by Regina Scott
Her butler didn’t seem to think so. When Kevin glanced his way, the fellow gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. His mistress was less encouraging. By sheer determination, he forced himself not to squirm under her direct gaze. Before she could speak, he decided to go on the attack.
“What is it you’d like me to clarify, madam, to help alleviate this confusion you spoke of?”
She hesitated, then leaned forward, as if ready to attack the situation herself. “Tell me, Mr. Whattling. What made you decide to seek me out now?”
He decided to be as honest as possible. “When we stood up together at the Baminger’s, there was something about you that made me think we should get better acquainted.”
“No doubt my scintillating conversation,” she said, leaning back as if already disappointed in him.
She had to remember she’d said little. “You were the soul of discretion,” he said. “Yet there seemed to be a common purpose, a meeting of minds, if you will, that made me feel we might be friends.”
“Friends?” The way she stared at him told him that was the last thing she had expected him to say. “You thought we could be friends?”
He smiled. “Does that surprise you, madam?”
“Surprise me? It shocks me to the core. I have a certain reputation, sir, as a bluestocking, while you are clearly a dyed-in-the-wool Corinthian. Are you certain you have the right person?”
He wasn’t sure whether the cough from the butler was directed at him or her. He chuckled at her assessment. “Oh, you’re the right person. I know of no rules that say a Corinthian and a bluestocking cannot enjoy each other’s company. So, will you drive with me tomorrow?”
For a moment, he thought he had her. A light came to those hazel eyes, and her chin came up just the slightest. But she shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, if I appear dense, but your, er, interest in building this friendship seems most precipitous. Without roundaboutation, if you will—why me, why now?”
She would accept nothing less than complete honesty. He admired her for it. He put on his most solemn face. “Very well, if you insist. I am grossly in debt and only a quick and advantageous marriage can keep me from Debtor’s Prison. I have been told I could have any woman in England. I’m sentimental enough to want to feel at least a little affection for the woman I marry. I’ve looked over the prospects carefully, and you were my first choice.” His grin broke free. “In short, Miss Eugennia Welch, I intend to marry you.”
He knew it was a bold statement, but the lady before him froze and stared at him, eyes wide, and he had a sudden sinking feeling he had overplayed his hand. She recovered her composure with an obvious effort and rose to stride majestically to the door. Convention demanded that he rise as well, but he did so with a tremor. She was going to order him out, perhaps even direct her staff to toss him down the steps for his audacity. He didn’t like having to defend himself against the elderly butler.
She threw open the door, and he tensed.
“Fiching, leave Mr. Whattling and me alone for a time, if you please,” she said to her retainer, who looked surprisingly stunned for one whose profession required an impassive front. “Leave the door open and see that we are not disturbed. If I raise my voice, you are to come in immediately with Stevens and Jenkins.”
He looked at her askance, then bowed before what he saw in her face. She turned to Kevin.
She was an open book. Every feeling, every thought flashed across that expressive face. Disappointment in him, as if she had hoped he might be different than the other men who had been rumored to have proposed. Embarrassment that she had once more met a man who preferred the fortune to its owner. Chagrin her servants would soon know of it unless the butler was more close-mouthed than most. The way she clasped her hands behind her back was a clear attempt to calm herself.
“Mr. Whattling,” she said firmly, “I appreciate your frankness. Let me be equally honest.” She opened her mouth, then shut it again, as if seeking the right words. He made himself remain still, waiting. Finally, she sighed. “We can have little in common. What makes you think we could possibly suit?”
He couldn’t help his grin. “Come driving with me and you might find out.”
A smile threatened on those posy pink lips. “You are most tenacious, sir. But why, if I may be so bold, should I agree to this meeting if I do not see a happy end?”
“Do you gamble, madam?” When she shook her head, he tried another direction. “No, of course not. Have you ever played whist?”
She must have taken the question as a doubt of her social skills, for her answer was frosty. “Everyone who is anyone plays whist, sir.”
“Certainly. Forgive the question.” He bowed. “I was merely trying to develop an analogy. When we play whist, we play it for the chance of beating a worthy opponent, of besting our own expectations. It is the chance that the game will be worth playing that encourages us to play. I am merely asking you to take that same chance.”
She conceded his point with a nod. “But whist is an enjoyable pastime, I have always found. It sharpens the intellect. My experience with driving has not been so pleasurable.”
His grin widened. “That, madam, is because you’ve never been driving with me.”
She laughed. The sound was joyful, abandoned, and something inside him leaped to meet it.
“Very well, sir,” she agreed. “I will drive with you tomorrow. However,” she added quickly as he beamed in triumph, “I promise nothing more. Going driving in no way indicates that I will accept your offer of marriage.”
He bowed. “I understand completely, Miss Welch. I shall try not to let your acceptance turn my head. Will half past two in the afternoon be a suitable time?”
“Quite suitable.”
“Then I shall take my leave until then.” He strode to her side, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. Looking down into her eyes, he held her hand, and her gaze, just longer than was proper, and she shivered as if she could feel the warmth of his touch travel from her gloved fingers through her entire body.
“Until tomorrow, Miss Welch,” he murmured, bowing himself out.
–
Jenny stood where he had left her for some time, trying to sort through her conflicting feelings. She found his presence exhilarating, but his proposal audacious. As if she would ever give in to a proposal of marriage simply because the gentleman had a handsome face and a charming manner! She had righteously rejected the last three fortune hunters who had dared to propose. Her withdrawn lifestyle and reputation as a bluestocking had held off others who might otherwise have been tempted by her fortune to seek her out. So even if he had been more charming than the others, why should she encourage him?
Perhaps because his face had been so solemn when he’d confessed his lack of funds, making him look years older and not a little weary. Perhaps because she had been wishing so fervently for a change. She had started to tell him that she had no interest in marrying, but found she could not bring the words to her lips given her latest mood. She had started to amend it to say that she had no interest in marrying him, but he was too uncannily like the vision of her handsome prince for that to be true either. While she was still sure she could never bring herself to be courted by a fortune hunter, driving with him might indeed be enjoyable, and it would definitely be different from her usual occupations.
A cough roused her from her thoughts, and she turned to see Fiching and Miss Tindale peering in the open doorway.
“Did you accept him, miss?” her butler asked hopefully.
“Did you send him packing?” Martha asked with equal hope, obviously having been told the story by Fiching.
“Neither,” Jenny replied with a toss of her head. She walked past them to the stairs. “We are going driving tomorrow.”
As she climbed to the second floor, she wondered if twenty-four hours would be enough time to choose a suitable outfit.
Chapter Four
It was a bemused Kevin who agreed to Giles and Nigel’s su
ggestion that they dine together at White’s. He went as their guest, of course. In the first place, he hadn’t the funds, and, in the second, he had resigned his membership after Robbie’s death. Besides, they were careful to keep him away from Watier’s these days, where the wildest gaming was to be had. Both Nigel and Giles tried to pretend nothing was untoward, dressing in their usual evening black even as he did. But they exchanged looks of concern when he glanced at some of the gentlemen already engaged in cards. He turned his attention to the dandies at the bow windows instead. They led him to a table well away from the others.
His friends needn’t have worried. He had no intention of going near a card table for the rest of his life, and he had little interest in wagering on anything else. Moreover, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to go near Gentleman Jackson’s to box more than once a week since Robbie’s death. He knew Nigel and Giles feared his sudden change of behavior stemmed from his lack of funds. He knew it went far deeper. Even with Miss Welch’s fortune at his fingertips, he wasn’t going to be tempted again. He was through with gambling, and the next time he expected to go near a boxing match was when he taught his own sons a few tricks.
If he ever had sons. He wondered whether Miss Welch wanted children. It probably didn’t matter if she didn’t. He hadn’t the luxury of caring. But he had always wanted children, daughters as well as sons. His memories of his childhood were somewhat empty until his mother had remarried and had Robbie. Although there had been seven years between them, he had always loved his brother, had tried to protect him, encourage him. He hoped that when he married, his children would be similarly pleased with each other.
Then again, he’d always thought that when he eventually married it would be to some girl who adored him. He wasn’t sure whether he would get to that point with Miss Welch. Those hazel eyes of hers were oddly innocent and knowing at the same time. If he understood her reactions, she wasn’t sure she ought to be seen with him but felt awfully tempted to do so. It was a temptation he could play upon. Indeed, it was his strongest card. He didn’t have much else to commend himself.
And she was going to be a much more difficult woman to woo than he had originally thought. While he’d heard she tended to avoid Society, he’d thought it only a story manufactured by those who were jealous of her intelligence. However, if today’s conversation was any indication, she was not only anti-social but more suspicious of his motives than he had expected. He would have to go carefully.
Still, it was hard not to be confident of victory. He had years of experience ferreting out the secrets of others for the good of the Empire. And he was a far better deal than she was likely to get otherwise. While he had no doubt that she had been courted by fortune hunters before, at least he was honest about it. If she wasn’t quite the woman he had expected, she was still a taking little thing, and he was sure he would grow even fonder of her with time. Having a wife would certainly give him something to focus on beyond his own difficulties. He would be able to pay the last of his debts and still live well. All in all, it hadn’t been a bad start.
Nigel wasn’t willing to agree. “But did she say she would look favorably on your suit, old man?” he demanded over their mutton and Yorkshire pudding after Kevin had made his sketchy report of his afternoon’s call.
“What woman ever immediately agrees to your suit, Nigel?” Kevin replied disparagingly.
“None,” Giles admitted with a sigh. “Although I had been hoping you might be different, Kev.”
Kevin smiled. “I can only say that Miss Welch is much more discriminating than some. But then, I’m a much better catch than some.”
“And your need is greater,” Giles added. Nigel frowned at him, and he paled. “Er, no offense meant.”
“None taken. Gentlemen, let us have no secrets in this regard. I want you as my knee and bottlemen for this bout. In other words, I can only win Miss Welch with your help. In fact, I already have a favor to ask. Nigel, if I’m to take Miss Welch driving tomorrow, I shall need a carriage.”
“Done,” Nigel agreed before biting into his mutton. “Take the curricle. It only has two seats. She’ll have to leave her maid at home.”
“Oh, I say,” Giles puffed, but Kevin wasn’t sure whether it was in protest or admiration.
“Good suggestion,” Kevin said. “And I don’t suppose you’d part with the whites?”
Nigel chewed his lower lip more thoroughly than the meat on his plate. “You’ve given up racing as well, I’m sure.”
Kevin met his look straight on. “You know I have. I’ll take good care of your horses, Nigel. I promise.”
Nigel nodded. “Very well then. The whites and the curricle. Do you want my tiger as well?”
Kevin grinned. “If you can spare your servant. And your new tweed greatcoat.”
Nigel grumbled something under cover of forking in another mouthful.
“You’re welcome to my greatcoat, Kev,” Giles offered.
“Thank you, but we aren’t exactly the same size. As it is, I’ll have to go easy not to rip the seams in Nigel’s, and I’d better leave it open so she won’t notice it’s too short for me. Nigel, I’ll come by after twelve to get them, if that’s agreeable. I’m to pick her up at half past two.”
Nigel shook his head. “Driving with Eugennia Welch. What do you bet the conversation will be nothing but scholarly quotes and ponderous posturing?”
Kevin chuckled. “At the very least, I’d wager she won’t remark on my horses, the weather, or the fold of my cravat.”
“I’ll take that wager,” Nigel said with a grin.
“So will I,” a deep voice put in. Nigel’s face froze into his milk-curdling frown. Giles turned as white as milk. Recognizing the voice, Kevin understood why.
“Take yourself off, Safton,” he murmured without turning to look at the man behind him. “This is a private party.”
“But Whattling, I wasn’t aware you were up to attending parties yet. My apologies for not checking on you sooner. When you’re finished with these good gentlemen, come locate me. I’m sure we can find more interesting sport.”
“Mr. Whattling doesn’t play cards anymore,” Nigel growled. “Nor is he interested in any other activity you might care to mention.”
George Safton moved to stand beside the table. Kevin refused to look up at him. He didn’t need to see the face to be reminded of the nearly black eyes that glittered with malice as easily as amusement or the thin lips that twisted into cruelty as easily as cunning. At nine o’clock in the evening, George Safton would be dressed in spotless black evening wear that would make the women raise their quizzing glasses and comment on how his black hair shone as brightly as the head of his ebony walking stick. Only Kevin knew that, by daybreak, the cutaway coat and knee breeches would be soiled with spilled wine and stink of stale smoke. The creamy white cravat would be wrinkled and grey with sweat. And, on at least one night, the black-and-white striped waistcoat had been spotted with blood. No, he didn’t need to look at George Safton to know him for what he was. He only wished he’d seen it sooner.
“Why, Dillingham,” Safton purred beside them, “have you managed to change him into a mewling lamb at last? How very sad. Robbie would be so disappointed.”
Kevin surged to his feet. “Never mention that name in my presence again. The magistrates may not have enough evidence to convict you, but we all know your involvement in my brother’s death. Be glad I don’t call you out. Now leave before I forget myself.”
Nigel and Giles had risen as well, Nigel putting a hand on Kevin’s arm, and all of Giles’ bulk trembling with suppressed emotion. Their fellows at the surrounding tables exchanged looks or raised their brows.
Safton didn’t so much as glance at them. “No need for hostility, my good man. I meant no harm. You know I had the utmost respect for your brother. I feel his loss as well.”
“If you feel anything,” Kevin said quietly, “it’s the loss of your easiest victim. I’m not my brother. Leave me alo
ne.”
Safton shrugged. “Very well. I tried. For Robbie’s sake, I tried. You leave me no choice but to remind you that I hold vouchers of your brother’s amounting to over two thousand pounds. I’d like to know when I shall be paid.”
Kevin resumed his seat, long fingers tearing at his Yorkshire pudding. “You’ll be paid as soon as I can raise your blood money. I assure you, it won’t be soon enough for me.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear.” He offered Giles and Nigel a bow. “Gentlemen.” Only Nigel watched his retreating back.
“Odious muckworm,” Giles sputtered. “How you ever came to be involved with him, Kev, is more than I’ll ever know.”
“Cut line,” Nigel barked. “We all know how charming Safton can be when trying to lure someone in. First Kevin, then Robbie. Kevin was lucky to get out.”
“Unlike Robbie,” Kevin murmured.
Nigel resumed his seat as well and after a moment, Giles joined him. “Perhaps we should find another club,” Nigel grumbled, poking at his mutton, which was now obviously cold. “They seem to be letting anyone in White’s these days.”
“You’ll have to go far to avoid him,” Giles provided helpfully. “I don’t understand why, but he is widely received.”
“That’s because he always manages to let someone else take the blame,” Kevin explained, his own meal far less appetizing than it had been. “It would give me great pleasure to see him caught. But right now, I haven’t that luxury either.”
“Here now, none of that,” Nigel ordered. “We have a campaign to plan. You are taking Miss Welch driving tomorrow. That is only the start. We need to lay out a plan of attack. I will brook no further interruptions.”
