A Most Unconventional Match (18 page)

Mechanically repeating the deeply ingrained formulas of politeness got her through the greetings and up into his curricle. As they tooled along, she allowed him to carry on the conversation, feeling too lethargic to contribute more than an occasional murmur to his monologue.

What could she say that would be of any interest to a socially polished gentleman like Sir Gregory anyway? The only purpose that had excited her interest since Everitt's death, the tantalising possibility of becoming a working artist, he'd told her to abandon. Nor did she wish to broach the topic of David, whom the baronet felt she should be readying to go off to school, or Hal Waterman, of whom he thoroughly disapproved.

Soon, Miss Lowery would recover enough to resume control of the household, so those tasks would no longer occupy her. Without Everitt to talk to and walk with, her mornings in her workroom would be of no more significance than the time spent by other genteel ladies painting upon china or dabbling in pastels—the only thing she could look forward to was spending time with David. With a tutor joining the household, he would soon have less and less need of his mama's companionship.

What was she to do with herself?

‘I see that a turn about the park has not yet managed to raise your spirits.' Sir Gregory's voice broke into her gloomy thoughts. ‘Nor have my attempts at conversation managed to penetrate your melancholy reflection.'

It was a measure of her lassitude that this mild reproach, which under other circumstances would have prompted an immediate, guilty demurral, generated no reaction at all. She didn't even bother to apologise for her inattention. My, how unmannerly she was becoming!

‘How solemn those lovely lips look,' Sir Gregory said. ‘Perhaps something sweet will bring back their smile. Could I tempt you to some ices at Gunter's?'

Elizabeth shook her head. ‘Thank you, Sir Gregory, but I don't care for any now.'

‘You force me to more desperate measures. It shall have to be a stroll past the shops after all.'

Elizabeth thought about declining, but it seemed too much effort. If it amused him to look at slippers and bonnets, she supposed a walk would do her no harm. She had nothing more important to accomplish, after all.

‘If you wish,' she said.

‘My wish is to make you happy,' he said, looking at her with concern in his eyes.

At last a niggle of guilt penetrated her depressed spirits. Sir Gregory was doing his best to entertain her. She was being self-indulgent and churlish, acting in this foolishly taciturn, ungrateful manner simply because, like a child whose favourite sweet has been denied him, she would not be able to have what she most desired. Vowing to do better, when he tossed the reins to his tiger and handed her down before one of the
ton
's leading haberdashers, she managed a smile.

‘Ah, that is better!' he exclaimed. ‘I knew Mama's bonnets would do the trick!'

Barely refraining from rolling her eyes, Elizabeth forced herself to turn her artist's eye to the colour combinations and designs of the headgear in the shop window. They walked on, lingering next before the shop of the renowned couturière Madame Bissot.

But when Sir Gregory urged her to consider purchasing something, she protested, ‘No, I cannot. Apparently Everitt borrowed a large amount to fund his antiquities purchases. Until the estate is settled and those debts repaid, I must economise. Nor do I really require any new garments.'

‘If it raises your spirits, a new gown or bonnet is the best of economies,' Sir Gregory countered. ‘Although I am shocked to hear Everitt was so careless about finances.'

‘I'm sure he thought he had plenty of time to repay the loans and return the estate to a firm footing,' Elizabeth said, compelled to defend her late husband, despite her own misgivings over his poor management.

‘I meant no disparagement,' Sir Gregory replied. ‘Only…' He paused, pointing out a necklace in the window of the jewellery shop next door. ‘How lovely that circlet of diamonds and aquamarines would look about your neck! I never understood why Everitt always sought new items to add to his collection…when he already possessed the finest and most beautiful ornament he could ever hope to acquire.'

He opened his lips, closed them, then shook his head. ‘I know it is far too early to speak of this,' he began again. ‘But the…the violence of my feelings compels me to say it!'

A little taken aback by the intensity of his voice and gaze, Elizabeth could only stare as he continued, ‘Surely you know how much I admire you! How much, though he was my dearest friend, I envied Everitt—because he had you, the most beautiful, gentle, gracious lady I've ever known. Had Everitt lived, I would have kept my feelings hidden, but now…I just want you to know that it would be my dearest wish some day to treat you like the treasure you are. To shower you with beautiful things—gowns, bonnets, jewels, this necklace—to set off your loveliness. To take care of you and smooth—' he stroked a finger over her forehead ‘—every worry from your brow.'

Though she was too shocked to utter a word, he exclaimed, ‘Nay, do not reproach me! I shall speak no more now. I only ask, dear Lizbet, that when your mourning is over, you'll consider what I've said today.'

Still silent, Elizabeth studied him. She'd known he admired her, of course, but never imagined he might cherish any stronger feelings. The idea made her a bit uncomfortable…Yet having a mature, capable gentleman to defend and cherish her, with whom she could recapture the quiet peacefulness of the life she'd led before Everitt's death, seemed suddenly vastly appealing.

Sir Gregory was quite wealthy as well. There would be no worries about school fees or tradesmen or the cost of new linens. No wrangling over domestic disputes.

Or euphoric flights of fancy about a future that turned out to be unattainable.

Though David would not like the idea…

No matter. As the baronet had just assured her, it was far too early to contemplate such an offer. Though, of course, she had to feel gratified that the baronet, whom she'd long assumed to be a confirmed bachelor firmly set against marriage, had abjured wedlock all these years because he'd been pining for
her
.

‘I don't know what to say,' she replied haltingly. ‘I had no idea.'

He clasped her hand. ‘I made sure you did not—and you need say nothing now. Only promise to consider the possibility later.'

She nodded. ‘I suppose I can do that.'

‘Good.' He gave her fingers a squeeze. ‘Now I expect I must get you home, or Miss Lowery will scold me for making you late for tea!'

He gestured to his tiger to bring the carriage, then assisted her in. Taking up the reins, he began a light conversation about the current offerings at the Theatre Royal to which she once again needed to contribute nothing.

Then they were back at Green Street. ‘I shall call again soon, dear Lizbet,' Sir Gregory said as he escorted her up the stairs. Kissing her hand once more, he set off.

Elizabeth watched his curricle disappear down the busy London street. If she could not be an artist, would she like to be wife to such a man? He dabbled in politics, attended the best
ton
parties, and knew everyone of importance. She would have to mingle more in society than she ever had. Perhaps such business would fill the sense of emptiness she'd not until today knew existed in the depths of her soul.

He would cherish her, remove all the burdens from her shoulders. And never inspire her to reach for goals that could not be achieved or fill her with the dangerous, stormy gusts of desire and emotion she felt around Hal Waterman.

T
he next evening, Hal Waterman sat in his club over a glass of fine burgundy, idly considering finding a congenial gentleman to challenge to a game of whist. Mayhap the game would take his mind off the turbulent emotions still roiling within him—and the image of Elizabeth Lowery that filled his head.

Though he doubted it. Probably he'd just play in a fog of inattention that would enrich some other fortunate friend, as he had Ned Greaves the other night.

He wished Ned hadn't left London before Hal had sorted through all the dramatic revelations of his visit with Sally. He could have sought his friend's thoughts on how to proceed with his suspicions about Sir Gregory. He might even have dared ask Ned his assessment of the likelihood of Hal's inspiring tender emotions in the heart of the lady his observant friend would probably quickly realise had captured Hal's heart.

Ah, Elizabeth, he thought, a wistful tenderness welling up in him. How he missed her after just two days. A hastily called meeting of potential investors had forced him to cancel his plans to work in the Lowery library yesterday. He'd actually felt angry and impatient at having to attend the gathering—an unprecedented reaction for one who normally found the exploration of a potential new venture invigorating and fascinating.

Instead, he'd tapped his fingers on the table while the engineer detailed his plans and the investors debated their merit, wishing for the first time in such a meeting that they might finish the business early enough for him to stop by Green Street after all. He could have justified an unprecedented afternoon call with the excuse of discussing her artistic prospects, since two of the attendees were deep-pocketed bankers with young children. Once shown Elizabeth's sketches of David, Hal felt certain the two would be eager to engage her talents to have their own offspring so vividly immortalised.

However, the meeting had dragged on until dinnertime, frustrating his desire to see her again.

Hal smiled as he remembered their time together at the Royal Academy. Excitement had made her incandescent beauty glow brighter, her avid eyes darting here and there as she took in every detail of the masterworks, her fingers clenched as if she yearned for her brush. The fire did not dim until later, when shyly she showed him her own work.

Until, surprised and inspired by the excellence of her paintings, he suggested she consider showing them in public. Joy and excitement once again illuminating her face, she gazed at him with awe, as if he had just offered her the most precious of gifts.

Simply recalling the moment made happiness surge in his own chest. He'd not witnessed such an expression of gratitude on a lady's face since, after the large return on his first investment project, he'd tried to mollify Mama's dismay over his ungentlemanly foray into finance by giving her a complete new wardrobe.

Elizabeth's joy had cost him not a penny.

He hoped, after considering the possibility, she would decide to make her work publicly available. There would be social repercussions to such a move, of course, of which she might not be aware. Nothing that could not be circumvented or overcome, he felt confident, but if she did favour embarking upon an artistic career, he meant to spell out all the drawbacks plainly before she made any move.

His smile lingered as he recalled the camaraderie that had linked them as they talked about art in her studio. She saw him as a friend now, he believed, one who admired her for more than just her beauty, one who was genuinely concerned about the welfare of both her and her son. Which made it more important than ever to ascertain Sir Gregory's intentions, so that he might protect her from them…if she wanted protection.

That lowering thought banished his smile and revived the vague sense of unease remaining after his visit to the Lowery house today. Brimming with ideas and plans, desperately impatient to see Elizabeth, he'd arrived early. He'd spent some time with David, heard about Max's iniquity in destroying sheets in the laundry yard and had a word with the groom, whose inattention had allowed the dog to escape his quarters in the stable. Then he'd worked in the library, every minute straining his ears to catch the soft tread of Elizabeth's step in the hall.

A step that never sounded. After lingering as long as he could over his work, he'd summoned Sands and asked to consult her on some non-existent matter of paperwork. Sands frostily replied that the mistress was in her studio and had instructed that she was not to be disturbed.

He'd been severely disappointed…and a bit worried. Was it merely that, buoyed by the prospect of beginning her career and alight with inspiration, she wished to work uninterrupted on her current project? Or might she be angry with him over Max's disruption of the household?

Then Sands, always distant, had seemed particularly cool today. It was more, Hal suspected, bending all his intuitive powers on analysing the butler, than the man's probable upset over Max's transgressions. Sands seemed to resent Hal's very presence in the house.

Did the butler suspect Hal of wanting to fill his late master's shoes? Though he was nearly certain he had not yet betrayed by speech or manner how much he longed to do just that, Hal felt his face redden.

Not that Sands's disapproval meant he would give up his visits. See Elizabeth he must, but he was prepared to wait patiently, his love unspoken, and be no more than a concerned friend to her for as long as it took her to recover from her grief.

Despite the growl of protest from his frustrated body, the notion of remaining just a friend was comforting, even. It allowed him to put off the terrifying moment when he must reveal his true feelings and put himself in contention with all the others who would doubtless wish to lay claim to the lovely Elizabeth Lowery.

Unless she chose the artist's path. That decision would severely restrict her chances of remarriage to a
ton
gentleman, unless her prospective spouse was as supportive of her talent—and as indifferent to the opinion of fashionable society—as Hal was himself. It was a measure of idiocy of the
ton
, he thought with disgust, that a lady who embraced such an occupation would be damned as a disgrace to her birth while Society leaders like his mama, who did little more than plan soirées and destroy reputations, were said to embody feminine gentility.

No wonder he eschewed society as much as possible!

As he finished his glass, a party of gentlemen entered. Having nothing in common with Montclare, Fitzhugh and Carleton—Corinthians of the first stare primarily interested in drinking, enriching their tailors and pursuing loose women—Hal merely nodded as they passed.

They were also boisterous, Hal thought with annoyance. He was trying to shut out their overloud conversation when the mention of Sir Gregory's name seized his attention.

‘What interesting news about Holburn?' Montclare was asking.

‘Saw him strolling down Bond Street yesterday with a striking blonde beauty,' Fitzhugh replied. ‘Has he given up his last ladybird, do you know?'

Blonde beauty? Hal's heart slammed into his chest. Could it be Elizabeth?

‘Heard Lord Wentworth finally returned from country,' Carleton said. ‘Perhaps Lady Wentworth decided 'twas time to terminate their little affair before her husband caught wind of it. Or perhaps the spark died. You know Holburn. Never stays with the same woman overlong.'

‘As easily as he seems to charm them, why not sample some new delight? Lady Wentworth, Mrs Simmons, Lady Carlisle, plus that lush little actress from the Theatre Royal…and that's just this year!' Fitzhugh said.

Uninterested in Sir Gregory's past conquests, Hal nearly came out of his chair with impatience to learn the newest lady's name. Identify the lady! he urged silently.

‘So who was this new beauty?' Montclare asked.

‘Didn't recognise her,' Fitzhugh replied. ‘Maybe a demi-rep fresh from the provinces. Had the appearance of an angel, though. Hair of deepest gold, the face of a goddess, eyes blue as a summer sky. As for her figure, 'twas impossible to tell, bundled up as she was in a shapeless black pelisse.'

‘If she was in black, she's probably a widow,' Carleton observed. ‘He does favour widows. But whose?'

Golden hair. Face of a goddess. Blue eyes like summer sky…and dressed all in black. It must have been Elizabeth, Hal thought, chest so constricted by anxiety and rage he could barely breathe.

‘She looked genteel enough,' Fitzhugh said. ‘Though she could be the relict of some Cit, I suppose.'

‘I expect we'll sniff out her identity soon enough,' Carleton said. ‘On Bond Street, you say?'

‘Yes. It appeared they'd just come from Madame Bissot's, which is where Holburn dresses most of his mistresses. He was pointing out a fine necklace in the window at Rundell & Bridge, probably telling her how the aquamarines would echo the blue of her eyes.'

The gentlemen all laughed before Carleton said, ‘He must be well along the way to seduction if he's dangling jewels before her. I bet she succumbs before her mourning period ends. And I wager I can discover her name before the deal is concluded.'

Hal found himself recalling Sally's words. If the unknown beauty was Elizabeth, her appearance on Bond Street with Sir Gregory could have her walking into scandal. The question was—did she do so willingly or totally unaware?

After arguing for several moments over the speed with which Carleton could uncover the beauty's name, the men signalled a waiter to bring the betting book. ‘Fifty guineas says I learn the lady's name before that sly dog finishes setting up his love nest,' Carleton said.

‘You're on,' Fitzhugh replied.

‘I'll back Carleton,' Montclare said. ‘His sources are impeccable.'

As Hal watched covertly, appalled, the men recorded the wager. A furious desire seized him to find Sir Gregory, grab him by the throat and choke the life out of him. He might not press Elizabeth to accept a
carte blanche
, but he was too experienced not to know that in strolling her down the merchandise row that was Bond Street, as Sally had warned, he was creating among gossipmongers like Fitzhugh and Montclare the perception that she was, or soon would be, his mistress.

He recalled how she'd confessed her shyness had led her to avoid a Season. She would loathe becoming the object of some lewd wager in a gentleman's club.

He must do something quickly. But what…and when?

If he delayed too long and the lady was identified to be Elizabeth, rumour would spread swiftly. Her name would be bandied about in every gentleman's club in London; curious men with only the slimmest of ties to her late husband would use them as an excuse to call upon and ogle her, wondering if they should try their own luck. Sooner or later, she would discover the reason behind this sudden influx of visitors. Hal could only imagine how devastated and angry she would be.

Of course, there was the possibility that they were all misjudging Sir Gregory. The baronet's goal might well be marriage. He, like Hal, had known her for years and could not help but admire her. Now that she was free, perhaps the baronet saw a chance to claim as his own a lady for whom he'd long pined.

'Twas too late for Hal to approach the Lowery groom and see about setting him to spy on Sir Gregory's activities, as Sally had suggested. Elizabeth or unknown beauty,
carte blanche
or wedlock—he had to find the answers before the industrious Carleton ferreted out the lady's identity.

A sense of doom settled heavy in his chest. Unless by some miracle he thought of a better plan, despite the ineptness of speech this delicate situation would render even more acute, Hal feared he was going to have to speak about this to Elizabeth herself.

The next morning, after dressing with care, Hal arrived in Green Street somewhat earlier than his normal hour. He went on to earn a raised brow from Sands by requesting that, rather than be conveyed to the schoolroom to see Master David, Sands request his mistress to receive Hal in her studio to discuss a matter of some urgency.

Having not come up with a swifter means of resolving the situation than speaking directly with Elizabeth, Hal had decided to seek her out immediately. Knowing he couldn't endure waiting even three more hours to find the answer to the question plaguing him, while he looked for an opening to broach the subject of Sir Gregory, he could resume their discussion about her work.

If a casual question about her whereabouts yesterday confirmed she'd not been strolling Bond Street with Sir Gregory, Hal need say nothing further.

Oh, how he hoped it had been some other blonde lady!

Sands returned to inform him that, though his mistress did not appreciate having her morning's work disrupted, if the matter was truly urgent, she supposed she could receive him.

The butler delivered that less-than-courteous response so smugly, Hal had to bite back a blighting retort before following Sands to her studio.

Pausing on the studio's threshold, Hal took a deep breath. He must bottle up all his anxious, angry, explosive emotions and speak with the dispassionate concern of a true friend, and not rant like a wildly jealous lover whom the wrong reply could cast into despair. For if it appeared that Elizabeth actually favoured the baronet, he must follow Sally's advice, say nothing and walk away.