by Aileen Fish
The door opened and Ringley entered, rubbing his puffy eyes. His voice resounded with the gravel of heavy sleep. “Do you not own any quieter boots?”
Ben threw a glare at his friend. “Shall I send for my slippers, then?”
“Either that or stand in one place for longer than a minute.”
“What has you so cross? You didn’t drink excessively last night.”
“My head pains me and your stomping boot heels are out to kill me. Sit, man, please.”
Ben ceased his pacing but continued to stand. For the moment at least, until the frustration overtook him once more.
Ringley dropped into a chair, throwing one leg over the arm. “What has she done?”
“She won’t have me.” Ben wasn’t of a mind to pretend he didn’t know which female Ringley referred to. The man knew him too well.
“Are you certain?” Ringley quickly ducked and raised an arm in front of his face. “Forget I asked that. She turned you down, then?”
“She asked me to leave Town and allow her to continue her pursuit of a husband.”
“Ouch. Sharper than a serpent’s tooth. I hadn’t expected that of her.”
“If she’d been speaking sharply it might not have hurt as much. She was so sad. So resigned.”
“Resigned to what?”
“How should I know, Ringley? You have sisters, enlighten me. I have been the ideal gentleman around her. I refrained from buying her gifts or sweets after she complained, and have not sent her flowers in more than a week. I have done everything she asks…”
“And what isn’t she asking? Why is she so opposed to your attentions?”
“Again, you are the one with sisters. I have no inklings of the machinations of the fairer sex.”
Tapping a finger on his chin, Ringley sat in thought. “Tell me all that was said this morning.”
Ben paced again. “I don’t remember what we said. I mentioned I would be leaving in a week, and she said it’s important to be needed. And honest. She wants to be happy and couldn’t bear having her heart broken.”
“I see. And what would cause her heart to break?”
He tried to remember her words, but it seemed his heart had begun to beat so loudly when she’d spoken, he hadn’t heard most of what she said. Then he remembered another conversation between them. “Her mother had a broken heart. Mr. Seton apparently admitted he’d loved another, not Mrs. Seton.”
“Very well, but how does that pertain to you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve told her I have never loved. I’m not even certain I understand how one goes about falling in love, when I only know the kind my parents found in a marriage of long duration.”
“Quite the romantic, aren’t you?”
Ignoring the man, Ben continued to let his thoughts flow. “I’ve told Miss Seton I have no intention of engaging a mistress when I marry, so she can’t have any fear of being hurt after she’s fallen in love with me.”
The answer came on him like stampeding cattle. “That’s it!”
“What is?”
“She’s fallen in love with me, don’t you see?”
“How’s that again?”
Ben whooped and tugged Ringley from the chair, prancing about like a fool in love. “She loves me. Miss Seton loves me.”
Ringley pulled his hands free and stepped back. “The woman asked you to leave Town and you understand that to mean she loves you?”
“Not that part, no. The part about the broken heart. I could only hurt her that way if she loved me. She’s afraid if I remain in Town, she will accept my proposal and be crushed when I don’t return that love.”
“I can see where you might take her meaning that way. But what will you do about it?”
“First thing, I will leave her to her Lord Milquetoast. She could never love such a man as he.”
Rolling his eyes, Ringley nodded. “Of course not. Not when she has your wit and eloquence before her.”
“Be quiet, man, and help me determine how to show a woman I love her. I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”
Chapter Five
Jean fastened the buttons of her pelisse in preparation for the cool night air in Vauxhall Gardens. With one final look at her reflection, she descended to the ground floor to find her mother.
As she walked, she toyed with the cold pearls at her neck. The necklace had been her mother’s, given to Jean on her most recent birthday. They’d originally been a gift from her father to her mother on their first anniversary, before their relationship had changed. Jean had mixed feelings about wearing them.
Had Papa ever loved Mama? Jean would never know, since Papa died years ago. She acknowledged the possibility her mother had brought on some of her own sorrow. If Papa had tried to love her but she’d withdrawn upon learning she was his second choice, he would not be solely to blame.
Was Jean equally foolish to reject Mr. Tilbury from the start?
Voices carried from the salon and Jean went there to look for the other ladies. As she entered the room, however, she stopped short at the sight of Mr. Tilbury.
He was regally dressed in a black cutaway coat and trousers, his vest as bright a white as his shirt. With his hair combed back from his face, he appeared more polished than she could recall seeing him. And quite magnificently handsome. Something within her fluttered awake as he met her gaze, but she just as quickly smothered it.
Why had he come? It showed his disregard for her feelings, since she’d asked him to leave her alone. Of course, he’d already arranged to be their escort, so perhaps his being there had nothing to do with her. He was honoring his promise to his aunt. Jean would keep her distance as much as possible to keep her discomfort at a minimum.
Mr. Tilbury crossed the carpet and bowed. “You steal my very breath.”
She offered him a formal curtsey. “You’re too kind.”
“No, I’m not. If no one has said those sorts of things to you, you must broaden your search. Never settle for a man who cannot lavish praise on your beauty.”
“Whom I choose for a husband is not your concern, Mr. Tilbury. You agreed to provide entrance into what assemblies were available to me, not to make the choice for me.”
“I owe it to your brother to watch over you, Miss Seton. Now, if you are ready, I know my aunt is eager to see the Waterloo reenactment. Shall we?” Rather than offering Jean his arm, he escorted Mrs. Granderson out the door, as was her due.
Jean followed her mother to the carriage and accepted Mr. Tilbury’s assistance in boarding. She fixed her gaze out the window for the duration of the ride.
Vauxhall Gardens at night was even more splendid than by day. Lamps twinkled along the walkways, although some side paths led into darkness. Agnes had told her stories of what happened in the shadows there. Jean shivered at the idea of such trysts and hurried to catch up to her mother.
Mr. Tilbury had reserved a box for them to dine in before the entertainment began. Tonight’s reenactment of the Battle of Waterloo was to be the main performance.
Mrs. Granderson filled their plates with thinly sliced cold meats and an assortment of fresh fruits. Jean swore the food tasted even more flavorful for being eaten out of doors. She’d been on picnics, but never had those involved fine linens, ornate silver and music. “This is such a delight.”
“And there is so much more to see,” Mrs. Granderson agreed.
“Will there be fireworks?” Jean asked.
Mr. Tilbury’s mouth turned down as he spoke. “If they portray the reenactment anything like the original event, there will be more fireworks than one can anticipate.”
Jean wondered what his experiences in battle had been like. He’d never spoken of it, never mentioned any scars, physical or otherwise. Her brother kept those matters private as well, most likely to protect her. If she were to marry Mr. Tilbury, would he allow her to know all sides of him?
She shelved that thought immediately. She wasn’t marrying him. His battle scars didn’t affec
t her directly, it was true, but that didn’t mean she was blind to the notion he had any. Unable to hide her concern for his well-being, she asked, “Are you eager to watch that performance, or would you rather we avoid it?”
He shrugged, then spoke softly, leaning close to her ear. “My aunt is looking forward to it. I shouldn’t wish to disappoint her.”
Not surprisingly, he felt it his duty to endure something he might otherwise avoid, for the sake of his aunt. That drew his character out to be so very different than she’d first imagined it. “I don’t believe she would want you to suffer distress on her part.”
“I shall endeavor to make certain she isn’t aware that I’m distressed. It won’t be as bad as all that. I sold my commission long before Waterloo, and never fought a battle near there. Besides, I doubt the portrayal will resemble the actual events. Where would the entertainment be in that?”
After eating, they walked to where benches had been set up for the theatrical staging. As Mr. Tilbury suggested, the play was primarily a farce to belittle that Frenchman whom society was so eager to make sport of. The shooting was loud and the poor actor who portrayed Napoleon was chased back and forth across the stage until Jean wondered if it would ever end.
It did end, but not before she was tired of sitting on the hard bench amid the thousand or so other audience members. She rose with as much grace as she could, smiling at Mrs. Granderson, who seemed delighted by the entire production.
“Well then,” said that lady. “Shall we seek out some refreshments or would you two rather explore the pathways?”
Jean blinked in surprise until she realized Mrs. Granderson couldn’t be implying what Jean supposed. There were many lighted areas where they could walk and she assumed their chaperones would remain close behind them. While she didn’t look forward to more time alone with Mr. Tilbury—in fact, every minute with him wore away at her resolve to dislike him—she could not appear rude or ungracious. She looked to him for an answer.
He raised that one expressive brow, sending shivers down her back. “Shall we walk, Miss Seton?”
“If you wish.” She laid her hand on his sleeve and strolled with him to the wide sandy path between the rows of horse chestnut trees. After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Was the war really much like that?”
“It was nothing like that, and everything like it.”
“Could you be any more ambiguous?” She laughed softly. “Very well, we shall speak of other topics. Do you plan any improvements to Greater Yarmouth, now that it’s yours?”
She never heard his reply, for in that moment she realized they had become friends. She understood him, and when he wasn’t doggedly pressing his suit, she liked him.
This did not bode well for her decision to marry Lord Milford.
When they returned to the townhouse, Mrs. Granderson asked her nephew in for a drink. “It is merely midnight. I have no desire to end the evening in one of the many ballrooms we might visit, but am not ready for my bed.”
“If you like, I would be happy to come in,” he replied.
Jean struggled to free her arms from the tight sleeves of her pelisse, until Mr. Tilbury assisted. He once again stood closer than was proper and spoke in conspiratorial tones. “I am eager for the time I might kiss you good night.”
“Do not say such things. What will the others think?”
“They will think exactly what I meant. I wish to kiss you.”
She spun to face him and took her garment from his hands, clutching it to her chest. “Just when I believed we could be friends, you go and ruin it.”
His smile only made her focus on his lips. “Do you suppose none of the men who dance with you are thinking of how they might steal a kiss? Those who come to call or walk with you in the park?”
Her brows pulled down. “I don’t imagine they are thinking any such thing. All of my callers have been gentlemen.”
“And gentlemen have no feelings, no desires—”
“Please stop. You shouldn’t speak to me thus.”
Mr. Tilbury bent over her hand now that her gloves were removed, pressing his lips to the bare skin there. Fire scorched her and she pulled away.
He didn’t smile or apologize. “I hope the man you choose kisses you often, and well. You deserve no less.”
Jean gasped but was unable to turn away. She should slap him, scold him. She should not do what she wanted to most, which was to ask him to kiss her. Then the moment was lost as, stepping around her, Mr. Tilbury crossed the marble floor and entered the salon where Mama and his aunt had gone.
* * * * *
Ben stood in front of his aunt’s townhouse, looking up at the window he assumed to be Miss Seton’s bedchamber. He hadn’t been in that room since her arrival but knew the décor suited her best. Most likely she wasn’t in her bedchamber at this moment, as she’d always risen early when she stayed in Greater Yarmouth. She was probably in the morning room with the older ladies.
He should be in his own rooms, packing to return to Three Gables. He didn’t have much to pack and didn’t plan to leave until after Ringley wakened, so there was no rush.
If he went inside now, his aunt would offer him food, and he didn’t think he could eat. Didn’t think he could digest what he’d eaten. He was quite certain whatever food he’d downed last night still churned in his gut. Even the thought of coffee made him ill.
He couldn’t put it off any longer. He must ask Miss Seton to renew their betrothal before he returned home.
And he had no confidence in her answer.
A lovesick fool, that’s what he was. Mooning at a window and dreaming of the woman who stood beyond the glass. This was not his manner.
It was time to end his misery, one way or another. He marched up the stairs and rapped on the door, grunting in response to Burton’s greeting. “Mrs. Granderson is in the morning room, sir.”
“Thank you, Burton.”
The three ladies sat in the fall of sunlight coming through the large window. His aunt looked up when he entered. “Good morning, Benjamin.”
“Good morning, Aunt Granderson. Mrs. Seton. Miss Seton.”
“To what do we owe the pleasure of this early call?” His aunt sounded every bit the grande dame she pretended to be.
“I wish an audience with Miss Seton,” he said gruffly. With the difficulty he had getting the words out, he was grateful his voice didn’t crack.
“Of course. The fire in the library should have been lit, you may use that room.”
Nodding, he stole a glance at Miss Seton, whose color had vanished completely. He smiled in encouragement, whether for himself or the young lady, he wasn’t sure.
Miss Seton rose and walked soundlessly into the library, which was just across the hallway. She stopped before the fire and didn’t face him.
Ben stood a few feet away. “I am sure you understand the purpose of my visit. Please hear me out before you reply. It’s become apparent to me I know nothing of love. I presumed it to only come after many years of friendship, when all the while it’d begun to grow within me, unnoticed.”
He raked his fingers through one side of his hair, fighting to find the words he needed. Trying to calm the burning in his gut. “It blossomed under your laughter and the way you pick at the hem on your glove when you are nervous. Your smile when our eyes meet across a crowded room. All these things have fed and nurtured this creature without my knowing it, and only when faced with the loss of them I realized the truth.
“I cannot be happy without you, dearest Jean. May I call you that now? My life would continue as it has if I had left when you requested, but my existence would have been in shadow. I wish to come out of the shadows and bask in the sunshine you bring. Please say you will have me. Say you can return my love.”
Jean turned, lifted her gaze to his, but he couldn’t read her response on her face.
From the open doorway came the sound of Burton clearing his throat.
“Yes, what is it?” Jean aske
d in a tone more sharp than normal.
“Lord Milford wishes to speak with you, miss.”
Blast and bollocks, could his misery get any worse? The man had uncanny timing.
“Ask Mrs. Granderson if he might take coffee with them, Burton. I shall join them shortly.” She kept her eyes on the doorway, then on her hands, which she clenched and unclenched. Finally, she faced Ben. “You know what I am looking for in a husband, and I have been more than clear that I did not believe that man is you. I admit my fear of being in a loveless relationship has driven my search. I couldn’t marry a man I felt incapable of loving me forever.
“But neither could I marry a man I didn’t love. In these past few weeks I have learned to recognize my own feelings, to distinguish between hope and true affection. I was flattered, at first, when you arrived in London claiming we were still betrothed.” She laughed. “I’m sure I hid it well, but I did feel some joy that you wanted me. But I wanted nothing of the man I thought you to be.”
Fear squeezed his ribs, making breathing impossible. “I assure you—”
She held up a hand. “I wronged you with my narrow opinion of you. I confess it. I placed you in the class of men who produced an heir, then returned to their clubs and their lightskirts, leaving their families to raise themselves.”
“If you—”
“I am not finished.” She took a single step toward him. Her voice took on strength. “You have flirted with me shamelessly, in places we were bound to be overheard. You taunted me with threats of kisses, the likes of which I might never recover from.”
Hope burst through the acid smothering it deep inside him. He moved closer, waiting for the words he needed to hear. “Should I apologize?”
Her gaze lowered and her cheeks flushed becomingly. “I wish you wouldn’t. I’d rather you kiss me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Mr. Tilbury, do not make me beg, even though that was one of your threats. I wish to know if I can believe everything you tell me. Kiss me now.”
Ben closed the small distance remaining and took hold of her shoulders. Jean’s lower lip quivered, and he fought the desire to nip it. He needed to go slowly, not frighten her away. Pressing his lips to hers, he inhaled the gasp that escaped her. His mouth kneaded hers gently, then lifted and pressed a tiny kiss to the corner of her smile.