A Most Unconventional Match

by Julia Justiss

  ‘Should Mr Scarbridge have called?’ Elizabeth asked anxiously, recalling Hal from his consternation. ‘I’m sorry to keep asking questions, but as I suppose is quite obvious, I know nothing about finances. Or anything else useful,’ she added with a twisted smile.

  She looked weary and cast-down, almost as woebegone as her son. ‘You know the state of household accounts,’ he replied, wishing to encourage her.

  She brightened imperceptibly. ‘I was just looking over them. And I have paid the servants.’

  ‘Know balance? After expenditures for house, mourning clothes.’

  Her momentary look of confidence faded. ‘I’ve only begun to look over the accounts and…I’m afraid I’m not very good with numbers. Besides, Sands, our butler, took care of ordering the wreaths and mourning dress. I already had some older gowns that would do, so I have no idea what all the necessities cost.’

  ‘Old gowns?’ Hal echoed, astounded. His mama never missed an opportunity to expand her wardrobe. For the death of a close relative or acquaintance, she invariably purchased at least half a dozen new gowns, plus bonnets, scarves, stockings, pelisses and slippers to match. After all, she’d told him on the last occasion, styles had changed since she’d last worn mourning, and he couldn’t expect her to appear in public shabbily dressed.

  Mrs Lowery, however, looked distressed. ‘Are you thinking I should have purchased new ones? I assure you, I meant no disrespect to Everitt. Perhaps I should have made the effort, but I was already so beside myself, I couldn’t bear the thought. Shopping is so taxing, all the material so lovely, with so many different textures, weaves and colours ’tis nearly impossible to choose.’

  ‘Mama has same problem,’ Hal replied. ‘Chooses one of everything.’

  That elicited a brief smile, though Hal’s reply had been entirely serious. ‘And it’s so time-consuming. My husband and his cousin Miss Lowery, who lives with us, have always been kind enough to handle those purchases for me. Miss Lowery delighted in discussing the latest fashions with Everitt, who was always willing to escort her to the dressmaker’s. Since I care little about what I wear, as long as ’tis comfortable, I’ve been happy to let them.’

  ‘Don’t like to go to the shops,’ Hal repeated. Staring at her incomparable loveliness, he just couldn’t get his mind around that incredible statement.

  ‘No,’ she admitted with another apologetic shrug. ‘I expect it was unkind of me to foist such a…a feminine matter off upon my husband. He…he spoiled me dreadfully, you see,’ she said, her voice hitching.

  A beautiful woman who didn’t delight in spending a man’s blunt. Hal shook his mind away from that conundrum back to the matter at hand. ‘First, I’ll call on Scarbridge. See what he knows.’

  ‘What of the loan?’ she asked. ‘Mr Smith said he would be back.’

  ‘Won’t be. I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘But what if Mr Scarbridge tells you there’s not enough money to repay the loan?’

  The anxiety in her eyes cut at his heart. Wanting to reassure her and unable to voice a sufficient number of appropriately soothing words, without thinking, Hal stepped over and took her hand.

  Immediately he realised what a bad idea that was. He looked at it, her small slender fingers, gloveless as if she’d just put down one of her paintbrushes, clasped in his big ones. Her skin softer than he’d imagined, the feel of it sending shivers of fire straight to his loins. Her scent, some attar of roses that reminded him of the flowers he’d had planted in the gardens back at the Hall, wafted through his nostrils and clouded his head.

  He wanted to wrap her in his arms, tell her everything would be all right, that he would protect her from every danger, watch over her and guard her with all the strength he possessed for the rest of his days.

  All after the mere touch of her hand. This was going to be even worse than he’d feared; a death knell of warning tolled in his brain.

  He released her fingers and staggered back a step, his heart pounding so hard, he knew she must be able to hear it. ‘Will take care of it,’ he managed to mumble. Desperately he made her a bow and turned to go.

  ‘Mr Waterman,’ her voice recalled him. Urgently needing to escape, he halted long enough to look back over his shoulder.

  ‘Thank you for offering to protect us. I don’t feel quite so alone and helpless now.’

  ‘Pleasure,’ he replied. As he paced toward the exit, he tried to ignore the little glow her words had ignited in his heart.

  Thoughtfully Elizabeth watched the big man walk away. She rubbed her hand, which still tingled strangely.

  She wasn’t sure what to think. She did feel much less anxious, as she’d told him. Though she probably shouldn’t have confided in him, since, despite being Nicky and Sarah’s good friend, he was no more closely related to her than Sir Gregory.

  Still, as he’d assured her in that odd, clipped way he had of speaking, he was a family connection, while Sir Gregory was merely a friend of Everitt’s. Though she had dispatched a note telling Nicky and Sarah of Everitt’s death right after the funeral, she had no idea when or even whether her missive would find them. She knew Mr Waterman was right in asserting that Nicky would expect his best friend to assist her until he returned himself.

  Though Mr Waterman had seemed almost…hostile when David first brought him in, her heart warmed as she recalled the scene. Even if she’d not heard glowing avowals of his character from her sister and brother-in-law, she would have trusted Hal Waterman based simply on the way he’d treated her son.

  He’d knelt down to David’s level, coaxed a smile to his solemn little face, then actually made him giggle. How her heart had leapt to hear it! After this awful, interminable month, poor David was desolate for attention, hungry for the company of a man upon whom he could depend.

  Even as she was.

  She did feel she could depend on Hal Waterman to handle the distressing matter of Mr Smith and the loan. Now that she thought about it, she recalled Nicky telling her Mr Waterman had a keen mathematical mind and was an expert in matters of finance and investment. Quite likely not even Nicky himself would be better situated to resolve whatever tangle Everitt had left in their financial affairs.

  So she would be seeing Mr Waterman again. The idea made something stir within her. Though she’d felt nothing but grief and regret for so long, she wasn’t sure just what.

  Probably it was that he presented such an arresting figure—she could almost feel her fingers itch with impatience to find a brush. Though he was taller and broader of shoulder than any man she’d ever met, he carried himself with an athlete’s easy grace. The muscles of his thighs and calves revealed by his knit breeches and form-fitting boots attested to time spent in the saddle, while the abdomen beneath his plain waistcoat appeared firm and flat. As for his face, with his golden hair worn just long enough to curl over his brow, a high forehead, well-formed nose and square jaw, he reminded her of the Roman bust of Apollo her husband had recently acquired.

  Although with his size and air of authority, she would rather paint him as Zeus, king of the gods. For a moment, she smiled at the idea of ordering him to strip off his garments and dress in a toga, the better for her to capture the likeness.

  Something about the image made her feel suddenly overwarm. She reached up a hand to fan herself. Hal Waterman was quite as attractive as he was arresting, she realised.

  He found her attractive, too, she knew. By now she was used to seeing the interest flare in men’s eyes when they looked at her. She could identify every degree of attraction, from the gentle love and respect that had always shown in Everitt’s, to the slavish eagerness to impress of some of the young men he’d sometimes brought to dinner, to the hot-eyed lust in Mr Smith’s that she’d found so disconcerting and repellent.

  That might have made her current situation more difficult, except that the masculine appreciation in Mr Waterman’s eyes had not made her feel at all uncomfortable, overlayed as it was by a quaint shyness and a res
pect bordering almost on reverence. With utter certainty she knew that admire her as he might, he would never say or do anything to distress or discomfort her. Even the clasping of her hand that she’d found so oddly disturbing had been meant only to reassure.

  Yes, she could depend upon him utterly. And if something else tickled at the edges of her consciousness, some little niggle in the pit of her stomach she couldn’t quite identify, she needn’t regard it.

  Mr Waterman promised to keep her and David secure until Sarah and Nicky returned. For that favour, she would owe him her warmest appreciation.

  Chapter Four

  Still shaken from his encounter with Elizabeth Lowery, Hal returned to his bachelor quarters on Upper Brook Street. Feeling the morning’s events called for stiffer reinforcement than a glass of wine, he headed straight for the brandy decanter in the library.

  The satisfying bite of the liquor burning its way to his belly helped relax the knots in his nerves. Breathing easy for the first time since leaving the widow’s presence, he tried to shake his mind free of her lingering spell.

  All right, so she was still beautiful. Dazzling, even. And, yes, he burned as fiercely to possess her as he had the first time he’d seen her. Except now, moved by her plight and that of her fatherless son, he also wanted to protect them and ease the small boy’s misery.

  He could handle his lust. For six years now he’d had a comfortable, mutually agreeable arrangement with a big-hearted lady he’d met at one of London’s most exclusive brothels and who now resided in a discreet house on Curzon Street he’d purchased for her. Sweet Sally would keep his masculine urges slaked.

  He’d just have to work on leashing his emotions.

  It was unfortunate that Lowery hadn’t entrusted his business affairs to someone capable of managing them. It appeared that Hal was going to have to tap his contacts and do some investigating to determine exactly how things stood so he could restore the Lowery finances to good order before turning everything over to Nicky upon his return.

  Which meant he would probably see a lot more of Elizabeth…far more than was good for his heart or his senses. Hearing himself sigh at that conclusion like an infatuated moonling just up from Oxford, Hal straightened and squared his shoulders.

  All right, so it was unlikely, given her professed dislike of shopping—a description Hal still had a hard time believing—that Elizabeth Lowery had got her household into financial difficulties. But just because, unlike his own mama, she didn’t visit the shops more regularly than she did her son’s nursery didn’t mean she was born to bear his children.

  If he tried to focus his visits to Green Street on spending as much time with the boy and as little as possible with the widow, he might still escape this tangle intact. Surely he could manage to remain sensible for the two-or-so months remaining until Nicky came home?

  He had just knocked back the last measure of brandy when a tap sounded at the door and his valet Jeffers entered, bearing several boxes.

  To the unspoken question of his lifted eyebrows, Jeffers said, ‘Your lady mother called while you were out.’

  Hal groaned. ‘Praise God I was out.’

  Jeffers smiled. ‘Having called so early on the expectation of finding you at home, Mrs Waterman was…less than pleased to discover you away. It took a glass of Madeira and some of Cook’s best biscuits to convince her you’d not deliberately conspired to have her quit her bedchamber at nearly dawn and go out in the early morning damp so prejudicial to her complexion, all the while knowing she would fail to find you here. Though she did condescend to leave these packages, I believe it would be accurate to infer that you are still in her black books.’

  ‘Always am anyway,’ Hal mumbled.

  Jeffers nodded sympathetically. ‘Quite.’

  ‘What’s in ’em?’ Hal gestured to the boxes. ‘Know you’ve looked.’

  Jeffers cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Waterman purchased some garments that she felt might assist you in updating your wardrobe to present a more fashionable appearance.’

  Hal rolled his eyes. ‘How bad are they?’

  Jeffers opened the first box. ‘Wellington pantaloons are quite stylish now,’ he said, shaking out the garment and holding it up.

  Grimacing, Hal inspected the long pants that featured side slits from calves down to ankles, where they fastened with loops and buttons at the heel. ‘Not so bad, but keep my breeches.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ The valet opened the next box, and with a determinedly straight face, held up a waistcoat.

  Alternating blue and yellow stripes, each nearly three inches wide, met Hal’s incredulous view.

  ‘Mrs Waterman said it was all the crack,’ Jeffers informed him.

  Hal snorted. ‘Don’t doubt. On man my size, look like curtains out of bordello.’

  The valet’s lips twitched. ‘I believe this last item meant to avoid that by giving you a more…slender look.’ He removed the garment from its box and held it out.

  ‘What the—?’ Hal exclaimed.

  ‘’Tis a Cumberland corset,’ the valet explained. ‘The body contains whalebone stays, which, once placed about the waist, cinch in with these strings…’

  Hal nipped the garment from his servant’s hand, looked it over briefly—and burst out laughing. After a moment, Jeffers lost the battle to maintain an expressionless demeanour and started laughing as well.

  Finally containing his mirth, Hal wiped his eyes and tossed the corset back in its box, where it collapsed in a clunk of whalebone.

  ‘I’d give ’em to poor, but poor not sapskulled enough to wear ’em. Take ’em, please.’ Hal stacked the boxes and handed them back to Jeffers. ‘New, and if know Mama, highest quality. Suppose you can sell ’em somewhere.’

  ‘Should I place the money in the household accounts?’

  ‘’Course not. Abominations yours now. As you well know, you damnable pirate. Sold enough of Mama’s gifts over years to fund retirement.’

  Jeffers grinned. ‘Thank you, sir, ’tis very generous.’

  ‘Off with you,’ Hal said, grinning back. ‘One thing, Jeffers…’

  Already carrying away the boxes, the valet halted. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Catch you wearing that waistcoat, you’re discharged.’

  Jeffers swallowed a chuckle. ‘If I should ever don a garment even remotely resembling that waistcoat, sir, you may have me taken straight to Bedlam. Oh, Mrs Waterman did mention she hoped you’d have the manners to return her call.’

  Hal sighed as he watched the heavily-laden Jeffers walk out. That was surely the purpose of his mother bringing gifts—besides her unslakeable urge to make purchases, of course. She knew that should she not find Hal at home, he would be obligated to call and thank her for her kindness.

  At which time she would probably chastise him for his ingratitude in not wearing the new trousers and waistcoat. Recalling the latter, Hal grimaced. He’d suffer a hundred jawbonings before he’d wear a monstrosity like that.

  Did Mama really think that a whalebone contraption and one hideous waistcoat could turn him into the pattern-card of fashion she wished him to be? Or was she merely trying to irritate him beyond bearing?

  Unhappily, he was going to have to call on her and find out. Best do it first thing this afternoon and get it over with, before he went to Bow Street to investigate Mrs Lowery’s unsavoury caller.

  Setting his lips in a grim line at the prospect, Hal tugged the bell pull to call for luncheon.

  Several hours later, after dressing with a care that would doubtless be lost on a lady who was anticipating lace-tied pant legs and a boldly striped waistcoat, Hal presented himself at the large family manse on Berkeley Square. Holmes, his mother’s butler, showed him to the Green Parlour, assuring him his mother had been anticipating his call and would receive him directly.

  Palms already sweating, Hal propped one shoulder against the mantel, hoping his mama’s social schedule was full enough that the time she’d allotted for this visit would be cor
respondingly brief.

  He heard the door open, heralding his mother’s arrival, and took a deep breath. As Mrs Waterman swept into the room, Hal walked over to make his bow and kiss his mother’s proffered hand.

  ‘Lovely gown, Mama. Look enchanting.’

  As, in truth, she did. Through arts jealously guarded by that lady and her dresser Hayes, though she was well passed her fortieth year, Letitia Waterman contrived to appear decades younger. Her intricately arranged blonde curls were as bright, her body as slender and her pale skin almost as unlined as when she had been the brightest new Diamond in society’s Marriage Mart, a society over which she ruled still.

  One of the scores of beaux she’d dazzled her first Season had been Hal’s father, Nathan. And since, though the Watermans were untitled, the family was related by blood or marriage to half the great houses of England and possessed more wealth than most of them put together, it hadn’t been thought surprising that, from the scores of offers she’d reportedly received, she had condescended to bestow her hand upon Nathan Waterman.

  Hal sometimes wondered if his father had ever regretted that.

  ‘Thank you, dear.’ His mother’s eyes, blue where his were grey, inspected him before she made a small moue of distaste and waved him to a chair. ‘I see you failed to avail yourself of the more fashionable garments I selected for you.’

  ‘Sorry, Mama. Most kind of you. But not my style.’

  ‘That’s precisely the point, son,’ she replied, a touch of acid in her tone. ‘I was attempting to replace “no style” with something more befitting a man of your stature, but I see that, once again, you have rebuffed my attempt.’

  There was no point answering that, even if Hal were tempted to try to make an explanation. She’d only interrupt his laborious reply, wincing slightly as if his halting speech pained her, which he supposed it did.

  Really, son, must you be so blockish? Her oft-repeated reprimand echoed in his head. Just state what you mean! If only it were that simple, Mama, he thought.