by Joyce Alec
“Lord Michael is the second son of the Marquess of Barrington,” Miss Richards explained, throwing Jonathan a quick smile. “He has been in the army and fought very bravely.”
A stab of guilt sliced through Jonathan. He had not fought bravely, although the true Lord Michael had done so. “And do you have a profession of your own, Mr. Greenville?” he asked, trying to divert the conversation.
“Nothing of note,” came the reply. “The church, I am afraid.”
“Rather staid and boring, is it not?” Miss Richards replied, her eyes twinkling as she looked from Jonathan to Mr. Greenville and back again. “Telling everyone their sins from the pulpit!”
A slightly frustrated expression came over Mr. Greenville’s face. “And yet, some would say it is a rather honorable choice.”
Miss Richards expression softened immediately. “And of course, it is, Mr. Greenville. Do forgive my jesting. It is simply that I could never bear that kind of life, as you know.”
Jonathan was surprised to see the flash of irritation on the man’s face as he rose to his feet.
“Indeed,” came Mr. Greenville’s reply. “Now, I had best take my leave. Good day to you both.”
“I will walk you out, Mr. Greenville,” Lord Richards said, walking to the door and casting a firm glance back at his sister. “I will send a maid in whilst I am gone.”
For a moment, Miss Richards looked as though she were about to argue, but much to Jonathan’s relief, she simply shrugged and looked away, waiting for the said maid to arrive before continuing her conversation with Jonathan.
“The church must be a stuffy profession, would you not say?” she asked, pouring herself and Jonathan some tea. “I have told Mr. Greenville on multiple occasions that I could not bear that kind of life, but yet he insists on painting it as a most wonderful profession.”
“Mayhap to him, it is,” Jonathan murmured, a little surprised at her obvious irritation. “Do you know the man well?”
“Well?” she repeated, with a slight snort. “Yes, very well. A cousin of ours, you see.”
“I see,” Jonathan murmured, thinking that this was the reason behind their familiarity.
Miss Richards handed him his cup, their fingers brushing for a just a moment. Jonathan took it from her carefully, trying his best to ignore the way his skin burned and heart quickened.
“He is inclined to marry me, but of course, I will not have him,” Miss Richards finished, softly, sitting back in her chair and studying Jonathan. “Not the right kind of man for me.”
A heavy stone dropped into the pit of Jonathan’s stomach. Was what Lord Taylor said correct? After all, Mr. Greenville might not have been titled, but he was family and with a modest income and secure future. Why was she refusing to consider him?
“And I must thank you for the book you sent me,” Miss Richards continued, her voice soft and expression warm. “That was very good of you, Lord Michael. I am afraid I left in something of a tizzy.”
“Yes, you did,” Jonathan agreed, managing to smile at the memory. “Are you quite at ease now?”
She nodded, her eyes fixed on his and filled with such an intensity that Jonathan felt his heart burning within him. “I should have written to you, but it went quite out of my head,” she murmured, leaning forward in her chair and putting one hand on his arm. “Can you forgive me for being so tardy? So ungrateful?”
Jonathan could not move for a moment, only to lift his free hand and place it over hers. His heart quickened, his entire being sparking with such a myriad of delightful sensations that he could not quite find his voice for a moment.
“You are forgiven, Miss Richards,” he replied rather hoarsely. “I was not in the least offended. My sole concern was for your wellbeing.”
She looked up at him steadily, her cheeks dusting with a deep pink. “You are very good, Lord Michael. Very good indeed.”
Jonathan could not move away, could not look anywhere but at her. She was the delight of his eyes, the one his heart had begun to fill with affection for despite their short acquaintance. She was refreshing in her somewhat improper ways, a light in the gloomy pit of society. And yet, Lord Taylor’s words echoed round and round in his mind.
The sound of footsteps coming back along the hallway jolted them both into action. Jonathan removed his hand whilst Miss Richards sat bolt upright, her hands in her lap. Lord Richards appeared in the doorway, grinning broadly at them both.
“I do hope you have saved some tea for me,” he chuckled, as Miss Richards leaned forward to pour him a cup. “And tell me, Lord Michael, do you intend to come to the ball tomorrow evening?”
“Lord Blakeley’s, do you mean?” Jonathan asked, dragging his attention away from Miss Richards. “I believe I was invited, yes.”
“And you have accepted, have you not?” Miss Richards asked, a little breathlessly.
Surprised at the interest in her voice, Jonathan could not help but smile, choosing to push Lord Taylor’s worries from his mind. “Indeed, I have,” he replied, seeing the beautiful smile spreading across her face at his words. “And I do hope I shall have the pleasure of dancing with you there, Miss Richards.”
Color burned in her cheeks. “But of course,” she replied, with a lift of one eyebrow. “You shall dance with me as many times as you wish, Lord Michael.”
Jonathan smiled, caught up by the warmth in her eyes. Something was growing between them, he was quite sure of it. The touch of her hand on his was more than enough to convince him, but along with those words, Jonathan was quite thoroughly convinced that the lady held some kind of affection for him.
An affection he returned.
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask to court her, to take their association to a more intimate attachment. However, by the time he found the words to speak to ask her such a thing, Lord Richards was already in full flow about another piece of gossip he had only just recently heard. His question about courting her would have to wait until another time. Perhaps a time when he could be alone with her—if only for a moment.
Soon, Jonathan thought to himself, catching Miss Richards watching him with those bright eyes of hers. Very soon, indeed.
8
By the time the Blakeley ball had arrived, Jonathan had determined that he was quite wrong about Miss Richards. Clearly Lord Taylor, however good his intentions, had either judged her quite imperfectly or had confused her with someone else entirely. After the way she had smiled at him and encouraged him to seek her out for as many dances as he wished, Jonathan had concluded that she was, in fact, not a social climber of any sort. Yes, she was somewhat different from most of the ladies of his acquaintances, but that was still rather refreshing. He could not believe that she was simply after wealth and a title in matrimony, not when she seemed to shun social dictates as she did.
“I am afraid I am going to have to leave your side rather quickly this evening,” Lord Michael grinned, as they entered the ballroom. “Duties, and all that.”
“Duties?” Jonathan repeated with a slightly wry grin. “You mean, you must fawn over Miss Carron in an attempt to flatter her father.”
Lord Michael shrugged, a warmth in his eyes that surprised Jonathan. “I am sure you will hear rumors that ‘Lord Rivenhall’ has set his cap at Miss Carron, but that is to be expected. After all, I have been trying my utmost to make my affections towards her clear to all and sundry!”
“Yes, you have been rather fervent,” Jonathan murmured dryly. “It is good she knows your true name, I suppose. That way she will not have her heart broken when all comes to an end.”
There was a short pause, and as Jonathan watched his friend, he saw him clear his throat and shuffle his feet a little uneasily.
“It may not all come to an end, Rivenhall,” Michael admitted after a few moments. “The truth is, Miss Carron and I get on wonderfully well and—”
“You barely know her,” Jonathan interjected, astonished. “After all, it was only last week that you first met.”
“I know that,” Lord Michael replied, frustrated at Jonathan’s interruptions. “However, I find her quite delightful, and given that her father does not yet know my true identity, I am inclined to spend as much time in her company as I can.”
Jonathan did not know what to say, surprised that his friend had apparently fallen for someone with whom he had not had a long acquaintance. He had always thought that Lord Michael had a much more sensible head on his shoulders than to do something as foolish as that.
“Besides, you are not able to correct me in this when it is so very obvious that you care for Miss Richards,” Michael continued, his eyebrow raised. “And that has not been a particularly long acquaintance either!”
“I do not have any deep affection for her,” Jonathan replied at once, as a wave of heat began to climb up his body and into his face. “It is you who keeps insisting that I call upon her and the like.”
Lord Michael only chuckled, his eyes bright. “You are trying your best to hide your affections from everyone, including yourself,” he replied, shaking his head. “Whatever it is that has been troubling you about that girl, you had better hurry up and get things sorted out, Rivenhall.” A small, calculating smile crossed his lips, making Jonathan’s gut tighten. “After all, we are not too sure how long our charade will last.” His voice grew soft, trailing away to be caught up by the buzz of conversation coming from the other guests.
Frowning, Jonathan watched his friend move away, evidently searching for Miss Carron. Of course, he was immediately greeted by a great many guests, all eager to make the acquaintance of the Marquess of Rivenhall.
Jonathan turned away, his stomach rolling with a little anxiety. He was not quite sure what Michael had meant about their charade soon coming to an end, but it had brought him a rather unsettled feeling. Michael was not about to declare that he was not Lord Rivenhall, but there had been something in his friend’s voice that had made Jonathan worry about what his friend was intending.
To have formed such a strong attachment to Miss Carron, after such a short acquaintance, did not bode particularly well as far as Jonathan was concerned. After all, the lady might not return his affections. Even if she did, her father would never permit the match since Lord Michael was not the Marquess of Rivenhall, as he had been led to believe.
Hearing Lord Michael’s loud, booming laugh from behind him, Jonathan glanced over his shoulder – only to see Miss Richards approaching him, a broad smile on her face.
At once, all thoughts about Lord Michael and his intentions flew out of Jonathan’s head, suddenly caught up by the beauty before him.
“Lord Michael,” she greeted, holding out her dance card to him. “Were you planning to sign this? After all, there are only a few spaces left, and I have been forced to hide from various gentlemen in order to save you a space or two.”
Jonathan chuckled, his heart lifting as he took her hand, bowing over it. “I would not have you run any longer, Miss Richards. I shall sign my name this very moment.” Pleased to discover that there was, in fact, more than one dance remaining on her card, Jonathan took great pleasure to write his name for the quadrille and then the waltz. He paused as he glanced down at the names, surprised to see Mr. Greenville’s name there. “Your cousin is present?” He continued to glance down the names, committing as many of them to memory as he could.
Taking her hand back, Miss Richards let out a long sigh. “Yes, unfortunately for me. He continues to pursue me, despite my rather plain speaking on the matter.”
Jonathan gave her a tight smile, trying to push away his concern. “I see.”
“But I shall infinitely look forward to more dances with you,” she continued, with a warm smile. “I must go now. Lord Harper will be looking for me.”
Jonathan bowed and bid her farewell, the warmth of her smile bringing a happiness to his heart. And yet, as she greeted Lord Harper, something took hold of his mind.
Without waiting to consider it any further, Jonathan hurried through the crowd and made his way up to the balcony, finding a spot where he might watch Miss Richards in private. He would reassure himself that Miss Richards was not the social climber he had been told. If he watched her and saw how she engaged with each of her dance partners, then he would know for certain that she was just as warm and kind to each of them as he would expect.
Lord Harper, whom Jonathan knew to be an earl, received a great many smiles and tinkling laughs from Miss Richards, which he easily returned. Miss Richards appeared to be enjoying the dance, and his company, which made him a little jealous.
When it came to Mr. Greenville’s dance, however, Miss Richards was nothing but cold towards him. Gone were the ready smiles and happy laughter. She kept her face away from his whenever she could and barely spoke more than two words to the man. Jonathan shrugged to himself, recalling how the lady had told him that she did not wish for Mr. Greenville’s attention, but that he insisted on pressing her regardless.
“That does not mean anything in particular,” he said aloud to himself in a calm voice. “She is not drawn to him; therefore, she pushes him away.”
However, as the next four dances took place, Jonathan felt himself sinking into misery. Miss Richards was warm and welcoming towards the three men who were of good breeding and held a decent fortune, but to the poor chap who was the third son to the Marquess of Stockport, she barely raised a smile. When it came time for the fifth dance, the one before his own, Jonathan saw none other than Lord Winchester.
Lord Winchester was the older gentleman, whom Jonathan had seen her dance with the first night they had met. Of course, even Lord Richards had declared him much too old for her, but Miss Richards had been determined to say nothing but good things about him. To see her now, out on the floor with him again, made Jonathan sick to his stomach.
Miss Richards did not discourage Lord Winchester’s attentions however. She did not turn her face away or give as little conversation as possible. In fact, she was quite the opposite. At one point, Jonathan was quite sure that she batted her eyelashes at the man, giving him something of a coy smile.
Jonathan felt as though someone had kicked him hard in the stomach. He could not quite believe what he had witnessed, and he was slowly beginning to realize that what Lord Taylor had said was apparently quite true. Miss Richards was not as different from the rest of society as she appeared. She wanted what so many of the other eligible young ladies wanted: a marriage of convenience, which would only serve to elevate her status and wealth.
The pain that sliced through his heart almost took his breath away. He had not expected it to be so forceful, to cut so deeply. It took all his efforts to remain standing, letting out long breaths in an attempt to calm his racing heart.
The music came to an end, and the buzz of conversation began to pick up again. Jonathan remained where he was, not even aware that the next dance was the quadrille, the one he had with Miss Richards herself.
His hands squeezed the railing, his jaw clenched. Why had he done such a foolish thing as to let his heart run after Miss Richards? As much as he had lied to both Lord Michael and to himself, Jonathan knew that he had allowed his heart to swell with affection for her. She had caught his thoughts, both day and night, until he had grown eager to see her again.
And all for naught.
“Lord Michael?”
Jerking in surprise, Jonathan turned around to see Miss Richards approaching him, a rather confused look on her face.
“Is everything quite all right?” she asked, moving steadily closer. “It is our dance after all, and since you did not appear, I thought I would look for you.” She smiled although it did not quite reach her eyes. “I caught sight of you from the ballroom,” she continued, coming to stand right beside him. “You looked rather fraught, I must say. Whatever is the matter?”
“You,” Jonathan grated, hardly able to look at her. “You, Miss Richards.”
9
She frowned, her eyes searching his.
&n
bsp; “Have I done something to upset you?” she asked, with no hint of censure in her voice. “Is it because I came up here to speak to you? You should not be surprised at such a thing, Lord Michael. We are quite safe, I assure you. No one will comment since we are in full public view.”
Jonathan felt his hackles rise. “No, you would not wish to be caught in a fracas with me, would you? Not if it meant that you would be forced into matrimony.”
Much to his surprise, a laugh escaped from her lips. “Forced into matrimony? Whatever are you talking about, Lord Michael? I would never be forced into anything.”
Worried that he might say something out of turn were he to speak, Jonathan turned on his heel and stormed along the balcony, in an attempt to leave Miss Richards behind. He did not want to remain in her company, not when he could not trust himself to speak. What he had witnessed had cut him deeply, and for her to now stand before him and laugh at something he said, it was almost too much to bear.
“Lord Michael!” Miss Richards exclaimed, hurrying after him. “I will not be put off! You must tell me what it is I have done to upset you.”
Desperate to escape from her until his thoughts became a little more settled, Jonathan turned into the first door he saw, making to close it behind him.
Unfortunately, Miss Richards was a little too quick, and in a moment, he discovered that he was even more trapped than he had been before.
“You should not be here, Miss Richards,” Jonathan grated, unable to look at her. “Your brother will be looking for you.”
“No, he will not,” came her soft voice, as she stepped towards him. “Please, tell me what troubles you. I do not understand.”
Unable to bear it any longer, Jonathan swung around to face her, anger and pain shooting through him. He took her in, seeing her confused expression, her wide eyes, her pale cheeks. Evidently, she was unaware of what he had seen.
