“Your parents sound worse than my mother. She, at least, always ate properly. But you do not seem at all the type of person to emerge from such chaos.” Titania smiled ruefully.
“I have been told I am a bit controlling, but I do not think I had much of a choice. I did have a brief, very brief, period of rebellion, but my parents applauded me for that. They worried I was too serious.” Julian leaned forward, his eyes lit with a curious glow.
“What kind of rebellion?”
“I went horse mad and refused to wear anything but my favorite black habit, even to breakfast and whatever social gatherings I was allowed to attend.”
Mr. Fell chortled. “Oh, you would not believe some of the atrocious choices I have made! There was a period of about six months when I would only wear white, all white all the time. I looked even more angelic than I do now.”
“Do you often get compared to angels, then? I, too, have been so compared to celestial beings I am surprised that no one asks to see my wings.”
“That settles it,” Julian said. “You and I are destined to become friends. And your companion, the lord rather alarmingly stuffed into his waistcoat? Is he your friend too?”
“Not yet, but I believe he has a good heart. He takes such a wonderful enjoyment in things. I envy that.”
“Especially food,” Mr. Fell added.
“Especially food,” Titania agreed. “And of course he likened me to an angel when we first met. I have found some, if not most, of the gentlemen I have met here to be either skittish of young ladies or determinedly in pursuit of them. It seems as if there is no middle ground.”
“Is there anyone in particular you are thinking of, Miss Stanhope? Someone who has offered you something not quite acceptable to a young lady? Or some gentleman who has taken liberties?”
Titania tried not to think of the liberty she had allowed Lord Worthington, lest she blush yet again. Yes, he had taken the liberty, but she did not slap his face and glide away in icy condemnation, as most other young ladies would have done. No, she had to babble at him incoherently and make yet another ignominious departure. Engrossed in her thoughts, she completely forgot Mr. Fell was still waiting for the answer to his question.
Was London causing this streak of unladylike daydreaming? This...impulsiveness? Or was it something that was being slowly unlocked by a pair of broad shoulders and a quick, intelligent mind?
“Oh, no, no one has done anything improper. It is just the general feeling of being apprised when you venture forth, all on display in your best frock, where some men shy away as if you’re about to pounce on them like some sort of voracious animal, and others eye you up and down as if you were that same animal on exhibit at the zoo.”
“I see,” Mr. Fell said, chuckling. “You are tired of being the—hmm, what animal do you most resemble?—the penguin, and you would like a more domesticated animal, say, the chicken or a sheep or something, is that it?”
Titania howled in laughter, attracting attention from all corners of the room, including both Julian’s mother and Lord George, who was still steadfastly trying to clear a footman’s plate of tidbits.
Mrs. White was the first to move toward them—Lord George was hampered by his busy jaws and his not so swift reactions—and she bore down on them, a pleased smile on her face.
“Julian! You are neither sighing nor reaching for your snuff box. I am so pleased. Could it be you have found someone who does not wish to discuss your hair, trade gossip, or pronounce judgment on your wayward mother?” She plopped down on the sofa between them, apparently able to find some comfort in its unforgiving depths.
“Mother, the lady and I were having a lovely conversation...that is, until you settled in. Do go away, would you?” His words were said with so much affection as to remove any ill humor from them, and the two beamed at each other.
“He is such a rogue,” Mrs. White said in an aside to Titania. “How he came to be born to Mr. Fell, a lovely man but certainly not the most exciting individual, and myself, a Cit’s daughter, I will never know. Why, just look at him, he reeks of gentility and higher thoughts and all those things. I am just lucky to be able to float beside his celestial cloud.”
Both Titania and Julian burst out in giggles at yet another heavenly reference, and Mrs. White beamed on, blithely unconcerned she was not in on the joke. When their laughter had subsided, she turned to Titania.
“When did you arrive in town, Miss Stanhope? I believe it is your first Season? Are you enjoying it? And why aren’t you at Almack’s, as debutantes usually are, and why aren’t you wearing white—not that it would suit you, dear girl, you’d look like a sheet of paper,” she added in an aside.
“Mother!” Julian expostulated. “She cannot possibly answer all of those questions at once.
“I do not wear white, Mrs. White, because I would indeed look like a sheet of paper...I am not at Almack’s because I have not yet received vouchers. I have just arrived in town for my first Season, but I am, as your son has already commented, a little long in the tooth for such an event.”
She ticked the replies off her fingers one by one, and when she finished, the mother and son—clearly partners in baiting unsuspecting bystanders—smiled in glee. Julian rose, turning to assist his mother from the couch.
“It is time, Mother, to get to the point of the evening. Miss Stanhope will think our wits have gone begging, and we are nothing more than a forest of mushrooms encroaching on polite society with our fancy talk about literature, poetry, and art.”
“Yes, well, do hush now, Julian,” his mother admonished. “We will get to the discussion in due time. Meanwhile, would you read to us?”
Julian quickly dived into his pockets, retrieving a slightly grubby piece of paper. He cleared his throat as his mother silenced the gathered crowd.
Alas! A lass!
She came through the weeping willow
Weeping! Will you?
And I could not but mourn
The passing season as she wept, passing me.
Was it the worst poetry she had ever heard? Titania was not certain, but she knew it ranked among the top three. She clapped her hands with the rest of the applauding crowd and peered up at Mr. Fell. It was as she feared: he was wearing a beatific smile that could only mean he thought it was really and truly good.
Her worst fears were realized when he came bustling back to her, opening his mouth in the question she dreaded. She was scrambling for words in her head when a familiar voice spoke.
“Mr. Fell, we have not yet been introduced, but I must say something after that most unique and unusual poetry. You have a way with words other authors do not. Truly memorable.”
Julian grinned in delight, then shook Edwin’s hand with vigor. “My dear sir, you cannot know what your words mean to me. I am honored. And you are?”
“Edwin Worthington, Earl of Oakley. I am also an author, although my métier is scholarly, not reaching the heights of language you scale.”
Titania stifled her chortle at Edwin’s use of words; he wasn’t being mean, his tone was even and sincere, but she knew with as much certainty as if he had told her that he was just as appalled as she was at Julian’s awful poetry. He was using his ready mouth—no, scratch that, she corrected hastily, enticing images beginning to dance in her head—rather, using his facility with language to put Julian at ease without exactly lying. She was impressed by his consideration and admired his quick handling of the situation.
“Thank you, my lord,” Julian replied, moving onto another group who had come to make their congratulations to him.
“Miss Stanhope, I did not realize you would be here,” Edwin said as he sat down beside her.
Really, the sofa ought to be more comfortable by now, Titania grumbled to herself, what with all these people hopping on its springs.
“I had assumed that like all the other young ladies of my acquaintance you would be at Almack’s dancing on the slanted floor and gamely trying to swallow what passes for
refreshments there. And the company is certainly not as lovely and...impulsive as it is here.” He turned toward Titania, his green eyes fastened on her with a passionate stare.
He was so gorgeous. And smart, and witty, and... Titania realized she’d better say something before she leaned over and kissed him.
“Lord Worthington, how does London seem to you after such an absence? You were gone several years, yes?”
“Five,” he replied. “I left rather precipitously, as someone has no doubt already informed you.” A self-conscious smile played about his lips. “I was lucky to end up where I did. It was not my choice; the idea of dying gloriously in battle was a fleeting fancy of mine, but that was not an option offered to me. For a long while, I did not care if I lived or died.” He looked down, but not before Titania glimpsed his face, which held a pained expression.
“Wh—what happened?”
He gripped his hands together tightly in his lap. “I jilted my betrothed at the altar. I knew I could not marry her, but I should not have behaved that recklessly. I broke my father’s heart. And damaged mine in the process, too.”
“Have you and your father spoken at all since?”
“No. He made it very clear that he wished to have nothing more to do with me. I have obeyed him in that demand, at least.”
Her voice softened. “Is there a chance of reconciliation?”
“What I did was too wrong, at least in his eyes, ever to be forgiven. He is a man of honor above all things, and my actions were not honorable.”
“Surely,” Titania ventured, “after such a long time—it is clear you deeply regret causing your father pain. If he only knew, maybe he would forgive you?”
“You are not acquainted with my father if you think he would relent. No, he made quite clear at our last meeting that we would never willingly see each other again. Now that I have returned to London, it is inevitable we will meet, perhaps sooner than either of us would wish. I think I spotted his carriage earlier today, so that day is coming. But even then, we will be no more than civil.”
He heaved a great sigh, his massive shoulders dropping in resignation. They sat in silence for a few comfortable minutes, then Edwin glanced over at Titania with a grin on his face.
“Now that I have revealed my most dishonorable deeds, my fair Titania, what dark secrets do you have hidden? That your brother has been sent to rusticate, or that your stickler aunt dislikes you intensely? I saw her cut you at the Cliftons’ ball—what could you possibly have done to arouse her ire?”
Titania chuckled, thinking if she were to tell him her dishonorable deed—that she was dangling for a fortune and documenting it in a vulgar publication, no less—he would not be nearly as lighthearted in his questioning.
“My aunt has taken exception to me, and I am equally appalled by her decorating. Do you know,” she continued in mock horror, “she has placed her chinoiserie pieces in a drawing room decorated in the Greek period? I vow, I am shocked, shocked at her daring. I should be the one disapproving of her, what with her trampling over all notions of design so much that it makes me positively faint.”
Edwin tugged on his cravat. “I must say I am the last person to offer any kind of design and fashion advice. I would as lief wear one of those ridiculously ornate waistcoats your brother and his companions have on than one of these silly things. They wrap around my neck like a noose, I can scarcely breathe, and the only reason I continue to endure the suffering, Miss Stanhope, is that without one I would not be deemed as fit company for you.” She chuckled but did not respond to him.
“Have I actually found another way to quell your ready tongue? I am not at all sure I like this way better than the first. I cannot tell you how many times I have relived our meeting at the park the other day.” He stared into her eyes, and she felt a sizzle of something she feared naming flare through her chest.
“My lord, it would be best if we did not dwell on that particular incident. I myself have forgotten it entirely,” Titania responded in an overly bright tone.
“Have you, Titania?” He gave her a skeptical look, his right eyebrow shooting up. Then he smiled at her, his green eyes seeming to see within her soul. Titania quickly turned her eyes to the ground, occupying herself with looking at his feet, which were shod, once again, in somewhat worn boots. It was too bad Lord Worthington was not as rich in money as he was in charm.
Sighing, she looked up again and realized that Lord Worthington had just asked her a question.
“Pardon, my lord?”
“Yes, it appears you were in a brown study. Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Stanhope? You observed that I seemed troubled, and I have to return the comment. And I hardly think your distress at your aunt’s taste warrants such reaction.”
No, nothing as serious as that. Only worrying about the rest of my life.
“You know,” he continued, “I’ve been laughing since I returned to London. I never thought I would be in good humor again. You must be a good influence on me. That, or I am becoming aware that not all beautiful women are conniving; sometimes they are compassionate and intelligent, if not very good horsewomen.”
Titania, who had been holding her breath as he spoke, exhaled in a gasp of outrage. “My lord! If I were riding one of my own horses, I would easily best you in a race.”
If his horse had three legs and hers had wings. Maybe.
“Care to wager on it, Titania?” Edwin asked. “I am not sure you could afford the stakes, though.”
Titania was taken aback for a moment, thinking he had ferreted out the fact that she was penniless. Then she realized he was hinting at something else entirely, and her body began to heat up in an increasingly familiar way. He inched a fraction closer to her on the sofa until they almost touched. She was achingly aware of his shoulder, his arm, his thigh, his calf; she wondered what would happen if she did what she most wanted to do, and rested her hand on his leg. She blushed even harder.
“Miss Stanhope, when you color up like that, you are the most stunning creature I have ever seen. Thank goodness we are in a public spot, or I would be using my mouth for something other than speech.” Titania knew she had to put a stop to this dangerous relationship, even as the thought of it made her stomach churn. She wished she had remembered her uncle’s splinter so she could concentrate on the pain it caused rather than the pain in her heart.
“My lord,” she said stiffly, placing her hands primly on her lap, “it is not appropriate to speak to me in that manner. I would beg you to go away.”
Go away, go away, and do not say a word, she begged him silently. If he spoke, she was going to lose her will and confess everything: her father’s betrayal, her own need for funds, her greater need for him. She watched his legs out of the corner of his eye as he rose slowly from the sofa, as painfully silent as her future.
She felt him staring down at her for what seemed an eternity, then he walked away. It was all she could do to keep staring straight ahead. Only when he had turned his back did she allow herself to look. A big crying gulp welled up inside her throat. She looked around the room, desperate for a distraction. Where had Miss Tynte gone to? And why did her heart feel as if it were breaking? Just as her eyes began to scour the crowd for two broad shoulders, she spied Claire in the center of the room accompanied by Lord Gratwick.
Lord Gratwick’s presence made sense, but why was Claire here? She was about as literary minded as Lord George. Maybe Almack’s posed too much in the way of competition, since most of the ladies there were dewy seventeen-year-olds and neither Claire nor herself (as had been pointed out far more times than Titania cared to count) were in their first flush of youth. Better to cast lures in smaller ponds where the bait was less...fresh, so to speak.
Maybe she would have to do something in her column on day-old fish. Cook would appreciate it, even if none of her other readers would.
“Claire. And Lord Gratwick,” Titania called, striding toward them. “My brother has arrived and most of my sta
ff have descended on me, too, and I have not had a chance to breathe.”
“Titania!” Claire exclaimed. “I should have known you would be here.” She sniffed in obvious disdain. “Lord Gratwick,” she said, patting his arm in a proprietary gesture, “could you fetch some refreshments? I’d like a moment with Titania.”
Titania guided Claire over to that still remarkably uncomfortable couch. Claire settled herself daintily on the edge, looking as contented as if she were lying on a cloud. How does she manage that? Titania thought, feeling a random spring poke her in an unpleasant spot.
Claire’s words made her squirm even more. “Lord Gratwick has confided in me, Titania, and I must say you have made quite a conquest. Since he’s returned home, he’s been the object of every debutante’s attention, and he has told me he is seriously considering asking you, well, you know.” She simpered and smoothed her hands down her skirts.
The news was not as welcome as Claire seemed to assume it would be. “Well. That is interesting.”
Claire’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Interesting? I tell you about a probable proposal and you say it is...interesting?”
“Yes, Claire, interesting.” Titania tried to keep the sharpness from her voice, but Claire’s high-handed machinations were both obvious and beginning to get on her nerves. Why was favoring Lord Gratwick so important to Claire?
“Oh,” Claire observed in a caustic tone, “the penniless peer is here.”
Titania looked up to see Edwin stalking back, his emerald eyes flashing. He nodded at Claire, then stood in front of Titania, extending a hand to her with a look that promised he would make a scene if she did not take it.
Titania rose, one hand held tightly in his, the other giving Claire an it’s-all-right gesture. Her gloves did nothing to disguise the warmth and strength of his grasp, and she felt a tiny bit of the tightness in her chest recede as he drew her to a small anteroom that opened off the main room. Once alone with him, she tried to make her voice as disdainful as her aunt’s.
A Singular Lady Page 11
