“What of Almack’s? What if I were to tell that you that I am regular?” he said, as he leaned back in his chair, his manner as conceited as if he was a prince seated on a throne.
He casually mentioned the famously exclusive club of Almack’s. The club which boasted a limited number of members, a number that was kept low for the sole reason of maintaining its exclusivity. There was no question that in London among society Almack’s was the bastion of the fashionable, the powerful, and the elite. Money nor rank could guarantee entrance, not when charm, subterfuge, and style often mattered more than a title.
“I should not be surprised that they welcome you at Almack’s, Mr. Foxworth. A gentleman such as yourself, who enjoys cards and possesses a certain sense of style and charm would be as welcome there as any lord.”
“Then you have formed your judgement of my character. You have pronounced me to be a gambler or an opportunist? What an impression I have made upon you,” he replied with a devilish wink.
“You are the boldest man I have ever known, Mr. Foxworth,” she replied.
“The same could be said for you. I have never met a woman who possessed such conceit in her own opinions,” he answered, as his dark eyes gazed into her blue ones.
For a moment, neither Gabby nor Mr. Foxworth spoke as they stared at each other, the tension between them was unbearable, but so was the excitement. He was infuriating. He insulted her by his audacious winking. What could he mean by that? Did he call her conceited? His words should have angered her, and they did, but there was something other than anger. He fascinated her; he was neither dull nor predictable, and he was seated across from her. She was captivated by his brown eyes as they sparkled as he stared into hers. She was aware of how close he was, how opportune this moment alone was. If she wished, she may have kissed him, and she may have if she was the sort of woman who had no care for her reputation. But why should she kiss him? Tantalized by the temptation of the forbidden, she was unable to tear her gaze from his even as she wished he was not so terribly maddening.
Grantham chose that moment to return to the drawing room with the leather-bound edition in his hand. “Foxworth, this is the book. The one I was telling you about. I think you will find the drawings to be of interest to you since you have travelled to Africa. You will have to tell me if they are accurate. I have wondered if the artists on the expeditions did not create some of the animals from their fevered imaginations. I have heard that yellow fever is rampant in the wilds.”
Mr. Foxworth did not disagree with Grantham as he stood to take his leave. With a bow, he thanked Grantham for the loan of the book. He bid farewell to Gabby and left, leaving Gabby to wonder about what had transpired between them. He left so abruptly that she was afraid he knew her thoughts. Had she shocked him by her refusal to look away from his gaze as she, a demure lady, would have done?
As she sat beside her brother by the fireside, Grantham turned to her and said, “Gabby, let me hear what you have to say about our guest. What is your opinion of our neighbor?”
“Oh, I had forgotten about that. He must live nearby if Mrs. Gray visits him,” she answered.
“He has taken a house in the next block. He told me that he intends to remain there for the Season,” Grantham said as he bit into a sandwich.
“My opinion may be better formed if you told me what you know of Mr. Foxworth besides his arrangement to be our neighbor,” she answered.
“Not much. He is a better card player than I. I suspect that he lets me win now and again. He never takes me for large sums, which I find refreshing. He claims he plays for the sport of it and not the money.”
“You must know something else,” goaded Gabby.
“We met on the crossing from Ireland. You remember that I had journeyed to Dublin on business earlier in the year. I met him on the return trip. I believe he has interests in shipping and perhaps some land although I do not know where. He has traveled extensively. We spoke about his time in the West Indies and Africa. I found him to be rather interesting if you ask me, which I precisely the reason that I wanted him to meet you.”
Gabby stared at her brother as if he had admitted to the most egregious of crimes as she exclaimed, “You wished for me to meet him? What would give you the idea that I would want to be introduced to him? A man you met on the crossing? Some person who plays cards with you?”
“Gabby,” her brother said in his pleading way, which meant he was aware that he had angered her. “You have to marry someone. I was doing my bit to help. I am your brother.”
“You thought that you were helping me by bringing home a card-playing stranger you met on a ship? Grantham!”
“He is a member of my club and Almack’s. He has taken a house near us. I do not know all there is to be known about the man Foxworth; I will be the first to admit that. I admit that you are right to question my judgement, but you must admit that there is something in his temper, in his nature, which seems suited to your rather independent manner. I pray, dear sister, that you will not take me to be a sentimental fool. Well suited or not, you must marry someone of worth. I cannot say that I know of his business, or whether he is in possession of any great wealth. From what I have observed, he seems to have money to spend. Have you seen his boots?”
“Yes, no, of course, I was not looking at him or his boots,” Gabby answered, lying to her brother. Flustered, she recalled that even she had noticed that Mr. Foxworth’s boots were among the finest example of the boot-making art that she had ever seen, but she did not want it known that she was studying this strange man who had come into her life. Nor did she wish to face teasing or ridicule from her brother Grantham regarding this man Foxworth. How, she mused, did he manage to win the favor of her brother and the Anderzimples, and her cook, the cat, and everyone at Almack’s so readily?
Stating her frustration, she said, “I do not know where Mr. Foxworth hails from, who his family is, or anything about his man. Yet, I had tea with him today. He was at the Anderzimples’ ball. I do not recall meeting him once last Season. Now he is everywhere I turn. The ball, the park, the drawing room of our house! Is there no escaping this man?”
Grantham reached for another sandwich, as he teased, “Why would you wish to escape such a man? If you want my opinion, I would prefer that you marry a man like Foxworth than that dreadful Mr. Mabrey, or Mr. Fenton. What of Mr. Gladstone? You cannot be seriously considering any of those men. I should detest dining at home forevermore if I was faced with one of those men as a brother.”
Gabby answered, “So would I, but I have no choice, do I?”
“You do, dear sister. You may choose a man like Foxworth.”
“Grantham, has he offered you something, a bribe perhaps? Why are you so quick to convince me of his merit?”
Grantham looked sheepish, as he admitted, “He may have suggested a small investment in the merchant fleet I wish to own, but that does not change my opinion nor should it affect yours. Gabby, you must admit that you do not care for any of the dull, dreary men you have met this Season.”
“Grantham, you awful person! How can you be my brother?! You wish to purchase a fleet of merchant ships. This man Foxworth has offered to invest in your venture, and your good opinion has been bought.”
“It has not been bought. Tell me, do you wish to become Mrs. Fenton? No, I think not. What of Mabrey? I should perish of boredom in his company. What of Gladstone?”
“He is respectable,” Gabby countered.
“Respectable—and dull as a brick. Gabby, if you were any other woman who possessed half of your cleverness and none of your opinions, I should say you have my blessing on any man you chose. Take care that you do not marry to become the wife of a man who does not deserve you. Consider Foxworth.”
“I shall not!”
“If you insist, but you will be forced to see him if you come to visit me in Dublin. He has insisted that he shall invest in my ships. It would be impolite not to invite him around for tea or dinner now and again.�
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“If you believe he will invest, I hope for your sake that you are right. Tell me, Grantham, what if you are wrong and he is a mercenary opportunist?”
“Then I will say what jolly fun we have all had and be happy about it.”
“Jolly fun,” Gabby repeated, as her mother announced her arrival with a cheerful, “I am home; ring for tea.”
“Do not tell Mother,” Gabby whispered.
“I am afraid that it is too late for that, Gabby dear. She has invited him to dine.” Grantham laughed.
“What? Dine…here?”
Grantham looked positively devilish as he said, “Yes, tonight.”
Gabby groaned as she left her brother, strode past her mother with barely a polite greeting, and rushed upstairs to her room. Only when she was in the safety of her room, did she lock the door. Gabby threw herself across the bed, as she groaned again in frustration. Who was Mr. Foxworth, and why was he invited to dine? Was there no escaping him?
9
“Becky, what am I to do? I want to choose a husband. I wish to have the matter settled.”
“Miss, you cannot choose your husband? You do know that; you are a woman. You must wait for a gentleman to ask you for your hand after he speaks to your father.”
“Why must I wait?”
“That is how it is done; you do not choose your husband, he chooses you.”
“Becky, the whole business of trying to find a husband is absurd,” Gabby answered, as Becky latched the pearl necklace around her mistress’s throat.
Becky gave her mistress’s shoulder a squeeze as she said, “You may think it absurd, but that is how things are done. I should think that you do not have to worry about finding a husband. You have suitors vying for your hand, or so I have heard.”
“They are all terribly boring and dull, except for Mr. Fenton. He is far too odd to ever be boring,” mused Gabby.
“I am referring to the gentleman who looks after our Mrs. Gray when she is roaming the neighborhood.”
“Oh Becky, are you going to say that you have been influenced by Mr. Foxworth?’
“I have not been influenced, no Miss. I was suggesting that he is rich, or so I have heard. They say, in the servants’ hall, that he pays his valet a gentleman’s salary and his stablemaster can afford his own racing horse!”
“Becky you must not listen to gossip,” Gabby chided her maid.
“I know, but he has gained Cook’s approval. Gossip or not, and Mrs. Gray adores him.”
“Lovely, I shall not take the cat’s advice on anything. She eats mice. should I dine on rodents as well?”
Laughing, Becky answered, “I should think not.”
Gabby patted the turban on her head, a confection of light green silk that matched the green of her gown and the shimmering silver sarsnet that glided past her hips to her knees. As she left her room, she thought of her maid, who had clearly been persuaded to approve of Mr. Foxworth. Was there anyone besides herself who saw him as an opportunist? Why else she reasoned did he have an interest in winning the good opinion and approval of her entire household if he did not have a scheme that he wished to implement?
Making her way down the stairs, she wondered if it was not too late in the evening to feign an illness? Would her mother call for the doctor who would uncover her duplicity? Would she dare to run away to her room to escape the presence of a man whom everyone in her world adored; everyone but her? Why could no one else see that he was conniving and persuasive, because that was his purpose, to marry well?
With her head held high, she walked down the stairs. She refused to run away from him. If he meant to prey upon her, to entice her into accepting him, she would prove him wrong. She was not as easily persuaded as a maid, her cook, or her brother. Mr. Foxworth would have to rely on something more than charm to beguile her.
In the drawing room, she found Mr. Foxworth standing beside her brother Percival and Barbara Anderzimple. Grantham was entertaining an older society couple, the Kirklands. Her mother was speaking to an elderly man, a baronet, and her father, Mr. Parker stood alone. Her father was staring at Mr. Foxworth as if he was unsure what to think of this man who had insinuated himself into the household and was in his drawing room. Gabby was thrilled to see that she had an ally.
Strolling across the room, she could not help but notice that Mr. Foxworth looked as handsome as she recalled from their last meeting. Did he ever appear to be anything less than the tall, tempting epitome of masculinity that she beheld? He nodded to her and smiled in that rakish manner that he alone could employ to make her knees weak and her heart flutter. With a humph sound, she held her head up and looked down her nose at him as she refused to acknowledge him despite Barbara Anderzimple staring at her and Grantham subtly gesturing.
“Gabriella,” her father said. He had a habit of never addressing her by a shortened version of her name.
“Is this the number of guests we shall have dining with us this evening?” Gabby asked, as she ignored the gaze of Mr. Foxworth and the blatant staring of Barbara, who was now studying her intently.
“It is a small party this evening. Your mother insisted,” Mr. Parker answered.
Gabby made another unladylike harrumphing sound. Was there anyone who was not charmed by Mr. Foxworth? For what reason could her mother wish to have a small party? Mrs. Parker enjoyed hosting large parties and would not hesitate to invite every eligible young man in London if she thought that would ensure her daughter’s engagement.
Gabby lamented, “Why does everyone conspire against me? Who is this man Foxworth who has won everyone?”
Mr. Parker leaned close to his daughter. “I have wondered the same thing. I could not fail to notice Grantham’s friendship with the gentleman, then there was the business of this invitation. I had my solicitors look into the matter.”
Gabby smiled at her father, pleased that she was not the only person who was suspicious of the dashing Mr. Foxworth. “What did you discover?”
“Not much. Apparently, he has newly arrived from Ireland. He has some wealth, but it is unknown how much. He has not abused his credit, but his bills are incredible.”
“What of his name? His past or his family?” Gabby asked, excited by the idea that she may finally discover the truth about this man who had charmed her family and her friend Barbara, and the servants. Even practical and sensible Becky liked him.
“Foxworth is the name of a noble family in the North of England; other than that information nothing is known of the man.”
“Nothing? He appeared in London and is accepted by everyone? How did he manage that?”
“Money, my dear, and he is gregarious. I will say that for him, but we must not stand about talking when there are guests to be received. If you speak to the man, be on your guard,” her father warned.
“Mr. Foxworth, who are you?” she whispered, as she looked at him.
How did he worm his way into the drawing rooms and clubs of good society without a character or reference or much else except for his gentlemanly manners and his talent for cards and conversation? Barbara was beckoning her to join her party, as Gabby decided that she was outnumbered when it came to her skepticism of this man, who was now a part of her social circle whether she accepted him or not. As she made her way across the drawing room, she thought that this Mr. Foxworth had to be a well-connected gambler or a base opportunist. There could be no other explanation for his sudden appearance in society.
As Barbara and Percival conversed about their upcoming wedding, Mr. Foxworth spoke in a low tone that only Gabby could hear.
“Miss Parker, I was wondering when you would come and join us. I presume that since you and I are equally ranked, we will be seated together at dinner,” Mr. Foxworth greeted her with his smirk and his mesmerizing dark brown eyes.
“Mr. Foxworth, it seems that you have managed to make it impossible for me to avoid you. If we are thrust together as you have designed, then I will enjoy our time together as I endeavor to discover
the secrets you hide.”
He laughed. “My secrets? That is the reason you have deigned to speak to me? How direct you are; you are unlike any woman I have ever known. What if were to tell you that if you permit me to call upon you, if you consent to go riding with me and your friend Miss Anderzimple and your brother Percival in the afternoons, then I shall gladly tell you all of my secrets willingly and without reservation?”
“What secrets will I discover? That you are as I have presumed? You are an opportunist, or you have won your way into society as a card sharp? Shall we dispense with the subterfuge?”
“If that pleases you to believe that about me, I will not be insulted—although I should be. How can I be offended by your words, when I have done nothing to offer you any other belief?”
“Tell me your secrets now, and I shall be the judge of it,” she replied.
“No, Miss Parker, not yet. I may surprise you and have no secrets that I am keeping. What do you think of that?” he said as their eyes met.
“I do not believe you. Since you have worked so very hard to become close to my family and me, I shall indulge you, Mr. Foxworth. I will indulge you and expose you, but only when I have the time. I am in my second Season, and I must find a husband.”
“Would it be unsuitable for me to ask to be included among those fortunate men whom you may be considering?” he asked.
“It would be unsuitable. How can I consider you, a man whom I know nothing about and who has done nothing to win my trust nor my good opinion?”
Regency Engagements Box Set Page 35