Waltz 0f The Wallflower (Delicate Hearts Book 1)

by Catherine Mayfair

  “Clancy?” William asked. “What do you think?”

  The man wiped his mouth, biscuit crumbs raining down on the floor before him. “I think Barnard is right. You must invite her at once.”

  Looking back at Barnard, William studied him for a moment. “Thank you for your wisdom,” he said finally, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I shall go and call on her at once.”

  “Without a card?” Clancy asked in shock. “Will her father not be offended?”

  “Maybe,” William replied, “but it is a chance I am willing to take. This cannot be delayed a moment longer.”

  ***

  When William arrived at Beechwood Manor, the London home of Lord Fortescue and his daughter, he had to plead with the man for a moment of his daughter’s time. However, just as Barnard had predicted, the Baron was not as accepting of William’s unannounced call as William would have liked.

  “You must understand, Your Grace,” Lord Fortescue said, “it is highly unusual for a gentleman, even one such as yourself, to call on a woman unannounced in this manner.”

  William nodded. “I do understand,” he said. “I truly do. Though I hope you will believe me when I say that I would not do such a thing unless I felt it important.”

  The man scratched at his chin. “Well, I suppose it will be all right this once,” he said, though he continued to seem reluctant. “Wallace,” he said to the butler, “please show His Grace to my office; I have work to conduct.” Though William said nothing, the man shot him a stern look. “What? Did you believe I would allow you to speak to my daughter alone?”

  “Not at all,” William replied, trying to hide his amusement.

  The man grunted what could have been approval. “I will inform Lydia of your arrival.”

  William thanked the man before the butler led him from the foyer—with its pedestals holding vases filled with fresh flowers and paintings of various landscapes—into what Lord Fortescue had named his office. With its large bookcase on one of the walls, William would have called it a library if not for the heavy oak desk that sat in front of a set of nautical maps that hung from the wall opposite the bookcase. Several bundles of rolled up charts stood in what appeared to be a brass umbrella stand. He only recognized it as such because it had been formed into the shape of an umbrella standing on its point—a quite whimsical piece to be sure.

  “May I offer you a refreshment, Your Grace?” the old butler asked.

  “No, I am fine, thank you,” William replied as he moved to study one of the maps.

  “Ah, I see you have found one of my passions,” Lord Fortescue said upon entering the room. “For years I have run but one ship between England and India. Now, however, I have a whole fleet under my control.” The man beamed with pride as he spoke. Then he chuckled. “Coffee and sugar. The Bartholomew brothers were fools destroying their own shipping empire. But I am not such a fool.”

  So, the rumors Barnard had shared with him concerning Lord Fortescue were true. William had to give the man credit; the Bartholomews had never been a family with which to trifle, and yet he had sneaked into the game much like a mouse sneaks into a storeroom—quietly and unseen until it had eaten holes into the supplies.

  The Baron offered William a chair, and William took it with a polite nod of thanks. “I do have a question to ask before my daughter arrives,” the man said.

  “Of course,” William replied. “How may I assist you?”

  Lord Fortescue pursed his lips as if in thought and then leaned forward in the chair he had taken across from William. “For the last three Seasons, I have wanted a man, any man, to call on my daughter. To be honest, I started to believe the butcher’s son would be the only man who would. Yet, you have chosen to call on my Lydia, a wallflower. Why is that?”

  The words surprised William. Her own father used such a term when speaking of his daughter? Such things were unheard of, at least with the company William kept.

  “Is it because of my newfound fortune?”

  If the man’s words had surprised William before, these words shocked him to his core. “No!” William blurted so loudly the Baron recoiled. “My apologies. I do not care for your fortune, or, that is, in terms of any gain for myself. I find such a claim to be an offence to my person.”

  The Baron studied him for a moment, nodded, and leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “I meant no offense certainly, but you can understand my concerns. I cannot have a man pursuing my daughter simply as a means to get to me and what I have.”

  “I understand,” William said. “But I assure you my intentions are straightforward.” He paused. “I do have a question for you, if I may?” When the Baron agreed, William continued. “You say your daughter is a wallflower. Why?”

  The man sighed. “Yes, it is a ghastly name to place on one’s own daughter, and it pains me to say so. However, it is the truth.”

  William was confused. “I do not see her in that light,” he said. “I see her as a lady who craves wisdom, conversation, and so much more. That is what intrigues me about her.”

  The Baron smiled. “Are you speaking the truth?”

  “Indeed,” William said, raising his hand. “On my family’s name…”

  “No need to swear,” Lord Fortescue said with a cheerful chuckle as he rose from his chair.

  William rose as the Baron stepped in front of him, unsure of the man’s intentions. Had he offended him in some way? Was he going to pummel William for some offense he had unwittingly made? William might be a duke, thus higher in title than the Baron, but the man before him was a father, and most fathers were willing to protect their daughters at all costs; even at the cost of offending a man in William’s position.

  Rather than hit him, however, Lord Fortescue reached over and clapped William on the back. “You have made me a happy man!” he said enthusiastically. “To know I have waited three long years for someone to call upon my daughter and to have you, a duke no less, be the man who does so when I thought all was lost…well, I cannot tell you how happy that makes me.” He guided William to a liquor cart standing in the corner. “Come! We must celebrate!”

  Stunned, William took the glass the man offered, and when the Baron raised his glass, the man fell just short of shouting. “To His Grace! Long may he live, and with my daughter at his side!”

  Out of custom rather than understanding, William raised his glass, as well. Not that he did not agree with the man’s sentiments, but it was all so strange, William felt compelled to comply. To have the Baron change from the protective father to this celebratory man before him made little sense, but, he did not want to be rude and therefore lose his chance with Miss Fortescue.

  “Now, let us talk business,” the Baron said as he returned to the chairs. “Perhaps we can do some together.”

  Though business was the last thing on William’s mind, he was intelligent enough to know that, if he wanted to see the daughter, he would have to entertain the father beforehand. And though he should have been attending to what Lord Fortescue had to say, William found himself feigning interest, for his thoughts kept turning to Miss Fortescue.

  Chapter six

  When Lydia’s father had come crashing into her room, Lydia had already dressed and was sitting in front of the vanity mirror while Jenny brushed her hair.

  “Father?” she said with a gasp. “What is it?”

  “Ready yourself,” he said with a wide smile that for some unknown reason brought a chill to Lydia. “His Grace, the Duke of Bennington, is here to see you.”

  “Me?” she asked, aghast, her mind bringing forth the memory of his harsh words, though she did all she could to keep them hidden away. “Why would he come to see me?”

  Her father seemed to have little patience at the moment. “What does it matter?” he demanded. “A man has come to call!” He turned to Jenny. “Be sure she looks the part of a young lady receiving a gentleman caller. When You are ready, go to the parlor and wait. I must speak to His Gra
ce first.”

  Jenny curtsied. “Yes, My Lord.”

  “And do not be all day about it!” her father barked at Lydia before turning and slamming the door behind him.

  The door opened again, and Helen entered. She always had a way of showing up just when Lydia needed her. Lydia had no idea what she would do if she did not have her aunt in her life. It made her sad that Helen had suffered a loss so great she refused to marry again, but if it led the woman to be in Lydia’s life, Lydia would not complain.

  “So, I hear you have a gentleman caller?” she asked with a mischievous smile.

  “Why does this man find pleasure in hurting me?” Lydia said, fuming. “I want nothing to do with him, but he is like a bully who returns to hurt me. Instead of pulling my hair, however, he drives a stake into my heart with his words.”

  Helen let out a heavy sigh as she took her usual seat on the bench and gave Lydia a knowing smile. “You have feelings for him.”

  “I have no such thing!” Lydia said, though it lacked the proper vehemence she had meant to put behind the words, and she knew was well aware of that fact. Therefore, she sighed. “Oh, I do not know what I have. Contempt, yes. Anger, no doubt. However, as much as I want to march downstairs and throw him out of the house…” Her words trailed off as she tried to articulate what she felt and found she could not. How could that man leave her thoughts in such a muddle?

  “Let me share a story with you before you meet with the Duke,” Helen said in her usual motherly tone as Jenny discreetly left the room. “Many years ago, I met a man and woman who, though newly married, could not seem to get along. The woman was wise and knew that her temper was partly to blame for their arguments. The man, as most men are, was stubborn, but he refused to admit his own faults in the problem.”

  “That is very much the Duke,” Lydia said with a nod as she allowed Helen to place a shawl around her shoulders. “Do you think he is here to admit his guilt? Could he be seeking my mercy?”

  Helen smiled as she adjusted the shawl. “The woman, in her wisdom, spoke to the man from her heart, and that was when he listened. Until she did that, her true messages were never received. It was as if the man lacked the ability to understand until it was told to him outright.”

  Lydia laughed, but it was filled with bitterness. “I fear that if I do such a thing the Duke will only hurt me again later.” She sighed in frustration. “I do not know why he is even here. Is it to call me more names? Or does he prefer to play games, making me feel wanted only to turn against me once again?”

  “Lydia,” Helen said with a firm tone, “that woman in the story I just told you?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do as she did. In the end, you may find that the Duke is the rogue we both know him to be, but you won’t know for sure if you don’t confront him.”

  “You are right,” Lydia said, finding a small strand of courage of which to take hold. “I wish I could be like that woman you mentioned…”

  Helen smiled as they walked to the door. “I imagine you are.”

  “Was she beautiful, as well?”

  “Very beautiful. So much so that other women were jealous and felt the need to create falsehoods about her.”

  Lydia sighed. “I wish I was like her.” To be such a strong woman would have been a wondrous thing! If she had been so strong, the words the Duke had written about her would not have affected her in any way.

  “Oh, but you are,” Helen said as she placed a hand on Lydia’s chin and forced her to look at her. “That woman? She was your mother.” A tear stung Lydia’s eye when Helen pulled her in for a hug. “Now, go and confront that beast. Don’t let him hurt you anymore.”

  “I will not allow it,” Lydia replied with a smile as she wiped away the tear and straightened her back. “I will be strong like my mother.”

  And with that, she hurried to Mrs. Ridge, who stood waiting for her at the top of the steps. She was ready to stand up to the Duke and let her thoughts truly be known. And if he did not accept her words, then the fault would be his.

  ***

  Sitting beside Mrs. Ridge in the drawing room, Lydia waited for the Duke to arrive. However, as each minute passed, that all too familiar feeling of despair began to settle upon her. The longer she had to wait, the more her thoughts tried to puzzle out the true reason the man had come to call on her. It could not be because he wanted to be kind, for that was not in his nature as far as she had seen. No, he was there to insult her, just as he had in the past, and by making her wait as long as possible, he had already achieved his task to some degree.

  She had already been waiting thirty minutes and found herself wondering what was wrong with her. The ladies of the ton did not want her friendship, and the men never looked her way more than once unless they wanted a good laugh. Helen could say it all she wanted, but Lydia did not believe herself to be beautiful. Her mother had been, but Lydia looked nothing like her mother.

  In truth, she wanted to believe. With all her heart and soul, she wanted to have just one man find her beautiful. Lord Egerton had said so, but for some reason, she found his words to be untruthful. More than likely, he was sharing in pleasantries, and perhaps her sadness had made her mishear, but she thought she detected a hint of sarcasm behind his words.

  She sighed. None of it mattered. She knew her future as clearly as she could see a coming storm. She was destined to become a spinster, and she would join other spinsters, all women who were shunned from society because they could not find a husband. Some wanted that life, but she was not one of them. Spinsterhood was not what she would have chosen for herself, but, alas, she had no choice when that was how the coin landed.

  Her thoughts went to her mother, who had died when Lydia was but five years of age. Though her memories of the woman were few, one always remained with her, even after all these years. Just a month before her mother died, she had been brushing Lydia’s hair and telling her stories.

  “One day,” she had said, “when you are much older, of course, you will dance with a gentleman, and he will capture your heart.” Somehow, she had recognized Lydia’s confusion, for she added, “I know you are much too young to understand the wondrous feelings shared between men and women. However, when that day comes, you will know, for it is a beautiful thing that only your heart can recognize.”

  Her mother had been right, she had not understood back then. Now, however, she did, and she knew it would never come to pass for her. She was destined to be alone, and it would only be cruel to hope for more.

  “Lydia,” her father said, startling Lydia from her thoughts before announcing, “His Grace, the Duke of Bennington, is here to see you.”

  Lydia jumped from her chair, followed slowly by Mrs. Ridge, and curtsied to the man, though she did not feel he deserved such distinction. Oh, he might be a duke, but he was certainly no gentleman.

  “Your Grace,” Lydia said, trying to keep the bite from her words. “I believe you know my chaperon, Mrs. Ridge.”

  “Indeed,” the Duke replied with a polite nod. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

  “I’m afraid I do not know your Uncle Ben,” the older woman said as she returned to her seat. Lydia’s father groaned, and the Duke offered a polite, but confused, smile.

  When his eyes turned to her, Lydia expected to see the darkness of the night and was surprised to see they were soft and light.

  “Miss Fortescue,” the man said, “I must apologize for calling without proper etiquette. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  Lydia hesitated. What she wanted to say was that she would never forgive him for the horrible transgression he had committed against her; however, her father gave her a pointed look, and she responded with “You are forgiven.” She was surprised when the man actually seemed relieved!

  “Come now,” her father said. “Let us not stand here all day. Here, take a seat beside me.”

  Lydia took her place beside Mrs. Ridge, knowing her face had to be as red as
the flower print on the cushions. What was it about being in this man’s presence that caused her to lose all sense of reason?

  Her father, however, beamed with pleasure at the man’s appearance. “It is good to have you here,” he told the Duke.

  “Thank you.” He turned to Lydia. “Have you found the Season pleasant?”

  She snorted and then covered it with a cough. “Forgive me,” she said, feigning embarrassment, though it was not difficult to do in her current state. The question still bounced around in her head, and she wished he would forget the trivialities and get on with the reason he had called. “Yes,” she continued. “Yet, it is but another Season. A pleasant season.” She added the last with a dryness that could have evaporated every last drop of water from every vase of flowers in the room as well as those in the foyer. What she wanted to do was yell at the man, to ask him why he was here and why he must continue to mock her. Yet, her father would not have liked that, not one bit.

  “Excellent,” the man replied. Then he shifted in his seat as if battling with nerves. Lydia knew that could not have been the case; the man was too much a cad to be nervous in her presence.

  “Why have you come here?” Lydia asked, receiving a glare from her father in the process. Yet, by this point, she did not care. She could not stand the small talk in which he seemed to wish to partake.

  The Duke cleared his throat. “I have called over to ask, with your father’s permission, of course, if you would care to join me at Astley’s Circus on Friday. I believe you will find it entertaining.”