“Nothing but politely endure your insults and permit your brother Grantham not to lose too terribly at the card table. You are a shrewd woman, but I can see that there is something more to you than every other young woman who is seeking a husband. You may be compelled to speak and act as the other women do, but you are not so quick to settle into a loveless match with a wealthy, dull gentleman just yet.”
“How can you say such a thing to me when that is exactly what I intend to do.”
“If a loveless, predictable match was what you intended, you would never have pursued me at the ball and you would not be talking to me now.”
“You are a guest, it would be rude not to speak with you,” Gabby replied in a haughty manner.
“Admit it, you have fallen for my charm. Even as you are convinced that I am a fortune-hunting scoundrel.”
“Mr. Foxworth, I shall never fall for your charm,” she said, but she knew that she was deceiving herself when she said it.
She had already fallen for his charm, and there was nothing to be done. He may be a scoundrel, but she was powerless to stop herself from thinking about him, from wishing that he was the kind of man she could marry.
“Miss Parker, permit me to prove myself to you, to earn your good opinion.”
“Never, Mr. Foxworth. You will never earn that, but I will accept your invitation to go riding. You may be the worst sort of man, but I find your company to be amusing.”
“Amusing? Miss Parker, I want to be more than amusing, more than a scoundrel in your eyes. If you will not permit me to prove myself, then I shall earn your favor. So it is riding then, tomorrow afternoon?”
“Tomorrow, if you insist.”
Gabby spent the remainder of the evening playing cards with Barbara Anderzimple, Percival, and Mr. Foxworth. He was incredibly talented at cards. Then she enjoyed an hour’s conversation with the gentleman, as he told her of his travels and asked her about her thoughts regarding every subject suitable for a drawing room. Despite her insistence that she was not subject to his charms, she knew that was untrue. She was fascinated by him from the first second she saw him across the ballroom at the Anderzimples’ house. It was pointless to deny it; she was captivated and falling inexplicably in love with a man she could never marry.
10
Late Spring 1813
London, England
The house he once lived in stood empty, ready to accept another gentleman who might lease it for the upcoming Season. Grantham received his investment ostensibly from an anonymous source sent by way of his solicitor, but Gabby knew that Mr. Foxworth was keeping his word. The investment was an honorable gesture and one she realized far too late was the action of a gentleman and a wealthy one at that. Mrs. Gray was still with Cook; she came with a gift of a basket of fresh fish and twenty pounds for her upkeep. With all of his business completed, Mr. Foxworth had disappeared like he arrived, swiftly and unexpectedly, although Gabby should have expected it. She was the one who had foolishly declined his offer of marriage.
Languishing in the small sitting room, Gabby sought solitude and solace away from the visitors who came to pay their calls and offer congratulations on Percival’s upcoming wedding. And there would be condolences murmured softly that poor Gabriella had yet to find a husband. The Season was nearly at an end, and she had wasted her time in the company of a man who possessed no discernible prospects.
Dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief, she thought rather stoically that she may yet be engaged. Mr. Fenton was far too dramatic for her tastes. Mr. Gladstone was so boring as to be nearly forgettable. Mr. Mabrey was unattached, his interest in her easily rekindled. He was not her ideal for a husband, but with his passion for books, he was the least likely to cause her any trouble. When she was feeling better, she would arrange for her mother to invite him to dine, but she did not wish to dwell on Mr. Mabrey or anyone else except for Mr. Foxworth.
How foolish and utterly ridiculous she had been concerning the gentleman. How long had she considered him a scoundrel because she knew nothing of his background or his prospects? When she thought of their rides in the park together, or their conversations at tea, she was sad. What of the happy circumstances of their strolls along the Serpentine always in the presence of her brother and Barbara? Recalling those walks, she felt her chin quivering and fresh tears fall from her eyes. Looking back, she had been in love with him, not like she imagined herself to be with Mr. Grant, but truly, passionately in love with Mr. Foxworth. Yet, somehow, she had destroyed any hope she would find love and happiness as a bride. Or, she sighed, for the rest of her life.
What if he was an opportunist, what if he had been a gambler or some other mercenary sort of man? He made her happy; he made her feel as though their lives together would have been one long, grand adventure. Why had she ruined that? Why had she said no to him when he proposed?
Dabbing at her eyes, she knew the answer. For all her talk of being independent and free thinking when it came to marriage, she was afraid to risk her future and her dowry. He promised to tell her his secrets, but he never did. If she had known what he was hiding maybe she would have said yes, rather than told him she could not marry a man with no background, no reference, and no wealth. How she wished she could see him again, to tell him that she would not care if he was penniless or a pauper, she loved him.
Her heart ached when she thought of him. She had loved him; it was true, and there was nothing to be done. He would never know that she was deeply, passionately in love with him. His charm, which she swore would never work, had beguiled her. His compassion for a cat, and his kindness to her brother and to his servants impressed her. His arrogance she found challenging but also enduring. She found it contributed to his dashing, debonair temper. How had she said no? How did she find the strength to refuse him?
The door of the sitting room opened with a slight creaking of the hinges. Gabby did not bother to conceal her tears as she turned around to face whoever had the audacity to interrupt her mourning.
“Miss, I am sorry to bother you,” Becky whispered.
“Becky, not now.”
“Yes, Miss. It’s Mrs. Gray.”
“The cat?”
“Yes, she has gone missing again. Your mother has a drawing room full of people. Cook and her assistants cannot get away just yet to search for her. You had such good luck finding her last time she was gone that I was hoping you might consider it again. I know this is not a good time.”
“No Becky, this is not a good time, but I will see to the cat.”
“The fresh air will do you good. Shall I bring your bonnet and your spencer?”
“Do not bother. I will not be gone long enough to need either,” Gabby said and sighed.
Gabby dutifully followed her maid from the sitting room. She did not wish to be seen by her mother or her mother’s friends. Slipping down the servants’ stairs, she left the house by way of the kitchen entrance.
Outside, she was surprised by the wind, which was whipping along the alleyway between her house and the residence next door. The air was warm, and the scent of flowers in bloom was heady and intoxicating. All around her, spring was beginning to give way to summer. Soon, the Season would be at an end; she would be going home to Kent, and Barbara Anderzimple would be married. She would be an old maid unless she could convince Mr. Mabrey to ask for her hand, which she was sure she could manage with a little coaxing.
With her handkerchief in her hand, she walked down the narrow carriage path to the street. The wind made her golden curls dance around her face, her skirt billowed out from the high waistline of her afternoon frock. It was improper for her to be out of the house without a bonnet, gloves, or a spencer or pelisse, but she did not care. What care did she have for anything anymore? Her heart was broken, and it was entirely her fault. Why had she allowed tradition and fear to dictate her future?
Pushing her heartbreak aside for a moment, an impossible but admirable task, she set about the business of searching
for the wayward Mrs. Gray. Where could that cat be? There were too many places for a cat to hide, especially one as intrepid as that particular feline. Perhaps the cat had returned to the former residence of Mr. Foxworth? He had been kind to the cat; the animal may have recalled his treatment of her.
Gabby knew that she should not be walking down the street without being accompanied by a chaperone, but she was not troubled by propriety on such a day. The weather was beautiful, the sun was shining, and she had a cat to find. If anyone said a word to harm her reputation, she no longer cared. She was in jeopardy of being labeled a spinster, so what care did she have for her good name anymore? Not when the man she would likely marry was a studious sort who shrank from society?
Searching along the bushes and peering through garden gates, she called for Mrs. Gray. She did not see the animal nor was she expecting to. Finding that tabby cat so quickly would have been exceptional. What should she do? Should she risk approaching the houses of her neighbors in her terrible state? With her handkerchief in her hand and her face red and thoroughly spotted from crying, she did not wish to see anyone or speak to a single living soul. However, she sighed, if she was searching for a lost animal, a dear pet, perhaps not one of her neighbors would object to her lack of bonnet or notice that she was distraught for any other reason than her grief over her missing cat.
With a determination that she find the cat as quickly as she could, she set out to pay calls on her neighbors, certain that her mother would hear of her terribly odd behavior. How many ladies searched for an animal without being properly attired, no spencer or pelisse? And without a chaperone? It was simply not done. Mrs. Gray, the cat, did not know this or the trouble she was causing Gabriella, who was already suffering from the realization that she would probably choose to marry Mr. Mabrey of all her suitors.
Knocking at the door of a nearby residence, a house as stately as her own, she was fortunate to speak to the housekeeper. The owner of the residence was visiting with Mrs. Parker and was not at home. The cat, according to the housekeeper, was a frequent visitor, a tabby that was known to them as a capable mouser. At the next address, the lady of the house was receiving visitors in her drawing room but did manage—while looking aghast at Gabriella, who must have appeared quite wild—to address the cat question. The cat she was certain belonged to her daughter, who had recently abandoned the animal due to the illness it always seemed to cause. At the third house that Gabriella visited, a gentleman met her at the door, a footman in dark blue livery. Respectfully, he was convinced the cat was the companion of his mistress’s older sister.
By the end of her search, including bushes, front steps, and nearly every cat-sized space she could find, Gabriella had come to the conclusion that Mrs. Gray was not the sole property of anyone. Every household on the block seemed to claim the feline, but no one could recall seeing her that day. Should Cook know that her cat, in addition to being owned by Mr. Foxworth, was believed to be owned by several other people in Mayfair? If she was not suffering from the most terrible sadness she had ever known, she would have found the matter of the cat, and her many owners to be rather amusing. How many more cat owners could there be? wondered Gabriella, as she looked up from her search and found herself in a familiar place, a place that held memories and sadness.
Not far from her own residence, she saw the empty townhouse formerly leased to Mr. Foxworth. A lump in her throat and a pain in her chest reminded her that once again she may begin weeping. Raising her handkerchief to her eyes, a sudden gust of wind snatched it from her grasp.
She followed the small piece of lace trimmed cloth as it was taken by the breeze and deposited at the feet of a gentleman, who was holding a certain adventurous grey tabby cat. For a moment, she was transfixed, her heart beat furiously, and she felt slightly faint. He was standing on the sidewalk, not more than a few feet away from her. The man she loved reached down and snatched the handkerchief as it blew towards him.
With his usual smile, he said, “Miss Parker, I believe you have dropped your handkerchief.”
“So I have Mr. Foxworth.”
Tentatively she walked towards him, their gazes met, as he set the cat down at his feet. “I seem to have found Henrietta.”
“Yes, I see that you have.”
“And you, Miss Parker, I was on my way to see you when I observed you leaving your house.”
“You were coming to see me?” She stood there bewildered. Emotions of happiness and sadness swirled around her.
“That was my intention.” He could see the emotion build in her eyes, although her posture remained firm.
“Mr. Foxworth, I do not know what to say.”
“Say yes this time. I have decided to propose to you again, but this time I am certain you will say yes,” he said in a loving and compassionate tone of voice.
“I will say yes now. Ask me, you do not have to tell me your secrets or anything at all. I was a fool. I was ridiculous, and I know that. I shudder to think that I believed you to be a mercenary sort of man, that I called you a fortune hunter. Even if you are, I no longer care. She spoke as if not realizing that he had asked for her hand. And when the realization of his intentions set in, she began to smile, and her voice was filled with joy. Yes, Mr. Foxworth. I will marry you even if you have no money or prospects.”
He reached for her as the cat purred at his feet. “No, my dear Miss Parker, we must not do this here. On the street is not the proper place for a proposal of this magnitude. Come with me back to your house. We shall see that Henrietta is fed, and I shall speak to your father. Then I will propose to you.”
“And I will say yes. How can you forgive me for being a silly woman? I thought I was independent, but I was scared that you were not a gentleman. I was anxious. I was wrong,” she said as her words came out faster and her eyes welled with tears.
“I was the one who was wrong, my dearest,” he answered as he touched her face.
She reached for his hand and held it for a moment.
“Miss Parker, I gave you every reason to doubt me. It was my plan to find a woman who loved me for who I am, who would accept my adventurous side. I wanted a woman who did not care for what society thinks and one that did not bow to convention. In you, I found that woman, a fearless person, who like myself longed for more than what we have been told we should have in this life. I should have revealed my secrets to you. I should have told you who I am. I was a fool not to make my intentions known to you, but I did not. I reveled in the fun we had, our sparring and the way you looked at me as if I was a scoundrel. It is I who must beg your forgiveness, which is why I have returned.”
“You will propose again? You are not teasing me?” she asked, her eyes searching his as he drew near.
“I give you my word as a gentleman.”
“I believe you are as you have said. Thank you for keeping your word to Grantham; it has meant the world to him. Thank you for coming back to ask me again; I have wanted nothing more than to say yes to you. You do not know how terribly I regretted my foolishness. I care not about your secrets or anything else, as long as I believe that you love me and you wish to be my husband.”
Mr. Foxworth raised an eyebrow, his deep brown eyes sparkled with amusement as he said, “You sincerely mean that, you would marry me even if I was a pauper?”
“I mean that with all my heart.”
“If you are sincere, then you are the woman for me. I have searched for a woman whose heart was true, who was my equal. In you I have found her. Once, I promised to tell you my secrets. I keep my promises.”
Gabby looked into his eyes, as she spoke, “Tell me your secrets if you wish, but I do not care what they may be. Nothing will change my decision. I want to be your wife.”
She felt better. Her heart felt lighter as she told him those words. Her curiosity about him was gone. She cared little for anything he may be hiding, but she would listen if he wished to unburden himself.
“Miss Parker, I was wrong for playing a part for
you and your family, but it was necessary. You called me a fortune hunter, but there are women who are equally adept at such treachery. I had no wish to fall victim to such a person, nor did I wish for the expected sort of woman a man of my title and my rank should marry.”
“Title, rank? But you are a Foxworth. I know nothing of your family’s history.”
“That is one of my names, I am James Foxworth Townshend.”
Gabby gasped, as she exclaimed, “Townshend, oh dear!”
“My title is a bit more complicated.”
“You are a Townshend?” she asked, her knees weak.
“I am called that by close acquaintances. I am also called Your Grace, for I am the fifth Duke of Herrington.”
“You are a duke? I never suspected that.”
“That I would turn out to be such a noble character? Imagine your father’s surprise?”
“A duke, I can scarcely believe it. Your Grace.” A wry smile arose on her face when she thought of how shocked her father would be at this development.
“Call me by my given name, call me James.”
“James,” she whispered. The cat meowed, as Gabby breathed deeply, as she said, “I cannot believe it, but somehow I know it is true.”
He replied, as he stroked her face, “Henrietta knew about it, and I think your brother Grantham did as well.”
“Is that why he insisted he introduce me to you?”
The man she knew as Mr. Foxworth smiled, “Perhaps. Tell me, Miss Parker, how daring do you feel at this moment?”
She smiled at him. “I am an independent woman. I am willing to risk anything at this moment.”
“Good,” he said, as he leaned close to her. She closed her eyes as their lips met. Propriety and her name meant nothing, nor that they were standing on the sidewalk, or that a cat happily meowed and purred at their feet. As he wrapped his arms around her, she felt everything in the world disappear except for him. She never wanted anything more in her life than she wanted him at this second. He kissed her forehead and then peered into her eyes. “Shall I speak to your father?”
Regency Engagements Box Set Page 36