by Aileen Fish
“What about all that bluster about not marrying until the last moment possible to beget an heir?” Her voice dropped an octave and her lips pursed as she imitated Ben. “The old man can’t force me to marry. I’ll find a temporary bride and when the old man passes on, I can return to my Bird of Paradise.”
He flinched at that last part. “Did I really say as much?”
Jean turned her face toward the oncoming carriages. “If not in exact words, then in content. And I have no intentions of being any man’s mistress.”
“Gilbert would have my head for even thinking such a thing.” His thoughts did stray on occasion to wondering how passionate she could become, but he’d never put her in the same class as a lightskirt.
She was quiet for a bit. Ben turned the phaeton into Hyde Park, following the flow of riders and conveyances. How had he been foolish enough to think he could simply arrive on his aunt’s doorstep and Miss Seton would fall into his arms? They’d gotten on well enough that he’d magnified their friendship into something more passionate.
Now he’d lost control of this situation. He only wished to spend some time amiably with Miss Seton, to remind her of the hours they’d spent in comfortable seclusion at Three Gables. Then he could press his suit. He needed to start fresh. “Is London everything you hoped it would be?”
Miss Seton toyed with the hem of her glove. “It is more crowded than I had imagined. But there is always something to do, another shop to visit, even if one doesn’t buy anything.”
His brows pulled together. She should be free to purchase everything she desired. “My aunt was told to send me the bills for anything you needed. Is your wardrobe lacking? Do you have enough bonnets? I had included all of those as necessities when I made our agreement.”
She laughed and put her hand on his sleeve. “Never worry. I have more gowns than I could possibly wear in a year, and shoes to match all of them. Mrs. Granderson was quite efficient in that department.”
“Then what do you lack? What sort of thing do you admire but not purchase?”
“Do men only visit the shops when they require something? I am certain women don’t limit themselves so. We admire trinkets and laces and ribbons enough to fill a shop of our own. We’ve no intention of purchasing half of what we comment on.”
“I suppose there are some gentlemen who enjoy the sport of shopping as much as the ladies. I could see little purpose in it, myself. I’d just as soon send someone to pick up what I need. If my valet wore the same size, I’d have him go for fittings too.”
A gentleman on horseback trotted up on Miss Seton’s side of the carriage. “I thought that was you, Miss Seton. You look splendid today.”
“Mr. Baxter, how are you?” Her voice overflowed with politeness.
“Quite well, thank you. And your mother is well?”
Ben ignored the inane conversation. How did she stand such drollery? My mother is well, my sister is well, I am well, my cat is well… Ben noticed two more gentlemen had stopped to flatter her as well. Traffic was building up behind them, yet if he spoke of it, he might be taken as jealous or possessive. Neither would paint him in a good light, so he seethed in silence.
Miss Seton appeared to be aware of the waiting carriages. “If you’ll excuse us, we must keep moving. Good day.”
Biting back the urge to ask who the gentlemen were and how important they were to her, Ben said, “I have always been struck by the incongruity of the fashionable hour at Hyde Park. One wants to see and be seen, yet one cannot pause to greet an acquaintance without causing a traffic jam.”
“It’s like the ballrooms, isn’t it? One may take a turn about the room, yet often one does so at her own peril.”
“There should be a simpler way to find a husband or wife.”
She turned to face him. “Are you suggesting we stick to arranged marriages? Remove all the posturing and pleasantries of the Season?”
“I’m certain many arranged marriages result in as happy a circumstance as the ones built on momentary passion.”
“But what if the passion isn’t momentary? What if it’s a spark of love lighting the flame they feel for one another? Or do you not believe in love?”
As they had reached the far end of the promenade, Ben steered the horse through a gate and away from the park. “The only love I know is built over time. That’s how it is able to last a lifetime. There certainly isn’t enough time in a Season to fall in love.”
* * * * *
Viscount Ringley took another swallow of his brandy while studying the cards in his hand. “Remind me why we’re playing poker in your rooms rather than getting in on the real stakes at Boodle’s?”
Ben set two cards facedown on the table. “Because I still hold your vowels from last week’s gaming at White’s. Now, deal.”
“Ah, yes. And you have my eternal gratitude, you know. I’ll speak to my father about an advance on next quarter’s funds.”
“You’ll do no such thing. I know you’re good for the money. But I do think you should avoid either drinking or the tables.”
“You sound like my father. Perhaps you are ready to take a wife.”
Ben raised a brow. “You had doubts?”
“You had doubts as well. Admit it. You probably still do. This is a rash decision to make on sudden notice. Sir Waldo hasn’t been gone a year, and you have done a complete turnabout from your attitude when he insisted you marry. You are in a mad dash to take a wife. Yet a month ago you argued when I suggested it was what you wanted.”
“I blamed the sullenness on the stress of taking over Grandfather’s company. I’ve never missed a woman when she was out of my presence, so I didn’t realize what that felt like.”
Ringley shook his head. “Don’t let your demimonde hear you say so.”
“I cut her free long before Grandfather’s summons, and you know it.”
“That alone could drive a man to think mad thoughts. I still say you should set yourself up with another demimonde until the feeling passes. Buy a nice cottage outside Greater Yarmouth and place her there. It would be quite convenient.”
“And quite unacceptable. I know what I want. I want a companion, a helpmeet. Someone who will ask how my day has been when I return home.”
Grinning, Ringley replied, “I’m certain Smithers would be more than happy to ask it when he takes your hat and coat at the door.”
Ben chuckled. “For that matter, I could have a dog wagging his tail and barking when I come home. But it wouldn’t be the same. Miss Seton discussed any problems I had and offered intelligent responses. I could see her concern in her manner, in her eyes. It warmed me to have someone who cared there, to speak with.”
He rose and crossed to the liquor cabinet. Grabbing the brandy decanter, he returned to the table and topped off both their glasses. “I’d thought a mistress would be enough to see me through the next six or seven years at least. I could find a bride then, when I needed to produce an heir.”
He stuck the crystal stopper back in the bottle. “But I want more. I want the entire meal with all the courses, all the removes. I want Miss Seton.”
Chapter Three
Ben found exactly what he’d hoped for when he entered his aunt’s library. Miss Seton sat alone, curled in the window seat with a book in her hands. He cleared his throat, then smiled when she jumped.
“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said with a small laugh as her cheeks turned pink.
“I didn’t want to disturb you. That must be a very good book.”
“It is. Narrative Poems on the Female Character. I found it on the shelves.”
He crossed the room, holding up the novel in his hand. “I found the romance you suggested to me, Radcliffe’s The Italian. I shall begin reading it this very night.” Laying the book on a small table, he continued, “There is a matter I must discuss with my aunt, but I wondered if you would care to walk with me when I am finished?”
“That would be pleasant. I must go change.” She
set her book on a delicate side table and slipped from the room.
After concluding his business with his aunt, Ben found Miss Seton in a lovely apple-green walking gown with elaborate handwork at the hem. Her boots and gloves were a matching shade of green. A feathered hat perched precariously on her brown curls. He knew it to be a new purchase, as she’d worn nothing so fancy during her stay in Greater Yarmouth. He felt warmed with satisfaction at having played a part in allowing her to purchase some fashionable gowns. Her beauty deserved to be enhanced by the finest things.
If only she’d give him the chance to make certain she always wore such finery.
She took his arm as they walked down the street, her maid trailing discreetly behind. Her bonnet hid her face from him, but he loved the look of her on his arm. He was certain passersby would read his grin and think him a fool. He didn’t care. “Tell me, have you seen all the sights here in Town? Have you tasted the ices at Gunter’s and bought perfume at Faro’s?”
“Yes, Mama and I have enjoyed the ices several times, but I’ve not shopped for extravagances like perfumes. My cologne from home suits me well enough.”
He remembered the light fragrance of honeysuckle that followed behind her when she walked through a room at Three Gables, and had to agree it suited her. “And what was your favorite flavor of ice?”
Her head tipped to one side and she chewed her lower lip for a moment. “It’s between maple and lavender. I hadn’t expected to enjoy the latter, but I did.”
He wished he could ask the real questions in his thoughts, such as what she hoped for in a marriage. How could he convince her they suited if he didn’t know what she sought? It seemed an impertinent question, however, and probably not one she’d appreciate. Instead, he asked after her brother.
“I had a letter from him just this week. He’s had a slight wound to his arm and is recuperating in camp. He’s uncertain if he’ll stay on when his enlistment is finished.”
“He was saying as much when I sold my commission when Sir Waldo grew ill. I believe he has seen enough of the world to satisfy him.”
She looked up at him and the sunlight threw a shadow over one eye. He’d not noticed the threads of gold in her brown eyes. The outer corners turned up slightly and appeared even more so when she smiled. “What of you? Did you see much of the world? Do you wish to travel now that you have the freedom to do so?”
“I saw battle in France and Spain, and we passed through the cities too quickly to enjoy them. I should like to go back. There is much beauty beyond the shores of England.” An idea for a wedding trip came to him, but he nipped that thought in the bud.
After returning her to his aunt’s home, however, he made straight for Gunter’s to enact a plan that had come to him while they talked.
* * * * *
Mrs. Granderson’s home was quite the popular spot to drop by of late, and Jean enjoyed the company of her new friends. Nearly a dozen young gentlemen and ladies mingled about the salon where she and Agnes shared the chaise. Mr. Portwine waxed less than eloquently about some matter of politics—she was embarrassed to realize she’d been woolgathering—when a footman entered carrying a large basket. He came straight to Jean rather than Mrs. Granderson.
“If you please, miss, I was told to deliver these to you personally.”
“Deliver what?” She feared the basket held anything from kittens to jars of honey, neither of which she wished to handle at the moment.
The young man lowered the basket before her and removed the cloth covering. Jean peered inside and gasped.
“What is it?” asked Agnes as she scurried to stand nearby.
Reaching in carefully, Jean lifted out the first of the small bowls of glacées. “Sweets. At least a dozen of them. More than enough for everyone.” She supervised the distribution of bowls while a servant went for spoons.
As Agnes licked a drip from her finger, she asked, “Who sent them?”
Jean looked for a note in the basket, and finding none, queried the footman. He replied simply, “I am to say they are from a friend.”
Since Lord Milford was not present, she supposed he might be included in a list of whom she should thank for the treats, but she was fairly certain he was not the responsible party. She spooned a bite of the maple glacée and let it melt on her tongue, the sweetness and cold spreading through her mouth.
Mama called to her from the seating area near the unlit fireplace. “Your friend is quite thoughtful, sending so many of these.”
“Isn’t he, though?” Jean responded. The look in Mrs. Granderson’s eye said she knew something she wasn’t letting on, which confirmed Jean’s suspicions. Mr. Tilbury was also notably absent, and a more obvious benefactor.
Jean leaned close to Agnes and whispered, “I believe the culprit is the nephew of the house.”
“Culprit? Why do you call him such? I would be delighted if a gentleman sent me a basket filled with ices and glacées.”
“I am a little surprised he is not here to witness his prank himself.”
“Prank? I do not follow. You make this gesture sound so malicious.”
“There are four gentlemen here, Agnes, each of whom is now knowingly eating an ice sent to me by another man. What must they be thinking?”
Agnes laughed softly and looked about the room. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. You are quite right. The Smythe sisters are smiling, obviously enjoying theirs, but Mr. Portwine and Mr. Chambers appear to be sucking lemons. What a lark.”
Glancing again at Mrs. Granderson, Jean found the woman studying her. Would she report to her nephew how the gift was received? Jean simply smiled and took another bite. She credited the man with originality, if not a measure of spite that she continued to receive calls from other men. Yet the maple’s sweetness soured slightly the more she thought on it. Here was another example of Mr. Tilbury’s flaunting his sudden wealth. Did he think her so poor she could be enticed into accepting his betrothal simply by buying her gifts?
Two nights later, she had the opportunity to ask him this. Mrs. Granderson had invited Jean and Mrs. Seton to attend the theater and sit in the box belonging to her particular friend, Lord Everton. Jean was not at all surprised when Mr. Tilbury arrived, alone, just before the curtain went up.
Jean sat between him and her mother without speaking a word through the entire first act. When intermission came, he offered to allow her to stretch her legs. Needing some way to disperse the displeasure simmering inside her, she accepted his arm and stepped into the crowded passageway.
It was the wrong place to speak to him, but she had little choice when he said, “My aunt tells me you received a basket of ices recently. What an odd gift for anyone to send.”
“Do not play coy with me, Mr. Tilbury. I am not so naïve as to not know who sent the gift.” Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the tight inflection from her voice. “It was very presumptuous of you. A gentleman wouldn’t send gifts to a lady knowing how it might reflect on her character.”
He smiled and was pushed against her by the crowd. “Forgive me. This is a bad spot to hold a conversation. Shall we keep moving? I hadn’t meant to presume anything, but merely thought you would enjoy the sweets.”
“And so you sent them during your aunt’s at home hour, making certain there were enough that even the gentlemen callers must partake of them.”
His lips pulled down in a mock frown. “I couldn’t send just one…”
“But why send any?” Jean whispered loudly, wanting to be heard by him, but only him. “I do not wish you to spend any more money on me than you already have.”
Closing her eyes, she realized how that would sound to anyone nearby. She could be ruining her reputation in the eyes of the ton. She should return to her mother and wait to speak to Mr. Tilbury when they were in the privacy of Mrs. Granderson’s home.
Mr. Tilbury wouldn’t drop the subject. “I thought only of my aunt and her guests and had no other motive. Your brother would wish me to see that yo
ur visit to London is everything you wish it to be.”
She mentally thanked him for that bit, should anyone be eavesdropping. But she hoped he could see in her eyes what she wanted to say. “Gilbert wouldn’t expect any favors that might be misunderstood by others.”
He gazed down as her when they reached the box, but didn’t pull aside the curtain right away. “I wrote to Gilbert several weeks ago, so there may be no misunderstanding of my intentions.”
Jean’s lips parted to reply, but no words came out. No words formed in her mind, as if it went completely numb. Mr. Tilbury led her to her seat, spoke with his aunt and her friend, then sat beside Jean as the curtain rose for the next act.
The nerve of the man. He’d written to her brother of his intentions without even telling her what he planned. Gilbert might assume she wished to accept Mr. Tilbury’s offer, when at that moment she wasn’t certain if he suggested marriage or some less-than-proper arrangement. Not that it mattered, because she had no desire for any sort of relationship with him and planned to tell him as soon as she had the chance.
Not in a passageway with every busybody in London looking for the latest tidbit. She was not someone who should draw anyone’s notice, if she weren’t standing with a gentleman known to have recently come into an inheritance of grand proportions. She planned to remain beneath everyone’s notice even after the end of the Season, when hopefully she would retire to the country to plan her wedding. To a man of her choosing.
Her wedding. Was it only a few months ago she’d been daydreaming of the event? Which of the new gowns she’d ordered would suit a simple ceremony in a country church, as she couldn’t see herself ever marrying in Westminster Abbey or any church in London. It didn’t matter whom she married, a duke, earl or captain, she wasn’t suited to grand gatherings.
The presence of the gentleman beside her continually intruded into her thoughts. His clean scent encroached upon her. He rarely moved during the play, yet she was certain she felt every time his arm shifted when he inhaled.
Jean no longer had any clue what the performance was about and hoped her mother wouldn’t ask later. It couldn’t be over soon enough to suit her. She needed to get far away from Mr. Tilbury.