Mrs. Halliwell followed his glance. “I confess Mr. Winter, I had intended for my eldest son to marry your ward.”
His eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
She smiled. “You have nothing to fear. I believe you and Miss Christensen make the handsomer couple.”
“Have you any words of advice for my romantic campaign?”
She chuckled. “You need no words of wisdom from me, sir. You are doing quite well on your own.” The woman paused. “I knew Frederick Leopold rather well. He was a man of intense likes and dislikes.”
“I met my cousin only once, I’m afraid, but Bethany and Jane remember him fondly.”
“As do I. It’s a shame he never had a son to carry on the family name. If he were still alive, I imagine he would be quite proud of the way you’ve turned out.”
Will gave her a sharp glance, but she merely smiled. The music ended and he escorted Mrs. Halliwell off the dance floor. When a gentleman within view bowed and thanked his partner for the dance, Will emulated him. Before he and Mrs. Halliwell could converse further, she was waylaid by ladies who wished to compliment her on her gown. He backed away and glanced around for Bethany. Although she was not far away, she was surrounded by young gentlemen who were passing her dance card between themselves and arguing in a good-natured fashion over who was to claim which dance. Had he known how to dance anything more than a waltz, he would have claimed them all personally—despite the fact that Mr. Pace had warned him that he should never claim more than three dances from a lady—and only that many if he had serious intentions toward her.
He made his way over to Bethany, standing at a discreet distance until she had managed to get her dance card back into her hand. Then, he sidled up next to her.
“I believe the next dance is our waltz, Miss Christensen.”
She pretended to consult her card. “Why, I believe you are quite right.”
Will took her aside. “Did you tell Mrs. Halliwell about me?”
Her eyes widened. “Do you mean about…”
“Yes.”
“No, of course not. Why?”
“The lady said something to me that suggest she knows.”
Will glanced toward Mrs. Halliwell and happened to catch her eye. She beamed and waggled her fingers in greeting. Bethany and Will waved in response.
“I pretended not to understand what she was suggesting, naturally,” he continued. “I had no choice. I believe Miss Urban isn’t inclined to publicize anything Edgar Winter tells her any longer, but I didn’t realize other people might be aware of the truth.”
Bethany reached out to touch his arm. “Please don’t worry. If Mrs. Halliwell suspects anything, she’ll keep it to herself. She’s a bit of a gossip, but extremely loyal to her friends.”
He shook his head. “You society people seem to know a great deal about each other’s business. It’s almost like a sport.”
Bethany laughed. “You must admit, our lives are sometimes more dramatic than a Gothic novel.”
“My own life has all the elements for a gripping tale.”
Couple began lining up for the waltz and Bethany gestured toward the dance floor. “Shall we take our place?”
“Indeed.” As he escorted her onto the floor, he struggled to recall a bit of the poetry Mr. Pace had pressed upon him. “On with the dance, Bethany. Let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet, to chase the glowing hours with flying feet.”
A smile of pleasure curved her perfect lips. “That’s Byron, is it not?”
“So it is. You are extraordinarily well read, I must say.”
She giggled. “Not really. Minerva saw Mr. Pace reading Byron in the Servants’ Hall.”
Will frowned. “Blast! Can I have no secrets?”
“I will tell you a secret in return. I think Minerva is sweet on Mr. Pace.”
“Oh, dear.” He grimaced. “I’m not certain the poor chap has a romantic bone in his body.”
“His sudden interest in poetry has led her to believe otherwise.”
“Although he has not confided in me one way or another, I hope she’s not disappointed.”
When the waltz began, Will brushed aside any considerations other than dancing with the woman he loved. As he held her in his arms, she glanced at him from underneath her lashes.
“We are too close for propriety, Mr. Winter. One could almost say we are dangerously close.”
He gave her a slow, wicked grin. “Excellent.”
∞∞∞
After Will reluctantly relinquished Bethany to her next dance partner, he left the ballroom to see if he could find Charlie. A servant clad in blue satin pageboy costume carried a tray of empty glasses and full ashtrays past.
Will caught his eye. “Excuse me, but I’m looking for a fellow by the name of Charlie Perkins.”
The man stuck his thumb toward an open door down the hall. “He’s pouring drinks in the smoking room, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Will entered the library, passing Marley’s Ghost and Genghis Khan as they talked politics in a voluble manner. The air resembled a thick London fog, with the smoke from cigars and cigarettes wafting about, and almost every chair was filled by gentlemen in search of sanctuary from the falderal down the hall. He nodded at Fryer Tuck, a man he’d met briefly at the Jenkins’ soiree, before turning his attention to the bar set up alongside a wall of books. As he approached, a pageboy straightened from behind the bar with a fresh wiping cloth in hand.
Will took a seat at the bar and beckoned him over. “You there!”
Charlie fought to keep his countenance. “Good evening, Mr. Winter—or should I say King Oberon?” He lowered his voice. “How did your project from this afternoon come out?”
“It was…effective.” Will nodded. “Now I must turn my artistic abilities to Carmen up to Data. Now, what sort of refreshment do you have fit for a fairy king?”
“We have all manner of spirits, some of which have French names I can’t pronounce. What can I get for you?”
“Tea—but pour it in a glass so it looks like whiskey.”
“Tea, eh?” His friend looked at him askance. “You never were much of a drinker, but maybe you could relax every once in a while.”
“Every once in a while, I do.” Will lowered his voice. “It just so happens, I have enemies in attendance at this ball.”
“Your vigilance does you credit.” Charlie poured amber liquid from a carafe into a glass and put it down on the bar in front of him.
A flash of red in the doorway alerted him to the arrival of Nick Masters. As the man claimed the adjacent bar stool, Will gave him a level glance. “Speak of the devil.”
Nick’s laugh was mirthless as he glanced at Charlie. “I’ll have what he’s having.” He jerked his head toward Will.
Will slid Charlie a surreptitious wink. “A whiskey for Mr. Masters.”
“Aye.” Charlie uncorked a bottle of Dunville’s VR, poured a healthy quantity into a glass, and slid it over to Nick.
Will watched as Nick drank. “This is supposed to be a fancy dress ball, Masters. Where is your costume?”
The man chuckled, even as his eyes glittered with dislike. “I would very much like to take a swing at you, Winter.”
“The feeling is mutual. What’s stopping you?”
“Miss Urban has informed me I’m to leave you alone.”
Will feigned surprise. “Did she tell you why?”
“No, but if you said anything to offend her, it’ll be the worse for you.”
Will drank down the rest of his tea and beckoned to Charlie. “I’ll have another.”
Nick drained his glass. “Same.”
As Charlie turned his back to comply, Will folded his arms across his chest. “I’m going to do you a favor.”
Nick guffawed. “You think quite highly of yourself. I don’t want any favors from you.”
“I’m going to give you a bit of interesting information nevertheless.”
Charlie put down their drinks. Will took a big gulp of tea and winced, as if he’d gulped down a mouthful of strong drink.
“You can’t even drink like a gentleman.” Nick drained his glass without changing expression. “That’s how it’s done at Oxford, but then you wouldn’t know about such things.”
“Quite right.” Will leaned closer. “What if I were to tell you that Mr. Urban has gone off to Liverpool tonight?”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I care about his comings and goings?”
Will shrugged. “Perhaps you don’t. It seems to me, however, that an enterprising young man might use the absence of a guardian to elope with the lady of his dreams.”
“That’s none of your business.” Nick lurched to his feet. “How do you know Gray went to Liverpool?”
“Miss Urban told me personally.”
Nick scowled. “You look stupid without your trousers.”
“That’s not what I hear.”
After Nick strode off with his tail dragging behind him, Charlie leaned on the bar. “What was that all about?”
“Hopefully, I just tied up some loose ends.”
“Playing tricks on the devil, eh?” Charlie grinned. “Reminds me a trifle of Twelfth Night.”
Will paused to recall some fitting text. “‘What, man, defy the devil. Consider, he's an enemy to mankind.’”
Charlie tossed his head. “‘To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!’”
“Ho, Mr. Winter?” Will glanced over to see Fryer Tuck beckoning him over. “Come join me.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be with you directly.”
Will stood, picked up his glass, and gave Charlie a crooked smile before ambling off through the smoke. Hopefully, morning would find Nicholas Masters and Magenta Urban on a train to Scotland—and his troubles along with them.
∞∞∞
Bethany stumbled as Will helped her climb into the carriage. “Oops. Either I’m tired or I’ve had too much champagne.” As he was seated next to her, she turned her back. “Can you unfasten my wings?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
As the carriage began to roll, he tugged gently at the satin ribbons over her right shoulder blade and untied the bow.
“I had such a marvelous time tonight, Mr. Winter.” Bethany hid a yawn behind her gloved hand. “Did you get many illustrations?”
“I filled my entire sketchbook.”
“That’s wonderful.”
He tugged at the left bow until the ribbons slid free. Moments later, Will lifted the wings from her costume and laid them on the facing seat. Before she could move, he slid his arms around her waist and caressed the back of her bare neck with a kiss.
“Lean against me if you’re tired. It’s after two o’clock.”
She sighed and relaxed into his arms. “I can’t believe the hour is so late.”
He smiled as the feathers in her hair tickled his face. “I can believe it. The day has been rather momentous in many ways.”
“Tell me.”
Her voice was so drowsy, Will spoke softly. “I convinced Magenta Urban to leave us alone, I encouraged Nick Masters to elope with her, and I spoke with a man who owns an art gallery.”
Bethany said nothing in response, but her breathing was so regular, he knew she had fallen asleep. Will brushed aside his faint tinge of disappointment. Perhaps it had been too soon to mention the Bond Street art gallery owner dressed as Friar Tuck, but he could not stop thinking about their conversation.
Mr. Fitzhugh glanced over his sketchbook, made approving noises here and there, and laughed uproariously at Will’s depiction of various costumes. Thereafter, he pressed his card into Will’s hand.
“You have a studio, I presume?”
Will nodded. “I’ve taken one just today in fact.”
“When you’ve amassed a collection of your work, sent me a message and I’ll come view it. The London Art Season doesn’t commence until March, of course, but I occasionally have private showings for select clientele in the meantime.”
Will fought to keep his countenance. “I would be delighted.”
Mr. Fitzhugh gestured toward Will’s sketchbook. “If you continue to have your illustrations published in the Times, I expect you’ll make a name for yourself rather quickly.” He paused. “Under whom did you study?”
Will’s stomach dropped. “Er…a fellow in Gisburn by the name of Mr. Bannon. You’ve probably never heard of him.”
“You don’t mean Ignatius Bannon, do you?” Mr. Fitzhugh’s eyes widened. “The man exhibited regularly at the Royal Academy. You are very fortunate indeed to have had his tutelage.”
Will was taken aback by the information, but he covered it with a smile. “Yes…I would have to say working under Mr. Bannon changed my life.”
Bethany sighed in her sleep and Will tightened his arms around her. As they rolled through the streets of London, the steady clip clop of horses’ hooves lent a soothing rhythm to the journey. An unfamiliar feeling came over him and after a short struggle, he finally managed to identify it. Perhaps for the first time in his entire life he was truly…contented. A smile tugged the corner of his mouth and he pressed a kiss onto Bethany’s luxurious tresses. Was it too much to hope his contentment would continue unabated forever?
∞∞∞
Monday morning
Will slid into his silk wrapper, his skin glowing from an early-morning bath. As he stepped into his slippers, Mr. Pace hastened into the room with a book in his hand.
“I purchased more fresh flowers on your behalf, Mr. Winter, and I’ve found the perfect poem for you.” He held up the book. “‘In an Artists Studio,’ by Christina Rossetti. She’s not as well known of a poet as Elizabeth Barrett Browning, but she’s quite respected nevertheless.” The valet turned to a bookmarked page and cleared his throat. “‘One face looks out from all his canvases, one selfsame figure sits or walks or leans; We found her hidden just behind those screens, That mirror gave back all her loveliness’ and it goes on from there.”
“Well done, sir, on all counts.” Will nodded. “I commend you heartily.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Pace beamed as he set the book down on a table. “Let’s get you presentable, shall we?”
As the man crossed over to the closet, Will cast about for a way to broach the awkward topic of Minerva. When Mr. Pace emerged with a suit of clothes, Will gave him an apologetic glance.
“I’ve caused you a bit of difficulty in the Servants’ Hall, I’m afraid.”
The man’s eyebrows lifted. “I can’t think how, Mr. Winter.” He laid the suit out across the coverlet on the bed and moved over to the dresser.
“It’s the poetry and the flowers. One of the servants has been hoping your thoughts have turned to romance.”
The color left Mr. Pace’s face, only to be replaced by a crimson so deep that Will was alarmed.
“Are you all right?” He grabbed the valet by the arm, steered him to a chair, and hastened to pour the fellow a glass of water. “Take a sip of that and put your head down if you feel faint.”
The fellow brought the glass to his trembling lips and gulped a mouthful before giving the glass back to Will. “Thank you, Mr. Winter, but I am well. Nevertheless, I would not wish to encourage Mrs. Deedle for anything in the world. She is nothing more to me than an elder sister.”
Will peered at him, open-mouthed. “I don’t mean Mrs. Deedle! For heavens sake, man, use a little imagination. I am referring to Minerva.”
Mr. Pace expression became bewildered. “You must be mistaken. I would no sooner raise my thoughts to Miss Minerva Brown than I would the moon or the stars! She’s far too young and pretty to look kindly on a fellow like me.”
“It’s none of my business, of course, but you’re always attired in a dapper fashion. Furthermore, you are exceedingly well read and accomplished. Some young women are attracted to men of such distinction, no matter their age.”
Mr. Pace stood and tugged
on the sleeves of his jacket. “I shall give it due consideration, Mr. Winter.”
Although the valet continued with his morning routine, Will was torn between relief and regret over having spoken up. He had no wish to upset a man he had come to regard fondly, yet he did not wish to shirk any responsibility he might have for inadvertently putting thoughts of romance in Minerva’s head. As Mr. Pace was brushing off the shoulders of his jacket with a lint brush, however, Will caught the faint sound of humming.
He glanced at the valet. “What is that?”
Mr. Pace cocked his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“That song you were humming. What is it?”
“I wasn’t humming, sir.”
Nevertheless, as Mr. Pace continued to work, Will heard him humming again. Since the valet was apparently unaware of the fact, Will said nothing further.
“There. You are ready to go down to breakfast.” The valet beamed.
“Thank you, Mr. Pace. I’m most grateful.”
As Mr. Pace tended to Will’s discarded silk wrapper, Will left the room with a puzzled frown. He was halfway to the stairs when he heard the valet begin to sing the lyrics of “Come Into the Garden, Maud.” Will’s frown disappeared and he shook his head in amazement.
“One is never too old for romance, it seems.”
∞∞∞
Jane waved a letter in the air. “Miss Felicia Halliwell has asked me to tea tomorrow afternoon!”
Bethany gave her a smile. “That’s lovely. I shall escort you there personally.”
Will’s smile was apologetic. “I would take you there as well, but I’m working in my studio. In fact, I’m heading there now, after I drop my illustrations off at the Times.”
“I shall be all morning answering these invitations.” Bethany glanced at the pile on the salver. “Mrs. Halliwell was right. Once society realized we weren’t going to be universally shunned due to Mr. Urban’s lies, they relented.”
Will made a face. “Now we must worry about getting back into Mr. Southerly’s good graces.”
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