The Incomparable Miss Compton

by Regina Scott

  “Do you want the whole of it then?”

  She raised her head and smiled at him. “You did seem intent on telling me when you blustered in. Sit down, Breckonridge. Perhaps we can discover what you have done to make the sensible Miss Compton take you in dislike.”

  “I did nothing,” he protested, although he slumped into a chair across from her. The hard wood sides were not conducive to self-pity, however, and he was forced to straighten immediately.

  “If you did nothing wrong, and she refused you, she is not the woman I thought she was,” Anne said quietly. “Perhaps if you told me what transpired.”

  “The conversation is of little import,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “I presented my case logically. She refused to deal in logic.”

  Now she frowned. “That seems most unlike Miss Compton. I would have said she was a very logical woman.”

  “If any woman can be so described,” he muttered.

  Anne flashed him a look that reminded him somehow of a master he had had once at Eton. “Most women can be so described, my lord. It is not our perceptions that cause most problems.”

  Malcolm sat a little straighter. “I beg your pardon, Lady Prestwick.”

  “You are forgiven,” she replied, for all the world like the Prince Regent granting him a favor. “Now, please continue.”

  He shook his head. “Single-minded as well as determined. Very well, my dear, if you want the whole dreary story. I presented my case, and Miss Compton told me she would not have me unless she loved me.”

  Anne took another stitch. “Very sensible, as I said.”

  “Sensible?” he sputtered. “You find that sensible? To appeal to as fickle an organ as the heart for something so important?”

  She affixed him with that look again. “Quite sensible. If you expected otherwise, my lord, it is you who are the illogical one. Marriage is just as much about the heart as it is about the head. Perhaps more so.”

  “I’m getting quite tired of hearing this refrain,” he informed her. “I have observed many excellent marriages in which neither party’s heart was involved.”

  “And I’ve seen any number of wretched marriages in which neither party’s heart was involved,” Anne countered.

  “You make my point for me. The heart is not a determinant in the success of a marriage.”

  “I disagree with you,” she replied calmly, taking another stitch. He couldn’t help noticing, however, that the fabric was nearly ripped by the force of her needle. “If you considered the logic of my marriage, my lord, Lord Prestwick would never have asked me.”

  Malcolm purposely did not look her direction. Gossip abounded as to why Chas Prestwick had married the quiet Anne Reynolds. Most of the stories pointedly guessed that the gentleman had been caught being less than a gentleman, and Anne’s widowed aunts would not let him escape. Still, even if that were the case, he could not imagine a more besotted or adoring husband than Prestwick. Nor a more devoted wife than the lady before him. “I would not dare compare my attempts at marriage to yours, Lady Prestwick,” he said.

  “That at least is sensible of you,” she quipped. “We must all of us stand on our own in that field, my lord. So, Miss Compton could not give you her heart. Did you expect her to do otherwise when you had only just met?”

  “I didn’t expect her to do so even if we’d been friends for generations,” he informed her. “As I said, her heart’s feelings were immaterial to me. Logically, this is an excellent match. I expected her to see that, particularly as I took some pains to point out the benefits.”

  “Yes, somehow I would think you’d be good at that,” she replied, taking another stitch. “I think perhaps I can see where you went wrong, my lord. However, before I offer any advice, I must know. How do you feel about Miss Compton?”

  “I find her intelligent, trustworthy, and competent.”

  “Such high praise,” Anne murmured. He frowned, feeling as if she were criticizing him, for all the sentiment was uttered with her usual quiet.

  “I rather thought so,” he replied, although the words sounded too much like an excuse to his ears.

  “Then it is safe to say that your heart is not involved.”

  “No more so than in any other venture.”

  “I see.” She set her needlework aside and patted down the skirts of her blue poplin gown. “That, of course, is the root of the problem, my lord. Marriage is not like any other venture. I daresay you would have put more thought and effort into campaigning for one of your laws than what you did to encourage Miss Compton to see your suit favorably.”

  He started to protest, but she met his gaze full on and the protest died in his throat.

  “Consider my words before reacting, if you please,” she told him. “That act last year, the one that so upset Lady Margaret DeGuis -- how much effort did you put into seeing it go down in defeat?”

  “Considerable,” he admitted grudgingly.

  “Define considerable,” she insisted.

  He sighed. “We both know it consumed most of my waking moments for several months. Very well, you’ve made your point. But surely a woman cannot expect me to devote my life to convincing her that marriage is a sensible course of action.”

  “There are some women who would expect as much. Somehow, I don’t think Miss Compton is among their number. But if you are determined to have her as your wife, my lord, I am very much afraid you will have to court her.”

  He stared at her. “Court her?”

  She quirked a smile. “You make it sound like torture. It is far less onerous, I assure you.”

  “Not from what I’ve observed,” he replied, rising to pace once more. “Courting involves an extensive amount of time and effort. I must take her driving, I must meet her at the theater and the opera, I must languish in her sitting room on a daily basis.” He stopped in shock. “Good God, I’ll have to attend one of those ghastly subscription balls at Almack’s.”

  “I doubt you will have to compromise your sensibilities to that extent,” Anne told him, and he could hear the chuckle in her voice. The chit was enjoying this. He rounded on her.

  “Easy for you to say, my dear. I have the Widows and Orphans Act I’m trying to convince Liverpool to father through the system, and another three due to hit the floor before recess. There’s talk of developing even stiffer gagging acts to stop the people from reforming Parliament. The stiffer the acts, the more likely we are to have a fight on our hands. England cannot stand a revolution of the magnitude we saw in the American Colonies and France. I appear to be the only voice of reason. To top it all off, His Royal Highness is demanding that we raise his allowance again, so that he can buy more fripperies for his blasted pavilion in Brighton, and I will not watch him buy Chinese lanterns while the troops who returned from Waterloo starve. I have no time for romance, madam. I have work to do.”

  She shook her head. “If you have no time to look for a lady, you have no time to be married to that lady, my lord. Do you expect your wife to sit quietly home while you slave away in running the country? I think not. Have you not said she is to work beside her as a helpmate? If you were training a man to help you, would you not spend time teaching him what you expected?”

  “That is an entirely different matter,” he pointed out heatedly. “He would already have made the commitment. If I was married to the woman, I would certainly spend time with her.”

  “A woman expects commitment sooner than a man, I fear,” Anne replied. “She wants to see that you are sufficiently committed to her before agreeing to spend the rest of her life with you. I’m afraid there is no getting around it, my lord. Any woman who would be good enough to be the partner you seek will want you to court her before marrying her.”

  He let out a deep sigh. “I am well and truly trapped then.”

  “If that’s how you see it, I’m afraid you are. I must admit, however, that there are women who would jump at an offer of marriage from you, with no more effort than you gave Miss Compton.
I’d pity you for marrying them, but they would be less effort, in the beginning.”

  “No,” he agreed with reluctant admiration. “You are right. I have not found anyone to rival Miss Compton in meeting my requirements. Very well, I must court her. Surely you can suggest some appropriate way to do that that will not jeopardize the career I’m trying to support.”

  Anne nodded. “I could make a number of suggestions, if you’d like. Sit here beside me, and let’s see what we can contrive.”

  Malcolm moved to do as she requested. He had a deep feeling that he was giving away something very important and was about to give up even more. But he was determined to marry. If courtship was what it took, he might as well get it over with.

  Chapter Ten

  Sarah wanted nothing more than to retire to her room and cry. She had never been so hurt in her life. Oh, it had been awful when her parents had been killed and Aunt Belle and Uncle Harold had preferred to shuttle her off to strangers rather than see to her needs themselves. And Persephone’s gibes the last few months had cut her to the quick. But even those things had not been as cruel as her interview with Malcolm. To think she had felt the least attraction to the man! He was an unfeeling beast, a monster. She was heartily glad that she had warned him off Persephone before her cousin had had to see him for what he was.

  Unfortunately, she could not indulge in tears. She had been away from the girl quite long enough. She forced herself to return to the sitting room, only to find with surprise that the room was empty of everyone but Persephone. Her cousin was standing by the window, staring resolutely out onto the street.

  “Is something wrong?” Sarah couldn’t help asking.

  Persephone turned to her, mouth tight. “Lord Breckonridge stormed down to his carriage. What did you say to him?”

  Sarah stiffened. “It is of no import. Suffice it to say that Lord Breckonridge will not be calling again.”

  “Why?” Persephone demanded, stalking away from the window like a lioness who had sighted her prey. Her violet eyes narrowed dangerously, and she put her hands on her slender hips. Normally, Sarah would have tried to talk her out of the tantrum she could see coming, but at the moment, she longed for a good fight.

  “None of your business,” she spat. “I have to share enough of my life, thank you very much. This portion is private.”

  “Your life?” Persephone frowned. “What has this to do with your life? I demand to know why you are chasing Lord Breckonridge away from me.”

  “Away from you?” Sarah stared at her. “Persy, he came looking for me.”

  Persy waved a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one comes looking for you. I’m the Incomparable Miss Compton.”

  “You’re the incoherent Miss Compton at the moment,” Sarah informed her icily. “Lord Breckonridge no doubt thought he would try a more desperate woman with his unwelcome advances. I assure you, he came to see me.”

  “Desperate?” Persephone swallowed. “Did you offer you a carte blanche?”

  Much as she would have liked to blacken his eyes, she could not blacken his name. “Nothing dishonorable, merely distasteful. I would rather not discuss it, Persy. Let it be.”

  Persy tightened her lips, but the words burst out anyway. “But we must discuss it. I thought he came for me, Sarah, truly I did. I had such hopes.” Her lower lip began to tremble. If she cries about the fact that the man who couldn’t love me doesn’t love her, Sarah thought, I shall be forced to slap her.

  “Hope is for nitwits and innocents,” she said aloud. “Be glad you are the latter and stop acting like the former. You have any number of presentable suitors, all of whom would commit senseless acts of valor for the merest smile from you. Be happy. Now, go change. I believe you are foregoing the pleasure of Almack’s tonight to allow the duke to escort us to Drury Lane to see Keene before he ends his run.”

  Persephone lowered her gaze and fiddled with her skirt. “I was. But I dismissed His Grace.”

  Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “May I ask why in the name of heaven you would do that?”

  “I thought Lord Breckonridge was offering for me!” she cried. “I thought I no longer needed Reddington’s stuffy attentions. I thought I was all but married.”

  “You didn’t think at all that I can tell,” Sarah informed her. “Persy, have you no refinement of spirit? Are all your suitors toys to you? Do none of them move your heart in the slightest?”

  To her surprise, the girl colored. “My heart has been moved, but not where it should be. And do not ask me to explain that statement, for I will not.”

  Sarah raised an eyebrow. “You should know better than to make a statement you will not explain. Your mother would not allow it.”

  “But you will,” Persephone said hopefully. She met Sarah’s stern gaze with an importuning look of her own. “You know you will, Sarah. You know how it feels to love the wrong man.”

  “I know how it feels not to be loved,” Sarah corrected her. “That is entirely different. Now, if you‘ve lost your heart at last, you must tell me.”

  Persephone hung her head. “I would not say that I’ve lost my heart, precisely. I am merely intrigued. He is very handsome and quite unattainable.”

  Sarah could imagine her cousin being infatuated with a man who appeared unattainable. That would have been quite different from her many suitors who were only too happy to lay their hearts at her feet. She sat on the sofa and motioned her cousin to do likewise. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear of her cousin’s success in love when her own life was proving so very unsuccessful, but she had a duty as chaperone. And she needed to focus on something other than her own pain.

  “Tell me more,” she insisted as her cousin joined her.

  “I met him at Lady Prestwick’s ball,” she confessed, violet eyes misty. “Lord Yarmouth introduced us. I had only one dance with him, but he watched us the entire time we ate with Lord Breckonridge, and he joined my group for conversation after Lord Breckonridge left.”

  “The fellow who looked suspiciously like Lord Byron?” Sarah asked, remembering. She would not have felt comfortable around the brooding fellow, but she supposed Persephone might find him as poetic as the other women had once found Byron.

  Persy nodded. “The very one. He barely spoke two sentences to me, but I could tell he was interested in furthering the acquaintance.”

  “Indeed,” Sarah replied, hiding a smile. “If he only spoke two sentences I wonder that you were sure he was alive, let alone interested in pursuing you.”

  “A lady can always tell when a gentleman is interested,” Persy informed her, nose in the air.

  “Really?” Sarah knew her cousin could not be so wise as she had just dismissed a room full of suitors for a man who was plainly disinterested. Yet Sarah had to own she was not so sure of the signs herself. She had begun to believe Malcolm might be interested, with his warm looks and pointed attentions. Obviously, she had been mistaken. Or rather, she had mistaken the type of interest. She had foolishly hoped for love and found only an offer of employment.

  “How exactly does a lady know?” she mused aloud.

  Persephone leaned forward, obviously willing to share her limited knowledge. “Well, for one thing, he looks at you in the same manner as you might look upon a luscious raspberry trifle.”

  Sarah tried to imagine Malcolm looking at her in so hungry a manner and blushed.

  “For another thing,“ Persy continued, “he will ask you personal questions. Lord Wells asked me where I was staying and how long we’d be in London. He wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t wanted to call on me, would he?“

  “I would think not,“ Sarah had to agree. Malcolm had asked any number of questions about her, all of which an employer might ask. She could not see that as such as sign of devotion as her cousin did.

  “Finally,“ Persy said dramatically, “he will allow nothing to keep him from your side.“

  Sarah snorted. “That sounds decidedly incon
venient.“

  Persephone smiled. “Not in the slightest. It is delightful beyond words.” She sobered. “Only Lord Wells has yet to call, so I suppose he was not interested after all.”

  “It has only been a few days,” Sarah reminded her, although she had felt the same way earlier about Malcolm.

  “True,” Persephone allowed with a sigh. “I shall not let his absence drive me into a decline. I still have any number of suitors, and more every day. Still, I would have much preferred to have caught Lord Breckonridge instead. Now, there was an eligible gentleman. He has a much greater fortune than Lord Wells, and he is much more powerful. I would have been the envy of every lady in London.”

  Sarah felt a chill at the words. Persy pushed aside the man who intrigued her for another who would make others envy her. She could not imagine a less healthy attitude. But then, she reflected, she had never had a reason to feel that others envied her.

  “It is a pity,” Persephone said with another sigh, “that Lord Breckonridge was not brought to heel.”

  “You are better off without him,” Sarah tried to assure her, even though a small part of her protested. “He thinks of nothing but himself.”

  Persy giggled. “Perhaps that is because he hasn’t found anyone else better. If he approaches me in the future, I will not be shy about letting him see how wrong he is.”

  Sarah looked at her with alarm. “I would prefer that you keep away from him. You would do better attempting to mend this riff with the duke.”

  “Tish tosh to the duke,” Persy said with a wave of her hand. “He had no more appreciation of me than your Lord Breckonridge. We will both find better gentlemen.”

  “You will find someone, I have no doubt,” Sarah replied, unable to frown at her airy tone. “In fact, I would not be surprised if you hadn’t found someone by this time tomorrow. I will simply be glad when this Season ends.”

  “Very well, if you insist,” Persy replied. “But I intend to enjoy every moment of my visit to London. What do you say, Sarah, shall we go to the theatre ourselves tonight? I wager if we send Timmons around, he could procure us tickets.”