by Joyce Alec
“And is it all settled?” he asked, moving forward to stand by Lord Michael, who was smiling broadly at Miss Carron. “Are we able to take you into our confidence, Miss Carron?”
Miss Carron, who now appeared to be quite at ease, gave him a wide smile. “Oh yes, Lord Michael has explained everything, and I quite understand. In fact, he has offered to assist me with my father’s demands.”
“Oh?” Jonathan queried, lifting one eyebrow. “In what way?”
Michael grinned, clearly quite delighted with all that had been discussed. “She is to introduce me to her father under my ‘title’. With that title being somewhat higher than Lord Baxter, it is our hope that he might lessen his insistence that Miss Carron place all of her attention on him.”
A flurry of questions ran straight through Jonathan’s mind, but instead of voicing any of them, he simply nodded. He did not want to dampen down the enthusiasm that they each displayed by asking what they intended to do once he and Lord Michael’s ruse came to an end.
“Should you like me to introduce you now?” Miss Carron asked, as Lord Michael rose to his feet. “My father is most likely in conversation with his friends, although they may have made their way to the card room by now.”
Lord Michael grinned, throwing a glance towards Jonathan. “I shall help you search for him then, shall I? Lord Rivenhall, I am quite sure, will need to go and mingle for a time.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes, as Lord Michael chuckled, before turning on his heel, walking down the stairs, and leaving both Lord Michael and Miss Carron to descend together. It was quite clear his friend did not want his company at the present moment, although Jonathan was not in the least offended. All in all, he was quite glad that Michael had found himself such a delightful companion, even if it was under rather strange circumstances.
Walking into the ballroom, Jonathan greeted a few acquaintances, but kept his eyes fixed on the dance floor. Now that he had resigned himself to circulating amongst the other guests, he had one intention only: to find and speak to Miss Richards. Not just because he wanted to ensure that she was quite all right after what he had witnessed, but also because he wanted to speak to her about their meeting only yesterday in the bookshop.
He had sent the book but received no reply. That had been a rather strange encounter, especially with how it had come to a close. She was such a mysterious, confusing creature, and now with the rather upsetting exchange he had seen, Jonathan felt more inclined than ever to further his acquaintance with her.
However, as he moved through the crowd, he could see nothing but skirts, twirling and spinning in every direction. Growing a little frustrated, he found himself a quieter place to stand and wait, believing her to be out on the dance floor with another gentleman.
“Ah, Lord Michael!”
It took Jonathan a moment to recall that he was, in fact, meant to be Lord Michael, taking just a second too long to respond to the gentleman he remembered to be Lord Taylor. They had been introduced some days ago, and from what he recalled, Lord Taylor had been in London for at least two other previous Seasons.
“Ah, yes, Lord Taylor,” he said, stumbling over his words. “Forgive me, I was just—”
“Looking for someone in particular?” Lord Taylor asked, with a slight chuckle. He was a tall, rather gangly, young man, whose bright eyes told Jonathan that he would not miss a single thing. “And who is the lady, pray tell?”
Jonathan shrugged his shoulders, trying to appear entirely nonchalant.
“Come now, you must tell me,” Lord Taylor exclaimed, sounding rather dismayed.
Jonathan chuckled and rolled his eyes. “And yet you shall not get the truth out of me! All I will say is that I had a rather disastrous encounter with Miss Richards. Actually, two disastrous encounters, and I wish to ensure that all is well between us.”
The smile slowly faded from Lord Taylor’s face. “You mean Miss Richards, the sister of Viscount Richards?”
“The very same,” Jonathan agreed, wondering at the slightly guarded expression on Lord Taylor’s face. “Why? Whatever is the matter? Do not tell me that she is already engaged.” He laughed at this, as though the idea did not slice through his heart, bringing nothing but pain with it.
“No, indeed she is not,” Lord Taylor replied, with a lift of his brows. “However, if you have any thoughts of an acquaintance or even an association with the lady, let me be the first to warn you away from that idea.”
Jonathan frowned, his heart slowly sinking. “Why is that?”
“Because, as a second son, you will not be in the least bit interesting to her,” Lord Taylor warned. “She is a social climber, that one. She will do all she can to get herself a rich and well-titled husband, which means that only gentlemen who have gained their title or are heirs to one will get her to notice them.”
“Surely not!” Jonathan scoffed, immediately finding the idea rather difficult to accept. “I can believe that a woman such as she would be warm and as welcoming—”
“Miss Richards is a most unusual sort, that is for certain,” Lord Taylor interrupted, putting one hand on Jonathan’s shoulder so as to stop his tirade. “She is kind and sweet and appears to be rather friendly to all that she meets, but I tell you now that you will not do for her. I tell you this so that you do not lose your heart to her when it will be quite impossible for her to ever return such feelings.”
Jonathan was struck dumb for a moment, entirely at a loss as to what to say. He did not want to believe what Lord Taylor had suggested about Miss Richards, but given that the man most likely knew her better than he did, could he really forget those remarks so easily?
“You see?” Lord Taylor murmured, as the dance came to an end. “There she is dancing with Lord Muskatov. Russian, of course, but both wealthy and with an extravagant title. Practically royalty, or so I have heard! No wonder she wants to dance with him.”
“But why?” Jonathan asked, trying not to let his sudden shock appear evident. “What would be her reasons to marry as well as she can? Her brother is a viscount, so surely that in itself is enough for her to find a good marriage?”
Lord Taylor shrugged, sniffing dismissively. “Do not ask me why, I would say nothing more than wanting to get the best she can for herself.”
Jonathan’s shoulders slumped. “Thank you, Lord Taylor,” he muttered, beginning to turn away.
Lord Taylor shot him a sympathetic look. “I do apologize if I have spoken out of turn, Lord Michael. I just thought it best you be aware of her true character.”
Jonathan lifted his chin and nodded, trying to smile. “Of course. I quite understand. Thank you.”
7
Three days later and Jonathan was still chewing over all that Lord Taylor had disclosed. His thoughts in a whirlwind, all he could bring himself to do was to pour himself a glass of brandy and sit by the fire in the drawing room, feeling cloaked with a certain degree of melancholy. Lord Michael’s attempts to talk to him failed miserably, as well as his insistence that Jonathan attend the various social functions they had agreed to go to. Jonathan could not bring himself to go, reminding Lord Michael that it would be no great loss to society if Jonathan did not attend. Michael had no comeback to such a remark and was forced to attend without him.
Jonathan did not care. He was still rather puzzled over his growing affections for Miss Richards, as well as why he was so confused and upset over Lord Taylor’s remarks.
The truth was that Lord Taylor evidently knew Miss Richards better than he did, given that he had been in London for a few years more than Jonathan. He did not want to believe that all the gentleman said about Miss Richards could be true, not when he knew her to be so friendly and warm. Then again, he had very little to go on—other than his rather brief acquaintance with the lady.
The other issue that troubled him was simply why he cared so very much. After all, he had danced with Miss Richards on only a few prior occasions, had thought to call on her only the once—without ever actually
doing so—and had met her in the bookshop rather unexpectedly. Their acquaintance could not be called long-standing.
On top of which, he had sent her the novel with a short note enclosed, a little concerned that he had somehow upset her, only to receive no reply. There had been no note of thanks, no messenger sent with a short message, or even any evidence of her wanting to seek him out at the ball. Was it because she did not want to encourage any kind of attachment between them? It was rather rude, after all.
But then, he had thought of what he had witnessed at the ball only the night before and had considered that there might be some kind of trouble encircling both Lord Richards and Miss Richards. Mayhap, in the midst of all her difficulties, she had not found the time to reply to him.
Or, perhaps she had thought to thank him in person, supposing she would see him at the ball last evening. After all, they had encountered one another at almost every social event they had attended in the last week, so it would make sense for her to expect to be able to speak to him there.
So, at the end of these three days of sitting at home, simply thinking, Jonathan came to the conclusion that he would simply have to get to know Miss Richards better. If, as Lord Taylor said, she would not even consider him as a potential husband despite their deepening acquaintance, then Jonathan would know not to allow his heart to settle on her any more than it already had.
His heart a little relieved, Jonathan remained where he was, staring into the glowing embers of the small fire in the grate. He supposed that now he had come to such a conclusion, he would need to begin attending balls and soirees and the like again. It was strange that he felt no happiness or expectation over such a prospect. It was as though Lord Taylor’s words had sullied the experience, even though he tried his utmost to believe that Miss Richards was not as Lord Taylor had described.
“So,” Lord Michael interrupted, coming into the drawing room with a rather purposeful look on his face. “I have grown rather weary with you sitting around this house, looking as though you might indeed murder the next person to ask you a question, and I am afraid I have taken things into my own hands.”
Jonathan, who had been sitting quietly in a chair by the fire, looked up at once. “What did you do?”
Lord Michael grinned, his eyes twinkling. “I am to take Miss Carron out for a drive this afternoon, and since I could not very well leave you here all alone, I have written and asked Lord Richards and his rather lovely sister, whether you might call on them later this afternoon.”
Blinking, Jonathan tried to make sense of what he had just heard. “You wrote to ask whether I might call on them?”
“No, I wrote as myself,” Lord Michael replied, with a chuckle. “They are expecting you at three o’clock sharp. Do not be late!” Still laughing to himself, he swung out of the room, leaving Jonathan sitting by the fire in exactly the same position.
“Three o’clock?” he breathed, suddenly tense with worry. “What time is it now?” His gaze drifted to the clock on the mantlepiece, seeing it just about to chime two in the afternoon.
With a start, Jonathan got to his feet, silently cursing Lord Michael’s interference. He was not properly dressed to go out visiting, and given that it would take him a good half hour to do so, he would most likely be late. For a moment, he wondered about sending a note round with an excuse, but then he found himself climbing the stairs to his chamber, refusing to give in to such a pathetic attempt to lie. He should be welcoming the idea of seeing Miss Richards again, of proving to himself that she was not as Lord Taylor had suggested. Then he might be able to further their acquaintance with as much enjoyment as he had done before.
“Lord Michael, to see Lord Richards and Miss Richards,” Jonathan puffed, handing the butler his card. “I believe I am expected.”
Such had been his rush to prepare that Jonathan now found himself rather out of breath. He had, of course, expected to take the carriage, only to realize that Lord Michael was currently using it. In his haste, he had quite forgotten that since Lord Michael was playing the part of Lord Rivenhall, it would be he who used the carriage whenever he wished it. Jonathan had therefore had to hail a hackney, which had not proved to be an easy feat, given that it was the middle of the day. As such, a great many of the ton were already out and about.
Being shown into the drawing room, Jonathan took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked inside, expecting to find Lord Richards and Miss Richards within. However, whilst they were present, there was also another gentleman seated by Miss Richards side, one he did not recognize.
“Ah, Lord Michael,” Lord Richards boomed, a broad smile on his face as he got to his feet. “How good to see you. Thank you for calling on us today.”
Jonathan bowed, trying to keep a smile on his face even though his mind was filled with questions over who this other gentleman might be.
“Lord Michael, this is Mr. Greenville. Mr. Greenville, our friend Lord Michael Astor,” Lord Richards continued, as Jonathan inclined his head.
“How do you do?” Mr. Greenville murmured, bowing.
“Very well, I thank you,” Jonathan replied, his eyes on Miss Richards. “And how are you, Miss Richards?” he murmured, as she bobbed a quick curtsy. “I was sorry I had not had the opportunity to speak to you since our meeting in the bookshop.”
“The bookshop?” exclaimed Mr. Greenville. “Whatever were you doing there unaccompanied, Miss Richards?”
“Oh, do be quiet, Mr. Greenville,” Miss Richards retorted, rolling her eyes at him. “You are much too stuffy.”
Lord Richards shook his head. “I would say she was looking for a book, I would expect,” he quipped, making his sister laugh. “Now, do sit down, Lord Michael. I am having a tray sent up as we speak.”
Jonathan, who had rather been looking forward to having Miss Richards mostly to himself, attempted to hide his disappointment with a rather lackluster smile as he sat down.
“Lord Michael is the second son of the Marquess of Barrington,” Miss Richards explained, throwing Jonathan a quick smile. “He has been in the army and fought very bravely.”
A stab of guilt sliced through Jonathan. He had not fought bravely, although the true Lord Michael had done so. “And do you have a profession of your own, Mr. Greenville?” he asked, trying to divert the conversation.
“Nothing of note,” came the reply. “The church, I am afraid.”
“Rather staid and boring, is it not?” Miss Richards replied, her eyes twinkling as she looked from Jonathan to Mr. Greenville and back again. “Telling everyone their sins from the pulpit!”
A slightly frustrated expression came over Mr. Greenville’s face. “And yet, some would say it is a rather honorable choice.”
Miss Richards expression softened immediately. “And of course, it is, Mr. Greenville. Do forgive my jesting. It is simply that I could never bear that kind of life, as you know.”
Jonathan was surprised to see the flash of irritation on the man’s face as he rose to his feet.
“Indeed,” came Mr. Greenville’s reply. “Now, I had best take my leave. Good day to you both.”
“I will walk you out, Mr. Greenville,” Lord Richards said, walking to the door and casting a firm glance back at his sister. “I will send a maid in whilst I am gone.”
For a moment, Miss Richards looked as though she were about to argue, but much to Jonathan’s relief, she simply shrugged and looked away, waiting for the said maid to arrive before continuing her conversation with Jonathan.
“The church must be a stuffy profession, would you not say?” she asked, pouring herself and Jonathan some tea. “I have told Mr. Greenville on multiple occasions that I could not bear that kind of life, but yet he insists on painting it as a most wonderful profession.”
“Mayhap to him, it is,” Jonathan murmured, a little surprised at her obvious irritation. “Do you know the man well?”
“Well?” she repeated, with a slight snort. “Yes, very well. A cousin of ours, you see.”<
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“I see,” Jonathan murmured, thinking that this was the reason behind their familiarity.
Miss Richards handed him his cup, their fingers brushing for a just a moment. Jonathan took it from her carefully, trying his best to ignore the way his skin burned and heart quickened.
“He is inclined to marry me, but of course, I will not have him,” Miss Richards finished, softly, sitting back in her chair and studying Jonathan. “Not the right kind of man for me.”
A heavy stone dropped into the pit of Jonathan’s stomach. Was what Lord Taylor said correct? After all, Mr. Greenville might not have been titled, but he was family and with a modest income and secure future. Why was she refusing to consider him?
“And I must thank you for the book you sent me,” Miss Richards continued, her voice soft and expression warm. “That was very good of you, Lord Michael. I am afraid I left in something of a tizzy.”
“Yes, you did,” Jonathan agreed, managing to smile at the memory. “Are you quite at ease now?”
She nodded, her eyes fixed on his and filled with such an intensity that Jonathan felt his heart burning within him. “I should have written to you, but it went quite out of my head,” she murmured, leaning forward in her chair and putting one hand on his arm. “Can you forgive me for being so tardy? So ungrateful?”
Jonathan could not move for a moment, only to lift his free hand and place it over hers. His heart quickened, his entire being sparking with such a myriad of delightful sensations that he could not quite find his voice for a moment.
“You are forgiven, Miss Richards,” he replied rather hoarsely. “I was not in the least offended. My sole concern was for your wellbeing.”
She looked up at him steadily, her cheeks dusting with a deep pink. “You are very good, Lord Michael. Very good indeed.”
Jonathan could not move away, could not look anywhere but at her. She was the delight of his eyes, the one his heart had begun to fill with affection for despite their short acquaintance. She was refreshing in her somewhat improper ways, a light in the gloomy pit of society. And yet, Lord Taylor’s words echoed round and round in his mind.
