by Gayle Buck
Lady Pomerancy snorted. “Pah! What has that to say to anything! In my day, a young girl’s future was arranged for her by her family and she was properly grateful to have it to be so. There was none of this misguided emphasis placed upon love matches that we see in these days.”
Mr. Hawkins knew better than to remind his grandmother that her daughter, the lady who had been his mother, had been just so fortunate to have enjoyed such a love match. “I bow to your superior wisdom, ma’am.”
Quick to catch his neutral tone, Lady Pomerancy regarded her grandson with a shade of suspicion. She smiled suddenly. “You are discretion itself, my dear. I know quite well what you are thinking, never assume that I do not. You are thinking of your own mother.”
Mr. Hawkins bowed from the waist. A smile lurked in his eyes as he said, “I am an open book to you, I perceive.”
“Oh, aye, as though I have not learned through the years to allow you the privacy of your thoughts.” Lady Pomerancy snorted in derision.
Mr. Hawkins raised his brows in query. “I hope that I am not so rag-mannered as to refuse any reasonable question from yourself, my lady.”
“Oh, you are never rag-mannered, my dear! I would not have borne that, you may be sure,” said Lady Pomerancy, a glint in her eyes. “Only, there comes a certain expression into your eyes that warns off any intrusion. Even as a boy, you regarded any attempt to extract your reasonings as a violation, to be endured but resisted with a stubborn reserve that upon occasion I found to be most annoying.”
Her ladyship’s scowl was so ferocious that Mr. Hawkins laughed outright. “I see that I was a positive trial to you, ma’am.”
“Aye, and you still are,” retorted Lady Pomerancy, trying unsuccessfully to maintain her severity. Her voice softened. “The day you came to my care, I had little inkling then of the troubles that would thereafter beset me. Childish diseases and scraped knees and positive agonies of suspense until you had mastered the Latin verbs. Once you had the Latin, and the Greek, I breathed freer. I knew then that you had the proper turn of mind to match your physical prowess and that you had the potential to become the perfect gentleman.”
Mr. Hawkins’s mouth quirked in a lopsided smile as he regarded his grandmother. “I fear that I do not yet meet up to your high expectations for me, my lady.”
“On the contrary. You have met and surpassed all my expectations for you, Peter. The years of tutors and fencing and dancing masters were a sound investment. The education at Oxford that you received deepened an already well-informed understanding, while the grand tour which you undertook smoothed the last rough edges of your character to a pleasing, yet sober, patina of sophistication.” Lady Pomerancy gave a sharp nod. “Indeed, I could not be more pleased with you, Peter.”
Mr. Hawkins was overcome. These were high accolades indeed from the stem lady who had been the guiding force of his formative years. He reached over to lift his grandmother’s misshapen fingers to his lips in grateful salute. Quietly he said, “I know full well that I could not have had a better guardian than yourself, ma’am. It was not an easy task to take on the upbringing and education of a five-year-old boy.”
Lady Pomerancy shrugged. “I saw my duty, however. Was I to leave my orphaned grandson to the casual offices of my brother, Horace? That wastrel, that womanizer! Why, if you had not died of neglect first, you would have attained manhood with just as little notion of propriety and moral fortitude as that gentleman holds. No, I would not have it, even though Horace offered to take you on. Horace felt obligated, of course, since your father had been his heir.”
Her ladyship reflected for a short moment. “I must give him credit for that much, I suppose, though I don’t doubt he would have regretted it within the hour. He was always one to speak first and to think last.”
Mr. Hawkins smiled at this sharp analysis of his great-uncle, who was an extremely selfish gentleman beneath a bluff and good-natured exterior. “No, I would not have fared half so well at the viscount’s hands,” he agreed soberly.
“No. Nor would you have flourished in Lord Waithe’s household,” said Lady Pomerancy. She said loftily, “I do not dislike my son-in-law. However, it has been my regret for these several years that his lordship lacks a certain quality that I deem essential in the well-rounded gentleman.”
Since Lady Pomerancy’s irascible opinion regarding the Earl of Nottingbook’s limited intelligence had been openly and often expressed, Mr. Hawkins had little difficulty in interpreting her ladyship’s meaning. However, Lady Pomerancy’s reference did recall to him the short note that he had received. “By the by, I have had word from Percy. He wishes to come down from London to visit with us. I trust that will not put you out, my lady?”
“You must have whomever you wish, Peter. By all means, let Percy rusticate with us,” said Lady Pomerancy cordially. “However, pray do not expect me to bestow a perpetual smile or nod on your cousin’s rattle-pated prattle. He is as cloth-headed as his father and sports-mad, as well. I shall not pretend to you, or to that nodcock for that matter, that I enjoy constant babblings about this race or that.”
“Percy mentioned nothing about a race, ma’am, so you may rest easy,” said Mr. Hawkins soothingly.
However, there was such a pronounced twinkle in his eyes that it made Lady Pomerancy slant a shrewd glance at him. “Then it is hunting or fisticuffs that brings him, for I am certain that it is not my company that he seeks out.”
“You are perfectly right on all counts, ma’am, as always,” said Mr. Hawkins politely.
“Aye, I do not doubt it in the least,” retorted Lady Pomerancy. “The pair of you share at least one quality, my dear. Percy also is the politest of creatures when it suits him.”
“My cousin goes in abject terror of your frowns, ma’am,” assured Mr. Hawkins.
“Does he, indeed.” Lady Pomerancy was openly pleased. “Percy has a degree of intelligence I had not heretofore suspected. Of course you must have him here, my dear. I will not have it said that I turned away any member of my family out of sheer prejudice, however justifiable.”
Mr. Hawkins rose to his feet. He bent to kiss her ladyship’s cheek. “I shall write Percy at once and relay your kind forbearance, my lady.”
“Rogue.” Lady Pomerancy waved him away, hiding the pleasure that she took in his fond salute. “I cannot conceive what it is that you have found in Percy besides an amusing rattle-pate.”
“No, I do not suppose that you do,” said Mr. Hawkins, declining to enlighten her, just as he had chosen not to do years before.
He would never tell her of the misery he had endured at Oxford before he had been befriended by his cousin, Viscount Waithe.
Awkward and shy when he found himself in the company of his contemporaries for the first time in his sheltered existence, his exceptional reserve had marked him as an outcast amongst his youthful peers. He had excelled from the first in his studies, which had but further served to alienate him from less intellectually minded young gentlemen, and made him the object of cruel ridicule. Even now, it would have wounded his grandmother to know of it, or that she had erred in keeping him so close as she had.
It had been Percy who had broken the near-unbearable misery of his existence. They had found common ground on the cricket field. Peter had never played the game before, but he was quick and strong and before the game was done he and Percy had discovered in one another a mutual love of athletics.
The fact that they were cousins was a minor revelation. Viscount Waithe, the elder by two years and an upperclassman, did not usually mingle with those in a lower form. However, he made an exception with Peter Hawkins, and fairly soon his patronage served to ease his cousin’s life. For that careless gesture of friendship, Peter had always been grateful.
Their meeting was not such a coincidence as might have been supposed, for all the aristocracy sent their sons to either Cambridge or Oxford. What had been amazing was that they had not recognized one another before. However, the explanation lay
in Lady Pomerancy’s having chosen to remove herself and her small grandson from the evil influences pervading London, most specifically the wayward sway of certain members in her own family. As a consequence, Peter had grown up with very little contact with any of his relations. After leaving Oxford he had made a conscious effort to meet each member and come to know something about them.
Lady Pomerancy knew well the expression in her grandson’s eyes. He would reveal no more than he wished. She sighed. “Very well, then. I shall continue to accept your cousin Percy on that much alone, for I know you to be an excellent judge of character. I shall even be pleasant toward him, so he need not stand in terror of my disapproval.”
“Thank you, Grandmama. It is all that I ask, and more,” said Mr. Hawkins.
He would have left her then, but she stayed him a moment longer. “Shall you press your suit with the Dower chit?”
Mr. Hawkins smiled at Lady Pomerancy. The twinkle in his eyes became once more pronounced. “You have taught me that a gentleman is true to himself, my lady. Can I do aught else?”
Lady Pomerancy hid her smile behind her hand, before saying, “I am well answered, indeed. Go away now and send my maid in, for I wish to rest. Later I shall talk with you more on the subject and you may tell me what you wish me to do, for you know that I will assist your cause in whatever capacity that is within my power.”
“I do know it.” Mr. Hawkins smiled and exited the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He conveyed her ladyship’s message to the maid, who had been waiting for just such a summons.
As he traversed the hall and returned downstairs, a frown knit his well-formed brows. He knew what he desired. He also knew that Lady Pomerancy was as good as her word. Her ladyship would help him attain the connection that he wished above all others.
However, what he did not know was how to impress a sensitive and innocent young lady’s heart so that she returned his own reverential love for her in fullest measure.
Peter was uncertain whether he was capable of launching the sort of flirtation or courtship that seemed now to be required of him. He was under no misconceptions as to how Miss Dower’s advent upon Bath society would affect his chances with her. The young lady was a beauty and she was of good family, besides being known to be well dowered. She would have enough admirers of adroit address that must surely throw his own poor talents into sharp relief.
He had never been one to ‘dabble in the petticoat line,’ as some of his acquaintances referred to the art of flirtation and conquest. The thought of a casual relationship had always been repugnant to him. His upbringing had imbued him with a reverence and respect for the feminine sex that had become an ingrained part of his character. He could no more have brought himself to basely seduce a woman than he could have committed an act of immolation upon himself.
There had been opportunities, of course, and he had not always refrained. Even now, the memory of a certain lady had the power to bring the burn of shame to him. He had met the lady in Italy while on the grand tour. She was older and more worldly-wise, and he had been dazzled as much by her beauty as by her sharp wit.
At the time he had no notion how he had come to share her bed, but now in retrospect he recognized that she had been the seducer and he the seduced. However, to his mind that neither expiated him nor excused his gross misconduct. He at least had the satisfaction of knowing that he had not been entirely lost to his own ideals. He had made an honorable offer for her. It had been received with sheer amazement, and then was gently rejected. The lady had regretfully pronounced their idyll at an end, and he had never spent another moment in her company.
The experience of his grand tour had tempered his naiveté and had made him more comfortable in society, as well. When he returned to England, he took apartments in London so that he could mix with those friends he had made at Oxford and afterward.
Yet still, he never forgot the roof that had sheltered him, nor the redoubtable lady who had so clearly seen her duty toward him, and so he spent much of his time in Bath.
For Peter Hawkins, his real home was at Lady Pomerancy’s place in Bath. Even though she had made over the town house and estate to him upon his majority, so that in reality it was his own roof, he still thought of it as first and foremost to be her home, and so he phrased his courteous inquiry whether she would mind having company that was more of his liking than hers.
Recalled to thoughts of his cousin, a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Mr. Hawkins went into his study to dash off a note assuring Viscount Waithe of his welcome.
Chapter Four
Evelyn did not anticipate that Mr. Hawkins would come to call again very soon after the freezing manner with which she had treated him. Nor did she believe, after reviewing their interview over and over in her mind, that, however much her heart had led her to soften the blow, any gentleman could actually take her rejection in other than final terms.
The thought was not altogether a satisfying one. Despite the wound to her pride and her indignation over the origin of the offer for her hand, she discovered to her dismay that Mr. Hawkins was still set firmly enough in her affections that she almost wished that he was too dense to have taken affront at her rebuff.
However, she had intended to offend him so greatly that he would refuse to accede to his grandmother’s wishes, and she could not imagine how her purpose could possibly have been overlooked by any gentleman that had the least amount of wit.
Evelyn sighed, frowning a little as she went downstairs to join her mother at tea. She had thought of little else over the intervening day since the occasion of Mr. Hawkins’s visit. She still felt anger, but it was now tinged with regret for what might have been.
As she approached the drawing room, she gave a small shrug. It would certainly not do to brood overmuch about the matter, for it was done with and over. She was not likely to see Mr. Hawkins again except perhaps in passing at chapel or at a social function, she thought.
Evelyn was not well enough acquainted with Mr. Hawkins to have developed an appreciation of the hidden depths of his redoubtable character. Therefore, when she went into the drawing room and the gentleman who had occupied so much of her thoughts rose at her entrance, Evelyn was very much surprised. She stopped short, transfixed by amazement as her startled gaze met Mr. Hawkins’s slightly smiling eyes.
Evelyn recovered quickly, hiding the dismay that she felt. The smile she managed was polite and stiff. She went forward to greet him, extending her hand. “Mr. Hawkins. How unexpected.”
Mr. Hawkins briefly took her hand in his warm clasp. His vivid blue eyes smiled down at her in a friendly fashion. “I found Mrs. Dower’s previous kind invitation to take tea one that I could not for long resist.”
Mrs. Dower expressed more pleasure than Evelyn felt capable of summoning up for the occasion. “Isn’t it a lovely surprise, Evelyn? I must tell you, however, that I did not expect you just today, Mr. Hawkins. Otherwise I would have made certain that we had something more substantial than cake and biscuits, for I know that gentlemen, particularly large gentlemen, like to take their fill whatever the time of day.”
“Really, Mama,” murmured Evelyn, faintly embarrassed by what she perceived to be her mother’s unfortunate tendency to speak whatever was on her mind. She sat down beside her mother behind the table that held the tea tray, and Mr. Hawkins returned to the wingback chair which he had previously occupied.
Mr. Hawkins turned his attention to his hostess. His eyes twinkled. Without glancing in Miss Dower’s direction, as though he had not heard her interjection, he said gravely, “Indeed, ma’am, that is quite true. I have never known it to be otherwise.”
Mrs. Dower smiled on him. She privately thought that Mr. Hawkins was one of the handsomest gentlemen she had ever beheld, as well as one of the prettiest behaved. It was a pity that her daughter did not agree with her. “You shall not be made to suffer, Mr. Hawkins,” she said cordially. “I shall ring for sandwiches to be made up at once.”
&
nbsp; “It is not necessary, ma’am. I shall be quite content with the cake, I assure you,” said Mr. Hawkins.
“But I insist, sir!”
“I do not wish to put you to such trouble, Mrs. Dower,” said Mr. Hawkins.
Evelyn allowed a small smile to curve her lips. It reassured her that her previous reading of Mr. Hawkins’s character had been accurate, after all. Naturally this most proper of gentlemen would do the polite thing, which was to aver his complete contentment with the tea already prepared.
With a shade of malice borne out of her pique and embarrassment, Evelyn added her own mite to the discourse. Tossing a glance in the gentleman’s direction, she said, “Mr. Hawkins is obviously unwilling to put out Cook, Mama.”
“No such thing! It will not put anyone out in the least. It is what we pay the woman for, after all,” said Mrs. Dower, rising. Instantly Mr. Hawkins leaped to his feet out of respect.
Mrs. Dower smiled approvingly at him as she crossed the room to give a vigorous tug to the bellpull. There was no answer to her summons, and with a frown, Mrs. Dower said, “How very odd! I wonder whether the bell is broken again. I shall just step out for a moment to relay my request. Mr. Hawkins, do pray excuse me. Evelyn, you must not wait to pour the tea. I shall be only a moment, I promise you.”
Mrs. Dower left the sitting room.
After a brief pause, during which his grave glance met Evelyn’s eyes, Mr. Hawkins resumed his seat. Evelyn quickly averted her eyes and instead turned her attention to her duty as hostess. “Tea, Mr. Hawkins?”
“Thank you, yes, Miss Dower.”
Mrs. Dower had left the door to the sitting room open, and Evelyn could hear her mother’s voice in the distance. Nonetheless, she felt distinctly uncomfortable to be left alone in the company of the gentleman whose suit she had rejected not twenty hours before. She occupied herself with the teapot to disguise her sudden attack of nerves. After pouring, she glanced at her silent guest. “How do you prefer to take your tea, Mr. Hawkins?”
