by Cheryl Bolen
David grinned. “That’s wonderful. But if you’ve made a discovery why have you not shouted it for all to hear this morning? You must tell everyone.”
Valentine scowled. “It wasn’t that kind of constellation. Not the kind that thrills my blood. I could have sworn I saw the shape of a Hawke swooping on tender prey. I thought better of you, old man.”
David stilled. Had his friend seen those rash kisses between him and Miss Watson? Val’s scowl convinced David he had.
“It was a mistake and will not happen again,” David quickly assured him.
Valentine lifted his gaze to the heavens and sighed. “If it does, I will expect to hear a suitably grand announcement and to receive an invitation to the wedding. Lips do not usually connect so accidentally. She’s a good girl, or has been until now. I would hate to see her heart broken when you disappear back to London.”
Guilt made David squirm. He’d spent many hours since last night debating the wisdom of having allowed the second kiss from Miss Watson. Sadly, he couldn’t erase the memory of her from his mind. Saying Abigail had been enthusiastic had been a vast understatement. He’d never experienced such a sweet, soul-consuming kiss. He’d quite forgotten himself in the rush of discovery. She’d surprised him with her flirtatious comments, too. She wasn’t the girl next door he knew or expected to speak with.
Despite those imprudent kisses, he shouldn’t, couldn’t offer for her. She was too young. Far too young for an old man like him, and his business with her brother would set them at odds. It could not be halted by any sort of attachment developing between them. He was a fool to even entertain the brief fantasy.
Regardless of still being wet, David threw his shirt over his head, raked his fingers through his hair, and gazed out at the shapes bobbing with the waves. Peter Watson had drifted further out than usual, effectively avoiding any possibility of conversation. David hadn’t really wanted to spoil the morning with bank business himself, but he couldn’t put it off indefinitely. They would have to talk, and Peter would be made to listen in the end.
He dressed, thinking over how to begin the discussion. He didn’t hold out much hope to remain friends after this. But he did hope not to become bitter enemies.
Val slapped his shoulder. “Must have been some kiss.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“That kiss last night. You’ve not been yourself all morning. Are you in love with the girl?”
“Not at all.” But he did feel oddly protective of her. Despite how it looked, he didn’t want Val to misunderstand the situation. David had confided in Val before when he’d been faced with a troubling situation, and frankly, he could use an impartial opinion. He moved closer to his friend so he couldn’t be overheard. “I can explain. By chance I spotted Miss Watson rush out her back gate late last night. I was concerned because she was unattended. I knew Watson had you all for company and likely wouldn’t notice she had left the house. I followed her up the laneway, and she called on Miss George. Rather than leave, I waited until she came back out.”
Val set his hands on his hips, his expression amused. “And just how did the kiss come about? You tripped and your lips stuck together?”
David still couldn’t work out that part. But it appeared Val didn’t know there had been two and he wasn’t going to ask which one he’d seen if he could avoid it. “This is rather embarrassing. Apparently, the lady wanted her very first kiss to be from someone she knew. I swear I have been nothing but respectful with her and will continue to be so.”
Val frowned. “You called at the Watson’s first last night before you even crossed your own threshold. Why?”
“I had some business to take care of with Watson. Since he had guests, that business is still outstanding and preys on my mind today, not the kiss with Miss Watson. I have no designs on his sister. None at all.”
It was only half true. He might think about the sweetness of her lips, but he wouldn’t act on those thoughts. Yet, it did feel very good to confide in someone he could trust not to spread harmful gossip about Miss Watson.
Val chuckled and broke the comfortable silence. “So, is she the first of the young ladies to throw herself at you? They’re all on the hunt for a husband now and think we’re easy targets for practicing upon. You’ll grow used to it by the end of the week and learn to move quicker unless you wish to be trapped. Were you really surprised?”
He drew in a deep breath as his tension dissipated. He wasn’t the only one to stumble into such a situation and come out utterly befuddled by the experience. “Could have knocked me down with a feather.”
“It shouldn’t have. They’re all testing their wings these days so be careful. You’re wealthy, not too bad looking, and probably considered quite a catch.”
David punched Val’s arm.
“All joking aside, even Miss Radley is fluttering her lashes at the oddest moments,” Val continued. “Once, she did it so often I thought she had a spec of dirt in her eye and asked her if she required aid. The look I got could have made me a eunuch. But out of all the fellows in Brighton, you’re possibly the one man Miss Watson is most comfortable around so be cautious of her unless you wish for a shackle about your leg.”
A warm glow built in David’s chest but he quickly repressed the sensation. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m too old for her.”
“You were always coming to her rescue when she was small.” Val chuckled. “Remember the time she followed us to the seashore one morning? Everyone except you had their trousers about their knees or off before we realized she’d watched us disrobe.”
“Please don’t remind me.” David covered his face at the memory. “Her questions on the way home burned my ears. I have always hoped she wouldn’t remember seeing your skinny backside disappearing into the waves.”
Valentine punched his arm. “Well, she’s seen all of us and not done a thing about it. There is just your backside to satisfy her curiosity about.”
“That isn’t likely to happen.”
Valentine stopped suddenly. “Do you know how many proposals of marriage she’s turned down? Three. She’s getting a reputation for breaking hearts.”
David’s mind grasped onto the idea. A speedy marriage for Miss Watson would solve one half of the problem. She’d be spared the pain of eviction and have a home of her own to go to. “Why did she refuse her suitors?”
“Who knows why women do anything. What I thought were perfectly sane, intelligent young ladies two years ago have turned into simpering and fluttering creatures while our backs were turned.” Val shuddered. “I warn you, Brighton has become a dangerous playground for the unwary gentleman.”
“Miss Watson doesn’t simper or flutter. She’s rather direct actually.” David’s face heated. His defense of her indicated he had given Abigail considerable thought. He avoided meeting Val’s gaze. “She mentioned overdressed young men in London with a great deal of distain. I am surprised to find her unattached after her time in London. She should have done well.”
Val glanced at his clothing and grinned. “If she has no care for fashion then perhaps I might just prove good enough to be acceptable, even with my skinny backside.”
David regarded his friend, a sense of discomfort prickling along his spine. Valentine would be considered a good catch, not wealthy but well off, only somewhat eccentric with his nightly stargazing habits. It was probably time he considered taking a wife.
They stopped in front of Valentine’s home. If David could encourage a match between Valentine and Miss Watson then he might not feel so dispirited about what he had to do. However, he wouldn’t like to force two people together when there was an inequality of feeling. “A man should never propose unless he means to change his life, but Miss Watson is sensible and could be good for you. She’d be worth the expense.”
“So says the banker,” Valentine intoned. “I am amazed such sentimentality and romantic notions run through your head.”
David rolled his eyes. “You may laugh at me n
ow, but I’ve had my share of gentlemen clients bitterly complain about the expense of family, and particularly wives who married them for position and money rather than affection. Romantic or not, marriage is not a decision to rush into.”
“The expense of a wife shouldn’t be a problem for you then, would it? You may be as romantic as you please and choose from any number of lovely ladies. However, your situation is unique. You have no family to appease when making the decision on who to wed.” Valentine sighed dramatically. “I must gain approval from three women before even contemplating such a decision. It must be nice to come and go at your leisure without having someone to answer to if you are tardy, messy or absent altogether. I’m not keen to add another lady to my household.”
“Neither am I,” David said but as he spoke he acknowledged to himself that he wasn’t being entirely truthful.
Valentine glanced sideways at him. “Your business is doing well, I trust?”
“Yes, business is booming. A family would never understand the demands of my work,” he muttered the last softly. In a sense, it was good he had not married. If he had, he’d likely endure years of discord because of his devotion to work.
“Well, you shan’t ever know for sure until you have a family of your own,” Valentine warned sagely. Valentine said his goodbyes, reminding him of the Radley dinner tonight, and David walked up the street alone. He glanced at the Watson’s front window as he passed by. The curtain twitched, and his pulse tripled. Yet he did not want to give Miss Watson further encouragement so he hurried to his own door and closed it swiftly behind him. He would keep a greater distance from Miss Watson, deal only with her brother from now on, and ensure he was never in a position to kiss her again.
He climbed the stairs for his bedchamber in order to wash and change for the day. Once there, he peeled his clothes from his body and sat on the edge of the bed. Bone deep tiredness tugged at his limbs and his eyes stung. He rubbed at them impatiently. He had much to do and couldn’t indulge in the luxury of returning to slumber, but the soft familiar feather bed cradled him with such comfort that he rolled onto his side and pulled the covers over his head.
CHAPTER SIX
Abigail allowed the parlor curtain to fall back into place with a heavy sigh as night descended on another perfect Brighton day. David Hawke had not reappeared since this morning. His front door remained stubbornly closed despite her wish to see him and have the notice calling in the debt delivered to Peter.
She glanced to where her brother paced, hands restlessly shuffling cards, making them dance in the air as he performed tricks. Peter, too, had been surreptitiously peeking out onto Cavendish Place all day, but not even he had mentioned what time David was expected to call. She couldn’t believe David had changed his mind about delivering the letter. Once he made a decision, he stuck to it. It was one of the things Abigail admired about him.
Once her brother had the notice, and was suitably desperate about the situation, Abigail would broach the subject of a union with Miss Merton as a solution to eviction and debtor’s prison. Surely Peter would see the logic of the match and fall in with her plans for him to marry. There really was no other choice.
Peter’s pocket watch clicked as he snapped it closed. “Well, it’s time we stepped out. Are you ready, little sister?”
“I have been ready for an hour, as you well know. How sad I’m always ready ahead of time, and you must rush about.”
Peter grinned. “Now, now. No need to ring a peal over my head. I did not see the moth hole in my waistcoat and I did change when you demanded it. I’m ready and fit to be seen, am I not?”
She glanced over him with a critical eye. At her urging, especially in light of the damaged waistcoat, he’d returned upstairs to dress a little more formally than he would normally. It wouldn’t do to be lax about his attire while courting an heiress. Abigail would have to sneak into his bedchamber and inspect his other clothes for similar damage.
Tonight, his cravat was perfectly tied for a change, his hair was neatly styled, and his pocket watch chain gleamed in the candlelight. Given the effort he had made with his outward appearance, she hoped Melanie Merton would finally notice what a fine man he was to look at. Only time would tell.
Although the evening was fair, she picked up her best shawl, placed it around her shoulders, and then linked her arm through Peter’s. “I’ve been looking forward to dining with everyone tonight. Melanie is so lovely, but I rarely see her unless it’s at a dinner somewhere.”
Peter’s brow rose as he opened the door to lead her out onto Cavendish Place. “Last week you complained that Miss Merton kept standing in your way when you were talking. Why the devil are you keen to spend time in her company?”
Abigail shook her head, glancing quickly at the front of David’s house. Every window was as dark as if he had not come to Brighton after all. Where was he? “I was mistaken in thinking it deliberate. She’s so elegant and tall, and I so short, I suspect she didn’t see me.”
Peter led her down the street, away from David’s house. “Strangely charitable. You have forgotten I saw it all. Damned rude of her to interrupt your conversation with Radley. If she does it again, I will say something cutting about it this time.”
Abigail dragged him to a halt. “Don’t you dare say one unkind word to Melanie. Not now.”
“Why not now?” Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Abigail, I won’t have you slighted like that again. I don’t care if I offend the silly chit or her family. She has no right to lord her fat dowry over you as if you were beneath her notice. It isn’t money that makes someone a better person. It is how they treat others.”
Abigail set her free hand to her trembling stomach and prayed Melanie might be in a friendlier mood tonight than she usually was. She simply had to see Peter’s better qualities. She was sure the right woman could overcome his interest in gambling.
Her brother rapped on the Radley’s door and they were whisked inside the elegant townhouse.
Mr. Linus Radley greeted them warmly. “Watson. Miss Watson. So happy you could come.”
“Thank you, Radley.” Peter shook hands with him and then headed for where the gentlemen had clustered on the far side of the drawing room.
Mr. Radley smiled at Abigail. “You look as lovely as ever, Miss Watson.”
A happy warmth invaded her chest at the compliment. She had dithered over her gown, settling on a cream silk edged with heavy burgundy embroidery. It had been a favorite since her time in London. “Thank you, sir.”
She glanced into the room, noting who had come. All the ladies of their group were here and of the men, David would be the last to arrive.
Mr. Radley cleared his throat. “Do you have a moment, Miss Watson? There is a pressing matter I wish to discuss with you.”
Abigail stilled at the memory of the last time someone had spoken those exact same phrases to her. Surely Mr. Radley was not so ridiculous as to propose marriage to her, too. She gathered her courage and pasted a smile on her face. “Of course. What can I help you with?”
He leaned closer. “I need to obtain your support in regard to my sister.”
Relief trickled through her and she relaxed. “What has Julia done now?”
Mr. Radley’s heavy sigh raised the hair on her neck. “She intends to challenge the gentlemen to a swimming race. I’ve done all I can to dissuade her, but she is determined to ignore the impropriety of mixed bathing to prove she’s a strong swimmer. You have as much influence on her as anyone. Can you try to convince her it’s a very bad idea?”
Abigail blushed as she remembered the unclad state the gentlemen swam in. Accidentally catching half of them stark naked was a memory she strove to push from her mind. Thankfully, Mr. Radley had not been there that day or she really would be blushing now. “You give me too much credit, sir. Julia has always gone her own way. But I will try.”
“That is all I can hope for.” He stood silently at her side, gazing across the room to where the ladies sat,
an expression of disappointment on his face.
Uncomfortable with remaining apart from the group for too long and wary of giving the wrong impression about their discussion, she cleared her throat to recapture his attention. “I should like to join the ladies now if there is nothing else you wish to speak of, Mr. Radley.”
He startled as if he had forgotten she was standing at his side. “Yes, I’m sorry to have detained you. Do try to convince her if you have the opportunity. I fear what will happen to her reputation—and the family’s—if word spreads of her intentions.”
“Of course.” Abigail made her way into the parlor where Imogen, Julia Radley, Teresa and Melanie Merton sat. “Good evening, ladies.”
While the other greetings were warm and heartfelt, a shrill ‘Miss Watson’ was all Melanie Merton offered. The sharp edge to the salutation sent a chill through her as did the cold gaze that raked her from top to toe. Determined to advance Peter’s cause, she braced herself to overlook the rude behavior and improve their friendship. A bit of harmless flattery couldn’t hurt. “Miss Merton, you look lovely this evening.”
Melanie preened a little. “Thank you.”
When Melanie made no attempt to return the compliment or continue conversing, Abigail glanced about. Julia and Imogen gaped at her until she began to wonder if she’d left half her hair hanging down her back.
“Dinner is served,” the Radley’s butler intoned, saving them from the need to make further small talk. They all stood, Melanie taking the lead to proceed into dinner. Imogen caught Abigail’s arm when she would have followed. “I may just be sick to my stomach before the evening is through.”
“Oh, Imogen. An advantageous marriage is the only way to save Peter.”
Her friend frowned as she glanced around. “Well, I hope you can live with the consequences. Has Mr. Hawke spoken to your brother yet?”
That feeling of disquiet raced through her again when she thought of David’s darkened house. “I don’t believe so. He did not call at the house to see Peter today.”