by Regina Scott
“Mr. Kevin Whattling! Mr. Whattling! I am most vexed with you!”
Recognizing the voice, he smothered a groan as he pulled the horses to a stop again. He shook his head at Miss Welch’s puzzled frown. “Forgive me, my dear. Duty calls. I shall try to be quick about it.” He turned to face the two well-dressed young women who reposed in the open carriage.
“Miss Tate, Miss Courdebas, how nice to see you.”
Miss Tate, a golden-haired beauty with large green eyes, pouted prettily. Miss Welch’s mouth wiggled as if she could not imagine it fixed in such a position.
“Really, Mr. Whattling, it is simply too dreadful of you to greet us so cheerfully when you failed to appear at our ball last night.”
“Absolutely dreadful,” chimed in Miss Courdebas, an Amazon with honey-blond hair.
“Ladies, my most abject apologies. The Regent had me to Carlton House, and I simply couldn’t escape. Duty, you know, is a harsh mistress. Much harsher a mistress than most of the charming ladies of my acquaintance.”
The ladies in question tittered appreciatively.
Miss Welch looked as if she had eaten something that had disagreed with her.
“But ladies,” Kevin continued doggedly, “let me make you known to my delightful companion. Miss Eugennia Welch, may I present Miss Priscilla Tate and Miss Daphne Courdebas.”
She managed a polite greeting, but the Amazon perked up.
“I know you,” she declared. “My sister Ariadne is mad to meet you. She’s a bluestocking too.”
Miss Welch seemed to grow smaller in the carriage.
“Let us not keep you,” Kevin said smoothly. He continued to push the horses until they were safely past the barouche.
“You do that disgustingly well,” she said, voice laced with envy.
“What? Drive the carriage?”
“No, conversing with near strangers. You do it so well. I can never think of anything to say.”
She looked so sincerely downcast that Kevin was amazed. “You? Miss Welch, you astonish me. I have it on good authority that you are a well-read, well-educated, witty woman. Why on earth should you feel tongue-tied?”
“Perhaps precisely because I am well read and well educated. They,” she waved to indicate everyone else in the park, “I fear, are not.”
“Do you think yourself their better, then?” Kevin asked, still confused.
“Good heavens, no! In their eyes, they are far superior.” When he looked further shocked by her statement, she continued determinedly. “You needn’t be charming about it, Mr. Whattling. I know what the ton thinks of me. I’m different, I’m odd. I’m the bluestocking, the spinster, the old maid who dares to prefer her dusty old books to their glittering society. What am I to say to them?”
“Why, say anything you like. If they don’t like it, tell them to go hang.”
She laughed. “That would surely improve my standing.”
“Is that what you want? To make yourself better in their eyes? I say, be yourself first. Anyone who can’t appreciate that is beneath your notice.”
She stared at him. “Why, Mr. Whattling, that was positively eloquent.”
He rubbed his knuckles against Nigel’s greatcoat. “Not bad for an ill-read, poorly educated Corinthian, eh?”
She laughed again.
What a marvelous sound to wake up to on a morning.
Now, where had that thought come from? He was beginning to take this courting far too seriously. He looked back at the horses to maneuver them around two more slowly moving equipages, still intent on reaching the exit. Then he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one else was trying to pass on the left. Behind three carriages and two knots of riders, George Safton was urging his stallion toward them. Kevin whirled forward.
“Hang on, Miss Welch. I’ll try to lose him.”
“Who?” she began, then she grabbed the edge of the leather seat as Kevin attempted to pass a group of riders ahead of them. Even as he pulled around, there was a sudden pounding of hooves and a hail from behind.
Kevin grit his teeth. “You were quite right, Miss Welch. Driving in Hyde Park is a disgusting pursuit. I much prefer the country air.” He whipped up the horses and careened out of the park before she could argue.
Chapter Six
Jenny sat silently in the curricle as her magnificent Corinthian swiftly passed the London traffic and headed on the Old North Road away from the City. Around them, houses gave way to pastures and hedgerows. Curricles and lorries were replaced by farm carts and traveling coaches. She ought to feel frightened as he carried her farther and farther from civilization. If he were planning to take her to a secluded inn to compromise her and force her to marry him, this headlong flight was a good start. Yet, she was somehow certain she was in no danger from his attentions. His eyes were narrowed unseeingly at the road ahead, the reins disappearing into a clenched fist. It was far more likely that he’d send the carriage into a ditch with his careless driving than to compromise her.
Something had obviously upset him, starting with Countess Lieven’s mention of the death of a Mr. Greene. Her natural curiosity flared. What had the late Mr. Greene to do with her charming fortune hunter? And who was that raven-haired man on the large, mean-looking black horse? Any analysis would be premature, as she had very few facts about the situation. Indeed, she had very few facts about Mr. Kevin Whattling himself.
She knew that he was greatly in debt, although she did not think he had mentioned the exact amount. His fashionable clothes and polished style bespoke the Corinthian; he had admitted he considered himself such. Yet, he conversed with a great deal more depth than any of the Corinthians it had been her misfortune to meet. At moments, such as during their drive through the park, she was certain he had a great refinement of spirit. On the other hand, his easy way with the ladies said that he had probably never had his heart broken. It was quite possible all his lapses into serious conversation had merely been a ruse. He certainly tried to pretend that, aside from his debts, he hadn’t a care in the world. Given his mood, that, at least, was a lie.
So, who was Mr. Whattling? She studied his profile. That thoughtful brow was at odds with the pointed chin, as if he were a philosopher and a sprite at once. One moment he was Hamlet the brooding prince, the next Puck the trickster. Neither had met with happy ends. Would it be wise to come to know him better, or should she finish this drive and send him on his way?
She had so many questions, and of course, she could not ask him any of them without seeming to pry. When he had whipped the reins for the third time in as many minutes, however, she decided she should try to break through the black mood that had apparently taken hold of him.
“I quite agree with you, Mr. Whattling,” she began as if nothing untoward had happened, “that the country is a far nicer place for a drive than the city. However, I do believe we could enjoy it more if we could actually see it.”
He shook himself as if awakening from a dream and slowed the lathered horses. “Forgive me, Miss Welch,” he said with a rueful smile. “I fear I was giving entirely too much attention to the horses.”
Jenny decided not to say what she thought of his obvious falsehood. It seemed far more important to bring back the charmer who had asked to take her driving. She had had entirely enough of Hamlet for one afternoon.
“And such lovely horses they are too,” she replied brightly in a near perfect imitation of Miss Tate’s dewy manner. To complete the picture, she batted her eyes at him, tilting her face to the side in a picture of innocence.
He chuckled. “Touché, Miss Welch. Yes, they are magnificent horses, and my cravat is tied in the most interesting fold, and the weather is quite balmy for this time of year to be sure.”
“Oh!” Jenny raised her gloved hand to her mouth in mock dismay. “You’ve just used all three topics of conversation available to us. What can we possibly say to each other on the drive back?”
His grin was saucy. “I’m sure we shall contrive. Shall I t
ell you how much I admire you?”
Jenny shook her head. “I sincerely hope you can make better conversation than that, sir.”
“Very well,” he allowed, “then shall I tell you how lovely you look in the sunshine?”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. That should take all of ten seconds.”
“Nonsense!” He looked offended. “I’ll have you know I could rhapsodize about your nose alone for at least a quarter hour.”
“My nose?” Jenny frowned, touching the member with the tip of her finger to see if it had suddenly changed shape. “You cannot be serious, sir.”
“Madam, when I am flirting I am always serious.”
“But my nose?”
He eyed her. “A quarter hour, I say. What are you willing to wager, my lady, that I can do it?”
She suddenly began to feel uneasy with the way the conversation was going. Charm was one thing, wagering was something else entirely. She shifted in her seat and pretended to admire the scenery. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I take so foolish a chance?”
“Because the outcome would be vastly entertaining. Come now, Miss Welch, where is your spirit of adventure? We needn’t wager for money, you know. A kiss would do nicely.”
She stiffened. “Really sir, you are too bold.”
“Very well, the honor of escorting you to Almack’s.”
She peered at him cautiously, but he was still grinning at her, and it was impossible not to smile back. “Not much of an honor, sir. I doubt I will ever set foot in the place, voucher or no voucher.”
“What! Every debutante would have carried a cart load of coal to Newcastle on her back if it brought a nod of approval from the famous patronesses.”
Jenny raised her chin. “I am no green girl fresh from school, sir.” Belatedly she realized she’d just pointed out her claim to spinsterhood.
He didn’t pursue that line of conversation. “Aren’t you even curious what happens in those hallowed halls?”
He was teasing, but she felt compelled to explain to him. “Curious, perhaps, but not enough to want to endure an evening of being stared at, gossiped about, and shunned by Society’s best.”
“I can assure you that would hardly be the case,” he protested.
“And I can assure you that it would.”
“You have a truly dismal opinion of the rest of Society, Miss Welch,” he said with a sigh, and she realized with surprise that she had truly saddened him. “I can only hope you will come to exclude me from that assessment.”
“I have already excluded you, sir. Your chivalrous attention in the park was most kind, especially considering you are only courting me for my money.”
“What!” He pulled the horses up so sharply, Jenny once more had to clutch the edge of the curricle to keep her seat. He maneuvered the team to the side of the road, stopping the carriage, and turned to her. She recoiled before the intensity of his gaze.
“Madam, you do neither of us any credit by believing that. Obviously, I have not made myself clear.” He took hold of her shoulders, his mouth stern.
“How could you think you are worth no more than your fortune? I’m the one selling himself for a mess of porridge. If my attentions convinced you otherwise, I have done you a disservice.”
She didn’t know what to say. How easy it would be to slip into those eyes, to lean her head against that broad shoulder.
“I am courting you,” he continued, “because I think we might suit. You are a lovely woman, and it is my honor to escort you. It is an even greater honor that you would consider my offer. The fact that you bring with you a considerable fortune is an added benefit, for I need it badly. However, if I find that we do not suit, or if you decide I am unworthy, I will find another heiress to wed.”
How his eyes darkened with emotion. Instead of lapis, she would have said cobalt. The gold of his lashes was reflected in the depths, and when she looked even closer, she could see her own face regarding her back.
She must have been looking too intently, for he released her and sat back to straighten his coat. The faintest of pinks tinged his cheeks. Then he picked up the reins and clucked to the horses.
“I should get you home,” he murmured, turning them back toward town.
Jenny faced forward again, feeling as if she had come through some sort of physical trial. Once again, he had been most eloquent, but this time she found it hard to believe he was sincere. If he was attracted to her to the point of courting, why had he waited until now to start? The most logical answer was, of course, because now he found himself in need of funds. It was hard to believe there was any other answer.
And would he really leave her be if he found they didn’t suit? Logic told her that he wouldn’t find many heiresses with her fortune, or, she amended ruefully, with her inexperience in social matters. She tried to remember who else Martha had said was still on the market. Evalina Turnpeth? But she generally spent the winter and spring in the Lakes District. Fanny Brighton, perhaps, unless of course, she had accepted that duke Jenny had sent packing. How many others were there with lesser fortunes? She had never considered herself a commodity.
And what was she to do if she was? Here again her knowledge of social requirements was woefully thin. Didn’t gentlemen generally expect the lady they were courting to be interesting and pleasant to look upon? What if she hadn’t been sufficiently interesting on this outing? What if he thought her taste in clothes atrocious? She glanced down at the black braid again and then up at his profile. He continued to watch the road ahead of them, but the tight lines of his face told her his thoughts had not lightened. What was she to do now?
It wasn’t as easy to think of something bantering to say, she found to her dismay, when she felt she had something at stake. She caught herself wishing she had paid more attention to the governesses her father had paid to tutor her in the social arts. It had always seemed like such folderol, simpering and gushing over a gentleman just to make sure he called again, even when the first call had been boring beyond tears.
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t particularly enjoy a gentleman’s company,” she remembered one woman remarking, right before her father had let her go, “as long as the gentleman keeps coming back. One never knows: He may have a friend, or a cousin, who will be infinitely more interesting.”
Then as now, the sentiment seemed highly mercenary to her. But of course, Kevin Whattling was hardly an unwanted caller. She had no need to keep him dangling like a worm on a hook to lure in other suitors. She was almost ashamed to admit it, but, after only one drive, the only suitor she wanted was the man beside her. With his mercurial moods and witty conversation, he was already infinitely interesting to her. The question was, was her fortune, and her meager social skills, enough to keep him interested in return?
She had been considering the matter for some time when she became aware that they were moving back into the city. Houses and businesses crowded on either side; carriages, lorries, riders, and pedestrians thronged the streets. He would return her to her home soon, and the drive would be over.
Her throat constricted, and she cast another sidelong glance him. He was frowning, his honey-colored brows drawn together as he maneuvered the horses. Somehow she didn’t think the driving was taxing enough to take that amount of attention. He was obviously as deep in thought as she had been, and the thoughts did not seem pleasant. What if he had already decided that they did not suit?
She should have been relieved. She could go back to her everyday existence. She could forget about Almack’s. She would not have to endure any more of these awkward social outings. She would never have to see him again.
The feelings in her throat worsened, and panic seized her. She forced it down and straightened in her seat with determination. She had been wishing for months, for perhaps her whole life, for an opportunity to make her mark on a man like Kevin Whattling. She was not about to let her chance slip away so easily.
“Mr. Whattling,” she said. He sh
ook himself out of his reverie and turned to face her. “I find I am in agreement with you. Driving with you has been, if not delightful, certainly an educational experience.”
He chuckled. “I would thank you, Miss Welch, but I’m not sure that was a compliment.”
“Ah, but you must remember, sir, that I am a bluestocking. To be educational is the highest compliment.”
He acknowledged her comment with a nod of his head. “Then I thank you for the honor.”
She returned his smile shyly, then realized as the silence stretched that she would have to say something if she wanted to continue the conversation, perhaps even his courting. She swallowed and suddenly inspiration hit. She was the bluestocking after all. Perhaps it was time she started acting like it.
“I find I would like additional education,” she told him, “if you would be so kind.”
He cocked his head. “About what?”
“The life of a Corinthian.” When he looked stunned, she hurried on. “As I understand it, you Corinthians make a study out of sporting events much in the same the way we bluestockings make a study of scientific and artistic pursuits. I should like to compare our study habits. Perhaps you would be so kind as to join me for tea tomorrow?”
His look of surprise melted into his infectious grin. “If you wanted my company, my dear, you had merely to ask. You needn’t subject yourself to a boring lesson in sports.”
“Oh, I’m sure anything you’d have to say about it would hardly be boring,” Jenny began, then stopped, blushing furiously as she realized how sycophantic she must have sounded.
He merely chuckled. “Very well, then, tea tomorrow, and the life of a Corinthian.”
Chapter Seven
By the time Kevin arrived for a late afternoon tea the next day, Jenny had herself sufficiently in hand to pour it. It had only taken her the rest of the evening to decide to wear her violet lustring with the white lace collar, and this with considerable help and advice from her companion.
