Engaged to a Friend (Convenient Arrangements Book 6)

by Rose Pearson

  “I am very discreet,” the lady said softly. “I have never once whispered a secret that belonged to another, even if I was given permission to do so.”

  Closing her eyes for a moment, Tabitha shook her head mutely. Hot tears began to burn in her eyes, and she dared not open them for fear that they would fall.

  “You are struggling with something great, are you not?” the lady said kindly. “I should be glad to help you.”

  “It—it is a very dear friend of mine,” Tabitha began, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks as she spoke, her eyes fixed to the path before her rather than to the lady, who quickly handed her a handkerchief. “He has asked me to assist him in finding a suitable wife.”

  The lady nodded slowly. “Tell me how long you have been acquainted with this gentleman,” she said. “And has there ever been anything more between you?”

  In halting tones, Tabitha managed to express everything about Lord Yarmouth without ever once mentioning his name. She told the lady all about their acquaintance, how it had grown to a very deep friendship, and how she now struggled to become accustomed to the idea of his marrying another.

  “I am sure it is because I fear our friendship will change, which is, I know, quite ridiculous,” Tabitha said with a sniff. “It will, of course, become different from what it is at present, but that is something that I ought to accept without any great difficulty, is it not?”

  The lady smiled gently, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Might it not be, my dear, that you have more of an affection for this gentleman than you realize?”

  Tabitha stared at her, her eyes dry from tears as what felt like a cold wind blew all around her, even though it was a beautifully warm day.

  “That is not something that has ever occurred to you before, it seems,” the lady continued with a small lift of her mouth on one side. “I may be quite mistaken, my dear, but I believe, from what you have said, that you care very deeply for this particular fellow.”

  “I—I do not think—”

  Unable to finish the sentence, Tabitha looked away from the lady and stared hard at the ground, her breathing rapid and her hands clenched tightly into fists. It could not be! Surely such a thing would have occurred to her at the first? She would have realized that she had a deep affection for Lord Yarmouth that went far beyond that of mere friendship, would she not?

  “If you are questioning as to why you were not aware of this particular thing before, might I suggest that it is sometimes only brought to light when a change occurs that steals away the possibility of anything more ever occurring between you.” Her expression was gentle, and Tabitha felt no threat from her. Rather, it was as though she had been sent by some sort of divine purpose simply to reveal the truth to Tabitha before disappearing into the ether. “In asking you to seek a bride for him, you slowly have become aware of what you feel for him but, given that you have had nothing but a friendship between you for some time, the possibility of such a thing has not come into your mind. Or mayhap it is that you cannot think of it for fear of what might change should you do so.”

  Swallowing hard, Tabitha closed her eyes and let out a long breath. “I have never once considered the possibility that I might care for him,” she said softly. “But now that you have revealed it to me, I find that I can think of nothing else.” Lifting her head, she looked at the lady again, aware of the sympathetic expression on her face and finding herself increasingly grateful for her words of wisdom. “It all begins to fall into place now.”

  “Then I am glad I enquired,” the lady replied as Tabitha handed her back her handkerchief. “Oh no, my dear, you keep it.” She smiled and rose to her feet. “I suspect there may be a few more tears as you return home.”

  “Wait!” Tabitha exclaimed, reaching to grasp the lady’s arm. “What should I do now?”

  The older lady laughed and patted Tabitha’s hand. “I cannot tell you what to do next,” she replied calmly. “You will have to decide such a thing yourself, for I cannot advise you.”

  Tabitha let go of the lady’s arm and sat back, such tumultuous emotions flooding her that, for a moment, it felt as though she could not breathe. She could barely come to terms with what it was that had been revealed to her at present, much less think of what she was to do next! Suddenly, the thought of seeing Lord Yarmouth again this evening was terrifying, her heart pounding furiously as she imagined what she would feel at seeing him again.

  “I cannot thank you enough for all of your help,” she said as the lady smiled at her. “Pray, do not say a word to another about what I have said.”

  “Of course, I will not,” the lady replied—and for whatever reason, Tabitha believed her without a doubt. “I do hope all works out as you hope.”

  “Thank you,” Tabitha said again as the lady smiled and turned to make her way out of the park. “Might I ask your name? I am Lady Croome.”

  Looking back at her, the lady’s eyes twinkled. “Lady Newfield,” she replied with a small bobbing curtsy. “Good afternoon, Lady Croome. I do hope that we shall meet again one day soon.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I cannot understand it.”

  Oliver grimaced at his reflection as he ran one finger lightly over his cravat, finally satisfied with his valet’s efforts.

  “You cannot?” Lord Jennings repeated with a roll of his eyes. “You do not think there to be any truth in what Lady Croome said?”

  “Certainly, I do not,” Oliver replied, although the moment he said such a thing, a spiral of guilt tore up through him. “She is...I do not know what it is within her that caused her to speak so.”

  Lord Jennings drained his brandy glass. “She is being quite honest with you, old boy,” he said without any sort of malice in his voice. “It is most unlike you to consider a lady on her appearance alone.” Setting his glass down, he rose to his feet. “You have always been a gentleman who has never been caught by a pair of beautiful eyes, or a coy smile. In fact, I believe that you have shunned such young ladies before, believing that there is no substance to them and that, therefore, they are not worthy of your time.” One eyebrow lifted. “But now, it seems, you are so taken with Lady Marina, based solely on appearance, that you have instantly forgotten about Miss Bartlett.”

  Oliver grimaced, trying to find some sort of excuse that would satisfy not only Lord Jennings, but also the guilt that rushed through him. The truth was that everything Lord Jennings said was fair, for Oliver had never once considered a lady based solely on her outward appearance but, then again, he told himself, he had never thought of courting a lady before. Not with any seriousness, at least.

  “I have never thought of courtship before,” he told Lord Jennings, satisfying himself with his answer. “I must think of all that I require in a wife.”

  “And you require someone with as much beauty as Lady Marina?” Lord Jennings replied, a touch of sarcasm in his words. “I am quite certain you informed me that Miss Bartlett was very lovely in appearance, even if she was quiet and difficult to engage in conversation. You stated that you thought you should continue with your acquaintance with her for a time before making any real decision about the lady.”

  “That was before I met Lady Marina,” Oliver retorted sharply. “And she is a good deal easier to converse with than Miss Bartlett. I do not have to make a great amount of effort when it comes to Lady Marina. Surely that should be enough to—”

  “And just how many conversations have you had with Lady Marina?” Lord Jennings interrupted, now appearing a little irritated. “You have not yet taken the lady to the theatre, from what I recall, and thus you must have only spoken with her last evening.”

  Lifting his chin, Oliver tried to find something to say in response to this, something that would put Lord Jennings in his place, but to his own chagrin, nothing came to mind.

  “You have only spoken to her the once, then,” Lord Jennings said with a shake of head. “And that is certainly not enough for a gentleman to make up his mind abou
t any acquaintance, be it lady or gentleman. No, it is precisely as Lady Croome says, and it is little wonder that she is upset.” His jaw set, and he studied Oliver with a hard gaze. “I think you have made a foolish decision, Yarmouth. It is just as well Miss Bartlett has eloped, else you might have had more than one lady to placate.”

  Oliver frowned, about to make some sort of retort only to find himself astonished to hear of Miss Bartlett.

  “You had not heard she has eloped,” Lord Jennings said, looking at Oliver steadily. “Yes, she has eloped. Lady Ashbrook and Lady Croome told me of it last evening. I believe Lady Croome gave Miss Bartlett her carriage to take to Scotland.”

  “I do not understand,” Oliver replied, now all the more confused. “If Lady Croome knew that Miss Bartlett intended to elope, then why did she even present Miss Bartlett to me in the first place?” He threw up his hands, ignoring Lord Jennings’ explanation entirely and speaking over his words. “She cannot be angry with me regarding Lady Marina if she assisted Miss Bartlett in escaping from not only myself, but from London! That is not to be tolerated!”

  “Now, wait a moment!” Lord Jennings exclaimed, but Oliver shook his head, striding towards the door.

  “I do not need your explanations,” he said, pulling the door open and fixing Lord Jennings with a glare. “I am very well capable of speaking to Lady Croome myself, given that I shall be in her company this evening. No, I shall have no further excuses, Lord Jennings. Lady Croome is the one who must explain her actions. I shall hear no words from you.”

  The moment Oliver was shown into the drawing-room, he began to search for Lady Croome, his eyes roving over each and every guest as he nodded and tried to smile at the others present. Unfortunately, he was forced to speak to one or two others before he could make his way through the room, finding each conversation difficult to maintain given his determination to find Lady Croome. There was a small fire burning within his heart, an unsettling anger that threatened to overcome him entirely if he did not give vent to it soon. He could not understand why Lady Croome had, first of all, suggested Miss Bartlett to him if she knew she intended to elope, and, secondly, why she had assisted the lady in doing so! She could not hold any anger towards him when she had been the one to encourage and assist Miss Bartlett to marry another. She should be relieved that he had thought of Lady Marina rather than Miss Bartlett, instead of speaking with such harshness!

  Finally, his eyes settled upon her. She was standing near the back of the room, conversing with one Lady Pettigrew. Oliver approached carefully, making certain not to be too obvious with his desire to speak to her. Instead, he waited patiently until Lady Pettigrew had stepped away before hurrying forward, seeing something flare in Lady Croome’s eyes as he approached.

  “Lord Yarmouth,” Lady Croome murmured, a flush of red warming her cheeks as she looked up at him. “Good evening.”

  He did not even greet her in response. “I hear Miss Bartlett has eloped.”

  Lady Croome looked surprised but then nodded. “I was to tell you so last evening, but there was no opportunity,” she said in a manner that suggested it was not at all important. “I am glad you have heard of it, however. I presume Lord Jennings told you?”

  Oliver could hardly believe just how nonchalant she was being. “You encouraged me towards a lady that had every intention of eloping?” he said, his brows lifting as he saw a flicker of a frown cross her forehead. “And then, not only did you assist her with that endeavor, you then expressed frustration towards me when I spoke to you about my intentions to forget Miss Bartlett and instead turn my attention to Lady Marina!”

  The change that took place in Lady Croome’s face was marked. The color drained from her face, her lips set into a firm, hard line, and her brows fell hard over her eyes.

  “I have not been lackadaisical in my approach when it comes to assisting you with this, Yarmouth,” she said, keeping her voice low but her words so forceful that they hit him like sharp darts. “I did not know that Miss Bartlett intended to elope before I suggested her to you,” she continued, a spot of color beginning to reveal itself in her cheeks. “I came upon her in the gardens with her particular gentleman and, such was her distress that I could not simply refuse to help her! If you recall, Yarmouth, I was attempting to speak to you of it last evening before we were interrupted by Lady Sutherland.”

  One eyebrow arched, and she waited for him to respond, but Oliver found himself struggling to remember what she spoke of. This made Lady Croome shake her head with either exasperation or frustration, and she closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a long breath, which, he presumed, was to assist her in keeping her temper. He did not know what to feel at this moment, his anger still burning through him but slowly beginning to remove itself from him as Lady Croome continued to explain.

  “I remain frustrated with you for the way you spoke of Lady Marina,” she continued, opening her eyes. “I have never known you to remark upon a lady’s outward appearance and to hold onto it with such eagerness. Nor have I heard you mention how other gentlemen will be envious of your position.” Her brow furrowed, and she looked up at him steadily as though she were seeing him for the very first time. “I thought I knew you very well, Yarmouth. Perhaps, through this, I have discovered I am wrong.”

  Oliver swallowed hard. Her explanation for why she had encouraged Miss Bartlett towards him only for her to then go on to elope was, he considered, quite understandable. If she had not known, then it was quite reasonable for her to have suggested the lady. Assisting Miss Bartlett in her elopement was something he would have expected from Lady Croome, truth be told, for that kindness of heart and compassionate spirit was something he had long admired.

  “I shall do nothing more for you in this regard,” Lady Croome said, her eyes now sparkling with unshed tears and her voice breaking with emotion. “If Lady Marina does not suit, then my fourth lady was to be Miss Phoebe Morgan, who is the daughter of Viscount Jamieson. I hope, Yarmouth, that you find one of these two ladies to be suitable, for perhaps then, I shall not feel as though I have failed entirely.”

  “Tabitha.” Oliver closed his eyes, wishing that he could retreat from the room and begin his entry all over again. He had spoken foolishly and without consideration, letting his anger lead him rather than consider whether or not there might be a reasonable explanation to what had occurred. “I—I am sorry.”

  When he opened his eyes, Lady Croome was dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, clearly trying to restore her own composure. When she lifted her head to look at him again, her eyes were clear, and, aside from a small sniff, she appeared to be quite herself.

  “This does not mean that we shall not remain friends, Yarmouth,” she said quietly. “Although, mayhap, it shall begin to open up a chasm between us that will permit us to, slowly, reduce our friendship to a mere acquaintance.”

  Her words tore at his heart. “That is what you wish?” he croaked, his heart now thudding painfully. “That is what you want from me?”

  She shook her head, but a sad smile lifted one side of her mouth. “It is what must happen, Yarmouth. Do you not see? You are to be engaged and then wed to whichever lady you choose. Things cannot remain the same between us. It would be both improper and unfeeling towards the lady you choose to be your wife.” Blinking rapidly, the thought evidently causing her tears to return, Lady Croome cleared her throat and then lifted her chin a notch. “I wish you well with Lady Marina tomorrow, Yarmouth. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Oliver could do nothing but step aside, allowing Lady Croome to move past him. She wound her way quickly towards Lady Ashbrook whilst he remained precisely where he was, both ashamed of his own callous behavior and horrified at what she had told him. To be separated from Lady Croome? To never again have the closeness that they presently enjoyed? That could not satisfy him, and neither, surely, could it satisfy the lady.

  But is she correct?

  Closing his eyes again, Oliver drew in a long breath and tr
ied to quieten his thumping heart and whirling thoughts. He needed to apologize to her, to let her know the depths of his guilt and shame that now overpowered him. And yet the thought of going to her only to know that there was this chasm breaking the ground between them filled him with dread. He did not want such a thing to occur. He could not even dream of being apart from Lady Croome in such a way, to no longer have the friendship and intimacy that they had, for so long, enjoyed.

  “Is something the matter?”

  Opening his eyes quickly and trying his best to put a smile onto his face, Oliver saw none other than Lord Jennings looking back at him, an air of concern about him.

  “I saw Lady Croome speaking with you,” Lord Jennings continued, turning slightly in the direction she had gone. “And then you appeared distraught.” His brow lifted, although there was no trace of malice in his voice. “Things did not go particularly well, I gather.”

  Oliver groaned quietly, trying not to attract the attention of the other guests and being all too aware that the dinner gong would soon be rung. “I should not have been as absurd as I was, Jennings,” he muttered, a deep sense of shame beginning to crawl over his skin. “I should have allowed you to explain.” Taking in a deep breath, he turned his gaze to his friend. “She stated that our friendship cannot continue, but that cannot be the case, surely?”

  To his horror, Lord Jennings did not immediately disagree. Instead, his lips pursed, and lines formed across his brow.

  “You surely cannot expect for your acquaintance with Lady Croome to continue just as it is at present once you are a married gentleman,” he said slowly, his eyes a little narrowed as though trying to assess whether or not this was, in fact, what Oliver thought. “She is quite correct in making such remarks.”