APretenseofLove

by Aileen Fish

  * * * * *

  Ben arrived at his aunt’s home early in the afternoon after sending a note asking Miss Seton if she cared to take a drive. He’d been slightly surprised when she responded she would. She’d been so annoyed with him at Drury Lane, and he wasn’t certain what he’d done to incur her wrath. It couldn’t be the ices that caused her distress.

  He knew her well enough to know she’d tell him in no uncertain terms, should she still be angry.

  Miss Seton greeted him with a frosty smile as she pulled on her gloves. “Mr. Tilbury, how delightful.”

  “I’m as delighted as you are, if not more so.” It took every measure of strength he had not to laugh at the narrowing of her eyes that earned him.

  “Where shall we drive today? Hyde Park again? It’s rather early to go there.”

  “If you wish. Or we can take a casual route and see some of the grander homes. Would you enjoy that?”

  She looked off in the distance as he settled into the phaeton beside her. “Yes, I believe I would,” she said softly.

  “Mayfair it is, then.” The air was warm, reminding Ben the Season would be winding down soon. He needed to press his suit before Jean had other offers to consider, since she only had one Season to make her choice. It shouldn’t be so. He should trust that she’d turn down any other offer to be with him, but he knew that wasn’t true. And he couldn’t come straight out and ask if there were gentlemen she might be considering. “Will you be returning to Hambledon at the end of the Season?”

  “Yes. I shall be happy to see my home again.”

  “Gilbert didn’t speak much of home. Did you have a happy childhood there?”

  “As happy as most, I should imagine.”

  “Your parents had a happy marriage?”

  She was quiet so long he looked down at her. She fiddled with her gloves, a habit he’d noticed when she was uncomfortable with the topic.

  “I’m sorry, that is rather forward of me. I shouldn’t ask such personal questions.”

  “No.” She folded her hands in her lap. “You have the right to ask, with all we’ve been through. I’m not used to speaking of my family, though.”

  “Would you prefer to ask about mine? You knew my grandfather, the fishing magnate. He didn’t spend a lot of time with his children, as is often the case. My father preferred work also. My mother never complained in my hearing, but she might have done so to her friends.”

  “You weren’t close to either of your parents?”

  “Not really, no. I poured myself into my schoolwork and making friends, so I wasn’t unhappy.” But he now knew why he preferred mistresses to wives or families. He was comfortable with the lack of affection and expectations. In the months after Jean and her mother left Three Gables, he had discovered something about himself. “I want more for my family.”

  “I’m surprised to hear you speak of your own family. I thought you were planning to wait to begin your nursery until you could put it off no longer.” There was no accusation in her tone this time.

  “I thought so too, once.” He steered down Mount Street toward Berkeley Square.

  “My mother married for love. She was happy to do without material things just to be with my father. Then one night he was in his cups and confessed the lady he’d proposed to first had turned him down.”

  Ben shook his head. “That is unforgivable.”

  “And unforgettable. I used to hear her crying in the kitchen at night, but she only admitted the truth to me a few years ago.” Miss Seton’s shoulders straightened. “I won’t marry any man unless I am certain he loves me in return.”

  “You deserve no less.”

  Did he love her? He wanted her. Of that he was certain. He was far happier now, in London, where he could spend time with her, than he’d been at Greater Yarmouth. What did love feel like? He only knew the kind his parents had after years spent together. Yet there must be something more to it than simply being comfortable with one’s choice of spouse. He wanted passion. He wanted always to feel his blood rush the way his did when he thought about kissing Miss Seton. He would settle for no less.

  Miss Seton coughed softly. “I won’t share my husband with a mistress.”

  “No man could even think of another woman when he’s with you.”

  Her cheeks darkened. “We shouldn’t speak of such things.”

  “Yes, we should. You know I wish to marry you, no matter how much you pretend otherwise. If we cannot speak plainly, there is no hope for a happy outcome.”

  “You know my feelings on the matter. I can’t state them any more plainly than I just did.”

  “The mistress thing, do you mean? I ended our relationship and have no desire to form a new one of that sort. I want only one woman, Miss Seton. I wish for you to become my wife.”

  “You said you enjoyed the time we spent at Three Gables pretending to be betrothed. You didn’t fall in love with me, if you believe that is what you feel. You fell for the situation. I can see how you came to realize the married lifestyle could be pleasant, and I am happy for you to know this about yourself. But now you must look for the woman who suits you best. I am not that woman. You only think so because I was there with you.”

  “I disagree. I know what I feel, no matter how new the feeling is. I would not be happy with anyone but you.” He was determined to find a way to prove it to her.

  Chapter Four

  Jean watched Mrs. Granderson sort through the morning post and the calling cards received after yet another ball they’d attended the night before. She hoped for some correspondence addressed to her, anything to entertain her.

  “Why is my nephew’s card here? He isn’t required to inform me when he’ll visit. This must be for you, my dear. And the rest of the cards too.” She handed the engraved cards to Jean.

  Turning over the one reading Mr. Benjamin Tilbury, Jean studied his brief scrawl that said he’d stop by early. She turned it around and stared at his name, as if it would answer her questions about him. Was this another of his games? He’d danced with her twice the prior evening, very properly and not even requesting the supper dance. Tonight he would escort the three ladies to Vauxhall. She could think of no reason he would need to visit in the morning.

  She tried to read the letter from her friend in Hambledon, but the words jumbled together no matter how many times she went over them. Blast that man! He appeared, in one way or another, just often enough to always stay fresh in her thoughts, and she knew he did it by design.

  “Jean?” Mama held out the letter she’d been reading. “It’s from Gilbert. I believe you would be interested in what he has to say.”

  Jean took the missive.

  Dearest Mother,

  I have in my hand a message from Ben Tilbury that has me flummoxed, to say the least. I am hoping you can either write and clarify the situation for me or investigate the truth of the situation. It was my understanding that the betrothal between Tilbury and Jean was only to be disclosed to Sir Waldo and would end when the deceit was no longer needed.

  Yet he has written to ask for my sister’s hand in marriage—

  “It’s true, then.” Jean reached with shaking hand for her teacup, rattling the spoon resting on the saucer.

  Mrs. Granderson looked up from her correspondence. “Is something amiss?”

  “It’s nothing to be concerned about,” Mama said hurriedly. “There seems to be a small misunderstanding.”

  “Small? Mama, this is my entire life the man is toying with. That is anything but small.”

  “Yes, dear, but I am certain if we spoke to the gentleman—”

  Mrs. Granderson straightened and lowered her glasses. “With which gentleman are we speaking?”

  Mama hesitated, her gaze on Jean, then said, “It is your nephew, I’m afraid.”

  A small smile lit Mrs. Granderson’s face. “Ben, I presume? What has the boy done now?”

  Jean set down her brother’s missive and placed her fingertips over her mouth
while debating what to reveal and what to conceal. She finally decided a full confession was in order. “I don’t know how much your nephew confided in you prior to our arrival, and I do hope this doesn’t alter your friendship with my mother, as she is innocent of all deceit. You see, your father was quite insistent that his heir be married when he took over the companies he’d worked so hard to build. I imagine he thought it would settle him down.”

  Mrs. Granderson chuckled softly but didn’t interrupt.

  “Mr. Tilbury was not inclined to marry at that time and thought it would be harmless to let Sir Waldo believe otherwise. Give the man some small comfort before he passed.”

  “So the dear boy bribed you into playing the part of his fiancée, I gather. I admit, I had wondered what sort of debt he could owe your brother, that he would be so lavish in his expenditures on your behalf.”

  Jean grew uncomfortably warm and wished she could crawl beneath the table. “I didn’t ask for any of it, ma’am. I only wanted to accept what was necessary to find a husband, to provide for my mother and myself. Gilbert’s income barely supports him, and should he wish to marry someday he’ll not have enough to keep two homes. I had begun to enquire about a position but when Mr. Tilbury came to me with his proposition…well, I confess, I thought it was an answer to my prayers. He has been more than generous, embarrassingly so, and I’m not quite sure how to ask him to please not spend any more money on my account.”

  Mrs. Granderson pursed her lips and shook her head. “You don’t know him as I do, so of course you wouldn’t see it, but the young man is quite taken with you.”

  “I—but he’s not—it’s merely—”

  Mama gave Jean a look like a cat that’d discovered a bowl of custard. “I thought so too, Araminta, but I couldn’t speak to you about it without breaking their confidence.” She seemed quite pleased with the news Gil’s letter carried.

  Jean frowned. “As I told him, he is not taken with me. He simply discovered he enjoyed the companionship Mama and I offered. He would be equally pleased with whatever woman he took as his wife.”

  Mama laughed, making Jean glare in her direction. “If you knew him as I do, you’d see it’s so,” Jean explained.

  “This from the girl who has recited poems of love and romance since she was old enough to understand the inflections. Dear, he has formed an attachment with you. Is that so hard to accept? Are your feelings for Lord Milford so strong you feel nothing for Mr. Tilbury?”

  “I—” Her protest died on her lips. Her mother and Mrs. Granderson knew enough about love to see through most of the arguments she’d given herself. “Mr. Tilbury is a kind sort of man, I’m learning, which surprised me to find in one who would consider fooling his grandfather on his deathbed. He is generous enough with supplying what I needed for a London Season, but does that mean he will be equally so with his heart?”

  “I can say this for him,” Mrs. Granderson said. “He never gives up on any undertaking he begins. I’ve never known him to not be successful in getting what he wants.”

  Mama reached for Gil’s letter, folding it away in her pocket. “I believe you need to determine exactly what you want, Jean, so you’ll know how to respond when he speaks to you.”

  Jean took her letters and fled the room as gracefully as she could. They didn’t realize he’d already spoken to her and she’d turned him down. More than once, in a manner of speaking.

  Such a vexing man. His nerve, to write Gilbert without asking her if she would consider his proposal. That was not part of their agreement.

  Had she ever really rejected him? She continued to walk out with him and accept rides in his phaeton, which she would never admit she enjoyed greatly. Especially when he took them away from the traffic where he could give the horses their heads. There was something so exhilarating in driving so fast.

  She’d asked him not to buy her treats, yet she’d refused none of them. He’d even managed to buy an occasional gift, claiming he was replacing something lost or damaged during her stay in Greater Yarmouth. It was all highly improper and she should have put an end to it. If she continued to allow such indiscretions, she was little better than a Cyprian who offered her body in exchange for coin.

  Mr. Tilbury could not buy her body or her heart.

  When he arrived later, she would tell him not call on her again. She would tell her mother and Mrs. Granderson of her decision so they didn’t continue to encourage the match. No matter how much she enjoyed his company, the fact remained there was nothing to stop him from acquiring another mistress at any time after their marriage. And that would surely devastate Jean.

  * * * * *

  Ben nearly bounded through the entryway of his aunt’s townhouse. Miss Seton seemed to be softening in her opinions of him, if her behavior at the ball last night was any indication. He should be able to conclude his business here in London and return home soon.

  He peered into the morning room but the space was empty. Continuing down the hall, he strode into the library, certain Miss Seton would be there.

  She stood staring out the glass at the roses behind the house. She didn’t look up when he entered, so he quietly crossed the room.

  He spoke when he drew close. “Good morning. Are you deciding which outfit you’ll wear to Vauxhall tonight?”

  She didn’t look his way. “No. My thoughts were otherwise engaged.”

  “I see.” But he didn’t see. Her quiet manner wasn’t what he’d expected. If she were angry, she would rail at him, so what caused this forlorn countenance? She’d made a complete turnaround in attitude since he’d left her last night. He paced a few steps, debating what to say. “I leave for Greater Yarmouth on Tuesday next.”

  “Does your business call you back?”

  “Yes. It wouldn’t do to let the board see they can manage well without me. I need to make myself necessary to them.”

  A soft smile spread on her face. “It is important to be needed, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know that I have ever been aware of the feeling, to be honest.”

  Miss Seton tipped her head slightly to rest her cheek on the glass. “That is something else important to a relationship. Honesty.”

  The lack of accusation in her tone cut through him. She wasn’t throwing barbs. She was resigned to something, and he had no clue what had her so upset. “I presume that remark is aimed at me, but I confess to not understanding its intent.”

  “It had none. I’ve just been considering what I want in a marriage.”

  “Honesty from one’s partner is highly important.” He cleared his throat and glanced toward the open doorway, where he expected his aunt or Mrs. Seton to appear upon hearing of his arrival. “Miss Seton, have I done something to displease you? Aside from the usual, I mean. I came bearing no gifts, as you have asked.” He held his arms wide, showing he had nothing hidden on his person.

  “Nothing so direct, sir. I only wish you would leave me to my search for a husband.”

  Her words sliced his heart in two. Did she despise him as much as that? She wasn’t even considering him among her choices. What had he done to have his name crossed off that list, if it had ever been on it?

  His chin dropped to his chest and he scratched the back of his neck. If he had any feelings for her, he should go back home, as she’d been asking of him since his arrival in Town. That’s what he told himself, but he couldn’t do so. He did have feelings for her, and they weren’t the kind from which one could walk away.

  No, what he felt was worth fighting for. “I’m afraid I cannot do that. I can’t go back to Three Gables knowing the walls will never ring with your laughter. Knowing I shall never look out the window of my study and see you pruning the roses threatening to invade the paths in the park. Such a life isn’t to be borne.”

  Now she turned to look at him, but there was no fire in her glassy eyes. If anything, they looked sad and empty. “There is no hope that a marriage between us would bring happiness to both parties. And I cannot
endure a life such as my mother has.”

  He stepped closer, raising a hand to her velvety-smooth cheek. “How can you think I would let you be so unhappy?”

  Miss Seton moved away from his touch. “Such a thing is not in your control, sir. I understand myself well enough to know I could never survive having my heart broken.”

  He closed his eyes to shut out the sorrow in her gaze. There was nothing more to say, no matter how much he wished to sway her feelings. She wanted no more of him.

  Bowing stiffly, he said, “I bid you good day, then.”

  The moment he climbed into his phaeton he jerked on the reins. The sudden start threw him back against the seat. He traveled too quickly and knew he should slow the horses, but he only wished they’d go faster.

  How fast would they have to go to outrun the pain stabbing in his chest? His throat ached with it. A large lump made swallowing difficult. He needed a drink, the early hour be damned. He was too likely to snap off the head of anyone who spoke to him, so he avoided the clubs.

  Instead, he turned the vehicle toward his rooms near Portman Square. With any luck Ringley would be sleeping still, as he rarely rose before midafternoon. In a move unlike himself, Ben required his valet to return the phaeton to the stables. He went straight to his study and poured himself a whisky. Downing several swallows in rapid succession, he prayed the burn would ease his pain.

  It did nothing.

  Raking a hand through his hair, he paced behind his desk. A wise man would pack his bags and return to the country, forgetting he’d ever had an interest in a wife.

  Had he been a wise man, he would have known how to court Miss Seton to ensure a successful match. He couldn’t comprehend what she disliked about him. He was not so egotistical as to believe he had no faults, but could think of none that would make him a poor husband.

  He continued to pace and scratch his neck, looking for answers. Looking for peace of mind, if such a thing existed.