A Most Unconventional Match (12 page)

Though Elizabeth could tell the words were well rehearsed, the baronet seemed to perceive them as delivered with perhaps more contrition than they actually contained. ‘I accept your apology and you are welcome,' he said approvingly. ‘Come sit for a minute with your mama and me.'

Frowning, David said, ‘I should go back and study my letters. I shall have a tutor soon.'

‘Indeed, 'tis time that you begin formal schooling,' Sir Gregory agreed.

‘Mama also says that children do not belong in a lady's drawing room,' David added hopefully.

Sir Gregory laughed and gave Elizabeth an approving look. ‘So they do not, in general! But I expect this once your mama will permit you to remain.'

Elizabeth knew her son would rather not sit stiffly in a chair while the adults sipped their wine, especially as one of the adults was the baronet. But Sir Gregory had never before sought out her son's company, and he had been very gracious about accepting David's apology. Though she suspected the baronet had no more desire to entertain a child than her son did to remain, if their guest was doing his best to be sociable, she decided David could manage for a short time to return the favour.

Ignoring her son's urgently appealing glance, she said, ‘I'm sure David would be honoured to remain and demonstrate how correctly he can behave.'

After a grimace at that less-than-subtle reminder, with a little sigh, David subsided into a chair.

‘So, what will your tutor be teaching you?' Sir Gregory asked. ‘A good grounding in the classics, I hope.'

‘Mr Waterman says I should learn to manage Lowery Hall,' David replied.

Sir Gregory opened his lips as if to speak, then closed them. After clearing his throat, he said affably, ‘Becoming a competent manager of your property is essential, but you need to be learned as well. A gentleman should have a good understanding of mathematics, science, literature and natural philosophy as well as possessing more practical skills.'

‘Mr Waterman says a true gentleman takes care of his 'sponsibilites first.'

Sir Gregory's genial expression faded. ‘My, who would have expected the taciturn Mr Waterman capable of uttering so many sentences together?' he said, an edge to his voice.

David raised his chin, a militant look on his face. ‘Mr Waterman only says what's really important.'

‘Indeed,' Sir Gregory said drily, setting down his glass. ‘Now that I've assured myself that all is going well with you, I must take my leave.' He came over to press Elizabeth's hand. ‘Let remind you, dear lady, that I am ever at your service, no matter the difficulty!'

Already moving towards the door, David said, ‘Mr Waterman takes very good care of—'

‘That's enough, David,' Elizabeth interrupted hastily. ‘Thank you again, Sir Gregory, for your kindness. I will keep your gracious offer in mind.'

The three of them had just entered the hallway, David sketching a bow to Sir Gregory and heading for the stairs, when a small brown dog appeared on the landing above, pursued by a breathless housemaid. Spotting his master, Max started to bark, paws skidding down the wooden steps in his haste as he descended.

In her agitation before coming to meet Sir Gregory, Elizabeth had totally forgotten she'd let David keep the puppy in the schoolroom. No wonder David had been so anxious to return there.

David threw his mother a panicked look before shouting, ‘Stay, Max!'

Evidently her son's attempts to instill in Max the concept of ‘stay' had not yet fully succeeded, for, ignoring the order, the puppy lunged down the remaining stairs and galloped toward them.

An expression of distaste formed on Sir Gregory's face as he watched the mongrel rapidly approaching them. ‘Stop!' he commanded.

It appeared that word had not entered into Max's vocabulary either. Though he slowed as he edged around them, too wary of the hostile Sir Gregory to attempt to approach his master, once past them he scurried toward the service wing.

‘Max, come back!' David shouted as he raced after him.

Sir Gregory stood stiffly, staring in disapproval as dog and boy disappeared down the hallway. ‘How did that animal get into the house? I didn't know David had a dog.'

‘Mr Waterman brought him. He has been a wonderful companion for David,' she explained.

‘Waterman again!' the baronet said with a sniff. ‘I might have guessed. I warned you the man would be a poor influence! A city town house is no place for animals, which I would have expected even Hal Waterman to know.'

‘Normally Max resides in the stables. I only allowed David to bring him in today so he might show me some of the tricks he's been teaching him.'

‘It appears the boy—and the dog—are in need of more schooling. As is Waterman. Dogs in a drawing room! No wonder his poor mother can't manage to marry him off, despite his wealth.'

The mixed feelings she'd been entertaining about Hal Waterman dissolved into irritation at the baronet's scornful words. ‘Mr Waterman may not be the best
ton
,' she retorted a bit hotly, ‘but he understands the needs of a grieving little boy.'

‘Probably because he never grew up himself. Now, I'll not disparage Waterman any further. I concede that the man has a good heart and probably means well. If David insists upon keeping the animal he's been given, though, it ought to be sent off to Lowery Hall. David needs to learn to become a gentleman, not be indulged by an overfond mother.'

‘I'm not trying to indulge him,' Elizabeth said stiffly. ‘Only to sympathise and understand his loss.'

‘There, there, I don't mean to criticise! No one could expect a tender-hearted lady to know what a boy needs to become a man. That's why it concerns me that David appears so taken with Waterman, whom I would hardly recommend as a model of deportment to any young gentleman. A tutor is a good idea, by the way, for David ought to be preparing to enter Eton or Winchester.'

Her resentment at the baronet's criticism instantly dissolved in the face of a much greater anxiety. ‘You mean…David should go off to school? Surely it's too early for that!'

‘I know it will be difficult for you,' the baronet soothed, patting her hand. ‘But he is by no means too young. David should be educated as befits his station and class, as Everitt would have wanted. Holding on to his leading strings while his schoolmates prepare to take up their responsibilities will be doing him no favour. He must be off to find his rightful place in the world. It would be better for you, too.'

Elizabeth shook her head adamantly. ‘Sending David away might be best for him, but it would never be what I would choose for me.'

‘Which is why you need a truly responsible gentleman to advise you on the many difficult decisions you must make in the coming months,' the baronet replied, his tone gentle now. ‘Caught up in grief as you are, you cannot expect to make wise choices if you let emotion be your guide.'

Send David away! The very notion was like a knife to the heart. But she didn't want to wait so long that his schoolmates would taunt him as being a sissy, a mama's boy.

Oh, it was so difficult! The very idea of having to make such an agonising choice drained away her pitiful reserves of strength and sent panic coursing through her.

Though she had done better of late, it took only the suggestion of a real dilemma to bring home to her how inadequate she still was to handle life's crises, how far she was from recovering from the blow of Everitt's death.

She knew so little of the world outside her own home and family. Her emotions were still so easily touched, so turbulent and troubling. Maybe she should lean more on Sir Gregory. Certainly Everitt had trusted his opinion and valued his advice.

While she remained silent, the contradictory considerations whirling in her mind like the spokes on a carriage wheel, Sir Gregory drained his glass. ‘I see you are still much moved. I never intended to upset you! But I feel 'tis imperative that you receive the conscientious advice that will help you make the wisest decisions.'

‘I know, as Everitt's dearest friend, you have only our best interests at heart,' she said after a moment.

‘If you understand that, I leave content. I shall check again on you soon, dear Lizbet,' he said, kissing her fingers. ‘But if you need anything before then, only send me a note.'

Mutely she watched him depart, her thoughts and emotions more turbulent than ever. Was Hal Waterman truly a poor influence on David? Ought she to limit the time her son spent with him, limit the time she spent as well?

It would be a relief to distance herself from a man who tempted her to impulses and feelings she wasn't ready to experience…wouldn't it? Yet every service he had performed for her and David thus far had been so kind and thoughtfully done. 'Twas her own fault the puppy had ended up in the house, not his, after all. And she had felt so much more positive and confident since Mr Waterman had taken upon himself to watch out for them.

In addition, she'd just agreed to have him escort her and David to Astley's—a visit she had been looking forward to with some anticipation. Even if it would not be rude in the extreme to withdraw from the excursion at the last moment, it would be cruel repayment for all his goodness to them to deprive him of an excuse to escape the tender mercies of his disapproving, match-making mama.

Besides, it was his sense of duty toward Nicky that had sent Mr Waterman to watch out for them, and Nicky, a father himself, would never retain as his closest friend a man whose influence might harm a child. Perhaps Mr Waterman wasn't the paragon of
ton
graces Sir Gregory—and his own mother—would choose as the model for a growing boy, but he was honest, highly competent, kind—and David liked him, a factor that automatically made him more suitable than Sir Gregory as a mentor for her son.

Of course, Sir Gregory was highly competent as well. If she avoided the topic of Hal Waterman and his influence over her son, she could still ask his advice on other matters…couldn't she?

Enough! Elizabeth thought, weary of uncertainty. She'd go out to the stables and reassure David that she was not angry over the incident with Max. Then she would put this distressing matter of the two opposing gentlemen out of mind and let Friday's excursion with Hal Waterman take whatever course it would.

T
he following evening, after one of White's excellent dinners, Hal took a seat in the card room, considering the rival merits of whist and piquet—and trying to avoid thinking that tomorrow he would escort Elizabeth Lowery and her son to Astley's.

Over the past few days he'd successfully evaded that alluring lady, timing his calls for earlier in the morning and barricading himself in the library after a brief visit with David. He smiled, recalling the boy's excited chatter and the endearing way he zigzagged from entreating Hal to join in some game to a sombre-faced request that Hal school him in handling his ‘'sponsibilities'. Perhaps he'd figure a way to continue visiting the boy even after Nicky's return.

Having gleaned all he could from Lowery's ledgers, he'd just finished penning a meticulous account of the assets, liabilities and cash flow of the household along with a plan for meeting current expenses while accumulating the monies necessary for David's future schooling and the widow's maintenance. All that remained was to discover the still-elusive will, and he would have little excuse to continue his daily calls.

Except…though he'd successfully resisted the urge to seek out Elizabeth, each of the last three days, she'd surprised him by stopping by the library. With her smile warming his heart, her beauty dazzling his senses, all the meticulously gathered figures in his head scattered like pheasants at a gunshot. He managed to do little more than nod and give monosyllabic answers to her questions. What a dolt she must think him!

Yesterday, however, she'd asked him to stay to nuncheon, an invitation so tempting he'd immediately refused. Once seated at table with her, basking in her beauty and listening to the lilting music of her voice, answering the surprisingly shrewd questions she asked about estate finances and enjoying the repartee between her and David, he feared he'd find it impossible not to linger for the rest of the afternoon.

And there was that much-anticipated, much-dreaded outing tomorrow. Having not had much luck thus far in taming the lustful imaginings continually sparked by the idea of spending hours in close company with the enticing Elizabeth, he probably ought to forgo cards in favour of an extended visit to his long-time paramour sweet Sally.

He'd about decided to do just that when an older gentleman stopped beside his chair.

‘Mr Waterman,' the man said, bowing. ‘Sir Gregory Holburn here. Might I beg the indulgence of joining you for a moment?'

At first surprised by this request from a man he only vaguely recognised, as he nodded and motioned Sir Gregory to a seat, his faint recollections clarified. ‘Lowery's friend,' Hal recalled. ‘Good man. Sad loss.'

‘A sad loss indeed,' Sir Gregory agreed, motioning to a waiter. ‘You will share a glass of wine with me?'

‘Honoured,' Hal said, wondering what the best friend of the late Everitt Lowery wanted with him. Since David had mentioned the baronet's visit to the Lowerys—Hal recalled the affair of the soldier—Sir Gregory must know Hal was overseeing Lowery's estate. He hoped Holburn wasn't a gaming crony come to discreetly press a claim against David's inheritance.

Somewhat to Hal's annoyance, Sir Gregory proceeded first to chat about the latest
ton
gossip, a monologue in which Hal declined to participate and which he felt certain had nothing to do with Holburn's purpose in seeking him out. Not until they had nearly finished the wine—and Hal was about at the point of flatly demanding what the man truly wanted—did Sir Gregory finally mention the Lowerys.

‘I understand that, at the behest of Mrs Lowery's family, you have undertaken to sort out the financial details of Everitt's estate.'

Taking a sip of his wine, Hal nodded. When he said nothing further, with a little grimace of exasperation, Holburn continued, ‘From your reputation among the
ton
, I expect that you shall do a competent job of it.'

Hal suspected the baronet meant his reputation wasn't for being fashionable or well spoken. ‘Hope to,' he replied.

‘I'm sure Everitt would be pleased that the details of his estate are in the hands of one who is as well equipped as any barrister to handle them,' the baronet said.

The inference that Hal's talents were more suitable for a common working man than to one who belonged in the upper ranks of society confirmed Hal's initial feeling that Sir Gregory's opinion of him was less than admiring.

‘Ought to be,' he said evenly. If Holburn were casting about for a reaction, he was tying a fly that wouldn't fish. After a dozen years of much more painful needling by his lady mother, the baronet's mild barbs barely pricked. Not sure why, or even if, Holburn was deliberating trying to bait him, Hal didn't intend to respond until he'd figured out exactly what the man was trying to accomplish.

‘Well, I don't mean to be uncivil—'

‘Do you not?' Hal interjected drily.

With an irritated glance, the baronet continued, ‘But I must warn you I feel it would be best that you confine yourself to giving Mrs Lowery advice only in your field of expertise. I've already seen evidence of your meddling in other aspects of the household that cause me concern and, I believe, would have greatly concerned Everitt, too, were he here to observe them.'

‘Were he here, no need to intervene,' Hal pointed out.

Ignoring the comment, Sir Gregory went on, ‘Surely you realise that you are hardly a model for the sort of gentleman Lowery would wish his son to become. Introducing unsuitable animals into the household, encouraging Elizabeth Lowery to indulge her son in childish behaviour, insinuating yourself into the boy's life as some sort of expert upon every subject! Insofar as your actions influence Mrs Lowery to make poor decisions about her situation, your intervention, though perhaps well meaning, could well cause the boy and his mother serious long-term harm. I appeal to your sense of honour as a gentleman to refrain from monopolising the boy and putting forth opinions on matters concerning him in which you have neither expertise nor a valid concern.'

‘You have valid concern?' Hal asked, hanging on to his temper with an effort.

‘As Everitt's closest friend, of course I am concerned about the well being of his widow and son. I also feel that, in being so much better acquainted with the husband and father, to say nothing of holding a superior rank in society, I am much better placed to advise Mrs Lowery on the direction of her household than you are.'

‘Indeed?' Hal drawled. ‘Strange. Family didn't think so. Called on me.' Which wasn't precisely true, of course, but his initial vague feelings of distaste toward the baronet swiftly solidifying into genuine dislike as this diatribe continued, Hal couldn't help needling back a little.

The baronet gave a scornful harrump. ‘Make light of it if you will, but 'tis no joking matter. Though I should have known you would refuse to act the gentleman. When have you ever, pray? Your conduct has for years been the despair of your mother…or so my intimate acquaintance with that charming lady led me to believe,' he added with something of a smirk.

So this self-important lordling had been his mother's
cicisbeo
—or more. Was that jibe about Mama meant to incite Hal to take a swing at him right here in the middle of White's, thereby demonstrating he was indeed the barbarian the baronet seemed to think him, an oaf ill disguised as a gentleman who did not belong among the elite of the
ton
?

If that were Holburn's aim, he was destined to disappointment. Hal had faced much more daunting threats to his self-control than the snide innuendo of one arrogant baronet. Shaking his head mournfully, Hal said, ‘Poor Mama. Always attracted to flash over substance.'

While the baronet sputtered in outrage, Hal fixed an unsmiling gaze on Holburn and rose from his chair, signifying that their interchange was at an end.

Before he could bid Sir Gregory goodnight, one of Hal's best and oldest friends chanced to walk into the room. Spying Hal, Sir Edward Greaves quickly approached, hand outstretched.

‘Hal! Well met! As you can see, I'm just in from the country and in need of sustenance and amusement. How about a hand of piquet after your friend leaves?'

‘Leaving now,' Hal said. ‘Obliged for the wine,' he said, sketching a bow to Sir Gregory.

Recovering his countenance, Holburn gave Hal an equally cold bow. ‘Remember the advice,' Holburn said before straightening and walking away.

Ned, a self-proclaimed countryman who spent as little time in London as possible, gazed curiously from Hal's hostile expression to the baronet's retreating figure. ‘Who was that?'

‘Insect,' Hal said. ‘Let's play cards.'

Obviously determining by the look on Hal's face that he didn't wish to discuss the encounter, Ned made no comment, instead hailing a passing waiter. ‘I understand the canal project went well,' he said after he'd ordered a meal and a deck of cards. ‘Made another thousand pounds since last I saw you? And what have you heard from Nicky?'

‘Canal project goes well. Nothing from Nicky.'

‘I dare say he's too dazzled by the wonders of ancient Rome and frazzled by co-ordinating a travelling party that includes nearly a dozen adults and several fractious children to find time to write. If I can squeeze enough from the shipment of wheat I'm here to sell, perhaps I'll give over the profits and let you work your money-growing magic on it. Farmer Johnson has a field adjoining my south pasture that I've coveted for years.'

With a little prompting, Hal was able to set his friend off expounding about his estate, cattle and crops. Somewhat guiltily according Ned only a modicum of attention, Hal worried over the purpose behind Sir Gregory's warning.

It was possible the baronet, as a well-meaning friend of the late Everitt Lowery, was honestly concerned that Hal, admittedly no paragon of fashionable gentlemanly behaviour, might encourage Lowery's son to follow in his unstylish ways. If so, the man was kind-hearted, if idiotic. At barely seven years of age, David Lowery was likely far too young to permanently adopt any man's behaviour as his model.

But Hal didn't think it was just that. There was an undercurrent of an almost—covetedness in the baronet's demeanour, as if Hal were poaching upon a preserve Holburn considered his own. Might the baronet feel insulted that Lowery had not named Sir Gregory as guardian of his home and property in what Lowery must have considered the unlikely event something happened to him?

Then he remembered a comment by David and the confrontation began to take on another meaning. ‘He never looks at me when he talks,' the boy had said. ‘He looks at Mama, and his eyes get all funny.'

With a flash of intuition as powerful as it was certain, Hal realised that what Sir Gregory Holburn coveted was not directing Everitt's Lowery's estate, but his widow.

Though he might resent Holburn's disdainful treatment and superior airs, he could hardly hold a fascination with Elizabeth Lowery against the man. Didn't Hal admire and revere and lust after her himself? Perhaps, sensing Hal's interest in her or fearing his privileged access to her, Holburn was attempting to warn off someone he thought might be a potential rival. Though with her so newly widowed, surely it was a bit premature to worry about that.

As he trolled his memory for titbits about Sir Gregory, an anger much greater than that induced by the baronet's snide comments began to build in his chest.

Though Hal spent as little time as he could manage in fashionable society, he was still aware of what transpired there. He now recalled that Sir Gregory Holburn, scion of a distinguished family and owner of several prosperous estates, though highly respected in society and much sought after by hostesses for his polished repartee and immaculate good manners, was not normally invited to the Marriage Mart functions Hal's mama favoured.

The mamas of society's hopeful maidens had long ago condemned Sir Gregory as a confirmed bachelor, unlikely to be tempted into matrimony by any of their daughters. Instead, over the years Holburn's name had been linked with a succession of beautiful and well-born matrons, both widows and married ladies whose husbands either turned a blind eye to, or never suspected, their little affairs.

Was Sir Gregory trying to get Hal out of the way so he could make Elizabeth the object of his gallantry? With her family gone, did he mean to deprive her of any advice and counsel save his own so that he might trade upon her innocence and vulnerability to persuade her to become his next
chère-amie
?

The mere thought of Sir Gregory sliding his body against hers on the sofa, coaxing the grieving widow to lean upon his shoulder while he stroked lecherous fingers down her peerless soft cheek and murmured soothing words into her ear, filled Hal's head with a red film of rage.

Not until he felt liquid coursing over his fingers did Hal realise he'd clutched his wineglass so tightly the fragile stem must have snapped. With an oath, he dragged a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, trying to barricade the pool of wine and glass on to the tabletop.

‘Hand uninjured?' Ned inquired as several alert servants rushed over to attend to the breakage.