Seeing Miss Heartstone

by Nichole Van

  “I must apologize for not giving you advanced warning about my guests,” Georgiana whispered in her ear. “I owed my aunt a favor but was still selfish enough to want your company.”

  “Think nothing of it, Georgiana.”

  Georgiana pulled back and, snagging Belle’s hand, tugged her forward. “Well, as recompense, I have a small surprise for you.”

  Belle smiled politely and walked with Georgiana, finally getting a solid look of the profile of the man standing beside the vicar, listening attentively to the older man.

  She froze.

  No!

  A few inches taller than herself, curling sun-kissed chestnut hair, golden skin, dancing blue eyes sparking with intelligence. Bottle green cutaway jacket over a beautiful silk-embroidered waistcoat.

  He was here.

  Blake was here. Georgiana had invited him.

  Blood thundered in her ears.

  Wait. Georgiana was still speaking to her, holding her hand, leaning in to her ear like the good friends they were.

  “. . . so sorry to have caught you off guard. I am sure you assumed you would know all my guests, but this house party is somewhat different than usual. So I thought I would give Lord Odysseus a little competition.” Georgiana paused, surely noting Belle’s wide-eyed stare. “Did I do wrong?”

  “No,” Belle tore her eyes away from Blake’s shoulders and gave her friend a strained smile. “Not at all.”

  Georgiana narrowed her gaze, clearly not convinced, but too polite to say anything else. “I do not wish to misspeak, but I sensed that Lord Blake might have taken some interest in you after our encounter in Hyde Park. I know you are more actively looking for a husband this year. Why not add Lord Blake to your list?”

  Hah!

  Blake had been the sole occupant of that list for more years than Belle could quickly recall. That wasn’t quite the problem.

  She had really been looking forward to procrastinating the day of her reckoning for at least another couple weeks. But as the man was now standing six feet from her, she was only damning herself further if she stayed silent. She had no excuse other than cowardice. Which, as an excuse, had served her well up until now—

  Laughter from the gaggle of girls across the room drifted over to them. Of course. They were here for him more than the Gold Miners.

  Belle turned her head away.

  Georgiana noticed, of course.

  “Come.” She threaded her hand through Belle’s elbow. “You are doing nothing more than bettering your acquaintance with Lord Blake.”

  Belle allowed herself to be dragged over to where Blake and Stratton chatted amiably with Stratton’s stepfather. She swallowed, sternly telling her racing heart to slow down.

  He’s just a man. He doesn’t know that you love him.

  “Lord Blake, you remember Miss Heartstone from our encounter in Hyde Park last month?” Georgiana smiled, keeping Belle at her side.

  Later, Belle would spend hours wondering if Blake’s response was the most wonderful thing possible or an absolute catastrophe.

  He turned toward her, head swinging around.

  He locked his eyes with hers.

  And . . . his face lit up. A candle bursting to life. Delighted and charmed.

  “Miss Heartstone. Of course. A pleasure to meet you again, madam.” He bowed over her hand, that smile firmly planted on his face.

  My heart.

  Belle quite forgot how to breathe. She knew that air was supposed to go into her lungs—the breath of life and all that—but she couldn’t pull air in for all the tea in China.

  How was she supposed to tell him the truth about LHF when he looked at her like that?

  How was she supposed to shatter her longing, hopeful heart?

  And how could she continue on without telling him?

  Colin’s heart lurched at the sight of Miss Heartstone.

  In fact, he had accepted Lord Stratton’s invitation to this house party solely because Stratton had not-so-subtly told him that she would be present.

  Miss Heartstone was every bit as elegant as he remembered. Yes, elegant. That word best captured her. Graceful and poised in a pale blue dress he knew his sisters would collectively drool over, her hair artfully curled and studded with pearls. Her face held the sharper edges of true womanhood.

  As he remembered, she exuded the quiet confidence of a woman secure in herself and her surroundings. Intelligent and polished without being brash or pushy. Granted, the speculative gleam in Lady Stratton’s eye indicated Stratton had likely taken his wife into his confidence.

  Regardless, Miss Heartstone was a welcome relief from the younger misses giggling in the room. He christened them the Desperate Debutantes. They shot hungry looks in Colin’s direction until he felt like the mangy tiger in the Tower of London menagerie. Lauded and admired while gazing wistfully out of an iron cage—utterly trapped.

  After Sarah, Colin was quite sure he was done with flighty, spirited women for good.

  This country party was supposed to have been a respite. But as with everything else, it was not quite as it should have been.

  When Colin had set out from London weeks ago, he had done so with high hopes.

  He would meet with Lord Halbert in Bath and thank his business partner. He would visit his estates and take stock of things.

  Nothing had gone as he had planned.

  He had discovered that a steward of one of his properties in Cornwall had been siphoning money off the estate. Another farm had suffered catastrophic flooding due to malignant tampering with a nearby canal, wiping out thirty tenant homes that now needed to be rebuilt.

  And then there had been Lord Halbert himself. That particular episode had been the sharpest cut of all—to learn that his business partner was not the man he thought him to be.

  Who had he been corresponding with all this time? Obviously, LHF was wealthy and well-educated. They had discussed nearly every topic imaginable over the years. It seemed almost impossible that Colin could know the man down to his soul and yet remain ignorant of his name.

  And more to the point, why did LHF insist on hiding behind a cloak of anonymity? It made no sense. How could LHF call himself a man of honor when he behaved in this fashion?

  And still the sense of betrayal sat raw in his breast. Colin knew it was irrational. LHF had never pretended to be Lord Halbert. The erroneous assumption had been Colin’s mistake entirely.

  But that didn’t stop the jittery ache that banded his chest every time he thought about his friend.

  Colin had sent off his first letter nearly three weeks ago, demanding a face-to-face meeting. He had yet to receive a reply. Colin knew that he had been traveling. That any letter from LHF would take a week or more to catch up with him.

  But that didn’t lessen his frustration.

  And the longer LHF took to respond, the more Colin’s hope for an amicable resolution faded. All correspondence from LHF had dried up, as a matter of fact, even those related to business matters. Colin had sent another letter just four days past. If he heard nothing from LHF, he would have to chase up Mr. Sloan when he returned to London and ascertain what was to be done. Most likely, he would need to hire a Runner to unearth LHF’s identity and confront the man in person. One of the smart gentlemen from Bow Street could get to the bottom of this LHF mess easily enough.

  How had he and LHF come to this?

  Colin mentally shook his head.

  Enough of these maudlin thoughts . . . he had a house party to enjoy. Or, at the very least, the pleasure of furthering his acquaintance with Miss Heartstone.

  “. . . trust you had an uneventful journey from India, my lord?” Miss Heartstone was saying.

  Colin admired how the fading sunlight turned her satin gown into shimmery patches of light, highlighting the soft curves of her body.

  Heavens but she was lovely.

  “Yes. Quite placid, actually,” he replied. “We had feared to encounter pirates outside Cape Town, but remained unchal
lenged.”

  “Pirates?” Lady Stratton’s expression brightened considerably. “How tragic you did not encounter any.”

  “You are incorrigible, my love.” Lord Stratton leaned into his wife. “Pirates are not, as a general rule, a good thing. They tend to be quite bloodthirsty—”

  “Oooh, do not tease me so. It has been ages since I had a proper adventure—”

  “Georgiana!” Stratton’s reproof half serious, half laugh.

  Colin caught Miss Heartstone’s eye. She looked almost wistfully at the earl and his wife.

  She quickly smoothed her expression. “Lady Stratton has quite the vivid imagination.”

  “Of course, I do!” Lady Stratton looked at her friend. “It is why you so enjoy my company.”

  “I am found out.” Miss Heartstone gave a soft laugh.

  Lady Stratton leaned toward Colin, lifting her hand as if to impart a secret. “Miss Heartstone and I share a shocking love of dreadful gothic novels. We read them out loud to each other and shiver in delight when dastardly deeds are done.”

  “You wrong me, Georgiana. What shall Lord Blake think of such behavior?”

  Colin gave a warm chuckle. Here was a topic he knew well.

  “Perhaps I share the ladies’ taste in novels,” he said with a lift of his eyebrows.

  Stratton groaned. “Say it isn’t so, Blake.”

  “I hope it is no jest, my lord.” Lady Stratton quirked her lips. “Miss Heartstone and I would welcome a third party to our readings. We wish to read Ivanhoe again, and a male voice would be appreciated.”

  Colin smiled as Miss Heartstone looked demurely away.

  Charming. She was utterly charming.

  He found himself fascinated by the conundrum she presented.

  Why had she chosen not to marry? If the gentleman from his evening at White’s were to be believed, she had her pick of men. She could marry practically anyone she wished.

  And yet, she did not.

  Was there a tragedy in her past? Some long-lost love?

  Was there truth behind the rumor that she was now entertaining the idea of marriage?

  And, why the devil after his disastrous mess with Sarah last fall, was he even asking the question at all?

  A few hours later, Belle slowly fanned herself, only partially listening to the conversation buzzing around her. The Gold Miners were in fine form, jesting and jostling for position next to her. She wondered if one, or all, of them would offer for her hand—again—before the week was out.

  The heat from the fire had gone from pleasant to stifling. Or was it her own sense of inner conflict that caused the walls to close in?

  Blake was more attractive every time she met him. His confident charm during dinner, his polite manners . . . the goodness she knew lay within his soul . . .

  She fanned herself a little harder.

  Somewhere between the soup and fish course, admiration and respect had merged with his warm smile and kind comments, pushing her feelings off the cliff into heart-stopping, soul-altering love.

  That would not do.

  How to proceed?

  She had thought to have time in which to plan. To decide how to tell Blake the truth about LHF.

  But now . . .

  The longer she put it off, the worse things would be, the more betrayed he would feel. She had to tell him.

  The gentlemen surrounding her—and they always surrounded her, eager to make a bid for her enormous fortune—were now giving a point-by-point recap of a curricle race from London to Brighton.

  “You are quieter than usual this evening.” Georgiana leaned in closer.

  Belle shot a glance at the men around them. “Just the usual fatigue of pleasantly keeping . . . people . . . at bay.”

  “You and Lord Blake alike.”

  Belle stiffened at the mention of Lord Blake on Georgiana’s lips, instantly shooting her friend a questioning look.

  “Sebastian has been telling tales all week of the shocking lengths enterprising misses have gone to in order to trap him into marriage. The poor man can scarcely venture from his own home.”

  “Indeed.” Belle hated the faintness of her voice.

  “Blake has declared he will have none of them and rightly so. A woman who shows no reservation in trapping a man into marriage—what other deceptive things will she do once she is married? Such forward behavior is not to be tolerated. Blake is wise to steer clear of all of them.”

  Belle swallowed. “Yes. Most wise.”

  She risked a glance at Blake standing in the corner with Stratton.

  Why hadn’t she realized Blake would be the target of every fortune-and-title hungry woman in Britain? Of course, he would be. And knowing him as she did—his sense of honor, his innate kindness—he would instantly reject any woman he perceived as being dishonest with him.

  Say . . . for example . . . a woman who proposed marriage, was refused, and then allowed him to erroneously assume she was a man throughout seven years of lengthy correspondence.

  Someone like that.

  Belle swallowed.

  She had to tell him. Somehow she would get him alone this week and do the deed.

  And take whatever outcome would fall.

  14

  . . . you are wise to encourage me to continue to hold out hope of finding a suitable wife. After having my affections so sorely abused by Sarah last fall, I had thought to avoid pursuing any other lady for some time. But when a lady of charm and elegance crosses one’s path, one has no other choice but to act. Do not ask me for more details about the lady in question, sister dear. I shall say no more on the subject. For if it all comes to naught, I will not have a peal rung over my head . . .

  —Lord Blake to his sister, Mrs. George Phalean, dated June 2, 1823

  Hurry. I am quite sure I saw him duck around the edge of the house.”

  The young lady’s voice carried to Colin, followed by a titter of girlish laughter.

  The Desperate Debutantes on the hunt.

  A pack of hungry lionesses was less persistent. And, like lions, the debutantes had a keen nose for male English blood.

  Glancing around, Colin refused to panic. They were just women after all. And more than one of them, which was a blessing. They could hardly entrap him as a group.

  Could they?

  The morning had dawned bright and clear, beckoning him outside for a brisk morning walk. He should have thought to bring along a footman.

  The giggles grew louder. Now what?

  A large window near him stood ajar. Without thinking, he pushed the window farther open and climbed inside, darting to the side, pressing himself against the wall just in time. Footsteps sounded on the gravel outside.

  “I could have sworn he came this way.” Muted voices carried inside and then faded.

  He peeked cautiously out the window.

  “Gracious, Lord Blake. Have you come to burgle the breakfast silver?” a calm, feminine voice asked. “Or is Stratton Hall being invaded?”

  Suppressing a yelp of surprise, Colin whirled to face the room. He took in the large oval dining table. The sideboard laden with covered dishes. The smell of freshly brewed coffee. The sunlight flooding the room from two large windows.

  Ah. He was, indeed, in the breakfast room. Two women sat at the table.

  Miss Heartstone sipped her morning tea, amusement evident in her warm brown eyes.

  Her companion—Miss Rouger? Miss Ruster? No, no. Miss Rutger! Hah!—merely glanced up from the newspaper she was perusing and then went back to reading.

  Colin tugged down on his waistcoat and cleared his throat. “Given that I am a man of integrity and not taken to thievery, I believe I will go with latter, Miss Heartstone. Invasion it is, I am afraid.”

  Amusement moved from her eyes to pull at her lips. “Yes. The wilds of Warwickshire have ever been treacherous.”

  A particularly loud burst of laughter drifted through the window. Colin ducked back, almost involuntarily.

 
Miss Heartstone glanced toward the window, not missing Colin’s flinch.

  Sympathy edged into her gaze. “I do believe there was report of marauding widows recently,” she continued, voice warm. “They arm themselves with fruitcake and platitudes.”

  “I daresay it is more the daughters of such women who concern Lord Blake,” Miss Rutger said without looking up from her reading as she stirred more sugar into her teacup.

  “Mmm.” Miss Heartstone leaned closer to her companion. “I hear they travel in vicious packs.”

  “Yes. I believe they took down an unsuspecting baronet just two days ago near Charlecote. They had the poor man trussed and carried before the local vicar before he could raise the alarm. ’Tis most dreadful.” Miss Rutger nodded, matronly mobcap bobbing up and down.

  “Lord Blake cannot be too careful.”

  Colin chuckled, relaxing. “True enough.” He chanced a glance through the window. He thought he saw a flash of muslin retreating down the drive, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “Feel free to take refuge as long as you would like. We shan’t betray you.” Miss Heartstone neatly spread strawberry preserves on a toast triangle. “Have you breakfasted yet, my lord?”

  He had. But when faced with the choice of leaving the breakfast room to wander the estate, dodging the pack of Desperate Debutantes, or staying put and enjoying Miss Heartstone’s charming company—

  Well, that was hardly a choice now, was it?

  He had been able to speak with her at length the previous evening, and he was more-than-ready to stake a claim when it came to courting her. Lord Odysseus, when he did arrive, was not the only eligible bachelor she should consider.

  “I believe some coffee would serve me well.” He strode over to the sideboard and poured himself a cup. And then added a crumpet and a rasher of bacon to a plate.

  He sat down at the table with his back to the windows, facing Miss Heartstone. The soft morning sun streamed through behind him, bathing her in light.

  She looked every inch the wealthy heiress. Gleaming chestnut hair meticulously styled, a wide green ribbon threaded through her curls. Her sprigged muslin morning dress perfectly cut to her figure, a generous fichu of Venetian lace tucked into the bodice. Elegant and strikingly pretty.