The Wrong Mr. Wright

by Patricia Bray

  “No,” he repeated. His jaw was set, and he tugged at her arm.

  But she was immovable.

  “For a modest fee, of course,” Mr. Poundstone said. “A mere one hundred pounds, and yourself and the gentle lady here can witness the spectacle of London as seen from the air.”

  Diana’s heart began to race.

  “No,” Stephen repeated. “It is not safe. And it is certainly not fit for a lady.”

  “It is perfectly safe,” Diana retorted. “Those are good stout ropes, see?”

  “The finest ropes in all of England. Even the Royal Navy has none better,” one of the assistants interjected.

  Stephen glared at the man, who wisely retreated to the opposite side of the balloon.

  “It would be a scandal,” he said.

  She knew he was weakening.

  “Nonsense,” Diana said firmly. “Women have been aeronauts since the invention of the balloon. Think of Mrs. Tible and Mrs. Sage. They flew over thirty years ago, real flights, not a tame tethered excursion. And just this winter Mademoiselle Garnerin astonished London by ascending in a balloon and then descending by a parachute to the ground below.”

  Stephen closed his eyes, and she could see him swallow. “I saw her performance,” he said.

  “You did? Was she magnificent?”

  “Brave. But I have no wish to be her husband.”

  She blinked at the change of subject. “I do not see where that has anything to do with this. I do not wish to be a parachutist. All I wish for is a simple ascent.”

  Stephen shook his head.

  “Come now, miss, don’t pout. If he won’t take you, I will,” someone called from the crowd.

  “Listen to your husband,” a matronly older woman advised. “He knows what is right.”

  Diana ignored the shouted advice, which gradually grew louder as those around them joined in to offer their conflicting opinions.

  There were a few catcalls, and she knew that they would have to take their leave soon, before they became the center of a disturbance.

  This was all Stephen’s fault, she decided crossly. This was a once in a lifetime chance for her to live her dream of being an adventurer, and he was ruining it for her with his cautious nature.

  “I should have known you were the wrong man for this excursion,” she said coldly. “You have absolutely no sense of adventure.”

  She caught a glimpse of pain, quickly hidden, and knew she had gone too far. But before she could apologize, he turned to Mr. Poundstone.

  “We would like to take you up on your generous offer,” he said. “At once.”

  Stephen felt a strange lurch, and then the basket began to gently sway as they began their ascent. He did not know how this had happened. At one moment he had been basking in Miss Somerville’s enjoyment of the day, congratulating himself on having found something that would please her so well. And then, before he quite knew what was happening, he had agreed to this insane stunt.

  Mr. Poundstone and his assistants had rushed through their preparations, perhaps sensing that if they delayed, Stephen would change his mind. The balloon was already inflated, so all that remained was one final cycle of the burners to heat the gas, and then he found himself helping Miss Somerville climb into the narrow wicker basket, before he took his own place beside her. Mr. Poundstone stood on the opposite side of the basket, the now unlit burner between them. A few strategically placed sandbags for ballast ensured that the basket remained level as they rose.

  Every instinct in him screamed that this was folly. It was reckless, possibly even dangerous. And even if the ascension went without a hitch, this escapade would only add to Miss Somerville’s reputation as an eccentric, someone who flouted the rules of ordinary society.

  But none of that mattered to him. Not when faced with the terrible disappointment he had seen in Diana’s eyes when she had deplored his refusal. She had declared him the wrong man for this excursion, and in her words he heard what she had not said. He was the wrong man for her, too dull for her tastes. It was no wonder she had sought out George’s company.

  And so he had agreed to this insanity, desperate to prove that he was not the dull stick that she thought him to be. But even as he put his arm around her waist to steady her, he was having second thoughts.

  “Is this not marvelous?” Diana asked, craning her neck around as she tried to see everything at once. “Look, we are already level with the tree tops.”

  There was a sudden jerk, and the basket tilted to the left. Diana gasped. Stephen tightened his grasp on the railing, ensuring that Diana remained within the circle of his right arm.

  Mr. Poundstone leaned over the side of the basket. “Mind the ropes, you damn fools,” he called down. Then he straightened up. “Er, begging your pardon, miss.”

  The basket righted itself and began to rise again. Stephen fought the urge to demand that they return to the ground at once. Such an action would be certain to antagonize Diana, and should she feel thwarted, she would just find someone else to accompany her next time. Someone like his brother, George. Some fool who did not care for her and would stand idly by while she risked her life. An image sprang to him of Diana, standing on the basket railing as she prepared to jump out and descend by parachute.

  He closed his eyes, swallowing hard to banish the awful image.

  “Are you feeling well?” Diana asked.

  He opened his eyes.

  “If you are not well, there is no need to go higher. We can descend,” she offered generously.

  Her kindness warmed his heart, for it was proof that she did, indeed, care for him. But he would not take the cowardly route of using her concern for him to force her to curtail her adventure. They had committed themselves now, and they might as well make the most of this experience, for he had no intention of doing this again. Ever.

  “It is nothing,” he said.

  Their ascent slowed, until the ropes were stretched taught, and they came to a halt. The balloon and its cargo swayed gently in the winds, rocking much as a boat would upon the waves. After a few moments he became used to the motion and was able to relax his grip on the basket.

  “See? There is St. James’s and the palace. And to the south, along the river is Westminster Abbey. And that must be the Admiralty House, for you can see the signal towers on the roof,” he said, pointing with his left arm.

  “If you follow the river, you can see the Houses of Parliament and the tower bridge, of course. And if you turn your attention to the northeast, you can see the great dome of St. Paul’s,” Mr. Poundstone said, taking over the narration.

  As they slowly turned, he could see nearly the whole of London laid out below their feet. The crowded park seemed far smaller than he remembered, as did the surrounding streets. But the great monuments were even more impressive from the air, allowing one to glimpse their true size as they dominated their surroundings.

  He wondered what it would be like if they ascended higher. Would they be able to see more? Or would there come a point where the details would blur into unrecognizability? And what if they were actually to cut free of the restraining ropes and to fly across the city? Such vistas would, indeed, be amazing.

  He began to see why Diana was so fascinated by the aeronautical craft and looked over to tell her as much.

  But Diana was looking decidedly pale, her eyes fixed on the ground below.

  “We are so high. And those people seem so very small, almost like toy figures,” she said.

  She straightened up and then pressed one hand against her forehead as all color drained from her face.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, and he was just in time to grasp her as she went limp in his arms.

  “Take us down. Now,” Stephen ordered, drawing Diana in an embrace to hold her upright.

  Mr. Poundstone picked up a cloth flag and began waving it over the side of the basket. After a few moments, Stephen felt the now familiar lurch as those below began to haul in the ropes. Unlike the smoothness o
f their ascent, the descent was halting, as if the assistants were unused to working in unison. Still, they were making progress toward the ground, however imperceptible.

  Stephen turned his attention to Diana, who remained unconscious. If he were anywhere else, he would lay her on a sofa or even the ground. But in this damn wicker monstrosity there was barely room to stand and no room to sit or lay her down.

  He shook her arms gently. “Diana? Wake up,” he entreated.

  She moaned and began to stir, then opened her eyes.

  “What happened?”

  “You fainted.”

  She shook her head. “Nonsense. I never faint,” she declared.

  He smiled, relieved to see that her spirits were intact. As her cheeks once again filled with rosy color, he realized that he was still holding her in an intimate embrace.

  Honor dictated that he release her, now that she no longer needed his support. But, instead, driven by impulse, he bent his head and claimed her lips in a kiss.

  Stephen had kissed her. And somehow that had changed everything, though she had been too dazed and confused to realize it at the time. Still dizzy from her unexpected fainting spell, she had awoken to find herself clasped against his body, his arms wrapped around her in an intimate embrace. And then, he had kissed her. Not a gentle brush of the lips, but a slow, sweet, rapturous meeting of their mouths. By the time he raised his head, she was gasping for air.

  She had half expected him to apologize for taking such liberties. To explain his unconventional behavior. But he had not. Nor had he kissed her again, much to her disappointment. Instead, when the balloon had reached the ground, he had helped her alight to the cheers of the crowd. And then he had escorted her back to the gig and instructed the coachman to return them to the town house, as if this had been an ordinary outing like any other.

  The streets were so noisy that it was impossible to converse during the short drive. But as they reached Chesterfield Hill, she made one last effort. “Wait,” she told him. “There are matters we need to discuss.”

  Stephen flashed her a crooked smile. “Yes,” he agreed. “But not today. We both need time.”

  “Time for what?” How dare he behave in such a contradictory fashion? First he embraced her, and now he was seeking to distance himself from her, in both body and heart.

  “Time to converse,” he said. “Which will not be today, for unless I miss my guess, those carriages outside the door mean that your mother is entertaining callers this afternoon, and you are already late.”

  Diana groaned as she recalled that her mother had invited a half dozen of their acquaintances to tea this afternoon, along with their daughters. They must all be wondering what had happened to delay Diana’s arrival.

  “Bother that. We can go elsewhere. Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. I am already so late that there is no point.”

  But Lord Endicott would not be swayed. “No,” he said. “See, our arrival has already been noticed.”

  And, indeed, a footman was descending the steps of the town house, ready to help her descend from the carriage.

  “I will see you soon, and then we will talk,” he said.

  “When? Tonight? Tomorrow?”

  He shook his head. “I am already engaged for tomorrow.”

  “You are engaged to me,” she said, her temper rising.

  He chuckled. “Yes, and a stubborn woman you are. Monday, then, if that suits your favor?”

  “Monday it is,” she agreed. That was only two days from now, though it seemed an eternity.

  “It is only a brief delay,” he said. It was uncanny the way he could read her mind. “And it will give us both time to think about what it is that we truly want.”

  “But I know what I want.”

  “Do you?”

  The words were mild, but there was nothing mild in his searching state. It was as if he were trying to see into her soul.

  Before she could respond, she felt the coach slowing, and it came to a stop in front of the town house. The door swung open, and the footman, Timothy, set down a wooden step to help her descend.

  “My thanks for a lovely afternoon. I enjoyed myself greatly,” Diana said. She knew her words sounded trite, but she was all too aware of their watching audience. What she had to say to Stephen she would say in private.

  “As did I,” he replied.

  He took her hand and kissed the back of it, his eyes following her as she descended from the carriage and walked up the stairs. As she reached the door, she turned and gave a half wave. He nodded, and then at his signal, the hackney coach drove away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  Sixteen

  Diana sat in her bedroom, curled in the window seat. There was an open book in her lap, but her mind was not on the fantastic adventures of Messrs. Lewis and Clark as they explored the American wilderness in search of the legendary Northwest Passage. Instead, her mind drifted to a mystery much closer to home, the enigma of Lord Endicott and his increasingly strange behavior toward her. In the early days of their acquaintance she thought she had the full measure of his character, but these last few days had shown him to be a man of unexpected depths, one capable of surprising her.

  The more she turned the puzzle over in her mind, the less satisfied she was. What had he meant when he advised her to be certain what it was that she wanted? Was he speaking of their engagement? Or was she reading into his words only what she wanted to hear?

  Her frustration grew as she realized that it would be another day before she saw him. This time, she would not let him make an easy escape. Like it or not, he would stay until he had answered all her questions.

  There was a scratch at the door, and she looked up to see the young housemaid, Annie. This must be her half day, for rather than wearing the ordinary blue muslin that was her normal uniform, Annie was dressed quite smartly in a printed calico dress, which Diana vaguely recognized as having been one of her castoffs.

  “You look quite fine today, Annie,” Diana said, wondering why the girl had not changed out of her finery before resuming her duties.

  “Yes, miss. Thank you, miss,” Annie said, bobbing a curtsy. “Begging your pardon, but I have a message for you. A message from a gentleman.”

  “Yes,” Diana prompted.

  “The gentleman said to tell you that he would be waiting in the green, at the end of the square. Said he needed to see you, to talk with you and the like.”

  Stephen. So she had not been alone in her impatience. He, too, could not wait until tomorrow. Diana’s pulse quickened, and she quickly rose to her feet.

  “When was this?”

  “Just now, miss, as I was coming back from walking with my Frank,” Annie answered. “Though I would hurry if I was you. Men being fickle, don’t you know. No telling how long he’ll wait.”

  “Thank you, Annie. You have been most helpful,” Diana said.

  The housemaid bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.

  Diana crossed over to her dressing stand and reached for the bellpull, then hesitated. There was no time to summon her maid, nor did she wish to face the inevitable questions. Instead, she opened the wardrobe and hastily pulled out a walking dress of pink-and-white-stripped muslin. In less than a quarter hour she had changed, and after putting a straw bonnet on her head, she picked up the matching parasol.

  She went downstairs. For once luck was with her, for the foyer was deserted and she was able to leave the house without being seen, or being forced to take one of the servants to play chaperone. What she had to say to Stephen she would say in private.

  She hastened down the sidewalk until she reached the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the small park set aside for the enjoyment of the residents of the square. Opening the gate, she slipped inside.

  There was a brick wall on one side where the garden butted up against a town house. Thick bushes acted as a perimeter on the other three sides of the garden, providing privacy and screening out the noises from the surrounding streets. S
carcely the size of the kitchen garden at home, in crowded London this garden was a lovingly tended luxury, and the beautiful flower beds drew their fair share of admirers. But this afternoon the garden was empty, save for a gentleman who stood by a cherry tree.

  “Stephen,” she called.

  He turned, and as she recognized his face, her eager steps drew to a halt. For this was not Stephen, but rather his brother, George Wright.

  Bitter disappointment welled up within her as she realized that she had allowed her hopes to lead her astray. Of course this was not Lord Endicott. The viscount would never have suggested a clandestine meeting. Nor was he the type to give in to his impatience. If he had said he would see her on Monday, then Monday it would be, regardless of personal inclinations. She had been a fool to think anything else.

  George crossed the few steps that separated them. “Miss Somerville, I thank you for coming.”

  “I was expecting someone else,” she said. She knew it was not fair, but she blamed him for her disappointment.

  “And would you have come if you had known it was me?”

  “No,” she said honestly. Now she regretted her impulsiveness in not having brought one of the servants with her. Not that she feared for her virtue. George appeared sober enough, and she thought him no threat. But still, it was highly improper of her to meet with him in such a secluded setting.

  “I know this is irregular, but I had to speak with you one last time,” he said.

  Despite herself, she grew curious.

  “Last time?” she asked.

  “Come, please,” he said, indicating a nearby marble bench. Diana took a seat at one end, carefully arranging her skirts, and George took a seat at the other.

  “In a few days I am to leave London,” he said. “I find I can no longer bear it here. The pettiness, the hypocrisy, the tedious social rounds. I will not stay here and let them turn me into another one of their mindless drones.”

  “You must do as you feel best,” Diana said, wondering why he felt compelled to tell her this.

  “I will regret nothing of what I leave behind,” George said. “Except you.”