With no acknowledgement of the night they’d shared. With barely any indication of warmth at all—just a tepid, ‘your friend’. Without offering him even the courtesy of saying farewell to his face.
Numb disbelief thawed into a piercing pain as the joy within shattered into jagged shards that stabbed deep into his chest. He’d been transported—energised—consumed with need for her. And she had…left him without a word?
For a moment, he felt like that little boy again, holding out the treasure he prized above all others to the father whose love he’d been so desperate to win—while the man passed him by without a glance.
Bile rose in his throat, and for a moment, he thought he’d be sick.
But as he subdued the nausea, a furious anger boiled up. How could she just dismiss him, like a servant whose work didn’t suit? How could she walk away without acknowledging the bond between them, the passion they’d shared, the joy they gave each other? How could she coolly say goodbye as if what had happened last night was as ordinary as afternoon tea, and as soon forgotten? When he’d been touched by bliss as never before?
Damn her, then, and damn her lessons. She wanted him to move forward and court another woman? Well, he’d happily oblige. Hadn’t that been his aim all along? He’d find a wife so skilful and virtuous she would shatter all his doubts about remaining faithful, filling him with confidence that he could dote on her all his life. A woman of such unimpeachable virtue that she would never cause their children a moment’s embarrassment.
Feeding his fury to mask the anguish beneath, he took Ellie’s note and threw it in the fire. Then returned to the table, scanned the invitation, and went to ring the bell pull.
It appeared he’d have that breakfast after all. And then have Marsden dress him in something suitable for impressing a bevy of Virtuous Virgins.
* * *
That afternoon, Christopher presented himself at the town house of the Countess of Enfield, where the afternoon reception Ellie had bid him attend was already in progress. He should be grateful for this chance to mingle with other people, since he’d had little luck focusing his mind on work. In the hours since he’d read Ellie’s note, he’d tried to study the report Giles had sent, but found his attention distracted by the need to periodically rekindle his anger to keep at bay the black depression beneath.
Time to master that for good, and move forward.
After greeting Lady Enfield, who met him with stiff civility, he moved into the room, where he soon realised he knew very few of the attendees—not surprising, since he almost never appeared at Society functions. Bypassing most of the gentlemen, who all appeared younger than he was, he walked over to Lord Bronfield, an ally of Maggie’s father—and recent widower, he recalled. Who, if he were attending this gathering, must be trolling for another bride.
‘Lattimar!’ the baron said, his eyes widening in surprise. ‘Good to see you! If unexpected. Can’t recall you ever taking part in an affair that wasn’t political. What brings you here?’
‘The same reason that brings you, I would expect,’ Christopher replied, snagging a glass from a passing waiter.
‘You’re looking to marry?’ the baron said in disbelief. ‘The ladies of the demi-monde must be weeping!’
Ignoring that, Christopher said, ‘I have on the authority of my friends that marriage is a most desirable estate. Which it must be, if you are angling to enter it again. Already have several heirs, don’t you?’
‘I do. But your friends are correct. There’s a companionship and warmth in marriage that one finds nowhere else. With the right lady, of course. I thought to live without it, after I lost my dear Emma two years ago, but I find I yearn to have that closeness again.’
‘I hope you’ll find that right lady, then.’
‘You, too, Lattimar. Anyone who’s caught your eye?’
‘I must confess, this is my first reception, and I know practically no one.’
‘Ah, well, let me rectify that! Come along.’
Like a lamb to the slaughter, Christopher couldn’t help thinking as the baron led him where a large knot of guests stood conversing. ‘Ladies, let me present my colleague in Parliament, Mr Christopher Lattimar. Christopher, it’s my pleasure to make known to you Lady Elaine Wyminster, Lady Quinley, her daughter, Miss Quinley, Lord Warner, and Mr Whittiker.’
After bows, curtsies, and greetings, Christopher turned to lady standing nearest him. ‘Miss Quinley, are you newly come to London?’
Miss Quinley, a slender blonde with pale blue eyes, looked down hastily when he focused on her, her face flushing. ‘Yes,’ she said belatedly.
‘How have you found it?’ When she moistened her lips without coming up with a reply, he prompted, ‘Interesting? Noisy? Frightening?’
Casting a desperate look at her mother, who gave her an encouraging nod, she said, ‘Interesting. But noisy.’
‘Do you prefer life in the country?’
With another panicked glance at her mother, she said, ‘I…like the country. Of course, London is…nice, too.’
A very shy girl probably won’t look at you at all, will say little and defer to her mother. Which might be a sign she’s not right for you.
A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips as Ellie’s advice echoed in his ears, before he was distracted by Lady Elaine’s tinkling laugh. ‘Mr Lattimar, spare poor Miss Quinley! My friend is the most gentle creature imaginable, but quite dreads drawing-room conversation.’
That maiden’s relieved smile at the interruption told Christopher Lady Elaine did care about the girl and wasn’t merely trying to steal away his attention.
‘You are part of the Reform movement, Mr Lattimar?’ Lady Elaine was saying. ‘My late husband wasn’t political. Perhaps you could tell me more?’
She took his arm, the touch surprising Christopher until he recalled Ellie saying that a widow had more latitude in behaviour than an innocent miss. Since a quick glance around showed no raised eyebrows, he figured the widow’s gesture must be permissible.
Though he felt the strongest desire to remove her hand.
He suppressed it as she led him a little apart, pulling away once she’d halted in a vacant alcove. ‘Now we can talk without shouting. For I do wish to catch every…intimate…word.’ She gave him a flirtatious glance from under her long lashes.
Though he felt no immediate connection to her, the male in him noticed how close she stood, the alluring tilt of her head, the flicker of tongue moistening her lips.
He looked up to find her watching him inspect her—a knowing smile on her face. And he felt, for the first time in his life, almost…irritated to be the subject of a woman’s amorous overtures.
Before he could think of a way to escape her attentions, a young gentleman hurried up. ‘Lady Elaine!’ he cried, giving Christopher a hostile glance. ‘Here’s the wine you asked me to procure.’
‘Mr Armbruster, how kind,’ she said, bestowing on the young man a smile so dazzling that he froze in mid-step. She plucked the glass from him, in the process giving his hand a lingering caress that rendered him red-faced and speechless.
Lady Elaine’s behaviour brought to mind that of the naughty matrons his mother had invited to ‘distract’ him. A memory that called up Ellie’s voice.
A lady who seems intent on attaching every gentleman around her, as if believing she must always be the focus of attention, would make a taxing wife.
As Lady Elaine turned her seductive smile back on him, he had to agree. This wench must have led Lord Wyminster a merry dance, and he had no desire to follow in the late baron’s footsteps.
‘Why, Mr Lattimar, I had no idea you’d be here today!’
Happy for the interruption, Christopher turned to find the girls from the park walking over.
‘Ladies, a pleasure to see you again. Lady Elaine, y
ou are acquainted with Lady Audrey Thornton and Miss Higgins? And Mr—Armbruster, wasn’t it?’
As they all nodded, Lady Elaine gave the younger girls a brief smile. ‘Hello, girls,’ she said. ‘Mr Lattimar was telling us about politics. Not much to interest you, I’m afraid.’
Though Miss Higgins appeared cowed, Lady Audrey met the older beauty’s stare with a level glance that said she was not at all intimidated. ‘You are mistaken, Lady Elaine. In fact, Mr Lattimar promised me a fuller discussion of his political views when we last rode together. Did you not?’
‘I did indeed,’ he confirmed, to Lady Elaine’s obvious annoyance.
‘Won’t you let me steal you away? Sophie wanted to hear about your work, too, and she’s still assisting her aunt as hostess. She’d be so disappointed to miss the discussion. You’ll excuse us, Lady Elaine, Mr Armbruster?’
Christopher had to chuckle as she bore him away. ‘Neatly done, Lady Audrey,’ he murmured as they walked off, the matron’s affronted gaze following them. ‘Though you may have made yourself an enemy there.’
His escort shrugged. ‘Lady Elaine knows nothing about politics. She just wanted to monopolise the attention of the handsome newcomer.’
‘Audrey!’ Miss Higgins exclaimed in an undertone, flushing. ‘She’ll hear you.’
‘I probably shouldn’t have said that,’ Lady Audrey admitted. But you are new to these gatherings, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit we all find you handsome.’
‘Audrey!’ Miss Higgins exclaimed again, her flush deepening.
‘Don’t worry, Mary. You’re not offended, are you, Mr Lattimar? Sophie says her sister thinks you the most admirable and understanding of gentlemen.’
Ellie said he was admirable and understanding? Then why? As he struggled to suppress the pain that stabbed anew, it was several moments before he realised the girls were gazing at him, still awaiting an answer. ‘No, I’m not offended,’ he said, dragging himself back to the present. ‘As a politician, I appreciate plain speaking. One reaches the heart of the argument—and discovers the possibilities for compromise—much faster that way.’
Could they not do that, if he were just able to see Ellie again?
His already unsettled senses startled again when, after rounding a group of guests, he saw Sophie, the instinctive leap of delight followed by the bitter disappointment that the girl who resembled her so closely wasn’t Ellie.
Then, angry at being once again pulled from the present by the woman who’d abandoned him, he resolved to dismiss her from his thoughts and concentrate his full attention on the ladies before him.
Greeting Sophie politely, he engaged for half an hour in a discussion of the progress of the reform bill that both she and Lady Audrey seemed to want.
If he gazed at Sophie through lowered eyes, he could even for a moment imagine it was Ellie beside him, debating the politics he loved. But when he looked with eyes wide open, he knew that lovely, intelligent and interesting as Sophie was, she was only a pale reflection of Ellie, her character young and not fully formed. She lacked the depth, the sense of calm confidence, the unique spirit of her sister.
Their hostess came to reclaim Sophie, and with an exchange of bows and curtsies, the girls walked off with her. An aching sadness filled him as he watched them, wondering if he’d ever feel like himself again.
In stark contrast to his normal behaviour, this afternoon he’d recoiled from flirtatious overtures to which he would usually have responded, been unable to summon up enough empathy to encourage the ingénue lacking in confidence, and had to push himself to converse with two young ladies who seemed to possess all the attributes he thought he was seeking.
Except for one. Neither one was Ellie.
Disinclined to any further gestures of politeness, he abandoned his original intention of remaining to talk with the girls again, instead seeking out the Countess to take his leave. A few minutes later, he halted on the street, gazing back at the Countess’s town house.
Angry, bitter, scoured by loss. Unable to make himself move forward to do what he must.
The realisation swept through him with the force of a high wind, carrying away frustration and resistance. Why was he trying to deceive himself? It was Ellie he really wanted.
He would cease this minute trying to talk himself into doing what everything within him fought against—settling for a woman who could never be more than an inadequate substitute. It would be agony for him and unfair to the lady, when his heart and soul hungered for Ellie. Just as, throughout this gathering, memories of Ellie and her ghostly voice in his ear had held more of his attention than the conversation of the actual guests.
For the first time since the devastation of reading her note this morning, Christopher felt a surge of excitement and a renewal of purpose. Having finally admitted that he wanted Ellie and no other, now he needed to find her—and convince her they belonged together.
CHAPTER TWENTY
As he set off for the nearest hackney stand, Christopher still didn’t know how he could reconcile their nearly impossible situation. But he would fight as long as it took to win Ellie over.
He instructed the driver to carry him to Dean Street, reasoning that, despite the risk to the girls, she might have felt compelled to check that all was well with the school.
But as he impatiently waited through the transit, an even more obvious truth struck him, so clear and simple, he wondered it had taken him so long to realise it.
He’d fight to keep Ellie, just as he’d been fighting for ten years to make the government of England more equitable. To see that it responded to the wishes and needs of all its citizens, not just the wealthy few who had controlled power for centuries. So that all hard-working men—and eventually women—would have a voice in determining their destiny.
Then why was he letting the choice of his heart be dictated by the strictures of the same small, closed group into which he had been born, but with whom he’d scarcely associated since his entry into Parliament? Dismissing the idea of marrying Ellie without really considering it, because Society dictated she was unfit to be his wife? Letting himself be subtly prejudiced against her, acquiescing in the ton’s opinion that she wasn’t worthy to be his wife.
When, in the depths of his heart, he knew there was no one more worthy to fill his life, his heart and his bed than the woman he now acknowledged he loved, fully and completely.
Society would ostracise them—but since he’d almost never attended Society functions, that would scarcely bother him. The guests at the political dinners that did matter to him—like Lord Witlow’s ‘discussion evenings’—came from all backgrounds and walks of life, and Ellie had already been welcomed there.
He had a brief moment of hesitation when he considered how marrying a former courtesan might affect their children. But unlike his mother, who had continued her scandalous life all through the years he was growing up, Ellie’s situation before they wed would be overwritten by years of faithful marriage and effective work as a political wife long before their children grew old enough to understand any gossip about her. They need only ignore the whispers—and besides, a little adversity made one stronger. It had him, hadn’t it?
Dismissing that doubt, he moved to a more troubling one: would the Hellions approve his decision? He thought so—Davie and Faith had also defied Society to marry. But hurtful as it would be to forfeit their friendship, if it came to a choice between winning Ellie and losing the Hellions, he had to choose Ellie.
He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But first he had to find, and persuade, Ellie—who had been indoctrinated from birth as thoroughly as he had to believe herself no longer worthy of his hand—that he thought her not just equal, but superior, to any Virtuous Virgin he might ever meet. And that marriage was the only answer for them both.
* * *
Arriv
ing at Dean Street, after instructing the driver to wait, Christopher bounded up the stairs and knocked on the door. Then returned to the carriage a moment later, after Jensen assured him they hadn’t seen Ellie since they stopped by the previous evening.
Surely she wouldn’t have been reckless enough to return to her unprotected house? Still, worry gnawed at him as he gave the driver that direction and hopped back into the coach, consumed with urgency to see her.
What exactly had she said when she wrote him goodbye? He wished now he hadn’t burned her note. There’d been something about his being prepared and her job being done. He knew she’d not mentioned anything about their night together, or the warmth, laughter and enjoyment of their lessons, an omission which had struck him on the raw.
But the more he considered it, the more he realised that, given the character of the woman he loved, the very coldness of the language indicated not a lack of feeling, but rather a need to conceal it.
As the carriage bowled along, he recalled she’d written something else about ending for good any temptation to delay his quest, a phrase he’d skimmed over the moment his eyes saw the ‘goodbye’ penned at the ending.
End the temptation for good? What could she have meant by that?
A few minutes later, the jarvey pulled up at Hans Place, but his stop here was equally brief. His relief at having her staff confirm she’d not returned home was offset by a deepening worry over where in fact she had gone.
Given her previous protests about not wishing to intrude, he hadn’t thought she would go to Maggie’s without his escort—but that must be where she’d sheltered. Where else could she go?
Returning once more to the carriage, he had the driver set off for Upper Brook Street. Dismissing the jarvey, he paced the parlour to which Dawkins showed him while he waited for Maggie.
Trying to mask his urgency under a veneer of courtesy, he speeded to the door the moment she entered. ‘Hello, Christopher! What an unexpected pleasure.’
Convenient Bride for the Soldier & the Major Meets His Match & Secret Lessons With the Rake (9781488021718) Page 66