Wallflower (Old Maids' Club, Book 1)

by Catherine Gayle

  Elaine looked up from the embroidery sampler she was working on by the window. “It sounds to me like you heard your cousin quite plainly.”

  “Lainey seems to have the way of it.” Jo took a seat in the Louis XIV chair closest to the hearth and crossed her ankles, thumbing through the fashion plates displayed on the table before her. She either neglected to notice or ignored the fact that Elaine visibly blanched at Jo’s pet name for her. “You really ought to try harder to keep up, Tabby.”

  “But that’s all preposterous.”

  “Preposterous or not, that’s what I heard.” Jo frowned at the fashion plate in her hand and set it aside, moving to the next one. “And why, pray tell, is it preposterous for the men who love you to wish to defend your honor?” Her tone had turned mordant for the question.

  “This isn’t a question of my honor,” Tabitha spluttered, flopping onto her back and stretching out over the counterpane.

  Elaine raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

  “Of course it isn’t. No matter what the gossips say about me, the truth will eventually become known when I have nothing to do with Oglethorpe and I instead marry Noah tomorrow.” If she were to still marry him tomorrow, that is. Tabitha was beginning to rethink her decision, based on the fact that her intended was behaving in such an idiotic manner as to challenge the blackguard to a duel. She shoved those thoughts aside for the moment. “What this is about is a group gentleman, each trying to exaggerate his own prowess in a bid to impress the others, or perhaps to impress me, in one case. This can only lead me to wonder when they’ll work out that a bleeding hole in the chest can only lead to my distress.” Granted, in Toby’s case she might be glad for impending death.

  No, even she couldn’t be glad for that.

  Lily’s nurse knocked at the door then, begging Elaine for a moment’s time. Elaine ducked out to go see to her daughter.

  “You didn’t react in even a remotely similar manner to Isaac’s duel with the Earl of Loring several years ago,” Jo said. “Unless I am mistaken, you even encouraged me to take matters into my own hands.”

  Tabitha sat up again so briskly she felt dizzy from the blood rushing back down from her head. “There is no comparison between the two situations. None. Loring had attempted to ravish Bethanne, and then he did ravish Miranda and refused to marry her to restore her reputation. How can you even attempt to make such an association with what is happening here?” Thank goodness Elaine was gone for the moment. Tabitha hadn’t even thought about what she was saying until she’d already said it.

  Tossing the fashion plates to her lap, Jo sighed. “You’re off the point, Tabby. What Oglethorpe has claimed—what he wants society to know—is as bad as what Isaac knew of Loring when he called the wretch out. We know better. Your betrothed and your brothers know better about this situation, but the remainder of the beau monde does not. A duel will serve to clear the air.”

  The door opened again as Elaine returned. “Lily is all settled for her nap now,” she said, resuming her seat and picking up her sampler. “Go on with your discussion. Pretend I never had to leave and return.”

  Easy enough. Tabitha intended to do just that. She frowned at her cousin. “Duels are illegal.”

  Jo returned her attention to the fashion plates, picking them up in her hands again and scanning over them. “A point of which I’m sure all parties involved are aware. That doesn’t seem to be enough deterrent. Try again.”

  “Fine. I can understand their desire for a duel. Meaning one. One duel. Not three. And why on earth is Toby challenging Noah? That makes no sense whatsoever.”

  “Since when do the men of this family make sense?” Elaine asked.

  Jo nodded in Elaine’s direction. “Touché. See, Tabby? Lainey may be amongst the newest members of the family, but she understands them all better than you seem to at the moment.” Her lips pinched into a frown. “Of course, your lack of understanding might be due more to a choice than anything.”

  Tabitha no longer possessed enough thought capacity to decipher Jo’s veiled comments. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Simply that you are unwilling to concede that you’re worth raising a breeze over. Yes, dueling is illegal. Yes, all of these supposed challenges are a feckless display of their virility and bravery, perhaps more for their own conceit than for your safety and comfort. But the fact of the matter remains that you are at the center of it all.” Jo returned all of the fashion plates to the occasional table and stood to look out the window. After several long moments of Tabitha staring at her fingernails and pretending not to have understood her cousin’s claims, Jo murmured, “Aunt Rosaline was right.”

  Of course Aunt Rosaline was right. Aunt Rosaline had been right about almost everything in her life, right up until the point where her mind stopped functioning the way it ought. But heaven help Tabitha determine what, specifically, Jo thought Aunt Rosaline had been right about in this moment. “Care to elaborate?” Tabitha asked dryly when Jo didn’t finish the thought on her own.

  Without turning, Jo held her own counsel for what felt an eternity. Tabitha could almost see the wheels turning in the back of Jo’s head. It was as though the choice between telling Tabitha the truth and telling her some other story could affect far more than the conversation at hand. “Aunt Rosaline always said you believed yourself unworthy of attention. That you felt a grand display would be wasted on you—someone undeserving of such notice—when it could be better spent on someone else. Someone more commendable or admirable. Someone less plump.”

  Jo’s carefully chosen words stung more than a blow to the face. Is that really what she thought of herself? She’d always remained in the background, it was true. Tabitha wanted to avoid the scorn and derision she sensed from the ton, when they would comment on her stoutness.

  The observations always hurt Tabitha, whether they came from an infamous gossip or from her own father. Perhaps they hurt more when they came from someone she loved and who loved her. Someone whose opinion of her held weight. They hurt more, because if the commenter cared about her and still made the remark, then it must be true.

  Tabitha would never be loved for anything but her money, particularly not when she was plump and plain. Not when there were so many other candidates who were far more appropriate.

  That’s what Tabitha had believed to be true for as long as she could remember. At least, she’d believed it until very recently. Perhaps until the last few weeks.

  Maybe it had been true of most of the gentlemen in society. But Noah was not most gentlemen. He rarely drank. He never swore. He cared what was in a lady’s head as much as what was on her person. He listened more than he talked. He made everyone—everyone—feel they were worthwhile. He was patient and kind and infinitely good.

  And he loved her. Tabitha. He loved her despite (or perhaps even because of) the fact that she was not as thin as a stick. He loved her despite her preference for hiding. He loved her despite her tendency to run away from things that most people in the world would simply confront head-on.

  He loved her.

  His love made her feel warm and safe, and immeasurably treasured. She couldn’t think herself undeserving of any grand gesture he chose to make for her, no matter how foolish and reckless such an act may be. Doing so would be a great disservice to his devotion.

  “Dry your eyes.” Gentle arms came around Tabitha and she blinked back tears to see. Elaine dabbed a handkerchief over Tabitha’s face and smiled. “He wants to see you, silly. Go on. Don’t keep him waiting.”

  When Tabitha finally cleared all the remnants of her crying away, she was dazed to discover Hester in her chambers, looking expectantly upon her. Tabitha had been thoroughly ignorant of everything happening around her while she was lost in her own thoughts. She sniffled. “Don’t keep who waiting?”

  “Your fiancé,” Jo replied. “He’s downstairs in the drawing room. No doubt he wishes to reassure you that he’ll handle the affront to your reputation and tell y
ou there is nothing to worry about.”

  Even whilst informing her he would be participating in a duel or two. Tabitha would somehow find a way to accept a grand gesture if he was so inclined to make one. She could accept a token of his love and believe herself deserving of it.

  Just not this one.

  ~ * ~

  “I’ll not stand for it.” Tabitha sat before Noah, her usually silvery eyes as black as a thundercloud, hands folded neatly on her lap, with posture as ramrod straight as the barrel of a gun.

  After explaining everything that had transpired over the course of the day (much of which she appeared to already know, no doubt thanks to the ever-observant Miss Faulkner), this was far from the reaction he would have expected. Certainly it wasn’t the reaction he had hoped for.

  “You don’t have a choice. This is not up for debate.” Raynesford’s words sliced the opaque silence of the room. Noah was thankful for them. He hadn’t a clue what he would have said, himself, but he doubted it would have been as succinct as his brother-in-law’s choice of phrasing.

  Tabitha narrowed her eyes and glared at each of her brothers in turn. Yet another thing Noah was glad for—the presence of Raynesford and Shelton during this conversation. Their company helped to diffuse her ire amongst them. “Why is it that every time something involving me happens of late, I supposedly have no choice in the matter?”

  “You want to answer this one, Devonport?” Shelton shrugged his shoulders. “You’ll be the one dealing with all of her antics soon enough.”

  With a haughty cluck of her tongue, she turned her heated gaze on Noah.

  “The challenge has already been issued and accepted, Tabitha. We’ll duel tomorrow, whether you are happy about the situation or not.”

  “Back out of it. Call it off.”

  Raynesford shook his head in disbelief. “He can’t do that, Tabitha.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not?” Shelton nearly shouted. His current state of inebriation seemed to make him think they were all hard of hearing.

  Noah idly wondered if he’d behaved in a similar manner that day he’d gone overboard in his drinking with Leith.

  “Christ, Tabitha, if he backs out that will only serve to cause even more problems than we already have. At least half the ton already knows about the duel, so backing out will damage his reputation. Then I’ll have to go through with the duels I threatened earlier. Oglethorpe, in order to protect your reputation, and Devonport in order to show the ton what we as a family think of his spineless behavior for backing out of the duel in the first place.”

  She scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s not ridiculous,” Lord Newcastle said from the doorway. “It’s prudent. Devonport has to prove to the ton what we already know and believe about him. Like it or not, sweetheart, that is how it has to be.”

  Tears pooled in her already red-rimmed eyes. “So you will not assist me, either, Father?” Tabitha hastily brushed one tear away as it escaped and fled down her cheek. “You’ll encourage this barbarism even though it is against the law? Even though it is the exact opposite of what I want?”

  Newcastle crossed into the room and sat beside his daughter on the sofa. “You know we only want what is best for you. Even when it is sometimes not what you want.” He pulled his daughter into his arms and stroked her hair soothingly.

  It was true. Noah could see it clearly. No matter how caustically her twin might treat her at times, no matter how baldly Raynesford might state things, no matter how aloof Newcastle might be with his affections, they all loved Tabitha more than they knew how to handle. She realized this, too. Somewhere, deep down, she had to know that her father and brothers would do anything they could to keep her safe and happy.

  Noah would be joining good company in the morning.

  After a minute, she pulled away from her father. “But what if Noah is hurt? He could be killed, you know.” Tabitha’s eyes widened with dawning fear. “Goodness, are you even a good shot?”

  ~ * ~

  Talking Noah out of his blasted duel had not gone according to plan. Tabitha’s appeals to her father and brothers had fallen on deaf ears.

  Chivalry be damned, if it involved risking life and limb. She could survive famously without so much as a trifling reputation, and with a husband who had no reputation, as long as it meant that she still had a husband.

  If it meant she still had Noah.

  She would be furious with him—with them all—if he was in pieces when he was supposed to be meeting her before the altar.

  Noah’s assurances that he’d once held a dueling pistol and was quite sure he could determine how to operate the thing had achieved the opposite effect from what he’d intended. The blithering fool was going to get himself seriously injured, if not killed, if left to his own devices.

  Lucky for him, Tabitha had no intention of leaving him to his own devices.

  There was just one problem. She didn’t have the first inkling of an idea as to how she would to stop him. Particularly not since he had flatly refused to tell her where the duel was to take place. Father and her brothers were of the same accord.

  But Tabitha would not be deterred. She’d spent twenty-nine years in training with Jo and Bethanne, crafting ways to thwart the plans of the men in their lives. And she had damned well not wasted all of that time and effort.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The first pink and orange streaks of dawn streaked across the sky, filtering through a slowly lifting fog as Noah stood waiting for Oglethorpe to arrive. Leith and Claremont had come with Noah, meeting him at deLancie House with a carriage in the pre-dawn hours. When they arrived at Hyde Park, Shelton and Raynesford were already there—alongside Newcastle. As a group, they’d gone back to the darker recesses of the park, away from the popular paths and trails.

  Not that anyone else would be around to observe their proceedings at such an hour. The ladies and gentlemen of the ton rarely did so much as rise from their beds before the crack of noon. Being dressed and in public before the sun had come up was a downright preposterous idea.

  Or so he’d thought. When Noah and his entourage arrived at the agreed-upon location, no fewer than three dozen other gentlemen stood around. He recognized some of them from White’s. A few nodded in his direction. Most looked anywhere but at him.

  Lovely. Just what he needed. An audience.

  The six men stood in a line, shoulder to shoulder, watching the opening in the trees for any sign of Oglethorpe and Eggerley while the growing gathering stood in groups behind them. With every passing moment, Noah’s nerves increased until he felt like a rampaging hoard of elephants were traversing Britain, using his stomach as a stomping ground.

  “Remember what I told you,” Leith muttered under his breath as they waited—loud enough for only Noah to hear. “Keep your arm straight and your breathing under control. Squeeze the trigger in a fluid motion. Don’t jerk your finger on the trigger, or you’ll probably jerk your arm. And we don’t want that to happen.”

  “Right. No jerking. Arm straight.” It would be bad enough if he hit his intended target. Noah definitely didn’t want to hit anyone else.

  “Pull straight back on it, too,” Claremont added, “not to one side or the other. And don’t wait too long once you’ve raised it. You’ll move around too much, otherwise.”

  “Straight back. Shoot soon after raising.” Every heartbeat sounded like a clap of thunder in his head. He shouldn’t have done this. What was he thinking? Noah hadn’t shot a pistol in his life. This had to be one of the stupidest, the most idiotic, the most imbecilic thing he’d ever done.

  Raynesford clapped him on the shoulder. “When it’s over, we’ll all be here.”

  “Good.” Breathing. Leith had said something about breathing.

  “And don’t get yourself killed,” Shelton said. “You’ve got a wedding to attend in just over three hours.”

  Noah nodded. That, at least, he couldn’t forget if he tried. T
he rest, however...

  As Oglethorpe and Eggerley finally made their way across the expanse of meadow, Newcastle eyed him from the end of the line. “Any last-second questions?”

  Licking his lips, which were suddenly dry, Noah said, “Just one. How do I load the thing?”

  All of his companions burst out into laughter. How terribly polite of them.

  “You really haven’t ever shot a pistol, then, have you?” Shelton barked. “Please tell me this duel is just to first blood or something else of the sort.”

  “Sounds to me like he hasn’t the first clue about dueling, in general,” Claremont said. “Did you even designate how the outcome will be determined?”

  Was he supposed to have? By Jove, what else didn’t he know?

  Leith sobered sooner than the rest. “As your second, I’ll load for you. All you have to do is cock the hammer and fire.” The look on Noah’s face then must have been sheer terror, because Leith rushed on with, “I’ll show you how to work the hammer. It’ll be fine. I hope.”

  Newcastle crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “It had better be fine. If I have to go home and explain to my daughter that her fiancé is dead, I’ll kill you myself.”

  Why did the entire Shelton family find such jokes amusing?

  There was no more time to mull that over, though. Oglethorpe and Eggerley had nearly reached the middle of the clearing. Noah looked to Leith, who nodded. As one, they made their way across to meet their adversaries in the center.

  In one hand, Eggerley carried a wooden box decorated in ornate metalwork. When they were only a few steps away from each other, Noah could finally get a good look at it. The intricate, arabesque lines carried a French feel, like it had been crafted at Versailles. Did the man participate in enough duels to justify such an expense? Apparently so.