“I’m very glad to see both of you. Eleanor, didn’t I tell you Major Fitzwilliam and Sir Braxsen are our most faithful friends and would not fail us today?”
“You are indeed a welcome diversion,” Miss Daventry said. “Lydia insisted on staying in because she says I have been running her ragged with all these places in London I wish to visit.”
She quirked her brow, adding, “However, I daresay it’s only the description of these wonders that fatigues her, as I’ve yet to convince her to come with me.” Miss Daventry shifted her gaze. “Sir Braxsen, you are from London, I believe, so the sights must not enchant you. But Major Fitzwilliam, have you not been tempted to take every available moment to visit the places you won’t find elsewhere?”
Fitz raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I fear I will only disappoint you, Miss Daventry. I have not given any thought to visiting London, apart from the places I must go to conduct business.” Turning to the hostess, he said, “Miss Ingram, if you’re not touring London, how do you spend your days? Unless you simply pass your time resting from the balls the night before.” He shared a complicit look with Miss Daventry that pleaded indulgence. Though she’d told him how Lydia passed her time, he was a man bent on a mission.
Lydia bridled at the implication she was indolent. “Well, major, contrary to what Eleanor said—“ she shot her friend a look, “I do not like to be idle. And I don’t like embroidery.” She tucked the frame from sight. “I like to ride, and I like to dance. I’m not overly tired after the soirées, though I do take my morning chocolate later than when we keep country hours. Otherwise, I like to go for long runs, and the idea of sitting in a carriage while we traipse from one boring exhibit to another does not tempt me.”
“That sounds like the very thing. Perhaps—”
The butler’s entrance, announcing the unwelcome arrival of Mr. Amesbury, interrupted Fitz’s proposal. By way of greeting, Miss Ingram quizzed Mr. Amesbury on his absence at the card party the night before, but Miss Daventry merely inclined her head. Fitz noticed a slight frown as she looked out the window.
“Becoming quite the family party, aren’t we? Good to see you again, Braxsen.” Amesbury included Fitz with his nod. “What a pleasure it is always to be meeting here,” he added in a tone that showed anything but.
Sir Braxsen and Fitz exchanged an amused glance as Amesbury bowed over Lydia’s hand, then Eleanor’s, holding her gloved fingers longer than was necessary. So that’s the lay of it, thought the major.
“Major Fitzwilliam comes to see my brother, I’m sure. They’re military friends.” Lydia gave an arch look at Sir Braxsen. “Sir Braxsen has no such excuse. I believe he’s here simply because he likes our company.”
“I’m here because you’re always invited to the best parties of the Season. I learn of them here, and if I’m not invited, I waylay the hostess to secure an invitation of my own.”
“And it is, of course, because you’re ready to settle down and wish to find the most eligible young lady,” Lydia teased, giving him a sideways glance.
Sir Braxsen threw his arms outward. “I can hide nothing from you, my fair lady. If I ever hope to sell out, I must always be in search of the woman whose charm enslaves me.”
Amesbury looked at him, then Miss Daventry in turn. “My advice to you, Braxsen, is to go about it with a more practical mindset. Charm will not keep the coffers full.”
The major’s voice was sharp. “I think you forget your company, sir.” Before Mr. Amesbury could attempt a biting reply, the major changed tack. “Miss Ingram, speaking of going on long runs, you had promised to ride with me, but I have not yet had this pleasure. I must leave London for a week on official business, but upon my return, I hope you will do me the honor of joining me for an excursion the morning of Friday next—both of you, in fact. Sir Braxsen has promised to join us as well.”
This falsehood was met with a lift of the eyebrows, but Sir Braxsen answered faithfully. “Indeed I did. I hope both of you will come.”
“We shall be delighted,” Lydia said. Mr. Amesbury scowled into his hat perched on his lap, and like that Sir Braxsen and Fitz closed ranks.
R
Eleanor cherished the quiet of the drawing room. Weak beams of sunlight lit the golden silk rug in the middle of the floor, and she watched the cherry blossoms dance on the branches outside the window. She sighed in contentment. Perhaps she was only going through the motions of having a Season rather than plunging into the gaiety, and perhaps she didn’t measure up to Lady Ingram’s expectations of a pleasing young woman, but for a few brief months, she could forget her future was uncertain and pretend her greatest concern was what to wear for that evening’s party.
The bell rang, and Eleanor sat quietly, expecting Hartsmith to turn the visitor aside as Lydia had not yet made an appearance. To her alarm, the door opened, and Mr. Amesbury entered right on the heels of the butler.
“Miss Daventry, I apologize.” Hartsmith looked pained as he glanced at the visitor. “I did not know anyone was in this room. Miss Ingram has gone back upstairs for her shawl and bade me to show any visitors to the drawing room until she arrives.”
Eleanor stood. “It’s all right. I expect Miss Ingram will be here momentarily. Will you take a seat? Hartsmith, please tell Lydia that Mr. Amebsury is here.”
When the butler had closed the door behind them, she took a seat. “Mr. Amebsury, I hope you’ve had a pleasant—”
“Miss Daventry,” he began, claiming a seat so close his leg touched hers. “Hear what I’ve come to say. I’ve not much time before Miss Ingram arrives, and there’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you, but dash it all if I can get you alone for even a minute.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened in alarm. “I assure you, there’s no need to—”
He continued as if she’d not spoken. “As you may have guessed, when I first made your acquaintance I found your background objectionable. First your father dies under the hatches with only the shirt on his back. Now there was a loose screw, even if he was granted a military funeral. Then your mama goes off and elopes with a Frenchman. Who knows if she did the deed when she was yet a widow. Even if we disregard your family, it’s not as if there’s a pretty face to tempt a fellow into making a foolish match. Thank heavens for that, I say, because I cannot think of anything more insufferable. One needs to go about these things after great deliberation.” On that point, we are quite in agreement, sir, Eleanor fumed, eyes snapping dangerously.
Sounds of Lydia’s descent made their way to the drawing room, but she was speaking to one of the servants, and Amesbury rushed on. “Then you inherited that piece of land that is just what my estate needs to double its value. That stream there … it’s not merely the income from the property that adds value. You’ll be happy to know that the stream can be diverted to irrigate a dry bit of land that has so far produced too little to be of value. With the stream pouring into it, those fields will be filled with crops, and I can convert the land closer to the estate as training grounds for my horses.”
Mr. Amesbury had a gleam in his eye as he contemplated this delicious vision, and Eleanor opened her mouth to cut short his effusions. He must have seen the necessity of coming quickly to point because he gave her no chance to speak.
“It won’t do to spend too many Seasons in London. You’ll be an ape-leader before you know it and lucky to get any offer that comes your way. I don’t like to go about the thing rushed like this, but Miss Ingram might arrive this moment, and I don’t want to spend any more time in London. I aim to have the affair settled so I can return to my estate. I’m offering to marry you. You’ll have a comfortable home, and my name is good enough to protect you from any embarrassment should your family history come out. Shouldn’t though. I don’t plan to spend much time in London, so you needn’t worry about that.”
Humiliated and enraged, Eleanor answered him at once. “Mr. Amesbury, I thank you for your offer, but it is impossible for me to accept. I wish you happiness for
your future.”
“Cannot accept? But this is madness.” Mr. Amesbury took both her hands in his. “Surely you do not mean to refuse.”
Eleanor yanked her hands back. “I’m sorry. I must. I wish you will not bring this subject up again, which will surely be painful to both of us.” Her cheeks burned, and she began to long for Lydia’s arrival.
“But you have no other engagement. Why should you not wish to spare yourself the humiliation of sitting on the shelf? Be reasonable.”
Eleanor turned to him in fury. “By insulting me in such a manner do you think to win my hand? I would much rather be ‘on the shelf,’ as you term it, than yoked to a man who holds me in so small esteem.”
Not to be deterred, Mr. Amesbury said, “You will change your mind before you are very much older.” He stood. “Listen my gel, I am naturally of a generous nature and will give you some time to rethink your answer, which will, without a doubt, change upon reflection.”
Lydia was almost at the door, and Eleanor was nearly bereft of words. But there could be no room for doubt that might enable Mr. Amesbury to attempt another suit. In a flash of inspiration, she silenced the ardency of her suitor with a falsehood. “Mr. Amesbury, I can never marry you. My heart is otherwise engaged.” Mr. Amesbury’s mouth fell open, just as the handle of the door turned.
Chapter Seventeen
When Lydia entered the room, she stumbled upon a scene of great confusion. Mr. Amesbury stood, his thundering expression illuminated by a beet-red face, and Eleanor sat, poised but equally red, in her usual spot in the drawing room.
“Oh!” said Lydia. And, lacking imagination, she offered nothing further to dispel the tension.
The three of them stayed frozen for what seemed an eternity before Mr. Amesbury grabbed his hat from the settee and forced it low over his brow. “Miss Ingram, I came to bid you adieu as my presence is required immediately at my estate. I will be leaving London today.”
Lydia opened her mouth to speak but was not able to utter a word before he was gone. She went, at an unhurried pace, to occupy the spot the rejected suitor had just quit. Eleanor, still struggling to keep her composure, and despite feelings of outrage, nearly laughed at the sudden reflection: Mr. Amesbury has managed the impossible. He made even Lord Worthing’s proposal seem romantic.
Tucking her skirt under the chair, Lydia turned a steady gaze her way. “Eleanor, we are friends. You cannot tell me I haven’t just interrupted a scene. Was there a declaration?”
Eleanor shook her head and turned pleading eyes to her friend. “You know I cannot tell. It’s bad form to reveal what a gentleman has disclosed in confidence.”
“Hmm. I figured you’d say as much. Oh, if you aren’t the most annoyingly discreet creature ever to have as a best friend. How can I find entertainment if you won’t share anything with me?” Lydia sniffed and turned her nose in the air.
“In anyone but you,” Eleanor replied, “I might say it’s because you see it as entertainment rather than cause for compassion. Because it is you, I’ve come to know your words don’t always reflect your heart. You’re making light of a situation you worry might have troubled me.” Eleanor smiled warmly at her. “You’re a dear friend.”
Lydia gave a harrumph. “Still. I know Mr. Amesbury declared himself. He’s been showing marked attention to you, though his heart has never been touched by anything but money and property. You represent both, and I assume by his stormy expression he has been met with rebuff. I’m glad, dear Eleanor. The man who deserves you is the man who recognizes all your excellent traits and loves you for them.”
Eleanor flushed and looked down. “You are good to me. But you look at me through the lens of a friend. I assure you, a gentleman does not have such generous filters.”
“Perhaps not any gentleman,” Lydia hinted, “but a man in love …”
Eleanor retorted, “Well as to that, Mr. Amesbury is certainly not in love. Trust me. When the proposal contains irrigation and crop yields …” Eyes twinkling, she held Lydia’s stunned gaze until they both collapsed in laughter.
“Of all the foolish men,” said Lydia, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “Bravo, Eleanor, for opening the budget with me. A man who abounds in idiocy does not deserve your confidence.” Sighing, she shook her head. “Oh, my poor friend. I shall never be civil to him again.”
Still laughing, Eleanor replied, “I daresay he is too puffed up in his own conceit to notice the cut.”
R
Stratford was the last to see Amesbury before he left London, but that was quite by chance. He’d had an appointment at Angelo’s to try to see whether anyone at that worthy school of arms could stand up against what maneuvers he’d learned from the French prisoner on the Peninsula. Bent on his destination, Stratford almost missed Amesbury, who, in a black humor, was directing his trunks to be put up on the traveling chaise.
“Amesbury, you’re off then?” Stratford held out his hand.
“She wouldn’t have me,” Amesbury said, ignoring the hand.
Stratford nodded, guessing to whom Amesbury was referring, but not wishing to say her name in the hearing of the groom. Of course she wouldn’t have you, you lump, he thought. You made no efforts to win her. Then he wondered if perhaps Amesbury had been more assiduous in their private dealings. “Did she say why?”
“Says her heart’s previously engaged.” He turned to the footman. “Put the portmanteau inside the chaise, not on the back.”
Stratford felt cold. Her heart engaged? To whom? What a fool he’d be to think he was the object of her affection when all he’d done was to blunder and insult. Hadn’t she asked if he were well-acquainted with Carlton when they walked together? It could only be him.
Stratford was standing there, quite stupidly, as the footman and groom finished equipping the carriage, and his reverie was broken only when Amesbury turned to him. “I’m not in such a hurry as all that to get leg-shackled. Not enough to keep spending twenty-five pounds a week to stay in London at any rate.”
At this point, Amesbury had already climbed up, whip in hand. “Send word when you’re back at Worthing.” With a nod he was off, leaving Stratford to finish his walk and enumerate the times he saw Miss Daventry and Lord Carlton together and wonder if her heart were indeed taken.
At the opera that night, Stratford escorted his aunt and sisters to their seats in the center row. He sought out Ingram’s box to see who was present. Only so I can invite Ingram to Boodle’s tomorrow night, he told himself.
Miss Daventry sat in the center of Ingram’s box, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight that emanated from the chandeliers. She wore her hair in curls, brushed to the side and secured with jeweled pins, which softened a pointed chin. Her delicate collarbones lay exposed between tiny puff sleeves, flanking the bodice that covered her generous bosom. She and Lydia were laughing, and although Stratford had long abandoned his first impression of her being a dull creature, he had never seen her wear such a merry expression. He wished it were something he’d said to make her look that way.
When her gaze met his, the smile still in place, she raised an eyebrow, and his heart thudded in his chest. I will have to go say hello to Frederick and Lydia, he thought. They will expect it.
Miss Daventry did not turn toward him again during the first act, and he was only dimly conscious of Madame Catalani’s aria. At the first intermission, Stratford turned to his sisters and aunt. “Shall we visit Ingram’s box before we take some refreshment?”
“By all means.” Phoebe stood, shaking out her skirts.
“Where is our new neighbor, Mr. Amesbury?” Anna interpolated. “I fear he’s not here this evening. I haven’t seen him, though I don’t know where he has his box.”
Having left their aunt with Mrs. Wyndham for company, Stratford replied to Anna as they entered the corridor. “Mr. Amesbury has gone to Wiltshire. I saw him earlier today on the point of departure. Besides,” he looked at her strangely, “why should you care about seeing Mr. Ames
bury?”
“I find him fascinating,” Anna replied, with a sardonic look Stratford knew well. “I’ve never met anyone so transparent.” She nodded at a passing acquaintance, and Phoebe shared an amused glance with her brother.
Stratford went ahead of his sisters, thinking of Amesbury’s assertion that Miss Daventry’s heart was engaged. Stratford might deplore Mr. Amesbury’s superficiality, but at least he understood that the man’s determination to marry well stemmed from his father’s having to pull his estate back from the peril of moneylenders. Amesbury’s thrifty habits were engrained young.
Carlton, on the other hand, posed a threat if Miss Daventry’s heart were indeed taken. Even Stratford was hard-pressed to find fault with the man. He remembered Phoebe’s disturbing report that Carlton and Miss Daventry had visited the museum together. What bothered him was that, unlike Mr. Amesbury, Lord Carlton had natural address.
Not two steps out of the box, Stratford crossed paths with Judith Broadmore, and his sudden stop caused his sisters to bump into him from behind.
“Good evening, my lord.” Miss Broadmore’s pale blonde hair and fitted silver dress were a stark contrast to the glimpse of warmth and comeliness he had seen in Miss Daventry.
In such a public place, he could not ignore her greeting without causing remark. “Good evening, Miss Broadmore. You remember my sisters, I believe. Miss Phoebe and Miss Anna Tunstall.”
“Of course.” Miss Broadmore inclined her head with a gracious smile. “I see you are all grown now. I hope you’re enjoying your Season. I’m sure you’ve already made so many conquests.”
Phoebe smiled politely at the condescending tone, but Anna tilted her nose and said, “Oh yes. I’m sure it’s vastly more entertaining to be in one’s second Season with leagues of conquests than it is to go through Season after Season for ages.”
A Regrettable Proposal Page 14
