by Rose Pearson
“I met this young lady when she was in a state of distress,” he said delicately, choosing his words with care. “I do not think that a young lady who demonstrates such a sorrowful spirit and an inclination towards melancholy would be the sort of young lady a joyful and overt gentleman such as yourself might desire.” He arched one eyebrow at his brother, whose smile was already beginning to fade. Silently, Frederick congratulated himself on what was an excellent explanation, considering himself to be quite safe now from his brother’s demands.
“All the same,” Adlington murmured, looking at Frederick thoughtfully. “The very reason that you have kept her from me makes me wonder if there is something about the lady that might intrigue me.” He chuckled as Frederick’s brows lowered. “Might you introduce me to this young lady?”
Frederick sighed inwardly but shrugged, telling himself that the slight needling in his heart meant nothing. “I shall do what I have done with each and every other young lady I have suggested,” he said, dryly. “I shall point her out to you at the first and, thereafter, you can tell me, as you have done with some of the other young ladies, that she is not pretty enough for you.” Sighing, Frederick waved a hand nonchalantly. “Or, if you consider her tolerable, I shall make introductions only for you to determine that there is something about either her character, her manner, her conversation or her family that you dislike intensely. Shall that suit you?”
Adlington chuckled and lifted his glass in a mocking toast. “That will suit me very well indeed,” he said, grandly, as Frederick attempted to roll his eyes in derision, whilst hiding his strange sense of unwillingness that he could not explain. Adlington soon left Frederick’s company to go in search of some acquaintances that he might converse with in Frederick’s place. He found his brother much too dull and boring given that Frederick was always quite determined to ignore all gossip and refused to engage in rumor. Thus, Frederick found himself alone.
He swirled the rest of his brandy in the bottom of his glass, looking down at it and thinking about the time he had greeted Lady Beatrice. It had only been a few days ago but yet still, every time he thought of her, Frederick found a sense of shame pricking at his conscience. At first, he had seen her on the dance floor and had not quite been able to place her, even though he was sure that he recognized her. Once the introductions had been made and he had placed her as the lady who had quite lost her composure in his carriage, he had found himself both eager to stay and determined to remove himself from her. As such, he had chosen the latter. He could not explain why he had behaved in such a rude manner, for given that he was always a stickler for propriety, to turn his back on a lady and refuse to so much as glance at her dance card was more than a little embarrassing. It was downright shameful on his part, in fact.
Sighing inwardly, Frederick closed his eyes and shook his head. It was not at all like him to behave so and he found himself quite ashamed of himself. The thought did occur to him that he ought to find the lady in question and thereafter apologize for his foolish and rude manner but as soon as the idea struck him, Frederick found himself immediately dismissing the idea. He had no need to apologize to Lady Beatrice, given that they were not likely to become particularly well acquainted. She was very lovely, yes, with beautiful hazel eyes that he had not been able to forget, but that did not mean that he wanted to seek her out again. After her display of emotion in the carriage, Frederick was quite certain that she was much too emotional a creature for him. He required someone with a steadiness of character, and Lady Beatrice did not appear to be such a lady.
Although that did not explain as to why he had been so reluctant to allow his brother to meet her.
“Lord Greaves.”
A hard voice broke through his clouded thoughts, forcing Frederick to look up, only to see Lord Havisham – a distant acquaintance – standing directly in front of him. His mouth was pulled into a rather tight line, his eyes holding a degree of irritation that had Frederick immediately set on edge.
“Lord Havisham,” Frederick said quickly, making to get out of his seat, only for Lord Havisham to drop into the one Adlington had only just vacated. “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” Lord Havisham said, darkly. “I will come directly to the point, Lord Greaves, for I am not a gentleman inclined to long and indirect speeches.” His brow furrowed. “I am well aware that there are rumors about Lady Beatrice going around London, as I am sure you are aware also. However, that does not permit you to treat her in such a disgraceful manner as you did only a few evenings ago!”
Frederick shrank back into his chair, the same sense of shame creeping over him. “I – I……yes,” he stammered, thinking that there was nothing for it but to admit the truth. “Yes, I am sorry about how I behaved, Lord Havisham. You have my word that I shall apologize to her also.” He held Lord Havisham’s gaze but the man did not look away. “I will confess the truth to you also, however,” Frederick continued, “that I know nothing of these rumors of which you speak.”
Lord Havisham let out a bark of laughter. “You need not pretend to play the innocent, Lord Greaves,” he said, with a shake of his head. “I know very well that such whispers are all around London and I can hardly expect you to still remain entirely ignorant of them.”
“Oh, but I am!” Frederick exclaimed, holding up both hands in defense, his glass of brandy now on the table beside him. “I find rumors, gossip and the like to be quite intolerable and thus, I will not permit myself to listen to them.” Even as he spoke, however, Frederick felt a curl of curiosity curl up within himself, wondering just what it was that was being said of Lady Beatrice.
“If you did not know of these rumors, then why did you step away from Lady Beatrice in such a manner?” Lord Havisham asked, his tone still brusque and his expression still tight with anger. “Why did you turn from her in that way?”
Frederick hesitated, reaching for his brandy. “I knew that I had seen Lady Beatrice somewhere before,” he said, slowly, “but I could not quite place her. When I was introduced, it was only then that I recalled where I had met her first.”
“And where was that?” Lord Havisham asked, at once, his eyes still fixed on Frederick.
“She….she climbed into my carriage instead of into a hackney,” Frederick explained, suddenly afraid that Lord Havisham might become angry with him over such a thing. “Her maid was with her, of course, and she was in such a state of distress that I could not very well demand that she remove herself from my carriage now, could I?” He sighed heavily, recalling just how distraught the lady had been. “I presume that her distress came from these rumors that you speak of?”
Lord Havisham held Frederick’s gaze for another moment or two before he nodded, looking away. “That is so,” he admitted, quietly. “All the same, despite all that you have told me, I will expect an apology from you, Lord Greaves, for your behavior towards Lady Beatrice.” He rose, his brows lowering just a little more. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Quite clear,” Frederick answered, still feeling rather uncomfortable. “Might I ask, Lord Havisham, if you are courting Lady Beatrice?” He could see no other reason for a gentleman to be as Lord Havisham was at present and given that Adlington sought an introduction to Lady Beatrice, it was best to know whether or not such a thing could occur.
Much to Frederick’s surprise, Lord Havisham chuckled, his eyes alight with a sudden, fresh joy. “I am not courting Lady Beatrice, no,” he answered, as Frederick felt an inexplicable surge of relief. “But she is a very dear friend of the lady I am courting, Lady Smithton.” He arched one eyebrow at Frederick. “Why do you ask?”
Frederick began to stammer. “It is not at all because I wish to court Lady Beatrice,” he said quickly, his face growing hot. “My brother, the honorable Mr. Adlington, seeks an introduction.”
Lord Havisham’s expression did not change. “You think that the untitled second son of an Earl would be a good match for the daughter of a marquess?” he asked, dryly, as Frederi
ck looked away, embarrassed. “I fear that your brother will not achieve what he might hope for when it comes to Lady Beatrice, although I would not prevent an introduction.” He inclined his head, a wry smile on his face. “Good evening, Lord Greaves.”
“Good evening, Lord Havisham,” Frederick answered, waiting until the other man had walked away before letting out a long breath and closing his eyes. This evening had been much more taxing than he had expected and instead of being able to relax and enjoy the atmosphere of Whites, Frederick now found himself wound tight with tension and worry. Sighing heavily, he picked up his brandy and threw it back before setting the glass down, hard, on the table. For whatever reason, Lady Beatrice was the cause of all his angst and, even though he barely knew the lady, she had somehow managed to make a significant impact on his life. Gritting his teeth, Frederick closed his eyes again and rested his head back against the chair. He was not to be rid of Lady Beatrice soon either, it seemed, for not only would he have to introduce his brother to her, he would also now have to apologize for his own lack of good conduct. Perhaps then, after both events had taken place, he might be able to set Lady Beatrice from his mind and heart and that, he considered, could only be a good thing.
Frederick cleared his throat as he walked into Lord Marshall’s home, trying to set aside his sudden anxiety as he greeted his host. This little soiree was nothing more than that – a small gathering of friends and acquaintances – and yet Frederick found himself more than a little nervous.
“Good evening, Lord Greaves!” A loud voice greeted him and Frederick turned his head to see none other than Lord Havisham striding towards him from across the room. His stomach sank.
“How do you fare this evening?”
Frederick mumbled something under his breath, his gaze darting about the room. He was always very careful to act with propriety, to speak with absolute clarity and to carry himself properly, but for whatever reason, he could not manage to do as he wished this evening. His shoulders were slumped, his conversation was muffled and his whole being lacked the gentility required of a gentleman.
“I shall not pressure you to speak to Lady Beatrice, of course,” Lord Havisham continued, gesturing towards the left-hand side of the room. “But she will be glad to speak to you whenever you are able.”
Frederick nodded, his stomach twisting this way and that in a most uncomfortable fashion. He had known that Lady Beatrice would be present this evening and, given that it was only a day since Lord Havisham had spoken to him, Frederick had wanted to ensure that he did what Lord Havisham expected – and quickly too – so that he no longer felt beholden to do so. Once his apology had been made, once the words had been spoken, he would have nothing else to do but step away from Lady Beatrice for good.
He had hoped it might take her from his mind also, for as yet, he had been unable to go more than an hour or so without thinking of her. And yet, for whatever reason, he felt a tension now growing within him, filling him with anxiety and spreading a sense of fear all through him – although fear over what, he could not quite say.
“I shall go to her at once,” he found himself saying, looking over in the direction that Lord Havisham had indicated. “Thank you, Lord Havisham.”
Lord Havisham said nothing, only nodded and smiled, although the look in his eyes made Frederick all the more anxious. It was as though Lord Havisham knew the sort of greeting Frederick was about to receive and was glad of it. Moving away from Lord Havisham as quickly as he could, Frederick made his way towards the young lady in question, seeing her talking quietly to Lady Smithton in the corner of the room. His stomach tightened at the sight of her, for she was truly beautiful. Her brown tresses seemed to glow in the candlelight, flickering with shades of copper and gold. Her eyes were fixed upon him as he drew closer, her lips pulling into a thin line rather than the gentle smile they had held only moments before.
“Lady Beatrice,” Frederick began, bowing low. “And Lady Smithton, of course. Good evening to you both.”
“Good evening,” Lady Smithton answered, as Lady Beatrice murmured the same. “Lord Greaves, is it not?”
“It is, my lady,” Frederick answered, with a small smile. “I am very glad to see you both present this evening.” His eyes darted back towards Lady Beatrice, seeing how she still watched him closely. “Although I come with nothing more than an apology for you, Lady Beatrice.”
Lady Beatrice lifted one eyebrow, her expression a little astonished. “Is that so, Lord Greaves?” she asked, with a hint of irony in her words. “You wish to apologize to me? Whatever for?”
“I do seek to apologize,” he stammered, feeling suddenly awkward as he looked down at the ground, his hands twisting together behind his back. This was not the Lady Beatrice he recalled. He had expected her to be quiet and demure, perhaps even a little sorrowful in her manner given the state of distress he had last seen her in. He certainly had not expected a sharpness in her tone nor a wryness to her words. “And I am sure you know very well why I must do so, Lady Beatrice.”
She laughed softly, surprising him all the more. “I do indeed, Lord Greaves,” she answered, unequivocally. “You were very rude indeed the last time we met.”
“Yes,” he admitted when he saw her looking at him again. “I was very rude in my manner towards you, Lady Beatrice, and for that, I humbly beg your forgiveness.” Inclining his head, he sighed and pressed one hand to his heart. “I am always so very determined to make certain that my life is one of propriety and gentility and in this case I know that I have failed. I shall never behave so again, Lady Beatrice. You have my word on that.”
Lady Beatrice held his gaze steadily. There was no smile playing about her mouth nor did she appear to be cross or upset with him. It was as if she were considering what to say and what to do, what to feel and what to set aside. Frederick found himself holding his breath, waiting patiently for her to say something, only for Lady Smithton to interject.
“That was a very pretty speech, Lord Greaves,” she said, with a small smile in his direction. “I am sure that Lady Beatrice will be all the more forgiving when it comes to the next ball.”
“The next ball?” he repeated, a little confused, as the two ladies shared a smile.
“Indeed,” Lady Beatrice answered, suddenly appearing to be in much better spirits. “You will, I hope, seek me out to write your name on my dance card at the next ball we both attend, Lord Greaves, given that you did not quite manage to do so at the previous ball?”
Frederick inclined his head before she could see his hesitation. There was nothing he could say, no way out from this particular situation. He wanted to forget Lady Beatrice entirely but now to have the expectation that he would dance with her pushed all such desires aside. “Yes, of course,” he answered, with as much firmness as he could muster. “I should be glad to dance with you, Lady Beatrice, to make up for my prior foolishness.”
“Excellent!” Lady Smithton exclaimed, her hands clapping together for a moment. “Then we look forward to greeting you at the next ball, Lord Greaves.”
Frederick cleared his throat, fixed a smile to his face and looked back at Lady Beatrice, whose eyes were glowing with evident contentment. It made her all the more lovely. “I look forward to it also,” he answered, realizing that there was a part of him that truly did feel such a thing. “Until then, Lady Beatrice.” Stepping away from her, Frederick let out his breath slowly, feeling an unexpected tension wrapping itself around his shoulders. It seemed that his apology was not the end of his acquaintance with Lady Beatrice. There was to be more and, for whatever reason, Frederick found himself more than a little content with the situation. It was quite ridiculous of course, for he knew that Lady Beatrice could not match the standards set for a bride of his choice, but yet the feelings would not dissipate. Rubbing one hand over his forehead, Frederick reached for a glass of champagne and brought it to his lips.
It seemed he would not be able to forget Lady Beatrice so easily.
Ch
apter Four
“You appear to be in very good spirits this afternoon, Lady Smithton.”
Beatrice smiled across at Lady Smithton as they walked together along to the bookshop, almost seeing the happiness that exuded from her.
“Yes, I am quite content,” Lady Smithton agreed, softly, glancing towards Beatrice. “Lord Havisham and I have long been acquainted and I confess that my heart is now fully satisfied with how things stand between us.”
Beatrice’s smile stretched a little further. “I think him a very good gentleman,” she said, softly, as Lady Smithton nodded. “He is kind, considerate and more than a little generous.”
“He has not always been so,” Lady Smithton answered with a slight edge of regret to her voice. “But he came back to my side and begged for the opportunity to prove himself.”
“And has he?”
Beatrice held her breath as Lady Smithton considered this for a moment, finding herself praying that her mentor would enjoy a contentment and a happiness that she had so eagerly sought for others.
“I think he has,” Lady Smithton answered, softly, glancing across at Beatrice as color filled her cheeks. “I have already made it quite clear that I will not even consider progressing things further than they are at present until all of my ‘Spinsters Guild’ ladies are settled and happy, but I believe that Lord Havisham is willing to wait.” She laughed and Beatrice could not help but join in. “After all, he has been waiting for a very long time already.”
“I am very glad,” Beatrice answered, honestly. “I can see his devotion to you, Lady Smithton.” She sighed contentedly. “And I hope that I might be able to find someone with similar devotion also.”
Lady Smithton practically beamed at her. “You are speaking with a good deal more expectation and hope than before,” she exclaimed, as they drew near the bookshop. “I am very glad to hear it, Lady Beatrice.”
