by Fanny Finch
Never had he observed her giving him the flirtatious looks he had seen her casting at others. Or that other women had cast at him.
He was aware that he was a catch. He would be a count once Father died. Although, hopefully, that would be a long time in coming.
It was coming, though, and women were aware of it. He was more of a catch than he would have been without the title, even if he’d had the same annual income.
Many ladies had made it clear that they would be happy to become Mrs. Norwich. But none of them, he feared, caught his fancy nearly so much as Miss Weston.
Sometimes he wanted to be rid of all pretense and simply declare himself. But what good would that do anybody? It would only serve to make Miss Weston feel awkward.
They had known one another nearly all their lives. They were not always close, per se. But they understood one another better than most. Or so he liked to flatter himself.
To have someone upon whom she relied as a friend turn around and impose his feelings upon her—he would be loath to do that to her.
Perhaps, had he been a better man or a stronger one, he would have warned Miss Weston that it was high time to marry.
She was not yet approaching the age where people would call her a spinster. She still had a couple of years left before that.
However, her father had been in ill health recently. And to have gone through several London seasons without a marriage… or even a proposal to speak of…
She was a free spirit, Miss Weston. He respected that. In fact, it was one of the things that he appreciated about her.
But he feared for her.
Perhaps he could propose to her under the guise of helping her?
But she would be insulted by that. Miss Weston did not like to be pitied or treated as someone to be protected and coddled. She would see it as condescension.
James instead resigned himself to another evening of pining for her and getting nowhere with it.
There are other women in the world, he reminded himself. Why can you not content yourself with them?
Perhaps he was in his own way as particular as Miss Weston.
Seeing that it was time to go, and far past the time to disperse with his melancholy reveries, he hastened to summon the carriage.
The Weston house was already lively and filled with the majority of the guests when he arrived. No sooner had he stepped over the threshold than he was seized upon the arm by Miss Weston.
She greeted him enthusiastically, with her usual turn of phrase:
“Oh, Mr. Norwich, there you are! And thank goodness for it!”
It always seemed that the moment of his arrival was the moment that Miss Weston was about to go completely off of her mind about something. And that his presence was a godsend and a saving grace.
He had never quite thought of it that way himself. He had always known it was one of Miss Weston’s flights of fancy. She could be dramatic when she wanted to be—which was often.
“You will not believe the dire straits that I am in,” she told him, hurrying him through the parlor to the fireplace. “Go ahead and guess. See if you can ascertain what is so distressing me.”
“Your frock is not in the exact color of blue that you were dreaming of,” he replied, deadpan.
Miss Weston looked quickly down at her frock. It was a most becoming shade of pale blue and went well with her dark hair and eyes. “Why, is there something the matter with it?”
Only that you look incredibly bewitching while wearing it. James shoved that thought aside. They were dangerous to think, for he never knew when he might lose himself and say one of them out loud.
And then he would really be in for it.
“Nothing at all,” he replied. “It was only the first thing I could seize upon that might put you in such a state.”
“Is that all you think that I think on?” Miss Weston replied in an arch tone.
“Oh, no, not at all. I think that you spend a great deal of time thinking how best to embarrass us poor men who deign to dance attendance on you. And some time, of course, for how you shall style your hair. It looks most fetching today. Did you think on it all yesterday afternoon?”
“You are the worst of men,” Miss Weston declared. But she was giggling all through it. “Honestly. Why any of us put up with you, Mr. Norwich, I shall never know.”
“I think that my incoming title and my great wealth have something to do with it.”
“Oh, yes, there is that. I suppose that a title must make you half tolerable. When a man has a title, he goes from being plain to somewhat handsome. From boorish and brainless to simple of soul and ponderous. From arrogant to educated.”
“Ah, but I know that I must be at least partially tolerable in truth and not simply because of my wealth. Otherwise, you would never bear to spend any time with me. I should never receive a dinner invitation.”
“How do you know that my father is not uncommonly fond of you as his former student and forces me to always invite you?” Miss Weston replied. “Perhaps I am secretly filled with a seething hatred for you?”
“I highly doubt that you would wish to confide in me if that were the case.”
Miss Weston’s cheeks colored slightly. “How do you know that I have something to confide in you?”
James could not hide his pleased smile. “You are most fanciful when you have something serious that is at hand. You use humor to make light of it so that it will not seem so daunting a subject.”
Miss Weston sighed, her face growing a bit more serious. “That is true. You know me far too well. I blame all the years of dinners.
“My parents have given me a stern lecture. I am to start looking in earnest for a husband and to welcome any suitors. They say that I am running out of time.” Miss Weston bit her lip in agitation.
“I confess that I am… aggravated by this news. But I am even more worried by what it might mean. What it might indicate for my father’s health.”
James shook his head. “I am sure that your father is hale and hearty, Miss Weston. It is only a precaution.”
“Mother wishes to see me married before she dies,” Miss Weston added, her voice soft. “I had not thought her condition quite so bad. It is a malady that lingers, is it not? She has many years yet in which to snap at me and feel poorly.”
“Parents are prone to worry,” James replied, trying to soothe her. “And it is unusual that you are not yet wed. You must admit to that.”
“I suppose that it is unusual, but you know I have a rather intense disposition. What man would be content to marry a woman who will be treated as nothing less than his equal? With her opinion heard and respected?”
“I think you would find, if you would only pause for a moment and look about you, that there are any number of men who would be happy to court you.”
James, of course, was one of those young men, but Miss Weston did not need to know that.
Miss Weston gave a small laugh. “When they first meet me I am sure that they do wish to court me. I am not unaware of my physical charms. But you have seen my temper and my liveliness. What man upon knowing me better could possibly put up with that?”
“You underestimate yourself and your ability to stir affection in men.”
Miss Weston sighed, looking around them. “Mother helped me to cultivate the guest list. Normally she does not care so much. I ought to have known that something was afoot when she put such thought into it.”
“You mean she wishes for you to marry one of the young men assembled?”
James had no hope that he was one of those young men. He had always been invited to dinners at the Weston residence. He had to be invited as a matter of course.
Miss Weston nodded. “Or at least, they are a beginning. Some men that I may begin to consider. They are all from good families. Half of them have titles of some kind.”
“Oh, you poor thing, with your mother offering up such rich, titled, handsome young men to you. Truly, you do suffer.”
“Do no patronize me, Mr. Norwich, I pray, not tonight.”
Miss Weston, to his surprise, looked quite upset. The color in her cheeks was not the light pink of pleased embarrassment. Rather it was the bright red of genuine dismay.
“I find that I feel rather lost,” she admitted. “I do not know where I am to begin. You are the only person here in whom I can place my complete trust and comfort.
“I feel quite suddenly as though I am surrounded by wolves. And that I must decide which of them I am to allow to eat me. I know it is quite a dramatic way to think of things. But you know that I am a dramatic person and it is as near as I can get to how I feel.
“My temperament… is not one of pragmaticism. I wish to marry someone that I… well, for whom I feel those tender emotions that we English seem to be so allergic to speaking on save in the writing of clandestine letters and poems.
“And I will not accept any man who does not truly regard me. I hope that he will have those feelings of a deeper nature towards me. But some genuine regard would be a nice start.
“But you know as well as I do that most of these men are not looking for that. And so I must be faced with the choice of changing my disposition or disregarding my parents’ wishes. I am, as I am sure you will understand, loath to do either.”
James wished that he could draw her into his arms and offer up the proper comforts that a man might offer to a wife. That he might tell her that he regarded her as the best of women and that he would do everything in his power to make her happy if she would marry him.
All that he could do, however, was offer up his usual, sensible advice.
“I think that you are allowing your emotions to run away with you,” he told her. “It is something that you have been in the habit of since you were a girl. Just as you have often told me that I am too inclined to be lighthearted about a situation given the privileges of my upbringing.
“I have always appreciated when you would put me in check about my own faults and so I shall do the same for you. Marriage is not such a daunting prospect as you seem to fear it is.
“And no man would even think of changing your disposition. You are quite popular for a reason, Miss Weston. I would trust in the invitations you receive and the fact that you never once have to sit down in a ballroom.
“If you show an interest, the men of society will heave a sigh of relief knowing they at last have a chance. And there are more of them than are assembled here tonight. Including ones that might at first seem boring or monotonous. There are many that will, I think, surprise you.”
As he spoke, he could feel his own hopes slipping away. Not that he’d had many hopes in the first place. But he had entertained the quiet notion that he might, someday, pluck up the courage to tell Miss Weston how he felt.
If he could do that, then, well, it was but a little thing to go a step further and imagine that she said yes to his proposal. That she had secretly all this time held the same regard for him that he had been secretly holding for her.
Now, though, other men would see that the seemingly untouchable, marvelous Miss Weston would be at last open to their attentions.
It would not be long before they flocked to her in a way that none of them had dared to do before. James often wondered if women truly understood how intimidating they could be to men.
Every woman he spoke to made a great fuss about how nervous they were regarding courting. But did no woman think about how nerve-racking it was for the men as well?
Especially when the woman in question was as lively, as opinionated, and as educated as Miss Weston.
He did not at all wonder why no man had dared to propose to her yet. They had all feared the cutting wit she would employ. Why bother starting on what was sure to be a hopeless quest?
It was, after all, why he himself had not tried to woo her.
He drew himself up. This was not the time for him to sink into his own thoughts. He must be optimistic and cheerful, for Miss Weston’s sake.
“You will find it much easier going than you expect,” he told her. “You will see. And I shall be there every step of the way if you would like.”
Miss Weston gave him a smile that could have lit up a pitch-black room. “You are as always my savior and an administer of good judgment. I shall be sure to return the favor when a young lady finally catches your eye.”
If only she knew, James thought.
“I do marvel at your consistent lack of interest in the matter of romance,” Miss Weston went on. “One would think that a man such as yourself would desire a companion. Goodness knows you talk my ear off enough.”
“Well perhaps I save only my most witty banter for conversations with yourself,” James offered up. He wasn’t saying it in jest, but Miss Weston did not have to know that. “Perhaps I sit silent and melancholy at home all day.”
Miss Weston laughed. “I have not seen you be melancholy once since I have known you! Serious when the matter calls for it. Thoughtful and even grave when someone is in distress. But sitting about and nursing imaginary wounds of the heart? Talking wearily about existence and the cycle of life? Never.”
“You know me too well. Clearly I must endeavor to change up my behavior so that I might throw you off again. You know that keeping you on your toes has always been a particularly favorite pastime of mine.”
“I most certainly do know it! And I despair of ever meeting your standards for wit. No wonder you have yet to find a lady to call your wife. They must all scatter at your approach, knowing you are such a fearsome monster of demands.”
“Truly, it would take a lady of exceptional bravery to have to put up with me. If you hear of any lady lion tamers, do be sure to send them my way.”
He would have crossed oceans for the soft light in Miss Weston’s eyes and the carefree smile on her face. He would have crossed a mile barefoot on broken glass to ensure that she would always smile that way. That she would never have any worries, anything to make her cry.
“You must admit,” he told her, “I do not have quite the same constraints that you do. My father has not even passed away. There is no pressure on me to marry quite yet.”
“Ah, but you never know,” Miss Weston replied. “Miss Reginald’s father passed on quite suddenly and her brother had to ascend to the dukedom far earlier than expected.
“Not that I think such a thing will happen to your father. I certainly do not wish such a thing. But we can never be certain about life, can we, truly?”
“A wise observation. Perhaps I ought to think of marriage. But if so I will never tell you such a thing.”
“And why ever not?”
“Because you are the most delightful meddler that any man has, I daresay, come across in his time on earth. You never see a situation that you cannot make better with your exuberant touch.”
“I think you mean to say my light and gentle touch.”
“Miss Weston, the only things light about you are your feet when you dance and the only thing gentle is your touch on the piano keys.”
He knew that Miss Weston would not hesitate to try and play matchmaker with him if she thought that he was on the lookout for a wife. It would be troublesome enough if she was merely a meddling friend.
But when she was also the person with whom he was in love, it became a real danger.
Miss Weston laughed again. “You are too harsh with me, sir. If I was ever in danger of becoming too arrogant in my judgment of myself, I would hasten to your door at once.
“For I know that within five minutes of conversation with you, you would have introduced me again to the idea of humility. And put me surely in my place.”
“Everyone needs a friend like that, do they not?” James countered. “You have people complimenting you all day long. You are hardly lacking for flattery from friends.
“I am providing you with a necessary service by reminding you of the ways in which you are still human. Still prone to weaknesses and flaws like the rest of us.”
M
iss Weston sniffed. “And I suppose that I ought to return the favor then by pointing out to you your own flaws.”
“You already do, and quite nicely, I must admit. Or was it some other Miss Julia Weston who told me at last week’s ball that I was off the beat of the music on the dance steps?”
“That must have been some other lady. I would never do anything but compliment your dancing.”
This was an outrageous lie, and they both knew it. Miss Weston had never once complimented him on his dancing.
James was one of the best dancers at any ball he attended, and he was quite aware of it. Miss Weston was the same. Inevitably, she would try to use some complicated variation to trip him up and he would respond.
Insulting his dancing was, between the two of them, a further sign of their friendship.
There was the discreet announcement that dinner was ready, and Miss Weston curtsied to him. “I must lead the pack, as you know. I have put you at the far end by my mother. I hope that you will not mind being deprived of my sparkling conversation for an evening.
“It is only that she wishes for me to pay attention to these men, and I wish for her to have a dinner companion who will be properly attentive to her.”
“It would be an honor. I do not mind in the slightest.” He bowed to her.
He meant it as well. Miss Weston might complain about her parents but she was fiercely protective of them. Especially her mother with her ill health. To be chosen as Mrs. Weston’s dinner companion was a high compliment from Miss Weston. It meant that James was trusted completely.
He had to take his small victories where he could get them.
As he moved to find Mrs. Weston and help her into the dining room, he reflected that it might be a blessing that he was at the far end.
If he had to sit there and listen to all those other young men throwing themselves at Miss Weston, he might do something drastic. Like punch one of them. Or propose on the spot.
Chapter Three
Julia had rarely had such a frustrating dinner.
She had picked out the guest list herself with Mother. And while Mother had her opinions, all of the people that had been chosen were people with whom Julia enjoyed conversing.
