Wallflower (Old Maids' Club, Book 1)

by Catherine Gayle

  “That’s why you love me.” Noah slipped his hand beneath the table and gently laid it upon her knee. All the blood in her body seemed to rush to that spot, leaving her lightheaded.

  She had to look away from him. He’d melt her to a puddle on the floor if she kept looking at him while he touched her like that. “I’ve never said I love you,” Tabitha said softly.

  His hand pressed against her knee gently. “No. But you do.”

  Tabitha shivered despite herself. “You’re very sure of yourself, my lord.” He was very sure of something Tabitha wasn’t entirely certain of...but she feared he was right.

  “I’ve asked you to call me Noah. And yes, I’m sure of this.”

  “Why?”

  Noah’s voice lowered, to that rich, rumbling baritone she only heard when he wanted her. “Because you kiss me like a woman who loves a man. Because you haven’t slapped my hand away, even though touching you like this is unacceptable.” He leaned closer. “Because you answered me with perhaps instead of with an outright no.” He took another bite of shirred eggs and turned to answer Lord Glastonbury’s question.

  “You do love him,” Owen said on her other side. “Trying to fight it won’t do you any good. It’s easier to just give in.” He gestured toward Elaine. “Trust me. I know.”

  Tabitha felt herself color even further. “How much of that did you hear?”

  “Enough. I already knew his hand was on your knee.”

  “Oh, damn and blast.” She pinched her eyes closed. Noah’s hand moved ever so slightly up her leg to reposition over her lower thigh and he squeezed again. Jolts of awareness pooled between her legs.

  “I won’t say anything to anyone. You are engaged to be married.” The tinkle of silver meeting china sounded on Owen’s plate. “But what’s this business about ‘perhaps’?”

  “It was her answer yesterday when I asked if she loved me,” Noah said, returning his attention their way and saving her the awkwardness of coming up with an appropriate answer her brother would believe.

  Tabitha took another sip from her champagne. The musicians had moved to the dais and begun the semi-melodic cacophony that signaled they would soon begin to play.

  “Are you ready?” Noah asked in her ear. His hand slipped around behind her to settle at her waist. “Glastonbury suggested to your father that we should make the announcement just before the dancing begins.”

  Prickles of disquiet formed gooseflesh on her skin. It had been nerve-wracking enough to sit placidly in her pew on Sunday as the parson had read the banns, knowing that word would spread throughout the ton as instantly as an inferno raging to life once the service came to a close. Then there had been the past several afternoons, with friends and acquaintances all coming to offer her their congratulations, alongside the gossips and scandalmongers.

  The only portions of those afternoons that had been palatable were the rare instances when she and Noah were alone in Father’s drawing room. He had charmed her with honeyed words and thinly veiled hunger to the point that she had begun to question herself. Perhaps she ought to just give in, to trust the desirous part of her soul and ignore the part that continued to warn his ardor would cool once her dowry was in his grasp, however commonplace those warnings had become of late.

  Lord Glastonbury and his new Lady Glastonbury stood across from them and moved out to the center of the room, which had been cleared for dancing. Holding out his hand for Tabitha to take, Noah rose to join them. “Come. They want us to share the first dance with them.”

  She walked along at his side, one arm entwined with his, in a daze from the whirling emotions wreaking havoc on her mind. Somewhere in her consciousness, she became aware of Owen and Elaine following them, of Father off to the side of the dais with Toby beside him, of Jo and Lord Leith joining the crowd to celebrate the union of Lord Glastonbury and Noah’s mother.

  Glastonbury called for the crowd’s attention and a hush fell on the room, aside from the crash of waves sounding in Tabitha’s ears.

  After a moment, she felt the rumble of Noah’s voice reverberating through his body from beneath her fingertips, and she knew he was making their announcement. A chorus of cheers rang out, with the applause echoing in the cavernous grand hall of deLancie house. And then Noah swept her into his arms and whisked her around the room in a waltz. He pulled her scandalously close, and she felt his arousal pressing its heat into her belly.

  “You’re being overly familiar,” she complained. “Half the ton is watching.”

  “Smile, Tabitha,” he said. “This is a celebration, not a funeral.”

  If only he could understand. Tabitha was in mourning. She’d lost a rather significant piece of herself forever.

  The part which believed no man would ever want her.

  ~ * ~

  Mother and Glastonbury had left to begin their honeymoon a quarter of an hour ago and, apart from family, only a few stragglers lingered. Miss Faulkner stood next to the remnants of the cake, casting her ever astute eyes over the room. When she thought no one was looking, she dipped her finger first into the frosting and then into her mouth.

  Noah stifled a chuckle as he made his way across to her. He required her assistance, so it wouldn’t do to have her think he was laughing at her. Even if he was doing precisely that.

  “Have you enjoyed yourself this morning, Miss Faulkner?”

  She jumped slightly at his question, but hastily covered her surprise at his appearance by her side. “It was a lovely wedding and breakfast, my lord. Thank you for inviting me. And give my thanks to your mother and Lord Glastonbury as well.”

  Noah smiled. “I’ll be sure to do that.” He dipped another strawberry in cream and ate it. “Tabitha’s birthday is coming up, is it not?”

  Miss Faulkner gave him an arch look. “Why do I get the impression that you’re fishing for information?”

  “Now I see where Tabitha acquired her penchant for answering questions with more questions. Or is that something you’ve picked up from her?”

  With a cluck of her tongue, she said, “You’re a cheeky one, aren’t you? That’s good. She needs someone who can keep her on her toes. Very well, I’ll concede this round. Tabitha’s birthday is in two days.”

  “Thank you. I promise to let you take the next bout.”

  “That’s very kind of you, my lord,” Miss Faulkner said equably, “but I can promise you I don’t need anyone to let me win. Give me your best barbs, and I promise you I’ll dish back better than I get.”

  Noah laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. May I ask one more favor?”

  “Ask away.”

  “I need to know what I can give to her, or what I can do for her, to make her feel loved. What is the thing she wants more than anything else?”

  Miss Faulkner colored up prettily. “I shouldn’t tell you this.” She lowered her voice and leaned close to him, so no one could overhear. “She’ll know that I’m the one who told you, and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Please? Don’t make me beg you. I need to know.” It might be the one thing to turn the tide in his favor.

  She wrung her hands and glanced around to see who was nearby. “I’ll tell you, but you will owe me a favor in future.”

  “Anything you want that is in my power to grant,” Noah promised.

  Miss Faulkner nodded, still casting her eyes about. “Poetry.”

  He couldn’t have heard her correctly. “Poetry?”

  “Yes. Tabitha is quite the romantic, my lord.”

  “Does she have a favorite poet, perhaps?” he asked. “Byron? Keats? I suppose I could read some poetry to her on her birthday.”

  “Oh, no, no, no. You misunderstand me, Lord Devonport.” Miss Faulkner looked across at him with a wholly sincere expression. “She desperately wants a gentleman to write a poem for her. And to recite it to her. In front of her entire family. There is nothing her heart desires more.”

  “You’re joking.” She had to be. “Aren’t you?”


  “As earnest as the plague.”

  By Jove.

  ~ * ~

  For the first time in her now twenty-nine years, Tabitha thought she might escape her birthday fete without experiencing the desire to strangle a member of her family as they slept. Even Toby had been on his best behavior all day, not even bothering to needle her more than a few times.

  The family supper had just come to an end, and Father’s liveried footmen were carefully removing the Wedgwood china dessert plates. While things seemed well within her family, however, she’d noticed some queer occurrences with regard to Noah. Several times during the course of the meal, Tabitha had caught a glimpse of him looking across to Jo, almost as though seeking reassurance.

  Try as she might, Tabitha could think of nothing—nothing at all—about which Jo ought to be encouraging Noah. This could only mean one thing: Jo had accepted Noah as part of the family already.

  And if Tabitha knew anything at all about her dearest cousin, it was that Jo always did anything and everything possible to torment the men in the family. She was far more sincere about the perceived responsibility than Tabitha and Bethanne combined.

  Some havey-cavey business or another was afoot, Tabitha was sure of it. Something else of which she was sure: Noah was in trouble. Depending upon how serious Noah’s trouble turned out to be, Jo would have the devil to pay...unless Tabitha was somehow able to weasel the truth out of her cousin and stop it before it happened.

  She couldn’t very well do that with Noah sitting beside her and Jo all the way down the vast dining table, however. Tabitha smiled and called out to the table at large, “Ladies, shall we adjourn to the parlor and leave the gentlemen to their port?” A footman rushed forward to pull out her chair. She rose and the other ladies followed suit.

  Blast, this was one of those moments she loathed having such a mammoth family. Tabitha wanted to hurriedly link her arm with Jo’s, but her cousin latched on to Miranda on one side and Aunt Vanessa—Miranda and Bethanne’s mother—on the other, making Tabitha’s plan impossible. She’d have to wait until they were in the parlor. Jo couldn’t avoid her the rest of the night.

  Lavinia, Jo’s older sister, took Tabitha’s arm and dragged her along. “Quite the catch,” she said appreciatively. “Lord Devonport is a handsome devil, isn’t he? I always knew you’d make a good match for yourself once you gave up on all that old maid foolishness.”

  “Thank you,” Tabitha murmured. Was that an appropriate response? There was no telling, with Lavinia. “Any idea what your sister is up to?”

  “Oh, the usual. Avoiding Lord Leith and pretending she’s better off without him.” Lavinia said nothing about what Jo might be doing to Noah, though. Clearly, she didn’t know. Not that Tabitha had expected any differently. Lavinia had never been part of their schemes and plans before, so why should it be any different now?

  They passed the grand stairway and turned down a wide corridor, then entered the parlor. Tabitha’s mother had decorated it years before, filling it with Louis XIV chairs and plush ottomans, covering the walls with silk to go alongside the silk draperies, and decorating with bronze statues of Greek gods alongside marble busts of Mozart and Haydn. The parlor had always felt overly decadent to Tabitha—lavishness and opulence to the extreme.

  When they made their way inside, Lavinia excused herself to speak with her sister-in-law, Helen, and Elaine. Tabitha located Jo seated by the bay window, surrounded by her mother and Bethanne’s sister-in-law, Arabella. A sinking feeling settled in Tabitha’s stomach that Jo was intentionally avoiding her.

  With everyone else occupied, Tabitha took up conversation with Miranda and Aunt Vanessa, taking a glass of sherry from the passing footman’s tray. She hardly paid attention to what the two were saying—something about the gathering of soldiers near Vienna, a subject which couldn’t be further from Tabitha’s mind at the moment—and she never took her eyes from Jo. The moment she saw her duplicitous cousin alone, Tabitha intended to pounce.

  But minutes ticked by, and then the door to the parlor opened again. Tabitha’s chance had passed her by; the gentlemen had finished with their port and cheroots and now flooded into the parlor, filling the delicate space with their bulkier frames. Noah took up position beside her, easing his hand to the back of her waist as he’d been wont to do of late in a half-possessive, half-protective gesture that invariably instigated a bout of gooseflesh on the skin of her arms.

  Miranda’s husband, Lord Pickford, joined them, followed by her brother, Isaac. Noah eased himself into the conversation with practiced charm. Tabitha studied him instead of the discussion. He looked none the worse for wear after his time with the Shelton men, so clearly whatever web Jo had been spinning to trap him had not yet come to pass.

  After several minutes had passed, out of the corner of her eye, Tabitha noticed Jo get up from her seat and sidle over to where Tabitha’s father stood. She whispered something in his ear, and then resumed her seat.

  Father finished the conversation he was having with his brother, Jasper, and then cleared his throat for silence. “Josephine has issued me a gentle reminder that we’ve yet to give Tabitha and Tobias their gifts. Shall we proceed with that?”

  “Why don’t we gift Toby with a kick in the arse on his way out the door?” Patrick, Jo’s youngest brother, called out to the general laughter of the room.

  Uncle Thad cuffed him on the ear. “Mind your language in front of the ladies.”

  “They’re family, not ladies,” Patrick grumbled beneath his breath, garnering a scowl from his father and a series of snickers from most of the rest. “And they’d likely all step in line to do the kicking, if we’d let them.”

  He had a point.

  Father chose to ignore the side conversation and proceeded with the gift-giving. He handed Tabitha and Toby each a package, which they ripped into. Toby’s held a pocket watch (“So you can no longer complain you did not know the time when I ask you why you are infernally late,” their father had said) and Tabitha’s contained a set of pearl and garnet ear bobs. Soon, they were both inundated with package after package until Tabitha could no longer remember who had given what to whom.

  When Tabitha and Toby had opened all of their gifts and thanked everyone graciously, Uncle Jasper and Aunt Vanessa stood to take their leave, followed soon behind by Christopher and Helen. Noah rose from his seat beside Tabitha on the sofa. “Please don’t leave just yet,” he said, and they all turned to look questioningly at him. “There is one more gift yet to be given.”

  He took a knee before Tabitha and pulled one of her hands into his own, sending the color racing up the back of her neck and depositing itself high in her cheeks. This could not be good. Oh, damn and blast, she would have to smother Jo with a pillow if Noah made a cake of himself in front of the entire family. Surely, her influence was involved here. “I understand you have always wanted a gentleman to write a poem for you,” he began.

  “I have?” Tabitha couldn’t stop herself from blurting out. Good God in heaven, he could not do this. Not here. Not now, with the entire family looking on.

  Over near the hearth, Owen and Toby snickered, earning them each an elbow in the ribs from Elaine. Patrick was not so subtle—he let out a loud guffaw, and his brother, Graham, choked on a sip of port he’d snuck under his father’s nose into the parlor.

  “Ignore them, Lord Devonport,” Jo called out. “These imbeciles haven’t a romantic bone in their bodies.” Tabitha glared across at her.

  Noah hesitated only for a brief moment. “I took it upon myself to compose one for you. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

  “I assure you, this is entirely unnecessary,” Tabitha rushed out quietly. “Perhaps it would be best to do this without an audience.”

  His jaw was set, though, and his eyes sincere. Lud, he was going to do it.

  “Amidst the gems of life’s elite, a paragon on the edge awaits—”

  At Uncle Jasper’s unabashed cackle, Tabitha had to act. She pushed a
bruptly to her feet, forcing herself to ignore at least for the moment the pained expression in Noah’s eyes as he stood beside her. “Stop it. Stop this right now. This is very poor form, from the lot of you.”

  “This isn’t what you wanted,” Noah murmured where only Tabitha could hear him. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you.”

  “Oh, come off it, Tabitha,” Toby said. “A little ribbing never hurt anyone.”

  “A little ribbing? You’re trying to humiliate him. And me. I’ll not stand for it.”

  “If Lord Devonport can’t handle a bit of playfulness, how will he ever last as part of this family?” Jo asked.

  Tabitha planted her hands on her hips, directing the brunt of her wrath in Jo’s direction. “He’s done perfectly well since Elaine and Owen married. I hardly think anything needs to change now.” She couldn’t let them torment him in such a way. Noah was unaccustomed to the particular brand of teasing banter her family often used as a twisted sign of their affection. Placing her hand on his arm, Tabitha led him toward the door. “Excuse us, please. We’re leaving.”

  Noah didn’t follow her immediately, so she tugged on his arm. “Where are we going?” he asked, but she didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. She didn’t know where she was taking him, other than away from her irksome family. Finally, he gave in and went along with her. She wound her way through the halls of her father’s town house, until they reached the servants’ kitchen exit leading out to the back gardens. Tabitha didn’t stop there; she kept walking through the winding paths, taking Noah past fountains and trellises, and the statues of cherubim dotting the way, until she reached a pillared portico covered in white roses with a stone bench beneath it.

  She drew to such a sudden stop that Noah nearly tripped. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning to face him in the shadowy half-light of dusk. “I’m sorry Jo is so meddlesome, and I’m sorry my brothers and cousins are inconsiderate boors, and I’m sorry—”