A Regrettable Proposal

by Jennie Goutet

  “Have you none of your witty replies then?” Judith breathed in deeply and looked at the stars. “Do you remember when we were caught in the rain on our way back from Hyde Park? It was right around this time of year. We stopped in the baker’s, and you bought me a strawberry tart to eat while it poured outside.” She looked at him, a coy smile on her face. “That was the day you proposed to me.”

  Stratford pulled her arm out from his and turned to face her. “Miss Broadmore, it is better for us to be clear before the Season begins so there might be no ambiguity.” After only a moment’s hesitation, he drove his words home. “Any hope for us is over.”

  Judith’s lips trembled into a smile. “How like you to come straight to the point, Stratford. You might simply have humored me, treating me as an old friend to spare me the embarrassment of a confrontation.”

  Whatever friendship we might have had is long gone. Judith was still tempting, but it was all the more reason to set limits and expectations. He knew keeping possibilities open with her laid a path to more heartache—his. Stratford shook his head. “It is my furthest wish to embarrass you, but you must know where things stand.”

  Judith seemed to be waiting for him to say more, but anything else would only be belaboring the point. He gave a brief bow and turned to go. “I bid you good night.”

  R

  The drawing room held a modest display of flowers sent every day by admirers since Mrs. Jenkins’s party. Eleanor and Lydia had barely had time to sit for the morning callers when Sir Braxsen and Major Fitzwilliam were announced. Eleanor whispered to Lydia with a roguish smile. “They’re here bright and early, though they’ll see you tonight at the ball. I believe they wish to beat the others out with an advance attack.”

  “Unless they’re here for you,” Lydia replied without conviction, but also without malice. “And it’s our come-out ball.”

  Eleanor gave a tiny shrug but favored her friend with a smile, which grew broader when the door opened and Major Fitzwilliam strode toward Lydia with a single focus.

  “Sir Braxsen, Major Fitzwilliam.” Lydia gave them each her hand. “I trust we will see you both at our ball tonight?”

  “We came to see if we might help you prepare.” Major Fitzwilliam maneuvered next to her on the settee, showing more address than he had yet shown in her presence. Or more determination.

  Lydia, not indifferent to the major’s attention, sat straighter. “I believe everything is looked after. We’ve been fortunate that Frederick is here to oversee the details with Mama.” After a small pause, Lydia patted her glove. “Of course, he is more than usually busy.”

  Sir Braxsen took the chair near Eleanor and drawled, “Yes, I spotted your brother at Brooke’s laying bets on Milford’s mare against Dalton’s. I can see he is entirely devoted to the success of your ball.”

  Eleanor stifled a giggle and studied Sir Braxsen’s face, wondering what brought him to visit. It was clear he had no marked partiality for Lydia, but he didn’t seem generous enough to come simply because his friend was enamored.

  “And will you come this evening, Sir Braxsen?” Eleanor asked, bent on being amiable.

  “Undoubtedly,” was his reply. He toyed with the fob attached to his waistcoat as Lydia and the major bent their heads in conversation that left little room for anyone else. Eleanor folded her hands on her lap and waited, but Sir Braxsen was content to look around the room in silence.

  She sighed. Was there no man in London capable of conversation? Lydia made conquests of every gentleman she met. With Eleanor, men seemed bored. As if I’m not worth the effort.

  But there was one. For all his faults, Lord Worthing, at least, did not ignore her.

  Lydia’s maid slipped Eleanor’s dress over her outstretched arms. The pale gold underdress would have been lost beneath the white overlay had it not been for the gold rosebuds that caught the sheer fabric in dozens of tiny gathers. The gold silk made up the bodice of the dress, with a white gauze fichu providing slightly more modest cover. Not enough though, Eleanor thought. She felt exposed.

  Still, although she knew she would pale next to Lydia, she was quite pleased with her appearance. She hooked the gold pendant diamonds that her mother had left behind in her haste into her ears, and the maid clasped the tiny pearl necklace with a matching gold pendant around her neck.

  As expected, Lydia eclipsed her friend in beauty when she entered the drawing room in pale pink with a spray of flowers in her hair. Her cheeks held a natural rosy glow, unlike Eleanor’s more sallow complexion, and her hair was nearer to black, which would always outshine Eleanor’s mousy brown. I’m happy Lydia looks so well, Eleanor told herself, desiring to be generous.

  Lord Ingram, dressed to the nines in a crisp black jacket and snowy white cravat, stepped away from his mother by the fireplace and moved toward them, greeting his sister with a kiss on the cheek and then bowing over Eleanor’s hand. “Brunettes are in fashion this year, and I see our household will be the center of the ton with two such beauties as this.” Despite his smile, Lord Ingram had a tiny frown line between his eyes, and Eleanor wondered if it could possibly be the stress of hosting. Apart from the brief snatch of conversation they’d had upon her arrival, she had only seen him in passing since.

  Lydia stuck out her bottom lip. “How can you say so? You know Mary Wexby has enamored all of London with her flaxen hair until no one has eyes for anyone else.”

  “All the better to set you apart, my dear,” Lord Ingram said sincerely. What a lucky thing to have family.

  Lydia gasped. “I almost forgot my posy.” She darted over to the side table where the small arrangement was waiting.

  “Will you have some sherry, Mama, before we take our positions in the hall?” Lord Ingram was determined to do everything correctly, it seemed, now that he was actually here.

  Lady Ingram accepted a tiny glass of sherry. “Better to have a cake with your cordial, girls. We will be greeting guests for hours, and I do not wish for you to faint.”

  The lady of the house had spoken no less than the truth. After two hours of greeting guests in the hall by the front door, Eleanor was beginning to force her smile. At least she was near the entrance where more fresh air poured into the stifling residence that boasted crackling fires in every chimney. She breathed in the fresh air now and felt a frisson of nerves. Lord Worthing had not shown up, and she had been sure he would, given his close ties with the family. Eleanor wasn’t sure why she wished for him and could only conclude it was because she knew so few people. She wouldn’t admit to herself that everything seemed more interesting when he was near.

  “Mr. Amesbury, Mr. Ashton,” the footman announced. He appeared never to grow tired of giving each name with relish.

  Lydia curtsied as Mr. Amesbury bowed over her hand and kissed the air above it. “How do you do? Mr. Amesbury, may I present my friend—”

  “We’ve met,” he said. “Miss Daventry, I regret we did not have more time at dinner to converse.”

  The nerve! They’d had plenty of opportunity. He was just too disgusted then with Eleanor’s lineage to act the part of a gentleman. She could guess what prompted the change. “Good evening, Mr. Amesbury.”

  Oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm, Mr. Amesbury inclined his head toward the card around her wrist. “Allow me to claim a dance.”

  “I believe my card is full, sir—” She was not able to finish before he slipped the dance card off her wrist and examined it.

  “No, see here. There’s one dance left, even if it’s only a reel. I dare not claim your hand for one of the waltzes, for I’m sure Lady Ingram would not permit it.” Thank heavens for that. He penciled his name in the last slot.

  “You honor me, sir.” The words had only just left her lips when the footman announced, “Lord Worthing.”

  Despite herself, Eleanor’s heart leapt. I must learn to be less transparent, she thought. It would be humiliating if Lord Worthing were to guess her pleasure at his arrival, an emotion that did no
credit to her dignity.

  “My lady, you outshine everyone here”—words that seemed too glib for Lord Worthing, but it was he bowing over Lady Ingram’s hand and then reaching out to shake Ingram’s. “Frederick. Magnificent turnout.”

  “Stratford,” Lady Ingram said, disapproval apparent in her voice, “we had quite given you up. How unlike you to be so late for a party.” In an instant, her demeanor changed. “Ah, I see you are not quite alone in your delinquency. Mr. Brummel, you’ve come at last.”

  “As you see.” Mr. Brummel shot a glance at Lydia. “And perhaps I shall stay.” The exquisitely attired gentleman was flanked by a small satellite of Corinthians, nattily attired but falling short of his magnificent elegance. Feigning boredom, the four men looked to the Beau, who responded to a sign from within. With only the slightest bow to Lydia, they vanished into the salon without paying heed to Eleanor.

  Lady Ingram followed them with her gaze, her lips pursed. “The most deplorable manners, I know. But Mr. Brummel’s attendance assures your ball is hailed a success, girls.”

  Eleanor arched a brow. “He is the famous Beau Brummel? I expected someone more impressive.”

  The earl caught her words and laughed, eyes crinkling. “Don’t let him hear you say so, Miss Daventry. You’ll be snubbed out of town.” Eleanor felt the corners of her mouth lift as his laughter warmed her like a caress. Here was someone who did not find her boring.

  Lord Worthing then turned to Lydia with a rueful smile. “I, alas, have less license than he does and had to let him go first. I’m sorry, Lydia.”

  She was having none of it. “Stratford. We expected you hours ago.”

  Ignoring her scolding, he gave a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Phoebe bid me to thank you for your reply to her note. She and Anna are still laid up with a cold and regret very much having to miss this evening.”

  All signs of petulance vanished, and Lydia’s face showed concern. “It’s more important your sisters are en forme for their ball next week. If they are well enough to receive before then, I’ll visit.” Lord Worthing nodded and moved in front of Eleanor.

  “Miss Daventry, you look lovely.” His gaze lingered on her exposed bosom, then shot up to her face.

  Eleanor took a breath but had trouble getting the air into her lungs. “Lord Worthing,” she replied in a composed voice, but her trembling lips gave her away.

  He peeled his gaze from hers when the doors to the manor were closed, and Lady Ingram relaxed her posture. “I believe we may join our guests now. Frederick, you will take Lydia.” Her sharp eyes scanned the earl. “Stratford, your arrival is timely. You may escort Miss Daventry into the assembly.”

  There was a stir when the party made its way into the ballroom. Eleanor, unaccustomed to such attention, only noticed she had gripped the earl’s arm when he patted her hand reassuringly. She forced herself to relax. Thankfully, all eyes were on Lydia as her friend descended the stairs on the arm of her brother.

  Lord Worthing leaned down to speak, and Eleanor felt the warmth of his cheek next to hers. “It’s only natural that I should escort you into the ballroom,” he said. “My friendship with the Ingram family is of long date. We were neighbors before I inherited Worthing.”

  Eleanor nodded. There were now only a few curious stares directed her way as the people in the room geared up for the first dance. “I find I don’t like a great deal of attention,” she said.

  “Which you could hardly hope to avoid at your own come-out ball.”

  She gave a prim smile. “Even so.”

  “Lady Ingram was right about you both being a success. I felicitate you. But tell me, your intimacy with the Ingram family intrigues me. How did you come to know Lydia?”

  “We became friends at school. It was as simple as that,” Eleanor said.

  “As simple as that. Yet you are not very alike. You are not two in whom one would expect any affection to grow.” Lord Worthing guided her to the side to let people pass. “Lydia is only concerned with fripperies and conquests, and you seem of a more serious nature.” Pausing, he added, “If you’ll permit my saying so.”

  “For all you know Lydia, I believe you have misjudged her in this,” Eleanor said. Her lips grew more prim. “If you’ll permit my saying so.”

  “Perhaps. That Lydia would wish to invite you is one thing, but for her mother to accept is quite another. It’s a mystery, really. The late Lord Ingram was a generous man, but Lady Ingram is slow to foster acquaintances and even slower to invite one into her home.” He drew his brows together, trying to puzzle it out. “I suspect she felt you posed no real threat to Lydia’s chances.”

  Eleanor jerked and Lord Worthing looked at her, his startled eyes betraying too late the unintentional insult and the regret that followed. Before either could speak, Frederick Ingram was in front of Eleanor. “Miss Daventry, I believe this honor is mine.”

  Eleanor, still stunned from the blow, grasped at her unruly thoughts and tried to put them in order. So, my lord. You wish to remind me of my dearth of fortune, beauty, and prospects. This is hardly repentance. She placed her hand on Lord Ingram’s arm and dismissed Lord Worthing in a cool voice. “I thank you for escorting me into the ball.”

  Before she and Lord Ingram moved away, Eleanor had the satisfaction of seeing Lord Worthing speechless.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lord Ingram was an accomplished dance partner and didn’t show the distraction he must be feeling as host of the ball. His ease in keeping Eleanor engaged in conversation, even making her laugh, allowed her to forget the insulting words uttered by Lord Worthing. Her next partner, Mr. Weatherby, did not afford this luxury as he was too nervous to make any conversation at all.

  Mr. Weatherby, whose burnished cheeks and apple-shaped face were crowned by a halo of blond hair, bowed before her and gulped as she rested her hand on his arm. In silence, they took a place in the set and waited for the music to begin. Where is Lord Worthing now? she mused. Nowhere to be seen, though there was Mr. Amesbury staring at her as if she were prey. Small wonder he and the earl are friends, she thought with spite.

  Eleanor forced herself to focus on her silent partner and gave him an encouraging smile, which he returned. Here was a promising beginning. “Mr. Weatherby, how well you dance,” she said.

  “Thank you,” he returned and offered nothing further. How could Lord Worthing insult me by comparing me unfavorably to Lydia? Surely he cannot be so obtuse as to have done it accidentally. But he looked remorseful … She and her partner turned to face the orchestra, continuing their dance in silence. If only Mr. Weatherby would make conversation, she would have an easier time focusing on the dance and not on a frustrating gentleman just out of sight.

  She made another attempt. “Lydia tells me you’ve just completed your studies at Edinburgh. Will you be making your stay in London?”

  “If my father permits it. He wishes me to learn the management of the estate, and I had to petition him for at least one Season in London.” Mr. Weatherby nearly turned the wrong way but caught himself before he did any damage.

  There was Lord Worthing. Not leading anyone in a dance but talking to Lord Ingram. How comfortable for him. She refused to give him any more of her notice. Turning to her partner, Eleanor said, “I understand having a London Season is de rigeur, particularly since there are no Grand Tours to the Continent anymore. It’s natural you should wish it.” They moved to the side to allow the next set to finish their figures.

  “I’ve grown up on the estate and trailed my father and his bailiff since I could walk. In Edinburgh, I learned new farming techniques and business practices that I will never be permitted to implement as long as my father has the run of the place.” He shrugged. “I feel my greater need is to acquire a bit of town bronze.” His ears turned red, and he added, “Somehow I don’t feel awkward saying that to you.”

  She warmed to him. “You needn’t feel awkward saying anything to me. I confess to sympathizing with your wish. I’m trying to lo
ok as if this is all natural to me, but the truth is I’ve led a rather secluded life. This,” she used her free hand to encompass the throng of people, “is quite besides what I am used to.”

  “Miss Daventry,” he said, gaining confidence, “I would never have guessed you were not born and bred in London.”

  She leaned back to look at him, eyes wide. “That is a bald-faced lie, and you know it, Mr. Weatherby,” and she laughed at his answering grin.

  By the time the dance ended, Mr. Weatherby was perfectly at ease, even loquacious. She was glad she had danced with him rather than a rude and incomprehensible earl. Mr. Weatherby voiced his own pleasure with his parting words. “Now that I’ve been bolstered by Miss Daventry, I need have no fear of presenting myself to more intimidating partners.”

  “Indeed not!” she replied. “I should think any lady present would be delighted to be asked by you.”

  Eleanor’s dance card was full, which took away some of the sting of Lord Worthing’s barb. Aside from Mr. Amesbury, who claimed his dance and made stilted, desultory conversation, she was asked by Sir Braxsen, who could be humorous when he chose; Lord Carlton, a perfectly amiable gentleman who seemed ready to be pleased with any of his partners; and even Major Fitzwilliam, whom, she suspected, wished for the dance as an excuse to inquire after Lydia.

  She looked into the latter’s frank, smiling brown eyes and contrasted them with Lord Worthing’s green ones, which always seemed to be shadowed by irritation, or—when she was being fair—worry. As Major Fitzwilliam led her down the promenade, she followed his gaze over to Lydia, who was partnered with an elegantly clad gentleman on the other end of the room.

  “Don’t you think Miss Ingram looks perfect tonight?” Eleanor peeped at him with a mischievous smile. “She couldn’t have made a lovelier picture for her come-out ball.”

  “Miss Daventry.” The major’s steps almost faltered, and he shook his head with a rueful smile. “You have caught my wandering eye, I fear—and which is most unfair. You are a picture of loveliness, and may I remind you it is your come-out ball as well.”