Whispers of the Heart by Rose Pearson
Chapter Three
“And just who is that?”
Geoffrey did not turn around, his eyes fastened on a young lady who held in her hands one of the most colorful fans he had ever seen. She was using it very well indeed, he had to admit, for the way she was flirting with the gentlemen around her – and him also, in fact – was most skillful.
“I say, old boy, who is that?”
With a grimace, Geoffrey reluctantly pulled his eyes away and half turned to see who his friend was gesturing to.
“Who?”
“The young lady with your mother!” Lord Silverton asked, his eyes now narrowing slightly as though he was trying to make her out a little more. “Goodness, it is almost as though an angel has set foot in our midst!” Geoffrey’s eyes were immediately drawn to the young lady in question and, as he saw Miss Whyte laughing at something another young lady had said, he found his heart slamming hard against his chest, making his breath hitch. “Well?” Lord Silverton’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked back at Geoffrey, evidently wondering why he did not respond. “Do you know the creature or not?”
“I do,” Geoffrey replied, clearing his throat abruptly in an attempt to regain his composure. Telling himself to stop being so foolish when it came to Miss Whyte, he flung out one hand in her direction. “Do you mean Miss Whyte?” he asked, speaking as nonchalantly as he could. “The young lady in the white gown?”
Nodding fervently, Lord Silverton looked at Geoffrey sharply.
“You are acquainted with her?”
“She is residing with me,” Geoffrey replied, seeing the way his friend’s eyes rounded. “Yes, you may well remark upon it, but it is merely as a favor to a friend. Her brother is at war at present, and has requested that I take his sister to London for the Season.” He shrugged. “My mother is her chaperone, of course. I have very little to do with her.”
His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he recalled how she had spoken to him only two days ago, on her very first morning in London. She had made it quite plain that she thought of him rather poorly, stating – without being particularly obvious about it – that what her brother thought of him and the impression he now presented to her were entirely at odds with each other.
“Goodness,” Lord Silverton murmured, his gaze now returned to the lovely Miss Whyte. “She is resplendent! And from a good family?”
He looked up at Geoffrey hopefully, making Geoffrey smile rather ruefully.
“Her brother is a Viscount, if that is what you mean,” he said, as Lord Silverton’s eyes brightened. “Viscount Brigstock. However, she is a little lowly for you, do you not think?”
The laugh that came from Lord Silverton startled, for he had expected Lord Silverton – who was, in fact, a Marquess – to agree that the sister of a Viscount was not suitable in terms of her standing when it came to considering matrimony and the like. Lord Silverton, it seemed, did not agree.
“Good gracious, should I only consider ladies who might match me in terms of their title and their societal standing, then I fear I would be without any suitable lady companion and perhaps even without acquaintance!” he replied, still chuckling. “No, indeed, I am not as foolish as all that, and certainly nowhere near as arrogant!”
“No, of course you are not,” Geoffrey murmured, still a little confused. Lord Silverton had always been a gentleman who chose his actions and his considerations with great care, and certainly would not jump into a close acquaintance with anyone who sought him out! Therefore, Geoffrey had expected him to consider that, whilst Miss Whyte was very beautiful indeed – for that could not be disagreed with – she was not of a high enough standing for him to consider. And yet, he was now hearing precisely the opposite from his friend’s mouth!
“I must consider matrimony this Season,” Lord Silverton said, tilting his head as though he was considering whether or not Miss Whyte might be a suitable candidate for such an endeavor. “Tell me, what is her character like?”
On this point, Geoffrey could be quite honest. Shrugging, he spread his hands.
“I could not say, Silverton,” he replied, truthfully. “She has only been in London for less than a sennight and I have not spent much time in her company. My mother thinks well of her, though.”
A wry laugh pulled from Lord Silverton’s mouth.
“You cannot say?” he repeated, making a flush rise up Geoffrey’s neck. “Good gracious, Ware! You have this resplendent creature in your home, and you cannot seem to spend time in her company?!”
“I have been busy with other things,” Geoffrey replied, starchily. “She is here under the care of my mother, that is all!”
“And do you not need to wed?” came the quick reply. “Why not consider this young lady? Or is there something about her which I do not know, which is why you have set yourself far from her?”
He eyed Geoffrey beadily, but Geoffrey shook his head firmly, not wanting even the smallest hint of rumor to attach itself to the lady.
“No, there is nothing untoward about her in the least,” he stated, firmly. “As I have said, her brother is fighting against Napoleon at present and is quite determined that his sister should not suffer by his absence. My mother is very glad indeed to have a young lady to present and chaperone, and it is only because of her eagerness and determination that I have not felt any need or requirement to improve my acquaintance with the lady.”
This seemed to satisfy Lord Silverton, for he grinned, nodded and then let his gaze rest on the young lady again. Geoffrey, unable to help himself, also allowed his eyes to turn towards her, finding his heart picking up speed as he took her in.
Lord Silverton was right. She was utterly breath-taking. Her gown was not as much white as it was silver, and with her golden hair curled up at the back of her head, she appeared as an angel might, should one decide to appear amongst them. There was a gentleness about her which seemed to emanate from her, and Geoffrey could not help but find himself eager to go to her, to be in her company and to take her hand, as though to claim her for his own.
He could not do such a thing, however. She was not his to take, and certainly would not appreciate him doing such a thing! Over the last few days, Geoffrey had done everything in his power to remain at a distance from Miss Whyte, realizing that his attraction to her was doing nothing other than growing steadily, as though it wanted to torment and tease him by holding out Miss Whyte before him whilst he knew that he could never reach out and grasp her. Thus, he had continued to treat her with a coldness which he did not truly feel, in the hope that, in doing so, his urge to draw closer to her would begin to dissipate. Besides which, he had told himself, there was no need for her to think on him. He was nothing to her. Yes, she resided under his roof and ate at his dinner table, but that was the end of it. His mother was the one who accompanied Miss Whyte to whatever occasion they were to attend, and all Geoffrey had to do was dance with the lady now and again.
You are soon to do so for the first time.
The thought of stepping out with Miss Whyte sent a flurry of nervous excitement all through Geoffrey and, try as he might, he could not immediately push it away. Lord Silverton was speaking again, saying something more about the lady, but Geoffrey was not listening to him at all. Instead, he was doing all he could to calm his quickened spirits, telling himself that he was being nothing but foolish.
“Do come on, man!”
Lord Silverton’s impatient tone finally caught Geoffrey’s attention and he jolted into action, seeing his friend already stepping forward. Clearly, Lord Silverton wished to be introduced to Miss Whyte and, therefore, Geoffrey had no other choice but to do so – it would be churlish to refuse. Confused by his strange reluctance on this matter, Geoffrey straightened his shoulders and walked towards his mother and Miss Whyte, allowing his gaze to settle on the young lady but making certain to keep it as disinterested as possible. He could not allow himself to be distracted by her, not when he had so many other matters to attend to.
He did not say anything in particular but rather waited patiently until the young lady had finished her conversation with another gentleman who, upon seeing Geoffrey, quickly handed back Miss Whyte’s dance card, bowed and took his leave. Miss Whyte turned her silver-grey eyes onto him, and that coolness came into her expression which he had first seen at the breakfast table on the morning after her arrival in London. His heart ached but he ignored it steadfastly, telling himself that this was precisely as he wanted it.
“Miss Whyte,” he said, gesturing to Lord Silverton who was now looking at her eagerly. “Might I introduce you to my friend? This is the Marquess of Silverton – an excellent gentleman and a good friend.” He smiled as Lord Silverton threw him a grateful look. “Lord Silverton, might I present Miss Ann Whyte, sister to Viscount Brigstock.”
“Miss Whyte.” Lord Silverton bowed low and Miss Whyte dropped into a curtsey. “How very glad I am to make your acquaintance. Lord Ware has been telling me all about your circumstances at present. How difficult it must be to have a brother still at war!”
Miss Whyte’s smile fixed itself in place in an instant, her eyes darkening with an emotion which Geoffrey could not quite make out.
“Indeed,” she said, crisply, as Geoffrey’s mother listened in silence, shooting a questioning glance towards Geoffrey before looking back at Lord Silverton. Lord Silverton was a good man as far as he was concerned and, besides which, he did not think it out of place for him to have informed the gentleman of Miss Whyte’s circumstances. After all, the ton were fully aware of the ongoing war with the French, although many, unfortunately, seemed to care very little for it. They were much too caught up in the whims and the fancies of the Season, whereas people like himself had far too much of the war to consider! That was why he would not permit himself to even think on Miss Whyte for more than a few moments, why he would not allow her to capture his thoughts. There was much at stake and Geoffrey had every intention of giving himself to the war effort entirely – as best as he could from England’s shores, at least.
“I do hope you are to dance this evening, Miss Whyte?”
Miss Whyte quickly handed Lord Silverton her dance card.
“I am, although you will see that Lord Ware has taken the first of my dances,” she stated, a sharp look being sent in his direction. “The dancing will begin soon, I understand.”
“Very soon,” Lord Silverton replied, as he pored over Miss Whyte’s dance card. “I will take the fourth dance, if I may?”
He continued to speak to Miss Whyte whilst Geoffrey looked all around him, allowing the conversation to flow without interruption. Much to his surprise, he saw a particular gentleman enter the room and, with a jolt of shock, felt a smile spread across his face.
“Do excuse me.”
He was being a little rude, he knew, but every fiber of his being had to go to speak to that particular gentleman at once and, regardless of the conversation between Lord Silverton and Miss Whyte, regardless of his mother’s hard look and the knowledge that the first dance would begin very soon, Geoffrey moved away from his company and towards his friend.
“My goodness.” Seeing his old friend turn towards him, Geoffrey caught his breath as he saw the angry red scar which ran from the edge of his eye down towards his jawline. “You have returned from the war, then?”
The Marquess of Stratham grimaced, but then grasped Geoffrey’s hand with a strength that Geoffrey had not expected.
“I have had no other choice but to return,” he stated, unequivocally. “I could have written, but there was no particular requirement for me to do so.” He shrugged, then winced. “No doubt the ton will immediately become aware of my defects. I expect the rumors about my return will fly through London almost within the hour!”
Geoffrey could not say anything for a few moments, a little overwhelmed by the presence of Lord Stratham here in London. He did not want to contradict the fellow for, the truth was that there would be a good deal of gossip as regarded the Marquess’ features.
“You were injured, then?”
Lord Stratham nodded grimly.
“It came about only the day after I received word about the Duke of Abernyte and the difficulties he endured, although I am glad to know that he is recovered now. I was unconscious for some days, they tell me,” he stated, without a speck of emotion in his voice. “I do not recall anything that took place, of course. But when I awoke, I had this.” He gestured to his face. “I was sent back to England despite my protests.”
Geoffrey allowed a small smile to pull at one corner of his mouth.
“They would not wish for a Marquess to lose his life, I suppose,” he said, as Lord Stratham scowled. “And if you had injured your head, then there would be a fear that your injury might lead to –”
“They did not think that I had the capacity to think clearly, yes,” Lord Stratham interrupted, as the first strains of music began to play. “I stated that I was quite well and all that, but it was taken out of my hands.” He shook his head, clearly exasperated, and frustrated that he had been forced to do something he had not wished to. “Therefore, I have returned to London and have been told to help both you and the Duke with our endeavors here.”
Having expected as much, Geoffrey nodded slowly.
“There is not much to do at present,” he said, honestly. “Lord Harrogate has gone for his wedding trip – he was inclined not to do so, but the Duke and I insisted – which has left me and Abernyte to deal with things here. The Duke is, at present, in Bath, seeking out one Lord Tofthill, which was one of the names you gave the Duke.” He saw Lord Stratham nod. “I have had one name to consider but, upon doing so, have discovered that there is seemingly no connection there.” He shrugged. “I will continue to act upon any news or insight that we are given by others.” He eyed Lord Stratham eagerly. “You have not found anything of interest, then?”
Lord Stratham shook his head.
“There are one or two names that there were some… considerations over,” he admitted, slowly. “But whether or not the man that gave us those names could be trusted, I could not say.”
“You think it could be a ruse, then?” Geoffrey asked, as the music began to swell all around them, forcing him to raise his voice. “That the person who told you was doing so only to try to save themselves from a greater punishment?”
Tilting his head, Lord Stratham considered for a moment.
“That may very well be the case,” he replied, slowly, “or, as I have considered, the man doing so seeks to behave as such in the hope of distracting us from the real gentlemen… and perhaps even ladies, who are involved in such things.”
Geoffrey considered this carefully, then nodded.
“An interesting perspective, certainly,” he agreed, quietly. “What is it that you now intend to do?”
Sighing, Lord Stratham shook his head.
“I do not know entirely,” he said, after a moment. “There is a great deal of confusion at present, given that we are still waiting to see whether or not the French will attack our coast, as we believe they have planned. We thought that we knew when such a thing would take place, but that time has passed and nothing occurred!”
“Mayhap their attempt to do so was thwarted,” Geoffrey replied, feeling a sudden swell of confidence. “They had no choice but to pull themselves back from their plan.”
“But that then means that they were aware of our knowledge of their intentions,” Lord Stratham said quickly, leaning closer to Geoffrey as though he needed to speak in confidence. “How did the French become aware of that? Who told them?” Geoffrey swallowed hard, suddenly realizing the gravity of what his friend was saying. “And given that they did not act when we believed they would, what is it that they plan to do next?”
“I will help you in any way I can,” Geoffrey replied, earnestly. “You know that I will, Stratham. Since the Duke’s return, I have been assisting him in locating where particular… dangers have come from and who else might be involved, but that task is nearing its end.”
His friend smiled.
“I am aware of your loyalty and your current endeavors,” he replied, “and the Crown is grateful for it, I know. Indeed, that was the only solace I had in returning to London, despite my wish to remain in the field.” Seeing Geoffrey’s quizzical look, he explained. “Knowing that there was work to be done here and that I could still remain involved in it, rather than returning to a situation where I could do nothing but go back to being a part of society and nothing more.” He grinned as Geoffrey winced ruefully, clearly aware of what the Marquess spoke of. “We are men of war, are we not? It is not in our nature to simply to return to life as it once was.”
“No, indeed not,” Geoffrey agreed swiftly, feeling a sense of camaraderie sweep over him. “I have found it profoundly difficult – in fact, impossible – to return to my duties and situation just as it once was. My mother does not seem to understand, however, for she continually presses upon me the requirement of an heir!” He rolled his eyes and Lord Stratham laughed. “I am very well aware that there must be an heir produced but I confess that I am not in any particular hurry to do such a thing, not when the country is in such a dire situation.”
Lord Stratham lifted one eyebrow and looked at someone – or something – behind Geoffrey’s shoulder.
“Your mother insists on foisting young ladies on you, then?” he asked, as Geoffrey chuckled wryly. “Then might I suggest, Lord Ware, that you prepare yourself? I will call upon you very soon to discuss the matters at hand.”
With a lift of one eyebrow and a broad grin, he inclined his head, turned and left Geoffrey alone, meaning that he had no other choice but to turn and face his mother.
For whatever reason, Lady Ware seemed very angry indeed. A large circle of red had appeared in each cheek and she practically stormed towards him, her eyes narrowed and filled with a fierceness that surprised Geoffrey.
“Mother,” he said, spreading both hands wide as though in greeting. “Is there something wrong?”
Lady Ware’s lips pulled into a hard line.
“It is now the second dance, Geoffrey.”
Geoffrey blinked. This was serious indeed, given that she was referring to him by his Christian name.
“I can see that, mother,” he replied, trying to speak calmly so that it might push aside some of her anger. “Is there some reason that you are reminding me of it?”
His mother closed her eyes tightly and did not answer him and it appeared to Geoffrey as though she were so very angry that she could not find the words to speak. He was entirely at a loss as to why she was behaving so and searched her face for a hint as to her anger. Presently, Lady Ware spoke. Her voice was thin, her words crisp and icy.
“It is the second dance,” she stated again. “The first has passed, Geoffrey.”
“The first,” he repeated, stupidly. “I do not –”
He came to a dead halt, the realization of what she meant finally hitting him square in the chest. He had been meant to dance with Miss Whyte for the first dance, had been meant to stand up with her for what would be her first dance of the Season. His name had been written on her dance card and he had, likewise, written her name into his own note for the evening. It had been all carefully planned by his mother and he had agreed to it without question. After all, he had thought, it was only one dance and, thereafter, he would not have to stand up with her again. No doubt he would not need to, given the number of gentlemen that Geoffrey had been sure would come to join her.
And yet somehow, he had quite forgotten.
“Oh.”
Lady Ware’s lip pulled up into a scowl.
“You mean to say that you simply forgot about this important matter?” she asked, clearly disbelieving. “Our charge, Miss Whyte, is to stand up at her first ball and you take no note of it?”
Geoffrey spread his hands, feeling a little foolish and much too ridiculous for words.
“Mother, I can say nothing by way of excuse, save for the fact that I quite forgot,” he stated, honestly. “There is nothing more that can be said. I – I must go to Miss Whyte and apologize, however. There may be another space on her dance card that I might take.”
“There is not,” his mother replied, firmly, planting her hands on her hips and continuing to glare at him, although Geoffrey had to admit that she was justified in her displeasure. “My goodness, how could you be so thoughtless?”
Geoffrey opened his mouth to protest, to state that he had not meant to forget and that the conversation with his friend had been of the utmost importance – only to close it again as he realized just how Miss Whyte must now be feeling. In his attempts to keep himself far from her, he had already given her a poor impression of his character. What must she think of him now?
“I do not know your reasons, but you have an apology to make to Miss Whyte,” his mother continued, when he said nothing. “I am too old to chide you but chide you I must, given the circumstances. Had it not been for Lord Silverton, then I fear she would have remained standing alone for some time!”
Geoffrey’s brows lifted.
“Lord Silverton was to hand?”
“He saw her distress and came to her at once,” Lady Ware replied, firmly. “He was due to dance with her very soon and, given that you were absent, took that dance also. I believe he called it a ‘great pleasure’ to step out with her and, all in all, made Miss Whyte feel far more relieved and at ease than she had been given your absence. And if there is talk as a result of her dancing two dances with him, well, let the ton whisper – if the other gentlemen think him seriously interested in her, no doubt they will pay her even more attention.”
Again, there was nothing that Geoffrey could say in response to this. His mother was right. He had behaved poorly and, as such would now need to find Miss Whyte, apologize, and make amends. He felt both shame and embarrassment at his own failings, dropping his head with the mortification of it all.
“I will find Miss Whyte and apologize, mother,” he said, quietly. “Have no fear, I will do as I have said.”
“It is not that I fear you will refuse to do it,” Lady Ware replied tartly, “but rather that you will quite forget to do so!”
With a triumphant yet irritated look, she turned on her heel and flounced away, leaving Geoffrey to stand there alone. He closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. He would have to apologize to Miss Whyte as he had promised, but the damage was already done. He could not imagine what she was feeling at this present moment, nor did he want to even consider the embarrassment which must have filled her when she realized he was not coming to take her to dance, as he had promised.
Groaning, Geoffrey dropped his head and ran one hand over his eyes. It seemed his intention of making certain there was nothing but a shallow acquaintance between himself and Miss Whyte was coming to fruition – although Geoffrey now feared he had done more harm than good. Just what would she think of him now?
