“How long do you feel Miss Wilton will serve in this capacity?”
Aiden scrubbed a hand over his face. He felt restless now that he’d revealed himself and eager to move past Hazel’s desire to understand the particulars. He wanted to simply say, “I don’t want to be engaged to you anymore. Might we please part as friends and continue on our way?” He might never earn back Lenora’s respect, but once the engagement was off, he could at least try.
He had kissed the woman sitting across from him exactly once, a proper peck on the lips that had been more a seal of their agreement than an exchange of affection. The idea of taking her in his arms the way he had Lenora felt impossible. She would never mold to him as Lenora had, her lips would not be so soft or eager. He adjusted his position in the chair, pushing away the sensations brought on by the memories. Miss Keighly was watching him, waiting for his answer, which required him to remember the question.
Oh, yes, how long Lenora would be Catherine’s teacher. “Until Catherine is prepared to return to a formal school, I suppose, which will require both her academics and behavior to be much improved.”
“What is your best guess? Will Miss Wilton be her teacher through the Christmas holidays, or do you expect her service will continue throughout the next year? Two years, perhaps?”
“I really have no idea.” He thought of the arrangements he’d made—at great expense—to ensure Catherine’s acceptance to Mrs. Henry’s school. That had been set on its ear like every other plan he’d put into play, including his plan to marry Miss Keighly and provide a stable family unit for Catherine. He hadn’t rescinded his donation to the school; Catherine was still involved there as much as was possible. “If I could make a guess on when Catherine will return to the school, I would make it.” He paused, realizing that Miss Keighly seemed oddly interested in the timeline. “Why does it matter?”
“Well, your affection for this woman is obvious in the way you speak of her, but once Miss Wilton is no longer engaged as Catherine’s teacher, I am not opposed to another appointment—discreetly, of course. Such a relationship would be inappropriate as long as she is working with Catherine, however.”
Aiden blinked. Hazel could not be saying what it sounded like she was saying. Yet she looked at him expectantly and did not try to restate or clarify her point. Aiden took a deep breath that did blessed little to clear his mind. “You are implying that I would take Miss Wilton as . . . a mistress?”
Hazel smiled a bit indulgently. “I am a woman of the world, Mr. Asher, and understand the ways of men. Discretion would be paramount, of course, and any children would not be publicly acknowledged but—”
“Stop,” Aiden said, covering his face with both hands. He could not bear to hear more.
“She could do worse for herself, I daresay,” Hazel continued. “And if you feel affection for her, then—”
He slapped his hands against the table and stared at her. “I beg of you, stop this line of discussion.”
She shrugged, but did as he said, lifting her teacup to her lips and taking a genteel sip. She made a face, scanned the room for an attendant, and waved the young man over. When he arrived, she pushed the teapot to the edge of the table. “A fresh pot, please. Hot.”
The attendant took the pot. Hazel picked up one of the raspberry biscuits from the platter in the center of their table and took a small bite, chewed thoughtfully as though determining its quality, and then took a larger bite. When she finished, she dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I’m sorry if my talk has shocked you, Mr. Asher. I am only attempting to find a remedy for our situation that can satisfy all parties.”
“I believe I was rather clear in my letter, Miss Keighly, regarding the remedy. I am very sorry for how things have transpired, but I would like to end our engagement in whatever way will create the least difficulty for you. I hope that our mutual respect and years of accord might allow this to proceed smoothly.”
“I feel you made the decision rather rashly, Mr. Asher. You also seem to believe that I would want to discontinue our agreement, which I do not.”
He had to repeat her words in his mind twice before he could answer. “You would prefer to continue our agreement even though I would not?”
The attendant returned with the hot tea. Hazel put up a hand to keep the attendant from leaving while she took a sip. Apparently satisfied at the tea’s temperature, she smiled and nodded her acceptance. The boy bowed awkwardly and left them to their privacy again.
Miss Keighly lifted her cup. “I believe that love will grow between us in time, and we both have great potential to find happiness together through this arrangement. I am sympathetic for this . . . infatuation you feel, but I do not think the emotional charge you have experienced is sufficient reason to make permanent changes. The truth, Mr. Asher, is that in the months since our agreement, I have become rather accustomed to the idea of marriage. I have enjoyed the warmth and congratulations of my friends and family and have become quite taken with the idea of being Mrs. Aiden Asher.”
Unbelievable. Lenora did not believe the depth of his feelings for her and had been worried about his hurting Miss Keighly. Miss Keighly, on the other hand, believed his feelings for Lenora—did not even discourage them—but did not see them worthy of dissolving an engagement.
He could officially break the engagement himself and accept the damage it would create to their reputations, the doors that would be closed to both of them. People would judge him harshly, while Miss Keighly would be regarded with pity, just as Lenora had been after her suitor broke off their engagement.
On the other hand, if Hazel were the one to beg off, they would both be the recipients of sympathy because he would be seen as the rejected party and her reasons would be accepted since a woman was expected to only cry off if she were convinced that the man would not make her happy. But Hazel didn’t want to beg off, which meant Aiden would either have to do it or keep the agreement intact.
His desire to break the engagement stemmed from his wish to court Lenora, who did not want to be pursued by a man of his poor character. Would he be a fool to publicly reject a woman who was willing to take on his difficult niece? Or was he a fool to think he could ever find happiness with a woman who could treat their marriage as nothing more than a contract? That she had no expectation of fidelity seemed a reflection of how little she would value him overall.
And yet, she was here, and Lenora not only had dismissed him quite boldly, but she did not want him to break his engagement. And Catherine was still in need of the stability a marriage would create. Miss Keighly came from a family whose connections would only improve Catherine’s situation and eventual interactions with society.
Aiden didn’t know what to say, but finally nodded, surrendering to this course as exhaustion overtook him, much like malaria had once claimed him in Jamaica. He’d spent a full week in a fog where he’d wished simply to have it over with, even if his misery ended in the grave. Now, the woman he loved had told him to keep his engagement in place. The woman he did not love wanted the same thing.
“Very good,” Miss Keighly said. “I think this is a good time for us to formalize our agreements. My father’s man of business is working up a contract that he shall send to your solicitor once it is complete, at which time you can suggest any changes. Would you like to add in the mistress clause, then?”
“No, thank you,” he said, his face flushed and a headache coming on. He picked up a scone, hoping for distraction, and took a bite, dropping crumbs onto the table. Miss Keighly reached across and brushed the crumbs to the side for him, then gave him a disapproving look. Would this be his life?
A ward who had aged him ten years in nine months, a wife who would live according to contract, and another woman who had his heart but would not have him.
What a brilliant life he’d created for himself. In this moment, he wondered what had ever made him think he could
charge back to England and right all the wrongs.
Aiden returned home and explained to Catherine that Miss Keighly would be staying in town for a few days.
“She came from Cheshire?” Catherine said, unable to hide a delightful look in her eye that did nothing to help Aiden’s growing headache. “What a lovely surprise.”
He restrained himself from blaming her. “We are having tea with Miss Keighly at the White Hart in two hours. I would like to lie down until it is time for us to leave.” Miss Keighly had taken rooms there for the next fortnight while they finalized their plans.
“I am invited?” Catherine asked hopefully.
“Miss Keighly’s companion, Mrs. Hobart, will return here with you if you are not on your best behavior.”
“Oh, I will be on my best behavior.” It was spoken as though Aiden had invited her to the circus. The girl had an unhealthy desire for drama. He almost hoped Catherine wouldn’t behave herself at the tea so that Hazel would see what she was getting herself into, then regretted the thought. He needed to move forward with the agreement he had made, which meant helping form a positive relationship between Catherine and Miss Keighly.
He laid on the bed with one arm thrown over his eyes for two hours, until it was time for their appointment at the White Hart. Over tea in the well-furnished sitting room reserved for hotel guests, Miss Keighly engaged Catherine in polite conversation, which Catherine was perfectly responsive to. Miss Keighly complimented Catherine’s frock, and Catherine fairly glowed. Apparently, she had decided she would be on Miss Keighly’s side of things. What luck.
After tea, they returned Catherine to Laura Place—even her protests were muted in Miss Keighly’s company—and then he escorted Miss Keighly back to Milsom Street so she could see the shops. Glimpses of the river appeared here and there between the buildings, and at one point she stopped. “Is there a way to walk the bank of the river?”
The steps that would lead them to Lenora’s wall were just a few shops ahead of them, but it would be sacrilegious to take Miss Keighly there. “There is a nice park on the south side of the bridge with steps that lead to the river’s edge,” he said. “But we’ll need to go back the way we’ve come.”
Hazel frowned and shook her head. “It is getting chilly,” she said, stepping closer to him as though for warmth. “And I do not love to be out after dark. Perhaps tomorrow, after services. I understand they start at eight o’clock. Please fetch me from my rooms at a quarter past seven so that we are sure to be on time.”
Aiden agreed, but felt sick. He took Catherine to services at the abbey every Sunday. Though they did not sit with Lenora and Mrs. Simmons, Miss Wilton would see Miss Keighly and feel betrayed all over again. Only a few hours ago, he had all but begged Lenora to give him a second chance, and now, the morning following that exchange, she would watch him walk into services with his fiancée on his arm. She would think that he was exactly what she’d already decided he was—a cad and a flirt without honor or decency. Maybe she was right.
Catherine did not dawdle in her preparations the next morning, clearly eager to see Miss Keighly again. When they fetched Miss Keighly from her rooms, she immediately retied the bow on the back of Catherine’s dress and disapproved of Catherine’s choice of shoes. They were dance slippers and not meant to be worn on the street. Catherine’s mood became more reserved, but she accepted Miss Keighly’s comments with far more tact than Aiden expected.
Because they arrived a full thirty minutes before services started, Aiden, Catherine, and Miss Keighly took seats near the front, which meant he would not see Lenora or Mrs. Simmons when they arrived. It was just as well; Aiden was sweating and fidgety enough just knowing they would be there.
He imagined the look on Lenora’s face—no, that was no good. She didn’t show her emotions on her face. He thought of how she would feel, and his heart ached. Maybe he should leave Bath sooner than he’d anticipated, but Catherine was doing much better. She’d told him about the duet she’d learned with Lenora and repeated the French verb conjugations she had memorized. There was no choice but to swallow his pride and regret and accept that Lenora would hate him forever. Maybe knowing that would make it easier to commit himself to Miss Keighly and the bleak future he saw for them.
The sermon was on charity—or maybe repentance—he wasn’t listening because he was trying to identify Lenora’s presence behind him. Miss Keighly pinched Catherine’s arm when she dozed off, causing the girl to jump and Aiden to tense. If Catherine threw one of her fits of temper here . . .
By the time they stood at the conclusion of services, the aisles were a crush, and he could not pick any one person from the crowd of hats and bonnets bobbing ahead of him on their way out of the abbey and into the churchyard. He dared to think that perhaps he had avoided them entirely until he heard Catherine call out.
“Aunt Gwen, over here!” He looked over his shoulder to see the girl waving, quite improperly. Miss Keighly took hold of Catherine’s arm and reprimanded her, but Catherine pulled out of her grasp and darted through the parishioners. He pasted a smile on his face and led Miss Keighly after his niece; he may as well get it over with.
Lenora stood in profile to him, listening to another woman recount some travel experience, but he felt sure her attention was attuned to his approach. Her expression was unreadable when he reached the cluster of women, who all turned to face him.
“Good morning,” he said, bowing slightly.
“Good morning, Mr. Asher,” Mrs. Simmons said, though he could feel her coolness toward the woman on his arm. She gestured to the other women in the group. “You know Mrs. Crawford and Miss Crawford.”
Aiden was glad for the reminder; he’d met them once at the Pump Room—an older woman and her middle-aged daughter—but had not remembered their names. “A pleasure to see you again,” he said, nodding. “And may I introduce Miss Hazel Keighly.”
“His fiancée,” Miss Keighly said when he did not supply their connection as he should have.
Mrs. Simmons eyebrows shot upward before her expression became as neutral as Lenora’s. Catherine looked smug, as though she’d planned this. She hadn’t, had she? Could she? He was suspicious enough of his niece and what she had done thus far that it would be foolish of him not to wonder.
“Wonderful to meet you,” Mrs. Simmons said evenly, dipping slightly.
Miss Keighly smiled. “As it is to meet you, Mrs. Simmons.” She turned to Lenora, whose face was a mask of polite calm, but Aiden could see the panic in the tightness around her eyes. “And you must be Miss Wilton, Catherine’s teacher.”
Lenora nodded, but Aiden felt sure she was dying inside, much like he was. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Keighly.”
Another woman might have added something like “I’ve heard so little about you” or “I had no idea you were coming to Bath” simply to put an edge on the blade, but not Lenora. Her lack of guile made Aiden feel even worse, as though she had crawled as far into her shell as she possibly could, unwilling to reveal any level of feelings she had for him. Unless she truly felt nothing. But if that were the case, she would not push him away so strongly, nor show any pain in her eyes right now.
Miss Keighly beamed. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. I was just about to ask Mr. Asher if he might attend me to the parade gardens. Would you care to walk with me instead? I have some questions about Catherine’s education that I would very much like to discuss with you.”
“We have a visit arranged with my brother this afternoon,” Mrs. Crawford said. “If you’ll excuse us. Lovely to meet you, Miss Keighly.”
Lenora glanced at her aunt during the Crawfords’ farewells, the panic in her eyes growing into terror. Mrs. Simmons looked equally trapped.
“Perhaps another time,” Aiden said, trying to rescue them. “On a day when the weather is more temperate.” Too late, he looked up at the clear blue sky and noted the warm
th of the day—rare for October.
“The weather is lovely, Mr. Asher,” Miss Keighly said. “There is no reason to put off such an important conversation.” She gave him a look of mild reprimand, stepped up to Lenora, and put her arm through hers before expertly turning her toward the promenade.
Aiden looked after them, then at Mrs. Simmons, certain she could see the misery in his eyes. She seemed to interpret his dilemma, because after only a moment’s hesitation, she took his arm. “Catherine, dear. You may walk ahead of us, if you will, so that we might keep you in sight.”
“Can we return home, Uncle Aiden?” Catherine whined like a child much younger than her years. “Cook made gingerbread today.”
“Catherine,” Mrs. Simmons said in a voice a degree lower than usual.
Catherine harrumphed but did as she was told. If not for the stone in his chest, Aiden would have been impressed with the girl’s compliance, but he could think of little else but the two women walking ahead of them. He could tell by the way the feathers in Miss Keighly’s bonnet bobbed that she was doing all the talking. He ran a finger around his collar, which was tightening like a noose around his neck.
“Please do explain yourself, Mr. Asher,” Mrs. Simmons suggested when Catherine was far enough ahead to not overhear. The older woman kept a tight but believable smile on her face. She nodded to an acquaintance as they passed before speaking again. “Perhaps if I better understand your motives, I shall stop thinking of ways to push you into a fountain as soon as the opportunity presents itself.”
Yes, push me in, Aiden thought. Hold me under. Let me drown!
“She arrived to Bath yesterday without giving me any warning of her coming,” he said, equally low.
“I assume your engagement is still intact then?” The accusation in her voice was cutting.
“Yes.” He felt Mrs. Simmons’s hand tighten on his arm.
They walked in silence. “I had thought your affections were in another quarter.”
Miss Wilton's Waltz Page 18
