“No kissing,” she said, determined to make it clear before she weakened. “A business arrangement.”
“If that is your wish,” Guy said, and his smile widened.
“I must have your word, Guy,” she demanded.
“You have my word.” He cast her a hurt glance she didn’t trust. “No lovemaking unless you desire it.”
She wasn’t sure she liked the way he phrased it. It sounded like a challenge. She shrugged it off as excitement gripped her. London. “Very well.”
“You agree?”
“Yes.”
“Bon.” He kissed her hand and jumped up. “I thank you with all of my heart. Now I must go. I will return to ask your father tomorrow.”
“Ask my father?” She clearly hadn’t thought it through. It all became very real.
Oh dear.
Chapter Eleven
After her father enthusiastically embraced the engagement, Hetty was left to struggle with guilt. Not so for Guy. Closeted in the library with her father, the two discussed her dowry and the marriage settlement. That done, he and her father shared a joke while discussing salmon fishing and farm practices. A good deal of bonhomie and laughter floated out the door along with the smoke.
Guy emerged at last and told her of his intention to continue his daily search for his portmanteau. Whether he found it or not, he would leave for London two days hence. This time he would travel by coach with a footman riding shotgun. Hetty would see him again when she arrived at her aunt’s the following week. He smiled down at her as they said their goodbyes at the front door.
“You needn’t be quite so pleased.” She wanted him to suffer at least a twinge of guilt.
His lips curled up at the corners. She took a steadying breath. He was not her true beau, and she must never forget it.
“Goodbye, fair Hetty.” He bent his head and dropped a feather-light kiss close to the corner of her mouth as she turned her head away. “I’ll count the days until we meet in London.”
Hetty glowered at him. He’d come close to breaking the rules of their agreement already. “You will stay with Eustace in Mayfair?”
“I am invited to put up with a friend, Lord Strathairn, as my townhouse is to be sold.”
“You might improve things between you, should you stay with him.”
His eyes clouded. “I don’t believe Eustace and I shall ever be friends. Even if he is innocent, he has doubted me from the first.”
“But, Guy…”
His dark eyebrows slammed together. “I expected to be given the benefit of the doubt. You gave it, the people of Digswell have given it. Why not he?” She opened her mouth to argue in Eustace’s defense, but he placed a finger to her lips. “Hetty, I suspect as a wife you will give a man little peace.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we aren’t to marry, do you not agree?” she fired back incensed. She’d been trying to repair the rift, but maybe Guy was right. He and Eustace would never be friends.
“Mmm?” He gave her that annoyingly inscrutable look he adopted at times.
She considered it prudent to change the topic of conversation. “I wish you luck in your search. It will put paid to this uncertainty.”
When he took her hand and stroked the inside of her wrist, she could feel the fast beat of her pulse.
“I’ll have to see about a ring.”
She withdrew her hand. “There’s no need for that,” she said breathlessly. “I mean, I understood it was to be just a matter of days and made known only to Papa and Eustace. Then we can end it discreetly.”
“And leave you living with your aunt?”
“Yes.”
He frowned. “It must appear real. And remain in place until everything has been set to rights.”
Disconcerted, she tried to discern his thoughts. “But how long might that take?”
“Until my sister arrives. Unless I find my portmanteau before I leave for London.” He tilted his head. “Doesn’t a season in London appeal to you?”
“Oh, it does,” she said, excitement creeping into her voice. “London offers so much. My aunt’s poetry readings most particularly.”
He firmed his lips. “Poetry is well and good, but it pales beside life experience, Hetty.”
“And real life sometimes pales beside poetry,” she said coolly. He could be so annoying at times.
He arched an eyebrow. “That would depend on what one experienced. And with whom.”
Her cheeks heated. “Miss Fanny is in London. You might call on her. I shall give you her address.”
“I would be pleased to,” he said. “I like Miss Fanny.”
Hetty watched him ride away. London and its charms awaited her, with the promise of a visit to the museum and the Tower, art galleries and literary soirees, plays and the opera. The prospect should thrill her. Instead, she turned away troubled. She doubted they could extricate themselves from this fine mess without someone being hurt. She prayed it wouldn’t be Guy’s reputation, for a broken engagement was frowned upon, but it was more likely to be her heart.
Two weeks later, in Aunt Emily’s townhouse parlor, her aunt expressed her enthusiasm to at last have Hetty stay for a whole season. And how utterly thrilled she was at the news of the engagement. “A baron no less,” she said for the fifth time. “The aristocracy don’t generally marry gentry unless there’s money involved. It’s always a matter of finance. And surely the baron doesn’t need to fill his coffers?”
“I don’t believe so, aunt.”
“Well. Then. Fancy.” Her aunt fell silent.
Unable to continue weaving a web of lies, Hetty fell silent.
Aunt Emily wandered over to her desk. She picked up a pen and prodded her topknot with the end while studying the papers on the desktop. “This morning in anticipation of your visit, I penned a short verse in iambic pentameter. An Ode to Spring. Would you care to read it?” She held it out to her.
Hetty put down her teacup. Having just arrived, stiff and weary, and consumed with exhilaration at the sight of the big, bustling city, she’d never felt so little enthusiasm for rhyme. But she took the proffered page and read it.
“It’s wonderful, Aunt Emily. I love the way you’ve rhymed ‘tree’, with ‘free’ and linked ‘spring’ with ‘wing’. There is a deep sense of freedom when spring first sends up those green shoots after a long winter,” she said warmly, when she’d finished, although she found it too flowery for her taste. Somehow, the idea of spending her days penning verse had lost its attraction, although she was sure it would return, after the excitement of being here had died down. She wondered again why Aunt Emily had never married. Might the loss of a lover be the cause of filling her life with poetry, literature, and art? She must find a tactful way to ask her. Eustace had hinted at a mysterious man in her aunt’s past, but he’d been hazy on the details and her father had never mentioned it.
Her aunt tucked the poem into a book. “Stand up, Hetty, and turn around. Let me have a look at you.”
Hetty obligingly stood and completed a slow turn, drawing a frown from Aunt Emily. “Your dress is woefully outmoded. That shade of green was seasons ago. And sleeves are fuller this year.”
Her aunt’s interest in fashion was surprising because it seemed so out of character. “Papa has been economizing. And there’s not much of a choice of fabrics in Digswell. And if I order a gown from a catalogue, it’s not always a good fit.”
“My brother, dear as he is to me, is entirely too parsimonious.” She tsked. “For goodness’ sake, you are about to marry into the aristocracy.” She crossed the room to sort through a stack of magazines. “The sooner we do something about your wardrobe, the better.”
Her aunt selected a copy of the La Belle Assemblee magazine. She handed it Hetty. “This has just arrived. See what appeals. We shall require a French modiste. Paris fashion has taken London by storm this year.”
Hetty guiltily admired the elegant gowns featured on every page. Might she have an outfit like one of these
? Perhaps two would be more practical. She would get years of wear out of them in Digswell. She was struck by a ball gown with a stiff, ruffled collar. Extremely tall ostrich feathers decorated the lady’s headdress. “I do like this.”
Her aunt looked at the page. “Mm? One must not go overboard, perhaps.”
“What about this sea green turban?”
“We shall discuss it with the dressmaker. She will know what is suitable for every occasion. Fortunately, you have an excellent figure.” Aunt Emily pulled the bell to summon a servant. “You must tell me everything. I cannot wait to hear how this engagement came about.”
Hetty bent her head to hide her hot cheeks. “It happened quite fast, Aunt. Lord Fortescue finds himself in need of a fiancée.”
Her aunt sighed. “It’s not a love match?”
“More of a business arrangement.”
“But, you said he wasn’t in need of money.” Aunt Emily’s eyes widened. “If that were the case, Lord Fortescue would choose a lord’s daughter.”
“Yes, but it’s a matter of urgency.”
Her aunt’s eyes became owlish. “Urgency? I don’t understand, dear. Then what? Is he seriously ill?” Her face took on a tragic cast. “Surely you aren’t to be a young widow?”
Hetty twisted her handkerchief. She couldn’t produce a convincing lie to save her life, and her aunt’s understanding seemed a good deal sharper than her father’s. Or were men just easier to fool?
“Hetty?” Aunt Emily’s voice lowered accusingly. “There is a story here. I wish to learn it.” She sat down and folded her arms. “Tell all, if you please.”
Hetty sipped a glass of water. Her throat was horribly dry. She’d been pleading her case for over an hour. A study of her aunt’s face revealed there was still more to be said. “You have made a very bad mistake, indulging him in this, my dear. Your father has been remiss, but men… well, they have little commonsense.”
“But, Aunt…”
Her aunt held up a hand. “What will occur when the engagement ends? Tell me that.”
“I’ll return home.” To live with my dreams. She would become an oddity in Digswell she supposed. A whiff of scandal would follow her about, which might help make her poetry more popular.
“It must be something from the baron’s past,” her aunt said with conviction. “I don’t know him well, but I can’t believe Mr. Fennimore capable of such a thing.” She shook her head. “I understand your need to protect this man, but I can’t see that it should be you. It’s not wise.” Her brows drew together. “If your father knew the truth—”
“Oh, please don’t tell him, Aunt. I promise to when it’s at an end. I doubt it will be for very long, and I don’t want Papa upset unnecessarily. I have gained a good deal from this. After all, I’m here with you in London.”
“I’ve a good mind to speak to this Lord Fortescue. He has placed you in an invidious position.”
The maid appeared at the door and held out a calling card. “You have a visitor, Miss Emily.”
“Now who might this be?” Aunt Emily said crossly. “I want to talk you out of this silly…” She read the card and looked up. “Just the man I wish to see. Send him in, Sarah.”
Guy entered the room, tall and imposing, a silver-topped cane tucked beneath his arm as he removed gray gloves. He was dressed immaculately in fitted buff trousers, a dark blue superfine coat and spotless linen, a gold fob looped over his embroidered silk waistcoat.
Hetty’s heart fluttered. He looked elegant, poised, and heart-wrenchingly handsome. Aunt Emily thought so, too. She curtsied and bid him welcome in a breathy voice.
“Delighted, Miss Cavendish.” Guy bowed. “Your niece has told me of your celebrated literary soirees. I have looked forward to meeting you and hope to be invited to attend when next you have one.”
Hetty stood, clenched her hands, and waited for her aunt to inform him that the engagement must be at an end.
Guy’s gaze swept Hetty with unveiled appreciation. “You appear to be in excellent health, Miss Cavendish. I trust you had a pleasant and uneventful trip?”
“I did, thank you.” Hetty was struck by how different he seemed. Back in Digswell he was undoubtedly handsome, but here he appeared so much more commanding and like the lord of the realm he was. Her aunt obviously thought so, too. Hetty fell silent, tamping down her impatience to ask him the latest news.
Aunt Emily smiled. “Please do sit, my lord. Would you care for a libation?”.
“Nothing to drink, thank you.” He removed a small box from his pocket. “I wonder if I might be permitted a moment alone with Miss Cavendish?”
Hetty’s gaze flew to her aunt, who was eyeing the jeweler’s box. “Certainly, my lord.” Amazed and relieved, she watched as her aunt gathered up her shawl and glasses and hurried from the room.
She turned to Guy. “Did you find your portmanteau?”
He shook his head.
“Oh. I’m sorry. You’ve been to your solicitor?”
“I just came from Lincoln’s Inn. A codicil is to be added to the will. I plan to see Eustace this afternoon.”
“But without your papers, it has no relevance.”
“It may force his hand.”
“Does that mean you might be in more danger?”
“We shall see. I’m prepared for it, in any case.”
She gazed doubtfully at him as Guy flipped open the satin-lined box.
Hetty dropped her gaze to the diamond ring. A veritable sunburst of light. She gasped. “It’s beautiful.”
Guy reached for her hand.
“I don’t suppose I could accompany you to see Eustace?”
“No, you may not.” Hetty’s hand trembled in his. A frisson of excitement bubbled up inside her when he slipped the ring on her finger. Her attempts to remind herself their engagement was not real didn’t seem to help. “It’s beautiful. It fits so perfectly.”
He nodded, pleased. “Good, then I guessed the size correctly.”
“How clever of you.” She turned her hand to admire the rose-cut diamond set in a cluster of smaller emeralds which was only on loan to her.
“A kiss to seal the arrangement.” Leaning close, Guy framed her face in his big hands. Before she could object, his mouth covered hers and her senses swam.
When he drew away, she was about to rebuke him, but remembered her aunt, lurking, no doubt, somewhere outside the door. He ran a finger over her bottom lip, and she shook her head at him.
He smiled. “Do you like what you’ve seen of London?”
“You hadn’t told me how busy, smoky, noisy, and smelly it is. Someone is always rapping on the door to offer to fix one’s chairs or sharpen one’s knives. And night is only a little better with the town crier tolling the hour and carts and night carriages passing the door.” She smiled. “But I still can’t wait to see more of it.”
He laughed. “You shall.”
With a discreet cough, Aunt Emily entered the room.
“Would you like to see the ring, Aunt?” Hetty held out her hand.
Aunt Emily nodded her approval. “How tasteful.”
“Can I persuade you both to accompany me to the Theatre Royal tomorrow evening?”
Hetty’s heart leapt. The theatre! How thrilling, she glanced uncertainly at her aunt.
She needn’t have worried; her aunt’s eyes held an excited gleam. “We shall be delighted, my lord. Mr. Edmund Keane performs King Lear. Everyone talks of it. How fortunate that you have obtained seats.”
“Most fortunate,” Guy said. “A friend, Lord Strathairn, has invited us to join him in his box.”
“Indeed.” A pink flush crept over Aunt Emily’s cheeks, and she put her hand to the locket at her throat.
Guy bowed. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Aunt Emily looked pensive when the door closed behind Guy. Then she came to life, clapping her hands. “We must prepare, my dear. Such an evening awaits us!”
Hetty held up her hand to admire her ring as she
followed her aunt upstairs. She was surprised and relieved that her aunt seemed to have changed her mind. Why she had was a mystery, but Hetty hoped it would continue for the length of the engagement. However long that would be. She’d given her word to Guy and would not break it.
On Friday evening, Hetty entered Guy’s carriage wearing her sprigged muslin beneath her aunt’s Spitalfield’s velvet evening cloak of rose pink shot through with gold. Her aunt wore purple. Gas lamps lighted their way through the streets. Covent Garden was ablaze, the crowd a fascinating mix, from strolling prostitutes to flower sellers to the most admired members of the ton. In the theatre foyer, Guy introduced her aunt and Hetty to the Earl of Strathairn, a handsome, fair-haired man, and his two sisters, the married Lady Eleanor Fitzherbert, and the younger Lady Georgina Haldane, a vivacious brunette not long out of the schoolroom. Hetty envied the young woman’s blush pink gown embroidered with rosebuds, so delicate a fabric it seemed to float around her. “So, you’re the one who has snatched Lord Fortescue from under our very noses,” Lady Georgina said.
“Georgina!” Lady Eleanor chided with an embarrassed laugh. Lady Eleanor, more subdued in saffron silk, was older than her sister by some years and looked more like her brother in appearance. “Welcome to London, Miss Cavendish. You must forgive my sister. Georgina has yet to learn to curb her tongue.”
“Yes, Georgina, do apologize.” Lord Strathairn frowned. “You have offended Miss Cavendish.”
“Oh no, she hasn’t at all.” Hetty smiled warmly at the elegant brother and his two sisters. “I can but hope you’ll forgive me, Lady Georgina.”
Guy laughed. “Do not be harsh with Lady Georgina, John. She has become my stalwart friend, assisting me in all manner of English ways, of which I confess to ignorance.”
They ascended the crimson velvet-covered stairs to the row of gilt-embossed doors and entered the box. Settled on gilt-legged chairs upholstered in the same crimson velvet, coffee was brought. A din rose up from the seats below. In the boxes opposite, people gossiped and waved.
Hetty leaned forward in her chair as the curtain rose on King Lear’s palace. The audience didn’t cease in their chatter, and many still roamed about when Edmund Kean appeared. Applause broke out. She turned to Guy and found his eyes on her. “Isn’t this exciting?” she whispered.
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