An Heiress at Heart (44 page)
Read An Heiress at Heart Online
Authors: Jennifer Delamere
Tags: #Romance, #Inspirational, #Historical
They began working their way across the crowded ballroom. “Who asked you to introduce me to—” Tom was about to say “Miss Vaughn,” but stopped himself. It wouldn’t do to look too excited at the prospect of meeting a lady who’d already been promised to another man.
“You did, of course,” James said lightly.
“Me?”
“Well, you’ve been staring at her all evening.”
“Has it been that obvious?” He felt foolish now, caught mooning over a woman who was unattainable. And yet it had been a very long time since a woman had taken such complete hold of his attention. Longer than he could remember.
“I’m sure it was perceptible only to me,” James assured him. “But then, I tend to notice these things.”
Tom could not help but grin at this remark. In the short time he’d known James, he’d become well aware of the man’s tendency to be a matchmaker—so long as he himself was not one of the interested parties. James was a confirmed bachelor, for sure.
He also knew everyone in London, it seemed. Tom tilted his head in the direction of Denault. Clearly Denault was one of those polished and suave society men who always drew the attention of the fairer sex. There was a small cohort of young ladies clustered around him right now. “He is very rich, I hear.”
“Indeed.”
“Was it inherited?” He figured Denault was like so many of the privileged class whose money was handed to them from birth.
“Not at all,” James said, surprising him. “He’s from an old family, well-connected, but not as wealthy as it once was. He made his fortune on some lucrative railroad investments in America. Only returned to England a few months ago.”
They were still a distance away when a portly elderly gentleman drew Miss Vaughn and Denault together and loudly proclaimed his attention to toast the couple.
“That’s Mr. Plimpton,” James informed him. “He’s
one of the pillars of London society—and he’ll be the first to tell you so. He’s a good man, but a bit of a blowhard.”
Plimpton proceeded to make a speech about how this would be one of the most important weddings since the Queen’s own marriage fifteen years before. When Plimpton finished his speech, Denault was immediately approached by two remarkably pretty ladies who had been fluttering around him earlier. Tom wondered that such a thing did not seem to annoy Miss Vaughn. But she was sipping her champagne with equanimity and listening to Plimpton as he began prattling on about something else. She seemed not to have even noticed these attempts to lure her fiancé’s attentions elsewhere.
But she
did
notice as Tom and James approached, Tom was sure of it. He could tell by a slight shift in her posture, an extra alertness in their direction, even though she kept her eyes fixed on Plimpton. He felt a surge of excitement at this realization.
Suddenly, Tom was far too conscious of his tight collar, his heavily starched shirt, and his over-polished boots. In fact, everything he had on was completely foreign to him. He told himself this must be the reason why he felt as though he were moving through heavy sand.
James extended his hand in greeting to Denault, whom he evidently knew well. Denault greeted him warmly. Miss Vaughn excused herself from Plimpton and came to her fiancé’s side in time to return James’s greeting.
“I’d like to introduce you to my new cousin by marriage,” James said, bringing Tom forward. “This is Mr. Thomas Poole.”
“Tom,” he corrected. “Just Tom.”
“Tom Poole?” Denault repeated. “The man who made a fortune in the gold mines?”
News certainly traveled fast in the rarified society that was the London elite, Tom thought again. Faster than the wildfires in Victoria. “I see you have heard of me.”
“Heard?” Denault echoed. “You might buy and sell the Crown now, that’s what I’ve heard. You’re a lucky man.” There was admiration in his eyes.
There was a glint of avarice as well. Tom had seen it in plenty of people, from the dirt-poor, ex-convict gold miners in Australia to the well-to-do here in England. The upper classes he now moved among might abuse him behind his back for his lowly origins, but to his face they could only compliment him for having so much money.
“It was a lot of work,” Tom pointed out, as he had done too many times tonight already. “I was fortunate to lay claim in the right place, it is true, but the gold don’t mine itself.”
“Of course, of course,” Denault said, waving off Tom’s remarks. He turned to his fiancée. “Miss Margaret Vaughn, may I present—”
She cut him off as she extended her hand to Tom and said, “How do you do,
just
Tom?”
Her rich brown eyes held his, displaying a hint of something that might have been a challenge. There was fire under the exterior of this icy beauty. Tom could sense it with every fiber of his being.
Her remark was meant to sound like a pleasantry, but Tom picked up a hint of derision as well. Calling him as she did by his Christian name, even in jest, she might have been speaking to an errand boy or a servant. The thought, ironically, cued something his sister had
taught him to say during introductions. “Your servant, madam.”
He grasped her hand, and a curious thrill ran through him. Had she felt something too? Her eyes seemed to open a bit wider. They were an amazing color—deep green, lined with yellow-gold toward the center. Her gown was nearly the exact same shade, bringing out her eyes with startling clarity. Tom’s lessons in etiquette completely left him and he forgot what he was supposed to do with her hand. So he continued to hold it, savoring its warmth and the opportunity it afforded him of being so close to this woman. He was fascinated by the strength and fire in her gaze.
“Will you be in London long, Just Tom?” she asked. She sounded a bit breathless.
“I…” he faltered like an idiot. What was happening to him? Suddenly he felt as unsteady as if he were back on the stormy seas.
Keep your wits about you, man
. “I will be in England for the indefinite future.”
“How wonderful.” Her gaze held his. “We shall be glad to get to know you better.”
Somehow he remembered to release her hand.
“Indeed we shall,” Denault broke in briskly. “Mr. Poole, perhaps you and I might meet at my club on Thursday? I’ve a business proposition for you.”
Tom knew he should have expected this, even from a man as rich as Denault. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to discuss business ventures with him. So far, he’d deflected or turned down every offer for such a meeting. He could have found some reason to avoid Denault too, but somehow found himself agreeing to the appointment instead. He had an unreasonable urge to get to know him better,
to discover what kind of man could capture a lady like Miss Vaughn.
“Will Miss Vaughn be joining us as well?” Tom asked.
Denault threw a condescending look to his bride-to-be. “Heavens, no,” he said with a laugh. “Women aren’t allowed at the club. And in any case, she has no head for business, poor thing.”
Something like annoyance or anger flashed across Miss Vaughn’s face. It was brief, and she quickly suppressed it, but it did not escape Tom. He suspected that this woman, who was an heiress in control of her own millions, was plenty capable of handling business affairs. Why did she not correct him? Tom was aware of the adage that when a man and woman were married they became “one person, and that person is the husband.” Even so, he found it difficult to imagine Miss Vaughn in the role of a meek wife.
She seemed to be going along willingly however. She smiled and said, “I could not possibly join you in any case. I am far too busy right now. The wedding is next week, and there are still a thousand details to arrange.”
At the mention of their wedding, Miss Vaughn and Denault exchanged a glance so intensely amorous that Tom wondered if he’d been mistaken about her earlier show of irritation. He was even tempted to be jealous, although he had absolutely no right to be. She was betrothed to this man, and it was evidently a propitious match. Certainly there was nothing he could do about it.
She turned her attention back to Tom. “Do you plan to settle in England, Mr. Poole?”
“Settle?” Tom repeated. He did not know if he would ever settle anywhere.
“Earlier this evening I saw you observing all the ladies in the room very intently.” She had been watching him, just as he had been watching her. Tom found this knowledge incredibly intoxicating. “You are perhaps searching for a wife?” she concluded.
“No,” said Tom. He could not possibly picture himself married to any of the simpering ladies he’d seen here tonight. He’d thought Miss Vaughn was different, but after seeing the way she acted around Denault he was beginning to wonder. “I might have to return to Australia for that. The ladies there have far more strength and backbone.”
“Do they?” she said. Tom didn’t realize he was giving her a challenge until he saw her accept it as one. She rose up a little taller, and her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Her gaze swept over him from head to foot, as though taking his measure. He withstood her scrutiny with confidence; the unsteadiness he’d felt earlier was gone. “Everyone in Australia seems quite… resourceful,” she said at last, smiling a little on the last word. “Including you. I should like to hear more about this famous shipwreck you were in.”
For the first time this evening, the mention of the shipwreck did not annoy Tom. He did not try to analyze why. “I’d be more than happy to tell you about it. It’s such an amazing story that at times I have trouble believing it myself.”
“Paul, dear,” Miss Vaughn said without even looking at her fiancé, “I am absolutely dying of thirst.” She held out her empty champagne glass in Denault’s direction.
Denault looked at it in surprise, as though her request had taken him off guard.
“That’s an excellent idea,” James interposed. “Don’t
worry, Denault. We’ll keep her company while you’re gone.”
Denault glanced from Miss Vaughn to James, and then to Tom. Was there mistrust in his eyes? Could Denault possibly feel threatened by Tom, by his fiancée’s apparent interest in him? Tom actually found the thought somewhat appealing.
“I have a better idea,” Denault said. “I am sure you are famished, my dear. Why don’t we both go to the supper room?” He took hold of Miss Vaughn’s elbow, as if to lead her away. With a nod to Tom and James he said, “If you gentlemen will excuse us.”
Miss Vaughn gently extricated herself from his grip. “I only asked for something to drink,” she said in a low voice, her voice a shade too brusque.
Denault looked annoyed. “Yes, my darling, but you’ve eaten nothing this evening. We cannot have you fainting away from lack of food.” His words were solicitous, but he spoke them through clenched teeth. It was more of an order than an expression of concern. She gave him a frosty look in return.
Yes, there was something amiss, Tom decided. Some kind of trouble beneath apparently smooth waters. Perhaps Miss Vaughn and Denault were not as madly in love as they wished to portray. Of course, being
in love
was no requirement for marriage—certainly not among the upper classes. Even a commoner like Tom knew that. Why, then, should they pretend?
He could see her wavering, undecided. Clearly it was not in her nature to be docile. He found he would dearly love to know what was going on in that head of hers right now.
“I do hope we shall meet again, Just Tom,” she said.
“Mr. Poole is currently residing with Baron Somerville,” James said. “I believe you both live on the same street. We will be glad to pay you a call.”
“Please do,” she said. “And soon. I should like that very much.”
Funny, Tom mused, that she was willing to receive visitors, when earlier she had sounded as if she had no time for anything except her wedding preparations.
Denault took her elbow again, and this time she did not demur.
As he watched her retreating form, Tom’s gaze fastened on a stray curl that had made its way down the back of her slender neck. It was without a doubt the most beautiful neck he had ever seen.
And Tom knew that he was dangerously and completely in love with her.
Dish[TK 8 Pages]
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A Lady most Lovely
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Jennifer Harrington
An Excerpt from
A Lady Most Lovely
Copyright © 2012 by Jennifer Harrington
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