George brushed a speck of imaginary dust off the tassel of his boot. “I recall no such request,” he said. He raised his eyes and met Stephen’s gaze full on. “You asked that I conduct myself with civility, and I have done so.”
Stephen took a deep breath and reminded himself that he needed to stay calm. It had taken days for George to agree to see him. The delay had only fueled Stephen’s anger, for he was not used to begging anyone for favors. But for Miss Somerville’s sake, he was willing to do this, and more.
They sat in the study at Grosvenor Square, which had changed little in the seven years since his father’s death. The massive mahogany desk and chair gleamed under coats of beeswax polish, while his father’s ivory and silver writing set sat precisely in the center of the green felt blotter. The shelves of the east wall were filled with leather-bound volumes, whose precise arrangements hinted that they were seldom if ever taken down and read. Stephen’s own books were in Chesterfield Hall, and he doubted very much that George had cracked open a book since his school days.
The two brothers sat in upholstered chairs that flanked a bay window offering a view of the street and square beyond. It was a pleasant spot for conversation or whiling away idle hours with one’s intimates. But even as Stephen cast his mind back, he could not ever recall a time when he and George had simply relaxed and spent an hour as friends. There was at once too much and too little between them for that kind of casual connection.
“Have you reconsidered my offer?” Stephen asked. “A thousand pounds, and I will clear your debts in London, once you resume your travels.”
It was a generous offer, and George should have jumped at it. London in the season was an expensive place to be, and with his quarterly allowance pledged to pay old debts, George must be teetering on the edge of financial ruin.
“Intriguing, but you may save your generosity for someone else,” George said. “I find London quite suits my mood at the moment.”
He rose and crossed to the sideboard, pouring himself a generous glass of his brother’s brandy. He turned and raised one eyebrow. “Brother?”
“No,” Stephen replied. He was in no mood for drinking.
He wondered if he should double his offer. Or treble it. But somehow he doubted that it would have any effect. George was obviously enjoying having the upper hand over his brother for once and showed no signs that he was willing to give up his advantage.
George slowly strolled around the room, the brandy glass in his left hand, his fingers trailing along the bookshelves. “This library was all for show, you know,” he commented. “Father bought the books because he thought they would look well in this room, and all gentlemen were expected to have a library. I doubt he read a dozen in his life.”
“Actually, Father was a great reader,” Stephen corrected him. “He gave me his own set of Virgil when I went to Eton.”
“That may have been true, once,” George said. “But the father I knew had far more interesting diversions to occupy his time than mere books.”
Stephen tasted bile at this casual reminder of how close George had been to their father. In those last years it had been just the three of them, Caroline, George, and his father, while Stephen had been banished outside the family circle. To be certain they had dressed it up prettily enough. Soon after George’s birth Stephen had been sent away to school, while his father doted over his infant son. He had returned home for summers and school breaks, but somehow his stepmother, Caroline, always made him feel as if he were the outsider, intruding upon the happy family that they had made. As George grew, he followed his mother’s example, despising his older brother and taking every opportunity to cast Stephen in a bad light. Stephen’s overtures of friendship were harshly rebuffed, until he learned to perfect a mask of indifference.
His father had always seemed oblivious to the tensions that ran between his two sons. Or perhaps he had merely ignored them, avoiding unpleasantness as was his habit. Why else would he have given Stephen sole use of the house on Chesterfield Hill when Stephen was barely twenty? His peers had envied him his freedom, not realizing that this freedom came with a bitter price.
Stephen searched within himself. Surely there ought to be some scrap of affection for George, of brotherly feeling. After all, their father’s blood ran through both their veins. But, instead, Stephen looked at George and he felt nothing except contempt. It was as if he gazed upon the face of a stranger.
He watched as George perched himself on the desk, idly swinging one foot.
“In a way I suppose you are like these books. Dull and virtuous and precisely what one expects to find in such a setting. It is no wonder that Miss Somerville prefers my company to yours.”
Stephen rose to his feet “I do not want you to speak of her.”
“Then, why else am I here? And you cannot deny it is the truth. After all, she is hardly shunning me, is she? Chatting with me at the opera, meeting at the park for an afternoon picnic, ices at Gunther’s. It is all of a piece, is it not?”
His mind whirled. A picnic? Ices at Gunther’s tea shop? This was the first he had heard of such excursions. And yet why would George lie? It would be all too easy for Stephen to confirm the truth.
His mind brought forth images of Diana laughing; only this time he saw George standing beside her. George, whom she ought to despise but, instead, seemed to have forgiven.
“You will stay away from her,” Stephen repeated.
“Or?”
“Or I will forget I am a gentleman and do the unexpected,” he said, his voice soft with menace.
George raised his brandy glass to his lips and drained it in a single swallow. He set the glass down on the gleaming desk top and then pushed himself off onto his feet. “I believe you might,” he said. “You love her, don’t you?”
“That is none of your affair,” Stephen replied, wary of handing his brother yet another weapon that could be used against him.
George nodded, as if his brother’s words had confirmed his belief.
“I will keep my distance,” he said. “Though I can make no promises for Miss Somerville’s behavior.”
It was the best he could hope for.
George strode to the door and opened it. Then he paused, resting one hand on the doorframe. “You know, in a way you should thank me,” he said.
“How so?”
“Without me, you would never have had a chance at a woman like Miss Somerville. She craves excitement and adventure in her life and wanted a gentleman who could satisfy her needs. But thanks to my meddling, she is forced to settle for what she can get. Forced to settle for you.”
Stephen growled and moved toward his brother, but George darted through the doorway. As Stephen reached the hall, he saw his brother disappearing down the staircase, stepping around two housemaids who were polishing the floor.
A part of him wanted to follow and to settle his differences with his brother once and for all. Regardless of watching eyes or the scandal it would no doubt bring. But another part of him, the cautious part that ruled his nature, slowed his feet.
There was nothing to be gained from a confrontation with his brother. George had given his promise to stay away from Diana, and now it remained to be seen if he intended to keep to his word.
Stephen returned to the study with a heavy heart and sat down in the chair that he still thought of as his father’s. With the fingers of his right hand he traced idle designs on the blotter as he thought about his predicament. There was nothing more he could do. George had resisted bribes, threats, and an appeal to his so-called good nature. The best he could hope for now was that George would find some other diversion to keep him entertained for the next few weeks.
After all, as far as George knew, the engagement was real. No doubt he envisioned a lifetime of being able to torment his older brother.
But Stephen knew otherwise. In a few short weeks Miss Somerville would leave London, and then she would leave his life. If he wanted her to stay with him, he would
have to convince her that he was the better of the two brothers. The only one who could give her the love that she deserved.
It took three full days for Diana to forgive Lord Endicott for having borne witness to the mishap at the Serpentine Lake. She knew it was petty of her, but somehow she felt as if he were to blame, if not for the boat overturning, then certainly for having stayed there to bear witness to her disgrace.
Knowing that she was once again the subject of London gossip was also unpleasant, and Diana was forced to grit her teeth as guests at Lady Knowlton’s rout kept coming up to her, inquiring about her sudden desire to go swimming in the lake. Even her friends could not resist poking gentle fun at her, and she reluctantly conceded that it must have been an amusing sight. To everyone except the participants, that was.
But after a few days she calmed down and wrote to Lord Endicott, inviting him to take tea with her and her parents on the next afternoon. He accepted with eagerness, and on that afternoon she dressed with special care, remembering her bedraggled appearance the last time he saw her.
When she entered the drawing room, Stephen rose to greet her. “Miss Somerville, you look lovely as always,” he said.
She searched his face, but found no hint of mockery.
“I seem to recall when last we met that I looked more like a drowned rat,” Diana said. “And I must thank you for your kindness in seeing me home so swiftly.”
“I am grateful you suffered no ill effects from your dunking,” Stephen answered. “And as for your appearance, the details have faded in my mind, as I trust you have forgotten my own dishevelment.”
“I would prefer to forget the whole day entirely,” Diana said. “As, I am sure, would Mr. Fox.”
“Have you sworn off boating for life?”
“No,” Diana said, after a moment’s reflection. It was a skill that could prove useful, after all. Even in England there were lakes and ponds aplenty, and one never knew when a knowledge of rowing might be needed. “I would still like to learn, but next time I will be more careful whom I choose to teach me.”
“It is wise to find the best teacher one can,” Stephen agreed. “And rowboats of the type you were in the other day are quite tricky. You might do better to start on a punt, in a quiet lake where there are fewer distractions.”
“Are you offering yourself as an instructor?”
Stephen shrugged. “Perhaps. There are no suitable lakes near London, but at our estate in Eastbourne there is a large pond, and a boathouse. As a boy I enjoyed many hours upon the pond.”
“It must have been lovely,” Diana replied.
She wondered if there was another meaning behind his words. Was he hinting that he wished to spend more time with her? Was this an oblique invitation to visit his home? Or had he simply fallen into the pattern of pretending to others that he and Diana had a future together that now he said such things without thinking?
She wished to question him further, but just then her parents arrived, along with the tea cart. They exchanged greetings, and then Stephen inquired about her sisters back in Kent. Her mother, launched into her favorite topic, insisted on reading aloud the latest letter from home, in which all six sisters had felt a need to share their latest news. The conversation then turned general. Diana enjoyed herself and marveled at how comfortable Stephen seemed to be in this family gathering. He was equally at ease listening to her mother’s doting accounts of the girls as he was in arguing politics with her father. When he finally rose, she was startled at how swiftly time had passed.
Before taking his leave, he invited Diana to join him on an excursion tomorrow, promising to show her a special treat. With eagerness she agreed.
Fifteen
Diana held Lord Endicott’s arm firmly as he steered her through the crowds that thronged Green Park. From all sides they were pressed in as gentry and commoners alike filled every square foot of open ground, enjoying the warm sunshine and festival atmosphere. On their left she saw an enterprising fiddler playing a lively tune while a small boy carried a basket among the spectators. A few yards away two tumblers performed acrobatic somersaults. They briefly caught her eye, but then she remembered the reason why she and Lord Endicott had come here and pressed onward.
She twisted her head from side to side and then sighed in frustration. “Can you see it?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Lord Endicott said. “I believe they were to set up on the north field. Past that stand of trees, over there.” He pointed the way with his walking stick.
She tugged his arm, urging him to greater speed. He smiled indulgently and increased his pace. They followed a well-trodden path up a slight rise and through the trees, and then suddenly, there it was.
Before her the crowd gathered around a great balloon, which though tethered to the ground, seemed ready to soar to the heavens. The balloon itself was made of alternating panels of green and yellow silks, festooned with red, white, and blue buntings that gave it a most patriotic appearance. Underneath the silken canopy, she could make out glimpses of a wicker basket and a half dozen men busy at various incomprehensible tasks.
“It is just as wonderful as I imagined,” she declared.
“Would you like to see it closer?”
Diana nodded. The crowd around the balloon was thick, but with persistent politeness, the viscount was able to make their way through until they stood close enough to hear the aeronaut, Mr. Poundstone, expound upon his creation.
“Now this here balloon is a vast improvement over the French design. The burners have been redesigned, allowing safer control of the inflation process, which makes the balloon able to fly,” he said, gesturing with his left arm.
At his cue, his assistant turned a lever, and a jet of flame shot upward. The crowed oohed, and Mr. Poundstone nodded, as if he had just accomplished a spectacular feat. Then, at his command, the assistant extinguished the jet, and Mr. Poundstone continued his lecture.
“I myself have traveled great distances in this very balloon, often fifty miles or more, in perfect safety and comfort,” Mr. Poundstone testified. “And in fair weather, and with the right winds, an intrepid man might cross the English Channel in this very vessel.”
“The Channel,” Diana echoed. What a marvelous feat that would be. Such an explorer would, indeed, be celebrated, and if it were a woman who made the trip…
“I hope he knows how to swim,” Stephen added, sotto voce.
Diana nudged him with her elbow. No doubt Stephen would never undertake such a journey. Or if he did, he would have made arrangements to be followed at all times by a sailing vessel, in case of mishap or danger. Perhaps even two sailing vessels, to suit his cautious nature.
Not that she blamed him. It was not his fault if he lacked a spirit of adventure.
She listened as Mr. Poundstone continued to expound upon the glories of his craft and the new worlds that these brave aeronauts were opening up. When the explorer finished his lecture, she applauded enthusiastically with the rest.
“Thank you,” she said, turning to Stephen. “This was a lovely treat.”
She knew she was beaming ear to ear and was not surprised when Stephen grinned back at her.
“It was my pleasure,” he replied.
Diana knew she looked foolish, but she could not help smiling. She had always wanted to see a hot air balloon up close, and it had seemed a dream come true when Lord Endicott had called and offered to be her escort.
She was happy, she realized. And it was not just the excursion. She was happy because he was here. For she had missed this. Missed the connection she had formed with Lord Endicott. It seemed ages since they had been allowed to simply enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company. She had not felt so free since George had returned. But as quickly as his name came to mind, she banished it. She would not ruin this day by thinking of George and the confusing emotions he stirred within her.
“The crowd is thinning. Perhaps we can exchange a few words with Mr. Poundstone,” Diana said.
> Stephen allowed himself to be led over and then waited until the aeronaut caught sight of his fashionably dressed spectators.
“My lord, I am at your service,” he said, giving a short bow.
Up close the aeronaut was older than she had expected, with a ruddy complexion and a rotund figure. Perhaps he acts as his own ballast, Diana thought, and then bit her lip.
“I am Lord Endicott, and this is my fiancée, Miss Somerville,” Stephen said.
“Lord Endicott. Miss Somerville,” Mr. Poundstone repeated, bowing to each of them.
“Miss Somerville was most impressed with your lecture,” Lord Endicott said.
“Indeed, I was,” Diana interjected. “Tell me, do you plan to make any ascents in the near future? Today, perhaps?”
Seeing the balloon on the ground was fascinating, but now she wished to witness the spectacle of watching the craft soar into the sky above their heads.
To her disappointment, Mr. Poundstone shook his head. “I am afraid not, miss. The winds today are too strong, and from the southwest, which is a bad omen for flight. We hope to do better on the morrow.”
“Of course,” Diana said. Apparently ships that sailed the air were governed by the same rules as ships that sailed the sea. Both must comply with the vagaries of the wind and weather.
She wondered if she could persuade Stephen to bring her back tomorrow to see the launch.
“Of course, we will be doing a tethered ascent, for those that wish,” Mr. Poundstone added.
“No,” Stephen said.
Diana ignored him.
“A tethered ascent?” she asked.
“Yes, you see these ropes?” Mr. Poundstone gestured to the heavy ropes that were fastened to brass rings on each of the four sides of the basket. “We can launch the balloon and ascend safely to a height of over four hundred feet, and then be lowered gently back to earth. Gives folks a taste of ballooning as it were.”
“Stephen—” Diana began.
The Wrong Mr. Wright Page 15