A Season in London (Timeless Regency Collection Book 6)

by Elizabeth Johns

  “I could introduce myself,” Jamie suggested, finding this whole situation utterly bizarre.

  Miss Hutchins lifted a brow. “I already know who you are, Mr. Woodbridge, so what would be the point?”

  “I could speak to you without defying protocol.”

  “We are speaking, and I don’t hear any society matrons shrieking in horror.” She glanced at the older woman. “Even my aunt isn’t.”

  Jamie grinned outright. “Give them time,” he told her. “They are out of practice in the months before the Season. They will shriek plenty when the time is right.”

  Miss Hutchins’s lips quirked, but she did not smile. “Until then, I am quite safe without the formality.”

  He pursed his lips. “It would allow me the pleasure of your name.”

  Now she did smile, but it was slight. “But anonymity is my protection, is it not?”

  Jamie sighed, sensing this was a battle he was not going to win, but enjoying the struggle all the same. “It saves me from being improper when I offer to escort you and your companions home.”

  Miss Hutchins tilted her head, still smiling. “So does my refusing your hypothetical offer, gracious though it would have been.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, and Jamie could almost feel the pocket watch ticking in his waistcoat. “This is not going to work out for me, is it?”

  She slowly shook her head. “I am afraid not, Mr. Woodbridge. But that is not your fault, so you may blame me freely.”

  “Oh, I would,” he assured her, “if I but knew whom to blame.”

  Miss Hutchins shrugged and bobbed a curtsy, then turned away and continued on away from him.

  Jamie stared after her, his smile fixed in place.

  Refreshing, he had thought her. Yes, that was a perfect description. Whatever Miss Hutchins had planned for this Season, and he very much suspected her to have a plan, it was going to be anything but dull.

  He turned and headed back toward the shops, meeting his cousin on the way to Dennison’s stables, as they had planned.

  “What kept you?” Jonathan asked in his low tone, gripping his hand firmly. “You’re not the sort to be tardy.”

  Jamie told him an abbreviated version of the story, knowing how it would amuse his cousin. Despite his comparative reserve, Jonathan was a Woodbridge through and through, which meant a healthy dose of sarcasm and more humor than was good for a person.

  As he suspected, Jonathan chuckled easily, shaking his head. “Well, I suppose you can cross her off the list of potential candidates, can’t you?”

  Jamie found himself smiling again, just to himself, and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Not quite.”

  Chapter Three

  The whispers began the moment Daphne removed her cloak, just as she hoped they would. As this was the first event of the Season, she would have to make a grand entrance shortly for the whole room, but the titters of the servants would suffice for the moment.

  Her parents had already entered, not feeling the need to be announced, as they were not the ones in need of attention. They’d smiled at her and squeezed her hands, wished her luck, and bestowed all of their hopes and dreams upon her in one desperate look.

  She had intentionally been quieter in the last few days to avoid drawing any attention to herself from her parents, which, if they had paid any attention, ought to have raised all of their alarms at the same time. With all of the protesting they’d heard from her since this stupid decision had been made, and how vocal that protesting had been, did they actually believe her silence to be some sort of acquiescence?

  They had no idea what was coming.

  She approached the entrance to the ballroom and handed the majordomo her card, though he seemed to have trouble moving his eyes down enough to read it.

  Daphne barely noticed, now the thing was before her.

  Could she really go through with this? She was a stubborn girl, always had been, but she had never been blatantly defiant. She was about to embarrass herself on purpose, and she had never been one to tolerate anything of the kind. She had always simply wanted to do as she wished and leave the attention for the others.

  If this plan worked, there would be no attention left for anyone else.

  It would be worth it.

  It had to be.

  No one would want to be seen with her after this.

  She released a slow breath, steeling herself. There was only one chance to make this first impression, and she needed to make the most of it. Her mother had bristled at not having the privilege of dressing her, or seeing the final product of the family’s well-spent funds, but Daphne had managed to divert her from interference, just as she had throughout most of the purchasing process. No one knew how she looked at the present, save for the horrified maids behind her and the scandalized majordomo before her.

  She didn’t understand the fuss. She was perfectly covered and modest. She had even added additional lace to ensure that.

  Just because the gown was an unusual shade of brown with black velvet trim with black lace engageantes off the sleeves at her elbow that were at least thirty years out of fashion and a neckline that showed absolutely nothing of interest unless one enjoyed an expanse of lace patterns did not mean it ought to be shocking to see.

  It was a downright ugly gown, but surely people had finer manners than to be so obviously distressed by it.

  Her name was announced, somehow without any hesitation, and she proceeded forward proudly, her head held high. The murmuring gasps prodded a small smile on her face. She heard more utterances of “mourning,” “horrible,” and “heinous” than anything else. Her mother, who had been standing with several other ladies nearby, appeared somewhere between livid and appalled, though she had little enough coloring in her complexion to be considered truly ill.

  She glared at Daphne more furiously than she had at Phoebe after the Incident, which was very telling, but Daphne only raised a daring brow at her. There was no way her mother would stoop so low as to publicly scold Daphne or make any scene at all, but she would certainly begin working on a row of epic proportions for when they were alone.

  The entire room seemed unable to look anywhere but at her, and Daphne could only smirk at it and continue moving through the crowd. She had no particular location, as she did not know anyone present. While Daphne may have convinced her mother that Aunt Josephine was helping her prepare for the Season, the truth of the matter was that her aunt was clueless and knew absolutely no one—which made her a perfect excuse for day-to-day activities and a convenient chaperone, but alas, she had given Daphne no introductions.

  Though if she had, they would hardly be approaching her after this.

  Once she had crossed the room, she turned on her heel, reached for a glass from a footman passing at the perfect time, and downed the entire glass in one gulp.

  This was not a particularly wise course of action, as she had been expecting a muted punch and not champagne, so the sudden burn and fizz of the beverage started raging against her throat and lungs at once. Her eyes burned, and her chest heaved with the need to cough. She swallowed a painful cough that racked her lungs and felt her body begin to seize in response.

  Well, it would certainly do the job right if she died in the middle of the ballroom at the first event of the Season. She wouldn’t have the privilege of enjoying the results from such a grand spectacle, but it would be enough.

  Thankfully, the musicians started up, and the attention of the room returned to their own interests, and Daphne was free to hack several coughs at her leisure into her too short gloves.

  Really, she was doing the thing as right as rain, as there were several people staring at her again with the noise she was making, their expressions a mixture of horror and concern. She would wager, when she could both see and breathe once more, that their concern was more for the scandal of somebody dying before their eyes than anything personally directed at her.

  “You really ought, perhap
s, to think about breathing one of these days.”

  Through her bleary eyes, Daphne looked up to see Mr. Woodbridge standing nearby, observing her mildly.

  “You could be a gentleman and fetch me a glass of water,” she managed, coughing at almost every word.

  Mr. Woodbridge released a disbelieving laugh. “And have you choke on that as well? I think not. I am not that desperate to be a hero.”

  Daphne rolled her eyes as her coughing subsided at last. “Or a gentleman, it seems.”

  “I am always a gentleman.”

  “You are speaking to me without introduction,” she pointed out as she straightened, wiping her eyes and tossing her hair before fixing a smirk to her lips. “Consider yourself contradicted.”

  Mr. Woodbridge narrowed his eyes, then bowed, holding up a finger.

  She stared at his back in derision. He wanted her to wait? For what? Where exactly did he think she was going to go? There was twenty feet of empty floor around her in every direction, and that was not about to change, if the looks in her direction were any indication.

  He was gone only long enough for her to consider tapping her toe in irritation, and then he was back with the reluctant hostess, whose name Daphne had quite forgotten, and who undoubtedly thought this was madness. She currently looked as though she smelled something foul.

  “Miss Hutchins,” she said in a weak tone of voice that perfectly matched her expression. “May I present Mr. James Woodbridge, who wishes to make your acquaintance?”

  Daphne raised a brow at her and flatly said, “Charmed, I’m sure.”

  “I should hope so,” the hostess huffed, fanning herself quickly, then swept away grandly.

  “Well, that would make two of us,” Mr. Woodbridge commented in a much friendlier tone.

  Daphne turned to look at him speculatively. “Aren’t you supposed to be a gentleman? Wasn’t that the point of the ridiculous charade of bringing her over here?”

  He bowed to her again, very properly. “It was indeed, Miss Hutchins, and a very great pleasure it is to have made your acquaintance. Tell me, have you been in London long? I cannot recall having the pleasure of seeing you in London before this.”

  “Steady on, Mr. Woodbridge,” Daphne told him, restraining a snort. “Your politeness is overwhelming me, and I may be obliged to curtsy, and nobody needs to see that.”

  “A gentleman would not argue with a lady of such quality,” Mr. Woodbridge continued with a mischievous light in his eyes, “but nor could he allow her to abuse herself so abominably. Tell me how to proceed, Miss Hutchins, so that I might be a true gentleman in your eyes.”

  Daphne stared at him, wondering what was wrong with him and if he was fully aware of it. For how attractive Mr. Woodbridge was, she would expect him to be more a man of flattery and less of contradiction. He had a sharp wit, she had seen, and now he was the epitome of proper behavior, though she suspected it was an act for her benefit. He was the only person in the room not appalled by her, which surely indicated some error in his way of thinking or dysfunction in his being.

  She wondered about the wisdom of standing so near a person who was obviously afflicted.

  Her silence prompted a curious quirk of his brows, his hazel eyes dancing more than before. “Miss Hutchins, are you quite well? Shall I fetch something for you? Or someone? Your mother, perhaps?”

  Daphne coughed again, torn between a laugh and a snort. “Lord, no. Anything but that.” She heaved a sigh, thinking she knew what he was after. “Fine, Mr. Woodbridge, I concede that you are a gentleman.”

  His smirk of a smile confirmed her suspicions. He hid it, though, as he inclined his head. “And will Miss Hutchins allow my acquaintance while she is in London?”

  She rolled her eyes at his excessive politeness. “Oh, why not? Miss Daphne Hutchins, Mr. Woodbridge, a pleasure to officially make your acquaintance at last.” She started to curtsy out of habit, then stopped herself, narrowed her eyes, and stuck out her hand as a man might have done for a handshake.

  There were a few gasps around her, but nothing to truly mark, considering she’d had a much larger reaction for her dress only moments before.

  Mr. Woodbridge did not seem shocked in the least, but amused as he took in the sight of her outstretched hand. He grasped it lightly, then bowed over it politely as he would have done had she held out her hand in the usual way, effectively diffusing the situation for those watching.

  “Very gentlemanly, I must admit,” Daphne reluctantly praised, retrieving her hand easily.

  “I know.” He shook his head, heaving a mournful sigh. “And thus ends my impropriety and short-lived shocking behavior.”

  Daphne frowned, scanning his chiseled features for any clue as to what he was referring. “Impropriety? You could have given lessons on proper behavior just then.”

  He waved his hand dismissively, which dislodged a small sliver of his dark hair across his brow. It was really quite an attractive sight, truth be told, but she found herself more irritated by it than anything else. Insufferable people ought not to be attractive.

  “That?” he was saying while she was fighting the internal battle between irritation and attraction. “That was rather true to my usual behavior. I meant everything that happened before that. And the other day.”

  Daphne took a moment to consider this handsome man, who apparently had the adventurous spirit of a tortoise. “That was the most improper thing you’ve ever done?”

  “Of course not,” he snorted, shaking his head. “I’m a Woodbridge. We wrote the book on impropriety as children, but I’m a perfectly behaved gentleman now, and being officially introduced to you, though polite, means that I must behave with that decorum henceforth.”

  “That’s your own fault,” Daphne reminded him as she took a glass from another footman—lemonade this time. “I was content with impropriety; it was you who brought the buffoon over to prove what a gentleman you are.”

  “Yes, true, true,” he mused thoughtfully. “Don’t choke on that,” he added just as she sipped.

  She caught herself on a laugh before his words could become true and glared at him in spite of her laughter and his smile. “Rude, Mr. Woodbridge. Not gentlemanly.”

  “Not sporting, you mean. A gentleman would certainly have reminded you to be careful of drinking beverages considering your history with them.”

  Against all reason, Daphne found herself grinning at this man, who might just become the sort of ally she needed in this scheme of hers. She’d not confide anything to him as yet. It was far too early in the Season to form any alliances at all, and, as a general rule, men were not to be trusted—especially not ones she found attractive. One could usually trust the plain men, but only with great trepidation.

  Still, it had been nearly two years since the Incident, and she’d vowed never to look upon an attractive man with anything but venom for the remainder of her days, yet venom was shockingly lacking at this moment. This tall and particularly attractive man, with his impressive build and dark features, not to mention his wickedly dancing eyes, was a playful sort who did not take anything too seriously, and in the stuffy behavior of the day, that was a rare thing, indeed.

  “Are you going to answer my question?” Mr. Woodbridge asked suddenly, breaking Daphne’s study of him.

  She frowned in confusion as she sipped her drink with a distinct care that made him smile. “Did you ask me a question? I wasn’t actually listening. I rarely do.”

  He smothered a laugh with his glove, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Have you been in London long, Miss Hutchins?”

  “Not long,” she replied absently, scanning the dancing with a brief pang of longing. “And never before. First Season, you know, and my mother is so pleased.”

  “Your tone says otherwise,” he commented.

  Daphne shook her head. “Oh, no, she is very pleased. Or she was, rather, before I came in like that. She has expectations,” she confided.

  Mr. Woodbridge smiled again.
“What, that you’ll catch a husband in a dress like that?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, but couldn’t help smiling at the jab. “That my proper behavior and decorum, combined with my natural airs and graces, will render me irresistible to the wealthier gentlemen. She never said anything about my manner of dress.”

  “Then this gown was not her selection?” he asked, gesturing faintly.

  Again, Daphne shook her head, sipping her drink once more. “She did not see it until I entered. And I highly doubt I’ll be dressing myself for the rest of the Season. It was worth it, though, for the spectacle.”

  “It certainly captured the room’s attention,” he agreed. “Where is she now?”

  “Scheming in the corner by the fern, just there,” she told him, pointing boldly.

  Her mother was watching her and blanched horribly, her eyes widening. The fan she held shook in her hand, and the ladies around her turned to look at what was startling her.

  “Oh, blast,” Daphne said without any remorse. “Ladies do not point. What a pity to be so uncultured.”

  “Apparently, I am being shocking as well, if my cousin’s expression is to be believed,” Mr. Woodbridge replied, gesturing faintly toward a man who looked extraordinarily like him, though a little fairer and with blue eyes. He certainly looked shocked and confused, though not in a way that would attract attention.

  “I can hear him now,” Mr. Woodbridge continued, “‘Jamie, what the devil are you about?’” He snorted, shaking his head. “He won’t be serious about it, unless he calls me James, and then we will really be in for it.”

  “Is this the sort of look that renders calling you James?” she asked, truly curious.

  His lips curved. “You never know with Jonathan. It might be.”

  Daphne smiled at the deeper impression of his cousin. “Am I so shocking a sight that you are tainted by our very brief acquaintance? We can remedy that, if you wish to take it back.”

  Mr. Woodbridge turned to look at her directly, his mischievous glint surprisingly absent. “I don’t wish to take it back. I don’t believe I’ve enjoyed a London event more than I am right now, and that is entirely because of you, Miss Hutchins. I rather enjoy having made your acquaintance, and now that I have officially done so, I will not be shocking by asking if you will stand up with me for the next two dances.”