Amelia Grey - [Rogues' Dynasty 06] (11 page)

“Are you sure it was friendly?”

“Close enough. After we settled that, I asked for his daughter’s hand, and he agreed. I will send a letter to Brent as soon as I get home, in hopes he and Gabrielle can make it in time for the wedding. Catalina and I are well suited for each other. We are sure of our feelings. There’s no reason for us to wait to be together.”

“In that case, congratulations.” Matson held up his glass and said, “Here’s to wedded bliss.”

***

The taproom at White’s was busy, loud, and just what Matson had needed. He’d played so many games of billiards, his back was aching from bending over the table.

He stood at the crowded bar, elbow to elbow between two gentlemen he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. Occasionally they would talk around him or over him, but they had long since not tried to engage him. After Iverson had left his house, Matson had decided to skip all the scheduled parties for the evening. He simply wasn’t up to gliding young ladies around a dance floor or listening to them chatter. And, he was forcing himself not to think about Sophia. He’d come to the club to drink and play billiards, and that’s what he’d done, and done well. His ears were buzzing, his eyes felt dry, and his pockets were heavy with coins.

It had been years since he’d drunk so much in one evening, and he wasn’t exactly sure why he had tonight. It couldn’t be that he was troubled by his twin getting married. He was happy for Iverson. Matson had known from the first time Iverson had mentioned Catalina Crisp to him that his brother felt differently about her.

Perhaps he was still restless because he didn’t want to be attracted to Sophia. And the only reason he regretted not attending any of the parties tonight was because he’d miss the chance of seeing her.

Damn fate for making her Sir Randolph’s ward. How had a man he’d never heard of until a few months ago become such a frustrating part of his life?

Matson had heard a few things about the old and well-respected man, but not much. He looked to be near fifty, but Matson had heard he was much older. That was probably why he was still so popular among young and older ladies, including widows, spinsters, and innocents.

He had no family that Matson knew about, which must be the reason Sophia would be his heir. Matson had heard that a duke, a marquis, and an earl watched out for the dandy and had saved him from losing a large portion of his fortune on risky business ventures more than once. Matson didn’t know the three gentlemen or why they were always so eager to come to Sir Randolph’s rescue, but considering the old man’s past, Matson would bet anyone that a lady was behind the reason.

“Mr. Brentwood.”

At the sound of his name, Matson blinked his dry eyes and turned to look behind him. The robust Earl of Bighampton stood before him.

“Good evening, my lord,” Matson said with the slightest of bows. Bowing to a titled gentleman was one of the rituals he had not missed when he was in America.

“Might I have a word with you? I have a table over in the corner where it’s a little quieter.”

Matson looked down at the short, round man and nodded. He picked up his tankard of ale, waded through the throng of men, and followed the earl to his table. Matson waited until after Lord Bighampton was seated before taking the chair opposite him and placing his drink on the table in front of him.

“I didn’t see you at any of the parties this evening, Mr. Brentwood.”

“I wasn’t at any,” Matson said. “What can I do for you?”

Lord Bighampton laughed. “I like a gentleman who gets right to the point. I understand you are the one who was standing beside Miss Hart when Lord Tradesforke announced his ridiculous plans for his May Day Fair Day event at Hyde Park later this year.”

Matson nodded.

“What I want is simple. I want to be her partner. I want you to change with me, and you partner with the lovely and worthy Miss Matilda Craftsman. Can we consider it done?”

Matson blinked. His first thought was yes, sure, you bet. Miss Craftsman was a lovely young lady. He’d chatted with her from time to time, and he’d danced with her at least twice. He didn’t remember that she tried to impress him with her many accomplishments, like some of the gels. But Matson hesitated and took a moment to think before blurting out his agreement. He didn’t have anything against the earl, and he’d just been thinking it would be better for him if he didn’t have to spend so much time with Miss Hart.

But unbidden, the memory of kissing Miss Hart invaded his mind and stirred him. Her lips had been soft, sweet, and eager. She’d felt warm and exciting in his arms. Matson realized it wasn’t that he didn’t want to be her partner. What he wanted was for her not to be Sir Randolph’s ward. But that was a fact he couldn’t change.

“Mr. Brentwood, I know it’s loud in here,” Bighampton said, the jowls under his chin moving with each word. “Did you hear me? Are you in agreement with my proposal?”

Matson straightened in his chair and looked at Lord Bighampton’s ruddy cheeks, large girth, and the age lines circling his eyes. The man was an earl, but he was also twice Miss Hart’s age. He wouldn’t make a very good partner for her. Matson doubted the man could row half the length of the Serpentine. And he was probably as cranky as a boar rooting around for his supper when he didn’t get his way. But did fathers, guardians, or young ladies care about those things if a man was titled?

Matson didn’t know the answer, but he knew he didn’t want this man being her partner for the May Day Fair Day event and possibly stealing a kiss from her too.

Matson rose. “No, we don’t have a deal.”

With some effort, the earl rose too. “I should have known you’d want an incentive. I’ll give you money for the swap. Just name your price.”

Matson looked down at the portly man. “I said no, my lord. My partner is not for sale at any price.”

Leaving his drink on the table, Matson walked out of the taproom.

There are charms made for only distant admiration.

—Samuel Johnson

“Sophia,” Mae said, rushing into Sophia’s bedchamber excitedly. “He’s here. You must come quickly.”

Laying her quill aside, Sophia rose from the chair at her small desk and looked at her aunt’s flushed face. She was positively glowing. “No, Auntie, I’m supposed to wait here for a few minutes and give you a little time to converse with Lord Snellingly. We did the same with Mr. Parker Wilson yesterday, remember?”

“Yes, I know that was the plan, but Lord Snellingly is an earl.”

“He is still a man.”

“June said I must come get you immediately, and for you not to keep his lordship waiting.”

Sophia smiled. “That’s because June doesn’t know what we are doing. Tell her I will be down shortly, and you go and keep the earl company.”

She frowned. “But June’s doing that.”

“June is not trying to learn how to converse with a gentleman so she can have a beau, and you are. Go into the drawing room and take charge. Ask Aunt June to go and check on the refreshments. While she is out, engage Lord Snellingly by asking him what the weather is like outside, what is his favorite card game, and if you fail to get enthusiastic comments from him on those subjects, you can always ask him about poetry. I’ve realized he never tires of talking about it.”

The worried expression stayed on her face. “I’ll try, but Mr. Parker Wilson seemed very distracted yesterday when I tried to talk to him while we waited for you.”

“Did you tell him the story about you and Aunt June being born in two different months?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Because you have told it too many times, Auntie.” Sophia was trying to be kind. “I do think everyone in London has heard it now, and you don’t need to tell it again.”

“But it always fascinates people to hear it.”

Sophia smiled sweetly. “It’s such an extraordinary thing to have happened, it does fascinate them the first time they hear it. But try to talk about the kinds of things that interest a man: cards, horses, and politics. Once you get started, you will think of many things to ask.”

“Oh, Sophia, how? I am too old for this.”

“Nonsense. You must buck up.”

“But you can’t find a match of your own if you are trying to help me find a beau.”

“We’ve already been over this, Auntie. That is what makes this perfect. I’m looking anyway, so I can look for you too. Now, go talk to Lord Snellingly for me. And tell Aunt June I will be down shortly, before she comes up here looking for both of us.”

“How does my hair look?” Mae asked anxiously. “Are my cheeks rosy? Should I change dresses again?”

“No, but…”

“But what?” Mae said anxiously.

“Let’s do this.”

Sophia hurried over to the small secretary in the corner of her room and opened a drawer. She took out a pair of paper shears and hurried over to Mae. Sophia grabbed hold of the wide band of lace at the neckline of Mae’s dress and started cutting it out.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m showing a little of your bosom.”

Mae grabbed hold of Sophia’s hands. “You can’t do that. I’m a spinster. It wouldn’t look right.”

“You are a woman, Aunt Mae, and it’s time you showed all the gentlemen you are a woman. Now turn me loose. There is nothing wrong with showing a little cleavage, even at your age or at this hour of the day.”

Mae let go of Sophia’s hands and watched as she trimmed the lace from the neckline, revealing the firm swell of Mae’s breasts. Sophia couldn’t help but smile, because Mae was looking at her chest as if she’d never seen it before.

Mae’s eyes widened as she looked up at Sophia. “Do you think Lord Snellingly will notice?”

“Of course he will.” And probably June, too! Sophia thought. “Watch him. When you first walk back into the room, I know his gaze will fall on your bosom.”

“Oh,” Mae breathed softly and pressed her open hand over her breasts.

“Don’t try to hide them, Auntie.”

Slowly she removed her hand, and a look of confidence spread across her face. She asked, “Can you help me with all my other dresses?”

Sophia’s heart melted. “Of course, but perhaps we shouldn’t take the lace and trim off all of them, or Aunt June will be wondering what we are doing.”

“You’re right. Now tell me, do I need to do anything else?” Mae asked.

Sophia folded her arms across her chest and walked all the way around her aunt, while pretending to look her up and down. She stopped and said, “I can find only one thing wrong.”

Mae’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You haven’t put on your smile.”

Mae laughed, kissed Sophia’s cheek, and rushed from the room.

After her aunt disappeared, Sophia walked over to the window and looked out at the garden. Every time she saw it she was reminded of the afternoon she spent a few moments in Mr. Brentwood’s arms. She’d never experienced anything like those eager feelings of wanting more and more.

She didn’t look forward to this process of looking for a husband. It might be more enjoyable if she were free to pick any gentleman she wanted, be he titled, knighted, or just a handsome, intriguing, and engaging man like Mr. Brentwood. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cool windowpane. If only she could go back and change the past, change what she’d done the night her father had come home excited about the new love in his life. But going back in time wasn’t an option. And she had to stand by her word. She couldn’t allow these new and wonderful feelings Mr. Brentwood created in her make her lose sight of the fact that she owed her father.

She owed him for saving her from the fire. She owed him for keeping him from the woman he loved. Her mind drifted back to his frail body lying in bed, gasping for every breath he took. His words still whispered through her mind.

“You must do this for me, Sophia. My money could not buy me a title, but it will buy one for you. With your beauty and inheritance you’ll have your preference of the eligible peers. I won’t be here to help you, so promise me now you will marry a titled man and fulfill my dying wish. If you promise me, I know you will do it. Promise me now so I can die at peace, knowing I did my best for you.”

That was all he’d ever asked of her. How could she forswear what she had pledged to him that day? She couldn’t. She must deny the feelings growing inside her for Mr. Brentwood, and live up to that vow.

It wouldn’t be easy. Mr. Brentwood was immensely charming. She remembered every touch, every breath, every detail of Mr. Brentwood’s kiss. She liked the way he smiled at her and the way he said her name.

“What in Heaven’s name are you doing at the window?”

Sophia spun from the window and faced her irritated aunt June. “I was just checking to see if there was a mist. I thought perhaps Lord Snellingly and I could take a walk in the park.”

“You will not be doing anything with him if you continue to make him wait. Earls expect young ladies to be timely when they are called on.”

“All right.” She walked over to her mirror and moistened her lips as she pinched her cheeks.

“Is this your poetry?” June asked, picking up several sheets of foolscap from her desk.

“Yes, but it’s really not very good.”

“It doesn’t matter, my dear. No one would expect you to write as cleverly as Lord Snellingly. Take it, and let’s go.”

Sophia took the poetry her aunts had insisted she write and walked out of the room. Much to June’s consternation, Sophia took her time walking down the stairs. She stopped at the mirror in the vestibule to look at her hair and face one more time. Finally, she raked the palms of her hands down her dress and took a deep breath before entering the drawing room.

She was pleasantly surprised to see her aunt Mae sitting on the settee with rapt attention, while Lord Snellingly stood in front of the fireplace and read to her from sheets of paper he held in his hands. At least this was going better than it had with Mr. Parker Wilson yesterday. That man hadn’t tried to hide his displeasure that he’d been left to entertain the chaperone for far too long.

Lord Snellingly stopped reading, and Mae rose when she and June walked in.

Sophia curtsied. “Please excuse my tardiness, my lord.”

“It’s perfectly all right,” he said. He took hold of her fingers lightly and planted a ghost of a kiss to the back of her hand. He couldn’t bend his neck very well, because his collar and neckcloth were so high. “It gave me time to read some of my latest poetry to Miss Shevington.” He held up several sheets of verse.

“That’s very kind of you, my lord. Reading poetry is one of her favorite pastimes, isn’t that right, Aunt Mae?”

“Oh, yes,” she said dreamily. “I read it every afternoon, and at bedtime too.”

Sophia glanced at June and saw the surprised look on her face and knew she needed to do something before June caught on to what they were doing. Mae wasn’t good at hiding the fact that she was infatuated with Lord Snellingly.

“I brought some of my muse to share with you too.”

“Splendid, Miss Hart. A woman who can write inspiring poetry is rare, but I would love to hear your effort.”

“Do sit down, Lord Snellingly,” June said.

“After you, ladies,” the earl said.

Mae started to sit back on the settee, but June whispered, “Heavens have mercy, Mae, the way you are acting, you would think the earl was calling on you. Would you please check on the tea for our guest?”

“Oh, yes, yes, I should do that.”

“If you don’t mind, Auntie,” Sophia said, “it’s so beautiful out, I thought we might enjoy a walk in the park. Would you be agreeable to that, Lord Snellingly?”

“That sounds like it would be a pleasant outing.”

“Aunt Mae, you’ll join us, won’t you?” Sophia asked.

“Of course.”

Sophia turned to June. “And you, Aunt June? You’ll come as well?”

June held up her hand and took a step back. “No, dearest,” she said tightly. “One chaperone is enough for a walk in the park. Since Mae is so fond of poetry”—she stopped and rolled her eyes around to her sister—“I think she should go. I’ll stay here this time.”

“Thank you, Auntie.”

Little more than an hour later, Sophia was almost in a state of nervous exhaustion. They had strolled the paths in Hyde Park and were on their way out. She didn’t know if she would make the fifteen-minute walk back to her house without losing her sanity and suggesting to Lord Snellingly exactly where he could stuff his poetry, and hers too.

She had tried and failed to converse with the earl on a number of subjects that had been talked about in the newsprints, Lord Truefitt’s Society column, and the latest accounts—that she hardly understood—about a new revolutionary steam engine. No matter the subject she brought up, he quickly reduced it back to poetry. Sophia was ready to either be done with the man or start pulling her hair out.

Since the earl’s verse wasn’t having the same effect on Mae as it was her, Sophia slowly increased her pace until she was walking a little ahead of them. They hadn’t seemed to notice.

She heard the thunderous sound of a horse’s hooves on hard-packed ground and looked up. She saw a large roan heading their way. Suddenly her heart raced. It was Mr. Brentwood on the magnificent steed. He looked powerful sitting atop the horse, riding with the ease of a man well seasoned to a saddle.

Sophia couldn’t take her eyes off him. She hadn’t seen him since Lord Tradesforke’s party, which had been only four days ago, yet it felt like years had passed. She knew the moment he saw her. She smiled and waved to him.

He slowed the horse and let it canter over to where she had stopped to watch him. Mae and Lord Snellingly caught up to her as Mr. Brentwood reined in his horse beside her. The large animal snorted and neighed and lifted his front hooves off the ground in a show of strength before Mr. Brentwood jumped down. He kept a short rein on his horse and swiped his hat off his head. As was custom, he bowed and greeted Lord Snellingly first, and then he spoke to Mae, and then Sophia.

“It’s a lovely afternoon to be enjoying the park,” he said.

“My, yes,” Lord Snellingly said. “We’ve been reading poetry, enjoying the walk, and talking about everything under the sun, have we not?”

Did the earl actually think they had talked about anything other than poetry? “That’s a fine horse you are riding, Mr. Brentwood,” Sophia said.

His gaze lighted on her face and held there. “Thank you, Miss Hart. I try to exercise him every day.”

“Always here in the park?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, and about this time every afternoon. He likes to be on a schedule.”

That was good to know. “I don’t know much about horses, but I’ve heard it’s good for them to be ridden every day.”

“That is why he is so healthy and always eager for a run when I saddle him every afternoon.”

She turned to the horse and ran her hand down the wide, flat bridge of his nose. His hair was coarse. Heat radiated from the roan to her hand. “What is his name?”

“Dash.”

“Was he given the name because he is fast?” She patted the animal’s firm neck, and he jerked his head as if telling her he loved the attention.

“And because he likes to run.”

“He’s a beautiful horse. Have you had him long?”

“I brought him over from Baltimore with me.”

As if knowing he was being talked about, Dash snorted and jerked on the short rein Mr. Brentwood held.

“I can tell he still has a lot of spirit in him,” she said, wanting to think of a reason to prolong the conversation with Mr. Brentwood.

“You know, Mr. Brentwood,” Lord Snellingly said, “horses are magnificent animals and feature prominently in many works of poetry.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, my, yes. I’ve written some myself. And I’ve thought about traveling to America for a visit, but I’ve heard that they are still somewhat uncivilized over there. Do you think I could find poetic inspiration in such a place?”

“I think someone like you could find inspiration no matter where you are.”

The earl smiled and sniffed into his handkerchief. “Yes, I think you are right. How long is the voyage? I do have a fear of the seasickness that grips some poor souls. Are the seas unbearably rough?”