An Escapade and an Engagement

by Annie Burrows

  ‘You know, I hope, that you can trust me not to reveal what went on?’

  ‘Of course I trust you,’ she said, looking up into his stern face. She would trust this man with her whole future. He would never let her down.

  And just like that she understood exactly what it was that had made her aunt Aurora defy convention to run off with the man she loved. If she ever won the heart of a man like this she would follow him to the ends of the earth if he should ask it of her. She gasped at the audacity of even thinking such a thing, tore her eyes away from him and fanned her heated cheeks briskly.

  He took a step back. Dammit, he had been standing too close to her. Just because she’d let him hold her in his arms when she’d been distressed, it did not mean she was ready to repeat the experience.

  A friend. That was all she wanted him to be.

  ‘May I take you for a drive tomorrow?’

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, there is no need.’

  ‘There is every need. You have more need of me now than at any time since we first met.’

  ‘I do not need anyone,’ she retorted. Then hung her head. ‘But, yes, I would enjoy going for a drive tomorrow.’

  No, she did not need anyone. He’d watched her pulling herself together after Kendell had betrayed her trust, marvelling at her inner strength.

  He would be a fool to think he might be able to make her fall in love with him, even if he knew how to begin courting her.

  But then… He hadn’t expected whichever woman he eventually decided to propose to to love him, either.

  His heart began to beat very fast.

  Was there a chance for him after all?

  He certainly had one advantage over every single other man she knew, and that was his knowledge of the affair with Harry. He knew she was unhappy, and why, and he could at least offer her an escape. He could take her away from Town, and all its unpleasant associations, and give her the opportunity to recover.

  And, as an added benefit, he could offer her the freedom she craved.

  The freedom to be herself. That had to be worth something, didn’t it?

  Ye gods. He was seriously thinking about proposing to Lady Jayne Chilcott.

  ‘Then I shall see you tomorrow,’ he said curtly, and led her back to her seat beside Lady Penrose.

  For the rest of the evening Lady Jayne surreptitiously followed Lord Ledbury’s movements. He sat out the quadrille in the company of a plain, plump girl she didn’t know. He took a walk round the perimeter of the ballroom with Lady Susan Pettiffer during the first half of a set of country dances. And he escorted Lucy Beresford into supper. At least, Lucy would have liked to think so. The truth was closer to being that they were in the same party, which included her brother and the plain plump girl.

  It appeared that his search for a suitable bride had been continuing apace while she had been out of circulation. Well, what had she expected? He was the kind of man who, when set a task, did it to the best of his ability. She only had to think of Milly’s description of how determined he had been to learn the fandango.

  It was as if he regarded his whole life as a contest which he was determined to win. She’d noticed his belligerence the very first night they’d met, though she hadn’t understood its cause. He’d walked into that ballroom and glared round as though defying anyone to question his right to be there. She smiled ruefully. Now she knew him better she wouldn’t be a bit surprised to learn that part of what drove him was the need to prove to his family that he was a better man than they took him for.

  Her smile faded away. That made it especially kind of him to continue with the pretence on which they’d agreed—that he was interested in her and she was responding to his suit. If he wouldn’t even marry Milly, the woman he loved, he most certainly wasn’t really going to consider a silly chit who’d almost been seduced by a man with nothing to recommend him but a handsome face. Who was a harum scarum creature that he’d watched getting into one disgraceful scrape after another.

  Not that she wanted to get married anyway. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t.

  So why did she suddenly feel so depressed?

  ‘I am growing quite tired, Lady Penrose,’ she said morosely, plying her fan to stir the stuffy air of the ballroom. ‘May we leave soon?’

  ‘Of course, my dear,’ said Lady Penrose. ‘You need to recoup your strength so that you look your best for your outing tomorrow.’

  Lady Jayne’s heart sank still further. Her chaperone was convinced Lord Ledbury was developing a tendre for her. She was going to be so disappointed when it all came to nothing.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘What you need,’ Lord Ledbury said, the moment his groom had set the carriage in motion, ‘is a change of scenery.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. It was a lovely idea of yours to take the air in the park this afternoon.’

  ‘No, no, I didn’t mean that.’ He turned his upper body to face her. ‘You were drawn tight as a bowstring last night at that wretched ball, trying to preserve a calm facade so that nobody could tell how badly you are suffering. It would do you good to get out of Town altogether for a space. Spend some time recovering in the countryside.’

  For a moment she was quite worried. She had thought she had done such a good job of concealing her lowness of spirits. She darted a glance at Lord Ledbury, who was gazing at her with one of his searching frowns. She relaxed, remembering she had confided as much to him last night. And was touched to see he’d been thinking about what she’d said, and was offering his advice.

  ‘It is kind of you to be concerned for my welfare. And, to be honest, I should dearly love to return to Kent, in some ways. Only…’ She pulled at the fingers of her gloves. ‘I really, really don’t want to let this business with Harry defeat me. Going home would feel like a defeat. Besides,’ she continued with a wry smile, ‘I cannot think of anything that would induce my grandfather to have me back.’

  ‘I did not mean to imply I thought you should go home. Far from it.’

  He took a deep breath and took the gamble of his life. He knew she was the wrong woman in so many ways, and yet if he wrote her out of his life irrevocably, without even trying… Well, he would always regret it.

  ‘I would like you to attend a house party I mean to get up at Courtlands, the family seat in Buckinghamshire.’

  While she was maintaining her defences so rigidly, to conceal the depth of her hurt, he stood no chance of ascertaining what her feelings towards him had the potential to become. But in the less formal atmosphere of a country house party there would be plenty of opportunities for breaching the rigid etiquette Society enforced. Rides in the woods, strolls through the shrubbery, picnics by the lake…

  ‘A house party? So early in the Season?’ People did not normally start deserting the capital until the weather started to grow uncomfortably hot.

  Unless they wanted to introduce a prospective bride to the head of a family, and give them a glimpse of the property of which they might one day become mistress.

  Was he that close to making a decision? A shaft of pain went through her. How on earth could he think it would do her good to watch him make his selection from whichever other girls he invited down there, whilst discounting her from the running altogether?

  She averted her head sharply while she grappled with her emotions. He wasn’t being deliberately cruel. Not Lord Ledbury. It sounded as though he really just wanted to offer her some respite from the ni
ghtmare that her Season had become. He could have no idea that he was catapulting her into an altogether different kind of nightmare, since she’d taken great care not to let him know how very much she was beginning to…admire him.

  ‘The grounds of Courtlands are quite lovely at this time of year,’ he said. ‘But, to tell you the truth, I need an excuse to get out of Town, too. You are the one person to whom I can confess this, but I feel almost like a traitor, doing nothing but going to balls, or performances at the theatre, when it looks as though the whole of Europe is about to be plunged into yet another war.’

  She could have kicked herself. Why did she always only look at things from her own point of view? Every day the papers reported more regiments sailing for the Low Countries, and poor Lord Ledbury was stuck in England, obliged to find himself a suitable bride—whilst his heart belonged to Milly.

  ‘It must be terribly frustrating for you,’ she said. ‘Everyone who has any military experience at all seems to be scrambling to get across to the continent and join up. If I were a man, and I had been used to being in the army, having to kick my heels in London whilst others went off to trounce Bonaparte would make me want to scream with frustration.’

  That surprised a wry laugh from him. ‘I would never scream, no matter what the provocation. But I admit that sometimes it is all I can do to keep a civil tongue in my head when people who have never been involved make stupid remarks about…oh, how shocking it is that Bonaparte’s former marshals won’t arrest him, for instance.’

  ‘As if they would! On fat Louis Bourbon’s orders!’

  ‘That is a remarkably perceptive thing for such a… I mean, you follow the news? The political news?’

  She supposed she should be glad he’d swallowed back whatever derogatory remark he’d been on the verge of making. ‘Why should I not read the newspapers?’

  ‘Not many ladies would. I’m pretty certain that most would not consider it a fit topic of conversation, either.’

  She wondered whether that was a rebuke, as well. Except he didn’t look the least bit cross with her. And that encouraged her to admit, ‘Well, I don’t say that I always understand everything I read, especially when a report seems to contradict the one that went before it, but…’

  ‘War can be a confusing business. Nobody can ever really know the truth of any battle unless he was there,’ he said grimly. ‘And as for what gets printed in the papers…’ He drew a deep breath, as though deliberately distancing himself from whatever thoughts had put such a grim expression on his face.

  ‘Let us not speak of such matters on such a lovely day.’ She laid her hand tentatively upon his sleeve, the only way she could think of to express her sympathy.

  He felt the pressure of her hand, and the rather sad little smile that accompanied it, like a benediction. Sometimes it was as though Lady Jayne could see into his very soul. Nobody had ever intuitively understood him the way she did.

  He wished he could snatch up her hand, carry it to his mouth and press his lips upon it in homage. His fingers flexed as he willed himself not to behave in such a rash manner. She wasn’t ready to think of him in those terms. Besides, they were in a public park. He must not do anything to add to the speculation that had resulted in that bet being written down. He wanted to protect her from that kind of nastiness, not make her situation more uncomfortable than it already was.

  Besides, he needed to persuade her to come down to Courtlands—not frighten her into refusing the invitation.

  ‘Come, Lady Jayne. You have admitted that you would rather be in the countryside than in Town. And Kent is not an option. I am offering you Courtlands.’ Perhaps in more ways than one. ‘Please say you will come.’

  His expression turned exceptionally earnest. As though it really mattered to him that she should be there. Though she could not imagine why. Except… She was the only person who understood how hard it was for him to pick a bride of whom his family would approve when his heart really belonged to Milly. Did he want her there to lend him moral support?

  ‘I…I don’t know,’ she prevaricated. Was she up to putting aside her own hurt and supporting him this way? Nobody else had ever asked for her support. It was a huge compliment. To avoid having to make a definite answer either way, she asked, ‘Who else will be going?’

  ‘Berry, with whom I was at school. He renewed our acquaintance when I first moved into Lavenham House. And his sister Lucy. We first met at her coming-out ball, if you remember?’

  Lady Jayne’s mind flew back to that night. How she had thought him grim and unapproachable as she’d watched him fending off the advances of ambitious matchmaking mothers. And then how later he’d come so magnificently to her rescue. Still looking grim, to be sure, but not in the least bit unapproachable. She’d somehow poured out her whole life story, telling him things she’d never shared with another living soul.

  He was looking at her as though he was remembering that night, too. Little shifts in his expression told her that he was reliving it all just as she was. The shock of coming across her in the park, his anger with her for behaving so disgracefully, his sympathy for all the people she’d dragged down into the mire with her…

  She tore her eyes from his and said, ‘Yes—and who else, pray?’

  ‘Another young lady who happens to be a friend of hers, Lady Susan Pettiffer, and a couple you may not know: Tom Waring—Lord Halstead, as he is now—and Miss Julia Twining. But does it really matter? Courtlands is a vast building. You need not even speak to any of them, should you not wish to. Please, think about it seriously.’

  Serious? Could there be anything more serious than to hear that these were the women from whom he meant to make his choice?

  Admittedly Lucy Beresford must seem as though she would make a good countess, in that she had a zeal for charitable works. Oh, yes, she could just picture her swanning into the houses of the deserving poor on his estates, distributing largesse with a self-satisfied smile.

  And, yes, admittedly Lady Susan had a brilliant mind. She read extensively, attended lectures at all sorts of obscure scientific societies and could talk at great length upon just about any topic under the sun. He could probably see her presiding over fabulous dinners…where she would cut the less brilliant among them down to size with her rapier wit.

  And, in spite of what he thought, she did know who Miss Julia Twining was. She’d found out last night on the way home, when she’d asked for the name of the plump girl with whom he’d sat out the quadrille, attempting to draw her into conversation. A lot of men found her voluptuous curves very attractive, Lady Penrose had informed her. And the fact that she was shy was no drawback. Men often liked a woman to have a meek and biddable disposition.

  Some men, yes. But surely not a man of Lord Ledbury’s temperament? He would walk all over her. And grow bored with her. And make her dreadfully unhappy. For how could the poor girl do anything but fall in love with him if she married him?

  He wouldn’t grow bored with Lady Susan, she admitted. She was so clever there would never be any lack of things to discuss. But they could never be in total harmony, for Lord Ledbury was basically kind and Lady Susan was…not.

  Lucy was beginning to look less unappealing in comparison with those two. She did at least appear to have a kind nature. Grudgingly she conceded that Lucy Beresford might not make too bad a fist as Countess of Lavenham when the time came. She would see to the welfare of the tenants—albeit in such a way that they would all feel crushed by h
er condescension. But what kind of wife would she be? Not a loving one.

  And Lord Ledbury ought to have a wife who loved him. When she thought of how hurt he must have been when his family ignored his sufferings after his injury at Orthez… And how he had more or less expected it…

  No. She couldn’t bear to think of the rest of his life being as grim and cheerless as his youth must have been. She must warn him what these three girls were really like. There was plenty of time to find someone else—someone with whom he stood a chance of finding some measure of happiness.

  She turned to him, intending to warn him that if he married any one of these three girls he would regret it for the rest of his life. She even drew a breath to form the words.

  But she never spoke them aloud. For she could not believe he would heed any warning she might give him. Not the girl he’d caught making a total fool of herself over a man like Harry. She’d demonstrated she was an exceptionally poor judge of character by being so completely taken in.

  Oh, this was awful. Her own unhappiness seemed so small and petty in comparison with the misery upon which he was about to embark.

  What on earth was she to do?

  She wasn’t sure she could bear to go to Courtlands and witness him proposing to one of those girls, knowing it would lead to a lifetime of misery for him.

  But if she didn’t go she would feel as if she’d abandoned the one person who’d selflessly come to her aid not once, but several times in the few weeks since they’d met.

  ‘I will think about it,’ she said, her throat feeling as though she had swallowed broken glass.

  ‘Then I suppose I shall have to be content with that,’ he said, looking anything but.

  * * *

  The formal invitation arrived four days later. Lady Penrose took one look at it and let out a little cry of delight.