by Nichole Van
Colin had not anticipated the giddy rush of excitement his return would send through polite society. Like Agamemnon of old, the ton wasted no time in rolling out a red carpet in welcome. Invitations had poured in as soon as the knocker on his London townhouse had been affixed last week, indicating he was in residence.
How everyone had learned of his arrival was still a mystery. The marriage-age misses and their eager mammas had swarmed him almost immediately.
He and Stratton had chatted for hours upon hours about it. After endless tales of their years in the army, they had moved on to shared stories of eager women trying to trap unsuspecting lords into marriage. Lord Stratton had come into his earldom unexpectedly and, like Colin, found himself in the middle of a whirlwind of eligible misses, all desperate to secure his money and title for themselves.
Before leaving for India, Colin had been too new to high society and too poor to garner such attention.
Well, not much.
There had been the one strange incident all those years ago with that heiress, hungry for his title. He had nearly forgotten about it. What had been her name? Miss Liverock? Miss Rockhearth? He was truly terrible with names and faces.
But, now, with his fortunes restored tenfold, he was the prize of all prizes. So many young misses, fresh from the schoolroom, had already been paraded before him like cattle up for auction. Why would a man such as himself wish to marry a girl who was barely considered an adult? He had no desire to wed a child. The very idea was nauseating.
It had been less than a month, and he was already infinitely weary of the whole mess. Just another reminder of how things had ended with Sarah—
He stopped himself right there. Enough. The past was the past and needed to stay there.
“Did a young woman really hide herself in your carriage last week?” Stratton asked, amusement lacing his tone.
“Yes.” Colin sighed. “And then had the audacity to request I escort her home.”
“Did you?”
“Of course.” Another sigh. “After insisting my footmen sit in the carriage with us.”
“I heard Lady Tyson tried four times to leave you alone with one of her girls.”
“That too. I was practically chased from room to room at her musicale.”
“But I would wager you still bowed politely on your way out the door.” Stratton chuckled.
“That is the ultimate problem here. They know I am a gentleman of honor. My life would be much simpler were I a scoundrel. I could simply toss them all aside without a care for their reputation or my own. But as it is . . .”
Colin sipped his tea.
“You do plan to marry at some point, however,” Stratton pointed out.
“Naturally. But I have this decidedly old-fashioned notion that I should be permitted to choose the bride myself.”
Stratton chuckled.
Obviously, marriage had been on Colin’s mind for years now. The appalling mess with Sarah had been a set-back, for sure. He had vowed never again to court a young girl over a decade his junior. He had already tried that—
No. If and when he married, it would be to someone closer to his own age. A more mature sort of woman who matched him.
Hence the draw of Miss Heartstone. Colin found himself thinking about her over and over. Her kind eyes, the husky softness of her voice. He had even seen her in passing at Stratton House, climbing into a carriage as he alighted from his own. She appeared to be a woman of breadth and intellect. After Sarah’s betrayal, Colin was ready for someone steady and straightforward.
“What was that about Blake and a wife?” A loud voice interrupted their conversation.
Colin turned with Stratton as a group of gentlemen walked over to them. Colin had quickly realized that White’s was the best place to meet the gentlemen of the ton. All he had to do was ensconce himself in a leather wingback chair, and every man who passed him by would stop to introduce himself.
Which also explained why the seven other men felt comfortable taking up chairs around Stratton and himself.
“Once you have a wife, Blake, you won’t be able to leave town until the last ball of the Season,” one of the men chuckled.
“Hear, hear.” Another man raised his glass.
“I have three sisters. You may have your pick of the litter,” a particularly ruddy-faced man said with a wink.
Heaven help him.
Colin merely managed a small grimace and took a healthy sip of brandy.
Stratton gave a knowing laugh. “I don’t wish to pry, Blake, but it does seem that you have been somewhat taken with Miss Heartstone.”
The words caught Colin unawares, causing him to choke slightly on his next sip of brandy.
“Hah!” Stratton chuckled more loudly. “Lady Stratton was correct. You were taken with her.”
Blast. He had walked right into that trap, hadn’t he?
His social manners were somewhat rusty.
The mention of Miss Heartstone caused quite a reaction from the gathered men.
“You mean Blake was taken with her fortune, correct?”
“Who hasn’t been taken with Miss Heartstone? The bigger question—will she take you?”
Colin paused, as if pondering, but he was curious.
“Why should I consider Miss Heartstone?” Colin asked.
The group of men laughed.
And then stopped as they realized he was in earnest.
“I think we sometimes forget that you haven’t been in London the past several years.” Stratton replied. “Why Miss Heartstone, then?”
Colin nodded.
Stratton shrugged. “In addition to her obvious physical charms, she is intelligent and most sensible. Furthermore, she is wealthy in her own right. You would not have to worry about her chasing you for your money or title. She has had her pick of the aristocracy for years now and has chosen not to marry.” Stratton gestured toward the men around him. “She attracts men like flies to honey, but year after year, she resists their advances. It has become something of a rite of passage, has it not?”
“Aye,” one of the men agreed, “none of us can move on to other pastures until Miss Heartstone has refused our suit.”
Interesting. Miss Heartstone chose to remain single. A woman like himself—feted and courted and, as a consequence, always suspicious of others and their true intentions.
“What says the betting book currently?” a third man asked.
The betting book at White’s was notorious. Gentlemen would record wagers with one another, betting on everything from when a certain lord would marry to which raindrop would reach the bottom of a window pane first.
The bloods of the ton were a thrill-seeking bunch.
“The odds are twenty-to-one that Miss Heartstone will marry this year,” a voice called from the group.
The announcement was met with loud guffaws.
“What are the odds that Lord Blake will finally be the man to get her before a vicar?”
“Not if Lord Odysseus gets there first.”
That particular statement was deemed even more hilarious.
Mentally, Colin frowned. Vividly he remembered how Lord Odysseus had stood close to Miss Heartstone, clearly claiming her as his territory.
“Am I such an unsightly specimen, then?” Colin asked.
“Hardly,” Stratton said, “but Miss Heartstone has a definite reputation.”
“It is said she truly has a heart of stone. None can win her approval.”
Colin sagged into his chair. “She seemed delightfully affable and perfectly lovely.”
“Oh, she is,” came a reply.
“Particularly when she rejects your marked attentions.”
“You would know!”
“We all know.”
Colin’s frown deepened. “Pardon? You have all been rejected by Miss Heartstone?”
A chorus of ayes and yes greeted his ears.
Stratton alone stayed silent, as he had been married before Miss Heartstone made
her debut.
“Her reputation for giving a polished rejection is legendary,” he said.
“Very true, Stratton. Miss Heartstone has the entire procedure down to an art form. The past several years, she has taken to no longer waiting for the gentleman to pop the question to her. She takes a stand before things reach that point.”
“She does?” Colin swirled the brandy in his sifter. “That seems . . . unusual.”
“I gather she abhors leading a gentleman to think that she favors him in any way,” Stratton explained.
“Truly?” Colin asked.
Stratton nodded.
“How does she go about doing that?” Colin had to ask it.
Several of the men sat forward.
A young buck spoke first, “Well, first she will loll her head to the side, her eyes going soft-like—” He mimicked the motion. “—before saying, in her kindest tone—”
“—‘My lord, I have something I wish to speak with you about’.” His friend spoke in a high, breathy voice. “‘I must tell you how much I enjoy your company’—”
“And then she gives a compliment.” Another man said. “Mine was the cut of my coat.”
“Mine was the kind way I speak to my mother.”
“My dancing skill.”
“Riding seat.”
“Friendly manner.”
Stratton chuckled.
“Miss Heartstone truly does this?” Colin had to ask.
Every man in the room nodded.
“And then after the compliment she says—”
“ ‘But after much pondering, I am afraid that we are not suited—’”
“ ‘—though I thank you for the honor you do me in your attention.’”
A pause.
“That is how she does it?” Colin asked.
“Yes.”
“Every gentleman.”
“Every time.”
“I do believe it has become a rite of passage, in all honesty,” Stratton said.
“And she somehow becomes lovelier with every passing year.”
“Yes. How does she manage that?”
“It must be a woman-ish thing. They have their ways.”
“Do you wish to enter in on the betting?” A voice asked.
No, Colin certainly did not wish to do that.
One of the men downed his drink in one hearty gulp. “I have heard she earnestly intends to marry this year.”
Dead silence greeted his statement.
“You don’t say?”
“Lord Odysseus would like to think that.”
“She has tolerated him longer than most—”
“With looks like his, how can we mere mortals compete?”
The men continued to chatter on about Miss Heartstone. Her grace. Her kindness. Her beauty.
The largess of her fortune.
For his part, Colin could care less about her fortune.
Now he was even more curious to better know the woman herself. He felt a sense of kinship with her. Who was the woman beyond the facade she presented to the world?
That jolt of initial contact lingered. He wouldn’t mind, indeed, exploring it more.
Besides, Lord Odysseus needed a little competition.
11
. . . my lord, this letter has been years in the making. Sometimes small misunderstandings grow into enormous mountains until one doesn’t know where to begin to surmount them . . .
—excerpt of letter from Miss Heartstone to Lord Blake; written, signed, and sealed but not sent
Colin looked out his carriage window at the row house, his brows drawing down.
His brow wrinkled further, glancing down at the address his sister had given him for Lord Halbert Phalean. He stared back at the house.
Mmmm. This was the correct place.
But it didn’t seem quite . . . right.
The house itself wasn’t necessarily a problem. Like nearly all houses in Bath, this one was clad in honey-colored stone with triangular pediments above the central windows.
The street was quiet. Not the most fashionable address in Bath, but not poor either. Genteelly shabby, he’d label it. The sort of place that a younger son of a less-than-wealthy duke might land later in life.
His frown deepened. Colin alighted from the carriage, looking left and right.
LHF had to be one of the wealthiest men in all of England. His pockets were vast. Why would he choose to live in this place? More of his desire for anonymity? Or was he truly that modest of a person?
It only served to underscore how little Colin actually knew about LHF. How odd to know a person’s innermost thoughts about the human condition but nothing about the reality of their day-to-day living.
Well, Colin was determined to change that.
He had been forced to wait upon the King in London for almost three weeks before being able to politely leave the city. But once he was free to leave, Colin had traveled straight to Bath and Lord Halbert.
Problems and issues had piled up in the meantime, the demands of running a vast financial empire never ending. After this critical meeting with LHF, Colin would spend weeks traveling around to his various estates in southern England, meeting with his stewards, addressing in person the needs of each property.
LHF had sent precisely three letters since Colin’s arrival—a polite one congratulating him on his return to England, as well as two others detailing pressing business issues. Decisions needed to be made about an investment opportunity in Massachusetts. Their factory in Perth needed to hire more laborers, and Colin wanted the new workers to be veterans, not child labor. All things he hoped to discuss with Lord Halbert in person today.
So much to be done. At the very least, if he and Lord Halbert could just talk about these issues, it would save Colin precious time. Surely LHF could see that.
Shrugging off his thoughts, Colin mounted the steps, rapping on the door. The seconds ticked before shuffling sounds came from the hallway beyond. Finally, the door creaked open revealing a butler just as genteelly shabby as the house. The elderly man blinked, taking in Colin’s smart appearance and the gleaming, newly-purchased carriage behind him.
“Lord Blake to see Lord Halbert, please.” Colin extended his card to the man.
The butler gave a flustered nod and hastily ushered Colin into a sparsely furnished entrance hall.
“I shall inform his lordship at once, my lord,” the butler said in a rush before climbing the stairs to the second floor with as much alacrity as the old man could muster.
It was telling that the butler didn’t remotely insinuate that his lordship might not be home to visitors. Even more telling was the fact that the butler returned in less than three minutes to escort Colin upstairs, showing him into a drawing room, murmuring that Lord Halbert would be down shortly.
Left alone in the room, Colin turned in a circle. His eyes quickly scanned the aging furniture, the threadbare carpets, the clock that had to be at least a century old if it was a day.
The house was deathly quiet.
For the first time, misgivings settled in with a vengeance. How could Lord Halbert be running an international empire from this place? Colin would have expected to see at least a secretary or an official man of business. Or, at a minimum, hear the far-off murmur of voices discussing business matters. Something.
Instead, the entire house felt tired and worn down. Everything overused and underpaid and ready to be sent to pasture.
Before Colin could get far in his assessment, however, the door snicked open.
Lord Halbert bustled in, somewhat out of breath, as if he had raced to prepare to greet his guest.
“Lord Blake!” The older man exclaimed. “You honor my humble abode with your presence. I received a letter from George just yesterday stating that you had returned to England. Welcome home, my lord.”
Colin smiled, strained and tight, as the older man shook his hand with emphatic vigor. Lord Halbert was just as he remembered, though older now: tall, gray hair t
ending toward white, clothing neat and well-cut but showing its age.
Worse, not a flicker of anything beyond polite inanities gleamed in Lord Halbert’s eyes. No wariness. No recognition. Not an oblique reference to Colin’s repeated requests for an audience.
Most certainly not an admittance to being LHF.
All of which left Colin with a sinking stomach and rising sense of what? Panic? Disbelief?
Had he been wrong all those years ago? Was Lord Halbert not LHF then? Or was his old friend putting on a good show, still intent on protecting his secret identity?
Both possibilities were nauseating.
“Won’t you please be seated?” Lord Halbert swept a hand over a sagging sofa.
Colin eased himself down.
Lord Halbert sat, bristling with excitement. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, my lord?”
Colin cleared his throat. He sorted through his barrage of feelings and settled on irritation as his preferred state.
Enough of this cat-and-mouse.
“With all due respect, Lord Halbert, do you truthfully not know why I have come?” Colin asked, emotion making his voice sharper than the situation warranted. “I would assume that a man of your intelligence would be beyond playing this game.”
Colin fixed the older man with his commanding look. The drilling stare that had caused more than one subordinate over the years to quake in his boots.
To his credit, Lord Halbert withstood it better than most. But the man was clearly not . . . unaffected. He squirmed slightly, frowning.
“I . . . uh . . .” Lord Halbert licked his lips. His eyes darted to the side, assuring the door was closed. He leaned forward. “I assume George has taken it upon himself to talk to you about my current . . . problems.”
Colin barely avoided flinching.
Problems?
“Problems?” Colin repeated, voice wooden. Not where he saw this conversation going. What did George have to do with this?
Lord Halbert sagged, shoulders slumping. He rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. “’Tis nothing, my lord. George worries needlessly. Only a few gambling debts that some economy and retrenching will correct soon enough. I should know better than to play five-card loo when deep in my cups, particularly when a beautiful widow is present. Never the combination to create a steady head.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh, color tinging his cheeks. “Though I confess chagrin that George felt the need to run to you over it. I didn’t think that George understood the severity of the situation.”