by Laura Martin
‘Bertie, come here,’ Caroline shouted, trying to make her voce as authoritative as possible.
He ignored her.
‘Bertie,’ James called, his voice firm.
Of course the dog turned, then serenely began to paddle back.
‘Even my dog prefers you to me,’ Caroline murmured, watching as Bertie emerged from the water dripping and muddy.
He paused, legs apart, on the banks of the Serpentine and with a gasp of horror Caroline watched as he began to shake. She ducked behind James, peeking out to see the droplets of muddy water flying through the air, splattering over the rest of their party. Bertie had short hair, but even so he managed to cover them with an impressive amount of water.
For a moment no one moved and no one uttered a sound. Caroline didn’t dare look up and instead gripped James’s arm fiercely.
‘How refreshing,’ James said, pulling gently on her hand to bring her back round to his side.
Miss Preston was standing there completely still, the look of horrified shock on her face quickly replaced by a surge of white-hot anger. She looked down at her mud-spattered dress, her eyes wide, her mouth opening with no sound coming out.
‘What an unfortunate accident,’ James said, sweeping forward and taking both ladies by the elbows, turning them slightly so their focus wouldn’t be on Caroline. ‘Let me escort you home.’
Miss Preston flashed a look of contempt over her shoulder at Caroline, but allowed herself to be guided away from the water and the still-muddy dog.
As Caroline knelt down beside Bertie, picking up the soggy lead, she saw James look back and give her a wink that made her heart contract.
‘Come on, Bertie,’ she said softly. ‘Time to go home.’
Chapter Four
Relaxing back in his chair, James regarded the smoky room, taking in the three men playing cards at the next table, the few lone gentlemen perusing the pages of the newspapers and the two having a quiet but heated argument in the corner.
‘We thought you might be gone for good this time,’ Milton said, pulling James back into the conversation.
‘I was convinced you’d found yourself some pretty little Italian heiress and settled down in a vineyard somewhere,’ West chuckled.
‘If only,’ James murmured.
Milton, also known as the Earl of Hauxton, and Lord West, a very wealthy baron, had been his friends for almost a decade. They were influential men, with large estates and much sway in the world of politics, but James still saw them as the youths he’d known years earlier. West was the same age as him, they’d been contemporaries at Eton, although only friends long after they’d left school. Milton was about ten years younger, but easily the most serious of their little group. James had known Milton’s older brothers before they had both tragically died young, but despite the age difference it was Milton he would turn to if he ever found himself with a practical or moral dilemma to solve.
‘How is your wife?’
West groaned, as if wishing to talk about anything but domestic matters.
‘She was so beautiful,’ he lamented. ‘And sweet as an angel.’
‘She’s still beautiful.’ James swirled his brandy around in his glass before taking a sip.
‘But she’s not sweet. Nothing is right. Nothing I do, nothing I say. You’d think I make her live in squalor.’
West had married the diamond of the Season five years ago, a pretty and accomplished young woman he’d spoken to only on a handful of occasions before declaring she would do for his wife. She’d come with a hefty dowry, but they seemed poorly suited and West had lost some of his spark and humour in the past few years.
‘It’s probably your fault,’ Milton said sagely. He was always abrupt and to the point, but the harsh words were accompanied by a genuinely caring nature.
‘How is it my fault?’
‘Think of what young ladies are told to expect from a marriage,’ Milton said quietly. ‘Romance, an attentive husband, pleasant domesticity twinned with the occasional adventure. Then they’re saddled with a man who’d rather be out drinking with his friends than conversing with someone he doesn’t share any interests with.’
‘That’s not my fault. It is society’s, giving them unrealistic expectations.’
James laughed at the exchange between his friends, but as always felt a little as though he were on the outside looking in. Both men had experiences he did not. Milton was a widower, married for four years to a wonderful woman he’d known since childhood. And West might gripe about his marriage, but he was a husband and a father, unlike James who might never be either of those things.
‘Stop moaning or you’ll put Heydon off marriage once and for all.’
His two friends eyed him for a moment as they often did when the subject of marriage arose.
‘No young ladies have caught your eye?’ West reclined back in his chair as he spoke.
‘No.’
‘I think you should just marry that Miss Yaxley of yours and have done with it.’ Milton held his eye, showing James it was not a humorous suggestion.
‘She is looking for a husband.’ James swirled his drink round in his glass again and considered the idea, not for the first time. She’d make a fine wife. She was good-humoured and down-to-earth and fun to be with. There wouldn’t be any wondering if they would sit in uncomfortable silence at the dinner table, or if she would be a well-mannered duchess. He knew her better than he knew anyone else. Often he had wondered if they should just marry one another and be done with it. He knew they’d be happy, but there was always that niggling doubt at the back of his mind. What if he married her and then the next day the woman he was truly meant to be with came along? The one who made his heart sing, the one he was destined to be with?
‘She’s not bad looking,’ West said, staring into the distance as if weighing up Caroline’s physical attributes.
‘And more importantly you enjoy being with her. The passion, well, that can come later. Learn a lesson from West’s marriage—don’t marry a stranger you have nothing in common with.’
James shrugged. Perhaps if they were still both unwed in five years’ time he’d suggest the match to Caroline. She’d probably laugh him out of the room.
‘If you don’t marry her, then someone else will,’ Milton said, pushing his chair back and brushing down his jacket.
West stood as well, looking at the clock on the mantelpiece, mumbling something about his wife. James bade them farewell, watching the two men as they shrugged on their coats and disappeared out into the night.
James sat for a few minutes longer, enjoying the warmth of the club and the soft burn of the brandy in his throat. He wasn’t going to propose to Caroline, but Milton was right, soon their relationship would change irrevocably. Despite her misgivings Caroline would find a husband this Season. She was from a good family, had a decent dowry and was personable and kind. Their friendship was not the norm among the members of the ton. In general, women were friends with women and men with men. Theirs crossed this boundary and to guard Caroline’s reputation they’d had to be very careful with how they’d conducted themselves, but somehow it worked.
It wouldn’t when she had a husband to answer to, a family of her own to put first. They might still talk a little at social occasions, but the walks in the park and the long, easy conversations would end. James was surprised to realise what a hole that would leave in his life. He often left England for months at a time, travelling around Europe, but when he returned Caroline was always there, ready to pick up their friendship where they’d left off.
‘Don’t be selfish,’ he murmured to himself. He wanted her to be happy, but at the same time he didn’t want to lose her.
‘Excuse me, Your Grace,’ a man well into his fifties said quietly, as if not sure he wished to interrupt James’s thoughts.
James looked u
p, recognising the face of the balding man in front of him, but grasping for the name that was just out of reach.
‘Lord Whittaker, Your Grace, we met a few years ago.’
‘Of course. Forgive me.’
‘Nothing to forgive. Forgive me for interrupting.’ Lord Whittaker looked uncertainly at the empty chair across from him where Milton had been sitting a few minutes earlier.
‘Please, sit.’
‘Thank you. I won’t take up much of your time.’
James felt his stomach sinking as he realised why Whittaker had sought him out. The mild-mannered man looked as though he didn’t really want to be here, but something was driving him on.
‘I believe you are acquainted with my daughter,’ Lord Whittaker said, flashing what appeared to be an apologetic smile. ‘Miss Rebecca Preston.’
‘We were introduced last night.’
‘Quite. My wife told me all about the ball. I was not in attendance unfortunately.’
Miss Preston was certainly tenacious. It wasn’t twenty-four hours since they had been introduced and already she’d engineered a meeting in the park and orchestrated her father furthering her cause.
There was a moment of awkward silence as Lord Whittaker mulled over what to say next. James was a charitable man, but he wasn’t about to make this any easier for the Baron.
‘My wife and I were hoping you would honour us with your presence at a small dinner party next week. It will be an intimate affair, just family and a few close friends.’
It was an ingenious ploy, no doubt thought up by Miss Preston or her mother, as James didn’t think Lord Whittaker had the deviousness to come up with such an idea. Issuing the invitation in person like this made it so much harder to decline—a note was easy to send back with a polite excuse, but face to face it was much harder to say no.
‘I know you’re a busy man, Your Grace, but it would mean a lot to my wife if you would consider the invitation.’
For a moment James wondered if there was more to the seemingly bumbling Lord Whittaker than met the eye. He almost had James agreeing just out of sympathy.
‘I shall have to check my calendar. What date is it?’
‘Ah. Well, my wife rather suggested we choose a date based on your diary. She really is very eager to receive you.’
‘How kind.’
‘Is there a day next week that would work for you?’
James considered. He could refuse outright, state he was too busy, even lie and say he was planning on spending a few days away from the city. He wasn’t overly eager to encourage Miss Preston and from what he had experienced so far she was the sort of woman who might even connive to land them in a compromising situation to force his hand. Still, looking at the hopeful face of the man in front of him, he found himself relenting.
‘I shall have a footman bring over a note tomorrow with my availability,’ he said, regretting it even as the words left his mouth.
‘Wonderful. Thank you, Your Grace. My wife will be ever so pleased.’
‘Perhaps you could see to it that a mutual friend of Miss Preston’s and mine could attend. Miss Yaxley, she is the one who introduced me to your daughter.’ It was cruel to inflict a whole evening of Miss Preston on Caroline, but at least her presence would stop it being the intimate family affair he suspected Lady Whittaker was planning. He should have asked for Milton and West to be invited as well.
‘Of course, what a splendid suggestion. I’ll inform my wife.’ Lord Whittaker, stood, gave a deferential little bow and hurried away.
Chapter Five
‘Are you sure you will be safe on your own for two hours?’
Henrietta motioned to her maid trailing a few steps behind her. ‘I’m not alone, I have Elise. I will be perfectly fine, you have no need to worry about me at all.’
Caroline pursed her lips and hesitated. She knew Henrietta was right, she did have the company of her lady’s maid and it was only a short amount of time, but she still couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy that Henrietta would be loose around London with just a maid for company because of her.
Henrietta smiled at her reassuringly. ‘Trust me, Caroline, I go for strolls by myself all the time. I am quite content.’
‘Two hours, we’ll meet back here. Try not to be late.’ Caroline watched her cousin hurry happily away, pleased to be given the freedom of a morning alone without any older relative chaperoning her and watching her every move. Henrietta was eighteen and wonderfully rebellious, although her parents thought she was saintly in her behaviour.
When Caroline had suggested she might act as her alibi for her trips to James’s house, Henrietta had jumped at the chance to be involved in the subterfuge. They had decided Henrietta would call for Caroline and together they would leave the house with their ladies’ maids. Once out of sight Caroline would make her way to James’s house and Henrietta would occupy herself somehow. After a couple of hours they would meet up again and return home together, as if they had been with one another the whole time.
Caroline smiled at Anna, the young woman who’d been her lady’s maid for the past six years. Although strictly speaking she was employed by Caroline’s parents, Anna was staunchly loyal and would never betray Caroline and would happily spend the morning sitting in the warm kitchen gossiping with James’s servants. Together they walked the couple of streets to Grosvenor Square.
James was waiting for her in his study, a wonderful room that seemed to reflect his personality perfectly. There were bookcases filled with books covering half the walls and, in the gaps in between, huge maps of Europe and the world. Dotted on shelves were treasures from his travels. A beautiful statue of a goddess brought from Rome, a painting of the canals of Venice, an ancient urn from an archaeological site he’d visited in Greece.
Caroline took her favourite seat, a worn leather armchair that was angled perfectly to look out over the terrace and gardens beyond, situated just the right distance from the fire in the depths of winter.
‘Good morning,’ James greeted her, perching on the edge of his desk. ‘Welcome to your first lesson in attracting a husband.’
Caroline laughed, eliciting a theatrical frown from James.
‘Sit down properly or I’ll be too distracted to concentrate on what you’re saying.’ She watched as he slipped from the edge of the desk into the armchair opposite hers. He was dressed casually today, in light brown trousers and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up a couple of inches revealing tanned forearms. There was no sign of a cravat or waistcoat or jacket and Caroline realised she had never seen him only half-dressed like this. Quickly she tried to think of something else, anything else, cursing silently as her rebellious eyes roamed over his physique again.
‘Today’s lesson is going to focus on identifying the men you are going to target.’
‘You make it sound like a military campaign.’
‘I was awake far too late last night thinking about you,’ James said, making Caroline shift in her chair. ‘Or more specifically about you and Mottringham. That can never happen.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s too old. And a bumbling fool. You would want to murder him before you’d been married a week. I forbid you to marry him.’
‘Forbid?’
‘Forbid. You’d be miserable.’ He held up his hands in a placating gesture. ‘Now I understand you’re not looking to find the love of your life, but I think a modicum of happiness isn’t too much to ask for. We will strike off any man who drinks too much, is cruel to women, gambles excessively, or is so old you’d question if his heart would make it until the wedding day.’
‘Is there anyone left on your list after we eliminate all of those?’
‘You must have more faith in the men of England, Cara. One or two remain.’
‘When I informed Mother of my plans to finally look for a husband, she thought I
should focus my attention on widowers, given my age. She suggested Lord Renley and Mr Waterman.’
James frowned, shaking his head. ‘Lord Renley is rich but his first wife was not a happy woman if the rumours are to be believed. And Mr Waterman is sinking in debt.’ He paused, looking at her appraisingly. ‘You’ve been in society for seven years, there must be someone you have your eye on. Someone you’ve considered at least.’
Glad she was not often prone to blushing, Caroline quickly shook her head. Whereas Henrietta would often single out gentlemen she would declare an interest in and then a few days later move her affections to some other young man, Caroline had never felt even the slightest spark for anyone but the man sitting across from her.
‘No.’
‘No one?’
‘No one.’
‘Interesting. Well, shall we start with a list of attributes you would like your future husband to have?’
Caroline looked at him blankly. Over the last few months she’d slowly come to the realisation that she did wish to marry, but the idea of a future husband seemed shadowy and unclear to her, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to imagine who he might be.
‘There must be something you want?’
‘Of course, but nothing so important that the lack of it would rule a man out. I’d like him to be comfortably wealthy, pleasant to look at, kind and respectable.’
‘We need to narrow down the possibilities more than that. What is your most important attribute for your future husband?’
Caroline sighed—this was proving even more difficult than she’d imagined. She wanted to shout out that he should look in the mirror, take every aspect of himself and consider that to be perfection in the man she wished to marry.
‘Perhaps I could suggest a few gentlemen who have shown a mild interest in the past?’
‘Splendid idea.’
‘Mr French.’
‘Too besotted with his mistress. Next.’
‘Lord Huntingdon.’
‘Far too old and grouchy.’