A Lady Most Lovely (4 page)

T
he carriage rattled along the cobblestone streets, rolling in and out of pools of lamplight that did little to diminish the heavy fog. Tom spared few glances out the window, however. He was thinking about Margaret Vaughn.

What a beauty she was. Tall and regal, with pale, smooth skin that reminded him of the marble statues he’d seen in some Mayfair gardens. And her eyes. Her striking green eyes had held a particular gleam when she called him “Just Tom.” The implied slight only intrigued rather than repelled him. Tom had seen many society beauties since returning to London, but none had captured his attention so completely. There was fire under her arch coolness; he was sure of it. The only question was, why did he wish so badly to find out?

“Are you planning to stay here all night?” James asked in a bemused tone.

Tom pulled himself out of his reverie. “I beg your pardon?”

“We have arrived.” James made a tsking sound. “You were so caught up in your thoughts you never even noticed.”

Tom looked again out the window, this time with seeing eyes. They were at the door of the Somervilles’ town house.

“You didn’t hear a word I said all the way home,” James chided. “How annoying.”

A footman opened the door, and Tom stepped down from the carriage. Seeing that James made no move to follow, he said, “Aren’t you coming?”

James shook his head. “I thought I’d just pop round to the club.”

“To drink a glass of brandy and gather up a card game, no doubt.” After spending weeks in James’s company, Tom had become familiar with his habits.

“I make no promises,” James said. “But the probability is high.”

“Lizzie will be disappointed. She expressly asked to see you this evening.”

“Did she? How kind. However, it’s late now. She probably won’t even be awake.”

“Don’t be too sure. If I know Lizzie, she’ll be waiting up.”

James sighed. “All right.” He exited the carriage. To the driver he said, “Wait here. I won’t be long.” Turning to Tom he explained, “I love my cousin dearly, but given her delicate condition, I have no intention of keeping her up until the wee hours.”

“You’re so thoughtful, James,” Tom said, unable to keep amusement from his voice. He had no doubt that James cared for his cousin, but he also knew that he
usually preferred to spend his evenings somewhere other than in quiet parlors of family members.

The door was opened for them by the butler. “Where are they, Carville? In the parlor, I presume?” James did not give the man a chance to answer, but breezed past him to the front parlor.

A look of irritation passed over the butler’s face. Tom had learned enough of high society to know that James ought to have waited. Of course James
was
family, even if he was a guest in this home. So perhaps it didn’t matter? Still, there was that look of Carville’s. Tom would ask Lizzie about this later. He knew he had a lot to learn about London society, and he wanted to learn it as quickly as possible. He thought again about Miss Vaughn. He wanted to impress her.

Lizzie’s light laughter floated out from the other room. With a brief nod of thanks to the butler, he followed James into the parlor.

James was just planting a kiss on Lizzie’s cheek. “Don’t you look ravishing tonight, dear cousin.”

She set down the book she had been reading. “James, you always say the most complimentary things. I’m so glad you dropped by.”

“You must blame Tom for the intrusion,” James said, as though his cousin had not just said she was happy to see him. “He seemed convinced that you had your heart set on seeing me this evening.” Crossing the room to shake Geoffrey’s hand, he added, “Why she feels this way, I have no idea.”

“Neither do I,” Geoffrey said with a smile.

“And in any case,” James said, turning back to Lizzie, “should you really be receiving guests at all hours in
your interesting condition? Why are you not hidden away in some country estate awaiting the happy arrival?”

Lizzie put a hand gently on her stomach, which showed the roundness of a growing baby. How well she looked, how deeply contented. During all those torturous years she and Tom had spent together in Australia, he’d never thought to see her so happy again.

“The birth is still a good three months away,” Lizzie said. “Surely you don’t expect me to seclude myself the entire time?”

James shrugged. “That seems to be what most women do.”

“Perhaps it is simply their way to be rid of the bothersome menfolk for a while,” she teased.

“That’s what I love about you, cousin,” James said, laughing. “You’re always so brutally honest.”

“Am I bothersome to you?” Geoffrey asked, walking over to her. He gently lifted her hand and kissed it.

Tom saw her take in a slight breath, as though Geoffrey’s simple action had stirred her deeply—as though they were still in the blush of first courtship.

“I ought to send you away, it’s true,” she said, lifting a hand to caress his cheek. “For are you not the reason for my troubles?”

Her voice faltered a little, even though she had tried to match the teasing tones that James had used. Lizzie was in love. So much so that she couldn’t even pretend to be out of sorts with her husband. She positively glowed. Geoffrey returned her loving gaze with such warmth that they might have lit a bonfire.

Something squeezed in Tom’s heart. So far, the kind of love Lizzie and Geoffrey shared had eluded him. For years
he’d been so caught up in other problems that he’d put away any thoughts of finding a wife. Add to that the heartbreak of seeing his best friend killed, and the heart-wrenching sorrow his widow went through. They had risked all for love, and lost everything. And yet, here were Lizzie and Geoffrey, happy, prosperous, and contented. Now he was beginning to consider it again. Lizzie and Geoffrey were a true example of what a marriage should be—the melding of two lives together, built on a firm foundation of faith in God. Might he not find such a match? Who could tell for certain which way the future would lead?

Tom had liked his new brother-in-law immediately. Geoffrey had lived up to Lizzie’s gushing descriptions in her letters. It was clear he was a quiet man of integrity, and he was fiercely devoted to his wife.

Their tenderness toward each other had not gone unnoticed by James. “Really, you two,” he quipped. “I believe you should
both
retire to the country.” Despite the frivolity of his words, his face wore an uneasy expression. It hadn’t escaped Tom that although James enjoyed playing the matchmaker, he was not entirely comfortable around couples who were actually married.

James scooped up his gloves from the table. “Since it’s clear you both have every intention of staying in town, perhaps it is I who must be going.”

Geoffrey reached out and stopped him. “Don’t go. You’ve only just arrived.”

“He’s right,” Lizzie declared. “You can’t leave yet. Please stay. I’ll have some fresh tea brought up.” She picked up a bell from the table and rang for the butler.

With an exaggerated roll of his eyes James said, “Tea. That is exactly what I wish to imbibe at this hour.”

“Don’t you like my tea?” Lizzie gave a playful pout.

“My dear, I love your tea almost as much as I love you. However, I am quite serious about you getting your rest. You know what the doctor told you about taking it easy.”

“I’m resting here, and that is good enough,” she countered, indicating the soft pillows that surrounded her, as well as the padded footstool where her feet were propped.

The butler entered, and Lizzie directed him to have tea brought up. “And some of those lemon tea cakes,” she added. “I know the cook has some specially prepared.”

“Lemon tea cakes?” James said, brightening. “Well, I suppose I might stay a while longer.”

How perfectly Lizzie fit into the role of a baroness, Tom thought. He was tempted to chuckle as he remembered Lizzie riding her horse astride across wide-open plains, laughing with joyful abandon. Or how she had worked her fingers to the bone without ever once complaining. Now here she was, so elegant, so perfectly at ease overseeing servants and running a large house, no one would have guessed she hadn’t been raised among the upper classes. No matter what she was doing, she always made Tom immensely proud.

She patted the chair next to hers. “You must make yourself comfortable, James, and tell us all about the party. You are my eyes and ears now. I want to hear everything.”

“Everything?” James repeated, his eyes glimmering with mirth.

“Everything,” Lizzie affirmed with a smile.

James took the chair she’d indicated. “The party was delightful, and the quality of the brandy was particularly
satisfying. Best of all, the guest of honor was the very epitome of loveliness. Isn’t that right, Tom?”

Tom looked at James, pretending to misunderstand him. “You’re asking me? What do I know of fine brandy?”

“I was referring to Miss Vaughn, you sly devil,” James returned. “You were quite taken by her—don’t try to deny it.”

Quite taken by her.
Tom conjured up a memory of her, which left him as winded as though he’d just run up a flight of steps.
Quite taken.

“So Miss Vaughn really is as lovely as they say she is?” Lizzie asked.

“I found nothing remarkable in her,” James said in an offhand manner. “A pleasant enough English rose. Tom, however, couldn’t keep his eyes off her.” He pretended to look scandalized. “Terribly shocking the way he was staring at her, especially considering she is to be married in a fortnight.”

“Pay no attention to James,” Tom told Lizzie. “You know how he exaggerates.”

Lizzie pretended to swat James in reproof. “You always want to see things between other people. You are quite the little matchmaker.”

“Nonsense. I leave those duties to old Mrs. Paddington.” He chuckled. “Not that she’s having any success with it, poor lady. This season has been lacking in stellar matches. Except for Miss Vaughn and Denault, of course, but that’s a different matter altogether.”

The mention of Denault sent an uneasy chill down Tom’s spine. The man was annoyingly self-absorbed, it was true, but even so, how could he act with such casual indifference toward the stellar woman who was his fiancée?
“Who is this Denault?” Tom demanded. “What’s his background?”

James must have caught the intensity behind Tom’s question, but he merely shrugged. “Only a descendant of one of the oldest families in England. They came over with the Norman Conquest, I think.”

“Surely you are exaggerating again,” Lizzie remonstrated.

“Not by much,” Geoffrey said. “His uncle holds one of the oldest dukedoms in England. Trouble is, no one in that family will allow you to forget it. I have had reason to work with him from time to time in the House of Lords.” He grimaced. “I’m convinced there isn’t a more pompous and self-important man in all of England.”

“You say you have worked with him. Does that mean he takes an interest in your charitable societies?” Lizzie asked.

Geoffrey made a derisive sound. “Hardly. He is concerned with more important matters, such as whether the hallways in the House of Lords are polished to acceptable standards.”

“Denault is every bit as self-aggrandizing as his uncle,” James declared. “There is one difference, though. He has a splash of the hubris that comes with actually having made one’s money rather than simply inheriting it.”

“What terribly bad taste that is,” Lizzie said, pulling a wry face.

Tom frowned. “Is it so bad to have worked hard for wealth? Why is it that one must simply
have
money, without having done a single thing to procure it?”

“Tom is right,” Geoffrey agreed. “In today’s world, that definition of a ‘gentleman’ is rapidly becoming obsolete.”

“Therefore I am sure Tom and Denault will get along famously,” James put in.

“How did he earn his money, exactly?” Tom asked.

“Something to do with the railways in America. I don’t know the particulars.”

“Really?” Tom mulled this over. “Lizzie, did you know they are going to build a railway from Sydney to Parramatta?”

She sat up a little. “Are they really? How wonderfully modern Australia is becoming.”

“Why did you wish to know about Denault?” Geoffrey asked.

“He wants to meet with me tomorrow about some sort of business venture.”

“How interesting,” Lizzie said.

“Yes, isn’t it?” James said, propping up Lizzie’s pillow. “Of course Tom asked whether the captivating Miss Vaughn would be joining them.”

“And will she?”

“Sadly, the club does not allow women. And what a pity that is.”

Tom didn’t know whether James was in earnest or simply needling him, but the man was dangerously close to the truth. Perhaps if Tom had arrived in London sooner, he might have attempted to win Margaret for himself. He gave himself a small shake. Who was he kidding? He was doing his best to live up to his new station in life—a position afforded to him by his gold and by his sister’s marriage to a peer. Yet a woman like Miss
Vaughn would probably not see past his humble origins. Hadn’t she chosen a man who was both rich
and
from a distinguished lineage? Everyone told Tom that money brought power, but he knew there were still plenty of things beyond his control.