He might not be very many things when one considered him, but he was a gentleman, at least. And he was also exceptionally bored, which seemed to be a common trend among gentlemen.
But Jamie had to be far more bored than most. His estate was now fully restored and sustainable, so he no longer had that to engage his time. He had no marriage prospects, which continually worried his mother, and his ambivalent attitude toward that particular facet brought him much grief from all his female relations.
But as those same females had been giving him grief every day of his life for various things, he was quite used to their plaguing.
Which was another reason for coming down to London, despite his aversion to the Season itself.
Unfortunately, this Season was doomed to be more trying than others had been. Now that Jamie had something to offer the material world, the relative anonymity he’d always enjoyed was disappearing. Too many people knew his name, despite no formal introductions. He had met so many fathers and brothers of apparently eligible women, it worried him. The look in the eyes of passing females was too keen, too excitable, and too calculating for his liking.
Oh, he wanted a wife, sure enough, but there was no need for haste, and he certainly did not have the prospects of his cousin Jonathan to elicit such responses.
But Jonathan was Jonathan, and it was well known by now that he was not going to marry without affection, and procuring that affection was rather impossible when the man did nothing to encourage it. The issue with Jonathan, as the entire family saw it, was his very particular tastes. He could judge a woman with one look and determine if they would suit, and, aside from doing his duty to wallflowers, he only danced with those he considered potentials. After one dance, he could determine if the female in question were appropriate for his needs. Not a single female in the world measured up to his standards, whatever they were.
Jonathan was like a brother to Jamie, but he had no idea what his cousin was looking for.
Jamie could say the same for himself, having been bored beyond belief with the field of young ladies he had seen.
He sighed and resisted the urge to tug at his cravat as he ambled toward Bond Street. Were the eligible females of London really so desperate for a marriage that they would consider a man with three thousand a year and a barely sustainable estate in Norfolk to be so appealing a prospect? It was a pretty estate, now that it was habitable once more after the neglect of fifteen years, but hardly tempting.
Jamie was fond of it, but only because it had been his father’s, and now it was his. It wanted a new name for all the changes it had undergone, but as yet it was still Brimley—or Grimley, as he and his family called it. That rather seemed the nature of Jamie’s life. Renovated, in need of a new name, waiting for a life of sorts to begin.
“Good morning, Mr. Woodbridge,” greeted an attractive woman of some years in the company of two girls, obviously daughters.
Jamie inclined his head and tipped his hat, knowing he should know them, but not recalling their names. “Ma’am.”
She inclined her head with a smile, and the girls blushed, averting their eyes quickly, smiling themselves.
He nearly rolled his eyes after he passed them. He was not one of the Mr. Woodbridges to be pursued, not when there were four others with far better prospects. But he would take the compliment, such as it was, and proceed as he was doing. Once the Season began in earnest, he would be long forgotten in the wake of other more engaging suitors.
He could not wait for such bliss.
His mother would string him up if she knew.
And so would his aunt.
The Mothers, as they were known to all the Woodbridge children. When Jamie’s father, the younger of the original Woodbridge brothers, passed away early in Jamie’s childhood, his uncle had insisted that his brother’s widow and son should make their home with his family, as the property designated to his brother’s care had not become prosperous enough to support them.
So they had done so, and Jamie had grown up as a sibling to his cousins, with the intriguing consequence of having two mothers, both of whom could instill fear and obedience into any of the children, whether hers or not.
His uncle had passed only last year, but the Mothers showed no inclination to change their living situation, and he could not imagine it any other way.
A sudden jostling of people broke his reverie. Bond Street was unusually crowded today, but the first events of the Season would start within a week, so he ought not to be surprised by the odd frenzy circulating around him. It was rather fascinating to watch as he continued on, examining faces and behaviors as he did so.
The determined mothers marching along, sometimes dragging their easily distracted daughters behind them, followed by servants heavily laden with boxes and parcels. Or young misses giggling with their friends, eying the gentlemen as they passed. Carriages rolling to a stop and emptying out with the finer females, sometimes quite overdressed, who bore the same energy as the rest. Even the men seemed more eager than their usual temperament, puffing their chests out and straightening cravats, or riding their stallions more proudly.
It was the oddest sort of promenade he had ever seen, and the bustling nature of it all was nearly as entertaining.
A movement across the street caught his eye, and he saw a young woman moving down the street, which was not at all unusual, as there were dozens of others just like her, dressed just as finely. She even had the older woman at her side and the servant trailing dutifully behind her, just as the others did.
What exactly had made him look, he couldn’t have said, but now that he was, he was not particularly inclined to look away.
All of the other females he had seen had been excitable and flirty, alight with hope and fervor, but this one was different. He could only see part of her expression due to her bonnet and her slightly lowered head, but there was no lighthearted fancy here. She walked with determination, not noticing anything around her, a slight furrow on her even brow. If he did not know any better, he would think she was plotting something.
Come to think of it, he did not know better. He had no idea who she was, so he supposed it was entirely possible she was plotting something. She looked behind her at the maid and said something that caused her to laugh, and the older woman waved her up to join them, all three turning down another street.
Jamie stared after them, smiling in amusement. He had two female cousins. He knew full well women were capable of great strategy, and many of them used such in the grandeur of the Season, though Emma and Grace had yet to embark upon one for themselves. But something told him this particular stratagem had nothing to do with the usual games girls played for the Season.
And she was a pretty little thing; he could see that well enough from his vantage point. Unremarkable in dress and coloring, blending in easily with everything and everyone else, and no doubt unobserved by many. But wide-set, fair eyes and natural complexion appealed to his tastes, and he found himself wondering if her hair were fair or dark, curly or otherwise. Did she smile easily? Or was that something one had to work for?
He was intrigued enough to pursue. When he wanted to know something, he sought it out. He usually pursued what he wanted, no matter the obstacles, and it had landed him in a spot of trouble a time or twelve in his life. But in this case, he would resist the temptation. Imagine following a young woman purely for curiosity! That was something his cousin Ross might have taken on, and certainly Ethan would have. Jamie was far more gentlemanly than either of them, even if Jonathan could outstrip him there.
No, his curiosity only extended as far as wondering, and an amused sound that escaped him as he turned from the spot and entered the boot maker’s shop for a new pair of Hessians.
Perhaps an hour later, the order for the aforementioned boots in his possession, he continued down Bond Street toward a dressmaker’s shop his cousins had insisted he visit on their behalf, something about an order they had placed by mail that he absolutely must s
ee to. With the girls being restricted to half-mourning, he couldn’t imagine what they would need, but he had agreed to assist them, against his better judgment.
There really were some severe trials that came with being too close with one’s relatives, but he’d never been able to refuse Emma or Grace anything, and they knew it well.
Also, Jonathan had refused, point-blank, to do his sisters’ bidding, leaving the task to Jamie.
It made no difference, as he had nothing else to fill his day with but errands about Town, all in preparation for the interminable length of the Season and its demands. As he approached the shop, he wondered about the curious looks he might receive from those who saw him enter. Perhaps it would cause some rumors to swirl about him, which he was sure could only do him good. Perhaps then he would not be confused with the other Woodbridge men and might have a chance of entertaining some females he might truly wish to know.
With that thought to lighten his step, he approached the shop with far less reticence and held the door for some suddenly giggling females, dipping his head in acknowledgment of each of them.
He glanced into the shop and saw the older woman behind the counter, looking rather pale and drawn for one who’d just had her shop patronized by several seemingly well-paying women. She had another customer before her, and it took him only a moment to realize that it was the same girl from before, her faded, green-striped muslin looking too old and flimsy to be worn out in public, and a yellow spencer that was too new for the outfit entirely, particularly with the frayed orange ribbons from her bonnet.
Her maid stood nearby, looking completely nonplussed about the entire situation.
Her chaperone, though similar to her in coloring, looked absolutely bored.
Jamie could not make out what the young lady was saying, but the shopkeeper swallowed with difficulty and nodded.
“Aye, I shall add it to the bill,” the woman said in a stiff voice. She bit her lip for a moment, eyeing the parcel he could now see between them. She hesitantly pushed it toward the young woman.
There came a bob of the bonnet that he could only presume was an expression of thanks.
Still the dressmaker looked uneasy. “Please, Miss Hutchins,” she suddenly said in a rush. “I beg of you.”
The bonnet tilted slightly.
“Should anyone inquire as to where you purchased this dress,” the woman went on, additional lines appearing on her face, “please do not reveal the truth.”
Jamie nearly laughed in disbelief, but stifled it quickly. Why in the world would the woman sell a dress that she would not wish to own? It seemed rather counterproductive, but he had never presumed to understand women or their fashions, or the purchasing of said fashions.
The maid of the young woman seemed to be fighting a smile, which told Jamie that the young woman herself was smiling.
“I can assure you, Mrs. Farrows,” the girl said in a low, throaty voice that positively rang with amusement. “Your wonderful reputation will remain intact. I will not betray your kindness to me.”
Relief lit Mrs. Farrows’s features, and she managed a smile. “Thank you, Miss Hutchins. You are too kind.”
Miss Hutchins took the parcel in hand, then handed it to the maid, who had two other parcels in her grasp. “Not at all, Mrs. Farrows. Good day.”
She turned away from the counter toward Jamie and the door, and he finally had a proper view of her.
It was difficult to say what struck him first: the natural grace of her features or the enticing glimpse of a secretive smile that played at her perfectly formed lips. She was fair-haired, but not brilliantly so. More of an aged gold that had been kissed by the sun, and he was surprised at the faint spattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, which he found rather charming.
Refreshing. That was the word that escaped him. She was absolutely refreshing in looks and intriguing by nature.
He stepped back to let her, the older woman, and the maid pass, sweeping his hat off, dutifully not speaking, as good manners dictated. He might be witty and a little unconventional, but he was really quite a well-behaved man—outside of his family.
Miss Hutchins surprised him by looking directly up at him, her smile spreading and creasing the corners of her eyes. “I can’t imagine what a gentleman such as yourself would have to do in here, but I applaud your unorthodox choice in shops. There’s some lovely tartan in the back, if you’re feeling a bit Scottish.”
Jamie did not even have time to get over his shock, or pretend to be taken aback, before she swept past him with a little laugh to herself. That laugh drew one out from himself, which she did not hear as she moved out of earshot. He shook his head, smiling his disbelief, and turned to the counter, where Mrs. Farrows looked ready to begin shaking all over.
He approached with great care. “Mrs. Farrows, I take it?”
She jerked a little, as if she had not truly been aware of him. “Yes. Yes, sir, how may I assist you?”
“I believe there is an order from my cousins, the Miss Woodbridges?”
She nodded briskly, color returning to her features, almost all trace of her discomfort gone. “Yes, of course. I only just completed it this morning. I shall fetch it, if you will wait here, please.” She bustled away, her steps quick.
Jamie turned to glance back out of the windows, wondering who Miss Hutchins truly was and just what she was about.
Impossibly, and improbably, he continued to see Miss Hutchins as he went about his business, even when he had finished with his solicitor. She appeared to finally be leaving the area, though strangely enough without a coach to see her home in. He had no notion of where she lived, but to walk all this way with her companions was certainly cause for concern.
He pulled out his father’s pocket watch and frowned. It had been nearly three hours since he had first seen her march with determination along the shops. Three hours? What could she possibly have had to do in Bond Street for three hours? Her maid was not heavily laden with parcels, and she did not look the sort to have an extensive fortune that would allow her to simply bill many things.
She still wore the expression he had seen on her initially, an almost speculative smirk and an air of indifference to her surroundings.
It was odd, but he found himself more drawn to her than to any person of his acquaintance, which was astonishing, as he was not even of her acquaintance. She had made a breach of etiquette in her address of him, which any young woman in the beginning of her Season would take great care to never do. Not that Jamie was offended by her actions or her words, he rather enjoyed it, but it did speak of a rare originality that could either be a spark of genius indicating a success in the making or the beginning of a downfall that could be the talk of the Season.
Ironically, Jamie found an eager interest in either outcome.
Before he knew what he was about, he was following her, crossing over to her side of the street and lengthening his stride to keep up with her brisk pace.
Even now as he closed the distance, he could not have honestly said why he was doing this. Would he be a gentleman and offer to escort them home, despite their not being introduced? Would he defy all convention and have a true conversation with the girl in spite of that? Would he embarrass her by his approach? Or find that she was not at all what he expected?
“Excuse me,” he heard himself say to the maid. “Pardon me, but are you and your mistress without a carriage this afternoon?”
The maid, a long-faced, plain girl with a pointed chin, peered up at him. “Aye, sir, and what business be that of yours?”
Jamie smiled as kindly as he could. “Nothing but a polite interest, I assure you. The streets are busy, and I would not care to see harm come to any of you.”
She seemed surprised by that, but her features softened noticeably as she fought a smile. “Aye, sir, I see that you’re a gentleman in more’n name. I beg your pardon.”
“Not at all.” He glanced up ahead at Miss Hutchins and her co
mpanion, neither of whom seemed aware of their conversation. “Would your mistress take offense if I offered to escort you all?”
She frowned in thought, looking at Miss Hutchins herself. “I should ’ope not. ’Tis the mark of a gent, is it not?”
“Personally, I should say so,” Jamie allowed, nodding. “But I am biased on the topic, belonging to that class of men myself. And we are strangers, so it is not quite the same.”
The maid looked back to him with the same sort of scheming look Miss Hutchins had worn earlier. “A stranger’s distance only lasts ’til introduction. I can arrange that, sir, if you’ll allow it.”
What a clever creature to have in one’s company. Jamie grinned swiftly at his new conspirator and inclined his head. “James Woodbridge, at your service.”
The maid bobbed quickly, then rushed forward. “A Mister James Woodbridge would like a word, miss.”
Miss Hutchins stopped, as did her companion. “Mr. James Woodbridge? Do I know him, Aunt Josephine?”
“No,” her chaperone said, shrugging.
“Perfect.” She turned on her heel and faced him, her eyes sparkling.
Completely unprepared for that, and for the sudden loss of breath he felt at the sight of her, Jamie fell back a step.
Miss Hutchins looked him up and down, then scowled. “Oh, it’s you.”
That was not the response that Jamie had been hoping for, nor one he was accustomed to. “I beg your pardon?” he managed, offense quickly rising within him.
“Consider it begged,” she muttered, shaking her head. “What’s the point of speaking to someone to whom I haven’t been introduced if I’ve already done it?” She glanced at the maid suspiciously. “Did you not recognize him?”
The maid’s face was carefully innocent. “No, miss, I didn’t.”
A Season in London (Timeless Regency Collection Book 6) Page 17
