Kathryn Smith (39 page)

“He would not.”

“I am afraid to trust him, Nathaniel.” Straightening, she met his loving gaze. “I am afraid to believe what he says, and even more afraid to listen to my heart, which tells me to forget my pride and beg him to love me in return.”

“Begging for love is never a good idea,” he replied, patting her shoulder. “It does not turn out well for the beggar, and puts the beggee at a most unfair advantage.”

Somehow she managed a smile. “Speaking from experience?”

He laughed—harshly. “Of course!” Not about Tony, though, of that she was certain. And not about Matthew Sedgewick either. Someone from his past that Moira did not know about.

Sighing, Moira slumped against the cold glass of the window. “What do I do?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “Whatever you feel is best for you.”

“Can you not tell me what that is?” She eyed him hopefully, brightened by the humor that rose within her. She was not totally beaten yet.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No. If I were to offer advice, however, I would tell you to give him a bit more time. He may be a typical man, but he is not stupid. If he deserves you at all, he will realize what he needs to do.”

“And if he does not?” Lord, how lost she sounded!

Nathaniel’s smile was sympathetic. “Then he does not deserve you, dearest.”

She smiled too, despite herself. “I was afraid you would say that.” His words, no matter how unwelcome, were true. She could not make Wynthrope be the man she wanted him to be. She could only hope that she had not been wrong about him from the beginning.

“Normally I would tell you that if you want him this badly you should go after him, but that would not be the right course in this matter. Not for you.” He took her hand in his own. “Give yourself some time to get your thoughts in order. Give him some time to come to his senses.”

“What do I do in the meantime?” She massaged her forehead with her fingers. “I feel as though I am going mad.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Plan your sister’s betrothal party. Shop for wedding clothes. And lunch with me, of course. Get out of this house for a while.”

She squeezed his hand. “What would I do without you?” Without his support she would have lost her way a long time ago.

“You would not be half as adrift as I would be without your friendship,” he replied, kissing her on the forehead. “Now, why don’t we ring for some sandwiches and tea? You need to eat.”

“Eat?” She laughed. “Most of my gowns are getting too tight as it is.”

“And you have never looked more beautiful.” Standing, he pulled her to her feet as well. “We will have cucumber sandwiches, your favorite. And lots of little cakes.”

As much as she did not feel like eating, it never occurred to Moira to argue. Nathaniel always knew what she needed better than she did. She pulled the bell and told Mrs. Wright what they wanted. Mrs. Wright returned not twenty minutes later with a small cart bearing sandwiches, cakes, tea, and all the necessary tableware to enjoy them.

As usual, her friend was exactly right. Food was just what she needed. It gave her something to fixate on, and it gave her strength. She felt better after a few sandwiches and a cup of tea.

“Enough about me and the melodrama of my life,” she said, plucking another sandwich off the plate. “Tell me what you have been up to these last few days. You look good.”

He actually pinkened at her praise. “Thank you. Since leaving your tender care, I have been spending an awful lot of time being doted on by one sweet Matthew.”

Moira arched her brows. This was news. Good news. “Really? Has he given you any indication of his intentions?”

This time the flush that swept her friend’s features was
acute. It made him look so young and innocent, and in love. “Let’s just say that his interest has made itself known.”

Moira was dying to press for details, but didn’t want to pry. Oh, devil take it. “Tell me everything.”

By the time Nathaniel was done expounding on the virtues, prowess, and all-around loveliness of his dear Matthew, Moira was not only extremely happy for her friend, but extremely envious as well. Nathaniel and Matthew didn’t seem to have any problems trusting each other, or demonstrating emotion. Perhaps that was because they were both men. Perhaps the trouble with her and Wynthrope lay primarily with the difference in their genders.

Or perhaps it was because both of them spent so much time trying to protect themselves, they forgot how to let other people in.

“He did tell me that my claret waistcoat made me look like a puffed-up robin, though,” Nathaniel confided.

Moira grinned. Matthew was right. “Oh, I am fairly certain you will find it in your heart to forgive him.”

Nathaniel’s expression was suddenly serious. “Which brings us back to you and your dilemma. I do not wish to beat a dead horse, but what about you?”

“What about me?” She had a vague idea what he was getting at, but wanted him to say it just in case she was wrong. She was not going to be the one to bring Wynthrope into the conversation again.

“If he asks you to forgive him, do you believe you will be able to find it within yourself to accept?”

There was the nameless but universally acknowledged “he” again. Moira’s answer came without hesitation.

“Oh yes.” That was what she wanted, after all. “But I do not believe he will ever ask.”

O
n the day of Minnie’s betrothal party, Moira hid in her room as much as possible. Once it came time to start preparing for the evening, it wasn’t that difficult.

She was the first person to admit when she was being a coward, but that wasn’t totally the case in this matter. She was hiding not because she was afraid to face her mother, but because she was afraid she might do the woman bodily harm.

Eloise Banning was like a tiny tyrant. She had swept in Moira’s house and immediately tried to take over. Fortunately, Moira’s servants knew better. A viscountess ranked much higher than a mere Mrs., even if that Mrs. was the viscountess’s own mother. Every time Eloise issued a new order, the servants came to Moira, which made Moira’s work take twice as long as it should have because she had to counter everything her mother wanted.

Normally Moira would have tried to please her mother. It was a habit she had spent most of her life developing, after
all. But not now. Now all Moira wanted was to tell the old witch to stop interfering. She avoided her mother as much as possible to keep from saying just that.

Of course Moira’s house wasn’t decorated properly. Moira didn’t wear the right clothes. The preparations for the party were all wrong. Eloise should have known better than to leave such important matters in Moira’s hands.

“The decorations for the party were hand chosen by Minnie, Mama,” Moira had informed her. “So if you would like to take umbrage with them you will need to do so with your other daughter.”

Of course nothing was said to Minerva about the decorations.

“You have gained weight,” her mother commented with a disdainful once-over of her person. “I do hope you will not get fat again.”

That was the last straw. Hands on her hips, Moira faced her mother with a straight spine and the refusal to back down. “Why would you hope that, Mama?”

Eloise sniffed. “It would be an embarrassment to have a corpulent daughter when I myself am so thin. I would hate to have people refer to you as my ‘fat’ daughter.”

Moira hated to be referred to as her daughter at all. “A little bit of extra weight makes a woman look younger, Mama. You might want to remember that.”

Her mother glanced at her as though she wasn’t quite certain if she had been insulted or not. Moira smiled sweetly.

With a scowl and a
hmm
of disapproval, her mother turned and walked away. Moira did not see her again for the rest of that day. It was sheer bliss.

To make matters worse, Moira and Minnie’s other sisters descended on them as well, although they had the good sense to stay at an inn rather than at Moira’s. For the most part Moira got on quite well with her sisters without their
mother around. The girls were a bit too much like their mother when her influence was near. Why had she been the only one to be different? Minnie was proving to be more like Moira than the other Banning daughters, but even she became a little more snappy, a little more haughty when her mother was present. How many times had Moira already taken her aside and remarked on her behavior? Their sisters, and of course their mother, told Moira to leave Minnie alone.

Thank God they would all be gone the next day. A blessedly short visit, and then she wouldn’t have to see them again until the wedding that summer.

One good thing to come out of all this, however, was that Moira had scarcely any time to think about Wynthrope. Minnie had invited him to tonight’s party, but Moira would be surprised if he came. He was probably at home sulking—or at least she hoped he was. Had he figured out what it was she wanted from him? Did he know that she wanted his sincere repentance? That she wanted his heart on a silver platter?

Was he prepared to offer them to her? Or had he decided she wasn’t worth the effort?

She glanced at the clock on the mantel in her room as her maid entered to start working on her hair.

In three hours the guests would begin arriving, and then she would find out if she was worth his effort or not.

“I am surprised that you decided to attend the party tonight.”

Wynthrope looked up from his glass at the sound of North’s voice. They were in the little parlor at North and Octavia’s. North was sipping coffee while Wynthrope tossed back a glass of bourbon. He needed a little fortification for the evening ahead.

“Of course I am going. I was invited.”

North raised his cup to his lips. “Do you think Moira will be pleased to see you?”

“No. But I am going anyway. I want her to know I have not given up on her. I have no intention of giving up.”

That resolution had come to him on one of the many sleepless nights that had passed since he last saw her. Instead of brooding and whimpering like some lovestruck idiot, he was going to face the situation head on. He was not going to let her push him away. And if she wouldn’t tell him what she wanted, he would keep trying until he either figured it out or stumbled on it by accident. He didn’t care how long it took, she would be his again.

“I have never known you to be stubborn before,” North commented with a slight frown. “Not since we were children.”

Wynthrope smiled at him. “I have been pretending to be someone else for a good many years, brother. It is time I stopped.”

“I understand.” Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t, but it was nice of him to say so. “But why the change of heart?”

“She told me that I was protecting myself more than others and that I ended up hurting myself in the process. If having Moira means giving up all pretenses, I am willing to do it.”

North regarded him strangely. “Spoken like a man in love.”

The mere sound of the word sent his heart pounding like mad. Wynthrope gazed into his almost empty glass. “Yes, I suppose I am.” The admission felt as though the weight of an age had been lifted from his shoulders.

North was grinning now. God only knew what he was about to say. Thankfully Wynthrope was spared any ribbing from his brother because of Octavia’s arrival. All of North’s attention was immediately focused on his wife, who was lovely in a bronze-colored silk gown and glittering topaz and diamond jewelry.

Wynthrope made a point of not watching them as they exchanged a kiss and hushed words of adoration. They were such a perfect couple, so at ease with each other, and yet emotion seethed between them, so thick it was tangible. This was love, he supposed. Would people think the same of him and Moira someday?

God yes, if he had any say in it.

He finished off his drink and rose to his feet. The whispers behind him were becoming annoying.

“Shall we go?” he asked brightly, turning to face his brother and sister-in-law.

Both North and Octavia eyed him with identical expressions. They thought this was amusing, his desire to be on their way. Let them laugh. He honestly didn’t care what they thought, as long as they gave in to his will.

“Yes,” North agreed. “We should be on our way. No doubt you wish to get this evening over with.”

His brother didn’t know the half of it. Yes, he wanted this evening over, but only because he hoped to have made some kind of headway in wooing Moira by the end of it.

The journey to Moira’s Mayfair address was a slow one this evening. It had snowed earlier, and the streets were still covered in some areas. Carriages moved at a more cautious pace due to the slippery conditions. By the time they finally arrived at Moira’s door, Wynthrope was grinding his teeth and ready to take someone’s head clean off his shoulders.

To make matters worse, Moira, Minnie, and their family were waiting to greet guests just outside the party rooms. Moira would sense his discontent and no doubt blame it on herself. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, willing himself into some semblance of the Wynthrope Ryland the
ton
was familiar with. Cool, collected, charming, if not
catty. He could do this. He could hang on to the charade for this evening, surely.

Somehow Octavia and North managed to get ahead of him in the receiving line and were already inside with other guests when Wynthrope reached the family.

Both Moira and Minnie looked surprised to see him, but a little happy too. At least he hoped that was happiness he saw on Moira’s face. It was either that or she was about to go into hysterics.

Moira and her mother were first. Mrs. Banning stared at him as though he were on display in a butcher’s window—a little interested, a little distasteful. Even if he had never heard anything about this woman from Moira, he would have disliked her immediately.

“Good evening, Lady Aubourn. You are exceedingly beautiful tonight.” It was a bit beyond what was proper, only because of his choice of words, but he didn’t care. He was staking a claim to this woman, and he wanted everyone to know that she was his.

Moira blushed prettily, obviously flustered by his attention. “Thank you, sir.” She turned to her mother. “Mama, may I introduce Mr. Wynthrope Ryland? Mr. Ryland, my mother, Eloise Banning.”

Wynthrope bowed over the tight-lipped crone’s hand. “Madam.”

Imperious brows lifted. “You are related to the Viscount Creed, Mr. Ryland?”

Something about the woman’s tone gave him pause. “He is my brother.”

“How unfortunate for you.”

The old bitch. Her lip actually curled when she spoke, as though she were somehow better than Brahm. At one time Wynthrope might have agreed, but not anymore. She
couldn’t have asked North the same question—no doubt because she knew of North’s illegitimacy and didn’t want to acknowledge it. In fact, Wynthrope would be surprised if the old crone lowered herself enough to even speak to North.

“Actually I feel quite fortunate, madam. There are others with less appealing family connections than me.” Ah, that felt good. This version of himself might never have actually been the true him, but the wit was.

She took his meaning clearly. The flushing of her cheeks and the narrowing of her eyes was proof of that.

Wynthrope turned to Moira, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. “You have outdone yourself this evening, Lady Aubourn.”

She stared at him as though she could not believe the exchange he’d just had with her mother. “Thank you, Mr. Ryland.”

“Now if you ladies will excuse me, I believe I will offer my felicitations to the happy couple.” As satisfying as it had been to cross verbal swords with her mother, he didn’t want to put Moira in a situation any more uncomfortable than this already was.

He moved down the line, past Moira’s father to Minerva and her fiancé. He spent a few moments with them, kissing the girl’s cheek and shaking the young man’s hand. They were genuinely in love, and very happy. Wynthrope envied them. They had such possibilities open to them. He hoped they would have many years together, free of such foolishness as pride and secrets.

He left them and entered the drawing room, which had been opened up into the music room to allow for dancing. There was a supper room as well, where they would all sit down sometime around midnight for a meal and then continue dancing and celebrating into the wee hours.

Would Moira dance with him? Would she celebrate with him?

He watched her for much of the evening, unable to get close enough to have a private conversation. She flitted around like a butterfly all evening. Her mother never seemed to be far behind, and he could tell from the strain starting to show on Moira’s lovely face that the woman found fault with almost everything she did.

How could such a viper have produced his sweet, generous Moira? All Moira wanted was trust and love and someone to treat her as she deserved. He had offered that to her, but then foolishly yanked it away. Seeing her tonight, he began to understand her a little better. It was so much easier to see things clearly when he didn’t allow his own pride or emotions to cloud the way.

He found himself drifting toward where Moira and her mother stood later in the evening, after having watched Moira take the crone’s abuse long enough. It was time for supper, and it was obvious that Mrs. Banning had found something wrong with the table setting.

“I should have been here to make the arrangements,” her mother was saying, loudly enough that many of the guests could hear. “I should have known better than to leave such important decisions to you. You have ruined everything.”

Moira’s face was pale, her cheeks stained with humiliation. Wynthrope would be embarrassed too, but not because she had done anything wrong, but because this yappy harpy was her mother.

“I believe Lady Aubourn made all the arrangements to Miss Minerva’s preferences,” he informed the woman, coming up behind Moira. “Is that not so, Lady Aubourn?”

Moira cast him a glance that begged him not to get involved, even as she nodded. “That is true, Mr. Ryland.”

Mrs. Banning glared at him. Odd, but if she had only been a more pleasant woman Moira might have looked like her. But Moira could never look as mean and unforgiving as this woman.

“This has nothing to do with you, Mr. Ryland,” Mrs. Banning informed him coldly. “Please mind your own business.”

Quite a few of the guests were watching now, and Wynthrope didn’t care. If this woman wanted someone to verbally duel with, she had picked the wrong person.

“Lady Aubourn is my friend,” he replied. “And therefore she is my business.”

He was well aware of a few choice glances exchanged between guests. They were speculating as to just how good a “friend” Moira was to him. Moira stared at him with something that might have been horror on her face.

Deep groves appeared in Mrs. Banning’s brow. She obviously frowned a lot. “I am her mother, and this does not concern you.”

Wynthrope allowed a mocking smile to tilt his lips. “Yes, I am well aware of what kind of mother you have been.”

Moira clutched his arm, the bite of her fingers urging him to cease, but he ignored her. She might be willing to put up with this awful woman, but he was not about to stand by and allow her to be so poorly treated.

He went on, “I know that despite all your efforts Moira managed to grow into a sweet, generous person. I know that if you had your way she would have turned into a spiteful witch like yourself. And I know that if I were she I would have tossed you out on your arse over an hour ago, but she is a better person than I.”