A Question of Impropriety

by Michelle Styles

  ‘Wait until I tell Mama.’ Charlotte placed her tea cup down with a bang. ‘Miss Clare has made one of her pronouncements: Lord Coltonby is destined to remain a bachelor.’

  ‘Please, don’t say anything… My acquaintance with Lord Coltonby dates from London. I know what he is like.’ Diana’s cheeks burnt with a sudden heat. Why did people insist on reading too much into things? She had merely wanted to protect Miranda and ensure her reputation was kept safe, not begin an on dit of her own. Her hands went to straighten her cap, but instead encountered her hair. Hurriedly Diana placed them in her lap and made her face assume a beatific expression.

  Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why, Miss Clare, I do believe you have abandoned your cap. I cannot see it peeking out from your bonnet.’

  ‘It…it did not suit the dress.’ Diana stood up, hoping against hope that her meaning would not be twisted. The rent in the cap had been too great to be quickly repaired and she had hoped no one would remark on it as her status as an ape-leader was widely known. And how could she begin to explain the cir cum stances in which it had been ruined?

  ‘But Lord Coltonby remembered the acquaintance and he sought you out, practically the day he arrived in the neighbourhood.’

  ‘There are reasons for it.’ Diana shifted from one foot to the other. She wanted to avoid mentioning the encounter in the lane. It would only add fuel to the fire. ‘Simple reasons. Reasons that have nothing to do with Lord Coltonby.’

  Charlotte leant forward. Her eyes gleamed. ‘He is the most excitingly attractive man to come into the neighbourhood for ages. Not only titled, single and pleasing to the eye, but with sufficient income to support a wife. Is it any wonder you are tempted?’

  ‘I have no plans to marry. Ever.’ Diana pasted a smile on her face. ‘I have no wish to join the circling hordes. Your mama’s matrimonial plans are safe.’

  ‘Oh, is that how it is?’ Charlotte gave a coy little smile. ‘You are full of secrets, Miss Clare. I shall have to tell Miranda that she has a rival. You are planning on going to the ball, aren’t you?’

  ‘I believe, Miss Ortner, that my time here is at an end. It would be impolite to stay longer.’

  However, Diana noticed with a sinking heart that Charlotte had already turned from their conversation and was whispering in excited tones to one of her newly arrived friends.

  ‘And will that be all, Miss Clare?’ The shop keeper stood with his quill poised.

  ‘I believe it will be sufficient.’ Diana gave her head a shake. She should have behaved more rationally at the Ortners. The sensible thing would have been to nod and exclaim about the audacity of Miss Bolt. She should never have tried to put the story right. Miranda didn’t need Diana’s protection.

  It was most disconcerting. Normally, she had more control. She did not add to the gossip. But today it seemed to her that everyone was staring and whispering behind their hands. She had made a fool of herself. Their gazes remained friendly, but she knew how quickly such looks narrowed in disapproval…

  ‘Miss Clare?’ the shop keeper said again, bringing her back to the present. Her cheeks burnt slightly. ‘I need to know how much of the green velvet you want. Sufficient is a very expansive word.’

  ‘Two lengths will be more than enough.’

  ‘Very well, Miss Clare.’ The shop keeper retrieved his scissors and began cutting the material.

  Diana breathed more easily, and studiously ignored the slight jangle of the bell behind her. She refused to turn around and see who had entered the shop. Refused to see if it was him. Life would return to normal now. This instant. She was a mature sensible woman, not given to flights of fancy. She behaved with decorum at all times. She had learnt the value of restraint.

  ‘Here you go, Miss Clare.’ The shop keeper held out her packages.

  She gathered up her brown-paper parcels and narrowly missed colliding with Lord Coltonby. His face appeared as black as thunder. His large hands reached out and steadied her, closing around her forearms. A tide of heat washed through her body and her fingers grew lax on the parcels. She forced them to curl back around them, and her body began to regain its composure. She stepped away from Lord Coltonby and nearly tumbled over a bucket. His fingers came very firmly under her elbow.

  ‘You appear flustered, Miss Clare,’ he said as he led her out of the shop. His eyes twinkled down at her. ‘Something I have done, I hope?’

  ‘No, not flustered, Lord Coltonby, merely in a hurry.’ Diana reached up one hand to straighten her bonnet. She longed to ask him why he had gone into the haberdashery. It was not the sort of place she assumed he would frequent. French modistes maybe, if he was out fit ting a mistress, but a simple haberdashery, never. ‘It is one of the worst of my faults. I spent far too long at the Greys’. And the Ortners’.’

  ‘One can be so busy noticing one’s faults that one forgets to notice one’s virtues, Miss Clare.’

  She tilted her head to one side and prepared to sweep out of the shop with dignity. ‘You turn a phrase very charmingly.’

  ‘Sometimes, the truth is charming.’

  ‘I prefer my truth to be unvarnished, without adornment. It is an irritating habit, I am told, but it has held me in good stead these past five years.’

  ‘Or merely pre vented you from living?’ His eyes slowly assessed her. ‘I see you have abandoned your cap. It makes you look years younger. I must congratulate you. Now, perhaps, you will consider wearing a more becoming colour.’

  ‘My life is quite full enough, Lord Coltonby, and I have not yet had the time to repair my cap. I have no need to be made into an enthusiasm, a project to amuse your days. A pleasant attempt, but I know how quickly enthusiasms fade.’

  ‘You truly do not believe in the veracity of that statement.’

  ‘It is what keeps the ton fashionable and exclusive. You have to know which is the right tailor, or the correct box at the theatre, which authors to read and which are beyond mentioning. The dances and figures change constantly.’

  He blocked her way. ‘I ask to be judged on my own merit, Miss Clare, not some poor unfortunate’s. It is a small request.’

  Diana’s cheeks grew hot. It pained her that he was correct. She had been judging him based on someone else. ‘There are books waiting for me at the library. I received a note this morning.’

  ‘Minerva Press? Another novel by the author of Pride and Prejudice? What excites your fancy today, Miss Clare?’

  ‘Improving tomes on agriculture and crop rotation,’ Diana replied in a crushing tone.

  ‘Why do you feel the need to avoid novels? To keep from driving off the road?’ He arched a brow. ‘I would have thought putting them in a basket behind you would have sufficed.’

  ‘You are an aggravating man.’

  ‘I do but try.’ He inclined his head. ‘You pique my interest, Miss Clare. Will you truly take out an improving tome?’

  She started towards the library and he fitted his steps with hers. Rather than create more of a scene, Diana ignored him. The librarian gave a nod as Diana headed for the stacks. Randomly she picked up a manual on agriculture and the need for efficient crop rotation. ‘You see—an improving tome.’

  ‘I never doubted it, and that one is particularly dry.’

  ‘You have read it?’ She stared at him. ‘Crop rotation?’

  ‘I do my research. It makes for an easier life.’ He took the book from her and placed it back in the stacks, standing so close she could see the precise folds of his neck cloth.

  She nodded to several library patrons who stopped to acknowledge her. She had thought that Lord Coltonby would make his excuses and depart, but he continued to stand at her elbow, surveying the variety of books. A silent sentinel. ‘Are you going to the Bolts’ ball? Or do such things frighten you?’

  The unexpectedness of the question made her blink and nearly drop the book of sermons. ‘I think it is best if I choose my books now. We are beginning to be remarked upon.’

  ‘Clearly someth
ing you wish to avoid—which is why you made remarks while visiting this morning.’

  ‘How did you know?’ Diana closed her eyes and the full horror washed over her. How people—and Lord Coltonby—must be laughing at her and her pretensions. ‘I had forgotten how quickly rumours can pass from lip to lip. Can I assure you, Lord Coltonby, that I merely wanted to protect an innocent. You are not and never have been the marrying kind. Women who wish to marry should be wary of you.’

  ‘But you have no wish to marry. Does this mean you are not wary of me?’ His eyes gleamed. ‘What an interesting proposition, Miss Clare.’

  ‘That is not what I meant, and you know it,’ Diana said in a furious under tone. ‘Certain things have been taken out of context. I merely sought to put a stop to gossip. I do prefer the truth.’

  ‘The truth has many guises, Miss Clare.’

  ‘It was wrong of me.’ Diana swallowed hard. ‘But I simply had to say something. Otherwise certain women might have given your words and actions a different connotation. I have no wish to see any young girl ruined for the sake of a few pie-crust promises.’

  She kept her head high and hoped he would understand.

  ‘You appear to have already made your decision, Miss Clare.’ He moved a step closer to her, reaching behind her to pluck a volume from the shelf, his hand skimming her bonnet. ‘I am only trying to understand our positions, and to make sure that the rules of engagement are precise.’

  ‘You make it seem like a battle.’

  ‘Oh, it bears some similarities.’ His eyes became hooded. ‘Certain campaigns must be planned strategically and all eventualities considered.’

  ‘I know your reputation, Lord Coltonby. Your many seductions. I am simply trying to avoid having in no cents seduced.’ She gave a little laugh and moved away from him.

  ‘You do me a great honour, but I assure you I am human. My exploits have been exaggerated. I have never dallied with an unwilling lady.’

  She stared at him in astonishment. She found that she wanted to believe him, that his exploits were not as bad as they had been painted. She wanted to trust her instincts, but they had failed her so miserably before. She could not risk it.

  ‘This is hardly the sort of the conversation one has in a library.’

  ‘I am always open to suggestions, Miss Clare.’ His voice was as smooth as silk, reasonable, as if it were she who had proposed something outrageous. The cheek of the man!

  ‘Lord Coltonby, you are being outrageous. Deliberately!’

  ‘No, I am enjoying our conversation and wish to prolong it.’ He lifted his eyebrow. ‘Would you please explain your objections to this? We are near neighbours.’

  Diana tapped a finger against a book of sermons on the shelf. ‘And when I do, will you leave me alone?’

  ‘If I consider them valid, of course. I am a reasonable man.’

  Diana gestured about her as the rational objections seemed to have completely drained from her mind and the only thing she could think about was the way his long fingers held the books he had chosen. ‘For one we are in a library.’

  ‘That can be remedied, presuming you have discovered all the improving books on agriculture that you need. Reading should be a pleasurable experience, Miss Clare. Why do you close yourself off to such things? If you cannot enjoy your reading, why read?’

  ‘The sort of easy words I’d expect from a member of the Jehu club.’ Diana shook her head slightly; it seemed to be growing lighter with every breath she took. The only thing that appeared to be keeping her on the ground was the book of sermons currently pressed against her chest.

  ‘And it does not matter how tightly you hug that book, or how many times you repair your cap, life will still happen to you.’

  ‘I am not afraid of life.’ Her voice rose sharply. ‘Can I help it if I am wary of your reputation?’

  ‘And if I promise to be on my best behaviour?’ His voice lapped at her being. ‘Will you then continue this conversation? I did so want to hear more of your views on my estate and what actions I should take.’

  Diana glared at him. He was in sensible to reason. But it also seemed like life had taken a sudden unexpected turn. A little voice in the back of her mind warned about the dangers of becoming involved, however briefly, with a known rake, but she quashed it. But Lord Coltonby’s interest was surely only neighbourly. A tiny tug of disappointment wavered within her.

  ‘As it appears that I cannot get rid of you, you may escort me back to my gig.’

  ‘I am de lighted that you have seen sense, Miss Clare.’

  ‘Miss Bolt and I were admiring your curricle the other day,’ she said firmly, directing the conversation towards more impersonal topics as they started down the High Street towards the livery stables. For once she would indulge in speaking about horses to an expert. ‘Or rather she was, and I was looking at your horses. Are they from Tattersalls?’

  Brett regarded Miss Clare. Her long eye lashes had swept down over her ivory skin. Her dark gown with its high neckline hinted at her curves rather than revealed them. Had he not held her in his arms, he would have been tempted to say that the curves did not exist. But he had, and his body knew they were there. Each tiny step she took was a victory. Slowly. Slowly he’d lead her where she needed to go. She was like a frightened bird and he looked forward to gentling her. However, it was not proving to be as easy as he had first considered. How to get under her defences? That was the question.

  ‘Do you like horses?’ he asked, tucking the books she had chosen under his arm and guiding her progress along the street.

  ‘My brother despairs of me. He swears I will break my neck one of these days. With him, they are an imperfect mode of transportation only.’

  ‘Your brother is not fond of horses? That makes sense. I never trust a man who does not have a passion for horses.’ He forced his voice to remain smooth. ‘A man who has no time for horses has no time for life’s pleasure.’

  ‘He has his reasons. Valid ones.’ Miss Clare waved a vague hand. ‘I understand it, but I disagree. I have loved driving ever since my father first let me hold the ribbons. It was his first proper carriage and I was about four.’

  ‘Ah, that explains a great deal.’ Brett gave a short laugh, remembering her indignation at being caught in the mud. His shoulders relaxed. He would use his new-found knowledge to his advantage.

  ‘Does it?’ She tilted her head to one side. The shadow of her bonnet brim pointed directly to the fullness of her bottom lip.

  ‘Your annoyance when we first encountered each other.’ Brett tucked her arm in his and began to stroll towards his curricle. Not too fast. She gave him a startled look, but he noted with inward pleasure that she did not draw away or find an excuse to depart. He would break down these barriers she had erected. ‘I thought it was directed at my rescuing you, but in reality it was directed at the situation. You hated being caught out, not being perfect. And when you are, you retreat.’

  ‘It was arrogance rather than in experience that led me into that mud pool.’

  Brett watched the sunlight kiss her cheeks. There was a passion within this woman, as much as she tried to hide it. He could sense it. But she had re pressed it, hidden it even from herself. He would reawaken it and see if the woman she was now bore any relation to the quicksilver girl he had met in London. A memory of her laughing and pointing at the fire works in Vauxhall Gardens suddenly surfaced and he knew he wanted to hear her laugh like that again. ‘Your eyes were spitting mad that day by the mud pool. They shone brighter than the fire works at Vauxhall. Surely you remember those.’

  Miss Clare’s face became clouded as the life drained from it.

  ‘I try to forget London.’ Her long lashes swept down over her cheeks, hiding her eyes and her shoulders hunched ever so slightly. It was as if she expected to be beaten for it. An impotent rage coursed through Brett at his simple error. She had been at Vauxhall with Finch. He longed to have Finch in front of him, so the man could see what havo
c his care less ness had wrought. Brett had disliked his superficial charm and easy manner years ago. He had seen the way the man whipped his horses and his careless disregard for their welfare after outings. No matter what the weather, or the time, horses had to come first.

  ‘Do not judge all men by the failings of one.’

  He waited. A breeze blew a tendril of hair across her face. With impatient fingers she brushed it away, but still she said nothing. He willed her to understand.

  ‘I thought it was my love of horses that made him notice me.’ Her voice was low and her fingers toyed with the string of her parcel. ‘I thought…that we had something in common. Rather, my money and his need for ready cash.’

  She gave a hic cup ping laugh, as if she had practised the words a thousand times.

  ‘I am sure there were other reasons why he was interested in your hand.’

  ‘That is a back handed compliment.’

  ‘But sincerely meant,’ Brett said gently. ‘Take a chance. Trust me to be different.’

  Her eyes twinkled, transforming her face, back to the woman of the mud pool. He relaxed slightly. The mood had passed. He could reach her. Somehow he wanted to trans form her back to the woman who had been de lighted by Vauxhall’s fire works. If he could do that, he would be well pleased.

  ‘Sincerity is always to be welcomed.’

  ‘Shall my horses meet you? However briefly?’

  ‘I would like that. I would like that very much.’

  As they approached the curricle, Brett signalled to his tiger. The bays arched their necks and pawed the ground. Brett half-expected Miss Clare to behave like other women and clutch at his arm. Or possibly to turn her lips down in disapproval. Instead, she gave a de lighted smile, one that reached her eyes, and advanced towards the horses. She reached up and touched their necks, speaking to them in a soft crooning voice. His tiger nodded his approval.