by Georgie Lee
The interior of the club resembled the most sumptuous of town houses but the atmosphere was far more raucous than refined. Well-appointed chairs, settees and tables dominated the periphery of the rooms where men sat to delight in witty or dull conversation, a private game of cards, the pleasure of beef and drink, or a well-deserved nap. He was just inside the club when Henry hailed him.
“Edward, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.” He rose from where he sat by the fire with a number of mutual acquaintances and approached Edward.
“Better here than at home, rattling around an empty house.”
“Or a full head.” Henry motioned to Edward to follow him. “Come, there’s someone I’d like you to meet, though I doubt he’ll do much to settle you.”
“Then I don’t wish to meet him.”
“Oh, I believe you do.”
Henry led Edward down the hall and into a small parlor. The room was empty except for three winged back chairs facing the large, stone fireplace. Over the top of the chair, Edward spied silver hair and the headline of The Gazette. As Henry led Edward to the mysterious reader, the gentleman lowered his paper.
“Mr. Stuart, you remember Lord Woodcliff from the soirée,” Henry introduced.
Edward grimaced at his friend, resisting the urge to knock the superior grin off his face. He’d come here to get away from thoughts of Miss Stuart, not to wallow in them.
“Yes, the Viscount who doesn’t like doctors. I remember.” Mr. Stuart rose and shook Edward’s hand.
“Your niece and I have since resolved our misunderstanding,” Edward explained as Mr. Stuart took his seat and exchanged his paper for the glass of claret on the table next to him.
“So my wife tells me.” He motioned to the chair across from his. Edward sat down while Henry remained standing by the fireplace. “I’ve heard a great deal about you since then.”
“I hope everything you’ve heard is pleasant.” Edward was shocked by how much he wanted this man’s good opinion.
“Most of it,” Mr. Stuart assured him. “Lord Ashford tells me you spent time on the continent?”
“Yes, I traveled extensively after Cambridge, before Napoleon made it inhospitable.”
“My family and I were driven out of Paris by the man.”
“Then you’re permanently settled here?” Edward asked with more than a passing interest.
“In England, yes. In London, no. We leave at the end of the Season, unless something conspires to keep us here longer.”
Edward coughed nervously, not surprised to find the same blunt manner in Mr. Stuart as he enjoyed in Miss Stuart.
“Something may indeed conspire. Though at the moment I can’t say for sure. Your niece is quite an Original. I’m sorry, I meant no offense by the remark.”
“No offense at all.” The gentleman chuckled knowingly. “I, more than anyone, know how much of an Original Charlotte is. But she has a good head and a generous heart.”
“I’m very familiar with her charity work.”
“She’s certainly an Original in that regard,” Henry added. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see a gentleman with whom I have some business.”
Henry left Edward alone with Mr. Stuart.
“Do you come to White’s often?” Edward asked.
Mr. Stuart shook his head. “Only when the house is too occupied with female concerns. And you?”
“Not often as I don’t gamble, drink to excess or care for gossip.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Too many men of property spend too much time drinking and gambling at clubs. It doesn’t make for a pleasant home life.”
“Indeed, it doesn’t.” Edward leaned back in his chair, knowing Mr. Stuart was sizing him up as a parti for his niece.
“Occupation is good for a man. It’s why I chose to maintain my business after I inherited. The idle life of a country gentleman doesn’t suit me.”
“I agree, which is why, after seeing your niece’s work with the hospital, I’ve decided to do the same for the people in my father’s seat.”
Mr. Stuart fixed Edward with a stern look. “Are you truly interested in charity or only pretending? My niece doesn’t take kindly to pretenders and neither do I.”
Edward sat forward, his elbows on his knees. “Like your niece, I have very personal reasons for wishing to establish a medical clinic. Your niece shamed me for not doing it sooner. Like you, I need something more substantial than perusing the baronetage to occupy my time.”
“I understand.” Mr. Stuart offered Edward a glass of claret.
Edward relaxed as he accepted the drink, for there was an ease of manner in Mr. Stuart he enjoyed. They conversed for the better part of the evening, discussing the perils of sea travel, the difficulties of commerce and Edward’s plans to tour the continent after the war. During the conversation, Edward could think of nothing but Miss Stuart and although she wasn’t spoken of, for him she was always present. Earlier, with the bitter experience of his stepmother still clinging to him, he couldn’t have imagined things with Miss Stuart, or her family progressing so well. Now, he was beginning to believe his father would see him settled by the end of the Season and the thought didn’t disturb him as much as it had on the trip home from Bath. He needed to see Miss Stuart, to hear her voice and her little peals of laughter when she was delighted. Tomorrow morning couldn’t arrive fast enough so he could pay a call on Miss Stuart and enjoy her company again.
Chapter Seven
Edward stood in the doorway to the Stuart’s morning room, the anticipation of seeing Miss Stuart vanishing at the sight before him.
Lord Marston sat at the tea table with Mrs. Stuart and Miss Stuart, holding Miss Stuart’s hand in an irritatingly intimate way. He hadn’t realized Miss Stuart and Lord Marston were so well acquainted. She’d never once mentioned the man at Almack’s.
“Miss Stuart, you’ve made me the happiest man on earth,” Lord Marston proclaimed.
Humiliation slammed Edward like a blacksmith’s hammer. In his rush to be with her, he’d forgotten most ladies entertained more than one suitor during the Season. Apparently, she wasn’t as enamored of Edward as he’d thought and had easily shifted her affections the moment he’d left town. It spoke to her shallowness of character, a trait he was glad to discover before the flirtation went too far and trapped him like his father had been trapped in a miserable marriage.
He stepped back to leave, refusing to remain here to be regarded as second best, but he bumped into the butler waiting to announce him.
“Lord Woodcliff, madam.”
All eyes turned to Edward. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his morning unfolding.
Mrs. Stuart rose and approached him.
“Lord Woodcliff, it’s a pleasure. Surely you know Lord Marston.” The white lace at the end of her grey cotton sleeves fluttered as she waved to the gentleman.
“I do.” Edward clenched his fists at his sides, fighting to remain civil.
Minnie scurried out from her place under the table and jumped at Edward’s legs, eager for his attention.
“You’re very fortunate sir.” Lord Marston motioned to the dog. “That fierce beast tried to take my leg off when I arrived. She seems to prefer your company.”
“Lord Woodcliff is practically the only stranger Minnie likes,” Charlotte laughed, turning her bright face to him.
Edward could only manage a terse smile in return. Her delighted expression dimmed followed by a puzzled frown.
He turned to Lord Marston. “I’m sorry if I’ve interrupted you. I’ll leave you to your conversation.”
“No, I’m the one who must be going. Mrs. Stuart, Miss Stuart, thank you again for your great kindness.” Lord Marston bowed and with a sickening amount of elation, left Edward to the women.
“Lord Woodcliff, we’re so happy to see you.” Mrs. Stuart motioned for him to take Lord Marston’s now vacant seat.
Edward reluctantly sat down, his manners overcoming his urge to bolt from the house. He stu
died Miss Stuart, attempting to gage the situation. She didn’t seem like a giddy girl newly engaged nor was there a ring to announce an understanding. He could ask, clarify the situation at once, but pride wouldn’t allow him to pose the question.
She avoided his searching gaze, her attention fixed on Minnie who sat in her lap whimpering excitedly at the small bit of food held before her nose. Miss Stuart wore a simple white morning dress decorated with a small pink check. A matching pink ribbon wound through her dark hair, highlighting the delicate hue of her cheeks, the ones he longed to caress. He kept his hands firmly in his lap, noting how her previous pleasure at his arrival had turned to indifference.
“Would you like some tea or cake?” Mrs. Stuart offered as the footman removed Lord Marston’s plate and replaced it with a fresh one.
“No, thank you.”
“My husband tells me you spoke at White’s,” Mrs. Stuart offered, her voice tight as she tried to ease the tension in the room with polite conversation.
“We did.”
“Were you there to gamble, Lord Woodcliff?” Miss Stuart asked curtly, acknowledging him at last. “I hear little takes place at White’s that doesn't involve a wager.”
Her eyes flashed with mirth, challenging him to reply. Common sense urged him to let the remark pass but his smarting pride wouldn’t allow it.
“It’s a pity ladies don’t have such a club, for I hear it said you enjoy a good wager.”
The sharp levity drained from her and Edward crossed his arms in smug triumph.
Miss Stuart moved to answer but Mrs. Stuart’s high tones cut her short. “Lord Woodcliff, my husband tells me you’re seeking a physician for the country. Charlotte, you must be able to recommend someone.”
Miss Stuart’s eyes narrowed at Edward. “No suitable gentleman comes to mind at the moment.”
“Tell me Miss Stuart, how well do you know Lord Marston?” Edward demanded, his wounded ego overcoming his manners.
“His parents knew my parents. They helped me reach my aunt and uncle after my parents died.”
For the second time this morning the blacksmith’s anvil landed smack in the middle of his chest. He fingered the small spoon beside his plate, noting the pain lacing her words. Whatever her connection to Lord Marston, it was an older and deeper one than Edward had enjoyed with her. It wasn’t shallow of her to choose Lord Marston over him, assuming she’d made a choice. He still wasn’t sure. Whatever her situation, he wouldn’t endure this awkward meeting a moment longer.
“I’m afraid I must be going.” He stood, determined to leave with more dignity than he’d entered with, or exhibited during this whole unfortunate encounter.
“So soon?” Miss Stuart asked, much to both Mrs. Stuart’s and Edward’s surprise.
The subtle plea for him to stay nearly made him sit back down, but he refused. They’d quarreled enough for one morning. “I can’t delay. Good day.”
He strode from the room.
“Charlotte, go after him and apologize,” Mrs. Stuart exclaimed while Edward accepted his hat, gloves and walking stick from the butler.
“Let him apologize to me. He’s the one in the foul mood,” came Miss Stuart’s answer as Edward stepped outside.
He paused on the front walk to tug on his gloves. Motion near the house caught his attention. Miss Stuart stood at the window, her slender fingers curled around the thick curtain, regret softening the line of her full lips. Edward flexed his hand beneath the leather. Maybe she wasn’t as duplicitous as his stepmother and he’d made a mistake. He could go back inside, swallow his pride and ask outright if she was engaged to Lord Marston or if Edward had misread the situation. It would change everything.
She flicked the curtain shut, making his decision for him. He marched down the walk to his chaise. In their brief time together, they’d made no promises to one another. She was free to marry whom she liked and he wasn’t going to moon about her like some jealous or spurned suitor.
He instructed the driver to make for Henry’s house then settled into the plush darkness of the chaise, but it offered him no comfort. The future he’d imagined with Miss Stuart had been shredded the moment he’d seen her so intimate with Lord Marston, assuming what he’d interrupted was correct. There was still no proof she was engaged. Edward drummed his knee with his fingers as the vehicle jostled its way through the busy streets. It served him right if he’d lost her to the Baron, though they seemed an odd match. He could hardly imagine her fiery temperament with Lord Marston’s reserve.
The chaise jostled to a stop in front of a row of fashionable town houses in Mayfair. Edward stepped down and marched to the door.
“Where’s Lord Ashford? I must speak to him immediately,” Edward demanded of the butler as he swept in the house.
“He’s in the study, milord.”
Edward hurried down the hall to the study. “Henry, what do you know about Lord Marston and Miss Stuart?”
Henry paused, mid-ladder, the small tome in his hand hovering over an empty space along a row of books. “Don’t you know? I thought you went to Miss Stuart’s for tea?”
“I just came from there.”
“And I can see from your expression it didn’t go well.”
Edward yanked off his gloves one finger at a time. “Lord Marston was there, her hand in his, telling her she’d made him the happiest man in London.”
“I should think so.” Henry dropped the book in its place and descended the ladder. “Miss Stuart helped secure his marriage to Miss Greenville.”
Edward stopped, mid-finger on his left glove. “Dragon Greenville’s daughter?”
“The very young lady.”
Edward dropped into a leather chair near the window and chucked the glove on the table beside it. “I’m a fool.”
“You thought Lord Marston and Miss Stuart had an understanding?” Henry flipped open the globe next to the window, revealing a small decanter and two glasses. He splashed some of the decanter’s dark liquid into a glass and handed it to Edward. “What a strange pair. It’s almost impossible to imagine.”
“Not if you’d seen the way he was thanking her this morning.”
“He’s an old friend of the family.”
“So I discovered.” He sipped the brandy, the burning sensation on his tongue a welcome distraction from his shame. He’d allowed his dealings with his stepmother, and his fear of being trapped by a woman like her, to cloud his judgment and with a few tart words undone everything he’d accomplished at Almack’s.
“You should pay more attention to gossip. It can be a source of important information.”
“Apparently.” He took another drink, his eyes watering at the strength of it. “What am I going to do?”
“Apologize and make amends.”
“How? I can hardly call again after this morning.”
“You don’t have to call.”
“Am I supposed to write? I’m no poet.” He finished his drink with a wince. “One of my love letters would put her off me for good, if my tongue already hasn’t.”
Henry fingered the crystal stopper of the decanter, pondering the question. “Didn’t you tell Mrs. Stuart you intended to ride this evening?”
“Yes, but what are the odds Miss Stuart will be in Hyde Park tonight?”
“If her aunt thinks you’ll be there, I’d say they’re very good.”
Edward rolled the empty glass between his hands. “What if she won’t speak with me?”
“Then make her speak to you, and forgive you. Otherwise, when I ask Miss Knight to marry me, you’ll be very awkward at the wedding.”
Henry’s announcement raised Edward’s mood for the first time in what felt like hours.
“You’re really thinking of it then?”
“I am. But don’t say anything. I want it to be a surprise.”
“You two are so obviously in love and meant for one another, no one will be surprised.”
*****
Charlotte sat sidesaddle ato
p a rather lethargic gelding wondering again how she’d allowed Aunt Mary to talk her in to such a ridiculous position. Other young ladies trotted past her, seated confidently in the saddle, their bodies erect in an effort to best flatter their figures. Charlotte envied the easy way they handled their animals and how they appeared to actually enjoy their evening ride. She was too busy trying to control the horse beneath her to concentrate on her posture or the pleasant atmosphere of the park.
“I assure you, miss, he’s a fine-looking animal and the gentlest beast to be let in all of London,” John reassured her as he came up alongside her on his own horse.
“I’m only out of practice. In a short while I’ll be quite comfortable,” Charlotte responded with more courage than she felt. She’d never liked riding because she’d never been good at it.
“Of course, miss.”
Despite John’s assurance of the gelding’s docile temperament, Charlotte groaned as she attempted to direct the horse right and it decided to go left. She tugged on the reins and the horse shook its head, resisting her control.
“Fine, walk where you like,” Charlotte muttered, allowing the reins to go slack in her hands. She hoped Aunt Mary was wrong about Lord Woodcliff for she doubted she could manage an angry suitor and the gelding all in one evening. Assuming Lord Woodcliff even appeared, or came to speak with her.
She shifted her leg against the pommel, tired of struggling with the horse, her aunt and most importantly Lord Woodcliff. One day he was a pleasure to speak with— lively, entertaining and amusing. The next he was sullen and short. She wondered if this was the measure of his personality or if there was another, more devious reason for his moods. He’d won over Elizabeth, Lord Ashford, Aunt Mary and even Uncle Charles who’d come home from White’s with nothing but praise for the gentleman. Why was he so cross and difficult with her? Was she the only person capable of seeing his true personality?
One thing she was certain of was, even if he was charming or surly, the sound of his voice, the pressure of his hand in hers drove her to distraction and it unnerved her. She didn’t want to be this weak where he was concerned, especially when she doubted if something as simple as a civilized conversation with him was possible. This uncertainty and her weakness made her determined to put an end to this little infatuation, one way or another.