A Most Unconventional Match

by Julia Justiss

  So she’d have to wait, and behave with propriety while she waited—when all she wished to do was lead him back to her chamber and experience the joy of last night over and over again. Restlessly she jumped to her feet and paced the room, pausing at the chair where he’d sat. She was trying to recall and analyse his expressions when a scrap of something beneath the chair caught her eye.

  Embarrassed that Hal might have seen her parlour untidy, she bent to retrieve it, vowing to chastise the housekeeper. As she picked it up, however, she discovered the object was a crumpled note. From the slope of the letters, she could tell it was in Hal’s hand.

  ’Twas his, something personal. She ought not to read it. But a compulsion stronger than propriety compelled her to smooth out the paper.

  ’Twas a verse, she realised, noting the even lines. She began to read—and gasped in shock. ’Twas a verse indeed—written about her.

  ,!Elizabeth, thy very name creates

  Within my heart a melody of longing,

  Goodness as much as beauty resonates

  Within a form as fair as new day’s dawning.

  Mute, dumb I stand when I would shout thy praise,

  Declare my love with eloquent exclaiming

  Persuade, cajole, sweet paeans to thee raise

  Devotion in each syllable proclaiming…

  He’d penned several more lines, then crossed them out, indicating he was not yet either finished or satisfied with his creation. Incomplete though the verse was, however, from every still-unpolished couplet, Hal’s longing, love, anguish and desire leapt out.

  She read and reread the draft several times, tears in her eyes and exultation in her heart. Setting it carefully on a table, she hugged herself and danced around the room.

  Hal loved her! There was no longer any need to refrain from vowing her own love in return.

  She should wait like a proper lady for him to call again. But having already proved how very improper she could be, she didn’t want to waste another moment. Seizing the precious crumpled verse, she hurried to the library, took up pen and paper, and swiftly penned a missive begging Hal to call upon her as soon as he received her note.

  Meanwhile, having successfully persuaded the staff at the Royal Academy to allow Elizabeth to sketch there, Hal sat in a hackney on his way to White’s.

  Longingly he considered returning to Green Street to tell Elizabeth what he’d arranged. But evening was already falling. The mere thought of meeting her again in the glow of candlelight swamped him in images of their night together.

  With difficulty he put those thoughts aside and considered instead their meeting this afternoon. Had there been hurt in her eyes when he’d refrained from a proposal? Should he have proceeded despite his doubts?

  Friendship was such a pale imitation of all that he wanted for them. But after the bliss of last night, he didn’t want to wait weeks or months to learn for certain whether there would ever be the possibility of more.

  Suddenly, in the rhythmic clop of hoofs and jingle of harness, the resolution came to him. If Elizabeth was deserving of his love—and she certainly was—she was equally deserving of his honesty.

  He ought to tell her how he truly felt. He knew enough of the excellence of her character to believe he could trust her not to marry him for money or convenience or even because of the improper, ill-timed but extraordinary passion they’d shared. She would wed him only if she felt she could love him as completely as he loved her.

  But how could he express his convictions convincingly enough?

  He thought of the sonnets he’d written, so much more reflective of his love and desire than his halting speech, and the idea came to him. Though he had great difficulty getting out the words to express thoughts as they occurred, he had no trouble writing. If he knew what he wanted to say, he could write it down beforehand and simply recite it. He could reveal his love and propose to her in verse.

  Doubt immediately assailed his resolve. He’d never attempted to articulate a speech that lengthy. What if he forgot or stumbled over the words?

  This would not be a bit of irrelevant Shakespeare plucked at random by some schoolmaster that he had attempted to memorise, he countered, but verses that mirrored the thoughts that occupied his days, the desires that haunted his nights.

  To win Elizabeth, he would enunciate every word and not stumble. And, for once in his life, be eloquent.

  Excitement seizing him, he reached in his waistcoat pocket—only to find it empty. Blast, the draft he’d stuffed in there must have fallen out somewhere in his travels this afternoon. He could do without it; he had other drafts at home; besides, he meant to write another poem, a better one, that not only extolled Elizabeth’s beauty of face and character and proclaimed his love, but asked for her hand.

  He’d dine at White’s, turn down any invitations to sit over cards or brandy, then return to his rooms to compose and memorise the most important verse of his life.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  After dispatching her missive, Elizabeth dined with David, then read him a story and tucked him in bed. Her ear straining for the sound of an arriving carriage, the cadence of Hal’s footsteps approaching in the hall, she wandered up to the library and tried to occupy herself in a book. She felt sure he would respond to her note, so as the hours went by without his return, she concluded with frustration that he must have gone out for the evening before receiving it.

  Difficult as it was going to be, it appeared she’d have to wait until tomorrow to confess her love. However, she vowed, if Hal did not appear at Green Street by mid-day, she would demonstrate her brazen new sense of independence again by searching him out at his rooms.

  Tired as she was, after the bliss of the previous night, her solitary bed seemed cold and uninviting. Consumed with thoughts and imaginings of what she would say and do when she saw him, she went to bed late and slept poorly, then woke early and went to her studio.

  Even her beloved painting couldn’t calm her agitation. Nearly frantic with the need to see Hal, she had almost decided she would, in fact, go and seek him out when Gibbons ran in. ‘He’s here, madam. Quick, now, give me your apron and let me tidy your hair!’

  She’d barely smoothed her gown and had Gibbons tuck up her errant locks when the door opened and Bowers announced him. As she saw his beloved face smiling at her, her heart filled with such a rush of joy, she felt sure she must float a foot above the floor.

  The thought of delivering the speech she’d nervously rehearsed brought her back to earth. ‘Thank you for returning so promptly,’ she began.

  ‘Sorry not come by last night. Didn’t get note until late. Arranged for sketching yesterday.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘There’s something I must tell you—’

  But before she could continue, Hal took her hand and dropped to one knee before her. ‘Not polite to contradict lady, but me first.’

  Still holding her hand, he began,

  ,!Possessed of every virtue, every grace,

  Elizabeth, thy beauty has enraptured

  My heart, for more than loveliness of face

  ’Tis purity of soul that has mine captured…

  The beautiful, sonorous phrases fell from his lips with just the barest of hesitations. Awed and humbled by the depth of his love and his courage in exposing himself in his greatest vulnerability—difficulty with speech—tears welled up in her eyes as she listened, spellbound, until the final couplet:

  ,!Into thy tender grasp I place my soul.

  Accept it, marry me and make me whole.

  When he fell silent, she said tremulously, ‘You spoke in complete sentences!’

  ‘For you, I can brave anything. Some time later, after mourning over, will you marry me? Never eloquent, fashionable enough for you, but—’

  ‘No, ’tis I who will never be respectable or fashionable enough for you!’ she contended, reaching out a finger to still his lips. ‘A widow who seduces a proper gentleman before her mourning period is even
over! Who prefers to spend the afternoon sketching at the Royal Academy rather than riding with the ton at Hyde Park. Shall we be unfashionable together? Me with paint on my fingers, dogs running through the house, David at home until he’s old enough for Oxford. I don’t need society. I don’t even need commissions. I need only you, my darling. Yes, Hal Waterman, I will marry you.’

  ‘You will?’ he echoed, as if not sure he’d heard her correctly.

  ‘I will indeed.’

  He kissed her hand fervently. ‘Make me the happiest of men!’

  She smiled. ‘Which is only fitting, since marrying you will make me the happiest, most content, most satisfied of women.’

  ‘Ah—women.’ The fervent light in his eyes dimmed a trifle. ‘Must warn, probably can’t prevent Mother coming to inspect you. Won’t be happy didn’t marry her choice.’

  ‘Have I not discharged a butler and sent Sir Gregory packing? I think I can deal with your mother’s scrutiny.’

  Hal shook his head. ‘My brave darling.’

  She clasped his hand in hers. ‘I am now—thanks to you. What an exciting new life you’ve opened to me! I shall learn all about investments, canals and railroads. Sketch and paint the children of your business colleagues—and some day, I hope, our own.’

  He smiled. ‘Happy to provide that opportunity.’ Gently he caressed her cheek with his fingers, then tipped up her chin and kissed her.

  She was just deepening his kiss, the spiral of desire he ignited so readily and powerfully tightening within her, when the door flew open and David burst in.

  ‘Uncle Hal!’ he exclaimed before stopping short in surprise. ‘Why are you kissing Mama?’

  Hal faced her son squarely. ‘Love her. Love you. If you like idea, want to marry mama.’

  David looked at them thoughtfully. ‘Then you’d be my bestest friend for ever? And live here with us?’

  When Hal nodded, David gave a whoop of glee. ‘Can I get that pony now?’

  Laughing as Elizabeth scolded, Hal said. ‘Anything.’

  David raced over to give Hal a hug. ‘I’m glad you love us, Uncle Hal. I love you, too. I better go tell Max!’ he exclaimed and ran out.

  Hal drew Elizabeth back into his arms, gazing at her with an intensity that made her feel light-headed. ‘Must be dreaming,’ he murmured.

  ‘No, ’tis better than the most wonderful of dreams,’ she whispered and drew his face down for another kiss.

  Long, luscious moments later, he broke away. ‘Marry me in nine months, three days?’

  The end of her year of mourning, she realised. But having found her life’s love, she had no intention of waiting that long. ‘I’ll marry you tomorrow. As soon as you can get a special licence.’

  He smiled tenderly and kissed her forehead. ‘Not fitting. Eight months, at least.’

  She tipped his face down and claimed his mouth again, her tongue probing, teasing before releasing him. ‘Two weeks,’ she murmured.

  His blue eyes looked both aroused—and troubled. ‘Not fitting. Disrespectful to husband. Six months.’

  Elizabeth shook her head. ‘Society sets the time for mourning. If I’m to scandalise the ton by working as an artist, why bother about their rules now? This I know: Everitt loved me. He would want me to be happy, not wait an eternity to earn the approval of a society he himself disdained.’ She traced the outline of his lips with her tongue. ‘Two weeks.’

  Hal groaned. ‘Call banns, at least.’

  She shifted in his arms, rubbing herself against his hardness. ‘Only if your honour insists. But you must stay with me every night. Or, hussy that I am, I shall come to your rooms.’

  He shifted, fitting her more closely against him. ‘My hussy,’ he murmured, nuzzling her neck.

  Disentangling herself from Hal’s arms, Elizabeth sprang up, went over to lock the parlour door and returned to lift her skirts and settle herself on his lap. ‘Your hussy,’ she agreed, greedy hands reaching for the buttons on his trousers. ‘Here, now, always, my love.

  Epilogue

  A week after the final calling of the banns, Hal stood before the parish priest, humbled, honoured and nearly incoherent with joy, as he and Elizabeth Wellington Lowery exchanged the sacred vows promising to love, honour and cherish. After escorting her in to sign the parish register, with pride and delight he helped his new wife and her exuberant son into a carriage to drive to the reception in Grosvenor Square his mother had insisted on preparing.

  Hal had cautioned that, since their wedding before Elizabeth emerged from mourning would be thought scandalous by many, Mrs Waterman should make this a small family affair. Though he placed no reliance on her promise not to turn it into a gala event, Hal only hoped that the ton’s dowagers would be more affronted by their refusal to observe mourning customs than curious to see the woman who had finally lured Mrs Waterman’s son into marriage.

  He was pleasantly surprised to find, as they entered the drawing room to the cheers of those assembled within, that the group comprised only Mrs Waterman’s current cicisbeo, Lord Kendall, the two matrons who were her closest bosom bows, several of his schoolmates and Ned Greaves, lured out of his country estate for the event. Spying another of his Uncle Nicky’s best friends, David headed for Ned with a shout of delight.

  The reception room was splendid, having been transformed into a bower of early spring flowers. The sideboard and small tables dotting the room were covered with platters of lobster patties, sweetmeats and candied fruits while a footman hovered with a tray of champagne.

  Ned came over to pound Hal on the back and give Elizabeth a hug. ‘Congratulations to you both! May two of my favourite people enjoy a lifetime of happiness together. I’m just sorry Nicky, Sarah and the rest of the family couldn’t be here to celebrate with us.’

  Hal looked at Elizabeth, Ned’s comment echoing his own concern. ‘Sure not disappointed to wed without family?’

  Elizabeth wrinkled her nose at him. ‘As you well know, had the choice been entirely mine, I wouldn’t have waited to call the banns. Nicky and Sarah can host a lavish party for us when they return.’

  Then his mama walked over. ‘Mrs Waterman, we do so appreciate your going to the trouble…under the circumstances,’ Elizabeth said. ‘The reception is lovely.’

  ‘Beautiful, Mama,’ Hal echoed. Though his mother was never happier than when presiding over an elegant party, she’d protested vigorously when she learned that the young couple refused to wait another nine months so she might turn their wedding reception into the ton event of the year. Instinctively Hal braced for her response.

  She didn’t disappoint him. ‘Seeing what a lovely creature you are,’ she said, inspecting Elizabeth’s new gown critically, ‘I don’t suppose I can blame my son for not delaying the proper interval to make you his wife. But who would have guessed such a slowtop could win a beauty like you, all on his own!’

  Elizabeth drew herself up. ‘I’m sure ’tis only joy at this happy event that makes you misspeak so, Mrs Waterman,’ she replied, icy reproof in her voice. ‘Everyone knows my husband is the most intelligent, well spoken and handsome of men.’

  At Elizabeth’s rebuke, the room fell silent, Lord Kendall breaking off his sentence with a gasp. Everyone’s attention riveted on Elizabeth and Hal’s mother.

  Anticipating one of his mother’s famous set-downs, Hal stepped forward to place a protective arm about his wife.

  Mrs Waterman blinked rapidly, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just heard. Then, to Hal’s amazement, tears welled up in her eyes.

  ‘I suppose you see him differently,’ she allowed, dabbing at her eyes with a scrap of lace. ‘Perhaps I’ve sometimes been…hard on him. But all I ever desired was his happiness!’

  Elizabeth nodded graciously. ‘As a mother myself, I’m sure that is true. Come, Hal, shall we get David a sample of your mama’s delicious cake?’

  ‘My ferocious champion,’ he murmured in her ear as they walked away.

  ‘If you co
uld take on that horrid Mr Smith for me, I suppose I can confront your mama,’ she said, wrapping herself in the circle of his arm.

  Happiness filling him, warm and sweet as honey, he kissed her golden head. ‘Together, we can face anything!’

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-1929-2

  A MOST UNCONVENTIONAL MATCH

  Copyright © 2008 by Janet Justiss

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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