AN Unexpected Gentleman

by Alissa Johnson

  This was not the boy she loved. This was not the playmate of her youth.

  “Is there something you would like to tell me about the man you would have me marry?” she asked thickly. Wolfgang appeared not to take notice. He offered her only an irritated shake of his head and continued on with his pacing, mumbling to himself about barons and debts and finding them all a way out of the damnable mess.

  Adelaide had heard enough. She turned from him and headed for the door.

  “I shall not bring George to see you . . . this Saturday.” She’d almost said ever. But she wasn’t sure if that would be punishing the father or the son.

  “Why?” Wolfgang demanded at her back. “Where will you be?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to turn around and look at him. She wrenched the door open and strode into the hall with a parting shot over her shoulder.

  “Planning a damn wedding.”

  Chapter 10

  Adelaide was spared the nearly four-mile walk home by accepting a ride on a cart from a passing farmer. After a time, the fresh air and rhythmic rocking served to clear her mind and settle her temper. Another step was completed. It had been painful, but necessary and productive. She’d gained the information she’d needed to make the most sensible choice.

  Her next step was to formally accept Connor’s offer. Some of Adelaide’s burgeoning composure withered at the thought. Telling Connor he’d have his way wasn’t going to be painful; it was going to be excruciating. And humiliating, and terrifying, and . . .

  Her list was cut short when her home came into view and she spotted Sir Robert’s carriage sitting in the drive.

  Oh, blast.

  He must have left the house party directly after her and Isobel. She wasn’t ready to see him. She’d been building—or attempting to build—herself up to speak with Connor, not Sir Robert. What did she say to him? There were any number of things she wanted to say, but Wolfgang was right on at least one account. Sir Robert was a baron. He would take neither her rejection nor her censure lightly.

  To give herself time to think, she bid the farmer to stop a ways from the house and walked the last few hundred yards of road slowly, her eyes soaking in the familiar surroundings.

  Because the house and grounds were entailed, they were the only things her brother could not lose to debt. Wolfgang often bemoaned the inconvenience of owning property that couldn’t be sold. Adelaide often said a prayer of thanks for the same thing.

  She loved her home. Every square foot of brick and timber and every inch of land was filled with the cherished memories of her childhood.

  The house had never been grand. It claimed but five bedrooms and two servants’ quarters. There was no ballroom or orangery. The front parlor was small by ton standards, and the dining room could fit no more than twelve. Despite its modest proportions, however, the house had been tended and furnished as carefully as any grand manor. There hadn’t been a door that squeaked, a fireplace that smoked, or a piece of furniture in need of repair or replacement.

  That had changed in the years since her parents’ deaths. They could no longer afford the staff needed to keep the house in good repair. Most of the chimneys were no longer safe to use, and half the doors couldn’t be opened or closed without a good shove. Items of value had been sold to pay Wolfgang’s mounting debt. Even most of her beloved flower garden had gone to seed or been turned over to make room for beets and turnips. Her mother’s roses remained, but Adelaide rarely had the time and energy to do more than trim them back once a year, and cut the occasional flower that bloomed despite her neglect.

  She stopped outside the front door, gathering her courage. The house had fallen to ruin before Sir Robert had come into their lives. He couldn’t be held responsible for that, but he could damn well be held responsible for the absence of its master. Baron or not, he would answer for that.

  Resolute, she opened the door and stepped inside. The foyer was small and in sight of half the downstairs when the parlor doors were open. They were open now, but the moment Adelaide entered, Isobel appeared, blocking her from view.

  Isobel took her cloak and whispered in her ear, “He’s in the parlor. I’ll send him away if you like. Tell him you have the headache.”

  “Thank you, but no. Is George upstairs?” She waited for Isobel’s confirmation. “Will you be certain he stays there, please?”

  Isobel pressed her lips together but nodded. “If you need me, you’ve only to shout.”

  Adelaide almost laughed at that. For pity’s sake, Sir Robert was a baron, not a one-man firing squad. And, really, if anyone ought to be feeling unnerved, it was him.

  He didn’t look unnerved in the least. The moment Isobel moved away, Adelaide saw Sir Robert standing in front of the settee, waiting for her. The vibrant yellow of his waistcoat clashed dreadfully with his hair and stood in stark contrast to the worn, faded colors of her grandmother’s old carpet and settee. His confident and condescending air clashed with her temper. She wasn’t sure how one could appear condescending, but Sir Robert always seemed to manage it.

  He moved as if to take her hand and draw her into the room. “My dear Miss Ward.”

  She hurried forward of her own volition, hands gripped behind her back. “Sir Robert. You’ve returned early.”

  “Well, of course I have.” His tone and expression turned chiding. “You left without word.”

  “My departure was expected.”

  “Darling girl, if we had arrived at an understanding before—”

  “I would like to understand why you saw fit to extend a loan to my brother.”

  Sir Robert started at the question. And who could blame him? It was far more blunt than she’d intended, but her patience was sorely tried. Besides, it was better to get what was sure to be an objectionable experience over and done with.

  She tilted her head when he continued to stand there, looking flabbergasted. “Do you mean to deny it?”

  Finally, he blinked and cleared his throat. “I do not.” To this, he added a sniff of disapproval and an aside. “Wolfgang should not have brought you into it.”

  Oh, the nerve of the man. “You should not have brought yourself into my family’s affairs.”

  “I would beg for the chance to explain.”

  Nothing about his tone or appearance lent itself to the notion of begging. He looked as sure of himself as he had when she’d walked into the room. And it was only out of a sense of fairness that Adelaide suppressed the urge to toss him from her home that very instant. Connor and her brother had been given an opportunity to make the accusations. Sir Robert had the right to mount a defense.

  “Very well,” she agreed. “If you’ve an explanation to give, I shall listen.”

  “Will you sit?”

  She took a seat on the settee with reluctance and gave a muffled yelp when something hard poked her in the lower back. A quick reach between the cushions and she retrieved George’s favorite wooden spoon.

  Sir Robert stared at it. “Er . . .”

  “My nephew fancies himself a percussionist.” She gripped the spoon and silently dared Sir Robert to challenge the explanation. George was not yet two. He fancied digging in the dirt, the occasional foray into his own nose, and hitting things that made noise.

  Sir Robert gave a strained smile. “Talented, is he?”

  “Quite.” She set the spoon aside. “You were explaining?”

  “Right.” He glanced at the spoon again, then away. “Right. It all began shortly after the start of our courtship. You received a small inheritance. A very small . . .” He trailed off at her incredulous look—was there a man in Britain not sticking his nose into her business?—and had the decency to look abashed. “Forgive me, I took an interest in the well-being of the woman I intend to marry.”

  “You might have expressed that interest by asking instead of prying,” she chided. And, oh, it was gratifying to use that tone of voice with him.

  Sir Robert seemed not to hear her. “I was aware t
hat the funds you received were sufficient to pay your brother’s debts.”

  “They were.” She’d actually paid two of them before discovering the futility of paying any.

  Sir Robert nodded. “I also knew something of your brother, and I knew once he was released there would be nothing to stop him from returning to his old habits. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I did what I thought best.”

  “You made the loan knowing he couldn’t pay it back?”

  “Certainly not.” He hesitated, not looking all that certain. “I knew, however, that the investment was a considerable risk. My reasoning was, he would either earn a profit sufficient to keep him occupied until we wed, or he would remain in prison.”

  “Because of you.”

  A hint of impatience crossed his face. “What would you have had me do? Free him? Give him the opportunity to ruin you? Watch the woman I adore lose the little she has left? He would have spent that inheritance in a fortnight and left you with nothing.”

  “I’d not have given him the money to spend. I’ve more sense than that. And honestly, that is neither here nor there. You’ve lied to me.”

  “I never meant—”

  “Did you not think to ask what I wished? Did it not occur to you to speak with me of this decision?”

  A furrow worked between his brows. “Matters of a financial nature—”

  “I have cared for the finances of my family for some time.”

  “You have performed the role of matriarch with aplomb. No one can dismiss the steadfast loyalty and good sense you have shown in the care of your family. You are an exemplary woman, Miss Ward. Your accomplishments are to be lauded.” He paused, and once again, his tone turned condescending. “But you are only a woman. You lead with your heart.”

  She wanted to lead with the broad head of the wooden spoon. “I am not a silly chit just come from the nursery, sir.”

  “I’d not have courted you these four months if you were,” he replied with extreme patience. “Answer me this—if your inheritance had been sufficient to free your brother, would you have done so?”

  “He’s my brother.” And most siblings searched for ways to bring their brothers out of prison, she thought, not put them in.

  “With the heart,” he repeated in a tone that made her feel like a foolish little girl. “Wolfgang would have petitioned the courts for what was left of your inheritance. You do know that.”

  The thought had occurred to her, but at the time, she’d retained some faith in her brother’s loyalty and honesty. But that faith had been shaken. Would Wolfgang have respected the terms of their cousin’s will? She honestly didn’t know, and her uncertainty must have shown, because Sir Robert shook his head and pressed his advantage.

  “Can you not see freeing your brother for the mistake it would have been?”

  It troubled her that she could see it might have been a mistake. She hated that there existed the possibility that he was right.

  Sir Robert sighed. “Perhaps it was my own mistake to have kept my involvement from you. But I can only claim the best of intentions.”

  It wasn’t an apology, but it was an admittance of fault. She wondered how sincere that generosity was, and how deep it ran. “If I asked it of you, would you free him now?”

  He shook his head. “When we marry. When I can protect you from his excesses.”

  Not all that deep, apparently. “But if—”

  “Trust me, Adelaide. Trust me to do what is best for you and your family.” He reached out and took her hand. “You need me, darling. Let us put this matter to rest.”

  She hesitated, then gave a distracted nod. There didn’t seem any point in further argument. Sir Robert was not going to be persuaded that he was in the wrong. And though she wasn’t ready to forgive his methods, she conceded that his intentions—however misguided—had been good. And really, wasn’t it better that they should be able to part ways on civil terms?

  “Excellent.” Sir Robert said, a new cheer in his voice. “I’ll have the banns posted immediately.”

  “What? No.”

  She didn’t mean to snap the refusal, or to yank her hand free of his, or to leap off the settee as if she’d been bitten in the backside, but she did all three.

  Good Lord, that was not the matter she’d thought they were putting to rest.

  Evidently, Sir Robert thought it was. He reared back, pale blue eyes going wide. “What the . . . What do you mean, no?”

  “I thought we were agreeing to end our argument, not wed. Sir Robert, I am most dreadfully sorry—” Only, she wasn’t, particularly. “But in light of all of this, I cannot marry—”

  “You must marry.” He rose from his seat, gripped his hands behind his back, and leaned toward her to impart in an excessively patient tone, “My dear, you have been compromised.”

  She clenched her jaw and prayed for patience of her own. For pity’s sake, did he suspect her of having forgotten? Or somehow having overlooked that minor episode in the garden, and the one in the study, and the reason for her prompt departure? How ridiculous did he believe her to be?

  “Miss Ward?”

  “I was not compromised by you,” she ground out.

  He straightened, slowly. “You cannot be considering—”

  “Lady Engsly suggested that I should consider all of my options, and that is what I’ve done. Mr. Brice has made a respectable offer, and—”

  “There is nothing respectable about Connor Brice.”

  Very little, to be sure. And yet he was the wiser choice. Good heavens, how depressing. “Be that as it may, and whatever your opinion of Mr. Brice, he has—”

  “You will not speak of him to me!”

  Adelaide snapped her mouth shut, more out of shock than a willingness to obey.

  Sir Robert looked to be on the very edge of control, and losing ground. His lips twisted. His skin grew red, and something dark and ugly clouded his eyes. When his hands curled into fists at his side, she took an instinctive step back. She’d never been the sole focus of his temper before. He’d been mildly put out with her in private, a little exasperated, but never truly angry. Even in the garden, it had been Connor who’d taken the brunt of Sir Robert’s displeasure.

  Her eyes darted to the wooden spoon. Sir Robert stood between her and it. She edged a little closer to the door.

  She needn’t have bothered. The storm passed as quickly as it had come. Sir Robert bowed his head and blew out a small, quiet breath. When he looked at her again, his color was returning to normal, his expression serene.

  Good Lord, and she’d thought Connor mercurial. She wondered how the brothers would take the news that they had more in common than ancestry. Probably not well, and considering Sir Robert’s appearance a moment ago, she wisely kept the observation to herself.

  “My poor girl,” Sir Robert intoned. “You have been through a trial, haven’t you? And here I am, acting the heartless ogre, insisting on a forgiveness I’ve not yet earned.”

  Forgiveness? She wasn’t certain if he was speaking of his failure to guard his brother, his failure to mention his involvement with Wolfgang’s imprisonment, or his failure to treat her with a modicum of respect. At present, she didn’t care. She just wanted him to leave. Her regrets could be sent in a letter.

  Sir Robert surprised her yet again, by stepping forward and brushing her cheek with his fingers. She immediately reconsidered the necessity of a retreat. His hand was cool and gentle, yet her stomach turned in protest of the touch.

  “I’ll call on you tomorrow,” he promised.

  Oh, damn. “I’m afraid tomorrow will not be possible. I . . . I’ve only just arrived home, you see, and . . . and there are all manner of duties that went neglected in my absence. My nephew—”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” He nodded in understanding. “You need a day or two to settle in. I shall call on you later in the week.”

  She offered a noncommittal “hmm” and curtsy and indulged in a long sigh of relief after he bo
wed and let himself out.

  Another step completed, she thought. Well, another step nearly completed. She still needed to write the letter. But right now, she needed something else.

  Anticipation sent a tingle along her skin as she crossed the room and climbed the stairs, careful to avoid the very center of the third step. It had a disconcerting tendency to bow in the middle.

  Sailing straight past her room and Isobel’s, she went to the open door of the nursery, and for the first time since leaving the house party, she smiled.

  Oh, yes, this is what she’d needed—to see her twenty-two-month-old nephew fast asleep on his bed. George slept on his belly, with one arm caught under his chest and the other bent so that his fingers covered his face like a mask. He’d scooted down on the mattress, his head a solid foot from his pillow.

  She ignored the urge to pick him up, straighten him out, and set him back on the pillow. He’d only wiggle back to where he was now.

  Instead, she padded softly across the room and leaned over his sleeping form, soaking in the details of his face— the long lashes against pink, round cheeks; the rosebud mouth and small, crescent scar from a lost battle with the corner of a windowsill. She brushed a hand over his soft curls, so blond they were almost ivory now, but they would darken with age, as they had for all the Ward children.

  Bending down, she placed a kiss at his temple, and though she knew it was silly, she took a moment to breathe him in. There was no reason why he should smell different than her and Isobel. They lived in the same house, used the same soap, slept on the same linens. And yet . . . She breathed him in again. And yet there was something unique about him, something distinctively sweeter.

  She straightened with a sigh.

  This was why it was so important she make the right decisions. This was why she could not afford to make the wrong ones.

  This was why she would marry a man she did not love.

  Chapter 11

  Adelaide wrote the letter that very night but held off sending it the next day. Her reasons were varied but stemmed in part from the late-arising notion that it might be prudent to accept one offer—thereby authenticating its veracity—before rejecting the other. She rather thought ruination would be preferable to a marriage to Sir Robert, but her preferences came second to the needs of her family. The other—and possibly most influential—reason for delaying the letter was fear of Sir Robert reappearing on her doorstep to protest the rejection in person.