until after the wedding to let a woman know where you stand on issues. Gives them an advantage.”
“I think that’s a bit strong, Nigel,” Giles chided. “Kevin is trying to make a good impression, as he said. I’ve known many a man to do things while courting he’d never do once he’s leg-shackled.”
“Well, I suppose,” Nigel allowed. “Still, sponsoring boxers and now making Whattling read a book—”
“What?” Kevin interrupted him. “What do you mean, sponsoring boxers?”
Nigel and Giles exchanged glances.
“You didn’t know?” Giles asked with a worried frown.
Kevin was almost afraid to ask. “Didn’t know what?”
“It’s all about town,” Nigel told him. “Her solicitor has been seen at the boxing establishments. The talk is she’s going to choose a fellow and sponsor his fights. He tried to get a name out of Gentleman Jackson, and Jackson refused. I naturally assumed you’d been involved somehow.”
“No,” Kevin replied, jaw tensing. “I wasn’t.”
Nigel and Giles exchanged glances again.
“Is there more?” Kevin snapped.
Giles jumped. “No, Kev, honestly. It’s just that it is rather odd behavior. I mean, what lady involves herself with pugilists, of all things?”
“I certainly hope, Gile
s,” Kevin replied, watching his friend shrink under his steely gaze, “that you’re not implying that Miss Welch is anything less than a lady.”
“No, no,” Giles gasped. “Never! Nigel, tell him.”
“Cut line, Whattling,” Nigel growled. “If you mean to take on everyone who implies Miss Welch has no business with boxers, you’ll have to fight every gossip in town.”
“As bad as that?” Kevin asked.
“Afraid so, old man,” Nigel told him.
“I don’t know where you stand in your pursuit of the lady,” Giles put in. “But you may want to have a word with her on her behavior, for her own good, you know.”
“I have had a word with her, Giles,” Kevin replied, rising. “Several words to be exact. But I have a feeling it will take a great deal more to dissuade Eugennia Welch from her studies.”
Chapter Sixteen
He arrived at Jenny’s home precisely at two the following day, book tucked under his arm. His navy coat and trousers were as immaculate as ever, and none of the three ladies and two gentlemen to whom she introduced him appeared to notice the dark circles under his eyes from staying up all night reading. They also failed to notice that he was sweating.
“So good of you to join us, Mr. Whattling,” a white-haired woman with double chins said as Jenny introduced her as Mrs. Bryce-Turner. “We so seldom get new blood these days.”
“And what exactly is wrong with old blood, I’d like to know?” Lord Davies, an equally elderly gentleman demanded. He thumped his attendant cane on the floor so hard that the vase rattled on the nearby credenza.
“I don’t think Mrs. Bryce-Turner was maligning us, Lord Davies,” the other gentleman, a younger man with sandy blond hair and a weak chin murmured. “I believe she was referring to the pleasant edition of another point of view, by your leave, of course, Mrs. B.”
She nodded graciously at him.
“An excellent encapsulation, Mr. Witherspoon,” agreed the dark-haired young lady who alone besides Jenny could make any claim to beauty. She turned expressive eyes an exotic shade of jade on him, and he tried not to flinch from the direct gaze as Jenny introduced her as Susan St. John. “Let us hope Mr. Whattling has come prepared to discuss the book in question.”
“Whyever would he not, Miss St. John?” Miss Tindale put in, offering Kevin an innocent smile that he could not return.
Jenny had directed him to the sofa, and he drew in his first true breath when she sat beside him. “I have come to appreciate the fact that Mr. Whattling is quite talented in many areas. I’m sure he will acquit himself well.”
The look from those hazel eyes did something to the center of his being, and he suddenly found he was capable of climbing mountains. “I can only say, Miss Welch,” he murmured, “that I perform in accordance with my inspiration.”
She blushed prettily.
Susan St. John snapped open the book. “Well said. And did you find the hero of this piece as well spoken, Mr. Whattling?”
“If by the hero, you mean the character of Edward, Miss St. John,” Kevin replied, leaning back against the sofa. “No, I did not.”
“I take it you didn’t like him,” Miss Bryce-Turner put in.
“It wasn’t so much that I didn’t like him, madam. He was a well-developed character, I thought. I simply would not approach life as he chose to do. In fact, I would not approach life like any of the gentlemen in this book.”
“Really, sir,” Lord Davies protested. “Did you not find Colonel Brandon the least heroic? Now, there was a gentleman.”
“A gentleman who allowed his sister to be led astray and then refused to acknowledge his love for Miss Marianne until she was at death’s door.” Kevin shook his head. “I hope I am never so foolish. Life is entirely too short.”
“I suppose you agree with the character of Willoughby, then,” Susan St. John put in, narrowing her exquisite eyes. “Live life and never mind the consequences.”
He looked down at his hands as they gripped the closed book. Could Jenny see the dents in the fine-tooled leather cover where his fingers had rested?
“I once thought that way,” he murmured. “It is a dangerous sport, more suited to the very young, I believe. A true man grows quickly beyond that. Live life, yes, but do not do so in a way that inhibits another’s ability to live.”
“Well said, sir, well said,” Lord Davies exclaimed, thumping his cane again. Mr. Witherspoon regarded him with worshipful eyes. Mrs. Bryce-Turner beamed. Even Miss Tindale grimaced in approval. Miss St. John nodded, leaning back against her chair as if satisfied.
But it was the look on Jenny’s face, all pride and delight, that made all his effort worthwhile.
–
It was all Jenny could do not to crow her delight. Why had she doubted that a Corinthian, her Corinthian, could rise to the task? It was a wonderful discussion, and all the members of her circle insisted that Kevin be included in the next reading. As she saw them out one by one, they let her know their personal approval as well.
“Quite kind on the eyes, that one,” Mrs. Bryce-Turner whispered behind her glove as Stevens helped her into her fur-trimmed pelisse. “If he offers, accept. If he doesn’t, would you mind if I introduced him to my niece?”
“Capital fellow,” Lord Davies proclaimed, after bowing over Jenny’s hand. “Welcome addition to the group, and to the family, eh, my dear?”
“A regular top-o-the-trees Corinthian,” Mr. Witherspoon confided, adjusting his top hat in the entry way mirror. “And bookish too. Such a find!”
“He’s too perfect,” Susan St. John told her, hugging her good-day. “I don’t know whether to envy you or worry for you. Be careful, dearest. This one could steal your heart.”
Jenny could only smile politely as Susan left. She turned to find Kevin eyeing her from the doorway to the sitting room.
“Am I to take it that my performance lived up to your expectations, Miss Welch?” he asked.
She frowned. “Twice now you have called it a performance, sir. I wonder, are you performing?”
“I am wounded,” he said, pressing his hand to the chest of his satin-striped waistcoat, but the twinkle in his indigo eyes belied his serious tone. “I’ll have you know I read every word on every page of this book, Miss Welch, no mean feat, let me assure you.”
“Yes,” she nodded, “but did you enjoy it?”
He looked thoughtful. “Yes, but not in the way I would have suspected. It was an interesting look at our society. It certainly made me think.”
She beamed at him. “That is precisely what good literature is supposed to do, Mr. Whattling. I’m very glad you enjoyed Miss Austen’s book. Dare I hope you will take us up on our offer to join the next discussion?”
He cocked his head. “What are we reading?”
“Nothing vile,” she promised with a laugh. “Susan would like to continue reading Miss Austen’s books. The next is Pride and Prejudice.”
“That could be interesting,” he replied. “Very well. When will this discussion take place?”
“Two weeks from today,” she told him.
“Ah, that is a shame. I hope to be otherwise engaged at that time.”
She fought not to look disappointed. “Oh? You have something scheduled so far in advance?”
He smiled at her. “I understand it is necessary to plan at least a little ahead for one’s wedding, Miss Welch.”
She could feel her face burning in a blush and had to look away. “I do not believe we have decided we have anything to plan, sir.”
“Miss Welch,” he murmured, taking her hand. “You cannot keep me dangling forever, you know. While I would gladly wait an eternity for your answer, my creditors, alas, are not so smitten. I have been courting you rather assiduously for nearly a fortnight now. Can you say you feel nothing for me?”
She knew she could say nothing of the kind. His solicitous attention, his flirtatious conversation, his brilliant literary insights, and his amazing kiss stirred her heart as no
thing ever had. She would have loved to accept his offer, but she still could not credit that it was not her fortune that motivated him. Would he still be the wonderful man he seemed once he knew he had the money? Or was he simply more adept at play-acting than George Safton? Would she find herself married to some horrible creature? If only there were some way to be sure. She raised her head to tell him her fears, but one look in those deep blue eyes sealed her lips. She simply wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
His smile said her thoughts were all too transparent. Surely he knew he had all but won. “You do not have to answer that,” he told her.
She started to relax.
“At least, not now,” he finished with a grin. “Until tomorrow, Miss Welch.” He bowed over her hand and pressed a kiss on her wrist. Jenny shivered despite herself.
Fiching recovered himself sufficiently to whisk open the door for him. Kevin nearly collided with a liveried footman. Fiching took the proffered cards and waved the man off. Kevin turned to Jenny.
“I recognize that handwriting,” he said. “If I’m not mistaken, those are your promised vouchers for Almack’s and an invitation to the upcoming ball.”
Jenny refused to so much as touch them as Fiching held them out to her hopefully. “Yes, they look very like the last one that came. I’ll have Miss Tindale express my gratitude again, but I still cannot accept.”
Kevin stepped back into the entry hall, frowning. “You turned Countess Lieven down? Are you bent on suicide?”
Jenny tossed her head with far more bravery than she felt. “I told you, I have no interest in going to anything associated with Almack’s.”
“Whyever not?” his frown deepened. “Isn’t that the pinnacle to which all London ladies aspire?”
“Perhaps some London ladies with nothing more interesting to do than primp before their looking glasses,” Jenny replied scornfully. “They only want me there because I’m an oddity. I have no interest in being the evening’s entertainment, I assure you.”
He took her hand again and looked down at her. “I would never let them use you so.”