To Catch a Rake (31 page)

“Have you given her the offer of your hand?” his father asked, leaning forward. The refection of the fire danced in his dark eyes.

George shook his head and focused on his knee. “No, but now I realize I must offer.”

“Regardless of the outcome?”

His stomach seized and it felt like he had eaten a clay bag with hazel sticks protruding from it. Staring into his father’s gleaming eyes, he realized there was only one answer. “Yes, regardless of the outcome.”

His father burst out of his chair, took two strides, and pulled him to his feet. This was followed by a rare hug. “My son, my son.” His voice cracked. “I never thought I’d live to see the day you”—he playfully punched his shoulder—“would fall in love. Understand the emotion too.” He threw himself into another tight embrace. “So happy. Wait until I tell Mother.”

“Please don’t. Nothing may come of it, and I’d be embarrassed. Promise?”

His father paused, then returned to his seat. “Not a word, I promise.”

“I just need a little advice.” If he was honest with himself, a significant amount of advice. “You see, we are currently not on speaking terms.”

“It’s unfortunate you are estranged. I’m not going to ask you why, since I doubt it will help. Will it help?”

George shook his head.

“Then the only advice I can give you is from my own personal experience. And that lesson is to not rush into expressing your affections. Take the time to build up the friendship and trust again. I know your first instinct is to rush in and wrestle the situation to rights, tell her you love her, and expect an affirmative reply—but don’t. You may irrevocably offend her if you do.”

His heart beat erratically. His first instinct to remedy the problem was rejected. “Then how should I proceed?”

His father stroked the gray stubble shadowing his chin. “Do her a service, or make one of her loved ones happy, such as persuading James to resume his addresses to her sister. If those are impossible, just make the time spent in your company a pleasant and enjoyable experience. I know nothing of the relationship or if the result you hope to achieve is even possible, but you understand the idea.”

“That’s easy enough. I can have lunch with James again. I’d like that.”

“Good. Then once she is aware of the service you have rendered her, you express your attentions someplace she feels comfortable. Whether that is at home or a crowded ball, you would likely know the answer better than I do.”

George sipped his golden brandy and stared at the smoldering fire.

They sat for several minutes in silence.

“If none of my suggestions are successful,” his father said. “Then there is only one recourse.”

He turned to stare at his father, brow constricted, unsure of what followed.

“When you are alone and both standing, you must move to hold her. Take it slow, so as not to frighten her, but hold her in an embrace—nothing more. Remain unmoving until you are both comfortable. If there is no chance of a reconciliation, she will not stay in your arms long.”

Would he ever be granted that chance? “Thank you for the advice. I will think about it carefully, before I try anything rash.” He set down his brandy and prepared to journey to the tunnel. He had many things to consider, and hard labor had always succeeded in putting his problems into sharp focus.

His father noticed this. “Are you off?”

“Yes, there is a board meeting to discuss the riverbed and the possibility of laying large oilcloths on the bottom of the Thames above the area where we are currently digging.”

“Your mother is sleeping, so I’ll have to return home soon, but would you like me to join you for the first hour?”

George bit his lower lip. Now he fully comprehended the strength of his father’s motivations to stay. “Thank you for the offer, but no, I’ll handle it.” Of course, he might not be able to handle the situation, but if that came to pass, he decided to be positive and learn from the experience.

“Did you say you will handle…” His father jumped to his feet and rushed over to pat him on the back. “So pleased, Son, so pleased.” He sat on his chair. “Since our very likely one and only father and son talk is coming to an end, there is something I wish to say to you while I have the chance. I understand your disappointment, sometimes bitter, although you try to hide it, when I cannot be by your side at the board meetings. I just want you to know that I appreciate, and respect, the fact that you never mentioned your displeasure to Mother. You could have easily complained to her, but you kept from her your fears that without me by your side, you might fail. And for that I thank you.”

George paused. Without a doubt, in the past he had bitterly resented his father’s absence and felt abandoned at crucial moments of his life. But he would never add to his mother’s woes by placing pressure on her to release him. Now after the full realization of his feelings for Meta, he understood the reasons behind his father’s actions better. “Yes, I blame my resentment on the foolishness of the young, which for me lasted until thirty. I hope that today, I’m a wiser man.”

“Good. You are fully capable of being a success on your own merit.”

He chuckled and smiled, pride swelling inside him. “Thank you, Father. For the first time, I believe you.”

That evening, George stayed awake most of the night, considering his father’s advice. Obviously, his female troubles were a well-trodden path for the male of the species.

Early the next morning, he was truly delighted to see Fitzy bound through the door and greet him without reservation or awkwardness.

“Drexel, I am so happy to see you. Is your father here? Wait till you see what he has planned for a surprise. I cannot wait.”

George smiled. “Sit down and tell me about your family, but first explain why you sent a note announcing you’d pay a call. We got so used to you coming and going without a formal invitation, you seem like part of the family. Now the entire household is delighted to learn of your return.”

The young man blushed. “Meta said I shouldn’t bother you, because the two of you had some sort of falling out.” He wrung his hands. “I am sorry about that, Drexel, I truly am. Meta has not included me in her confidences, not really. I know it’s some hum about that field guide nonsense. All these hard feelings over a silly book. I don’t understand it.”

He smiled. “You’re right. A silly book, indeed. But if she warned you not to bother us, does she know of your visit today?”

The boy nearly jumped in his chair. “Yes, she urged me to come because of the leak in the tunnel. We all were so worried when we heard the news. She sent me over as soon as she thought you would not be so busy and my visit would be reasonable. Funny thing is, she has not been able to eat since, so I know her concern about the fate of the tunnel must be upsetting her no end.”

From the sudden unique sensation within his chest, George came to the conclusion that his heart must be soaring in place. Then wisdom prevailed. Perhaps it was the success of the tunnel after all, and not his welfare, that caused her lack of appetite.

“And as far as that silly book those ladies wrote is concerned,” Fitzy said, “well, she and I, with James’s help, bought up every copy in London.” He laughed. “You should have seen James’s face when he ran out of the Temple, arms full of the ladies’ field guide. I thought I’d laugh so hard, I’d do myself an injury.”

“Your sister and James did what?” He held his breath, while his mind raced.

“Bought up all those field guide books she said insulted you. They’re piled high in the schoolroom now. I wonder what she’ll do with them. There are so many of them, they’d make a bang-up roaring fire.”

His father then stepped into the parlor and greeted Fitzy. “I have a job for you today. Come, follow me.”

Fitzy fell in step behind his father as they both disappeared upstairs.

Once at the tunnel, George attended the meeting, then spent several hours on the tunnel’s new drainage plans. He accomplished nothing except drawing a square and sharpening a pencil. Instead, he marveled over the news that Meta had bought up copies of the ladies’ field guide in a gesture surely meant to save him and make amends. He thought of showering her with presents or words of gratitude, but nothing sounded right.

He laughed aloud. In the past, many people at one time or another had called him a rake. If he was truly a rake, he should know how to please a female in every way, not just in bedroom behaviors and empty words of flattery. No true rake would ever find himself in his current befuddled, anxious condition without an easy solution.

An hour later, Fitzy and his father returned to the parlor. Fitzy had white plaster on his coat and waistcoat. George worried Meta may be angry, so he ordered the boy to the kitchen to be cleaned. “What have the two of you been up to?”

His father and Fitzy exchanged smiles. “I asked Fitzy to make a cast for your mother.” A sigh escaped him, then he explained to Fitzy. “I might die before her, you see. If she has a memento beside her during her last years, I know it will give her comfort when I’m gone.” The older man’s eyes suddenly became a little watery.

George gulped before his throat closed. The subject of his parents’ mortality pained him deeply. However, it spurred him to consider the expediency of what he needed to do: how to deliver himself into Meta’s good graces, how to restrain himself, and how to offer his hand in marriage at the proper time—the time when her only possible answer was
yes
. The pain centered deep in his chest grew. Right now, he’d give everything he owned, or would own in the future, just for the opportunity to kiss her once.

Twenty-one

Passing through the vestibule of the family’s town house, Meta saw a note on the hallway salver addressed with remarkably large looping penmanship she recognized as George’s. Since his admonition about withholding an insult and repeated cuts at Lady Sarah’s ball, she had no choice but to believe their relationship was truly at an end. For a reason she could not fathom, she picked up the paper, held it to her nose, and inhaled.

It smelled like paper.

Her heart broke a little. She was not sure what she expected, but she would have recognized if it smelled like George’s normal perfume of coal smoke mixed with mud and the well-recognized odor of a man in close proximity. His scent had always set her heartbeat off in a gallop.

But it smelled like paper, washed linen, perhaps a little whiff of iron-laden ink or the lavender-scented drying sand.

She ripped open the note too fast, causing the paper to tear.
Bother.

In his large handwriting, she read:

Madam, please do me the honor of being my guest at a banquet Friday next. The location will be at the Thames Tunnel. Unless I hear otherwise, my carriage will arrive on your doorstep at five o’clock. If you wish decline, I will understand. Let Fitzy deliver your regrets.

You have my deepest regards,

Geo. Drexel

What a curious invitation, moreover, an equally curious site for a banquet. Did the bear plan to roast the rabbit at the tunnel? Any further thoughts were interrupted by a thumping commotion descending the stairs.

“What ho?” Fitzy said, reaching the bottom and immediately leaning over the letter in her hand until his nose hovered inches away.

She whipped the invitation behind her back. “If you must know, it is private correspondence and none of your business.”

“That’s a gammon. It’s from George; I can tell. Did he mention me? Does he need my assistance?”

She reached out with one hand and tousled his hair. “No, it’s an invitation to dine.”

“I told you before, don’t touch my hair. I’ve grown up now. I hope you’re going to accept his invitation.” He tilted his head in a quizzing manner, perhaps suspicious of her ability to restore the relationship between them.

“Should I?”

“What’s stopping you?” He pulled an apple out of his pocket and took a bite with a loud crunch. Juice covered his cheeks, so he wiped them with his sleeve.

She frowned. “Have you forgotten? He blames me for the publication of
The Ladies’ Field Guide to London’s Rakes
.”

Upon the sudden realization that he flaunted the house rules about eating, he whipped the apple behind his back. “Oh pooh. George has forgotten that, I can tell you. Every time I pay a call he asks about your health. Besides, if he was irrevocably angry with you, why would he invite you to dinner?”

The first words that came to mind were
a dressing-down
. She feared a scene similar to their last encounter. Still, he did send her the dinner invitation. “Perhaps you are right. Are you visiting the Drexels soon?”

“Tomorrow. I’m putting the finishing touches on a plaster cast I’m making for Mr. Drexel and his wife. I must admit it is not my best work. I may have to cast it again.”

“Then it will be better the next time, I promise. But before you leave, I will give you a short note accepting his kind offer to dine.”

“Yes, yes, capital.” He started to run toward the schoolroom.

“Slow down! For heaven’s sake. We don’t want another chandelier accident.”

He slid to a stop and furtively looked up. Then he slowly walked out of the room.

That evening in her bedroom, it took Meta over an hour to write three simple lines. She inquired about the well-being of his family, thanked him for the invitation, and communicated her delight in attending the celebration at the tunnel.

Hours later, she ended the evening by a thorough wardrobe inventory.
What is the appropriate dress for a banquet held at the tunnel?
She had no idea where the tables might be placed. Would it be held outside under a canopy, nearby in rooms at the church, or in the tunnel itself?

Early the next morning, she visited her modiste and ordered a new bronze silk gown, an elegant design with only a few frills on the sleeves and no train. If the banquet was to be held outside the tunnel, a train might be ruined by water and mud. By the end of the day, she had purchased a completely new outfit, the gown and lovely kid shoes instead of silk ones, also to defend against water. Her final purchase was a simple turban of rich claret-colored silk.