“Shall I ring for tea?” May asked when Lillian paused for breath. Sending for tea was the proper thing to do, but that was not why May had suggested it. Lillian would never willingly come visiting here. Iona must have veered them away from their true destination to inquire after May and Aunt Winnie’s health. The fastest way to get them moving again—not that May cared to rush anyone but Lillian away—was to offer to start the process of heating tea.
Lillian reacted exactly as May had predicted. She leapt up from the chair as if fire had struck her. “Tea? Oh, no. We couldn’t. We really couldn’t. I must apologize, but Lord Nathan is escorting me to call on Lord Evers, you see. All above board, of course, with such a large crowd of us and with Lord Evers’ mother in residence.”
My, Lillian’s tongue ran unfettered. May nodded, her feigned smile beginning to pain her.
“Evers has purchased a new horse. A young filly,” Wynter calmly explained on the heels of Lillian’s excuse to leave. “His own prized stallion served as stud. You can understand how he is naturally excited about the horse’s arrival today and is intent on showing off his newest acquisition to Lady Lillian.”
“Oh, yes.” Lillian’s cheeks glowed. “He is having the filly delivered here, to Bath, instead of to his stables in Northhamptonshire, at a great cost just to view her. We really must be going. I would hate to be late.”
“You are welcome to join us, Miss Sheffers. Evers does enjoy showing off his ability to pick the finest horseflesh.” Wynter shared a merry look with Iona.
Despite her suspicions about her best friend’s motives, May’s heart jumped at the temptation to accept. Silly, really, to want to spend time with a man who was destined to wound her heart. She’d be wise to keep her thoughts focused on the rational, the logical.
That is precisely what Mary Wollstonecraft would have done.
“Thank you for the kind invitation, but I must refuse.” May took a step toward Aunt Winnie as if searching for support in that quarter. “I am ever so busy, you see. And my aunt is not at all feeling up to snuff. I should worry something terrible if I were to leave her.”
“But May, you simply must come.” Iona tugged on her arm. “I will be unforgivably sore with you if you refuse.”
May cast a silent plea in Aunt Winnie’s direction. The older woman yawned into her hand and mumbled something about wanting to nap all day.
Lord Nathan even joined in the persuasions with a tempting offer to treat all the women to chocolates on the way.
Only the willowy Lady Lillian supported May’s reasonable decision. “La, let her stay, Iona. It is her occupation to care for Lady Winifred, is it not? We should not pretend she is something other than what she is.”
“And what is that?” Iona was quick to inquire, though there had been no need. May had recognized early on how most society ladies treated her no differently than a servant.
Aunt Winnie rose from her chair and quieted the room with a single clap of her hands. “May, you spend too much time with ladies and gentlemen far older than yourself. It is unhealthy. A young gel needs the companionship of fellow youngsters. You will go.”
Not even Lady Lillian dared object to such a royally presented command. She turned up her nose before latching onto Lord Nathan’s arm again.
“You weren’t teasing, my lord, were you?” she cooed after saying her farewells to Aunt Winnie. “You will treat us to chocolates?”
Lord Nathan murmured some placating words and let himself be led from the room.
May kissed her aunt on the cheek and promised not to stay away long while Iona hurried May out of the parlor in pursuit of Lord Nathan and Lillian.
Since the decision had been taken out of her hands, and it would have been rude to disagree with her aunt, May decided to enjoy the afternoon outing . . . even if it meant risking her untested heart.
Chapter 9
Radford eyed the cane sitting on his tiger maple desk in the study and brooded while waiting for Bannor to arrive. He had so many reasons to feel anxious. His stable manager was due to arrive within the hour so Radford could see firsthand the young filly he’d purchased from the Duke of Grafton, for one thing. The filly would only stay in Bath for a few days before the stable manager returned home to his stables in Northhamptonshire.
Ever since the accident, Radford had avoided his horses. He even left the sole care of the pair of playful and perfectly matched grays he used for his carriage to the capable hands of the young groom he’d brought with him to Bath. So today his eagerness to finally meet this new horse, bred from one of his own stallions, was tinged with bittersweet anticipation. How would it feel to see her and know he would never be the one to ride her? He would never again learn a horse’s personality firsthand in the vast fields and woods of his estate.
Such concerns were reason enough to brood. Why then did he insist on blaming the stubborn Miss Sheffers for the bulk of his nerves?
On the way down Beechen Cliff, she had insisted he use her as a prop. Her, a dainty woman, no less! He’d been humiliated. Mortified. Never should a man be so betrayed by his body that he’d be compelled to depend on a woman.
Ah . . . but her assistance had lessened the sharp pains worrying his calf and foot. That couldn’t possibly be the reason he’d spent the past fifteen minutes studying his cane, could it?
“You wouldn’t push a horse with a lame leg,” he grumbled to himself. A horse needed time and a goodly amount of pampering to heal. He spared no expense to coddle his horses to keep them healthy. So if he knew what it took to heal an injury, why should a woman’s scolding be necessary?
That stubborn and utterly forgettable elf-like creature had called him foolish. She’d gone beyond that and proved his own foolishness by insisting he lean on her arm.
He was no horse, but he was flesh and blood just the same. May was right. If he wanted to heal he’d need to take the expense and pamper himself for a while.
Damnation! He must be a fool . . . for he wanted nothing more than to send for her and lavish poetic sentiments of gratitude on her dainty head. Worse, he dearly wished to have her standing by his side to feed him her courage when he went out to see this new horse of his.
And to kiss her . . . oh yes, kiss her. He had been greatly tempted to cover her lips with his when she dared call him a fool. The temptation hadn’t diminished. He still wanted to kiss her and, Lord help him, perhaps do a little more.
“My lord?” Bannor stood in the doorway, his expression a gaping depiction of bald embarrassment. “I had knocked,” he quietly explained.
Radford realized suddenly that he’d picked up his accursed cane and had been beating it against the floor while silently berating himself. He’d no right for feeling those damnable soft feelings for an ordinary bird like Miss Sheffers. She was not at all suitable for marriage to him—the blasted list had already proved that. His time would be better spent contemplating how best to please his Lady Lillian or reviewing business matters with his man-of-affairs.
With a quick toss, the cane clattered to the floor. He cleared his throat. “Before we begin going over the books,” he said, “I have some matter of business to ask you about.”
Bannor nodded as if seeing his employer in a royal rage were a common occurrence. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and took his regular seat opposite Radford’s desk. His nimble fingers plucked a quill pen from its stand and blotted it, very precisely.
Bannor did everything with precision. Radford’s father wouldn’t have hired this man to serve as his estate’s man-of-affairs if he had been anything but the model of perfection.
“What is this matter of business, my lord?” he asked once he finished his lengthy ritual of setting up his papers at the desk.
“That young lady renting number twelve Sydney Place.” Radford kept his tone purposefully neutral.
“Number 12?” Bannor fiddled with his papers. “Ah, yes, Miss Margaret Sheffers. Although the back rent has been paid, there is no sign that she o
r her elderly aunt will be able to produce any future payments. They should be out by the end of the month.”
“Yes.” Radford negligently waved his hand. “About that. Don’t evict them. If they wish to leave on their own accord, we naturally cannot stop them. But I will not have you push them out.”
Bannor dropped his pen. Ink splattered on his ledger. “But, my lord. We are not a charity.”
“Nor will this be a regular practice. Tell me, what do you know about the lady?” Although he had promised her he wouldn’t pry into her affairs, Radford could not curb a nagging feeling that he was duty-bound as a gentleman to take some action. She was considering marriage to an old codger, for Heaven’s sake. Miss Sheffers had to be at the end of her rope.
“I spoke with her banker. He told me her account had been seized by the courts. I do not know the reason.”
“And her family? I suppose she is related to the Earl of Redfield?”
“That is her uncle,” Bannor supplied, though Radford already knew as much. “Her mother, I believe, was the earl’s youngest sibling. Miss Sheffers cares for her aunt, who is the earl’s eldest sibling. I sense a strained relationship between the earl and his sister, however. I imagine that is one reason why the pair of hens were allowed to flounder for so long.”
“Very good.” This told Radford nothing new. “Find out whatever you can about the two women as soon as possible. I want deep, dark secrets if there are any to be had. Understood?”
Bannor swallowed hard and adjusted his glasses. “You-you aren’t planning to coerce the young lady in some disgraceful manner, are you?” he whispered the question.
“On the contrary, Bannor. By gathering this information I hope to keep someone else from doing just that.”
Bannor breathed a long sigh of relief.
“And Bannor? That was an impertinent question. In the future, be advised I will not tolerate such questions against my character. If it happens again, you may find yourself needing to search for employment elsewhere.”
Bannor nodded furiously and colored a bright crimson. “You must forgive me, my lord. I meant no insult. Truly, I didn’t.”
“Shall we review the books?” Radford said, hoping to move past the awkward moment as soon as possible. He had a day crammed with awkward moments to look forward to and no desire to dwell on any of them.
* * * *
Try as she might, May could not keep her stomach from fluttering nervously as the viscount’s butler, the long-faced Jeffers, slowly opened the heavy door. He gave a start when he found himself staring down upon her and the smiling Lady Iona.
Lord Nathan grunted at the shocked pause, not taking notice of either the speechless Jeffers or the mortified May. He brushed past the butler and led the group into the parlor. With shocking brashness he announced himself and the ladies to the frail-looking woman lounging on a velvet sofa.
The woman sat up slightly and, smiling all the while, scolded Lord Nathan for his unconventional behavior. Her hand rose in the air for him to kiss. She was dressed in layers of the most diaphanous fabrics and her silky brown hair was peppered with gray.
So this was Lady Evers, the viscount’s mother, May thought after the introductions were completed. Lady Evers rose with great care, as if fearing her thin bones might snap. May worried for a moment that Lady Evers’ weakened legs wouldn’t be able to hold her weight. But the lady surprised May when she managed to cross the room and embrace Lady Lillian with great enthusiasm.
She cupped the young woman’s face in her hands. “Every time I see you I think, my, this girl is as lovely as a jewel. Just look at you,” she said. Her gaze tripped over May and held steady for a moment on Iona. “And your sister. I do pronounce you both diamonds of the first water.”
May’s natural smile tightened into something quite forced. There was no reason to feel slighted. Lady Evers’ reaction to her had been no different the night before, nor was it any different than many of the ton’s. But here, under the viscount’s roof, Lady Evers’ expectation that May meekly fade into the background stung worse than the most thinly veiled insult Lady Lillian could ever utter.
Lillian and Iona naturally drank up the praise and lapsed into comfortable conversation with the viscount’s mother. It was only right that Lillian should make friends with Lady Evers. The woman would very likely become her mother-in-law, after all.
Just once, May thought. Her smile strained till her jaw ached. Just once, I would like to be the pretty one—the one everyone is dying to love. But that would never happen. Not even her parents—the very two people who should love her no matter how ugly a duck she turned out to be—they didn’t even love her enough to stay by her side.
She stepped back toward the window seat, as was her habit, and allowed herself be forgotten. An interloper, perhaps . . . but she did have her pride.
A lifetime of minutes passed before Lord Evers entered the parlor. Cane in hand, he was blessedly giving his injured foot a well-deserved rest. Despite May’s discomfort at being the forgotten guest, her smile relaxed at the sight of him using that cane. Her words that morning must have made an impact. He was letting his finely polished wooden cane with a golden cap take the weight off his damaged leg . . . and looking more dashing than ever for it.
His gaze swept the room. A brief hesitancy darkened his expression as his eyes flicked from Lady Lillian’s lovely pout to his cane and back to Lillian again. The gel played the part of coquette to perfection.
Lillian turned her head and whispered in Lord Nathan’s ear, twittering lightly. The viscount remained standing at the threshold, looking adorably cross. May saw right away what he’d missed. Since he hadn’t immediately plied Lillian with flowering praises or complimented her ridiculous ostrich-feathered bonnet, Lillian had chosen to punish him by flirting shamelessly with his friend.
Fortunately his mother seemed to know the rules of the game Lillian had chosen to play. She came immediately to his rescue.
“Radford,” she cried. “Come tell your Lady Lillian how beautiful she looks. Haven’t you noticed her lovely new bonnet and how it complements her rosy complexion?” She took Lillian’s arm then. “You must forgive my son. Just like his father, Radford can be blind to such delicate matters. He appreciates the final result without taking adequate notice of the details that make our beauty a success.”
Radford?
His given name fit his straight, proud stature. The name literally tripped off May’s tongue as she whispered it. No matter how hard she tried she could not seem to wrench her gaze away from him.
He’d changed his clothes. His buff pants were tight, probably too tight for his injured leg. His coat was also tight, accentuating his broad shoulders. An intricately pressed cravat cascaded from his neck. All in all he looked very well turned out. His style could rival the most fashionable London dandies. Were they in London, he would doubtlessly win a nod from Beau Brummell, society’s arbiter of taste and fashion.
May watched Radford with fascination, realizing with a short gasp of horror that she was a little more than half in love with him. He fawned over Lillian, kissing her hand and gazing intently into her blue eyes. She, in turn, swatted his shoulder and made him promise to never overlook her lovely bonnets again.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady. You have the loveliest taste in clothing,” he said in the same honeyed tone he’d used in the moments before he’d gifted May with her very first kiss. “I bow to your genius on all matters of fashion. You are a goddess in that respect. A beautiful, talented goddess.”
That first kiss he’d given her had meant the world to May.
A knife twisted in her gut. The green-eyed monster, jealousy, stabbed her but good. That very same kiss had been nothing more than an empty diversion to Radford.
May fervently prayed that love was indeed a fleeting emotion, as Mary Wollstonecraft had suggested. How would she be able to bear the ripping pangs in her heart otherwise? How could she live the rest of her life while such aches
burrowed deep into her soul?
There was no one, save her aunt, who had ever found her worthy of being loved. The realization threatened to pull tears to her eyes. May blinked them back furiously. She was a woman grown, not some besotted child who still believed in fairy tales and romantic endings. Such things only lived in novels.
Happy endings were certainly vacant from her quiet life.
Radford hadn’t even noticed her presence. It was as if she’d actually melted into the wainscoting. Without wishing to till at windmills, May shifted deeper into the window seat, half-hidden behind the heavy curtains, dearly wishing she could disappear altogether.
Radford encouraged his mother and his Lillian to join him on a long sofa. He motioned to a cozier velvet sofa, inviting Lord Nathan and Iona to also make themselves comfortable.
Lord Nathan cast a wary glance in May’s direction and refused the offer to sit. Iona followed suit.
“I would prefer to stand, my lord,” Iona said in that low, proper tone of hers that always sounded like a rebuke to May’s ears.
Her refusal left Radford in an awkward position. He was stuck between the polite need to sit with his mother and intended fiancée or remain standing with Iona. His eyebrows arched slightly and he flashed a quick snarl toward his friend.
“Very well,” he said. “I am anxious to inspect my filly. Word came around not ten minutes ago of my stable manager’s arrival. Perhaps we should—”
His gaze met May’s at that moment and he froze.
He was angry. She could sense anger in the air, and she was convinced it came from him. He didn’t want her in his parlor, in his house, or in his life. Agreeing to Lord Nathan’s silly notion that she would be welcomed was a fool’s folly May deeply regretted. But she could not change her course now. She swallowed hard and rose.
“My lord,” she said crisply and curtsied.
He blinked.
“My sister insisted she come along,” Lillian said in the ensuing silence. Neither Lord Nathan nor Iona moved a muscle to come to May’s aid. Instead, they stepped back and smiled at each other in a knowing sort of way. “Iona likes to bring her along on our outings. Perhaps it is charity.”
The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection Page 8