The Scoundrel’s Daughter by Anne Gracie
Chapter Six
The morning after the party, Gerald’s manservant brought up a note with his morning coffee, a message from his mother requesting him to call on her urgently. The fact that it was just after nine o’clock and his mother was sending notes made him think it must indeed be urgent: Mama rarely rose before eleven.
On the other hand, it was Mama sending the note. Gerald finished his breakfast, washed, shaved and dressed, and set off shortly before ten.
His mother’s butler ushered him into her bedchamber, where she sat in bed, swathed in a sumptuous silk dressing gown, propped up with half a dozen pillows, with her writing desk over her knees and correspondence scattered around her.
She presented her cheek to be kissed. “About time, Gerald. I sent that note at quarter to nine.”
He obediently touched his lips to her already powdered and rouged cheek. “What’s this about, Mother?”
“You danced with that gel last night.”
“I danced with a dozen girls,” he said in a bored voice. “I understood that was the point.”
“Don’t be facetious, you know very well which gel I mean—Alice’s foundling.”
“Alice’s foundling?”
His mother made an impatient gesture. “She might as well be. Nobody has ever heard of her. She has no fortune, no looks to speak of and nothing to recommend her. I am told you even asked her for a second dance. Is that correct?”
“I intended to, but she’d already left.”
His mother sniffed. “I warned Alice I would not tolerate her throwing the wretched gel at you. I’m glad to see she listened, for a change.”
“Aunt Alice didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“She introduced you, after I’d specifically ordered her not to.”
Gerald stiffened. “You ordered her not to?”
“Of course. I don’t want you having anything to do with that gel. She is not the sort of gel I want my son to associate with. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly, Mother,” he said crisply. He turned on his heel and, fuming, stalked from the room. How dare she think she could tell him who he could and could not see? Or dance with. Or anything.
He set out immediately to call on his aunt. And her so-called foundling.
Really, Mama was outrageous. He didn’t know much about Miss Bamber—and, it had to be admitted, the girl had given him no encouragement—but as for no looks to speak of, what utter rubbish. Miss Bamber was both lively and pretty. In fact, he found her disturbingly attractive. And intriguing.
* * *
Lucy was on her way downstairs when the front doorbell sounded. She paused on the landing and drew back out of sight, clutching her old carpetbag to her chest. Alice had warned her that after their attendance at her sister-in-law’s party the previous evening, there were likely to be morning calls and that Lucy should be prepared.
But morning calls were conducted in the early part of the afternoon, and yet here it was, not yet eleven o’clock, and someone was at the door.
She glanced down at herself. She was wearing one of her old dresses, worn and faded, too tight across the chest and short, showing her ankles. She hadn’t expected to meet anyone. It was a lovely morning and she planned to spend a few hours painting.
So far she hadn’t met a soul in the garden, only a gardener who’d nodded but otherwise ignored her, which pleased her greatly. Privacy and time to herself were a gift she’d had little of in recent years.
Tweed opened the door. “Good morning, Lord Thornton.”
Lucy drew back, listening.
“Is my aunt in?”
“She is, my lord, but I’m afraid she is not yet ready to receive visitors. However, if you would care to wait a few minutes, I’m sure she will want to see you.” Lucy watched as the butler ushered Lord Thornton into the front drawing room, then mounted the stairs in his usual stately manner.
Lucy crept down the stairs on tiptoe.
“Miss Bamber.”
Blast! Lord Thornton stood in the doorway of the drawing room. Lucy pretended not to hear and hurried on.
“Miss Bamber.” Louder now.
Cursing silently, she turned, clutching her bag to her chest, and gave him a blank, ‘Do I know you?’ kind of look.
“Lord Thornton,” he prompted after a moment. “Good morning, Miss Bamber.” His gaze ran over her, and though he gave no sign that he noticed her shabby old dress, the faint cleft between his brows told her he did. She tensed. It was too close to the clothing she’d worn at their encounter on the road.
What was he doing here, making a morning call at eleven o’clock like some kind of ignorant bumpkin? Lords were supposed to know these things.
He inclined his head. “I trust you enjoyed yourself last night.”
“Last night?” she echoed, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.
His frown deepened. “At the party given by my mother.” And when she didn’t respond, he added, “Almeria, Lady Charlton.”
“Lady Charlton is upstairs,” she said helpfully. “I don’t know anyone called Almeria.”
“My aunt is the dowager Lady Charlton. Almeria, Lady Charlton, is my mother.” He sounded annoyed. Good.
Lucy smiled vaguely. “Really? How nice for you. Now, I must be going. Nice to meet you, Lord . . . er.”
The furrow between his brows deepened. “Thornton,” he grated. “We were introduced last night. You danced with me.”
“Of course,” she said in an unconvinced manner. “So we did.” Footsteps on the stairs above indicated his aunt was on her way. “Goodbye, Lord Thornfield. So nice to meet you.” Hiding a smile, Lucy hurried away.
Behind her, she heard Lord Thornton say, “Thornton.” Lucy grinned. She waited out of sight and listened as Alice greeted her nephew.
“That so-called goddaughter of yours, has she got rats in her attic?” Lord Thornton said bluntly. Lucy bristled at the “so-called.” The rest of the question made her smile.
Alice responded. “What on earth do you mean, Gerald?”
“I just saw her in the hall. She had no recollection of meeting me last night.”
“Oh, well, she probably forgot you. She came down with the headache, and we had to leave early.”
“Really?” He sounded quite skeptical.
“Yes. Also there were a great many people at the party. Many more than your mother had suggested to me beforehand. I expect poor Lucy was just overwhelmed.”
“Overwhelmed?” He snorted. “If that girl was overwhelmed, I’m a Dutchman.”
“She wasn’t? Oh, I’m so pleased. It’s quite difficult when you’re a young girl meeting so many people for the first time, having to be on your best behavior at your first ton party.”
“She danced with me,” Lord Thornton reminded her.
“Yes, I saw. Very prettily, too, I thought. I was worried she hadn’t been adequately instructed, but her performance was all that anyone could wish for.”
“Her conversation, on the other hand, left a great deal to be desired. Like getting blood out of a stone.”
“Really? And yet Sir Edward Platt told me my ward was charming, and Lord Anthony Pellew sent us each a posy this morning.” Listening from behind the stairs, Lucy was touched to realize that Alice was defending her. Again.
“I’m talking about the way she spoke to me.”
“Perhaps you intimidated her. You military fellows can be quite intimidating, you know. That tall friend of yours, for instance.”
“I did not intimidate her!” Lord Thornton snapped. “I doubt anyone could intimidate that chit.” Lucy smothered a giggle.
“You’re not suggesting she was rude to you, Gerald, are you?” Alice sounded shocked.
“No, not exactly rude, just . . . uncooperative.”
“I expect she was minding her steps,” Alice said in a soothing voice.
The grinding of Lord Thornton’s teeth was almost audible.
“Was there some reason you called this early?” Alice asked Gerald.
He gave her a blank stare, then re-collected himself. “I intended to invite you and Miss Bamber to drive out with me this afternoon.”
“I’m so sorry,” Alice said, “but we are both engaged this afternoon. But thank you for the thought.”
“Perhaps another time?”
“Perhaps,” she said vaguely. “Though if you’re just being polite, Gerald, and only showing hospitality toward Lucy because she is my goddaughter—and because I suppose your mother has warned you off her—there is no need to bother. Sir Edward Platt and Lord Anthony Pellew have both offered to show Lucy some of the sights of London.”
“Those old roués!” he exploded. “Each one is old enough to be her father—Sir Edward could even be her grandfather!”
“Which doesn’t mean they can’t be perfectly charming hosts,” Alice said in mild reproof. “It’s a tour of city sights we’re talking about, not marriage.”
Lord Thornton gave a cynical snort. “Anyway, she said she wasn’t interested in seeing the sights.”
“And yet she accepted both invitations,” Alice said gently.
Lucy could almost hear the brooding silence coming from the drawing room. Laughing softly, she took the big iron key and let herself out into the garden.
She found herself a quiet, sunny corner, opened her bag and set out her paints.
* * *
The following day, James, temporarily fed up with the demands of roofers, plasterers, painters, plumbers and chimney sweeps, headed out in the afternoon on horseback for some fresh air, exercise and peace. As he approached the park, he heard his name called. “Tarrant, I say. Colonel Tarrant!”
Turning his head, he saw Chichester, a young military gentleman of his acquaintance, also on horseback, approaching and waving as he threaded through pedestrians and carts and hawkers.
“Heading for the park?” Chichester asked, and suggested they proceed together. “Ride there most days. Devilish pleasant.”
James fell in with him, and as they talked and caught up on news and mutual acquaintances, he took little notice of their route. It had been an age since he’d ridden in London, and he assumed Chichester would know the best places.
The moment they entered the park, however, he realized that not only had he chosen his time poorly, he’d also chosen the wrong companion—and the wrong park entrance.
It was obviously the fashionable hour in Hyde Park. Throngs of fashionably dressed people jammed the pathways, strolling and talking. Smart carriages moved along Rotten Row at a crawl, as did plenty of riders on horseback.
“Splendid sight, what?” Chichester said, beaming. “All those pretty ladies.”
James nodded. Curse it, he’d forgotten Chichester’s penchant for flirtation. They wove slowly between barouches and phaetons, and men and ladies on horseback, and pedestrians impeding their progress. Carriages stopped without warning to take up or put down passengers or hail acquaintances on foot. Some people seemed to think nothing of holding up the traffic while they chatted to friends in other carriages, blocking the road entirely. James resigned himself to slow progress and silently plotted his escape route.
Then he noticed a particular pair of ladies strolling along, one tall and slender, dressed in a claret-colored pelisse and wearing a straw bonnet tied with a simple claret-colored ribbon. The other was younger and curvier and wore a green pelisse and a hat adorned with daisies.
“I’ll see you later, Chichester,” he said, directing his horse to the side. Throwing his leg over the saddle, he dropped lightly to the ground just as Lady Charlton and her goddaughter came level with him. As he greeted them, he heard a voice behind him saying, “Oh, I say. Fast work, Tarrant.”
Chichester, curse him, had followed and also dismounted. He stood there grinning expectantly at the ladies. James, having no choice, introduced him, but once he saw which lady Chichester was beaming at, he said, “It’s very crowded here. Lieutenant Chichester, why don’t you walk ahead with Miss Bamber, and I will escort Lady Charlton.”
Chichester and the girl happily agreed. Lady Charlton, however, hesitated. Her creamy complexion grew rosy under his gaze, her sea blue eyes were pools of doubt. Was she simply shy or was there something about him that disturbed her? She certainly disturbed him. Not since he was a young man had he been so instantly and powerfully drawn to a woman.
He presented his arm, and she gave his horse a nervous glance. “Don’t you need to mind your horse?”
James smiled to himself. Her apparent reluctance to further their acquaintance did not extend to snubbing him in public.
“He’s used to being led.” He nodded ahead to where Chichester and Miss Bamber were walking and chatting while Chichester’s mount ambled placidly along behind.
She glanced at his arm and with a sigh accepted it. They strolled along, his horse following behind. She glanced back several times.
“You’re not fond of horses?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It’s not that. I’ve never had much to do with them.” She glanced back again. “They’re very big, aren’t they?”
Yes,” he agreed solemnly. “Being rather tall, I need a taller horse. So you’ve never ridden?”
“No.”
“I’m surprised. Most ladies I know who were brought up in the country ride to some extent.”
“My father was a country vicar. Both he and my mother were brought up to ride and hunt, but Papa gave it up when he took orders—he didn’t approve of it anymore—and Mama never rode again after she got married. Besides, the only horse we could afford was the one that pulled Papa’s gig, and that was necessary for his parish visits. Papa took his vows very seriously, and every spare penny went to the poor of the parish. Or to ‘the unconverted.’ ”
“ ‘The unconverted’?”
“They were Papa’s passion in life—he believed their souls were endangered unless they converted to Christianity. He and Mama sailed for the Far East shortly after my wedding.”
“And are your parents still abroad?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she said after a moment. “They died within months of arriving.”
“I’m sorry.” James hoped they weren’t eaten by headhunters or boiled in a pot or another of the grisly fates so often encountered by missionaries attempting to force their foreign ways on perfectly contented native peoples, but there was no way he could ask such a thing. Especially when he was trying to charm a most reluctant lady.
She glanced at him and seemed to read his mind. “A tropical fever carried them both off.”
“I see,” he said, slightly relieved. “That must have been very difficult for you.” Newly married, orphaned and with only her husband to support her. He couldn’t imagine Thaddeus Paton supporting anyone except himself.
They strolled on in silence. Ahead of them, Chichester and Miss Bamber were chatting and laughing, clearly getting on well.
“Your Lieutenant Chichester,” she said. “What’s his background?”
“Not my Lieutenant Chichester,” he stressed lightly. “Merely a chance-met acquaintance from my army days. But to answer your question, he’s well-enough born, but a second son. He’ll inherit no money or land and is destined to be a career soldier, though between you and me, he’s not the kind of lad destined for greatness.” He glanced at her and added in a lowered voice, “Unless your goddaughter is an heiress, I wouldn’t encourage that connection. He’s a gazetted flirt. When Chichester weds, which I expect won’t be for a good few years, he’ll undoubtedly marry for money.”
She gave a slow nod, then turned to him with a smile that took his breath away. “Yes, that’s exactly what I needed to know. Thank you.”
He couldn’t think of a thing to say. All he could think of was how lovely she was when she smiled. And how he wanted to make her smile more often.
She added, “I don’t want Lucy to make the kind of mistake that—to make a mistake in her choice of husband.”
The kind of mistake that she had made, he wondered?
“It’s rather daunting,” she continued, “being responsible for a young girl’s future happiness.”
“I’m sure she’s in the best of all possible hands,” he said. It was a commonplace response, a mere polite nothing, but for some reason the light in her eyes died, and she looked away, as if troubled. What had he said?
A slight breeze sprang up, stirring the leaves and the ladies’ dresses. “We’d better go,” Lady Charlton said abruptly. “We have an engagement to prepare for this evening.” She called to Miss Bamber, bid James and Chichester goodbye and vanished into the fashionable throng, leaving James gazing after her.
“Are we in a hurry?” Lucy asked breathlessly as they wove swiftly through the crowd, nodding to acquaintances and calling out brief greetings but nothing more—which was quite uncivil. “Is there an appointment I’ve forgotten?”
Alice hurried on without answering. She had no reason for their flight—no reason she could acknowledge, that is, except to herself.
Panic, that was it.
Lord Tarrant had smiled down at her with such a look in his eyes. Intense and yet warm and approving and . . .
It had set off such flutters inside her.
She’d had no idea what to do.
And so she’d run.
Which was utterly pathetic!
But what else was she to do? She couldn’t encourage him.
“It’s going to rain,” she told Lucy.
Lucy glanced at the clear blue sky. “I see. A bit like my pallor the other night, then. Only in your case, it was brought on by a certain tall former colonel.”
“Nonsense,” Alice muttered and hurried on. Lucy was uncomfortably perceptive at times. “What did you think of Lieutenant Chichester?”
Lucy snorted. “A silly rattle and too full of himself, but entertaining enough for a walk in the park.”
Alice nodded. And then there were times she was grateful for Lucy’s sharp mind.
* * *
To Alice’s faint discomfort, Lord Tarrant called the following afternoon. Discomfort because, on reflection, she’d decided that she’d behaved foolishly the previous times she’d met him. She wasn’t a green, impressionable girl; she was a sensible widow who knew exactly what she did and didn’t want.
Just because a man had never sent her into a flutter before by his mere presence. And the way he looked at her . . . And his smile. It was no reason to get all hot and bothered.
She’d fallen out of the habit of socializing, that was all, and had read too much into the looks Lord Tarrant had given her. She wasn’t ever going to marry again, and even if he did intend improper overtures, it was nothing to be anxious about, because she was most definitely not interested in having an affair. All that horrid bedroom activity was, thank goodness, behind her.
She was a mature, grown woman, and she would behave like one.
Lord Tarrant was her third male caller that afternoon. Two of Thaddeus’s friends had visited—separately. Word had obviously reached them that she was receiving again. The first had suggested with a leer that he was more than willing to help assuage her loneliness. The arrival of other visitors prevented her from sending him off with a flea in his ear, and though she itched to smack his oily, presumptuous face, she had to make do with an icy response.
The second of Thaddeus’s friends, Sir Alec Grafton, had arrived just as several ladies were leaving, and just after Lucy had excused herself for a moment. He took advantage of her brief lack of company to lean forward, place a heavy hand on her knee and make an even more blatant offer.
She’d brushed away his hand like a repellent insect, and was in the process of coldly informing him that she was perfectly content as she was, thank you, and she’d be grateful if he never troubled her again—ever!—when Tweed announced Lord Tarrant.
He must have overheard her delivering the last part of her little speech. He gave Sir Alec a hard look as the man took his leave, but his expression was smooth as he greeted her and took the seat she waved him to. On the opposite side of the room.
There was a short, tense silence. If he so much as hinted that she might be lonely and in need of male company . . .
He rubbed his hands together. “Brrr, pretty chilly in here at the moment.”
Alice blinked. It was a sunny afternoon, and if anything, it was rather warm.
His expression was an odd mix of rueful amusement. “Finding some of your visitors tedious, I gather.”
“Not simply tedious—obnoxious, offensive and unwelcome.”
“Dear me. If any more of that kind arrive, give me a wink and I’ll toss them out on their ear.”
Was he serious? Or was he making fun of her? She couldn’t tell from his expression. Lucy returned, and two other ladies arrived. They exchanged greetings and made polite chitchat.
It quickly became clear that Lucy wasn’t the focus of these ladies’ visit. Alice was their target. Lady Fanstock, the older lady, was a grandmother, and she and her daughter had come with a view to presenting Lady Fanstock’s middle-aged son, Threadbow, as a potential—nay, ideal—husband for Alice.
Lady Fanstock waxed long and lyrical about Threadbow’s many fine qualities, and whenever she paused to draw breath, Threadbow’s older sister filled the gap with more encomiums. Threadbow was clever, he was sensitive, he would cause her no worries of the wandering sort—he’d never been in the petticoat line—and it was a complete fabrication on people’s part to suggest that he had weak lungs.
Alice nodded, murmured polite, noncommittal responses and wondered whether the clock was broken. The hands were moving so very, very slowly.
In the middle of one of these torrents of Threadbow praise, Alice happened to catch Lord Tarrant’s eye. He raised a dark, sardonic brow, winked, then jerked his head toward the door in query.
Give me a wink, and I’ll toss them out on their ear.
A bubble of laughter rose in her. She managed to turn it into a cough.
Tea and little iced cakes were then brought in.
Eventually Lady Fanstock and her daughter finished their tea and left. Lord Tarrant should have gone, too, but he made no move to depart, possibly because there were several little cakes remaining. It seemed Lord Tarrant had a sweet tooth. Before she could delicately suggest to him that his visit was well overdue to end, two more ladies arrived. He rose, greeted them politely and sat down again.
Alice resigned herself and called for a fresh pot of tea and more little cakes—somehow they’d all been eaten.
These lady visitors were visibly delighted with Lord Tarrant and pelted him with questions—attempting to discover, none too subtly, his marital status, fortune and plans for the future, as well as his war experiences. She was amused to see how he deflected the more intrusive questions by changing the subject so adroitly that the ladies didn’t realize it.
She wasn’t surprised by their interest. There was something about him, something compelling. It wasn’t just that he was tall and ruggedly attractive; he had an air of command—not the kind of swaggering arrogance that she associated with her late husband and some of his friends, but a quiet assurance. As if he were perfectly comfortable in his skin and had nothing to prove.
And of course there was the title and the fortune to go with it.
While his attention was on the other ladies—and the cakes—she took the opportunity to look at him, really look at him. Without those disturbing, knowing gray eyes observing her interest.
And that’s all it was, she told herself—interest. Curiosity. Nothing else.
He was not heavy, as Thaddeus had been, but lean, with a body well used to hard exercise. And fighting, she reminded herself. He’d arrived wearing fine brown leather gloves. He’d removed them and now drew them through his long fingers over and over, as if restless—though in every other way he seemed relaxed.
He was closely shaved. The thought prompted the memory of the faint scent of his cologne the evening of the party. His thick, dark hair was cut short, almost brutally so. She thought she detected a slight hint of curl.
Alice repressed a smile. A number of men of her acquaintance cultivated a head of artistically arranged curls. She suspected some went to bed with their hair in rags, or perhaps their valets used curling irons. Lord Tarrant cut his curls off.
He was plainly dressed in immaculate buff breeches, which clung to his long, lean legs, with their hard, muscular thighs. His linen was pristine, his neckcloth was neat but not ostentatious, and his dark blue coat, clearly cut by a master tailor, hugged his broad shoulders. His boots gleamed with polish, and unlike most fashionable gentlemen of her acquaintance, there were no fobs dangling from his waistcoat, just a plain gold watch chain.
He’d stopped speaking, and she glanced up and found him watching her. Watching her watching him. Her cheeks warmed. Amusement glimmered in his eyes. And then she realized it wasn’t just him—everyone in the room was looking at her. Expectantly.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, addressing the ladies. “Were you talking to me? I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”
“Quite all right, my dear,” the older lady said, with a knowing sidelong glance at her companion. “I was just wondering whether you and your goddaughter are planning to attend the Peplowe masquerade ball next week.”
“Yes, indeed, we’re looking forward to it, aren’t we, Lucy?” Alice said, willing her blush to fade. “Lady Peplowe and her daughter called here earlier.” Lady Peplowe had very kindly sent a note the previous day adding Lucy to Alice’s invitation, and assuring Alice that had she known Lucy was visiting, she would have been included in the original invitation. Alice was delighted. Penny Peplowe was a thoroughly nice girl, the kind that she hoped Lucy would become friends with.
The talk then turned to costumes, but as nobody wanted to reveal their costume plans in advance, the conversation soon dwindled. The two ladies rose to take their leave. Lord Tarrant rose also and bid them a courteous goodbye but made no move to follow them out.
The two ladies exchanged glances once more, and Alice, hoping Lord Tarrant would take the hint, took Lucy with her as she escorted them to the front door, leaving Lord Tarrant alone in the drawing room.
* * *
James leaned back in the very comfortable chair, crossed his legs and settled down to await her return. He was perfectly aware she wanted him to leave, but he had something to say to her first.
He’d learned a few things about her in the time between dancing with her at the party the other night and calling on her this afternoon. From what he could gather, she’d had a number of men sniffing around her skirts and had given every one of them short shrift.
From the prickly way she’d reacted to him on the previous two occasions, she was expecting more of the same from him. Even though he suspected she was feeling much the same attraction to him that he felt to her.
Which was interesting. For a woman who’d been married for eighteen years and was now widowed, there was a strange kind of innocence about her.
He needed to get to know her better. But first he had to get her to relax around him. He had a plan for that.
“Still here, Lord Tarrant?” she said as she entered the drawing room. She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, a pointed reminder that he’d stayed nearly three quarters of an hour. And most enlightening he’d found it. The old tabbies were trying to match her off, trying to foist some spineless nonentity onto her. And she was trying to match her goddaughter up with whoever she could.
The goddaughter—now, she was a bit of a mystery. A minx, he thought, and sharp enough to cut herself. She’d lead some man a merry dance.
He’d risen to his feet as she entered. “Thank goodness. I thought they’d never leave.” He also thanked goodness—silently—that the goddaughter hadn’t yet returned. He had Alice all to himself. He couldn’t think of her as Lady Charlton, not when that harpy, Gerald’s mother, had the same title. But convention had to be observed.
“It is polite to stay for no more than twenty minutes,” she said crisply. He sat down again, but this time took the chair next to hers. Alice gave him a startled look and edged slightly away, smoothing her skirt.
“I know, but I wanted to ask you something. In private.”
She stiffened, took a deep breath, then said in a rush, “Thank you for your interest, Lord Tarrant, but I must—I wish to make it clear that—” She broke off, her cheeks delightfully rosy. She took another deep breath and continued, “I must tell you that I am not interested in any, um . . . in any kind of liaison—respectable or . . . or otherwise.” She met his eye. It was some kind of gauntlet then.
He raised a brow, and she added firmly, “In other words, I have no interest in marrying again, or in pursuing any, um . . . anything else.”
“I see.” James kept his voice solemn. She was adorable. And charmingly flustered. “You’ve made your position very clear,” he assured her. “No ‘um’ or anything of that nature. Understood. What about friendship?”
She blinked. “Friendship?”
“It can happen between consenting adults of the opposite sex, I believe.”
“You don’t mean . . .”
“I’m talking about simple, everyday, out-in-the-open friendship. Of the completely respectable kind.”
She gave him a doubtful look. “It’s not a euphemism?”
“For ‘um’? Definitely not.”
“Oh.” Was that disappointment he heard in her voice? Or relief?
She still appeared wary of his motives. Time to play his three little aces. “The thing is, I have three small daughters who I haven’t seen for four years—I’ve never even seen the youngest. I’m planning to bring them to London to live with me. They’re living with their maternal grandparents at the moment, but I want them with me.”
“Daughters? You have three young daughters? You’re married, then?”
“Widowed these four years.”
“Oh.” Quite a different kind of oh from the previous one.
“I’ve sent for my old nanny, and I suppose I’ll hire a governess eventually, but”—he gave her a frank, manly look—“I’m a man, a former soldier, and out of my depth with young females. It would be good to have a friend—a female friend—to talk things over with and to advise me from time to time.”
“Ohhh. You want a friend to advise you about your daughters? A female friend.”
“Exactly.” He leaned across and placed his hand over hers. “So, Lady Charlton, would you consent to be that friend?”
She looked at his hand and hesitated. “Of course I would be glad to advise you about your daughters but—” She broke off as Miss Bamber came skipping into the room.
“Sorry, I— Oops. Have I interrupted something?”
Alice snatched her hand away. “Not at all. Lord Tarrant was just leaving.”
James, who had risen to his feet after Miss Bamber entered, said. “Not quite yet. I have something to ask you first.”
Lucy immediately turned to leave. “I’ll go.”
“Stay right where you are, Lucy,” Alice said. The girl glanced at her godmother in surprise.
“Yes, stay, Miss Bamber,” James said easily. “This concerns you as well.”
Lady Charlton gave him a surprised look. Lucy sat down. James sat as well.
“I wondered if you’d like to go to the theater,” he said. “It’s Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream—quite an entertaining production, I’m told.”
Lucy’s face lit up. “The theater? I’ve never been to the theater.” She turned to her godmother. “What do you say Ali—I mean, Godmama?”
Lady Charlton visibly hesitated. So cautious, even about a simple visit to the theater. Was she like that with everyone? Or every man? Why? Still grieving for her husband, perhaps.
James had plans for Alice, Lady Charlton, but he meant it about being friends with her. He definitely wanted to get to know her better. A lot better. “I’m putting a small party together for tomorrow night. I have the use of a box and—”
Alice said, “It’s very short notice,” at the same instant that Lucy said eagerly, “We’re not doing anything tomorrow, are we?”
James pretended not to notice Alice’s chagrin. “It has to be tomorrow night,” he explained. “I’m leaving London the next morning.”
“Leaving London?” Lucy echoed. She glanced at Alice. James didn’t miss the exchange. Interesting.
“Yes, I’m collecting my daughters from their grandparents’ home in Bedfordshire.” To Lucy he explained, “My wife died four years ago, not long after she gave birth to my youngest. I’ve never seen her—my youngest, that is.”
“Why not?” Lucy asked, her voice sharp with disapproval.
James wasn’t offended. “I was overseas, away at war when she was born—in England. Then there was Waterloo. Later I was caught up in the mess that results in the aftermath of war. The army is a demanding master, Miss Bamber, and we officers have little say in where we are sent. But I found I missed my girls too much, and so I decided to sell out and come home.”
“Why didn’t you go straight to Bedfordshire?” Lucy demanded. “If you missed them so much.”
“Lucy, it’s not our business—” Alice began.
“No, Lady Charlton, it’s quite all right,” James said. He turned to Lucy. “That was my original plan, Miss Bamber. But I stopped to break my journey overnight in my London house and discovered chimneys blocked with birds’ nests, a leaking roof, peeling wallpaper and more. So for the last week or so I’ve been setting the house in order to make it fit for my girls.”
He gave a rueful smile. “They might have started their lives in tents and peasant cottages, but for the last four years they’ve become accustomed to something much finer. But it’s almost all done now, and the final touches will be completed while I’m in Bedfordshire. I hope to have them with me in London by Friday week. So, will you join my small party at the theater tomorrow night, Lady Charlton, Miss Bamber?”
Alice hesitated, but Lucy was gazing at her with such a naked plea in her eyes that James wasn’t surprised when she sighed and said, “Thank you, Lord Tarrant. We’d be delighted.”
“Excellent. I’ll send a carriage to collect you.” James rose and took his leave.
He stepped out into the street feeling mildly triumphant. Now, who did he know who had a box at Drury Lane Theatre?
* * *
The moment Lord Tarrant left, Alice heaved a sigh of relief. His presence made her feel so strange: prickly and hot, and oddly tense. And yet, apart from overstaying his visit, his behavior had been perfectly proper.
It was kind of him to invite them to the theater.
Still . . . how was it that he could dominate a room simply by sitting quietly on a sofa? Was it those polished-pewter eyes? No matter who was talking, no matter whom she was looking at, she’d been aware of him the whole time. Each time he’d crossed his legs, she’d noticed.
His buckskin breeches weren’t that tight, and yet she was very aware of the hard muscularity of his legs. She’d never really looked at a man’s legs before. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her staring but she feared he had. For almost the entire length of his visit, she’d felt the warm touch of his gaze resting on her.
Friends, she reminded herself. He just wanted friendship from her, because she was a woman and he had three small daughters. And because he didn’t know many people in London. It sounded quite appealing—as long as she could get past these unsettling feelings.
It wouldn’t be for long, she was sure. He’d be looking for a wife soon, once he was settled and knew more people. With a title and three daughters, he’d want someone young who could bear him a son. Not a barren woman past her prime. Not that Alice wanted to marry again.
She’d never had a male friend before. She didn’t have many friends at all. Between them, Thaddeus and Almeria had managed to alienate any friends Alice had made.
A male friend might be interesting. She felt a small frisson of excitement.
“Thank you for accepting Lord Tarrant’s invitation.” Lucy broke into Alice’s chain of thought. “I can’t wait to see inside a real theater. Frau Steiner talked about theaters all the time. She was an opera singer—retired, of course. But, oh, she had so many interesting stories. Lord Tarrant definitely likes you.”
Alice blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “Oh no, I think he’s just being polite. He’s been out of society so long, he doubtless doesn’t know many people.”
“It sounds as though his daughters have had a very strange upbringing.”
Alice began to place the tea things onto a tray. “Yes, I wondered about the tents and peasant cottages, too.”
Lucy moved to help her. “Well, I like him. In fact, I think he’s charming. I can’t understand why you were uncivil to him the other night.”
“I wasn’t uncivil, just . . .”
“Worried about how I was behaving?” Lucy suggested.
“Perhaps a little,” Alice admitted. “But now that I know why you did what you did, I think everything went quite well. You already have several admirers.” She gestured toward the bouquets that had arrived the morning after the party. They were still fresh.
Lucy wrinkled her nose, apparently unimpressed by the senders of the bouquets. Admittedly they were rather old. “The main problem was your nephew almost recognizing me.”
“Yes, well, I doubt we’ll see much of Gerald. Young bachelors don’t generally frequent the kind of events we’ll be attending, and you gave him no encouragement.” Alice picked up the tea tray. “And if we do run into him, we’ll just have to hope he doesn’t remember.”
“My lady!” Tweed said disapprovingly from the doorway. “That’s my job.”
Alice let him take the tray from her. She didn’t have nearly enough servants, and collecting a few teacups and plates to take to the scullery was hardly a job that was beneath her, but it clearly offended Tweed’s notions of what was proper.