by Regina Scott
She led him upstairs to the back of the house to a set of double doors recessed in the paneled wall. Pushing one side open, she glanced in the shadowy room beyond and grimaced. “Just as I suspected. No one has been in here in ages.”
He peered over her head at the long and narrow room, arched windows running along one side and massive gilt-framed mirrors the other. The light coming through the open door, anointed the dark credenzas under the mirrors, the silver candelabra scattered along their dusty tops.
“Can we open the drapes?” he asked.
Jenny raised her skirts and walked across the parquet floor, her steps leaving a trail, her passing echoing to the frescoed ceiling high above. She pulled back the first of the rose velvet drapes, and dust danced in the sunlight, shimmering like fairy magic about her.
“How’s that?” she asked, looking back at him.
“Beautiful,” he murmured.
Jenny blushed under his regard. He crossed the space to her side and gazed down at her.
“I thought we were going to dance,” she tried when he made no further move. Her heart was beating as if she had already danced a full evening of lively country dances, and her breath came just as quickly.
“Ah, yes, dancing,” he replied, gaze on her lips.
She felt herself standing on tiptoe and dropped back down. What, was she that desperate for a kiss?
As if he hadn’t noticed her all but begging, he raised his head to glance about the room. “Can you waltz, my dear Jenny?”
She raised her brows. “Waltz? I don’t recall that one. Is it new?”
“Relatively so. I understand it’s all the rage in Vienna right now. Would you like to try it?”
She frowned. “Is it difficult?”
“For my brilliant bluestocking, never. Let me show you.” To her surprise, he took her hand with his right hand and slipped his left about her waist.
“Are you sure this is how it’s done?” she asked suspiciously.
He grinned and tugged her closer to his body, as if enjoying the feel of her. “Very sure. It is quite unlike any other dance you might have been taught. Now, watch my feet.” He released her just enough so she could look down between them. “Like this.”
He moved through the steps slowly, and Jenny stumbled along with him. After a few movements, however, she tromped on his boot. Embarrassed, she shrugged out of his hold. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Nonsense,” he said, pulling her back into his embrace. “You’ll do well if you just remember not to try so hard. For once in your life, don’t think, just react.”
“Don’t think?” Jenny laughed. “Better ask the sun not to shine than to ask a bluestocking not to think.”
“Pretend it’s a rainy day,” he countered. “Or better yet, close your eyes.”
Jenny grimaced. “You aren’t overly fond of your toes, are you?”
“Very well, then, look up, into my eyes.”
She took a deep breath and did as he suggested. Almost immediately, she was drawn into the lapis depths. She felt him start to move and simply let her body follow. They glided down the room, swirling in and out of the dust-glittering sunlight and soft grey shadow. Her skirt belled against his Hessians. Her body swayed to his rhythm.
“Look to the right,” he murmured, and she turned to see a graceful couple dancing against the light. The gentleman was tall and imposing, his lady elegant and curvaceous. They spun back up the room, and she swore she heard her quartet playing in the background.
He slowed his steps, and she returned her gaze to his handsome face. He tightened his grip on her waist, never taking his eyes off hers. She swayed toward him as he lowered his head. With a groan, he pulled her close and kissed her thoroughly, caressing her mouth with his own, hard muscle pressed against breast and thigh. As before, she wanted the kiss to go on forever, pulling him closer, impossibly closer.
After a moment, he raised his head and gazed down at her. “Marry me, Jenny. I think I’ll go mad if you don’t.”
She wanted to say yes, oh, how she wanted to say yes! When he held her like this and gazed down into her eyes, all her doubts vanished like puddles that could not withstand the heat of the sun. Saying yes in his arms was all too easy. Like dancing while looking up into his eyes, the response was reacting, not thinking. And a bluestocking could only hold back the thoughts for a very short time.
So, what would her answer be if she used her mind rather than her heart? The facts on Kevin Whattling were still too few to tell whether the charming manner was real or counterfeit. The way he had declared his supposed love in the park had certainly been a different side of the man. Many people reacted so intensely in difficult situations, she knew, but how could she be sure that she had not seen his true character?
Whichever way she analyzed it, she returned to the matter of her fortune. If he was sincere that he would marry her had he no need for it, then she would find it easier to believe his other claims. The only way to know was to see how he responded when he won the purse she had put up.
“Ask me after the fight,” she murmured.
His shoulders slumped. She had wounded him. Still, he released her and bowed.
“I think perhaps you’ve had enough lessons. I will see you tomorrow night, for the ball.”
Chapter Twenty
As if Kevin’s fight and her debut at Almack’s weren’t enough to concern her, Jenny received the long-awaited report from Mr. Carstairs, her solicitor, the next morning. She almost didn’t go down when Mavis came up to announce him.
“It doesn’t matter what he says,” she protested to Martha. “It won’t change my feelings for Kevin one jot.”
“It may not change your feelings,” Martha replied, propelling her toward the door, “but at least you will go into your marriage with your eyes wide open. That’s more than most women can say.”
Jenny shook her head, but she continued toward the stairs with Martha at her heels. If nothing else, it was amusing to hear Martha assume that Jenny would marry Kevin. She wished she could be so sure of the outcome.
Mr. Carstairs was awaiting them in the library. He rose when they entered and bent over both their hands in turn, long nose twitching. He was a craggy man with a spare frame and sharp eyes. She had never noticed before that he habitually wore knee breeches, even in the early morning. Hanging about with a fashionable gentleman like Kevin Whattling had at least taught her that most of the gentlemen were wearing trousers these days. Carstairs nodded at her as she took her seat behind her father’s desk.
“I have the report you requested on Mr. Whattling,” he began. “I thought you would want to hear the results.”
“Certainly,” she acknowledged, ignoring Martha’s smirk. “Please continue.”
“Very well, Miss Welch.” He reached to his leather satchel on the floor beside his chair and selected a piece of paper. “Mr. Whattling is of a well-respected family from Yorkshire,” he noted, blue eyes scanning the page. “His father had a small unentailed estate, which went to his wife, Mr. Whattling’s mother, on his death. I cannot find a record of her death; I suspect she may have remarried so the name has changed. However, I did find a record of the sale of the estate approximately eighteen years ago. Mr. Whattling drew a small living from those proceeds until recently, when he emptied the account. He also recently auctioned off all his belongings, including a sizable stable. He currently has no visible assets and personal debts amounting to more than three thousand pounds. He recently paid off debts of a considerably higher amount. Most likely this is why he sold the other items.” He peered down the sheet, squinting at the handwriting. “No, that isn’t quite correct. The debts he paid belonged to a Mr. Greene, Mr. Robert Greene.”
Jenny listened quietly. Nothing he said surprised her, nothing contradicted anything Kevin had said. There was only one piece of the puzzle missing. “And did you find out anything about this Mr. Greene?”
Carstairs squinted at the paper more closely. He glanced up
at her and smiled. “And did I tell you you are looking particularly lovely today, my dear? That shade of violet has always been quite becoming on you.”
Martha smiled approvingly.
Jenny scowled. “You only try that flummery on me when you do not want to tell me bad news. Pray, answer the question.”
Carstairs sighed. He reached back in the satchel and drew out a newspaper clipping. “Here, read it for yourself.”
Jenny took the piece of newsprint with some trepidation. Boxer killed in illegal match, the headline read, Magistrates claim no fault. She quickly scanned down the story, feeling Martha and Carstairs’ eyes on her as she did so. Robert Greene had attempted to fight a man much larger and more experienced, and he had been killed by a blow to the head. The magistrates had determined that the gentleman who had arranged the match was not to blame. It was a great tragedy, and perhaps the boxing world should be reformed, said The Times.
“What the paper does not say,” Carstairs added as she handed the clipping to an eager Martha, “is the relationship between Mr. Greene and Mr. Whattling. I take it he hasn’t discussed the matter with you?”
Jenny shook her head. “No, and frankly, although I had heard something about Mr. Greene, it felt like prying to ask.”
Carstairs raised an eyebrow. “Then you may not like the fact that I did pry. As you know, I’m not overly fond of mysteries, especially where my clients are concerned.”
“If she doesn’t want to know,” Martha put in, glancing up from the clipping, “I do.”
“Go on.” Jenny nodded in acceptance, although she felt her stomach doing unacceptable acrobatics again.
“Very well. I thought at first that Mr. Whattling was the gentleman who arranged the fight that cost young Greene his life. Why else would he take on the gentleman’s debts? However, one of the investigators I hire in these matters learned that Mr. Greene was apparently Mr. Whattling’s younger half-brother. Unfortunately, as I lost track of Mrs. Whattling, I have not had time to find the evidence to prove her remarriage or the relationship between the two men.”
“I am convinced your guess is correct,” Jenny said, sadness building inside her for the loss of a brother, and in such a manner. “That would explain too many remarks Mr. Whattling has made.”
“Little wonder he didn’t want you watching boxing,” Martha said with a sniff. Although it was her usual noise to indicate displeasure, Jenny noted that there were tears in her eyes as she handed the clipping back to Mr. Carstairs. She was having trouble keeping them from her own eyes as well. How often she’d wished for siblings, someone to encourage, to encourage her. To have had that and lost it was a tragedy beyond words.
Carstairs acknowledged their agreement with a pert nod. “That he chose to honor his brother’s debts does him credit. However, I am not impressed with his ability to handle the situation. I would say that, unlike many men, he appears to be more likely to lead with his heart.”
“My exact opposite,” Jenny replied thoughtfully. She had realized it earlier, but Carstairs had summarized it nicely. Perhaps that was why she and Kevin were well-matched. Everyone needed both a heart and a head to survive.
“This is not an issue to brush aside,” Carstairs put in firmly. “Every bit of information I gathered about the man indicates that he is too precipitous. However pleasant this fellow may be, I must caution you, Miss Welch, that he is not a good business risk. I would not want to see you invest any money in him.”
Martha snorted. Jenny frowned her into silence.
Carstairs glanced between the two of them. “I am too late? Have you already agreed to fund this gentleman on some adventure?”
Jenny shook her head. “No, Mr. Carstairs. But I thank you for your trouble.”
Carstairs nodded, tucking his papers back in his satchel. Martha watched him, concern evident in her pursed lips.
“Wait,” she ordered when he looked as if he were going to take his leave. She glanced at Jenny and sat a little straighter. “Eugennia, you might as well know all. Mr. Carstairs, I have read that when a lady marries, all her monies and goods become the property of her husband. Is that true?”
Jenny started. She had never thought about the fact that marrying Kevin might give him control of her fortune. “Yes, please, Mr. Carstairs, tell me.”
He eyed the two of them. “Am I to take it that you are considering marrying this Whattling fellow?”
Jenny found it impossible to meet his direct gaze. “I may marry someone, eventually.”
Martha rolled her eyes.
“Of course you may,” Carstairs agreed readily. “Your father and I discussed just such a possibility. While I believe we could protect some of your personal belongings, the sapphires for example and your other jewels, and a few of the books your father left you, I’m sorry to say that Miss Tindale is correct. When you marry, all control of your fortune becomes your husband’s.”
Jenny stared at the desktop, stunned. She should have thought to check sooner, but she had never seriously considered marriage before. And somehow, the law had never been a topic she had wanted to study.
“All the more reason for you to be very sure of the gentleman you marry,” Carstairs continued, not unkindly. “You would be placing your entire life, everything you hold dear, in his trust. That is a very serious matter, my dear.”
“Very serious indeed,” Martha echoed.
Jenny nodded. “Yes, I understand.” She roused herself with difficulty. “Thank you again, Mr. Carstairs. I’ll think about everything you’ve said. And, if I decide to marry, I hope I may call on your services to draw up the papers to protect my personal belongings, as you suggested.”
“Of course, my dear,” Carstairs assured her. “Whatever you desire.”
But of course it wasn’t what she desired, she thought as Fiching saw him out. Much as she would have liked to be annoyed at Martha for bringing up the subject, she agreed that it was best she knew the truth. When she married, everything she owned, everything she had collected in her studies, would become the property of her husband. She had feared, and hoped, loving Kevin Whattling might change her life. This was not the kind of change she’d had in mind.
And she still wasn’t satisfied that she knew the truth about Robert Greene. Based on Gentleman Jackson’s stories, she would have said it was George Safton who had arranged the fateful match that had cost Mr. Greene his life. Was that the reason for the enmity between Mr. Safton and Kevin? She knew the only way to learn an answer was to ask Kevin directly, but she couldn’t seem to find the courage to face him, given the recent news and their upcoming appointment with the doyens of Almack’s.
By the time he arrived to escort her that evening, she thought she would surely expire from a severe strain to her nerves. She had never found anything that would overtax her active mind to the point of swooning, but she was very much afraid that before the night was out she would collapse.
Too many things competed for her attention. First she had to face the famed patronesses of Almack’s and prove to herself and them that she knew how to behave in London Society. While Kevin’s tutoring had made her feel a bit more confident, she still expected to be baited or even scorned on sight.
Worse, she much feared that news of her agreement to sponsor the upcoming fight might somehow have reached Society’s ears. The ladies of Almack’s would be only too pleased to pass along the on dit. Society would be even more scandalized than usual at her unorthodox behavior, and she wasn’t certain how Kevin would react. Although, she had dispatched Stevens with a note requesting Gentleman Jackson to keep her involvement a secret, she could not be sure how many others already knew or which one of them might think to pass along the information to the wrong person.
Then of course there was the issue of Mr. Greene. And the issue of her fortune going to her husband. And the fact that Kevin might be hurt in the upcoming fight. Even she could not be expected to keep so many thoughts in her head! Like a juggler with too many pins, she felt f
umble-fingered. It did not bode well for the evening.
To make matters worse, the gown she had purchased for such an event some time ago seemed entirely unsuitable now. Martha gushed over the delicate gold-frosted lace on the bodice and sleeves, but all Jenny could see was how much of her chest and shoulders it left bare. Martha exclaimed over the graceful full skirt of pale cream silk that would sway when Jenny danced (if she found the courage to dance), but Jenny felt self-conscious at the way it seemed to call attention to her curves.
With matching cream long gloves and pearls at her throat and ears, she finally convinced herself that she was no more than presentable. The glint of appreciation in Kevin’s eyes as she descended the stairs to his side, however, told her Martha had been right.
“The bluestocking in gold,” he said with a smile of approval. “They will never let you return.”
She felt her color draining and plucked at her skirt, dismayed that she had misunderstood the look in his eyes. “Is it as bad as all that?”
Kevin caught her hand, bending to meet her downcast gaze. “Of course not! You mistake me. You look so splendid that they will not be able to stand your glittering presence more than once.”
“You are an impossible flatterer, Mr. Whattling,” she scolded with a shake of her head, but she felt her confidence increase with his praise. “One never knows when to believe you.”
He raised her hand to his lips. “Always believe me, Jenny. I would never lie to you.”
She could feel the pressure of his kiss and the warmth of his breath through her glove. She snatched her arm back before goose flesh could form. He raised a brow.
“We wouldn’t want to be late,” she offered in explanation, motioning Fiching forward with her navy cloak. “Will someone fetch Miss Tindale?”
He took the cloak from a surprised Fiching and draped it about Jenny’s bare shoulders, letting his glove glaze her skin. She shivered in pleasure and tugged the cloak closer about her.