Engaged to a Friend (Convenient Arrangements Book 6)

by Rose Pearson

  His chest lifted as he drew in a long breath, glad beyond expression that his meeting with Lady Emma was at an end. Try as he might, he could not find anything about the lady that he thought to be at all of interest. She was beautiful, yes, but there were many things lacking in her character that he could not simply ignore. Beauty would fade, and he did not want to marry a lady who had so many irritating qualities and who would, most likely, expect him to dote upon her merely because of who she was and how accomplished she believed herself to be. No, pride and arrogance were not qualities he could accept from a lady, and thus, it was with both relief and contentment that he made his way from the house.

  Pausing for a moment, Oliver considered what he was to do next. Part of him wanted to go directly to Lady Croome, to inform her that he was now quite certain that Lady Emma would not do and finding himself wondering at what would come into her expression when he told her such a thing. There was a faint hope that she might look relieved, even glad, but that thought was immediately thrown aside. That was a foolish thought and not one that he would entertain. No, most likely, Lady Croome would encourage him to step out with her again at once, so that she might try to find the next young lady she considered for him and, for whatever reason, Oliver was reluctant to do so with such haste.

  “Lord Yarmouth?”

  He looked to his right and saw Lord and Lady Ashbrook walking towards him and, much to his surprise, Lady Croome coming along with them. They were all looking at him expectantly, and he realized with a jolt that their presence had, in all likelihood, been planned so that they might be nearby when his visit with Lady Emma had come to an end.

  “Good afternoon,” he said as Lord Ashbrook inclined his head. “Are you also intending to call upon someone here?” He gestured to the street, seeing how Lady Croome grinned and dropped her head forward so that he could not see her expression as easily. “Or is it that you seek only to know just how the meeting between myself and Lady Emma went?”

  “The latter,” Lady Ashbrook told him firmly. “After all, you did tell Lady Croome the time that you were to take tea with the lady and we could not simply sit about at home and wait for you to inform us as to your decision about the lady!” She glanced to Lady Croome, who did not say a word but stayed precisely where she was, her gaze lowered to the ground. “Although from your expression, might I surmise that all has not gone as well as you might have hoped?”

  “I had no particular hope,” Oliver replied with as much dignity as he could muster. “Unfortunately, I was proved correct in my thinking that Lady Emma is spoiled and thinks much too highly of herself.” He looked at Lady Croome, expecting to see disappointment in her eyes, but much to his astonishment, the corners of her mouth lifted, although she did her utmost to hide it from him. Instead, a look of concern spread through her features, her eyes crinkling gently at the corners, her head tilting just a fraction, but Oliver did not quite believe it to be genuine.

  Lady Ashbrook sighed and patted her husband’s arm. “How grateful I am that we have found such contentment, Lord Ashbrook,” she said as her husband smiled down at her. “It appears to be much more difficult than I remember.”

  “Then let us be glad that you shall not have to go through such a thing again,” Lord Ashbrook replied, lifting his wife’s hand and pressing a quick kiss to her palm, which made Lady Ashbrook blush as though she were a debutante being given a compliment by a gentleman she thought very highly of.

  Oliver frowned to himself, realizing that there was a part of him that wished very much to have such tenderness in any future relationship he might have, whoever his wife was to be. But how could he gain such a thing when he would barely know the lady he was to marry? Closing his eyes, Oliver shoved the desire away, forcing it to the back of his mind and doing all he could to think of something other than what he had seen before him. It was foolishness to hope for such a thing, for it was not usual for a husband and wife to have such affection between them. No, he would have to be quite practical about the manner and expect nothing more than a companion who would be quite suitable for him and would do all he required as a wife. Affection between husband and wife was rare and, despite his desire to choose a wife of his own, at a time when he felt quite able, he knew now that such decisions had been taken entirely out of his hands.

  “Well,” Lady Croome said, her voice breaking into his thoughts and forcing him back to the present. “What say we take a short stroll into town in the hope of meeting one of the other young ladies I have considered for you?” She looked at him with a smile on her face, although it did not quite reach her eyes. Was she already weary of her task? Or was she upset that her first choice for him had not gone as well as she had hoped?

  “I should be glad to go into town with you, Lady Croome,” he said slowly, “but if you would not mind terribly, I should much rather simply enjoy the afternoon instead of being asked to consider someone new.” One shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “There is time enough, is there not?”

  Lady Croome considered for a moment and then nodded slowly. “There is, certainly,” she agreed as Lord and Lady Ashbrook exchanged glances. “I do hope you are not disappointed with my first efforts?”

  The urge to reassure her swept through him. “No, not in the least!” he exclaimed, reaching out one hand to settle on her arm for just a moment. “Lady Emma is, as you have said, more than suitable in terms of her standing in society, her father’s title, and the dowry that she would bring. In addition,” he added, coloring just a little, “she has a great beauty that I could not fail to notice. But it is her lack of beauty within her character that concerns me, that is all.”

  This seemed to settle Lady Croome’s concerns, for her smile grew and her eyes became bright. “Thank you for explaining so to me,” she told him as he withdrew his hand. “I confess that I do not know much of Lady Emma, but if you have decided that she is not a suitable match, then I must hope that my second suggestion is a much more preferable one.” Seeing how he grimaced, Lady Croome let out a quiet laugh. “But we need not force any introductions this afternoon if you do not wish it. Shall we perhaps go to Gunter’s?” She looked up at Lord and Lady Ashbrook, who both nodded eagerly. “It is a fine day, and an ice would be just the thing.”

  “I quite agree,” Oliver stated, offering his arm to Lady Croome, who took it at once. “And thank you for your understanding, Tabitha,” he continued in a quieter voice. “You know that I do greatly appreciate your judgment and your consideration in these matters.”

  “Yes, I know.” She dimpled up at him, and Oliver found himself smiling back, a sense of well-being washing over him. “I am sure we will have a very enjoyable afternoon.”

  “Indeed, we will,” he breathed, enjoying the company, the warmth of the sun, and the sense of freedom that had returned to him, albeit for only a short time. He would soon have to prepare to meet the second lady of Lady Croome’s choosing, but, for the moment, he resolved to put such thoughts aside and to focus solely on his company at present. That, he knew, would bring him more happiness than anything else, and the more he considered Lady Croome, the more grateful he became for her wise words, her company, and her kindness. She really was a truly extraordinary creature, and Oliver felt blessed to know her as his friend.

  “And who is this you have beside you?”

  Oliver flinched as Lady Croome sent an apologetic smile in his direction. The introduction to one Miss Frederica Bartlett was not going particularly well, even though he could hardly blame the lady herself for that.

  “Give me leave to present the Earl of Yarmouth, Lady Stanway,” Lady Croome replied as Miss Bartlett’s mother took a step forward and, in doing so, made her daughter stumble to the right. Quickly, Oliver grasped her hand so that she would not fall and bring about a great deal of shame to herself, making the young lady blush furiously, her eyes fixed to the floor as she murmured a thank you.

  Lady Stanway did not even appear to notice, such was her interest in Oliver himself.


  “The Earl of Yarmouth, you say?” she breathed, glancing at Lady Croome. “Capital! Capital indeed!” She curtsied, and Miss Bartlett did the same, her face still a shining crimson. “How excellent to make your acquaintance, Lord Yarmouth. This is my daughter, Miss Frederica Bartlett, as Lady Croome has just informed you. I am sure she would be very glad of a dance or two from you!”

  This was forward of Lady Stanway, and astonishment rippled over Oliver, rendering him speechless for a moment or two. Miss Bartlett looked at her mother askance, then closed her eyes and dropped her head in embarrassment.

  Oliver felt his heart twist with sympathy—an emotion he had not expected to feel. Miss Bartlett was being prevented from saying a single word to him by her own overbearing mother, and that, in itself, was something that Oliver could identify with. He knew very well what it was like to have a parent who was solely determined to push and prod until a certain matter of course was taken, and, given that he felt such a sympathy, he did not immediately turn away from the lady.

  “Miss Bartlett,” he said, bowing again. “It would please me greatly to dance with you.”

  Miss Bartlett’s eyes rounded in surprise, and it took her a moment or two to slip the dance card from her wrist and hand it to him. Evidently, she had fully expected him to decline, given the rudeness of her mother, but Oliver found himself quite willing to take the opportunity to speak to Miss Bartlett alone, albeit during the dance.

  “The country dance would suit me very well,” he said, looking up at Miss Bartlett, who immediately nodded, her face still red with mortification. “And perhaps the cotillion?”

  Miss Bartlett blinked rapidly in evident astonishment that she would not only be given one dance, but two, only to nod feverishly whilst her mother began to throw various compliments in Oliver’s direction as though he were doing something quite magnanimous in offering her daughter such attentions.

  “Until the country dance then, Miss Bartlett,” Oliver said loudly, bowing quickly so that he might take his leave. Turning away from the lady and her obnoxious mother, he let out a long breath of relief whilst Lady Croome watched him speculatively.

  “Lady Stanway is overbearing, is she not?” he asked as Lady Croome’s lips twisted. “Little wonder her daughter has so few dances filled this evening!”

  “I think it a sorry affair,” Lady Croome replied, her voice filled with compassion. “I have spoken to Miss Bartlett on various occasions, but it is difficult to have a conversation with her without her mother joining us to give her opinion or, in fact, to steer the subject to one that she wishes to discuss.” A heavy sigh left her, and she looked up at him, appearing a little troubled. “I believe Miss Bartlett to be a very delicate creature,” she continued quietly. “Someone who has a very sweet nature indeed and who will always be contented and thankful. She has no arrogance of her own but rather needs to be given opportunity to speak as she wishes.”

  “I understand,” Oliver replied, aware that whilst Miss Bartlett was lovely in her features, he found her quietness rather difficult. “You think that I need to have time with her alone so that I might be able to speak to the lady and discover the truth about her character.”

  Lady Croome nodded, her smile now returning. “That is it precisely,” she said as he nodded slowly. “You treated her very well, offering her two dances. That is not something that has happened to her very often, I am sure.”

  “Which reminds me,” Oliver replied with a grin. “You and I have not yet chosen a dance together, Tabitha.” Holding up one hand to silence the protest that he knew would be coming from her lips, he chuckled. “There is no good reason for us not to do so simply because I am seeking to court another,” he said, aware of the light fading from her eyes and how her smile dimmed just a little. “There is no need to concern yourself, truly. No one will think any worse of me for stepping out with you if that is what you are worried about. I am sure they will not even notice it!”

  “Then what dance is it you wish to take?” Lady Croome replied, pulling out her dance card and handing it to him. “The quadrille?”

  “The waltz,” he said firmly. Taking the card from her, he wrote his name quickly and then handed it back to her, a little surprised at the glow of warmth that appeared in her eyes.

  “The waltz?” she repeated, taking the card back from him and looking down at it. “I thank you.”

  He shrugged. “It makes certain that I cannot be asked to dance it with any other young lady that might seek out my acquaintance tonight,” he told her honestly. “You are to protect me this evening, Lady Croome!”

  She did not smile up at him as he had expected, and his laugh faded away to nothing, leaving him wondering if he had upset her in some way. They looked at each other for a long moment, with Lady Croome’s expression so veiled that he could not even guess as to what she might be feeling.

  “Lord Yarmouth!”

  His attention was pulled away as someone hailed him. It was an old acquaintance who had, it seemed, returned to London. Grinning broadly, Oliver turned back to tell Lady Croome that he would speak to her again very soon, only to realize that she was gone.

  Something stabbed hard at his heart, and he unconsciously pressed his hand to his chest, his eyes searching for her, but there was no sign. She had evidently faded quickly into the crowd, stepping away from him when his attention had been pulled elsewhere, and something about her expression still troubled him.

  “Lord Yarmouth!”

  Frustrated, Oliver turned around and made his way towards his friend, trying to set aside his irritation and his concern for Lady Croome. Whatever it was, he would speak to her of it later in the hope that she would tell him what it was that troubled her. He only prayed that he had done nothing to upset her, not when she was doing so very much for him.

  “How good to see you this evening!” his acquaintance began, and Oliver found himself drawn into the conversation almost at once, but no matter how long they spoke, no matter how much they laughed and reminisced, at the back of his mind remained Lady Croome and that strange expression that had lingered on her face.

  Chapter Eight

  Tabitha tried her utmost to be glad that Miss Bartlett had been permitted to join both herself and Lord Yarmouth for an afternoon walk, but try as she might, she could not seem to summon any enthusiasm whatsoever. Standing aside, she watched as Lord Yarmouth extended a hand to Miss Bartlett to help her into the carriage and forced a smile to her lips, seeing how Lord Yarmouth nodded encouragingly to the young lady who appeared anxious to be stepping out away from her mother.

  “And you are quite certain, Lady Croome, that you have no particular interest in Lord Yarmouth yourself?”

  Tabitha startled violently as the voice of Lady Stanway reached her ears. Heat wound its way through her chest and up into her face as she realized that the lady had, in fact, shouted her question in Tabitha’s direction rather than coming over to speak to her privately.

  “We are very great friends,” she replied, hating that her face had turned scarlet. “I will, of course, make sure that your daughter is well looked after.”

  Lady Stanway waved a hand as if to say that there was no particular requirement for Tabitha to do so before turning around and making her way back into the house.

  “A very peculiar lady indeed,” Lord Yarmouth murmured out of the corner of his mouth, offering her his hand as she made to climb into the carriage. “You are not too embarrassed, I hope?”

  The worry in his eyes made her smile, and she squeezed his fingers lightly. “I am quite all right,” she said, thinking that he clearly was already aware of how she was feeling—although whether that came from the color of her face or from the friendship between them, she was not certain. “Shall we go?”

  Lord Yarmouth nodded, and Tabitha climbed up into the carriage, coming to sit next to Miss Bartlett, who was, by now, the color of scarlet. Clearly, she had heard her mother screeching from the front of the townhouse.

 
“A wonderful day,” Tabitha said warmly, hoping to encourage the young lady. “St James’ Park will be quite lovely this afternoon.”

  “Indeed it will,” Lord Yarmouth agreed, sitting down and rapping lightly on the roof. “Although you must say if you feel fatigued, Miss Bartlett. The sun can be very hot, you know.”

  Miss Bartlett nodded but did not say anything in response. Instead, she simply turned her head and looked out the window, leaving Tabitha and Lord Yarmouth with equal expressions of helplessness. The journey to St James’ Park was awkward, with stilted conversation and without even a single smile from Miss Bartlett herself. Tabitha felt herself grow embarrassed at the lady’s demeanor, for whilst she had been acquainted with Miss Bartlett before, she had always managed to have a fairly enjoyable conversation with her, until, inevitably, her mother reappeared. It now appeared, however, that Miss Bartlett intended to remain almost entirely silent in the company of Lord Yarmouth, which was not at all what Tabitha had expected. Would Lord Yarmouth think that she had deliberately chosen someone such as Miss Bartlett? She prayed that he would not think worse of her for it!

  Thankfully, the carriage soon came to a stop at St James’ Park, and, within a few minutes, the three of them were beginning to walk along one of the paths, which were fairly busy given the time of day. Miss Bartlett said nothing of importance, but there was a small smile on her face as she walked along, which Tabitha was very relieved to see.

  “Do you enjoy being in London, Miss Bartlett?” Lord Yarmouth asked, and the smile on Miss Bartlett’s face disappeared in an instant. In fact, she appeared to be almost anxious, for her fingers twisted together and a paleness crept into her cheeks.

  “Y—yes, my lord,” she stammered, looking to Tabitha for evident reassurance. “And you?”