An Improper Suitor

by Monica Fairview

  She was too tired to make any decisions. If he could convince her grandmother to accompany her, then she would go. At least for tonight.

  Tomorrow her mind would be clearer, and she would deal with her life in a calm and logical manner. The way she always did.

  CHAPTER 10

  Lionel delivered Miss Swifton and Lady Bullfinch to his mother’s townhouse. As he suspected, she had not yet returned from her evening out. Having assured himself that everything had been done to take care of their comfort, he left, returning to the ball. Forced to slow down to greet acquaintances, his progress to the card room proved painfully slow. He gritted his teeth. He could not afford to alienate anyone, especially in the circumstances. In the card room, Benny clutched his cards close to him, slumped in his chair.

  ‘We’re going, Benny,’ said Lionel, placing his hand heavily on his friend’s shoulder.

  ‘Thorwynn, must you persist in interrupting my games?’

  ‘You’re losing anyway,’ said Lionel. ‘I’m doing you a favour.’ Under the guise of looking at Benny’s cards, he bent down and murmured,

  ‘There have been developments.’

  Trust Benny to react immediately. He sprang to his feet and took his leave politely.

  ‘Has Neave made a move?’ said Benny, lengthening his stride to match Lionel’s.

  ‘Walls have ears,’ muttered Thorwynn.

  Judging by the number of people who greeted him again on the way out, the scandal had not yet spread far.

  In the safety of his carriage, Lionel recounted the events of the evening. He could trust his coachman with his life.

  ‘It’s a relief, at any rate, to know that Miss Swifton was not hurt,’ said Benny gravely. ‘You realize, of course, you’ll have to offer for her. Under the circumstances.’

  ‘Of course I know it,’ said Lionel. ‘I have compromised her, and unlike others who shall remain unnamed, I am a gentleman and a man of honour.’

  They relapsed into gloom. Thorwynn had sometimes imagined getting married. This happy event always occurred sometime in some very distant future. But he had never imagined it like this.

  ‘You could do worse, I suppose,’ said Benny.

  ‘True enough.’ His spirits were sinking further by the minute.

  ‘If you sink any lower,’ said Benny, ‘you’ll fall off the seat.’

  ‘You can’t expect anything else from me, the night before a proposal. Don’t you realize? This is for life. I’ll be leg-shackled to a chit I’ve spoken to half a dozen times at the most. Before I know it, I’ll be stumbling over a brood of brats with runny noses who’ll call me Father and think I have something to teach them. All because I was caught kissing a lady.’ He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘What did I do to deserve this? It’s enough for me to want to disappear into my bedchamber with three dozen bottles of gin and never come out again.’

  Benny laughed, damn him. It was no laughing matter. ‘Not gin, surely. No point in slumming it in your own bedroom. At least drink something decent.’

  ‘I don’t want something decent. The point is to ruin myself, not to enjoy drinking.’

  ‘In that case, blue ruin will do the job,’ said Benny, in a deucedly cheerful tone.

  ‘You don’t seem to comprehend the situation,’ said Thorwynn. ‘The parson’s noose is round my neck. My life is over.’

  ‘Bound to happen sooner or later,’ said Benny. ‘It just happened to you sooner.’

  Thorwynn grunted.

  ‘The way I see it,’ continued Benny, completely oblivious to his misery, ‘today is your last day of utter and complete freedom. You can indulge in a fit of blue devils swigging down gin in your bedchamber, or we can make the best of it and indulge in a night of pleasure. You will certainly be able to enjoy a night or two out when you’re married, but they won’t have the sense of careless abandon that you can have now.’ He surveyed his friend, slouching on the carriage seat. ‘So which will it be?’

  A growl rose up from deep within him. ‘Let’s go to Brooks’s. I’ll decide once I’m there what I wish to do.’

  Lionel handed his hat to – what the devil was the new butler’s name? He preferred old Matthew – and made his way through the shadowy hallway. His head felt so heavy he was sure it would fall off. A footman opened the door to the parlour and bright light pierced his eyes. He used his hands to filter out the invading daylight and made his way to his mother.

  Lady Thorwynn lounged on her usual settee. There were only two herbal concoctions next to her. So Miss Swifton and Lady Bullfinch’s arrival had not caused too much excitement. ‘Good morning, Mama,’ he said. She pouted her lips and he stumbled forward to give her a light kiss on the cheek. ‘You’re looking well today.’

  ‘You’re a scoundrel, but I can’t help liking you,’ said his mother, smiling.

  He backed towards a sofa, sitting down carefully so his head would not fall off.

  ‘To what do I owe this early visit?’ she asked.

  He glanced towards the clock. He could just make out the hands through the blur in his brain. ‘It’s one o’clock in the afternoon, Mama.’

  His mother smiled a secret smile. ‘Did you sleep at all last night?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not going to give you an account of my activities last night,’ he said, stiffly. ‘It’s hardly appropriate for a son to explain his nocturnal activities to his mother.’

  ‘I didn’t want an account of your activities. I’m more concerned about your appearance. You could at least get your neckcloth in order,’ she observed. ‘Especially if you’re planning to see Miss Swifton.’

  He looked up quickly at the name, then regretted it as his head tilted dangerously.

  ‘You’re foxed, Lionel,’ said his mother. God, he hated That Tone. That Tone always meant she was going to start on a lecture.

  ‘I’m not foxed,’ said Lionel, quickly, hoping to stave it off. ‘And I don’t know why you don’t like my cravat. I changed my clothing before I came. My valet assisted me.’ He rose and tried to peer into the gilded mirror to straighten his cravat, but his fingers kept going the opposite direction. He frowned in concentration, but he could not get them to work.

  ‘I suggest you go home and sleep it off,’ said his mother.

  ‘Can’t,’ he muttered. He gave up on the cursed cravat and groped his way back to the sofa. Perhaps he could take a nap there. After all, he had a right to sleep wherever he liked in his mother’s place.

  He drifted into a confused jumble of images. It was good to put his head down….

  Then he remembered he was there to see Miss Swifton. He struggled to an upright position. ‘Is she awake yet?’

  ‘I suppose you mean Miss Swifton. Yes, she’s awake, but she has gone with her grandmother to the lending library. Friday, apparently, is their day to borrow books.’

  Why was the chit never there when he needed her? And confound it, wasn’t she supposed to be in danger?

  ‘They assured me they wouldn’t be long,’ said his mother. ‘But I would still advise you to go home and come back later, when you’ve slept some of it off.’

  He groaned. The last thing he wanted was to negotiate his way back to the doorway and find his way back home. He wondered if he’d already dismissed the coachman. He should send someone to see. No sense in making the fellow wait if Miss Swifton wasn’t in. He started to say something about it to his mother, but his tongue got in the way.

  ‘I think some coffee might be in order,’ said his mother.

  ‘Already had some,’ he muttered. Those blue flowers on the sofa – was there such a thing as blue flowers? – drew his attention. If he could just put his head on them, he knew, he would feel better. There was a reason he shouldn’t do it, but he couldn’t think what it was.

  He laid his cheek down, and went out cold.

  Julia wished she did not have to stay at Lady Thorwynn’s. She hardly knew her, and it was always awkward, staying in someone else’s house. And in this
case, the situation was downright embarrassing.

  Bad enough that she could not explain to Lady Thorwynn why she was sheltering in her house. Then add to it the scandal of being discovered kissing her son in the library. Julia’s cheeks flamed. She did not know which was worse.

  She hesitated as the footman approached the parlour door where she would have to face Lady Thorwynn. She was tempted to retreat to her chamber and avoid her entirely. But that would be replacing kindness with rudeness. She was too well-bred to do that. And her conscience would not allow it.

  So when the footman opened the door she breezed through it, trying to appear far more confident than she felt.

  ‘Lady Thorwynn,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry we left the house before you had come downstairs. Grandmother insisted on returning some books she had borrowed. She left me at the door and went to visit some friends.’

  ‘I hope you will make yourself at home,’ said Lady Thorwynn, gently. ‘As you can see, my son already has.’

  It was then that Julia realized that the strange strangled noise she had been hearing since she entered the room was actually the sound of snoring. Thorwynn was sprawled in a very undignified manner, mouth wide open, one leg hanging off the sofa, and one arm thrown back behind his head. He was snoring sonorously.

  She had never yet encountered a gentleman sleeping in the middle of the parlour during one of her visits. On the other hand, she was staying under their roof, so surely she need not stand on ceremony. She hesitated, not sure whether to go or to stay. She cast an uneasy glance in Thorwynn’s direction.

  ‘The maids are preparing a chamber for him. I’ll have two of the footmen take him upstairs,’ said Lady Thorwynn, obviously realizing her discomfort. ‘Then we can have a quiet talk.’

  Thorwynn descended the stairs grimly. He was bathed and shaved and now felt ready to face the world, even if the pain in his head made it difficult to see clearly. The footman who assisted him told him it was early evening. He had wasted enough time already. He needed to move fast, before Miss Swifton thought he had abandoned her to her fate.

  Miss Swifton occupied the parlour, along with Lady Bullfinch and his mother. He cursed his luck. If the situation had not been so urgent, he would have retreated and waited for another opportunity. But by now he was berating himself so harshly for having slept off the day that he could not be too delicate about it. Besides, the situation was clear enough.

  ‘Good afternoon, ladies.’ He hoped his grin didn’t look like a grimace. It felt like one.

  A chorus of greetings returned to him.

  He bowed in Miss Swifton’s direction. ‘Miss Swifton, I wonder if you will do me the honour of a private word in the library, please?’

  There were mutters and raised brows as three faces turned to him expectantly.

  Miss Swifton looked towards Lady Bullfinch. If it was a plea for assistance, she did not receive it. Lady Bullfinch just regarded her gravely. Julia rose and moved slowly in his direction. He signalled for her to precede him, opened the door and closed it behind them.

  The way to the library seemed to stretch the whole length of the house, even if it was a mere doorway away. He watched the back of her head, the woman he would soon call his wife. In a few minutes, it would be done, and the trap would shut on him for ever.

  Inside the library, the dark wood and the crowded volumes hemmed him in. The books squinted down at him, silent witnesses of this moment. How many other moments like these had they witnessed, he wondered?

  She was watching him expectantly. She had seated herself in an upright burgundy leather chair. The pendulum of the carved oak grandfather clock swung from side to side. He followed its movement, reflecting for the first time how strange it was that such a movement defined what people call time. But enough.

  He cleared his throat. ‘This will not come to you as a surprise, Miss Swifton, I am sure.’ Her face revealed nothing. ‘I wish the circumstances could have been different, but they are not.’ Still nothing in her face. How did one do this without simply blurting it out? He would not go so far as to go on his knee. The gesture had always struck him as trite, and completely pointless. But some gesture was needed, he felt, to distract from the stark reality of the question.

  He bowed. It was a formal enough thing, after all. ‘I’m sure you don’t wish to listen to some long speeches about how delighted I am at this opportunity and other such things. We are both perfectly aware of the circumstances.’ He took a deep, deep breath. ‘Miss Swifton, will you do me the honour of marrying me?’

  There. He had said it. It hung on the air, heavy and dark like the oak around him.

  She rose. There was an odd refinement in her bearing, a quiet dignity that he had not noticed before.

  ‘I thank you for your rational approach to the matter. It makes things much simpler, does it not?’

  He nodded curtly.

  ‘I will deal with you the same way. When no feelings are involved, it is easier to be direct.’

  Confound it, woman. If you wanted to be direct, a simple yes would have been enough.

  ‘I am happy to inform you that there is no need for you to trap yourself into this marriage. I have given the matter some thought. I have decided that, in spite of the circumstances, I do not wish to marry you.’

  It took Lionel some time to unravel what seemed to be a very convoluted speech. Had she said she was happy to, or that she did not wish to?

  If only this headache would go away, then perhaps her answer would be clearer.

  He repeated the sentence in his head.

  She had said no.

  Never for one moment had he imagined such a thing. It was so beyond his comprehension that he just stared at her, his mouth open. Then, realizing it was open, he clamped it shut. But he still stared.

  ‘B—b—b—but …’ He had never stammered in his life. The words, however, refused to come out. She stood in the middle of the library, hands grasped in front of her, absolutely poised, while he could hardly get a word out. He tried again. ‘But—’ Hardly an improvement on his previous effort.

  ‘You have done the honourable thing, Lord Thorwynn, and I am truly grateful to you. And I know you wish to protect me from scandal.

  You have been more than kind.’ The smallest smile touched her lips. ‘But the fact is,’ she said, ‘I can take care of myself.’

  She marched out of the room. The thump of her feet on the floor echoed in his head. Thankfully, she closed the door softly.

  Julia knew Grannie would eventually seek her out. Thorwynn would tell them about her refusal. Or the absence of both of them for a long time would provoke a reaction. They would come knocking at the library door, if only to see if the two of them were writhing on the ground in unbridled passion.

  So when she barged through the door, Julia was prepared. She sat in a comfortable chair by the window, an open book in her lap. She had not read a word of it, since the words had suddenly turned into jumbled ciphers. But holding a book made the world seem like its usual self.

  Her ladyship settled on the bed. Her face indicated that Something Serious was happening.

  ‘Thorwynn tells us you turned him down,’ she said.

  Julia nodded.

  ‘He seemed very puzzled.’

  Julia shrugged. The movement shifted the book in her lap.

  ‘Can you explain this folly to me?’

  Julia said nothing. Was there any point in trying to explain?

  ‘I’d like to know why you turned him down. I’m sure you have good reasons,’ said her ladyship gently.

  Other than that the gentleman in question was a rake, and he was clearly very miserable at the idea of marrying her? That he had a habit of getting so foxed he passed out in his mother’s parlour? Other than she had always planned not to marry, rather than suffer like her mother in a joyless marriage? That she wanted at least a choice in the most important decision of her life?

  She gave the only answer she could give. ‘Lord Thorwynn is not
the kind of person I envisioned as a husband. Even if you picked him out for me from the start.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said her ladyship, ‘but he’d make a decent kind of husband.’

  She thought of him as he had been earlier, his clothes dishevelled after a long night of revelry. ‘What kind of a husband does a rake make?’

  ‘Youthful indiscretions, nothing more.’ Her tone did not allow for argument.

  ‘He’s thirty. Hardly a boy of twenty.’

  ‘He has good character. He’ll settle down, once he finds the right person.’ Lady Bullfinch examined her closely. ‘Don’t forget he’s experienced a great deal during the War. It takes time for a man to recover.’

  ‘Three years?’ said Julia. But she felt a guilty pang as she remembered his confession in the library. He never had the chance to sow his wild oats at twenty, as other young men did. Perhaps she was judging him too harshly.

  ‘Whether he’s a dissolute rake or not – all that is irrelevant,’ said her grandmother sharply. ‘It’s the circumstances that count now. What matters is that he’s willing to do the decent thing.’

  ‘Why is it all about how decent and honourable he is? Why is it no one is asking how I feel?’ She looked at her in appeal. ‘I thought you at least would understand that I can’t just give up my right to choose because of a little gossip. You were always dismissive enough about gossip, and always harping on how easily cowed young girls are these days.’

  Her ladyship shook her head. ‘When a girl is ruined,’ she said, gently, ‘she has no choice.’

  Those words, gently spoken, struck her like a lash.

  ‘In this case, what you do will affect the whole family. Your cousin Miranda will be coming out next year. She will need to weather the scandal, if you don’t marry. Why should she pay for your foolishness? And, although I will pull through, I am sure, I will be forced to survive the backlash. Something I will hardly relish at my age.’

  Down came the whip, again, biting into her conscience.