Only You

by Cheryl Holt

  “Hardly that, but I won’t send you inside when it’s clearly such a trial for you.”

  They were over by the balustrade, and as he leaned his hips against the rail, she surreptitiously studied him.

  He was older than she was, probably mid-forties. He was tall and slim, not displaying the belly that most men his age acquired. In fact, he reminded her of Preston Price, being handsome and charming and urbane, but without the dodgy character.

  He still had all his hair, and it was a salt-and-pepper gray, his eyes brown. He had a grand mustachio that she’d term extravagant, but it gave him an intriguing appearance that made her want to know more about him. He seemed amused by life and humored by its absurdities.

  “I’m Theodosia Postlewaite.” She was brazen to introduce herself, but she’d never been one to stand on form. “Lord Wood is my father. This is our home.”

  On hearing her name, he blanched. “You are Lady Theo?”

  “Yes?” She said it in question, a bit unnerved by his reaction.

  “Aren’t you pretty as a picture?”

  “And aren’t you a flatterer?”

  “Not usually, but occasionally flowery speech just bursts out of me.” He pushed himself off the rail to bow over her hand. “I am Bernard Mountbank.”

  “You are Mr. Mountbank?”

  “Yes. I’m delighted to meet you.”

  “Ah…ah…yes, I’m delighted too,” she managed to choke out, and her tepid response had him laughing.

  “I see my reputation precedes me.”

  “It’s nothing like that,” she hastily claimed.

  “Let me guess: Isobel has filled your head with wild stories about me.”

  “Perhaps a few.”

  He grinned. “She would. She’s always been too set on herself by half.”

  “Yes, she’s a tad…proud.”

  “Proud doesn’t begin to describe her.”

  “You know her well?”

  “She was married to my brother for twenty years, so I can’t help but know her.”

  “It must have been an interesting time for your family.”

  “Ha!” he snorted. “That’s putting it mildly, Lady Theo. Some evening when I’ve had too much to drink, I’ll tell you all the scandalous tales about her.”

  “Will they shock my tender ears?”

  “Yes, but I’m betting you’re made of stern stuff. I’m sure you’ll hold up.”

  “Yes, I’m sure I will,” she agreed.

  “What do you think of Penelope?” Before Theo could devise a suitably vague reply, he said, “My brother was a brilliant, funny fellow. She’s such a fickle nuisance that I’ve frequently wondered if he could possibly have been her father.”

  “Mr. Mountbank!” Theo gasped in astonishment. “You shouldn’t be quite so forthcoming. You’re not from London, are you? It’s a spiteful place. You have to be cautious about spreading rumors. They disseminate like wildfire.”

  “I wouldn’t rush into the foyer and expound on it, but I figured you’d enjoy my opinion. Haven’t you been living with them for several weeks?”

  “Yes, it’s been almost two months.”

  “Your father hasn’t threatened to kick them out yet? He hasn’t threatened to divorce my niece?”

  “He’s not here very often.”

  “Smart man. They drove my poor brother to distraction.”

  “You have an odd view of the world, Mr. Mountbank.”

  “I have a realistic view.”

  “Maybe,” Theo allowed.

  They were silent for awhile, staring into the house. They could see the first set of dancers through the windows, and it was pleasing to watch them twirling past.

  “May I be frank with you, Lady Theo?” he eventually said.

  “More than you already have been?”

  “Yes. I like you.”

  “Well! That’s definitely being very frank.”

  “I’d like us to be friends.”

  “I hope we can be. We’re related all of a sudden.”

  “You’re aware why Isobel dragged me down to London. She’s plotting where we’re concerned.”

  Theo peeked over at him. “You mean about a betrothal between us?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t believe she raised the issue before you’d even met me. You must have thought we were both deranged.”

  “I did find it a bit peculiar.”

  “Peculiar is the perfect word. The woman’s mad as a hatter. You and I are strangers, and I’m so much older than you. Why would you consider me? You deserve someone your own age who can match your verve and energy.”

  “You don’t exactly appear to be in your dotage, Mr. Mountbank.”

  “When Isobel initially proposed the idea, I told her that you’d refuse, and she was insane to suggest it.”

  “It’s not you, Mr. Mountbank. It’s not personal. As you mentioned, we’re strangers, so I really haven’t a clue whether you’re husbandly material or not. I’m simply not in the mood to wed. Not you or anyone.”

  “Isobel said you’d recently had your heart broken.”

  Theo sighed with exasperation. “I wish Mrs. Mountbank would learn to mind her own business.”

  “She’s never been able to keep her mouth shut.” He peered over at her. “Was she telling me the truth? Was your heart broken?”

  Theo saw no reason to deny it. “Yes. Yes, it was.”

  “You’re still recovering from the experience.”

  “I don’t know if recovering is the correct term, but I’ve been a little despondent over what might have been.” She didn’t want to talk about her melancholia, for it made her think of Mr. Grey when she was determined never to think of him at all. “What about you, Mr. Mountbank? Are you interested in marrying? I’m supposing you are.”

  “I’ve been a widower for many years. I married when I was eighteen, and my wife died in childbirth. The notion didn’t appeal much after that.”

  “You have no children?”

  “No, and—as Isobel constantly nags—I should get some. I’m older now though, so I’m forced to introduce myself to younger and younger ladies, which has been a chore. I don’t have much in common with girls, but Isobel claimed you were very mature and wouldn’t annoy me, so I agreed to come down.”

  Theo snorted at that. When Mrs. Mountbank and her father had hatched their scheme, Mrs. Mountbank hadn’t met Theo so she would have had to rely on her father’s description. He’d never have deemed Theo to be mature. He found her to be flighty and infuriating.

  “Am I annoying?” she teasingly asked him. “Now that we’ve chatted, what is your opinion?”

  “You haven’t annoyed me—yet!”

  “Marvelous.”

  “But there’s still plenty of time.”

  He was smiling, looking dapper and happy, and she was surprised that she wasn’t repulsed by him. With her disliking Mrs. Mountbank so much, she’d assumed her brother-in-law would be horrid, but he was actually quite a fine fellow.

  “I have an idea,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “About us.”

  “Us! There is no us.”

  “I mean about Isobel pushing us together. She insists we’re a perfect match.”

  “My father has informed me that it’s a completed deal.”

  “Your father said that? I’ve never even discussed the subject with him. It’s awfully bold of him to presume I’d proceed without my laying eyes on you. You’re very pretty, but honestly! A man ought to have some choice in the matter.”

  “Absolutely. The woman too.”

  “Isobel can be relentless, so I’d like to get her off my back.”

  “And I would like my father off mine.”

  “So here is what I recommend. I’ll be in London for a month.”

  “I will enjoy making your acquaintance,” Theo sincerely replied.

  “We’ll become friends. We’ll dine out and attend the theater. We’ll tour the museums and the palaces. I haven
’t been to the city in fifteen years. We’ll sightsee.”

  “That would be very fun. I’ve hardly been out of the house since I arrived.”

  “We’ll socialize so we can decide if we like each other. We won’t let Isobel or your father pressure us.”

  “All right.”

  “When I’m ready to return to York, we’ll confer about a betrothal again, but it will be up to us. Not them. If in thirty days, you tell me you’re not interested, or if I discover you’re not the girl for me, we’ll both totally understand. How does that sound?”

  Theo deemed it the ideal solution to buy herself some breathing room. She wasn’t about to wed Mr. Mountbank. She wasn’t ever going to wed. Especially not after Mr. Grey had shown her the intimacies required between spouses.

  She would never participate in the marital act again. After doing it with Soloman Grey, she couldn’t imagine doing it with another man.

  “Your plan is very sensible,” she said. “Are you sure you’re related to Mrs. Mountbank?”

  “Just by marriage. It’s the only connection I’ll allow her to claim.”

  Theo chuckled. “I believe the next month will be very pleasant.”

  “I believe it will be too. Let’s start exploring the museums tomorrow. You can pick where you’d like to tour first.”

  “I will spend all night fussing about it.”

  “May I call on you at eleven?”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  He smiled, bowed, then went inside.

  She shrugged, nervous over what she’d set in motion and praying it would be as amusing as she was hoping. She could definitely use a friend. Would Mr. Mountbank truly be one? She’d be so disappointed if he wasn’t.

  “Well, darling, what is your opinion of her?”

  Isobel Mountbank casually took Bernard’s arm and maneuvered him into a corner where they could have a private conversation.

  “She’ll do,” he murmured.

  “She’s very fetching, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, very fetching. You weren’t lying about that at least.”

  “She’ll suit your purposes.”

  “I suppose.”

  “When is the wedding to be?” Isobel asked. “We’d like it accomplished by Christmas, but you’re welcome to elope with her if you’d like it over with sooner. Her father wouldn’t mind.”

  “We didn’t discuss the wedding.”

  “But Harold and I are in a hurry about it,” she groused. “And you certainly need to rush. Any delay is courting disaster.”

  “I told you we’d do it my way, Isobel. Or we won’t do it at all.”

  “That’s fine, so long as you do it. I intend to be rid of her in the fastest manner possible, and you need a bride immediately.”

  Isobel had known Bernard for twenty years. She wouldn’t say they loathed one another, but they absolutely understood one another, and they were each greedily driven to get what they wanted.

  She’d craved wealth and status and had always been determined to achieve both. She’d garnered the wealth by marrying his dolt of a brother, and she’d garnered the status by beginning her affair with Harold Postlewaite, by convincing him to wed Penelope.

  It had worked out splendidly. Isobel had brought serious money to the table and she still controlled most of it, so Harold was wrapped around her little finger. He had a pretty wife to bed at night, and Isobel had a beautiful home and a beautiful life with plenty of social standing, and everyone was happy.

  Except Theo, but Isobel didn’t care about her. She moped and staggered about like a phantom, watching Isobel’s every move and complaining about Isobel’s every decision. Isobel had reached her limit, and Theo had to find a new situation for herself.

  As to Bernard, he craved the freedom to be Bernard. He was a randy, handsome devil, courteous when he had to be, headstrong when he had to be too. But he had deviant tendencies, mostly involving young men who held an unnatural fascination for him. It was the reason he’d never wed.

  There had been a particularly nasty incident when he’d been on holiday in Scotland, and Isobel had only barely tamped it down and prevented him from being arrested. It had cost her an incredible amount to keep it all quiet, but she’d gladly paid the price.

  With her establishing herself in London, she couldn’t risk that he might engage in outrageous behavior and her name be attached to it. Plus, he needed the protection a wife would provide.

  Although Isobel had inherited most of her dead husband’s fortune—she’d been very conniving in persuading him to leave it to her—Bernard had inherited a bit of it too, enough to tide him over for several years. Yet he had expensive tastes, and he was rapidly running through his funds.

  She would add more to the pile so he had an even bigger nest egg, but the bargain they’d struck was that he had to depart England so when his next scandal erupted, no one in her world would ever learn of it. He had to go—and take Harold’s gorgeous, alluring daughter with him.

  Isobel viewed herself as being exceedingly magnanimous about the entire affair. Though Theo refused to realize it, Isobel was helping her.

  “What’s your plan, Bernard?” Her exasperation was extreme. She wanted a ring on that girl’s finger!

  “She’s still suffering from a broken heart.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake! She was tumbled—once!—by a disreputable cad in Cairo. She needs to get over it.”

  “If Lord Wood pushes her into a betrothal before she’s ready, she’ll never agree to have me. We’d have to force her.”

  “Well, he can force her. She would never defy him. If she tries, he’ll lock her in an asylum. After she’s out, we’ll see how insolent she intends to be.”

  “I’d rather talk her into it so she’s willing. You know I can, Isobel.”

  “Time is of the essence, Bernard. I really don’t believe you should tarry in England much longer.”

  “The authorities wouldn’t travel all the way from Scotland just to find me. Besides, you spent plenty to guarantee they didn’t follow me.”

  “They haven’t yet, but I don’t suppose it would be too difficult to figure out where you are. What if that young man’s father decides he’d like more money?”

  “I’m not worried about it. I will court Theo so I can win her friendship and approval. The minute she seems amenable, I’ll press ahead.”

  “But a month, Bernard! I don’t have to give you the funds I promised.”

  “And I don’t have to take that unwanted daughter off your hands. We’re in this together, Isobel, but you’ll have to permit me to manage the process.”

  A muscle ticked in her cheek. She hated that she wasn’t in charge, that she couldn’t command him. He’d always been recalcitrant. It’s why he always landed himself in so much trouble.

  “All right,” she grumbled. “You can court her. Bring her candy and flowers. Write poetry about the color of her eyes. Carve a statue of her for all I care, but get your lazy ass in gear and marry her! Don’t you dare screw this up.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “If you do, you’ll have to answer to Harold. He’ll turn you over to the authorities, and I won’t be able to stop him.”

  At the threat, he simply laughed. “Don’t be melodramatic. I can’t abide your hysterics.”

  “Then for once, don’t be an idiot.”

  “I won’t be. I’m calling on Theo in the morning to escort her to a museum.”

  “You? Touring a museum?”

  “Hilarious, isn’t it?”

  “Very hilarious.”

  “Be sure she’s up and ready, would you?”

  “I am ever your servant, Bernard,” she snidely retorted.

  “I’m doing you a favor, Isobel. I have no idea why, but I’m doing it.”

  “You’re doing it for money, you thick prick.”

  “Yes. Why are you doing it again?” His impudent gaze roamed down her perfect torso. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t want a
beautiful, single female living under the same roof. People might start to compare the two of you. Is it true that a woman begins to lose her looks after thirty-five?”

  “No.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Bugger off, you sod.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He winked and sauntered out, whistling as he went.

  She’d have liked to throw a vase at him, but she never would. Not with all of society watching, and she was so determined for all of them to love her.

  She kept her smile firmly in place and walked out to stroll among her guests.

  Edna heard a knock at the door, but she ignored it. She wasn’t expecting company, and she employed servants to handle menial tasks.

  Though she hated to admit it, she detested London and wished she hadn’t come back. She’d been away for too many years, adventuring with the Colonel in India. He’d been a larger-than-life character who’d been respected by all, so as his wife she’d been respected too.

  There had been camaraderie between the soldiers and their wives, which had generated balls and suppers and musicales. Summers had had them journeying together into the Himalayas to escape the heat. Winters had had them down in the flatlands, entertaining and socializing and generally having a grand time.

  After the Colonel had passed away, there had been no reason to stay in India, and the army policy was for widows to return home. She’d left as quickly as she could pack, but nothing about the city appealed to her. It was rainy, cold, and gray. The people were snobbish and shut off from each other.

  She’d assumed she’d easily assemble a circle of friends, that she’d be as busy as she’d been in India, but it hadn’t transpired.

  It was autumn, winter swiftly approaching, so the weather was worse then ever. The house was quieter than ever. She still hadn’t made any friends. No one called on her. No introductions were sought. No invitations arrived. The silence was driving her mad.

  The long, tedious days should have been filled by her children, but those dreams had been dashed. She didn’t know or understand them and didn’t like them very much. She had her widow’s benefit and a small trust fund. Perhaps what she needed was to retire to a pretty coastal town, maybe in Italy or Spain. She would loaf on the beach as the sun set in a purple sky over the ocean.