Wallflower (Old Maids' Club, Book 1)

by Catherine Gayle

  “Very well,” Lady Tabitha said. “You’ve answered my question. Good afternoon to you, Lord Devonport.” She tried to disentangle her hands from his grip, but he held firm.

  “Not yet. I need to know where we stand.”

  The corners of her lips turned down in the most delicious pout. “You may court me, along with my other suitors.”

  Noah supposed that would have to do for the moment. Garnering her trust again might require all of his efforts. He nodded. “I plan to call on you every day. I’ll win your affection, if it kills me.” He lifted one of her hands to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. “Until this evening, then.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tabitha sat in one of the three carriages filled with ladies heading toward Bond Street. Well, filled with ladies and Christopher. When Jo had planned this ladies’ outing, she and Helen had conspired to drag Christopher along, so that someone could be responsible for keeping up with all of their purchases.

  The poor dear had assumed only Jo, Helen, and Tabitha would be shopping. Jo had purposefully left him in the dark that she had organized an outing for seemingly half the ladies of the ton. Indeed, when he had come down the stairs of his townhouse and discovered his parlor overflowing with frills and lace, he stopped dead in his tracks to stare for a moment.

  “I noticed you’d only ordered one carriage,” Jo had called to him out over the din, “so I took it upon myself to ask Uncle Drake and Uncle Jasper if we could borrow theirs as well. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Christopher had not responded; he was too busy scanning the throng of females filling his parlor, in an apparent effort to decipher just how many ladies he would be responsible for escorting on a shopping excursion that afternoon.

  When they’d piled into the conveyances, Tabitha took his arm with a chuckle and led him to the one she intended to ride in. At least she could provide a calming influence for him, amidst the miles of ribbons and lace and the host of hats and bonnets he was bound to be holding before the afternoon came to a close.

  So now, as the carriage rolled on its way, she sat with Christopher and Helen sharing a bench with her, and the Countess of St. Benedict and Baroness Uppington (complete with a lorgnette hanging about her neck) seated on the opposite bench.

  “Your husband is quite a prize, Lady Claremont,” Lady St. Benedict said, leaning across to grasp Helen’s hand. She was older than Tabitha by a few years, but not too many, yet her face wore a fair few creases that had not yet made their appearance in Tabitha’s. “I daresay St. Benedict would rather tackle a roomful of babies in dirty nappies than accompany such a sizeable group of ladies as they shop.”

  Helen smiled. “Claremont likely would not have done, if his sister had informed him more baldly what he was agreeing to do.”

  Christopher grunted, garnering a peal of laughter from Lady St. Benedict and Lady Uppington.

  Tabitha patted the back of Christopher’s hand consolingly. “My cousin knows ways of getting what she wants where her brothers are concerned. She’s had long years of practice.” Tabitha would know. They’d perfected their techniques together.

  Lady Uppington clucked her tongue. “I’ll have to ask for Miss Faulkner’s advice, then. I can hardly get Uppington to take me out for an afternoon, let alone an entire group of ladies.” She turned a thoughtful eye on Christopher, then raised her lorgnette to him. “Unless, of course, you would care to offer your assistance in that area, Lord Claremont.”

  The carriage slowed to a stop, saving Christopher the necessity of answering. Before the driver could come around to open the door, Christopher clambered down himself and set out the steps. He assisted each of the ladies out in turn.

  Tabitha winked at him as she took his hand and descended. “I promise not to spend all of my pin money in a single day. I doubt I’ll purchase more than a single ribbon, which I can surely carry on my own.”

  “Any chance you can convince the rest to follow suit?” Christopher’s look of sheer terror was amusing, to say the least.

  “Don’t count on it, but I’ll do what I can.”

  Lady St. Benedict beckoned to her from up ahead. “Lady Tabitha! Come and walk with me. I want to learn who has fashioned such exquisite new gowns for you.”

  With an apologetic shrug of her shoulders in Christopher’s direction, Tabitha hurried along and hooked her arm in Lady St. Benedict’s. “Jo and I decided to use Madame Duchesne for all of our gowns this Season,” she said conspiratorially. “We can stop in her shop this afternoon if you’d like. I’d be glad to introduce you.”

  She spent the next hour walking from shop to shop with Lady St. Benedict, discussing everything from Madame Duchesne’s skills as a modiste, to the likelihood of Christopher ever agreeing to accompany his sister on a similar excursion again. Lady St. Benedict made a purchase in nearly every shop they entered. She deposited several of her purchases with Tabitha’s cousin, beleaguered as he may be, and tugged Tabitha along with her to the next destination.

  As they stepped out of Martinson’s jewelry store, Lady St. Benedict toting two new packages, they almost walked directly into Lord Devonport. He put out a hand and caught Tabitha’s elbow before she lost her balance. A heated look passed through his eyes so briefly, she wondered if she’d imagined it.

  “My apologies,” he said. When Lady St. Benedict fumbled with the packages in her hands as she righted herself, Lord Devonport reached for them. “May I carry these for you, my lady?”

  “Oh, yes, that would be lovely,” the countess said and deposited her parcels in his waiting arms. She glanced over to where Christopher stood with the drivers beside the carriages, and Tabitha’s eyes followed her direction. One carriage was already half-full with various bundles and boxes, and he was struggling to unload the contents of his arms. The drivers also held a number of purchases, awaiting their turn to be packed away. “I’m afraid Lord Claremont might be a bit overburdened.”

  Lord Devonport chuckled. “He’ll probably think twice before agreeing to such an outing again anytime soon.” Turning his attention to Tabitha, he asked, “And is there anything I can carry for you, Lady Tabitha?” He nearly caressed her with his eyes.

  “She’s yet to lay out a farthing of her pin money today,” Lady St. Benedict said before Tabitha could answer for herself. “I’ve done my best to make up for her lack of spending. And what brings you to Bond Street this afternoon?”

  “The lady I intended to call upon was not at home today,” he answered, passing an ever-so-brief glance in Tabitha’s direction before returning his attention to Lady St. Benedict, “so I thought to visit my tailor. I need a new coat for my mother’s wedding next week.”

  The past two evenings, he’d been at the same entertainments Tabitha had attended. He had paid her a visit at Shelton Hall yesterday afternoon as well, acting the perfect gentleman during the half-hour affair. Tabitha held no doubt that she was the lady to whom he referred.

  Before he had taken his leave, he had invited her to be his especial guest at his mother’s wedding. She’d yet to respond. Allowing him to pay her court was one thing; attending a family wedding, on his arm, was something else entirely. In the eyes of the beau monde, it would be tantamount to announcing their betrothal.

  “Have you found nothing to your liking?” When he faced Tabitha again, he cocked a brow. “No bonnets or fabrics? Nothing new to wear when you come to the wedding?”

  Lady St. Benedict widened her eyes, and then narrowed them shrewdly, looking between Tabitha and Lord Devonport. Oh, good gracious. The countess intended to leave them alone. Tabitha wasn’t sure she wanted that. Or perhaps she just wanted it more than she wished she did. Lady St. Benedict glanced back over her shoulder, where Jo was emerging from a shop on the arms of Lady Sophia Hardwicke and her friend, Miss Matthews.

  “Oh, dear me,” the countess said. “I just remembered I need to speak with Miss Faulkner about plans for our evening at Vauxhall. You are both attending that, are you not? You’ll have to e
xcuse me.” She bustled off before Tabitha could voice an objection, without giving either of them an opportunity to confirm or deny their attendance at her upcoming entertainment.

  “I’ll just deposit your packages with Claremont, then,” Lord Devonport called out after her. Lady St. Benedict raised a hand in acknowledgement. “I think she recognized you to be the lady I wished to call upon today.” He slipped one of Tabitha’s hands into the crook of his arm and led her toward the waiting carriages.

  “Devonport, thank God,” Christopher said when they arrived. Desperation had brought a sheen of perspiration to cover his brow. “Tell me you have a carriage with you. I’ll never be able to transport them all to Burlington Arcade when they’re done here with all of these purchases, let alone back to the townhouse when they’ve finished their shopping.”

  Lord Devonport passed him the two packages belonging to Lady St. Benedict. “My barouche is only down the block. I can easily carry Lady Tabitha and two others.”

  “Consider me one of the two.” Christopher glanced over his shoulder. Tabitha assumed he was looking to be sure Helen was not directly behind him. “I’m close to carting myself off to Bedlam within the next hour as it is. Remind me to strangle Jo later,” he said to Tabitha. “It wouldn’t do to commit murder on the streets like this. The ladies might faint or something.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” she said on a laugh.

  “When do you plan to leave for Burlington Arcade?” Lord Devonport asked.

  “Half an hour. Can you have your barouche brought around by then?”

  “Of course. I’ll be sure to return with Lady Tabitha in time to assist you.”

  Return with her? Where did he think he was taking her? “But this is a ladies’ outing, my lord,” she protested.

  He started to walk with her hand still tucked firmly in the bend of his arm. She must either go with him or create a scene. “Indeed, it appears to be so. Surely the other ladies will not miss you for a half hour, though.” When they had moved out of hearing distance of the others in the party, he slowed, taking smoother, longer strides. “You still have not given me an answer about Mother’s wedding. Will you accompany me?”

  “I agreed to allow you to pay me court, my lord, and I have followed through with that promise. I’ve danced with you when you have asked and talked with you when you have called.”

  “Why do I sense a ‘however’ in the near future?” Lord Devonport asked. He gazed down upon her with a hangdog expression. “Am I not acquitting myself well enough? Have I done something to earn your displeasure?”

  It was infuriating how he looked so perfectly kissable when he was irritated. The downturned corners of his mouth practically begged her to caress their frown away, which would be altogether inappropriate considering they were walking down a public street in Mayfair. “You’ve done nothing wrong,” she replied once she regained her bearings. “However, permitting you to court me is an entirely separate matter from giving society the impression that we are affianced.”

  “And is there a problem with fostering such a notion?” he asked.

  “I told you before that I will not marry. That has not changed.” It could not change, no matter how much she may wish otherwise. Tabitha would never go back on her word to Jo and Bethanne. Not for any man.

  Lord Devonport stopped and pulled her around to face him. They stood before a haberdashery shop, while horses and carriages clattered down the road and shoppers bustled in and out of storefronts all around them. “Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?” He locked his gaze to hers, entreating her to reconsider.

  “No, my lord.” A piece of her heart broke off and withered away at the anguish her pronouncement brought about.

  He looked back to where they had come from. “We should order my barouche brought around.”

  Tabitha placed her hand on his arm again and followed his lead as he headed in the opposite direction. She didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent.

  Several minutes passed before they reached his carriage. “Our half hour is nearly gone,” Lord Devonport said. “We should ride back instead of walking.” He took her hand and assisted her up, then gave the driver instructions before joining her on the same seat. The barouche lurched into motion when he was seated and ready.

  “What would you have me do, then?” he asked after her uncommunicativeness had gone on for several more minutes. “If you’ll not marry me, what is our relationship to become? I fully intend to continue courting you. I plan to kiss you again, and often. I want there to be more than that, even. And if you deny you want the same, I’ll call your bluff right here in the middle of the street where everyone can see. So what then, Lady Tabitha?”

  A flutter of emotions coursed through her body and landed with a thud at the bottom of her stomach. Was he asking her to become his mistress? A clandestine lover? Aunt Rosaline had carried on affairs with no regard for her reputation. Was Tabitha prepared to follow in that same course? “I don’t know. I don’t know how to answer your question.”

  They drew up alongside the carriages which were rapidly filling with the other ladies. As the barouche came to a stop and Christopher led Helen over to them, Lord Devonport stifled a groan of sorts. “You need to come up with an answer soon.”

  ~ * ~

  Noah downed the whiskey before him in a single swallow. It had burned his throat and caused his eyes to water when he first started that night at White’s, but the discomfort ceased sometime after his fourth. He couldn’t say how many he’d had at this point as he gestured for Leith to pour him another.

  Instead of refilling Noah’s glass, Leith pushed the bottle out of Noah’s reach. “I think,” the dratted earl said slowly, “you’ve already had more than you can handle.”

  Noah pointed a finger across the table at him. Or maybe he pointed three. Gracious, how many fingers were on his hand? “How do you know what I can think?” That didn’t sound right.

  It didn’t stop Leith from giving him an answer to the question he had intended to ask, however. “You never have more than the occasional brandy, and even that is a rare occurrence. You’ve drunk half the bottle already. As it is, you’ll be sicker than you’ve ever been in your life tomorrow. Trust me, Devonport, you’ll thank me later for stopping you now.”

  “I’ll thank you to refill my bottle from the damned glass.” He’d cursed. Noah couldn’t remember the last time he’d cursed. He thought he might like to try it again. “Damn you.” Yes, that felt good.

  Leith laughed, and Noah wanted to plant the sorry sod a facer. He restrained himself, though. Noah didn’t care to damage any of the extra fingers he’d just discovered before he had an opportunity to examine them in the light of day.

  “Stop laughing at me.”

  “Face it, Devonport. You’re drunk as a wheelbarrow.”

  “Laugh one more time, and I’ll barrow your blasted wheels.” Where had that come from? It didn’t even make sense to Noah in his slightly inebriated state.

  Leith pushed a tray of sandwiches closer to Noah. “Eat. It will help. Are you ready to tell me what brought this on?”

  Come to think of it, he was hungry. Noah selected a sandwich and took a bite. “Not what. Who,” he grumbled while chewing. “And who would you—hic—think it was?”

  “Aha,” Leith said. “This is about Lady Tabitha. Things are not going well between you then? I thought you’d finally made some progress.”

  “Oh, she’ll allow me to court her and touch her and kiss her until I nearly blow my ballocks, all right. Things are going perfectly well in that regard. But she won’t let me be her wife.”

  “I see,” Leith murmured, drawing his fingers to a point at his chin. “That presents quite a conundrum. One I’m all too familiar with. So you’ve compromised her, and she still won’t have you?”

  “That’s the pro—hic—problem,” Noah drawled. “No one has caught me complicating her. No one but her maid, at least. And even if someone did discov
er us in a compulsive position, she wouldn’t care. She says she won’t marry.”

  Leith passed him a glass of water. “Drink. It’ll help.”

  “I want—hic—more whiskey. Bloody hiccoughs.”

  “Drink the water. The whiskey is what caused your ‘bloody hiccoughs’, you drunken imbecile.” Leith sat back in his chair and waited until Noah started to grudgingly drink. “Do you want someone to catch you compromising Lady Tabitha?”

  Yes. Good God, yes. “No. She’d be furious with me.” But he certainly did love watching her in a fit of pique. It always made him wonder how that passion would translate to the bedchamber.

  “Well, I suppose you’d better find another way of convincing her to change her mind. But that can wait for another day. I should probably see you home, now.”

  “I don’t want—hic—to go home.” Noah yawned. He wanted to curl up right where he was and go to sleep. Going home seemed like far more trouble than it was worth.

  Leith came around the table and hefted Noah to his feet, pulling one arm across his shoulders. “Come on. My curricle is waiting. I’ll order your driver to take your carriage home.”

  “Leave me be,” Noah said. “I might be ill.” Faster than a blink of the eye, Leith let him go and Noah dropped to the floor, cracking his knees against the hard wood surface. “Bloody hell! That—hic—hurts. What did you do that for?”

  “I don’t fancy wearing your whiskey on my boots. On second thought, maybe we should take your carriage.”

  Noah tried to stand, but fell back down again. The floor seemed to be slipping out from under him. “Fine. Let’s just go.” He reached out a hand, hoping Leith would assist him, but Leith just shook his head and held a finger to his lips. “Could you help me up?”

  “Quiet,” Leith whispered. “Listen.”

  Listen. The only thing Noah heard was a roaring in his ears, like the ocean crashing against the cliff his heart had just leapt from. But then he heard a voice he recognized.