A London Season

by Patricia Bray

Mr. Whitmore tried to forestall her possible objections. “It is true that I do not possess a title, but my name is known throughout London for fair dealing. And my fortune was not inherited, but it was honestly made through hard work. I may not be as rich as Golden Ball, but I have more than enough to provide a fine life for us. And for any children we may have.”

  Children! Jane blushed, as she realized the motives behind Mr. Whitmore’s proposal. He was looking for a young bride who could give him heirs to carry on the business. And Jane, coming from a large family herself, must have seemed perfect for his needs. It was a sensible, blunt proposal, from a practical man. It was exactly what she had prayed for these last few days, but nonetheless she found herself hesitating.

  “I am honored by your offer, sir,” Jane said, feeling trapped. She needed time to think. In her agitation, she seized on his mention of her noble breeding. “I think you should know that I am not like other young ladies of the ton.”

  “Indeed?” Mr. Whitmore asked gravely.

  “It is true that my mother was a duke’s daughter, but my father was a gentleman farmer. We live quite simply in Yorkshire,” Jane explained, choosing her words with care. Mr. Whitmore deserved to know what he was getting into, but her family pride made her reluctant to reveal the whole of their plight. “If you are looking for a wife who can run a grand household, then I am afraid I am not the wife you need.”

  There. Surely he would reject her now. Jane felt a guilty sense of relief at the prospect. But Mr. Whitmore again surprised her. “I know all about your family, and their troubles,” he said.

  Jane gaped in astonishment. “Please do not be offended,” he explained. “I wouldn’t be much of a businessman if I didn’t investigate thoroughly before making a commitment.”

  It was not the proposal of marriage that she had hoped for. There were no protestations of love, no compliments to her captivating beauty. From his words and manner, Jane gathered the impression that Mr. Whitmore had selected her as his bride with the same care he used in his business ventures. She was young and healthy and well bred. There was every reason to suppose that she would give him children to carry on his name. Jane was a logical, sensible choice.

  “I am prepared to make a handsome settlement to your family on our marriage,” Mr. Whitmore added. “And of course, I will see that the boys receive schooling, and that the girls are presented when it is their time.” He reached over and took one of her icy hands in his own.

  Jane hesitated, aware that she was on the brink of a decision that would change her life forever. The death of her father had aged her, and Jane had thought of herself as an adult ever since she took over the running of their affairs. But she could see now that she had been presumptuous. This was the moment when she would put the dreams of childhood behind her and become an adult.

  Jane had one last card to play. “I have great respect for you and admiration,” she said slowly. “But I can not promise anything more.”

  “I admire your candor,” Mr. Whitmore said. “But I have no fears about that. If there is respect and admiration between the parties, then affection and even love will follow.”

  Jane nodded in agreement. He was right. The passionate love that the poets wrote about was hardly a good basis for a marriage. Look what had happened to her already. She had fancied herself in love with Glendale, only to find that she had given her heart to an unprincipled rogue. Mr. Whitmore was a decent and honorable man, and she should be grateful that he thought her worthy of his name.

  “Then my answer is yes. I would be honored to be your wife.”

  Mr. Whitmore professed himself delighted. Jane allowed him to kiss her on the cheek before he took his leave, promising to return soon to discuss arrangements with Lady Barton.

  After he left, Jane went to the writing desk in the corner. She began a letter to her family to inform them of her good fortune. Dear Mama, she began. I have the most excellent of news. I am to be married. A blob of ink smeared across the paper as the pen tip snapped.

  “Drat this pen,” Jane said, throwing the offending object across this room. She rummaged through the cubbyholes till she found another pen that met her standards. Trimming the nib carefully, she dipped the quill in ink and began to write. It was easy to describe Mr. Whitmore’s kindness and thoughtfulness. She thought her family would like him. Once they got used to the idea of her marrying someone who was old enough to be her father.

  But Jane’s pen flowed more slowly as she attempted to describe her own happiness. It was difficult to write convincingly of something she did not feel. Her actual feelings were too hard to describe. There was relief at being able to provide for her family. And satisfaction at having spited Lady Barton by securing a husband. But mostly what she felt was akin to sadness. The last of her girlish dreams had died today. In time she would learn to find happiness in her marriage, but for now she could only think of what might have been.

  A clap of thunder sounded and Glendale opened his eyes blearily, looking to find the source of the disturbance. Nothing was immediately visible, and he risked lifting his head from the satin pillowcase. This proved to be a mistake. He let his head sink back to the bed with a groan, as the demons of Hell began pounding in his skull.

  An ominous swoosh sounded, and bright light stabbed his eyes as someone opened the drapes. “Good morning, your lordship,” said his valet Timpkins cheerily. “Or rather, good afternoon.”

  Glendale wished passionately for a pistol. Blowing out his own brains would be a welcome relief from the aching of his head.

  “Would you like your coffee in here, my lord? Or in the breakfast room?” continued Timpkins in a voice that was much too loud.

  No, a pistol was definitely a bad idea. The temptation to shoot Timpkins would be irresistible.

  “Quietly,” Glendale rasped in a painful croak. “For the love of god, man, be quiet.”

  Glendale risked opening his eyes again. The light still hurt, but then his eyes became used to it and he was able to stop squinting. Slowly his brain started functioning, and he recognized the classic signs of the morning after a night of overindulgence. Just what had he been up to last night?

  His brain felt fuzzy, but after a few moments thought he could remember going to the theatre. Freddie was supposed to meet him there, but after their argument, Glendale wasn’t surprised that his friend never showed up. Instead he encountered Sir Peter Verney and his set. Normally Glendale steered clear of Sir Peter, but when he invited Glendale to join his friends at Vauxhall for a late supper, Glendale accepted. After Vauxhall they went to a gambling den. From there on Glendale’s memories became fuzzy, although he seemed to remember something about a tavern. And a dark-haired wench named Betty.

  “You’re too old to behave like a fool,” Glendale admonished himself.

  “My lord?”

  “No, not you.” Glendale raised himself to a sitting position. The room rocked back and forth a few times, and then obligingly settled at a more or less even keel. “Fetch me some coffee, Timpkins.”

  “Would you like anything with that? Some kidneys or bacon perhaps?”

  His stomach roiled at the thought. “No,” Glendale said through clenched teeth. “Just coffee. And Timpkins? Do it quietly.”

  It took over an hour, and two pots of coffee, but with Timpkins’ assistance Glendale managed to turn himself into a reasonable facsimile of a gentleman. The throbbing in his head settled down to a dull ache, and he began to feel like he might live through the day.

  Timpkins had brought the news of Stapleton’s return, so after dressing Glendale made his way down to the study. Glendale rapped once out of politeness, then entered the study.

  “Good afternoon, my lord,” Stapleton said, rising to greet him.

  “Stapleton, it’s good to see you back. You’re looking well. I take it that travel agreed with you?”

  “Yes, it was an easy journey. But I must say you are not looking at all well, my lord,” Stapleton observed.

  G
lendale lowered himself to a chair, wincing only slightly as the chair leg scraped over the wooden floor. “It is nothing.”

  Stapleton arched his eyebrows in disbelief, but did not comment. “I’ve been going over your correspondence, and I’ve brought everything up to date.”

  Glendale nodded, impressed as usual by Stapleton’s efficiency. Although, a glance at the wall clock showed that it was near three o’clock, so perhaps it wasn’t that remarkable. Stapleton had probably put in a full day’s work while his employer lay sleeping off the effects of his debauchery.

  “And I have the information you requested regarding Miss Sedgwick,” Stapleton said, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a small notebook.

  “Thank you, but I am not interested in Miss Sedgwick or her family,” Glendale replied stiffly.

  “Indeed, my lord? But when you asked me to go to Yorkshire—”

  Glendale made a chopping motion with his hand. “Things have changed since then. I know all that I need to know about Miss Sedgwick.” He knew that she was a deceitful chit who only pretended friendship so she could use his influence in the ton. Having decided that he was too canny a bird to be brought to hand, she cast him off in search of easier game. Brooding on her betrayal, he missed Stapleton’s next comment.

  “What was that?” Glendale asked.

  “I asked if Miss Sedgwick had confided in you?”

  Glendale gave a mirthless laugh. “Yes, I suppose you could call it that.”

  “Well, at least the trip wasn’t entirely wasted. I did see the boys back home safely.” Stapleton leaned back in his chair, a faint smile playing across his face. “You know, they tried to convince me to let them down in Collinsville. Said there was no reason for me to accompany them all the way home. Naturally I refused, having your instructions otherwise.”

  Glendale prepared to rise, having no interest in hearing about Miss Sedgwick or her brothers, but Stapleton’s next words froze him in place.

  “Of course, once I was there, I understood why they were so reluctant for me to see it.”

  “Reluctant to let you see what?” Glendale asked.

  Stapleton peered over his spectacles at his employer. “Why the cottage, of course.”

  Perhaps it was some lingering effect of the night’s drinking, but he could make no sense at all out of Stapleton’s words. “The cottage?” Glendale repeated.

  “Certainly. After all, once I had seen that, there was no way to hide their circumstances, now was there?”

  “No indeed,” Glendale agreed, wondering when any of this was going to make sense. He rubbed one hand across his eyes, but that did nothing for his mental clarity.

  “Did you know that Miss Sedgwick is one of nine children?” Stapleton asked, then continued on without waiting for an answer. “Mrs. Sedgwick was so grateful to have the boys back that she insisted I stay the night. Of course, there really isn’t room in the place for a guest, but somehow they managed.”

  Glendale felt a faint tremor of unease as the import of Stapleton’s words sank in. Surely there had been some sort of mistake. “What do you mean cottage?” Glendale asked impatiently. “Jane grew up on her father’s estate in Yorkshire. She told me so herself.”

  Stapleton looked at him pityingly. “Well, yes, but I gather their father’s death left them in rather bad straits. They’ve been living in the steward’s cottage for years now, renting the estate out to a retired factory owner and his wife.

  “The twins tried to keep quiet about it, but two days in a carriage together is not conducive to keeping secrets. Apparently their fortunes have recently taken a turn for the worse. This occasioned their journey to London. Bobby confided that he was certain that his sister would make everything right, although neither of the boys were clear on how she would do this,” Stapleton concluded.

  Glendale could feel the pieces begin to fall into place, and he wondered why he hadn’t seen it sooner. “What else did you discover?” Glendale demanded.

  Stapleton reached again for his notebook, withdrawing it from his breast pocket. It seemed an eternity while he flipped through the pages until he found the information he wanted. “I made some discreet inquiries in Yorkshire, you understand.”

  “Yes, yes, get on with it.”

  Stapleton shot Glendale a sharp look, as if wondering at the source of his employer’s temper. Then he continued. “The family has been living in a precarious situation for years, but now a run of bad luck has finally caught up with them. According to the bank, the last mortgage payment is still owing. They’ll have to sell everything to meet their obligations. The family will be lucky if they can keep the cottage.”

  Stapleton gave a small sigh as he replaced the notebook in his pocket. “It’s a bad business all around, I’m afraid.”

  Glendale agreed silently. And Stapleton knew only the half of it. Unlike his secretary, Glendale had a pretty shrewd idea of how Jane’s family expected her to repair their fortunes. No doubt they were anxiously awaiting news that she had secured a wealthy husband.

  No wonder she had seemed distant and troubled since the boys’ visit. The weight of responsibility must have pressed heavily indeed on Jane’s slender shoulders. She had to find a husband, or risk losing everything. His heart went out to her in sympathy, even as he wondered why she hadn’t confided in him. She had never given so much as a hint that anything was wrong.

  Or had she? Glendale thought back over their relationship. The clues had been there, but he had been too blind to see. Jane’s lack of accomplishments, her hesitation about mixing with the nobility, even her tales about her family, which he could see now were always cautious never to reveal too much.

  Only once had he come close to sensing the truth. Jane’s distress over her brothers’ unexpected appearance had awakened in him the sense that something was terribly wrong. But fool that he was, he ignored his instincts, settling for the passive course of asking Stapleton to look into things.

  And the night of Mrs. Elliot’s rout, when Jane had confided that she could no longer see him. What was it that she had actually said? Glendale felt a sinking sensation as he realized that she may have been trying to tell him of her plight. But he had heard only what he expected to hear.

  And then he had savagely repaid her trust in him by ruining her reputation with a few thoughtless words. Even Freddie had seen Jane’s goodness, but Glendale had been willfully blind. He could see that now. He had thought Julia Hanscombe a long-forgotten memory, but apparently the scars from his former fiancée’s betrayal ran deep. What other explanation could there be for his actions? Jane’s words had reminded him of that final scene with Miss Hanscombe, and he had leapt to the conclusion that Jane had betrayed him as well.

  But there was no comparison between the two. He had been a callow youth when he courted Miss Hanscombe. She had accepted his offer of marriage, only to later spurn him in favor of a wealthy and elderly Marquis. But the fickle Miss Hanscombe had been more than willing to have Glendale as a lover, instead of a husband. Shocked by the revelation of her true character, Glendale had spurned her scandalous offer, and avoided eligible females ever since.

  But whatever his past, there was no excuse for the way in which he had hurt Jane. The ton could be vicious when it chose, and Glendale had given them more than enough ammunition to use against her. The last few days must have been hell for her. Lord Frederick had been right to castigate him. He was no gentleman to have done such a thing to an innocent young woman.

  “Is there anything else, my lord?” Stapleton asked.

  Glendale looked over at his secretary. He had forgotten Stapleton’s presence. “No, no,” Glendale said. “I appreciate your diligence, but that will be all for now.”

  Even Stapleton’s legendary talents couldn’t resolve this situation. Glendale’s public accusations had destroyed Jane’s reputation, and in so doing, had robbed her of the chance to save her family by making an advantageous match. By now Jane must hate him, and with good reason. He could o
nly hope that somehow he could find a way to make amends.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lady Barton took the news of the betrothal calmly. “It is unfortunate that Mr. Whitmore is in trade, of course. But after the name you have made for yourself, you are lucky that you can bring even a Cit up to scratch,” she observed.

  Jane gritted her teeth, forbearing to point out that the scandal was all of Lord Glendale’s doing, and no fault of her own. There was no sense in breaking the uneasy truce that she and Lady Barton had established, once it had become clear that Jane would not be immediately returning to Yorkshire.

  “Mr. Whitmore is received everywhere,” Jane reminded Lady Barton. After all, hadn’t Lady Barton herself introduced the man to Jane?

  “Not quite everywhere,” Lady Barton corrected her niece. “Though I own he is a good friend of Lord Barton’s, which is why I always invite him when I need to make up the numbers. But Mr. Whitmore has always known his place, and knew better than to go courting any of the daughters of the ton. Still, in your situation, any match at all is more than you deserve.”

  “Mr. Whitmore is a fine man, and I am honored by his confidence in me,” Jane said firmly.

  Lady Barton sniffed disdainfully, but refrained from further disparaging Jane or her suitor. “One thing I must say for him, Mr. Whitmore is all dispatch. He informed me that the notices will appear in the papers tomorrow.” Lady Barton’s face brightened at the thought. “And once news of your engagement gets around, there is no reason why you can’t resume your place in society.”

  What Lady Barton really meant was that she could return to society as well. A steady stream of invitations no longer arrived each morning at the Berkeley Square town house. Hostesses, unwilling to risk Jane’s presence, had taken to dropping her aunt from the guest lists as well.

  No doubt Lady Barton would have been best pleased if Jane had fled back home in disgrace. Then Lady Barton could enjoy being the center of attention, bemoaning her fate as the unwilling dupe of a scheming niece. However, since Jane showed no signs of disappearing, having Jane restored to society’s good graces came a second best.