by Heather Boyd
“Will you let Virginia run your home then?”
“No. She needs her own life. I had thought to give them to—”
Daventry, seated on her other side, interrupted, and pulled her into his conversation, a discussion of the latest crop of debutantes. Daventry smiled cheekily at Jack, and Jack brushed her thigh again under the table. Constance twisted away, certain he’d been about to mention his intended bride even while flirting with her.
~ * ~
Bernard toyed with his wine glass as Virginia spoke to the Marquess of Taverham to the exclusion of all others. She was doing a fine job of ignoring him tonight.
Frustrated, he turned to his dinner partner. “How has the young lad from Bruton Street settled in, Miss Birkenstock?”
Since the charity was her favorite subject, he could depend upon Miss Birkenstock speaking for some time. Perhaps it would distract him from brooding over Virginia’s continued snubs.
The girl responded as he hoped, and as she was speaking, he gave her half his attention. Miss Birkenstock was pretty, intelligent, and very dedicated to the orphans. Though it was not an interest he shared strongly, he did contribute to the charity.
“I must say, you are looking quite lovely tonight, Virginia,” Taverham remarked, his voice warm and full of praise. “Bringing Miss Grange to London appears to have been very good for you. I am glad Jack agreed.”
Virginia’s face flamed at the compliment, and Bernard forced his eyes to leave her.
But they fell on Lord Daventry—watching Virginia.
The burn of anger flared in his chest. The man had an insatiable appetite. If Daventry placed one hand, or anything else, on Virginia, he was a dead man. He supposed shooting his friend was in bad taste, but really, once Daventry had gotten through with any woman, there was almost nothing left of them.
Daventry whispered to Carrington, who in turn glanced at Virginia. The admiring light to the young man’s gaze infuriated him.
One of them would have her. One of them would win her affections when Bernard had been chasing them all his life.
Enough of this torture—he was leaving tomorrow. No, the day after. He needed to find a new valet first.
Bernard pushed back and left his fellow diners gasping behind him. He’d start packing his books tonight.
~ * ~
Virginia breathed a sigh of relief when Bernard returned to the drawing room. Lord Daventry and Lord Taverham had cornered her for the last half an hour and she was running out of polite things to say. She excused herself, then headed for where Bernard stood speaking to Agatha Birkenstock. She caught the end of their conversation and heard Bernard arranging a meeting.
Virginia’s step faltered, but years of training allowed her to keep moving.
“… at ten o’clock. Thank you.”
Bernard bowed and ignored Virginia’s approach in favor of heading for the brandy.
“Isn’t it wonderful news?” Agatha Birkenstock exclaimed. “Lord Hallam is in need of a valet before he returns to the country. Richard should suit him very well.”
Bernard was returning home?
Virginia could not get her head around the idea. He rarely went home. He always returned to Oxford. Unnerved by his decision, Virginia sought him out. Bernard sat nursing his brandy by himself, but gazing away from the guests.
Given his slumped posture and weary expression, Virginia blinked in astonishment.
Nothing ever crushed Bernard Hallam’s confidence once he set his mind to something. He had defied his family and his peers to teach, ignoring their disapproval.
Nervously, she sat beside him.
Without a word, Bernard passed over his brandy glass.
Their fingers brushed innocently as the drink changed hands, yet he curled his fingers into his palm as if that touch affected him. That fleeting brush reminded Virginia that she always felt safe with Bernard. She took a small sip of his brandy and handed it back.
The brandy soured in her belly as Bernard deliberately avoided touching her again.
She frowned, suddenly uncertain. “I understand you’re going to Parkwood soon.”
He leaned back, crossed his legs away from her, and scanned the room. “Yes, the day after tomorrow.”
Not to be put off by his tone, Virginia stared at him. “Why?”
“Some things must be given up,” he finally admitted.
She gasped “You’re not leaving Oxford?”
“I am. I tendered my notice last month,” he said. “Mother can no longer manage.”
Virginia clenched her hands together as her emotions soured. “Yet you have stayed in London for weeks.”
“I thought there was something here that I wanted—something that might need me too. But I seem to be causing more discomfort than good. I should return home.”
Virginia’s heart raced with panic. Could he be referring to herself? “You never give up on anything. Why now?”
Bernard grimaced, gaze turning to the far side of the room. Taverham and Daventry watched them. “If I were a betting man I would say that the odds are not in my favor. There are much more distinguished gentleman about that would suit a marquess’ sister.”
Virginia panicked. She wanted no greater friendship with Daventry or Taverham. And although she had intended to repulse Bernard’s advances to avoid confessing her terror of intimacy, she hadn’t thought about how he would react. There was something in his tone that made it sound as though he would never see her again, which was ridiculous because his estate marched alongside Hazelmere. Yet in reaching for peace, she had wounded him with her coldness and fears.
The brandy’s heat curled in Virginia’s belly and a flush built up her chest. She did not want him to go. She felt safe with him. She trusted him. She needed him.
“Don’t go,” she blurted out, unable to stop the words from spilling from her lips.
Beside her, Bernard uncrossed his legs, and turned his body to face hers. His knee brushed her thigh. “Are you certain?”
Virginia stood on a precipice. How she answered would affect the rest of her life. Bernard Hallam was not the kind of man to engage a lady in a casual affair. She knew his character better now. He would want to walk about with her on his arm, and he would not care how society perceived any indiscretion.
Bernard’s attentions were sincere and if she agreed, they would be a permanent part of her days. He would want marriage and the intimacies between lovers. Yet he cared for her wellbeing. He would leave her in peace if she wanted it, but that thought made her quake.
Virginia nodded.
Bernard passed her his glass. “Take a drink before you fall apart on me.”
Although amusement tinged his words she ignored it and drank down a mouthful. She had just agreed to let Bernard bed her. Her hands shook around the glass, and she swallowed another mouthful. He touched her lightly on the arm and took the glass. In her panic, she’d emptied it.
~ * ~
Jack struggled to focus as Hallam’s head poked around his sitting room door. He looked nervous. Amused with this turn of events, Jack settled more comfortably to wait for the inevitable discussion.
“Care for some company?” Hallam asked, pouring himself a drink.
Jack was too foxed to refuse, so he waved him over to the opposite lounge. Apparently, he had enjoyed his own dinner party to excess. Unhindered by society, he had indulged in a way he wasn’t used to: food, wine, spirits, and Pixie.
Raising his glass, he gave a silent toast to his inspired and somewhat devious seating plan. Pixie, within easy reach all night, had savored every bite of food—and Jack had enjoyed watching her do it. Outside his home, that kind of attention attracted gossip, but he trusted his friends would be discreet.
Hallam drained his glass and refilled it, then took Jack’s half-empty tumbler and filled it to the brim. Hallam must want something very badly. Jack knew what that was.
The glass wavered before Jack, but he took a mouthful and struggled to focus on the
other man. “What do you want?”
“Virginia.”
Jack chuckled at his friend’s honesty. “My sister insisted when we were seven that I was not to consider myself her master. And do you know, I don’t care for another bloodied nose at my age.”
“I think she just agreed.”
“Well now, that changes everything. Go get her.” Jack waved his arm toward the door in encouragement and splashed his drink across the floor. “Just don’t hurt her.”
“That is the last thing on my mind.”
“But is she the only thing?” Jack pressed, suddenly clear-headed. “If you run back to Oxford, you will make her unhappy.”
“Your sister is the only thing that matters,” Hallam promised, and then drained yet another glass.
“Just as well.”
Hallam grunted and lifted his head, boring holes into his head. “When did you become enamored with Pixie?”
“God knows, but it is damned inconvenient,” Jack replied, slouching in his chair once more. “And it does not matter.”
“Doesn’t matter—are you mad? The chit likes you.”
“She might like me now, but she doesn’t want to marry me. Didn’t even make the damned list,” he grumbled, dragging himself upright and heading for his empty bed.
“She appeared very comfortable with your hands all over her tonight. You could easily change her mind.”
“Why does everyone say that?” Jack asked as the walls wavered.
“You could ask,” Hallam pressed.
“And get laughed at. I think not.” Jack turned back. “You know, I always wanted an older brother. Congratulations, and welcome to the family.”
“Perhaps you should seduce her,” Hallam suggested.
Jack slumped against the wall as the room spun. “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“FOR GOD’S SAKE, when was the last time you saw a tailor?” Ettington demanded.
“A while ago.” Bernard adjusted the cuff yet again as the new clothes resisted molding to his body. “What does a scholar need fancy clothes for?”
“I think you frightened Mr. Kemble witless,” Ettington muttered. “If I had known you were going to growl at him so much, I would have sent you elsewhere. He’s sure to levy a tax on me.”
Bernard grunted as pain lanced his backside. He reached for his drink. “He should be more careful with his pins.”
“He is perfectly capable when given a subject that stands still and does not fidget as you did today,” Ettington argued. “At least the size of your order will comfort him tonight.”
Bernard could not think of a socially acceptable reply he could use in White’s without fear of expulsion, so he took a long, calming drink to avoid a response.
He had just spent an obscene amount of money to replace his entire wardrobe.
Initially, tensions had risen when the fussy Mr. Kemble had handled his existing clothes using just two fingers. There had not been that much wrong with them.
The tailor had stripped him bare and replaced every article, while his friend, Ettington, sat by, supporting his aching head and trying not to laugh. Watching Ettington’s struggle had left Bernard even more irritated.
When the pins had pricked him … well, it was better not to think about that moment, or the ones after. If not for Virginia, he would not be torturing himself like this.
He swallowed his drink quickly. Virginia had particular grievances about his attire, and if he wanted her to take him seriously, then he had to look the part. That meant a good tailor, and a valet to dress him. He adjusted the cuff again as Ettington barked out a short laugh.
“Come, are you fortified enough to face my sister?”
“One more, I believe.” Yes, one more barrel should do the trick.
“All right, one more. But she will have to see your finery at some point.”
Bernard signaled for refills. “What did you decide last night? Are you going to pursue your Pixie?”
“Damn, I was hoping I had dreamed that conversation.” Ettington looked green.
“The chit was looking for you at breakfast this morning,” Bernard murmured, but was unable to restrain a smile.
“My head wasn’t good company,” Ettington groaned. “How is Virginia today?”
“Looking just a little seedy too,” Bernard said. “She gave herself a large shock last night. Are you planning to attend the Malvey ball?”
Bernard needed a plan that might progress his relationship with Virginia, something where his lady might feel adventurous enough to risk a kiss.
“The masque? We have not decided. Our next engagement is the theatre tonight. Beyond that, we have no firm plans. Do you want us to attend?”
“Perhaps.” Bernard thought a moment. “You are doing it again you know—speaking for your sister.”
“Actually, I was not just speaking for Virginia. Miss Grange has an agenda of her own that must be catered to.”
“You don’t sound pleased.”
Ettington shrugged and Bernard decided to let the matter drop. He didn’t care to aggravate Virginia’s twin. Ettington could handle his own courtship.
But Bernard needed to tread carefully with Virginia. She seemed easily frightened and had a complex sense of decorum. He twirled his drink around the glass, and an idea struck. It was not quite the gentlemanly thing to do, but he could always get Virginia drunk. Not to get her into bed, but to get her used to being touched—just enough to let her guard down. As it was, she flinched every time he made an attempt.
Bernard placed the empty glass down on the table and stood. Better to get this over with sooner rather than later.
~ * ~
“And there is no hope?”
“None at all,” Constance confessed. “The head groom believes it will collapse before the first mile, so it will have to be replaced, but...”
“Oh, I am sorry,” Virginia interrupted. “Perhaps ... perhaps you could borrow one of Jack’s if the matter comes up. I cannot imagine why it should, however.”
“I cannot always be going about in the marquess’ carriages. It does not seem right,” Constance told her.
Could she admit again that she did not like receiving charity? There had been another parcel delivered for her today, a heavy, embroidered wrap perfect for an evening when the air was cooler. Just the night before, Constance had admired Miss Birkenstock’s wrap and longed for one just like it. Apparently, Jack could read her mind.
“It is not an issue of what is right, but what we are happy to do. I would hate to think we had chased you away so soon. You have only just arrived. Please reassure me there is no rush to leave us?” Virginia’s eyes shadowed with concern.
“No, I cannot imagine leaving yet,” Constance promised, but dread settled in her belly. “We have still too many things to do.”
“Like finding you a husband?”
“There is that.” Actually, the idea of finding a husband had become an agonizing venture to imagine. Constance had actually given serious thought to debtor’s prison as an alternative. Although, running away to sea, as Jack had suggested, did have some merit too.
“I hope my brother is treating you better,” she continued.
“Yes, of course he is. He has been very generous. I could not, in good conscience, ask for more.” Constance turned away. Jack’s friendly behavior was terrifying because she knew it wouldn’t last.
“Do you know that any other woman would do just that? He would never refuse you. You should be pleased.”
“Virginia, I do not wish to quarrel, but your brother has been far too generous as it is. I should not impose on the marquess and you know it.”
“Pixie, I believe my brother is your friend as much as I. He would not put himself out as much as he has if you were an imposition.”
“I don’t belong here, Virginia. Heavens, I almost skewered Miss Scaling in the middle of a ballroom. I have become a menace to society.”
“Nons
ense, you did Jack a great service. That chit had her hands all over him, didn’t you see?” Virginia asked. “Just be who you are, Pixie. That is all we want.”
Constance looked off toward the house and spotted Jack at his study window. Some of her surprise must have registered with Virginia, for she looked to the house, gestured for her brother to join them, and dragged Constance over to meet him.
It was strange, but whenever she lifted her head lately, Jack watched her. He was probably checking to make sure she wasn’t getting into more trouble.
As he approached, Virginia dropped her arm. “Just in time, my dear. Do excuse me. I must return to the house for a moment.”
“That was subtle,” Jack mused aloud. But he collected Constance’s arm and strolled away from the house.
Her heart fluttered when Jack’s hand settled over hers. They ambled along the paths, heading toward a shaded garden seat. When Jack gestured for her to sit and then joined her, she couldn’t be more surprised. Although they sat in companionable silence, Constance was glad for the time to get her mind to function properly again. Strolling about on Jack’s arm, when there was no need, confused her almost as much as the scent of him did.
“What do you think of the place?” Jack asked, keeping hold of her unresisting hand. It was so delicate compared to his.
“I think it’s lovely,” Constance stuttered.
~ * ~
Jack studied her with a mixture of fascination and dread. Everything she did and said, had to be examined. He already knew a great deal about her, but he had never considered that one day he might want to wake up beside her and fall asleep there too. It would take him a little time to reorganize his thoughts, until the idea was as comfortable as breathing.
He drew in a sharp breath, scenting her perfume on the air. “What does the garden need, Pixie? You have an excellent eye for this kind of thing.”
