He took her hand and bowed. ‘Good day, Mrs Greystoke.’
‘Lord Avery.’ She sounded a little breathless.
‘I am not too early, I hope?’
‘Not at all.’ She was gazing wide-eyed at his vehicle, which was a very dashing high-perch phaeton.
‘Will the height trouble you?’ he asked, wondering if he should have borrowed his brother’s brougham instead.
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘I begged Papa to buy me one just like yours, but he thought it far too frivolous.’
‘You like to drive?’
‘I do. Not that there have been very many opportunities.’
‘Then you must drive this one.’ Bart probably wouldn’t mind, as long as they didn’t overturn it.
She smiled and seemed to relax. ‘I would like that, but not today. These gloves would not survive.’ She held out her lace-clad hands for inspection.
A sensible answer. ‘Very well. But next time wear your driving gloves.’
Her expression said there might not be a next time. What? Did she plan to give him his congé before they had as much as driven out once? Was it possible his charm had deserted him? Or had he somehow made a bad impression? Clearly, it was something he needed to rectify.
And not because he needed her money. Her shop was likely barely surviving. Any profit from their arrangement would be minimal. No. This was about making her see him, as a person, someone she would want to spend time with because of who he was and not just what he could do for her.
Though why he cared, he wasn’t sure. He never had before. At least not much. Being the second son of a duke had quickly taught him that most people were interested in getting to know his father or his older brother and thought to use him as a stepping stone in that direction. Even the woman he’d loved had stepped on his heart when she’d accepted his father’s bribe to marry someone else.
He pushed the thought aside. It was so long ago now, he scarcely remembered her face. Later, much later, he’d heard that she had died in childbirth, and he’d felt sad, but not as devastated as he would have expected. And Bart was hinting that, now Avery had returned to England, the Duke would like him to settle down and find a wife. More likely that was Bart’s hope, since he was baulking at the idea of wedded bliss with the woman their father had chosen to be the next Duchess, poor fellow.
Well the Duke was going to be disappointed with regards to Avery. As soon as he was sure Laura’s husband was financially able to support his family—and according to Laura that would be any day now—Avery would be off on his travels again. His brother would just have to do his duty. After all, he was the heir.
In the meantime, Mrs Greystoke required his full attention, because he was determined to fulfil the terms of their agreement and to bed her into the bargain, provided she remained willing.
Determined? The idea took him aback. With most of his ladies, he simply ensured they were happy doing what he wanted them to do. What was it about this woman that made him want to please her? Perhaps it was because she so rarely smiled.
As if she had some inner sadness.
He helped her up into the carriage. Her long legs made an easy task of the climb and afforded him a glimpse of a very finely turned ankle. He stifled the urge to curl his hand around the delicious curve of her lower calf. It was far too early for such intimate play. And while many of the ladies he escorted would laugh and take it as their due, this skittish woman would likely run for the hills.
He liked that. Her mix of modesty and boldness. After all, it was a bold woman who propositioned a man the way she had and all the while maintaining her dignity.
He returned to his seat and set his horses in a steady trot.
‘They are beautiful steppers,’ she said after a few moments.
‘Yes. I made an excellent purchase five years ago.’ When his dibs had been in tune. If Father learned that his brother Bart was now paying to keep Avery’s horses in fine fettle, there would be hell to pay. And no doubt the horses would have to go.
They made their way through the usual rush of London traffic and out on to the open road.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked after a few minutes of watching the road.
‘Hampstead Heath. There is a nice little tea house there.’
She tensed. ‘Oh.’
He frowned at the doubt in her voice. ‘I can assure you it is quite respectable. I thought you might feel more comfortable this first time, if we went somewhere quiet. Somewhere we can talk and get to know each other better in comfort before we face the ton head on.’
Her shoulders relaxed. ‘I see. Yes, I suppose it is for the best.’
Dash it all, what did she mean by that? He knew better than to ask, though. Females were notoriously fickle, but she seemed content to go along with his plan so he would leave it at that. No sense in forcing her to speak her mind. Hopefully today’s outing would set all of her fears at rest.
‘Where do you call home?’ he asked, to divert her thoughts. ‘I can tell you originate from somewhere in the north, but not exactly where.’
‘I was born and raised in Nottinghamshire, but when I am not keeping shop I reside in a small village near Sevenoaks with my sisters-in-law. I have grown to like the south of England.’
An evasive answer if ever he’d heard one. ‘My family hales from Wiltshire, near Salisbury. We have more than a few bishops in the family. Have you ever visited the cathedral there?’
‘I have never been to Wiltshire.’
‘It is devilishly flat in more ways than one.’
‘I would love to visit Stonehenge.’
So, the lady knew her history and her geography. Unlike many of her peers. ‘I would like to show you around. It is one of the strangest sights I have ever seen in the world.’
‘Have you seen a great many sights in the world?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ He noticed that her tension diminished even more. The lady clearly did not like to talk about herself, but was delighted to talk about him. Another thing that made her unusual. Well he certainly didn’t mind talking about his experiences, if that was what she wanted. At least for now. Eventually he would learn all her secrets. ‘I have been to several of the great continents—Europe, India, Africa—but there are many places I have still to visit.’
‘Where will you go next?’ she asked.
‘The Americas.’
‘Oh. Is it your intention to go soon?’ Her voice lacked any emotion, as if she didn’t care one way or the other.
Her lack of interest stung. He kept his voice equally expressionless. ‘As soon as I may.’
‘What holds you back?’
He hesitated. Was there more behind that question than mere curiosity? Well, there was no need to hide the truth. His sister’s runaway marriage had caused a lot of gossip just over two years ago—her husband, John, was so much beneath her—but these days hardly anyone remembered her existence. Not that Laura had ever had a come out, so while her name had been on everyone’s lips, her face had been unknown. It was only their father who refused to let go of the past. After all, while Laura’s marriage straight out of the schoolroom might have been impetuous, John came from a decent family, despite the fact that they had no money, and would make a fine barrister some day soon. It had taken him far longer to get established than it should have because of the Duke’s interference, which was why Avery had returned to England to help. It still made him go cold when he recalled Father’s threats against John. ‘Family responsibilities mostly.’
* * *
Carrie swallowed a gasp. She thought he had assured her that he was a single gentleman, not one with a family to support. She had looked him up in Debrett’s Peerage and it had said nothing about him being wed. Not him or his older brother. It had mentioned a married sister. To a commoner. Perhaps it was not the most recent edition.
; Oh, dear, it seemed she had made a very bad error in judgement. ‘Really.’ Her tone sounded repressive. Disapproving. It expressed her feelings exactly.
He glanced her way. ‘It surprises you that I would care about my family?’
‘I—I didn’t know you had a family.’
‘Not much of a one. A brother and a married sister, whose situation was somewhat dire, although it has been improving lately.’
She frowned. ‘You do not have a wife?’
‘Heavens, no. I already told you I did not. I am not the marrying sort, I’m afraid.’
Oh! It was his sister he meant. Not a wife and children. The relief left her feeling weak. ‘It is good of you to care about your sibling.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Why would I not?’
‘Oh, no, I didn’t mean that. Of course you would. I was a little confused.’
He negotiated around a carter travelling at a snail’s pace and cast her a smile. ‘Come now, Mrs Greystoke, it is not like you to beat around the bush. What is going on behind that lovely face of yours.’
Lovely? She almost swallowed her tongue. She didn’t know whether to be pleased by the compliment or annoyed by his analysis of her character. In the end, she chuckled and decided to tell him the truth. ‘Well, when you said you had family responsibilities I suddenly imagined a wife and children squirrelled away deep in the country while you enjoyed yourself in town.’
He laughed outright. ‘You really do not have a very good opinion of the gentlemen of the ton, do you?’
‘Oh, I do not paint them all with the same brush, but you have to admit, it is not an unheard-of situation. I was warned about it very carefully at the seminary for young ladies I attended. Sadly, I have found it to be mostly true.’
He stared at her for a second, then turned his attention back to his horses as they came up on another lumbering trade vehicle. A coal dray this time. Once they were safely past the obstruction he shifted slightly as if wanting to see her face better. To look her in the eye, as her father would have said. ‘Who are your family, Mrs Greystoke? Your name has a familiar ring, but I have not been back in England long and I never did take much notice of such things before I left.’
‘I told you, my family are merchants in Nottinghamshire.’
‘And your husband’s family. Why are they not caring for you, instead of sending you out into the world to earn a living?’
‘My husband’s family helps as much as they are able.’
Why she did not want to tell him about Westram, Petra and Marguerite, she was not sure. Perhaps it was because she feared Avery would be shocked to know she had dragged Westram’s sisters into trade when the nobility frowned so much on that sort of thing. She did not like the idea of the ton ridiculing the Earl either. The poor man was doing his best in the face of such a terrible family tragedy.
He glanced up at the sky. ‘It seems we are to be lucky with the weather today, Mrs Greystoke.’
Carrie winced. How she hated the sound of her husband’s name on his lips. ‘Do you think...would you mind calling me Carrie? All my friends do.’
‘Carrie,’ he repeated. ‘Short for Carolyn or Caroline, I assume.’
She gave a short laugh. ‘I wish it was. No. My name is Carrington. My father wanted a son. He picked out the name before I was born and refused to countenance another when he discovered I was a girl. It was his mother’s maiden name.’
His smile held commiseration. ‘I am named for some long-lost ancestor, too.’
‘I like the name Avery.’
He grinned. ‘Good, then that is what you shall call me and we will forget all about the Lord thing and the Mrs thing.’
‘In private,’ she warned. There was no doubt her association with a well-known rake was going to get back to Westram eventually. She should not have agreed to these outings, but on the other hand, how was she ever to become a woman instead of a spinster?. Fortunately, she did not have to worry about pleasing Avery, the way she would have to please a husband, and could just be herself. Blunt brusque Carrie. After all, in a roundabout way she was footing the bill for his time.
An odd sense of disappointment filled her. A feeling that she would have been just a little bit happier if he was escorting her, not for financial gain, but simply because it pleased him to do so.
Such foolishness. Yet he had said he found her attractive. He had also called her face lovely.
Had he said those things because she was his business associate? Or because he flirted without thinking?
Whatever it was, she was going to enjoy it while it lasted. If Westram decided to put his oar in...well, she would deal with that when it happened.
No sense in crossing bridges before you came to them.
* * *
For the rest of the drive they talked about things he had seen on his travels abroad. The sights of Rome and Florence. The ruins in Greece. Some of his adventures involved avoiding the ongoing war between Britain and France. The time passed quickly and pleasantly and they were soon drawing up at a tea house on the edge of the heath near the village of Hampstead.
‘What a lovely spot,’ she remarked as he helped her down.
He looked pleased. ‘I am glad you like it.’
There were other carriages outside the shop. Carrie braced herself for the scrutiny of strangers, while hoping like mad there was no one either of them knew.
This was it, then. Her first clandestine meeting with a man. So what? a little voice whispered in her ear. You are a widow. You can do whatever you wish.
She straightened her shoulders.
He smiled and offered his arm. ‘Shall we?’
They entered to the tinkle of a little bell above the door.
A lady in a prim cap and apron bustled forward. ‘Lord Avery. How lovely to see you again. Your usual table?’
‘Yes, please,’ Avery said.
His usual table. Again, there was that unaccountable feeling of disappointment that he had brought other women to this spot. She squashed it flat. His other ladies were why she had chosen him in the first place. She’d known from the first what sort of charming flirt he was. Why would she expect anything different? In truth, she did not know what to expect at all, so she should just put aside her worries and enjoy the experience. It wouldn’t likely happen again.
An older couple seated in an alcove off to one side looked up as they entered a parlour scattered about with round tables covered in white cloths, some with seated guests. Each table bore a little vase containing a single rose.
Strangely, the older couple glanced at them with curiosity in their gazes, but not, thank goodness, recognition, before returning to their tea and quiet conversation. Carrie breathed a sigh of relief. There was no one here either of them knew and even if some of them recognised Avery, it would not mean anything.
She gave herself a mental shake. What was she thinking? The whole idea was for people to recognise them, to admire her bonnets and to come to the shop. Indeed, that was why she had worn this very fetching hat.
The woman led them to the table in the centre of the bow window. It looked out over a small garden full of flowers and gave way to the distant view of London’s spires.
‘What do you think?’ Avery asked, once they were seated.
‘It is charming.’
Avery smiled. ‘Not to mention that they have the best cream cakes in all of London.’
‘That we do,’ their waitress said, beaming. ‘Shall I bring you the usual assortment, my lord?’
Avery glanced at Carrie, clearly asking for her opinion.
‘Whatever you think,’ she replied.
‘Yes, the usual assortment,’ he said to the woman.
‘What sort of tea would you like?’ the woman asked.
This time he gestured to Carrie. ‘You choose.’
He real
ly was a lovely man. While she might not know what sort of cakes were on offer, she did know her tea. ‘I would like Oolong,’ she said.
‘Good choice,’ Avery approved.
The waitress bustled off.
Avery smiled at her. ‘Tell me about your family.’
‘I am an only child. I mentioned before that my father wanted me to be a son, but my mother never had any other children after me. It was a great disappointment to them both. They would have liked a large family. Is your family large?’
‘There are three direct descendants of the Duke. My older brother, then me, then my sister. But there are hundreds of relatives scattered across Britain and France.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘At least it seems so. Every time I go anywhere someone claims kinship. I would like you to meet my sister, Laura. We are very close.’
‘I don’t believe that would be appropriate. Do you?’
‘Why not?’ He lowered his voice. ‘I think she’d like you. She married against my father’s wishes, so he cut her off. She’s just as de trop as me in polite circles.’
‘How very cruel.’ Her own father had been the opposite. Far too doting. Suffocating, almost.
The waitress appeared with a tea tray.
She set it in front of Carrie and scurried away. Carrie inhaled the fragrant steam. ‘This is very good tea.’
‘Not once have I been disappointed.’
Carrie poured.
The woman returned with a tiered plate piled high with confections. They looked delicious.
‘I put extra of your favourites on there, my lord,’ she said with an indulgent smile.
He grinned like a small boy given a treat. ‘You are a wonder, Mrs Bentlock.’ He looked at Carrie. ‘Let us hope we have the same taste in cakes.’
‘Personally, I never met a cream cake I didn’t like,’ Carrie said laughing at his eagerness.
Mrs Bentlock dipped a small curtsy.
‘I can see I will have to watch you,’ Avery said, his eyes twinkling. ‘Or you’ll be eating all the best ones.’
She laughed. It took her by surprise. It seemed he was one of the few people who could surprise a laugh out of her. She wasn’t used to his sort of teasing. But she liked it.
A Lord for the Wallflower Widow Page 7