by Lucy Adams
“Remarkably honest, Lord Weston,” she replied, her eyes searching his expression as though she sought to see whether or not there was anything lacking with him. “That is where we differ, I think.”
He could not help but ask her another question, caught up entirely by what she was saying. “You do not care for society then?”
Miss Wells bit her lip and looked out of the carriage window again, clearly unwilling to speak.
“Come now, Miss Wells,” Thomas said encouragingly, hoping that this would encourage the intimacy between them. “You can speak to me of such a thing without embarrassment, surely?”
“It is not embarrassment that keeps me from speaking so,” she replied, looking back at him. “It is, unfortunately, a habit of mine to keep all that I think and feel entirely to myself. Therefore, I am unused to sharing the truths of my heart, and I find it most peculiar that I wish to do so now.” She stopped dead, her mouth a little ajar as she realized what it was she had said. A dusky pink brushed across her cheeks, and Thomas found himself smiling in appreciation of the sight before him.
“I shall not mock you, Miss Wells,” he promised, finding himself more than eager to know what it was that she thought. Rationally, he tried to consider such a desire to be nothing more than a furthering of their acquaintance, which would then aid him in his attempt to win the wager, but his heart began to draw closer to Miss Wells, clearly wanting to know what she thought out of a simple, honest desire to know her better.
Miss Wells let out a long breath, studying him carefully as though she were weighing up the consequences of speaking the truth to him. Thomas felt himself grow tense, although he could not explain why he felt such a way when he was meant to feel nothing for the lady before him. This was all meant to be an act, a façade, a mask. So why then, was he so desirous for her to speak openly to him?
“I suppose there can be no harm in being honest with you, although I fear that my view of society shall differ greatly from yours, Lord Weston, and most likely, you shall argue with me that I am wrong,” she stated, lifting her gaze from his features and letting it settle on the London streets as they passed them. “I shall speak honestly, therefore.”
“Pray, wait a moment,” he said, seeing the carriage drawing close to St James’s Park. “For we are almost at the park, and I should not wish you to be interrupted.”
Miss Wells looked surprised at this but smiled at him after a moment, and Thomas found himself smiling back. He did not know why he felt such a warmth in his soul knowing that she had decided to be honest with him about what she thought of London society, but he allowed the feeling to spread through him regardless. It lingered in his heart as he dismounted from the carriage and took Miss Wells’ hand as she climbed down also. Her cousin decided to stay within the carriage, although Miss Wells made sure to promise that they would remain in sight of her.
Thomas was more than grateful for that, feeling himself glad that he would be able to walk alone with Miss Wells for a time.
“You were to be honest with me,” he began, as they stepped out along the path together. “What think you of the beau monde?”
Miss Wells gave him a rueful smile. “You will berate me, I am certain of it.”
He laughed and, before he could prevent himself, offered her his arm. Miss Wells looked a trifle surprised at this but accepted him without hesitation, which in turn brought a broad grin to Thomas’s face. He looked down at her, their gazes meeting for a long moment, before Miss Wells cleared her throat gently and turned her head away. Thomas was left feeling a little lost within himself, astonished to realize that he had been enjoying her smiles and forcing himself to reconsider the present situation as it stood. He was meant to be encouraging this intimacy so that he might win the wager, nothing more. Any feelings that rose within him regarding Miss Wells should be discarded at once.
“I shall not berate you,” he promised, his words breaking the silence that had fallen over them both. “I am truly eager to hear what you have to say, Miss Wells.”
She sighed heavily, then lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I do not care for the beau monde, Lord Weston,” she replied with a quick smile in his direction. “Most likely, you have been able to ascertain this for yourself, given that I keep to the shadows during grand social occasions.”
Not wanting to recall how harshly he had spoken to her the first time they had become acquainted, Thomas said nothing but continued to listen, letting her speak when she was ready. Again, came another heavy sigh as though she carried a great burden within her heart that she had never shared with another living soul.
“I am a plain creature,” Miss Wells continued, stopping short when she heard him begin to protest. Looking up at him, she gave him a sad smile, which stopped his urgent defense of such a statement. “You need not pretend, Lord Weston,” she told him firmly, as though she knew he protested out of nothing more than a vain attempt to flatter her. “My eyes are not captivating, my figure not dainty as so many others are. I dislike that the ton considers only the outward appearance and, therefore, I set my mind to the task of finding acquaintances who cared for me instead of simply looking at the outward appearance.”
Thomas blinked rapidly, feeling a slow, hot flush begin to creep over him. It started at the crown of his head and began to wash down over him, hearing her words and feeling the condemnation growing within him. Was that not what he was like? All he cared for was the outward appearance, for it was his only desire to have as many beautiful ladies about him as he could. Their attentions brought a smile to his lips and a satisfaction to his heart, even though they meant nothing to him in themselves.
“I know that many are contented with the way of things,” Miss Wells added, looking up at him before returning her gaze to the path in front of them. “Most likely, I am one of the few who considers things in such a dark manner, but I cannot pretend otherwise. I am not the only sister who feels such a way, for Catherine is caught up in her philanthropic work and spurns society as best she can. Dinah, too, seems to care very little for the beau monde.” A wry smile tugged at her lips. “We bring a good deal of despair to our mother, I am quite certain.”
Thomas cleared his throat gruffly, finding it to be filled with sand and dust and all manner of things that prevented him from speaking clearly. He did not quite know what to say, aware that what Miss Wells said was the truth and yet finding himself wanting to distance himself from it. He did not want to have the same guilt upon his shoulders as she laid on the ton itself, but yet he knew it was there.
“You speak candidly,” he told her, seeing her cheeks color and fearing that he was making a dreadful mistake in speaking so. “I find it refreshing, Miss Wells, although I fear that I must fall short in your estimation.”
Miss Wells hesitated, darting a glance up at him, her lip caught between her teeth. “I think, Lord Weston,” she began slowly, “that a gentleman might prove himself. Perhaps he once was such a way but now seeks another path. Does that make sense to you?”
“It does indeed,” he agreed at once, hating the heaviness of his heart as he did so. The truth was, he was doing all of this in order to win a wager. He was nothing more or less than he had always been – and that shamed him. There was a smidgen of hope in her words and in her look that he dared not allow to grow. She believed that he might be, in his own way, growing less inclined to behave as he had always done, that he might be changing in his perspective and in his intentions as he made his way through the London Season, but nothing could be further from the truth. He was treating her as though she meant nothing, as though she had no value. She was simply to be used and then discarded so that he might do favorably well with his own matters. Was that any way for him to treat a lady?
You did not care before, he thought to himself, trying to find that same disregard within himself that had been there for so many years of his life. So why does this trouble you now?
It was a question he could not answer and, as such, Thomas felt him
self growing uncomfortable within himself. It was as though layers of his character were being pulled back to reveal the ugliness underneath, and Thomas did not like in the least what he was finding there. A sense of irritation towards Miss Wells began to grow within him, although he knew it was more than a little irrational to think such a way. It was not her doing that he was now beginning to question all that he knew and believed about himself, was it?
“Lord Weston?”
Miss Wells voice was a little hesitant, and it took Thomas a moment to realize that he had not said something in some minutes. She was looking at him with curiosity and he had to try and come up with an excuse as to why he had been so lost in thought.
However, instead of an excuse, it was the truth that came from his mouth.
“I find that you have given me a great deal to think on, Miss Wells,” he found himself saying, seeing the way her eyes lit up as a small smile crept across her mouth. “Nor do I find your judgements on society to be overly harsh. In fact, I believe you have a fair and reasonable point to make in all that you have said.”
“I did not mean to bring criticism down upon your head, Lord Weston,” she said quickly, her hand tightening on his arm for a moment. “You asked me to be honest, and I have done so without hesitation.” She shook her head, her expression growing somewhat frustrated. “Although I confess that I have not been as decisive nor as thorough as I would have liked in my own conduct.”
Aware that they were soon to go out of sight of the carriage should they continue much longer, Thomas spied a large bench nearby and gestured towards it. Miss Wells beamed at him as if he had given her the most wonderful gift and, letting go of his arm, sat down upon it.
“You are very kind, Lord Weston,” she told him, arranging her skirts carefully.
“Kind?” He chortled, choosing to stand in front of her rather than sit by her. “I have never been called such a thing before.”
She looked at him. “No?”
“I am not known for my kindness, Miss Wells,” he told her, the truth sounding harsh even to him. “Why should you think that I am?”
Her light smile remained. “Because you have been kind to me, Lord Weston. You have sought to apologize, only to then have to graciously accept my own apology for my poor behavior. Thereafter, you have made it apparent that you wish to spend a little more time in my company – although for what reason, I cannot understand!” This was said with a slight sadness about her eyes, making him wonder just how much hurt she was hiding beneath her smile. “I have not been the object of anyone’s–” She stopped abruptly, color rising in her face at once. “What I mean to say is, I have not been the source of anyone’s interest until recently.”
“Lord Whitaker seemed to be interested certainly, Miss Wells,” Thomas replied with an easy grin, trying to save her from her embarrassment. Most likely, Miss Wells had just managed to stop herself from saying that she had not been the object of anyone’s affections before, instead of what she had said.
“You are very kind to say so, Lord Weston,” she replied, with a small smile that did not quite take the mortification from her expression. “But Lord Whitaker is, I fear, another gentleman who does not incline himself towards only one lady but to many so that he might have as great a choice before him when it comes time to wed.” She sighed and shook her head. “Although I did think that he had excellent conversation.” Looking at him, her jaw set for a moment, her frustration suddenly rearing its head. “As I have said previously, Lord Weston, I have not been as firm in my decisiveness as I had wished to be. I allowed my mother to make me into her own creation, and it has only been since then that I have seemingly caught the interest of Lord Whitaker. I am not yet convinced that he is the sort of gentleman I hoped him to be.”
A little surprised that she had spoken so unguardedly, Thomas held her gaze for a long moment with nothing but silence between them. Miss Wells looked back at him, not flinching or looking away, only for another sigh to escape from her lips.
“I am sorry, Lord Weston,” she said, dropping her head. “I have spoken with the same openness which you first begged of me, and in doing so, I fear that I have said far too much. I should not have spoken of Lord Whitaker so. Do forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” he said quickly, surprising himself with the fervency of his words. Reaching out, he held out his hand to her and, after a moment of hesitation, she gave him her hand. Bowing over it, Thomas’s desire to both encourage her and bring her relief grew within him. “You are quite unlike any young lady of my acquaintance, Miss Wells. Your frankness behooves you and brings to light a good many things which I must now continue to think upon.” He lifted his head and gave her a warm smile, seeing surprise reflected in her eyes. “Believe me when I say you have nothing to concern yourself with, Miss Wells. I am grateful for the way you have spoken.”
Miss Wells opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. They looked at one another for some moments, until, with a rush of mortification, Thomas realized he was still holding her hand in his. What made it all the more of an astonishment was that he felt a sense of disappointment when he released it, taking a step back as he dropped his gaze from her face.
“You are quite remarkable, Lord Weston,” he heard Miss Wells say, as she got to her feet. “You astonish me entirely.”
“Might I ask in what way?” he asked, as she accepted the offer of his arm again.
She laughed softly, her eyes bright. “In that you are not the rude, arrogant, crash gentleman I first thought you to be,” she replied, not unkindly. “You have proven yourself to be genuine in your consideration of me and in your desire to seek my forgiveness for your past mistakes.”
He shook his head, a deep ache beginning to settle in his heart. “I hardly think–”
“Oh, I still believe you to be a rogue, Lord Weston,” she finished, with a slight twist to her lips. “And I certainly do not give you my full trust—but, at the very least, you are improving in your acquaintance.”
Closing his eyes momentarily, Thomas bit back his first response – which was to tell her that she should not trust him in the least – only to stick a smile to his face and nod as though he agreed with her. “That is satisfactory indeed, Miss Wells.” Seeing that they were drawing near the carriage, he held her back from her steps for a moment, catching her full attention. “I would like to call upon you again, Miss Wells.”
Her eyes flared with surprise, a rush of color in her face. Blinking rapidly, she looked away, clearing her throat as though she did not quite know what to say.
“Perhaps an ice at Gunter’s?” he suggested, seeing her color rise all the more. “Or a quiet visit to a bookshop – in fact, wherever you might wish to go, Miss Wells, I would be glad to take you.”
She let out a long, satisfied breath and smiled at him, her shoulders settling as if she had made a firm decision in her own mind and was contented with it. “An ice would be most welcome, Lord Weston,” she replied, bringing him a cloud of relief as well as a stab of guilt. “Might we say tomorrow afternoon?”
“I look forward to it,” he replied, inclining his head before turning back towards the carriage. “I should return you to your cousin now, Miss Wells.”
“I doubt she will have noticed how much time has passed, Lord Weston,” she told him, laughing. “She is caught up with that book and certainly will not so much as look up once we arrive.”
To Thomas’s surprise, Miss Wells spoke the truth, for the young lady did not even glance at them when he helped Miss Wells into the carriage. He sat back in his seat and smiled at Miss Wells as the carriage left the park, hating that a deep sense of guilt was settling into every sinew of his being. He did not want to see that smile wiped from her face, nor see the pain leap into her eyes when she discovered that he was, in fact, the dastardly gentleman she had first thought him to be. His head began to grow heavy and painful with the confused thoughts that seemed to double with every moment that passed. What was
it that he was feeling for Miss Wells? It could not be a true fondness, could it? He had never experienced such a thing before and certainly had never believed it to be even possible for him to have these feelings for her, but now that he looked at her, now that he felt the heaviness of his own guilt lie on his soul, Thomas began to recognize the change within him.
Miss Wells was, as he had told her, unlike any of the other young ladies of his acquaintance and, somehow, in being so, she had begun to enter his heart.
The question was, what now was he going to do about the wager?
Chapter Twelve
“You care for Lord Weston, do you not?”
Merry looked up at her mother, opening her mouth to refuse but finding that the words would not come from her lips. She did not want to lie, did not want to pretend that she felt nothing for the gentleman, but yet also did not want to admit that she did have a strong affection for him.
“He is seemingly quite caught up with you, Merry,” Lady Whitehaven commented carefully, looking to see her daughter’s reaction. “He has been more than attentive this last sennight.”
“Yes,” Merry agreed slowly, aware that her heart was already fluttering in her chest over the thought of seeing Lord Weston again. “He has been.” She had gone from thinking the worst of Lord Weston, to realizing that he could be, when he chose it, a very kind gentleman, whose smile made her catch her breath whenever it was sent in her direction. She had discovered that her thoughts were nearly always centered on him, even when she had no expectation of seeing him until the next day. His handsome face would appear in her vision, reminding her of just what she felt.
