by Jenni James
He looked over at her. “You wish me to remove myself?”
“Yes.” She glanced pointedly at the cards in his hand. “Set those down and make your way over to your friends, where it is obvious you desire to be. Lord Seldon has already won, and we need the cards to shuffle up once more.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon.” He flushed bright red and dropped the cards. Collecting them quickly into a bundle, he passed them over and then stood up and bowed. “If you will excuse me.”
The older gentleman nodded, and his mother’s puzzled look curved into a beam. “Do not forget to share all the details with me. Her name, her parents’ names, her house—find out everything.”
He leaned over and kissed his mama’s cheek before whispering, “I do not need to find out anything, for I already know who the girl is. ’Tis Lady Romney, the late Earl of Huntingdon’s widow, the dowager countess.”
“Oh, George!” His mother’s gasp and appalled look were everything he had hoped they would be as he stepped away from the table and headed toward that exact lovely lady.
CHAPTER TEN:
Catherine braced herself as she saw Lord Hamson making his way over to her. Her focus turned even more completely toward the dashing Lord Atten. It was best if one seemed to be happily engaged, instead of the truth. For indeed, it had taken a full two hours to convince herself to pluck up the courage to come, and now that Lord Atten had sought her out again, it would seem those nerves had nearly trebled. It was one thing to come to a house party and play a few games and to intermingle with others, but it was quite another to be worried over what they must all be whispering about her and her apparently unvirtuous nature.
Good heavens! She was becoming warm just thinking about the horridness of the prattling of society. And as much as she had spent the last few days preparing herself to take the Ton by storm, it was rather inconvenient, and not as easy as she had convinced herself it would be.
“Would you like to go driving with me around Hyde Park tomorrow?” Lord Atten asked just as Lord Hamson appeared at her side.
“Why, thank you, yes!” she replied, perhaps a little too brightly.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Hamson take a few steps backward. Good. Perhaps Lord Atten’s attention would show Lord Hamson not to be so impolite. Though to be fair, it was most likely not his fault that people were speaking about her the way they were. He needed to truly see what it was like to have her being pursued by another, and then perhaps he would not take such heed toward those who repeat such hurtful things.
For a man she could not abide, she had no excuse for why he filled so many of her thoughts. Mayhap it was the way one of his short-cropped curls seemed to go awry no matter how much pomade he put in his hair. Or perhaps it was his easy manners with his mother and willingness to play at the older table that tugged at her heartstrings, for what young man would go out of his way to claim a game table with the older set? It was endearing. Even if he was preposterous and horridly rude, he could still be somewhat—nay, a very little bit—charming, could he not?
“Lady Romney?” Lord Atten burst through her musings.
“Er, yes? Forgive me. I find I was woolgathering.”
He chuckled slightly and then nodded his head. “No matter. I was merely attempting to confirm a time for driving tomorrow. Is four o’clock convenient?”
“Tis perfect, my lord.”
He glanced over, and she saw that he caught Lord Hamson’s eye and then asked graciously, “Will you permit me to fetch you some refreshment? I see that a nice spread is being laid out by the staff as we speak. Would you like a sandwich, some fruit, or cheese, perhaps? Truly, I would be happy to return with anything you desire.”
“Well!” She grinned. “I hardly know how to answer such generosity.” She could feel small twinges of hunger and remembered that she had been so anxious, she had forgone supper. “I find I am quite famished. Please return with whatever you consider agreeable. I will leave that discretion up to you. And thank you for kindly thinking of me.”
He bowed and then glanced at Lord Hamson again before taking his leave.
After a few moments of silence, when that lord continued to stand near her, she finally spoke up. “Come now, Lord Hamson. Are you not even going to say hello? Or offer me refreshment as well?”
“I . . . Hello, Lady Romney. How are you this fine evening?”
She smiled and tilted her head. “A little better. And how do you get on? Are you done playing cards?”
He shrugged and glanced down at his boots before grinning ruefully. “I am afraid I have been cast away from the tables. I was not attending as I should be, and was told to retire my hand so the others could continue.”
She bit her lip from the sudden giggle that produced itself. “And why is that, my lord?”
His earnest gaze met hers. All at once, she was reminded again why she had preferred him over any other gentleman four years ago. A slight dimple played peek-a-boo as he hesitated before answering, “You. I could not tear my attentions away from you.”
“Me?” She was surprised and decided to bring him down a peg. No sense tumbling over his charms when he felt other women were more to his taste. “Are you certain it was me, Lord Hamson? Am I not too damaged for the likes of you?” A clear reminder that she had no business finding him charming at all.
He blanched, as she hoped he would, and then attempted a grin. “A direct hit, my dear. Straight to the heart.”
“The heart! You do not say.” Her own core raced wildly. Indeed, the man was a cursed fiend, the way he could make her feel! It was dreadful to be so fluttery around him. With an arch of her brow, she continued. “I would not know what that felt like,” she brazenly lied. “For your part, I hope it is not too painful, and will last but a short duration.”
He took a deep breath as he reacted to her fresh verbal arrow and then said simply, “Lady Romney, I fear neither of us are prepared for this encounter this evening. If you will allow me to do so, I must bid you adieu.” He bowed low as her chest grew heavy.
“Of course you may leave. I see that Lord Atten is making his way back anyhow.”
And there was the final strike. His eyes belied the pain he attempted to conceal as he nodded once and then left. Her upper body ached painfully for him, but it could not be helped. Neither of them would benefit from the other anymore. It was time they both put their past infatuation aside and progressed forward.
CHAPTER ELEVEN:
George made his way into his quarters, walked over to his large canopied four-poster bed, and then landed himself upon it. This would not do. Lord Atten could not be serious in his devotions to Lady Romney, could he? What would his family say to the match?
George stared up at the ancient embroidered covering above him and wished himself a millions miles away from this appalling town. There was nothing he could do about anything, anyway. It was best to allow their new romance to run its course and then step away.
Except, was he willing to be present to the whole of their flirtations the rest of his life? Atten was a particular companion of his, and if he were to wed Lady Romney, George saw nothing for it but to lose his friendship overall, for he would not be able to endure to see them together.
George sighed and spent a good deal of time acting the sop and bemoaning his fate until finally, thankfully, some small part of something triggered past the absurd dismal feelings he was having and clicked into his brain. Was he truly foolish enough to allow the woman he had pined for be swept away by another man yet again?
He sat up in bed as this odd feeling of determination began to spread through him. Why in the world would he lay here in agonies when it was up to him to put this all to rights?
Atten was right! Botheration! Why was his mother, or anyone else, allowed to decide for him what to ponder and feel? He had the tenderest of feelings for the lady, and nothing would change that.
She needed him. She might not discern such feelings at the moment—clearly,
she felt she desired him to be as distant as possible. Yet that did not matter one jot because he recognized the truth. Yes, he had unspeakably stuck his foot in it this time, but he could and should rally. There was no reason why he did not make it up to the lady.
She deserved a grand gesture. Something prominently and distinctly so thoughtful and unique that she would straightaway remember their time together before and allow those warm, happy memories to return.
Lady Romney preferred him—or at least, she had at one time. There was no reason why he could not repent from his blunder and press forward with his suit. None at all.
A grin spread its way across his face. Now, what could possibly be such a gift of contrition for the lady?
***
Earlier that week, Lady Romney had received a letter from Mrs. Darell, a particular friend of her late husband and his departed wife, an older woman who had been connected to the family for years. She had heard that Catherine was in town and desired her to come over for a chat, as she had been laid up and could not get about as she was once wont to do.
Catherine had responded immediately that she would be by sometime within the sennight. After having Cook prepare a rather full basket of jams, breads, scones, and sweetmeats, she left quite early at eleven o'clock that morning to guarantee she could return in time to rest for a bit afterward before their evening preparations to go out began.
As it was Thursday, her stepdaughter-in-law intended to spend some time making rounds to more than a few women. It seemed the perfect excuse to allow Sophia to visit her friends without putting anyone out. There were only so many unfamiliar people’s homes Catherine could go to before she could feel the beginnings of the headache coming on. There was nothing more tedious than listening to several women blather on about the exact same things and people and fashions as the last three calls before them.
Mrs. Darell was a pleasantly plump sort of woman, who laughed a little too loudly and whose shrewdness seemed to make one squirm at times. But overall, she was a gentle sort, who cared greatly for those around her. She had a prodigious soft spot in her heart for her dear friend, the late Countess of Huntingdon, and was wont to extol over her aptitudes as anyone else, but thankfully, she did not do so for very long this time. Instead, she and Catherine had a rather nice tête-à-tête.
In fact, if she were not careful, Catherine would be revealing all the sad and terrible details of her own life to the woman, yet she found she was able to leave the place politely just short of an hour with her tears and dignity intact. "I promise I will be along again soon," Catherine said after slipping into her kid gloves and kissing the older woman's cheek. "It has been a wonderful coze. Thank you for thinking of me."
"Not at all! Not at all!" Mrs. Darell smiled, her wrinkles wreathing about her face. "See that you do come again. I still have yet to discover about this rascal Lord Hamson, whom I have heard so much about."
Catherine froze while buttoning her pelisse in the front room of the widow's home. "And how could you have heard such a name as Lord Hamson? And why would you suppose it would have anything to do with me?"
"Oh, p'shaw! Do not play coy with me, young lady. Even now, I see the redness in your cheeks. Ah-ha! I shall discover this secret as soon as I am able, and then you must come and confess the whole of it to me."
Clearly, Mrs. Darell had little to do and much more time than she needed, for why would anyone wish to know such things of a mere acquaintance? Let alone someone of such odd relation as Catherine was to her friends and family. She sighed and smiled a little. "I honestly have not one notion what you are speaking of, but I cannot deny you the splendor of settling upon a secret and finding its darkest parts. Though I must warn you, I fear you will be greatly disappointed with any secret of mine." Catherine chuckled, squeezed the lady's hand, and then said simply, "I will have the butler see me out. Thank you again for your invitation. We shall do it again sometime."
With the close of the door of the house behind her, the dowager countess took a deep breath while climbing into her awaited carriage and then marveled at how fast word traveled amongst the Ton.
However, she mused as she reached the new earl's home, the rest of the afternoon was cleared for whatever enjoyment she wished. No more gossip, no more uncomfortable questions—merely peace and quiet.
Yet it was not above a quarter of an hour, while she rested in the upstairs library reading some sort of decadent fluff of a Gothic novel, that the butler rapped upon the door and disturbed her.
CHAPTER TWELVE:
"There is a Lord Hamson here to see you, my lady," Chaffney said. "Are you at home?"
Catherine attempted not to groan as she closed the book, her finger still marking her spot. "I wish I could say I was not at home, but I know this man. He will continue to pester us all for several days until I agree to see him. ’Tis best to get this sort of thing over with now, I suppose."
"Very good, my lady. Although I should caution you, he appears to have brought a gift."
What madness was the man up to now? She removed her finger from the book and set the volume upon the nearest table. "Very well. Show him into the drawing room."
"Perhaps not, my lady."
She blinked. "Whatever do you mean by that?" Then she chuckled. "Why, I have never seen you look so uncomfortable, Chaffney. What has happened? What is it about this particular present you have not told me?"
"I fear, my lady, that he has brought you something that is not considered a proper gift. Not at all the thing."
Her brows rose as she imagined all sorts of very improper presents. "Are you to leave me in suspense?"
Chaffney cleared his throat. "My lady, I am afraid to mention that it is in a large basket with a blanket over it, and moves around much like a baby."
Good heavens! What could the outrageous lord be about? Catherine stood up. "Well, perhaps we had best bring him into the upstairs parlor in case the countess comes home earlier than expected. Send down for tea, and let Lord Hamson know I will be there presently."
Chaffney bowed. "Very good, my lady."
Catherine took another flight of stairs and made her way to the guest rooms. They had nicely situated her in a cheerful pink-and-white room, with a large wardrobe and four-poster bed. With the nursery above her, she could hear her step-grandson's little rambunctious feet as he played with his nurse. Catherine could not help but smile. She might never know the beauty of having a child of her own, but she had her dear Joshua's hugs and kisses and never-ending sunshine to make up for it.
Just this morning, she and he had played a fun game of soaring hawks. They flapped their arms and dashed about the room, make-believing to be birds of prey as they leaped upon the little toys strewn about the nursery. She and his nurse had often used the game as an exercise to get him to clean his room, swooping down, collecting the toys, and safely depositing them in the chest or shelves where they belonged. However, this time, as his room had already been cleaned, Joshua quickly dispersed several toys about the floor, and the two of them giggled as they tidied the nursery back up.
How she longed for an endless gaggle of her very own children. It was one of those secret longings she craved most, yet did not have the heart to reveal to anyone. Nevertheless, having her own children was one thing, and being gifted a baby was something else entirely. Certainly, Chaffney was mistaken . . .
She changed from her frothy morning gown into a much more serviceable gray muslin—something that could withstand whatever Lord Hamson had thought to bring her—and headed back to the less-formal family parlor.
"My butler said you have brought me a baby!" she announced as she walked over to Lord Hamson and held out her hand. "Clearly, the basket is large enough. However, I am not sure how to respond to such a gift, if it is indeed an infant."
Lord Hamson bowed over her hand and came up with a mischievous gleam in his eye as he attempted a faux pout. "And what if you have just dashed my very expectations? Whatever am I to do with the babe now?" He h
eld the red cloth-covered basket close to his chest and wrapped an arm around it. "You were my last hope."
Catherine shook her head and allowed a small grin to form. "And what tomfoolery would ever allow you to suppose I would take such an outlandish gift from you, you reprobate? Now come and show me what you have brought, for the movements under that blanket have me more curious than ever before."
"Alas, my lady, you wound me," he exclaimed, presumably attempting to keep up the charade. "I have searched night and day for help with this particular scamp, and have no one to turn to but you. Will you not have a change of heart and consider accepting the thing before I show it to you?"
"What sort of black-guarded nonsense is this?" She put her hands on her hips. "Now, out with it. What are you hiding in there? Whatever it is, it is most definitely becoming distressed. Do you not hear the muffled noises within? Let it out so it can breathe properly, and stop frightening the poor thing."
"Very well." Lord Hamson turned his back to her and then said over his shoulder, "But if you are to know the truth, I must warn you now, I have brought this as a peace offering."
"You brought a peace offering? For what?" Though she knew perfectly well why, it was best to hear it all from him in its entirety so she did not accidentally jump to even more conclusions of her own.
"Because I am a knuckleheaded rat who deserves whatever fate has decided to throw his way." He slipped the red cover off and then turned to allow the most charming of all gray kittens to peep his head out of the basket and mew most adorably at her.
"Lord Hamson!" She had not one notion go through her mind except for perhaps to note just how adorably the kitten's fuzzy ears had the blackest of tips on them, or how exceptionally pretty its blue eyes were. "Wherever did you find him?" she finally asked, her fingers itching to clutch the tiny thing to her. "I cannot believe you have had him hidden away in that basket this whole time. The poor thing must be scared out of its wits."
