by Nina Mason
Theo’s thoughts drifted as she prattled on for several more minutes about the plot—which, truthfully, interested him little—until his attention was reclaimed by a sharp cry of “Oh!”
Eyes dancing with excitement, she said, “I should tell you that the opening paragraphs of the book struck me as very apropos to your current situation.”
“Apropos?” He blinked at her. “In what way?”
“Let me read it to you and you will see for yourself.”
“Very well.” He did his best to keep the ennui out of his tone. “I shall listen attentively, if you sincerely believe it worth my while.”
She gave him the stink-eye he knew all too well. “I thought you wanted to talk to me.”
“I do, I do,” he said, lamenting his distraction. “It is just that, as I said before, I have a great deal weighing upon my mind at present.”
“Then listen and you shall have more pleasant matters to occupy your thoughts.” Keeping her living marker in place, she flipped to the front of the book, cleared her throat, and began. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families that he is considered as the rightful property of someone or other of their daughters.”
Yes, he could see the parallels, but had no intention of acknowledging as much. “And this applies to me in what way?”
Her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, and two pink spots appeared on her freckle-dusted cheeks. “Oh! You are impossible. Why do I bother talking to you at all?”
He grinned at her and batted his eyelashes. “Because I am so charming and lovable?”
“And modest, too, you failed to mention,” she said with flint in her pretty blue eyes.
“Yes, yes,” he said, grinning devilishly. “My thanks for pointing out my omission. Oh, and handsome as well—I forgot that one, too.”
Her eyes and lips narrowed to slits. “Do be serious for once, Theo. Not that all those things are untrue. I just wish you…well, never mind. I shall not beat that poor dead horse again. But I’d be willing to wager a tidy sum that there are a few mothers in Much Wenlock—one or two at least—who are conspiring at this very moment to have you as a husband for one of their marriageable daughters.”
“If that is so, they will be gravely disappointed.”
“How do you know? Perhaps one of them will catch your fancy if you only keep an open mind.”
It was his heart, not his mind, he’d bolted against the idea of marriage. He could not, therefore, account for his lingering interest in the young lady Sir Steven had mentioned to him that afternoon. The Baron had hailed Miss Louisa Bennet as the beauty of the county, but what color was her hair? He’d always been partial to auburn—not that it mattered, as he was not in the market for a bride.
“Did you hear my question, brother?”
Winnie’s voice drew Theo abruptly from his recollections. “What? No. I’m afraid I was lost in my thoughts.”
She heaved an impatient sigh. “I asked who it was that called upon you earlier.”
“Sir Steven Baldwyn, the highest ranking of our new neighbors—or so he informs me.”
“The two of you talked at length,” she observed. “What did he have to say?”
“He wanted to welcome us to Much Wenlock…and invite us all to an assembly tomorrow evening.”
“Oh, Theo,” she cried, dropping her book. “How wonderful. Will there be dancing?”
“I was given to understand there shall be,” he told her, “but wish not to build your hopes up too high. For I deduced from what else was said that there is a shortage of eligible sons among the better families residing within easy distance.”
She looked mildly disappointed for a moment before recovering her natural verve. “Yet, surely the addition of you and Christian will help fill the void.”
“Churchill’s presence might. Mine, however, will have no effect, for I cannot dance, nor am I in the market for a bride.”
Her brow puckered and her eyes took on a reproachful luster. “But why should you not wish to marry? For I am convinced you would be happier with a wife to keep you company. And it has been years since Miss Carter broke your heart, so that cannot be the reason.”
He arched an eyebrow in challenge. “Can it not?”
“Oh, Theo.” She pushed out her bottom lip. “Please tell me you are not still pining for her.”
He swallowed hard and ran his tongue across his lower lip. “I promise you, I am over her…though her unkindness taught me a valuable lesson.”
Winnie’s lips pursed as she blinked up at him. “Which is…?”
As hard as he’d made his heart in the years since Edwina jilted him, he still felt a painful tug when he said, “That no woman worth having would want a man such as me for a husband.”
Her expression softened and she set her hand on his arm. “Tosh. Any woman worth having would see past your wound to the excellent qualities you have in abundance.”
“Even were that true, my heart is not yet strong enough to withstand another disappointment.”
Three
The next evening, when Louisa entered the assembly rooms with her mother and sisters, she found herself in a buzzing hive of smartly-dressed people. All around her snuff boxes clicked, glasses clinked, and silk gowns rustled. Music filled the air, as did the din of voices and the mingled scents of body odor, ladies perfume, and gentlemen’s hair tonic. In the warm glow of the flattering candlelight, everything and everyone looked beautiful.
But Louisa was not content for long to enjoy all that she beheld. She was too intent on finding what was not within her view—or rather, who. Though she had only Sir Steven’s vague description to go on, Capt. Raynalds should not be hard to spot in this sea of familiar faces. His, after all, would be the one she did not recognize.
To ensure she made a good impression on him, she had taken care to look her best. Her frock, constructed of copper-colored silk with an organza overlay, had a high waist, a low neckline, and swished elegantly when she moved.
She had also rouged her cheeks, stained her lips, and set her hair with rags and sugar water. The resulting curls now dangled in coils from the pearl-studded chignon at the back of her head.
“There are Lady Baldwyn and Sir Steven,” her mother announced over the noise of the room. “Let us go over and inquire after our promising new neighbor.”
Mama led the way toward the refreshments room, where the Baldwyns were loading their plates with tempting treats. To bolster her courage and confidence, Louisa went straight for the punch bowl. After ladling herself a cup, she sipped the potent mixture while her mother inquired after the man upon whom she’d pinned all her hopes.
“My daughters, especially Louisa,” Mama said to Sir Steven, “are counting upon making his acquaintance this evening, as you can well imagine.”
“I can indeed,” said Sir Steven, glancing Louisa’s way. “And rightly so, though I regret to say he has not yet arrived. I do, however, expect to see him very soon, for he gave me his word as a gentleman he would be here before evening’s end.”
After emptying her cup, Louisa felt a smidgeon less inhibited, but nowhere near as brave as she would need to be to carry out her plan. Turning back to the punch bowl for another cup of courage, she was dismayed to find someone else in possession of the ladle.
Augusta Cuthbertson, her former childhood friend.
Louisa’s heart frosted over as she forced her mouth into a pleasant smile. Once, she and Augusta had been as close as two friends could be. Then, without cause or explanation, Augusta abruptly ended their association. Hurt and baffled, Louisa had asked her mother what might be behind Augusta’s sudden and inexplicable coldness toward her.
“Jealously, my dear,” Mama had told her. “She obviously views you as a rival and fears she will suffer
in the comparison if she is seen side-by-side with you. And who could blame her? For you are much handsomer and vivacious than is she.”
Unwilling to accept that she was that pretty—or Augusta that petty—Louisa rejected the explanation at the time. In the three years since, she had come to see just how small and false Augusta Cuthbertson really was.
People began talking to Louisa, and she answered them absentmindedly. At length, she got hold of the ladle and replenished her cup. She then moved away from her family into the doorway to watch the dancing.
The musicians struck up a lively reel and, as she tapped her satin slipper in time to the tune, the yen to dance burned in her breast. As if reading her mind, a man approached and bowed low over the hand she offered in greeting. She knew him from past assemblies to be Mr. Cooper, the captain of an iron mine over Ironbridge way. He also was tall, good-looking, well-dressed, and light on his feet. Though he’d sought her out a few times before, never had he pursued her further. Not that Papa would have allowed him to court her, for her father disdained mining captains even more than their military counterparts.
“May I claim this dance, Miss Bennet?” he asked with a charming smile. “Unless you would rather not join the reel in progress…in which case, I will gladly wait for the next one.”
She flicked a glance toward the assembling couples. The line was long, meaning the set could easily last an hour or more. By then, Capt. Raynalds would have surely arrived, and she must not miss her chance to take his measure.
“I am sure no one will mind if we join late,” she said obligingly.
She took his offered arm and, as they squeezed through the press, her gown rustled divinely. They took their place and performed the requisite figures and steps as they progressed up the rows. Half an hour after they’d started, their turn came.
As they danced down the line, Mr. Cooper spoke his first words to her since they took their places. “I have heard you are to marry your cousin before your next birthday. Have I been correctly informed?”
“It is my father’s wish that I marry his heir, who is indeed a cousin of mine,” she explained.
“Your cousin is a lucky man indeed.”
And if I am just as lucky, he will drop dead before the banns are read.
The dance ended a few minutes later and, just as Louisa sat to cool down and catch her breath, a hush fell over the room. Seeking the cause of the sudden quiet, she shot a glance toward the door. Her pulse, already racing from the exercise, gained more speed when she caught sight of two gentlemen and a lady she’d never set eyes upon before.
Beside her, a young woman whispered, “Is that they? Which one do you suppose is Captain Raynalds? Oh, I do hope he is not the one with the cane, for Mama wants me to try for him, for all your sakes.”
Louisa, suddenly ashamed of her scheming, studied the newcomers. The young lady was Charlotte’s age—or perhaps Henrietta’s—though certainly no older. She had a pretty face and thick blond hair done up in a mass of ringlets. Her gown, a flattering shade of pale blue, was accented by elbow-length gloves and a simple string of pearls.
The gentlemen with her cut equally striking figures. The shorter of the two (though by no means short) wore his dark hair in the au courant “windswept” style. He had chiseled features and a ready smile that showed off straight white teeth.
The taller of the two was the one with the cane. His golden blond hair was thick, wavy, and styled in a longer version of the “Brutus” cut made popular by Beau Brummel. He donned the standard evening attire—apart from one small detail. He wore trousers instead of the knee-breeches and stockings favored by every other gentleman in the room.
Was he thumbing his nose at convention? Or were the trousers meant to conceal whatever was wrong with his leg? For she now saw he walked with a pronounced limp.
For some reason, this man appealed to her more than the other—not in spite of his limp and avant-garde wardrobe choice, but because of them. In her books, flaws, if they were not too severe, made people more interesting and endearing than those who maintained the pretense of perfection. Perfect people, after all, were ungenuine—and she vastly preferred authenticity in a life companion.
She continued to observe the blond gentleman until her view was blocked by the people crowding around his party. The ballroom came back into focus. The ensemble was playing a gavotte, and her three younger sisters had joined the dancers.
A clock gonged somewhere in the room, making Louisa feel like Cinderella. Soon, the ball would end and she would go home without having met her prince—unless she acted quickly. With tightness in her throat and chest, she looked back to where she had seen him last, hoping the throng had thinned out enough to approach him. After she located Sir Steven, of course, as it would be highly improper for an unmarried woman to introduce herself to a bachelor at an affair of this kind.
The crowd had moved on, but so had the Captain and his party. Afraid she had missed her chance, she conducted a visual search from her chair. Upon finding him again (or the one she believed to be him, at least), her stomach fluttered with a mixture of angst and nervous excitement. He was now in the ballroom, not far away.
She took the opportunity to study his face. He was even handsomer up close than from a distance. His cheekbones were high, his “fine blue eyes” wide-set and intense, and his nose an agreeable size and shape. But it was his mouth that nearly undid her. The sensual curve of his lips aroused in her the wicked desire to be kissed in ways that were highly unsuitable.
His good looks and her obvious attraction to him boded well for her plan. If she could make a love match—even a less-than-honest one—she would be satisfied. When he glanced her way, their eyes met for one fiery moment. Then, flushed and flustered, she looked away.
She watched the dancers for a time before stealing another glance the blond gentleman’s way. He, too, was intent on the dancing couples, which now included his two companions. Was he indeed the Captain, or the handsome Lieutenant of whom Sir Steven also spoke? For the Baron had not mentioned a limp in his description of Capt. Raynalds. Not that it really mattered which one was which. She liked the blond best, and would endeavor to form an attachment with him, whoever he turned out to be.
She continued watching her objet de désir, but discreetly. In Much Wenlock, people made a great deal out of the slightest show of preference. She must, therefore, take care to be as inconspicuous as possible, lest the rumors got back to her father.
As she stole occasional glances his way, she became more and more convinced he was indeed who she presumed him to be. She also came to see that Sir Steven had misspoken. Their new neighbor was not disinclined to dance; he was unable to dance, which was not the same thing at all. The poor man clearly wanted to dance, but had lost the ability in service to King and Country—assuming, of course, his limp was the result of an injury sustained while fighting the French.
A strong wave of compassion crashed over Louisa. Equally powerful was the desire to make his acquaintance. She scanned the room for Sir Steven, spotting him at last in a knot of people. Wrestling her nerves, she rose from her chair and wove her way through the horde.
Noticing her approach, the Baron turned her way with an obliging smile. “Miss Bennet, how good of you to seek me out.”
Too anxious for small talk, she got straight to the point. “I have come to beg an introduction to Captain Raynalds now that he has come.” Glancing back toward the ballroom, she pointed out the gentleman with the cane. “I believe that is he over there, observing the dancers. Have I identified the Captain correctly?”
“You have indeed, my dear.”
Warmth spread through her, easing her tension some. “Does he not look as if he needs someone to come to his aid?”
“He does indeed,” Sir Steven said with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “And I can only presume you wish to be that someone, Miss Bennet?”
Her face heated and her stomach tightened. “I might wish it, if I knew the extent of his
disability.”
“I wish I could help you there,” said the Baron, “but I know not the severity of his disability—only that it stems from an injury he sustained at Trafalgar.” With a merry grin, Sir Steven offered his arm. “Now, shall we go rescue the poor Captain from his self-imposed exile?”
Louisa took the Baron’s stout arm and, as he guided her toward her only hope of escape, her mouth went dry and her pulse quickened. Once the introductions were out of the way, she said to Capt. Raynalds, “You look as if you wish to be dancing. Were you fond of the amusement before you were injured?”
“I was indeed, Miss Bennet.”
His answer confirmed her suspicions—and aroused in her the desire to assist him. “Have you attempted to dance since?”
He scoffed. “I have trouble enough walking, dear lady. How the devil would I ever manage a contra-dance or reel?”
She swallowed the offense his belligerent tone kindled in her breast. He was a sailor, after all, and was probably unused to conversing with ladies of genteel birth. “Perhaps you might manage something less boisterous. A gavotte, perhaps, or a simple cotillion. I would be only too happy to assist you, if you are inclined to make the effort.”
There, she had played her card. Would he pick it up?—or leave it on the table?
“That is very charitable of you,” he said with a nod. “I could not, however, possibly impose upon your generosity, especially when I harbor not the smallest hope of the enterprise resulting in aught but my complete humiliation.”
Her disappointment did not curtail her determination for long. The stakes were too high to be defeated so easily. “You will not really know until you try, now will you?”
“No, I suppose not.” He held her gaze in a most disarming manner. “Though I have a pretty bloody good idea.”
