True of Heart (Regency Shakespeare Book 3)

by Martha Keyes

  Their next stop was a tailor, who was able to provide Ruth with a shirt, a waistcoat, and pantaloons—not tailored to her measurements, but good enough for her needs. Topher encouraged her to buy a pair of boots and a hat as well, from the shops down the street, but she refused. “I shall just use yours.”

  Quite predictably, Topher took issue with this.

  “Oh, do stop,” Ruth said. “You will never need two pairs of boots or two hats at once. We cannot spend all the money we have earned, Toph. We will need much of it for tips and other miscellanea, I imagine.”

  She spoke with eyes slightly downcast as they walked from the top to the bottom of St. James’s, aware that she was the only woman on the street. There was something terrifying and enlivening about it that engendered within her two irreconcilable desires: one to gawk at everything around her, and the other to shade her eyes in case she should see something indecent.

  But her successful ventures shopping and the fact that no one had stopped her to question her presence in that haven of masculinity breathed life into her confidence—and she needed every bit of it if she was to help Lord Oxley.

  “You ought to go out on your own, you know,” Topher said after spending some time offering suggestions of how to appear and act more masculine—how to bow, how to sit, how to walk. “I’d lay odds you’ll enjoy it.” He seemed anxious to shed her company, and Ruth knew that she needed the boost in confidence that would come from practicing what she had learned from Topher. The more she could practice before Lord Oxley came back, the better.

  Topher was spending all the time he could away from Upper Brook Street, in the company of his new friend, Robert Rowney, who was apparently more than happy to lend Topher the necessary clothing to enable his attendance at two more formal Town events, one of which Ruth suspected to be a masquerade or a ridotto. She hadn’t the willpower or mind space to pay much heed to Topher’s shenanigans, aside from her frequent request that he be wise and not draw attention to himself.

  The animation in his eyes and his disposition to smile and tease even more than usual let Ruth know that he regretted coming to London not in the least. He was living out a lifelong ambition, while Ruth was stumbling through an impossible dream which might well prove to be a nightmare.

  She debated between riding and walking through the Park and finally settled on the former. She doubted that riding for leisure was as common in Town, but if Lord Oxley wished to go out on horseback at any point, she would rather that her first experience riding cross-saddle not occur in his presence.

  She was a capable rider, and she had vague memories of riding astride as a young girl, but the experience of swinging her leg up over the saddle was strange after so many years. It was all Ruth could do not to betray to the groom how utterly unnerving it was, or how insecure she felt in the large, man’s saddle.

  Brook Gate gave nearly instant access to the Park from her street, but Ruth took her mount up and down Upper Brook Street twice in an effort to ensure she was comfortable on the horse and saddle before entering the Park. Her pantaloons chafed at her legs. It felt strange to slide around in the saddle, and she had to exercise great control to remind herself not to squeeze the poor horse with her legs in an effort to feel more secure. The last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself with a gallop through the Park because she had given her mount an unintentional signal.

  Brook Gate brought her onto a wide expanse of green grass, where people rode horses, walked in groups of two or three, and slowly rumbled down the dirt lanes in open carriages. She inhaled the park air, a sense of newfound freedom coursing through her and making her feel light and adventurous, even as her heart pattered nervously. She was completely anonymous here. It was precisely what she had dreamed of as a child—the liberty she had always begrudged Topher.

  During their meeting, Lord Oxley had mentioned that Miss Devenish made a habit of walking in the Park each afternoon, and Ruth had chosen her destination with that in mind. She hoped she might spot her, this woman Lord Oxley was so determined to win over. It shouldn’t be too difficult, given that Miss Devenish would be wearing half-mourning colors.

  Sure enough, Ruth hadn’t to wander the Park for long before she spotted her, and her heart dropped with an annoying thud the moment she did. Ruth had assumed that someone as eminently eligible and handsome as Lord Oxley would only choose a woman of equal beauty. And so he had. Where Lord Oxley was tall, muscular, and dark, Miss Devenish was elegant, fair, and of perfectly regular height. Surely it was little wonder that any man would be enamored of such a woman.

  Her beauty was unparalleled, but Ruth couldn’t help wondering what Miss Devenish the woman was like. Was she kind, as Lord Oxley had said? Was she shy? Was she truly inured to Lord Oxley’s charms?

  Miss Devenish was flanked by a friend, and a maid stood slightly off from the two young ladies while a gentleman held Miss Devenish’s hand in his. He looked to be in his late thirties, and his conversation did not seem to be entirely welcome, based on the way Miss Devenish was attempting to extract her hand. A group of older people stood a dozen feet away, engrossed in conversation, and Ruth wondered if Miss Devenish’s father was perhaps among them.

  An idea occurred to Ruth, and she slowed her horse to a stop in the middle of the lane, swinging herself over and down to the ground, with a heart that thudded violently against her chest at her own audacity. But the more she knew of Miss Devenish, the better she could help Lord Oxley.

  “Ah,” she said, striding over with as much jovial masculinity as she could muster. “Miss Devenish! What an unexpected delight to meet you here.”

  Ruth kept her eyes trained on Miss Devenish, who gazed at her with an expression of bemusement and uncertainty, while the gentleman rose from his hunched position and allowed Miss Devenish’s hand to drop. He looked less-than-pleased at the interruption.

  “Forgive me, sir,” Ruth said with the most confident and amiable smile at her disposal, “but I simply couldn’t pass by without greeting Miss Devenish. What has it been, three years, since we last met?” She held Miss Devenish’s gaze purposefully and was relieved when a glint of understanding lit the woman’s eyes. She wasn’t all beauty and no brains, then.

  “Has it been three?” Miss Devenish said. “I rather thought it had only been two.”

  Ruth laughed and shook her head. She had watched enough men flirt to know what one might say in response. “It is too cruel of you to say so. I had hoped that time passed as slowly for you in my absence as it does for me in yours. But no, no. It has certainly been three. Though even two years would feel like an eternity away from that smile, I confess.” She bowed over her hand gallantly. “I must hear how you have fared since we last met.” She put out an arm. “Will you walk with me? You and Miss…?”

  “Parkham, sir,” said the young woman. She, too, was beautiful, with kind eyes and a bit more timidity in her demeanor than Miss Devenish.

  Ruth executed a bow and smiled. “Miss Parkham.”

  “We should be happy to, of course.” Miss Devenish looked at the other man with an apologetic smile. “Please do excuse us, Mr. Munroe. I wish you a pleasant afternoon.”

  “Of course.” Munroe gave a stiff bow, sent a glance at Ruth full of promised retribution, and excused himself.

  Ruth watched him walk off for a moment, hoping she would never have occasion to see him again, then turned to the young women with an apologetic smile. “You will have to forgive me—it was very presumptuous of me to interject myself and act as though I knew you. But I couldn’t help feeling that perhaps Mr. Munroe’s attentions were not precisely to your taste.”

  Miss Devenish glanced in that man’s direction. “You apprehended the truth of it, sir. My father is nearby”—she glanced over her shoulder at the group of middle-aged men Ruth had remarked upon arriving—“but he saw an old friend and has all but forgotten me, I think. Thank you for your kindness.”

  Ruth inclined her head. “It was my pleasure, I assure you. A
nd now, I shall leave you to enjoy your walk in peace. Miss Devenish. Miss Parkham.” She touched her hat and turned back toward her horse, blessing Sir Jacob’s groom and the excellent training that kept the horse standing in wait rather than cantering across the Park with his newfound freedom. Ruth had already drawn more attention to herself than she had hoped to.

  “Sir! Sir, wait,” Miss Devenish said.

  Ruth turned, brows raised.

  “You needn’t go just yet,” Miss Devenish said. “You must at least tell us whom we have to thank for the kindness.”

  Ruth took a few steps back toward the women. “Ruth. Henry Ruth.” He bowed again. “At your service, ladies. But it was no trouble at all.”

  Miss Devenish smiled. “I must admit, I wasn’t entirely sure what to think of it when you approached us, for I was certain that I didn’t know you. I have quite a good memory for faces, you see, and I worried that perhaps you were taking advantage of the situation to gain an introduction, though I imagine that sounds quite arrogant of me to say.”

  Miss Parkham interjected. “It wouldn’t be the first time it has happened. Men will go to great lengths to gain an introduction to her. They have little respect for her privacy.” She nodded to indicate Miss Devenish’s mourning clothing.

  Ruth smothered the question that rose to her thoughts: if Miss Devenish desired privacy, why did she make a habit out of strolling through the Park at the most popular time of day?

  “You are in mourning, Miss Devenish?” asked Ruth.

  She nodded. “For my brother. He died last March.”

  Ruth frowned. “I am terribly sorry to hear that. You must have been close with him.”

  Miss Devenish and Miss Parkham shared a glance. “We were as close as most siblings near in age, I think.” She leaned in toward Ruth. “Truth be told, though, sir, I have found it somewhat convenient to continue my period of mourning. It gives me a bit more control over whose attentions I am obliged to entertain. Mr. Munroe happens to be one of the more aggressive gentlemen who refuses to be put off by my situation.”

  “I see,” Ruth said, wondering how Miss Devenish regarded Lord Oxley’s attentions. Was she using mourning to ward him off as well? “But does this not inhibit you from accepting the welcome attentions of gentlemen, as well?”

  The young women shared another glance, and Miss Devenish’s cheeks turned a shade rosier. “You perceive the problem well. Though, in truth, it was never an issue until recently. It is the reason that I have decided to put off mourning soon.”

  “In time for the Walthams’ masquerade,” Miss Parkham said with an energetic clasping of the hands.

  Ruth’s brows went up. She hoped that this boded well for Lord Oxley. Perhaps spitting lemon tart on Miss Devenish hadn’t been such a disaster after all. She wished she could inquire further, but it would be too forward after such a short acquaintance.

  “Well, Miss Devenish. I wish you every success with whatever gentleman was fortunate enough to inspire such a change. I am afraid I have an engagement I must rush to now, but it was a pleasure to meet both of you.”

  She bid the young women farewell and swung herself up over her horse, feeling quite pleased with the fluidity of the motion. She wasn’t struggling nearly as much as she had feared in her charade as a gentleman.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ruth read the note brought around to the townhouse in Upper Brook Street on Saturday with a gush of nerves. Lord Oxley had returned, and he wished to meet as soon as Ruth was available—that very evening if possible.

  The thought of spending the evening with him made her heart knock about—something she was certain owed only to the very novel prospect of being alone with a gentleman in his home at such a time of day. She would have felt the same way no matter the identity of the gentleman in question. Her silly attraction to Lord Oxley in those brief moments when she had seen his face had been a ridiculous reaction. It had only taken a few days for her to come to that conclusion. Of course he was more attractive through clear vision than he had been as the nebulous blob she had seen through Topher’s glasses.

  But when she arrived in Brook Street that evening, the sight of the viscount was enough to make her knees wobble—enough that she glanced down at them to ensure the sensation wasn’t visible. Dresses could hide shaking knees in a way pantaloons could not.

  Through her new spectacles, Ruth had seen dozens of men walking and riding about Town over the past few days, and there was simply no denying it: none could compare to Lord Oxley—the viscount who believed she was a man. Who believed she was the man who would help him win over Miss Devenish.

  And it all made perfect sense. In physical beauty, wealth, and status, Lord Oxley and Miss Devenish were equals. If any two people were meant for each other, surely it was them.

  It should make Ruth’s work easy enough. Theoretically.

  Lord Oxley smiled widely upon her entrance, and her heart stuttered slightly at the welcome sight. He wore no coat over his broad, muscular shoulders, and his hair was slightly disheveled, a lock draping across his forehead. His brows went up as he rose from his seat in the drawing room. “What in heaven’s name are those?” He strode over and narrowed his eyes, inspecting Ruth’s face so shamelessly that she blushed.

  “What, are these meant to intimidate me?” He touched the rim of her glasses, and she pulled back, afraid he might remove them.

  She took one step back, reining in her reaction. “Do they intimidate you?”

  He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “No, I am afraid they do not. They remind me too much of a panda. Perhaps you should change your name. Do pandas mate for life?”

  “Pandas?”

  “Yes. Exotic creatures that live in the Orient? They look much like bears but with white faces and large, black circles around their eyes.” He nodded to indicate her. “Much like you.”

  She wasn’t sure how she felt about being likened to a beast. She was still trying to come to terms with looking like a man. “And you look like a…a…”

  “Greek god?” he suggested, though his mouth trembled.

  She pursed her lips, annoyed that his playful suggestion was near the truth. “No,” she said flatly. “But if you insist on Greek mythology, Narcissus seems an apt choice.”

  He grinned. “What happened to the other spectacles?”

  “They were giving me headaches,” she answered honestly.

  Oxley gripped her by the shoulder and ushered her toward the small fire in the grate. “I am glad you are here. I admit I had worried you might have thought better of your decision to stay in Town. I am happy to be wrong.” With a smile, he indicated a large chair by the fire for her to sit in.

  Fiend take that dashing smile! Perhaps she should have brought Topher’s glasses, after all. A continuous headache might be worth regaining the fuzzy Lord Oxley rather than this clear view of him.

  She gave herself a mental slap. This was the man who was paying her two hundred pounds to help him win over another woman. He was a man who knew what he wanted. And he wanted Miss Devenish.

  “Always happy to prove you wrong, my lord,” Ruth said genially.

  Lord Oxley looked at her with a raised brow as she took her seat. “I thought I told you to call me Oxley.”

  “You did,” Ruth acknowledged, reveling in the softness of the chair. “But you failed to mention that I should be calling you Lord Oxley. All this time my colleague and I had been referring to you as Mr. O.”

  He chuckled. “Well, that was by design. I hadn’t any idea how discreet you were when I was corresponding with you. And once I met you, it seemed silly to stand upon ceremony. Besides, I did tell you I was titled, didn’t I? And paid you a half sovereign for the honesty. But I do like Mr. O. I certainly prefer it to sir or my lord. Brandy?”

  Ruth shook her head, fumbling for an excuse. “No, thank you. It is my policy when meeting with clients to keep a clear head on my shoulders.” Oxley was regarding him with a slight frown, and Ruth saw
that he required more than her flimsy excuse. “While I am sure that my appearance gives every indication that I could drink any man under the table, I am afraid the truth is otherwise.”

  Lord Oxley laughed, and Ruth throttled her heart to prevent it from soaring at having elicited such a pleasant sound.

  “You may not be able to drink as much as I with your smaller build,” Lord Oxley said, “but I imagine you experience some benefits to make up for it. The lack of need for shaving, for instance?”

  Ruth smiled. “Indeed. You would be astounded if you knew how much time and money I save.”

  “Ah, yes. Behold me consumed with envy.” More dashing smiles.

  “How was your journey home?” she said, steering the conversation to safer avenues.

  He disposed of himself lazily in his chair. It was strange to see a gentleman so relaxed in her company. She was accustomed to formality in the company of the opposite sex. But she liked seeing Oxley this way.

  “The journey was pleasant enough, though it feels good to stretch my legs after all that time in the coach.”

  She had so many questions—where was home? Did he prefer it to Town? What kind of master was he? Perhaps she would learn it all in the next couple of weeks. “Well, I tried to make good use of my time while you were away, and I was fortunate enough to come upon Miss Devenish in the Park the other day.”

  Lord Oxley narrowed his eyes at her. “Stolen her from me already with your equation, have you?”

  How in the world could Miss Devenish resist that little hint of a smile on his lips? Wealthy viscount or no, the man was charming, and even more so because he wasn’t doing it on purpose. He had no one to impress here. And he apparently thought himself in danger of losing a woman to Ruth. Ah, the irony.

  “You have nothing to fear from me there—I promise you.”

  Lord Oxley tilted his head to the side. “You were unimpressed by her, then?”

  Ruth chose her words carefully. “Not at all. I quite understand why you have set your sights on her. My own tastes are merely different from yours.”