“He left early this morning,” Winsome said casually. “Urgent business, he said.”
Hebe nodded understandingly, but as far as she knew no messengers had arrived this morning. Her bedroom window opened to the front of the house. Normally she heard most of the comings and goings. Apparently, he couldn’t face her with his polite regrets, again.
She wanted Alex or no one. At this stage, she had to settle for no one. During this last year of mourning, she had plotted how to have a little happiness of her own. She had dared to again look at Alex, who had initially wanted her, and clearly still did, but wouldn’t take her.
He said her loved her, but long ago. He also said that he wouldn’t marry her for her money, although he gave the impression he would marry another woman for money. She didn’t know why hers was different. Although her fortune had come to her from trade, most money had come from some sort of trade in the beginning. Alex surely knew that. However, she didn’t understand why he had decided to stop pleasuring her.
She circled her fingers on the table while she thought. If she could beat him at billiards, she could beat him in games of the heart. All she needed was better tactics than his.
He had indicated to her that he preferred quiet, conventional women. However, he had never worshipped Rose Temple, who was adorable and never made a fuss about anything. Or Della. Or even Winsome. He certainly liked his friends’ wives, but even before any had split off, he had not added himself to her list of admirers. In fact, she had never noticed him following any female.
He said he had loved her when he was twenty-two. Perhaps he had, but he had refused to condone her marrying out of her class. If so, she couldn’t admire that sort of snobbishness in him. He was no better than others simply because he had inherited a title. She also had, but didn’t see herself as above Horace’s friends. On second thought, she had, but only in the beginning before she began to know them. Alex needed to be taken off his self-righteous pedestal and be shown that he wouldn’t have come to her at night if he didn’t want her. The time had come for her to guide her own fate. If she couldn’t tempt him into tossing his rigid scruples out of the window, she would have to look elsewhere.
After she finished her breakfast, she wandered into the library, knowing she had run out of tactics. Her head throbbed. She reached for the top of a large stack of books on the central table, and riffled through the pages. The detailed description of botanical specimens couldn’t hold her interest. Perhaps she ought to find a book about living in a foreign country. With her money, she could go anywhere she liked.
However, she stayed on with Winsome, joining whatever the others saw as entertainment, the matters of her heart unresolved.
* * * *
Alex drove his curricle into the front drive of his country house, the only property still in the family. All the other Thornton properties had been sold long since by his father and his grandfather. His mother came out to greet him. “How lovely to see you, dear.”
He kissed her on the cheek. “I hope my brothers aren’t giving you too much trouble.”
“No more than usual,” she said placidly, leading him into the shabby hallway. The furniture was in excellent condition, but the carpets were worn and the curtains faded. “John is hoping his excellent results at Oxford will encourage you to buy his commission in the Guards this year.”
Alex nodded. “That was my promise.” The money for the position had been carefully saved over the years, and now that Alex no longer had to pay John’s fees at Oxford, he could manage. His finances had never been a secret and he knew that he was expected to purchase a position in the church for his younger brother. “Charlie is studying hard, too?”
“You know Charlie. You can’t keep him from his books. He will make an excellent Archbishop.”
“Not too soon, I hope. I don’t want to be patronized by him until I’m in my dotage.” Charlie was the brains of the family. Alex had always seen himself as the brawn. His family saw him as the provider his father had never been.
He duly greeted his brothers who caught him up with their doings, while his mother tried to familiarize him with the local gossip. He listened but his mind was elsewhere. He needed a hundred pounds and he didn’t have a stash of that size. He couldn’t borrow from his brothers’ funds, nor his mother’s.
After his bothers’ fond welcome home, Alex could have recited the name of everyone in the Guards who was anyone, and describe every detail of the rubbishy way the tutors treated a first year student at Oxford, had he not already known first-hand. Later, he did a round of the remaining parcel of his lands, noting that the crops were coming along nicely.
He produced enough for his estate, with a little excess to purchase other necessities, but his home was crumbling beneath his gaze. Even had the property not been entailed, he couldn’t sell. The place was damned near worthless unless a fortune was put at his disposal. He hated the idea of selling himself and his title to keep his family home.
His thoughts tortuous, but his shoulders straight, he strolled into the carriage house. His stable master, a laughable term when he owned fewer than ten horses in all, was polishing the curricle’s harness. “You are goin’ to need a small repair to the leading reins.”
“I need more than that. Do we have anything here I can sell?” Assuming he was speaking to himself, he wandered to the dark area where repairs that would never be done for want of the money, lay dusty and neglected.
“You could sell everything back there as far as I am concerned. Rubbish, the lot of it. Only useful for repairs of other tack.” Old Tom was the father of young Tom, Alex’s groom.
“What use could you find for Grandfather Thornton’s old barouche?”
“Like I just said. Rubbish.”
Alex creaked open the carriage door. The vehicle seemed sturdy enough. He bounced on the step, which held his weight. Encouraged he stepped inside, brushing cobwebs off his jacket. The seats were worn but still intact. He jumped two or three times, but other than creaking, the floor held up. He made his way back to old Tom. “I’m going to need help pulling the carriage outside. The whole thing could do with a good clean.”
Old Tom gave him a patient stare. “You don’t want that there thing outside cluttering up the stable yard.”
“I’m going to refurbish it for sale. I might get a hundred pounds for it.”
Old Tom rubbed his chin. “If you say so,” he said in a dubious voice. “Mind you get young Tom to help you.”
“I’ll do better. I’ll get my brothers to help.”
In the end, John, Charlie, and two Toms helped. John left, carriage-cleaning being beneath a future officer in the guards, but everyone else worked hard. After the first day, Alex was left to do the finishing. He spent two days oiling wheels, polishing old leather seats, plugging holes, scrubbing, and generally working off his frustrations.
By the end of the week, he had a tidy carriage house and fifty guineas.
* * * *
As a veteran, Hebe began her third London season. She had been through the same procedure eight years ago, hoping for invitations, hoping to see friends at the same balls, and hoping she didn’t break any ironclad rules. This time, apart from knowing her friends would be attending the same functions, she didn’t have to worry about propping up walls while she watched others dance. Rather than the dearth of dancing partners an impoverished peeress saw, she was as popular as any rich matron could be.
During her first week, she had three marriage proposals. Winsome was ruthless in her dissection of each. Too short, too tall, too thin, laughably tubby, too old and too young. None was tall, slim, wide-shouldered, and athletic. None had rigid morals. The last had become her stipulation.
“I swear,” she said to Winsome as she watched the approach of Lord Letcher, her name for the ghastly man who had attached himself to her. “He referred to my reputation for being wild and offered to help me in some way tedious to maintain that reputation.”
“He deserves to be
kneed,” said Rose, who had two young brothers and had adopted their slang.”
“I doubt I have enough fabric in this skirt to be able to accomplish that, but if he doesn’t go away, I’ll try.” Tonight, Hebe wore an amber silk, high-waisted gown with a beaded bodice and an overlay of dark red organza.
“I think you have enough,” Rose said, sliding her gaze downward. “In the skirt. Your bodice is scandalous.”
“I just have more to cram into it.”
“When you’ve fed two babies, come back to me and say that,” said Rose, grinning.
Hebe dropped her gaze but managed a weak smile. Her comment had been meant as a joke. She had forgotten other people had feelings, too. She had assumed she could waltz back into Alex’s life with the gift of herself and her money, and he had spent three weeks making clear he wanted neither. And now she wanted to be anywhere but here, while trying to hide her miserable self.
“Oh, my, Alex is here.” Rose sounded pleased. “I haven’t seen him since he left Langsdene Manor. I hope he hasn’t been ill.”
Hebe froze. She elevated her chin without turning to see where Rose focused. Instead, she adopted a firm smile, which she aimed at Lord Ledger, the lecher who stood in front of her, confidently holding out his hand for the next dance. She stepped forward. “A cotillion? How fortuitous.” Without looking back, she went with him to perform what was, in her opinion, the longest dance that had ever been invented.
For the entire eternity of the dance, she didn’t glance once around the crowds lining the rooms. She did her utmost to be charming to the lecher, who touched her far too often and smiled too knowingly. By the time the dance had ended, she knew exactly what she would say if Alex had the indelicacy to approach her.
Instead of delivering her to her group, Lord Ledger steered her toward the doors that led to the supper room, or so she thought. She could rid herself of him far easier in a smaller space. Unfortunately, she stood on a short verandah that led to the garden.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alex slipped through the same doors that Hebe had disappeared behind with Ledger, which he knew led to a private area, a small fernery planted out with exotic flowers. His friend, Barney Gordon, who owned the place, entertained friends and family here when he hosted intimate gatherings. Alex doubted that Hebe had previously been in this space, since she had been married to her industrialist when Barney had taken possession of the property.
He lightly stepped past statues of chubby, winged children, otherwise known as cupids, following the source of the voices. “Why did you come out here with me if you didn’t want a good rogering?” Ledger’s voice.
“Take your disgusting hands off me.” Hebe’s voice.
“You’re no longer a debutante, my dear. When you want a man, you can have him without all this false protesting.” Ledger tittered.
Alex parted two tall ferns. “Good evening, Lady Hebe. I’ve been searching for you,” he said, in a cool voice. “Could you spare me a waltz?”
For a moment Hebe closed her eyes.
Ledger said, “Do leave, dear chap. You are interrupting an intimate moment.”
Alex smiled without humor, grabbed him by the back of his collar and force-marched him to the fountain where he doused Ledger until he began to splutter and punch the air in an attempt to land a hit on Alex. He gave Hebe time to escape but she stood watching with her arms crossed. “Drown him.”
He faced her, pulling Ledger’s arm up behind his back until Ledger squealed. Hebe marched over and trod heavily on Ledger’s foot, staring him in the eyes. “No means no. It always has.”
Alex lifted his eyebrows. “Finished?”
She nodded. Alex half carried, half ran Ledger to the door and watched him disappear. He turned back to Hebe. “That was a risky thing to do. You must know Ledger’s reputation.”
She walked right over to him and stamped on his foot and marched out behind Ledger. Instead of hopping around clutching his toes, he could have begged her to stay for a moment. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but without a marriage proposal, given her current mood, he decided to hold his tongue as well as his foot, which he had already put in too much mud.
When he finally re-entered the ballroom, he noted Hebe waltzing with Julian Hartley. She would come to no harm with him. Alex thought he might stay a while to make sure she didn’t fall for another roués tricks, but she remained safely within the circle of her friends. So that he could appear not to be focused on her, he waltzed with Miss Smith, who at least seemed pleased to see him. Her confidence had grown since the house party and she laughed and flirted with him. After he passed her on her next partner, he met Raimond Hayden, Della’s brother, who had a tip about a horse running at Epsom tomorrow.
“A sure bet,” he said.
“Aren’t they all?”
“I swear I’ve had this from the trainer. A newcomer. No one has seen him run yet, so the betting will be slow.”
Alex had taken three weeks to find fifty pounds, but still needed another fifty to buy a marriage license. He had come to town to see what he could sell before he could propose to Hebe. No man should expect a woman to pay to marry him, even if she accepted the doubtful pleasure of restoring his lands before he could support her. Because he wanted her sooner rather than later, he was prepared to hazard the money he had earned from the sale of the old barouche. Should he win, he could take his chance with her. If not, he prayed she would wait.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hebe’s new house, near St. James’ square, was not too large for a single woman, and not too small for a family—the family she would probably never have. She had sold the enormous house she had shared with Horace and bought herself this new one within two months of his death.
“I’ll have the blue gown, Flora,” she said as she dropped her shawl on the bed. She had been at the art gallery with Winsome and now had to change her gown. The Thorntons expected to see her for a musical evening. Della knew every musician in England and she had weekly gatherings for like-minded people. “Would the sapphires be too ostentatious for a friendly gathering?”
“The setting is simple. I’m sure the other ladies will be wearing jewels ...” Flora helped Hebe into her dressing robe.
Hebe sat at her mirror and began to take the pins out of her hair. A light tap sounded at her door. Flora answered and the footman said, “I put Lord Rydale in the sitting room, my lady. He said his business is urgent.”
Hebe’s heart began to pound like a cobbler’s hammer. She had never thought to tell her staff not to admit him, for she didn’t expect to see him, not after trampling on his foot only yesterday. “Tell him I’ll be down when I’m dressed.” She aimed a glance of alarm at Flora, who had no idea what Hebe had done.
Flora beamed. “Finally, my lady. I was beginning to wonder what kept him away.”
Hebe frowned. “I don’t expect every gentleman in London to call on me.”
“He is rather special, I thought.”
“What gave you that impression?”
Flora dropped her gaze. “Servants tend to notice small details when they make their mistress’s beds. I found a cuff button bearing the Thornton coat of arms. I gave it to his valet who mentioned his bed had not been slept in for at least three nights.” She glanced with apology at Hebe.
Hebe slowly dropped her gaze and focused on her entwined fingers. “Which somewhat confirms the saying that ‘no man is a hero to his valet.’”
“No ma’am. We’re all human, after all, servant and master.”
“Since he has taken his time to call on me, I think we should let him wait.” Hebe tried to screw on an earring but her fingers shook.
She made sure she was completely ready before she left the room. No curl in her hair had been left not brushed, no prink needed had been ignored, and her shoes had been changed three times before she was satisfied with the patterned blue she wore. As she took the stairs, she remembered six weeks ago when, with the same trepidation she had pattered dow
n the steps in Winsome’s country house, desperate to see Alex once more, only to be finally rejected.
He stood when she entered the room. “I must apologize for the late arrival, but I thought I should change out of my day clothes and into evening dress.” His gaze lingered on her face.
“To what do I owe the great honor of your call?” She tried to sound haughty, but her voice trembled. If he was only here to check that the lecher hadn’t harmed her, he could take his interference elsewhere.
He stared at her, half smiling. His shoulders lifted slightly. “I find it hard to stay away from the woman I love when she is in my proximity.”
“Love?”
He nodded, his gaze on hers.
“And when did you decide this?” Her neck stiffened.
“I told you before. When I was twenty-two.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Are you saying you have loved me all of that time?”
“I have loved you for eight years.”
Her wits flew out of the window. She dragged in a breath. “No, you haven’t.”
“Hebe, you are a singularly difficult woman.” His mouth lifted up on one corner.
“If you loved me, you would not say that.” She clutched her sapphires so hard that her palm hurt.
“I say that because I love you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, despite you being a difficult woman.” He took one step forward. “Will you do me the great honor of taking my hand in marriage?”
She curled her fingers at her sides to stop herself from reaching out to him, and managed to stiffen her spine. “I had a certain specification, which you ignored.”
“That’s the problem. A dilemma you might say. I’m not willing to impregnate you if you then decide to marry another. Matters must proceed in an orderly fashion. Marriage. Babies.”
Deliciously Hazardous (Regency Four Book 4) Page 8
