A Most Unconventional Match

by Julia Justiss

  ‘Saw him strolling down Bond Street yesterday with a striking blonde beauty,’ Fitzhugh replied. ‘Has he given up his last ladybird, do you know?’

  Blonde beauty? Hal’s heart slammed into his chest. Could it be Elizabeth?

  ‘Heard Lord Wentworth finally returned from country,’ Carleton said. ‘Perhaps Lady Wentworth decided ’twas time to terminate their little affair before her husband caught wind of it. Or perhaps the spark died. You know Holburn. Never stays with the same woman overlong.’

  ‘As easily as he seems to charm them, why not sample some new delight? Lady Wentworth, Mrs Simmons, Lady Carlisle, plus that lush little actress from the Theatre Royal…and that’s just this year!’ Fitzhugh said.

  Uninterested in Sir Gregory’s past conquests, Hal nearly came out of his chair with impatience to learn the newest lady’s name. Identify the lady! he urged silently.

  ‘So who was this new beauty?’ Montclare asked.

  ‘Didn’t recognise her,’ Fitzhugh replied. ‘Maybe a demi-rep fresh from the provinces. Had the appearance of an angel, though. Hair of deepest gold, the face of a goddess, eyes blue as a summer sky. As for her figure, ’twas impossible to tell, bundled up as she was in a shapeless black pelisse.’

  ‘If she was in black, she’s probably a widow,’ Carleton observed. ‘He does favour widows. But whose?’

  Golden hair. Face of a goddess. Blue eyes like summer sky…and dressed all in black. It must have been Elizabeth, Hal thought, chest so constricted by anxiety and rage he could barely breathe.

  ‘She looked genteel enough,’ Fitzhugh said. ‘Though she could be the relict of some Cit, I suppose.’

  ‘I expect we’ll sniff out her identity soon enough,’ Carleton said. ‘On Bond Street, you say?’

  ‘Yes. It appeared they’d just come from Madame Bissot’s, which is where Holburn dresses most of his mistresses. He was pointing out a fine necklace in the window at Rundell & Bridge, probably telling her how the aquamarines would echo the blue of her eyes.’

  The gentlemen all laughed before Carleton said, ‘He must be well along the way to seduction if he’s dangling jewels before her. I bet she succumbs before her mourning period ends. And I wager I can discover her name before the deal is concluded.’

  Hal found himself recalling Sally’s words. If the unknown beauty was Elizabeth, her appearance on Bond Street with Sir Gregory could have her walking into scandal. The question was—did she do so willingly or totally unaware?

  After arguing for several moments over the speed with which Carleton could uncover the beauty’s name, the men signalled a waiter to bring the betting book. ‘Fifty guineas says I learn the lady’s name before that sly dog finishes setting up his love nest,’ Carleton said.

  ‘You’re on,’ Fitzhugh replied.

  ‘I’ll back Carleton,’ Montclare said. ‘His sources are impeccable.’

  As Hal watched covertly, appalled, the men recorded the wager. A furious desire seized him to find Sir Gregory, grab him by the throat and choke the life out of him. He might not press Elizabeth to accept a carte blanche, but he was too experienced not to know that in strolling her down the merchandise row that was Bond Street, as Sally had warned, he was creating among gossipmongers like Fitzhugh and Montclare the perception that she was, or soon would be, his mistress.

  He recalled how she’d confessed her shyness had led her to avoid a Season. She would loathe becoming the object of some lewd wager in a gentleman’s club.

  He must do something quickly. But what…and when?

  If he delayed too long and the lady was identified to be Elizabeth, rumour would spread swiftly. Her name would be bandied about in every gentleman’s club in London; curious men with only the slimmest of ties to her late husband would use them as an excuse to call upon and ogle her, wondering if they should try their own luck. Sooner or later, she would discover the reason behind this sudden influx of visitors. Hal could only imagine how devastated and angry she would be.

  Of course, there was the possibility that they were all misjudging Sir Gregory. The baronet’s goal might well be marriage. He, like Hal, had known her for years and could not help but admire her. Now that she was free, perhaps the baronet saw a chance to claim as his own a lady for whom he’d long pined.

  ’Twas too late for Hal to approach the Lowery groom and see about setting him to spy on Sir Gregory’s activities, as Sally had suggested. Elizabeth or unknown beauty, carte blanche or wedlock—he had to find the answers before the industrious Carleton ferreted out the lady’s identity.

  A sense of doom settled heavy in his chest. Unless by some miracle he thought of a better plan, despite the ineptness of speech this delicate situation would render even more acute, Hal feared he was going to have to speak about this to Elizabeth herself.

  The next morning, after dressing with care, Hal arrived in Green Street somewhat earlier than his normal hour. He went on to earn a raised brow from Sands by requesting that, rather than be conveyed to the schoolroom to see Master David, Sands request his mistress to receive Hal in her studio to discuss a matter of some urgency.

  Having not come up with a swifter means of resolving the situation than speaking directly with Elizabeth, Hal had decided to seek her out immediately. Knowing he couldn’t endure waiting even three more hours to find the answer to the question plaguing him, while he looked for an opening to broach the subject of Sir Gregory, he could resume their discussion about her work.

  If a casual question about her whereabouts yesterday confirmed she’d not been strolling Bond Street with Sir Gregory, Hal need say nothing further.

  Oh, how he hoped it had been some other blonde lady!

  Sands returned to inform him that, though his mistress did not appreciate having her morning’s work disrupted, if the matter was truly urgent, she supposed she could receive him.

  The butler delivered that less-than-courteous response so smugly, Hal had to bite back a blighting retort before following Sands to her studio.

  Pausing on the studio’s threshold, Hal took a deep breath. He must bottle up all his anxious, angry, explosive emotions and speak with the dispassionate concern of a true friend, and not rant like a wildly jealous lover whom the wrong reply could cast into despair. For if it appeared that Elizabeth actually favoured the baronet, he must follow Sally’s advice, say nothing and walk away.

  Realising that, the tension inside him coiled tighter. Could he return to the dull stability of his existence before he’d recognised the life-altering truth of his love for Elizabeth? Hal wasn’t at all sure he could.

  Somehow, he would have to. The choice was all Elizabeth’s, not his. If she elected to accept Sir Gregory’s offer—be it carte blanche or marriage—he would have to hie himself north, bury himself in work on the new project, and try to forget he’d ever conceived of a different future for himself.

  The only saving grace in that dismal prospect was the fact that, since he’d never declared himself, he would be spared her pity.

  He’d never allowed himself to truly believe he could win Elizabeth. Surely it wouldn’t take too many months of hard labour and grim determination to stamp out the tiny flare of hope that had been ignited by Sally’s encouragement and one afternoon at the Royal Academy.

  Then Sands was announcing him. Resolutely he walked into her studio.

  ‘So, Mr Waterman, what is this urgent matter that cannot wait?’ she asked coolly.

  His pulse leapt as always at the sound of her voice, even though its tone seemed remote rather than as warmly welcoming as it had been of late. He hadn’t been mistaken; she was displeased with him.

  But not because he’d interrupted her at work. To his surprise, she was seated at her desk staring at her oil study of David, not even wearing her painting smock. The palette on the stool beside her easel held only the dry, crusted remains of a previous work session, nor did the scent of oil and fresh paint hang in the air.

  ‘Sorry to disturb,’ he said, bowing. ‘See not y
et begun.’

  ‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘What did you want?’

  She looked tense and…unhappy, Hal thought, studying her closely. Something had obviously occurred to upset her since he’d last seen her. But what—and how could he make it better?

  Might as well broach the easiest topic first. ‘Have you considered idea of painting?’

  She straightened with a jerk and turned on him a look filled with so much pain and anger that he recoiled. ‘Yes, I have. Rather too much, I expect. Did you enjoy a good joke at my expense? Laughing at how easily you gulled me, how disappointed I’d be when I learned the truth?’

  Hal stared at her blankly, his usual perceptiveness deserting him. ‘Joke? Gulled? Don’t understand.’

  ‘Are you truly are as blockish as your mama says, then?’ she lashed out at him. ‘Too oblivious not to have realised the…the drastic social consequences for me and my family were I to pursue the course you were recommending?’

  Before he could attempt a reply, she jumped up and took an agitated turn about the room. ‘How could you?’ she demanded, looking back at him. ‘How could you inflame my hopes and encourage my dreams, knowing that if I had any sense of responsibility for family at all, they must be immediately crushed. As infrequently as you go about in society, surely you must have known!’ She halted before him, accusation and misery on her face.

  ‘Eliz—’ Horrified by the conclusions she’d drawn, Hal blurted out half her given name before choking off his reply. ‘Mrs Lowery, please!’ he began again. ‘Never intended to lead on! Of course, repercussions. But late when spoke. Protect reputation, needed to leave. Thought to talk more later. If think about, not interested, no need to discuss further. Came this morning to find out.’

  Bosom heaving with emotion, tears glittering on the ends of her lashes, she studied him. ‘So you didn’t intend to mislead or deceive me?’ she asked slowly.

  Hal shook his head vehemently. ‘No! Never do that. How could you think it?’

  For a few moments longer she gazed at him, apparently assessing his sincerity. Finally, she gave him a small nod. ‘All right. What do you judge to be the repercussions, then, if I were to exhibit my work?’

  Anxious to explain himself, to redeem himself—and erase the reproach in her eyes—he found the words almost tumbling out. ‘Lady of quality not have profession. Scandalous. Artist considered like singer, dancer. Reputation little better than courtesan. Close doors of society if known openly. Affect family, too. Need to consult Sarah, Nicky. But don’t think they’d counsel you to hide gift.’

  She raised her eyebrows sceptically. ‘You think they would advise me to do something that could embarrass them, perhaps ruin my sister Faith’s début? Or David’s future?’

  ‘No. But if careful, could pursue gift, avoid scandal. Delay public exhibition until Faith married. Also thought of David. Know what it is to be object of scorn. If keep at home with tutor, avoid that. Once older, at Oxford, much forgiven young man of birth and fortune, despite unfashionable connections.’ He gave her a deprecating smile. ‘Consider me. Despite reputation, Mama still finds willing marriage candidates. If prefer, work through intermediary. You remain anonymous. But work still exhibited. Gift still shared with world. Wonderful gift. Shame to hide it.’

  She stared away, obviously considering his words. ‘So, it might yet be possible. Without harming my family?’

  ‘Yes, if want it. Do you want it?’

  She nodded absently, pacing once more. ‘I wouldn’t submit anything to the exhibition committee until after Faith is settled. As lovely and charming as she is, she may well be affianced in her first Season. I’d much prefer to have David remain with me until university anyway! I shall talk with Sarah and Nicky, but you are right—I do not believe they would urge me to abandon work that means so much to me, as long as pursuing it quietly would not injure the family. As for myself, I care little about Society’s disapproval, but, to protect them, I would be content that my paintings remain anonymous.’

  Immensely relieved, Hal watched as the hurt and unhappiness of her expression changed first to pensiveness and then to a growing excitement. ‘Could delay public showing longer, if wanted,’ he encouraged. ‘Until David out of university. Build up body of work, exhibit later. Take private commissions now. Have agent show sketches to select individuals, secure commissions. Continue to paint, develop skill.’

  ‘Yes! Oh, yes! How strange that before you mentioned the possibility to me, I’d never once even considered exhibiting my work or painting on commission. Now I find that the idea of pursuing my craft is dearer to me than almost anything except the welfare of my family.’

  Hal gestured around the room. ‘Skill gift from God. Wrong to hide it away. Some businessmen at meeting yesterday, if see sketch of David, want one of own children. Gift not vanish if not begin today. Can wait.’

  She smiled tremulously. ‘Would you act as my agent?’

  Hal nodded. ‘Be proud to. Conceal identity indefinitely, unless wished me to reveal it.’

  She nodded back. ‘I shall have to think more about it. And consult Nicky and Sarah, of course. For now, I must get back to work!’ Grabbing the smock hanging on her chair, she shrugged it on and came over to stand before him.

  ‘I apologise for misjudging you. I should have known you would never advise anything that would harm me or my family. Thank you…for giving me back my dream.’

  Her intense gaze fixed on his face, for one heart-stopping moment Hal thought she meant to rise up on tiptoe and kiss him.

  Dizzy from her rose scent, the warmth and nearness of her, it took every bit of self-control he could muster not to reach out, draw her against his chest and take the lips she seemed to be offering while he tangled his fingers in the golden silk of her hair.

  Though the effort nearly killed him, he was glad he managed to restrain himself, for at the last moment, she stepped away. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered again.

  Clearly she meant to dismiss him. With a blessed harmony restored between them, Hal wished more than anything that he could ignore his conscience and walk away.

  But the matter of Sir Gregory and his intentions remained unsettled. Hal had little doubt who had been filling her head with dire pronouncements on the disasters that would befall her becoming an artist. Which meant that some time between their excursion to the Royal Academy and this morning, she must have seen the baronet. When and where, he had to ascertain.

  Girding himself, he said, ‘Ride with Sir Gregory, day I did not work here?’

  Already heading toward her easel, she glanced over her shoulder, an almost coquettish smile on her lips. ‘And if I did?’

  Dreading what must come next, hoping without much conviction that she’d answer in the negative, he continued, ‘Stroll with him on Bond Street?’

  Her smile was definitely coquettish now. ‘I did indeed. Have you been spying on me, Mr Waterman?’

  Having confirmed that she was the mysterious blonde beauty, he now had no choice but to warn her. Trying to resurrect bits of the speech he’d prepared before the misunderstanding over her artistic career had blown those thoughts from his head, he began, his face already flushing. ‘Sorry, must speak. What Nicky would say. May favour baronet. If so, not my place to object. Maybe in speaking, do disservice to Sir Gregory. But must know. Baronet not marrying man. Long series of mistresses. Most well-born matrons or widows. Prefers widows.’

  Hal saw her struggle for comprehension, knew with anguish that his explanation had been even more tangled than usual. Finally understanding dawned.

  Her eyes widening in indignation, she exclaimed, ‘What a…a tawdry thing to infer! It so happens that Sir Gregory has spoken to me of his affection and admiration. He indicated quite clearly that later, when the time is right, he intends to make me an offer.’

  His worst suspicions confirmed, Hal nodded miserably. If only he’d followed his instincts and strangled Sir Gregory when he first suspected the baronet’s unsuitable inter
est! ‘Sure he will. But probably carte blanche.’

  Elizabeth gasped and drew herself up. In the fury of her eyes, the rigid angle of her arm, Hal saw the blow coming and braced himself.

  Her slap caught him full on the cheek, the crack of it resounding in the silence. After staring at her hand as if shocked by what she’d just done, she looked back up at him, lips trembling. ‘I think you’d better leave.’

  Hal bowed deeply. ‘As you wish. But felt must warn. Seen by gentlemen on Bond Street, stopping at modiste, looking at jewels. Places Holburn usually outfits mistresses. Gentlemen didn’t recognise you. But already in betting book that Bond Street lady to be baronet’s next chère-amie. Before mourning period even over.’

  She’d walked away from him, but at this she turned back. ‘Are you telling me there is already a wager at White’s that I will become Sir Gregory’s…mistress?’ she asked, uttering the last word with revulsion.

  ‘Don’t yet know beauty with baronet was you. Find out soon, though. Then be in betting book by name.’

  ‘They would put such a shameful assumption in writing, when I have done no more than stroll with Sir Gregory?’

  Hal nodded regretfully. ‘Bet always speculative.’

  ‘But to impugn my reputation on so slender a grounds? Why, that’s—that’s vile!’ Her face flushing with anger, she looked as if she’d like to take another swipe at him.

  Grimly Hal stood his ground. ‘Vile,’ he agreed. ‘But fact. Thought you should know. Protect yourself…unless wish to be mistress?’

  ‘Of course I do not!’ she declaimed furiously. ‘How dare you say such a thing! Still, I cannot believe Sir Gregory would use me so shabbily. Why, he was Everitt’s greatest friend! Surely these—I hesitate to call them “gentlemen”—are mistaken, attributing to a man of honour their own wicked thoughts.’

  ‘Might be,’ Hal admitted. ‘But might not. You innocent of men’s ways. Must avoid actions that support conclusions of evil-minded. Like walking with gentleman on Bond Street, where men outfit mistresses. Deserve only gentleman of pure intentions.’