“Yes,” she answered as her hand gripped the door for support. She refused to let anyone think she was embarrassed by her situation.
The footman bowed and handed over a light brown envelope.
Her brow knitted in confusion as she looked down at the piece of paper in her hand. What was this? A new way for the vendors to obtain their coin for past services?
“Gooday, M’Lady,” he said with a tip of his hat. Turning, the footman scampered down the steps and onto the back of a large black coach.
She stared after the coach as it pulled back onto the street, her mind lost in confusion. Surely the vendors had not stooped to such tactics. The coach and footman would have cost as much as the bill.
Frowning, she closed the door behind her and made her way back to the front room and her mother.
“What is it?” her mother asked.
“I don’t know,” Alice replied as she turned the envelope over and over in her hand. On the front, her name, ‘Lady Alice Weston’ nothing else. No clue as to its contents. Pushing her needlework aside, she started to open the letter then stopped, staring down at her shaking hand.
“Is it from Jonathon?” her mother asked.
Alice slowly shook her head. The seal was not from Lord Weston. In addition, the footman was not one of Jonathan’s, not unless her cousin had changed livery for his servants. Something that he would never do. The cost alone would have banished any such idea.
Besides, deep in her heart, she knew that Jonathon would never communicate with them again. He had moved on and would never waste his time or effort concerning himself with their well-being.
This could not be good, she thought as she continued to examine the letter. They never received good news. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time they had received anything like good news. If they ever did, she wondered if she would recognize it.
“Well open it,” her mother said as if she were talking to a little girl on Christmas morning.
Taking a deep breath, Alice broke the seal and unfolded the letter.
Reading the fine feminine hand. Alice gasped, unable to believe what she was reading.
“Well?” her mother asked.
Alice ignored her and read the invitation again. Unable to believe what she had read the first time. Once she was done, she turned the letter over and confirmed that it was her name on the letter. Biting her lip, she frowned. It didn’t make any sense. But it must be for her. It wasn’t like there were a great many English ladies in this particular part of London. In fact, no self-respecting lady would be caught dead in this part of town.
No, it must be real, she realized. Either that or an evil hoax. A dastardly trick to make her hope and pray, only to have it torn out from under her.
But who would do such a terrible thing? Immediately, her mind jumped to who would be so cruel. This was exactly the type of thing Lord Brookstone might do. Heaven knew, he was cruel enough to pull off such a trick. And heaven well knew, he thought he would be justified.
Sighing, she continued to frown as she once again read the letter.
Could it be real?
“Alice?” her mother demanded. “If you don’t tell me what is going on, I will …”
“It’s an invitation, Mother. To Lord Warwick’s ball. This Friday.”
“Warwick?” her mother asked with a deep frown. “Why?”
“I am sure I don’t know, Mother,” Alice responded without taking her eyes off the invitation. She was twenty-four years old. Her seasons were in the distant past. She would never be a man’s wife. Certainly not a man like Lord Warwick. So why invite her to his ball?
“I know Lady Warwick, you would not be receiving an invitation unless her son insisted. And even then, I am surprised.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Alice said.
Her mother shrugged her shoulders. “I would say the man was looking for a wife if it weren’t Warwick. Everyone knows the man is too set in his ways. And with his younger brothers. He does not need an heir. No, Warwick doesn’t need a wife.”
A mistress, she thought as a surge of fear washed through her.
“And no,” her mother said as if reading her mind, “the man is not in need of a mistress. There are a dozen widows and more than a few married women lined up who are interested in his bed.”
Alice felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. Was she really having this conversation with her mother? Then why?
A friend of his she thought. A friend that wished to secretly inspect her before making any proposition. Not a proposal, she reminded herself.
It could be nothing else.
Gritting her teeth, she gripped the paper and forced herself to not scream. The gall, the unmitigated gall of the man. To invite her to his ball so that his friends could stand around and judge her as a potential mistress. Like a prized broodmare at auction. She could well imagine them discussing her figure. Measuring and weighing with their eyes. Searching out each little flaw. All the while imagining what they would do to her once they had her in their bed.
Forcing the bile in her throat back down, she sighed. Maybe this was a good thing, she thought to herself. Lord Warwick was reputed to be a good person. Surely, he would not be friendly with someone unkind. Maybe she could find a protector. She must accept the fact that at some point she was going to be some man’s mistress.
Shaking her head, she couldn’t get past the fact that she had absolutely no idea what a man wanted in a woman or what she would be expected to do. Nothing beyond what an embarrassed housekeeper, at her mother’s bidding, had informed her on her thirteenth birthday. Surely, he, whoever he turned out to be, would be sorely disappointed.
Swallowing hard, she looked up at her mother for some kind of guidance.
Her mother looked back for a long second then said, “It’s a good thing you haven’t sold your blue gown.”
Chapter Three
Nathanial had to force himself not to shudder. The room smelled of candle wax, old wood, and too many people. A constant twitter hung in the air. Too many people talking about unimportant things. Not how he would have preferred to spend his evening.
And the music. He had to shake his head. He’d heard better sounds coming from harbor seals on a winter morning.
Sighing, he stepped up next to Warwick and said, “Tell me, how did you convince your mother to invite this woman?”
"It’s simple,” his friend replied. “I told her you would attend if Lady Weston did. You, at her ball, being one of the best catches in all of Britain, it was just too much to pass up. She will be eating out on this for a month. Her friends are jealous, and she will be in high demand. Hostesses hoping that they will get closer to you by getting closer to my mother.”
Nathanial slowly shook his head, he would never understand these people. Maneuvering in this world was more difficult than sailing off the Irish coast. And deep down, probably more deadly, he thought.
“Which one is she?” Nathanial asked.
“There,” Bradford said with a slight nod of his head. “The brunette in blue. Talking to old Ferguson.”
Warwick laughed, “Ferguson must be counting his lucky stars to have such a beauty wasting her time with him.
Nathanial found the old Lord, bent, leaning on a cane, a wisp of white hair draped across a bald pate then let his eyes roam to the woman next to him. He almost gasped when he saw her. Ignoring the shock he felt, he pushed away any sign of emotion. No need for anyone to know what he was thinking.
This was not what he had expected. She was beautiful. Much more so than he had anticipated. A sharp contrast with the old man next to her. A striking woman in royal blue. Her hair up, her long white neck trailing down to an ample bosom. Her tight waist flaring into perfect hips.
Not what he had expected at all.
“Tell me again,” Nathanial asked, “why isn’t she married? A woman as beautiful as that must have a dozen men chasing her.”
Lord Warwick frowned. “She almost was.
”
Nathanial raised an eyebrow. Silently asking for more.
Lord Warwick sighed, obviously hesitant to tell the tale.
“Her Father, the sixth Earl of Weston died leaving the family in extreme debt.”
Nathanial nodded encouragingly.
Sighing, Warwick continued, “The new Earl, her cousin, was up to his ears in creditors. He quickly arranged a marriage between Lady Weston and the Earl of Brookstone. A good match everyone thought. Two noble British families merging. A perfect solution. Besides, Brookstone was believed to be rich and in no need of a dowry from Weston. The betrothal contract was signed. The new couple spent the next few months getting to know each other. Again, everything was as to be expected. An Earl was marrying an Earl’s daughter. That is how things are done in this world.”
Warwick shot Bradford a knowing glance.
“Not if I can avoid it,” Bradford shot back.
The Viscount of Warwick paused for a moment.
“And then?” Nathanial insisted.
“And then,” Warwick continued, “two days before the wedding., Lady Weston withdrew. Refusing to marry the Earl.
“Not done,” Bradford said. “Not in our world. An engagement broken. What did it mean? She had rejected an Earl. She had spent time with him. Alone. What had happened between them. Was she ruined? Was she even acceptable as a possible wife? A thousand questions went unanswered.”
“Why didn’t I ever hear of this?” Nathanial asked.
“Because this is ton business,” Bradford answered. “Something you have avoided at all costs. Remember?”
Nathanial nodded. Bradford was right, he wouldn’t have cared to hear the latest gossip. Unless it involved his business dealings, he had no interest in how the titled spent their time.
“So, she breaks off the engagement. What then?”
Warwick frowned as if he were remembering a sad story. “Then, the new Earl of Weston cut them off. As simple as that. Had them removed from the family estates. Refused any allowance. Nothing. It was as if they were no longer part of the family.”
“And the mother’s dowry had long been frittered away by Lady Weston’s Father,” Bradford added.
“That still doesn’t explain why she is not married,” Nathanial said as he stared across the room at the beautiful woman. She looked so regal. Tall, straight-backed. As if she was completely in charge of her surroundings. Yet something behind her eyes told him that she was worried, nervous, but fighting hard to hide it.
“For many reasons,” Warwick said, answering his question. “Because she is without a dowry, eliminates more than half the men in this room. Because there is a hint of scandal, eliminates a great many more.”
Nathanial nodded, he could well imagine how these puffed up Popinjays would run from any hint of less than perfect. It was all a façade he well knew, but these people had to believe they were special to justify their existence.
“But,” Bradford interjected, “the biggest reason is because of him,” he said, nodding towards a tall, well-dressed man entering the room. “Lord Brookstone. He is powerful, well-connected. Especially in parliament. He has subtly let it be known that he will ruin any man that approaches Lady Weston with an offer of marriage. If he can’t have her, then no man will.”
Nathanial frowned. Why did he have such a strong desire to plant a fist squarely on the man’s nose? Something to destroy that smug face.
“So,” Warwick said, “Lady Weston is penniless and therefore in need of money. You have more than you know what to do with and are in need of an expert. She understands the ton. Probably better than anyone. She knows who can be trusted and who to avoid. She understands the styles and customs as only someone who was once on the inside can. In addition, she is intelligent and someone you can trust with Olivia.”
“I still think the girl is too young to marry,” Bradford interjected.
Nathanial ignored him and continued to watch Lady Weston. Her eyes traveled around the room until she caught him looking at her. He didn’t look away, instead, he smiled slightly and gave her a slight nod of acknowledgment.
She didn’t return his smile but didn’t turn her nose up either. She simply ignored him and continued to examine the room. He did notice however that less than a minute later, she looked back at him briefly, just enough to see if he was still watching without seeming interested herself. He smiled as he continued to watch, waiting for the moment she saw Lord Brookstone.
All color dropped from her face and her eyes opened as if she had seen the ghost of her departed father walking into the room.
Nathanial’s heart melted a little when she stiffened her back and refused to run and hide. Oh, how it must bother her to be in the same room with this man she had rejected. Surely, he had done something unforgivable. For a woman to walk away from such a marriage, it must have been heinous.
But she held her head up and refused to back down as Brookstone approached.
As the tall Earl slowly walked toward her, Nathanial noticed that a good portion of the room was following his approach with their eyes. Waiting. It was as if the room itself was holding its breath.
When the Earl stopped in front of Lady Weston, Nathanial noticed that she did not curtsey. A breach of protocol that didn’t go unnoticed throughout the room if he had any guess.
The tall Earl bent forward and whispered something that left her speechless. Her eyes staring off into the distance as if she were unable to fully understand or accept what he had just said. Having achieved his goal, the Earl turned and walked away, head up, a small smirk on his lips. As if he were leaving a rubbish heap. Something beneath his concern.
Nathanial’s heart went out to the poor woman. Alone, in a party of hostile people. Confronted by a man she obviously despised. He could tell it was taking every bit of her willpower to remain in place.
“Introduce me,” he said to Warwick as he handed his glass to Bradford and started across the room without waiting.
Behind his back, he knew that Lord Warwick smiled to himself as he hurried to catch up.
Nathanial continued to examine the woman as he drew closer. She was even more beautiful than he had thought. Flawless skin. Rich, luscious chestnut hair that he thought would look lovely down, fanned out on his pillow. An extremely fine figure, and an intelligence in her eyes that made him feel glad. He liked intelligent woman, they were so much easier to get along with.
“Lady Weston,” Warwick said as he drew up next to Nathanial. “I am so glad that you could attend tonight.”
Nathanial watched as she drew herself together. Fighting to put the nasty encounter with Lord Brookstone behind her. Remembering where she was and who she was dealing with she dipped a quick curtsey and said, “Thank you so much for inviting me. You have a lovely home, My Lord.”
Lord Warwick smiled as he took her hand and gave her the perfunctory kiss several inches above the hand.
Lady Weston smiled while shooting a curious look at Nathanial.
Nathanial ground his back teeth as he waited for his friend to make the introduction. This was taking too long. In fact, if his friend didn’t hurry up, he was going to spend the rest of the evening dealing with a busted nose.
Finally, Warwick glanced at Nathanial and bit back a smile. Obviously, the idiot knew that drawing this out was killing him.
“Lady Weston, may I introduce Mr. Nathanial Caldwell.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise as he followed Warwick’s example by bowing over her hand. But where Warwick had been brief and perfunctory, he hesitated for the briefest of moments. His finger caressing her palm. He had not intended such a seductive action. It was as if his body had taken it upon itself to act.
She caught his caress but didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she looked at him questioningly. As if trying to understand him.
“I am surprised, Mr. Caldwell,” she said as she looked up at him. “I had been told that you avoided such gatherings at all costs.”
He smile
d. “Am I often the subject of discussion amongst the ladies of the ton?”
She returned his smile. “I wouldn’t know about the ladies of the ton. However, knowing that such a man as yourself exists, wealthy, of age, unattached. I can rest assured that you are discussed frequently. I, however, only know what I read in the papers. You are said to view society with disdain. A fact that I imagine is rather upsetting to many of the young ladies and their mothers.”
Nathanial laughed. He liked a woman who said what she thought and didn’t couch it in double and triple meanings. Yes, this woman would be good for Olivia.
“Not with disdain, so much,” he said, “it is just that I find it tiresome. All these gatherings. The constant jockeying for position and status.”
“And yet, here you are,” she replied.
“Yes, well. Sometimes a man wants something enough that he must adjust his thinking.”
A heavy silence fell between them as they studied each other. Lord Warwick looked back and forth between them and slowly shook his head.
Finally, after the silence was threatening to slide into that awkward stage, Warwick said, “Yes, well. I do hope you enjoy yourself. Perhaps you will save me a dance for later, Lady Weston.”
She smiled back at him and dipped her head slightly. “Of course, Lord Warwick. I would be delighted.”
Warwick sighed, obviously pleased to have the discussion back on a semi-respectable level.
“Do you dance, Mr. Caldwell?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He smiled and slowly shook his head. “No, I never learned. Not unless you count a sailor’s jig.”
She laughed. “I would like to see that sometime.”
He laughed with her. “Perhaps. But not now. Warwick’s mother would never forgive me.”
“Forgive you for what?” Lady Warwick asked as she stepped up next to her son. “What are you two thinking of doing that would ruin my evening?”
Nathanial’s blood ran cold. One of the few people he feared in this world was Lord Warwick’s mother. She had told him years ago that his greatest failings could be fixed if he would only take a wife. And she saw it as her duty to do whatever it took to make that happen. He wondered sometimes if she had given up on finding her son a wife and had decided to use him as an example.
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