Page 5 of A Bachelor’s Lessons in Love (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #1)

Chapter Five

T he Black Swan Coffeehouse had changed nothing about its interior or menu in years, which was one reason Edward enjoyed visiting on the infrequent occasions that he came to London. They still had the board up with information on stock and trade, updated daily, as it had been in the days when all such business was conducted in coffeehouses. It still smelled of roasting coffee beans and gossip. There was still the same liveried men moving calmly about the place, delivering orders to tables. Edward took a seat at a table near the front window, his hat on a stand nearby, and ordered coffee and toast for himself.

He had ridden in the carriage with the ladies in relative silence, and left them at a seamstress’s shop with promises to meet them for tea in a few hours’ time. Miss Price had nodded curtly, Daphne had given him a shy smile, and both had disappeared inside the business without a backward glance.

Somehow, he had to win their trust. Daphne, sweet as she was, did not seem ready to trust him while her aunt held back—which marked the girl as intelligent, measuring her response to him by someone who she already knew had her best interests at heart. It was Miss Felicity Price he needed to convince of his suitability as a guardian.

Her, and all of London.

The bells above the door chimed, and Edward looked with hope for the friend he intended to meet, but it was not him, merely two other unknown gentlemen who doffed hats and took seats, talking about a boxing match with enthusiasm.

Edward wrinkled his nose in distaste. After years spent fighting, he had little love for fisticuffs, or hunting. Truly, most of the sport other men enjoyed made him feel somewhat ill. He did not begrudge them their entertainment or exercise, he merely wished for more peaceful forms of it for himself. One of the men speaking glanced his way, and only then did Edward recognize him. He nodded. The other man turned his head and hesitated before doing the same, then pointedly gave no word of greeting and back to his conversation with his companion.

Not everyone would forget his name tied to past scandal, it would seem, despite the two decades between his youthful indiscretions and the present. He focused on his coffee, ignoring the weight of the past pressing upon his chest.

This was precisely why he was here. He needed advice—guidance—in navigating London Society’s twisted paths, for Daphne’s sake. Even if he’d rather stay at home, tucked away in the countryside, where life was simpler.

The bells jingled again and this time it was his friend, Frederick Baker, who entered the room. Baker raised his hand the moment he spied Edward, and called out a cheerful, “Halstead, here you are at last!”

Edward rose, exchanging a hearty handshake with his old army friend. “Baker, good to see you again. What’s it been? Five months?”

“Eight, you rascal.” Baker slapped his shoulder with his free hand and took his seat as Edward did the same. After a staff member took Baker’s order, he continued as though without interruption. “It is good to see you leave your hermitage on occasion. Your letter yesterday afternoon gave me a great deal of entertainment, you must know. I told my Hannah when I read it, ‘You’ll not believe what’s happened to poor Halstead.’ She laughed and said, ‘Oh, dear. He will not know what to do with any of it.’”

“I am glad I provided some amusement to your lovely wife and you.” Edward smiled, despite the jest at his expense. “You know me better than most, so it seemed natural to turn to you.”

“Ha! Truly, you ought to have asked Hannah to coffee. She is the one who manages our family. Three children, two of them girls! Aye, Hannah would be the best for advice on taking a young female into your home.”

“I have no doubt of that.” Edward lowered his coffee cup to the table, taking in his friend’s relaxed posture and cheerful grin. “But I told you that my ward, Daphne, came with someone who knows how to manage.”

“The aunt? Yes. How grim, to be saddled with a spritely youthful ward and a grim miserly spinster as companion at the same time.” Baker shook his head with some show of sympathy. “I suppose the aunt will do well enough for now, especially with Miss Daphne Price so near an age to be wed. Yet your letter spoke of needing advice—so how might I advise you?” Baker folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, a crooked grin upon his face.

Edward shifted in his chair, feeling his size more than usual as his knee knocked against a table leg. He managed not to wince, a control gained from practice. “I have been out of Society for so long, I must make my own re-entry before I can even hope to introduce Daphne to the people who matter, let alone receive invitations to the best parties and balls.”

“Have you gone to the clubs yet and put your name down? Or the Assembly Rooms?” Baker asked, eyebrows raised.

“No.” At this point, Edward truly wished he might shrink himself. The most he could do was hunch his shoulders. “I…I must confess that I have not. I am not certain how such a thing would be received in the Assembly Rooms, especially since it was made quite clear some time ago that I am not welcome at either Brook’s or White’s.”

At this, Baker blinked. “What’s that, man? Not welcome? But you must know many of their members, and you likely served with many, too. You must surely qualify for entry on your military record alone.”

Edward had to shake his head. He lowered his voice, wondering whether a more private conversation may have suited better. “I attempted, eleven or so years ago, to join both. Members put my name forward, seconded my request. I was rejected.”

“Blackballed,” his friend said, the word a whisper. “But who would do such a thing?”

Edward had sworn to keep the important secret, not for his own sake, but for the sake of another. Anything that touched on that secret he did not dare speak of, lest he break his word and bring harm to another. At White’s, the father of the girl he had loved had, anonymously, vetoed his membership. At Brook’s, it was the man who had married that girl after Edward’s father had sent him away and told his son to forget about her. Neither story could be told.

He evaded the question. “Does it matter? I am not permitted to join either of the most well-respected and well-known clubs in London.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead and heaved a sigh. “What else might I do to move into better circles for Daphne’s sake?”

“You certainly cannot simply throw her into the Season and hope for the best.” In the long moment of silence between them, Baker’s coffee and a table of biscuits were delivered to the table. His friend turned his coffee cup one way and then the other, then sipped at it. “You are right. You need invitations, connections. Friends. For that, you must be seen and known by the right people. You will have invitations to my home and small entertainments, of course, but as you know, none of my children are old enough to enter the marriage mart. There will not be suitors for your ward in my home.”

“A shame.” Edward looked at his toast which had cooled in the time he had waited for his friend, and briefly debated eating it. The dry bread would likely stick to his throat. Perhaps he’d choke. That would gain attention from everyone in the room, at least. “It is a pity there are not more places for a man to find himself the right sort of friends.”

“Oh.” Baker sat up straighter. “There is another club.”

“Boodle’s? I do not think?—”

“No, no. Blackstone’s.”

Edward considered the name a moment. “The name that sounds familiar, I am not certain I remember many details about that club.”

“It is located at the edge of Mayfair and St. James’s.” Baker brightened considerably. “And it is a respectable enough establishment, even if it is known for collecting members who are a bit…well. Varied, might be the safest word to use.”

Frowning, Edward tried to remember what he had heard about the club. “Blackstone,” he murmured, picking up his coffee. “The proprietor is a lord, is he not?”

“A viscount, yes,” Baker said with a slight nod. “Must be somewhere in his sixties now. He is an interesting fellow. His club members do not vote on new entries, it is Lord Blackstone alone who decides if someone can join.”

“I cannot recall with any clarity how reputable this club is. How can I be certain a membership there will be a help to Daphne, rather than a hindrance?”

Baker sipped at his drink. “Lord Blackstone is respectable, for all that Society knows he is eccentric. He is a viscount, and a wealthy one at that. He donates to worthy causes—there is nothing questionable about his reputation. Those associated with his club are deemed to be of similar ilk—well bred, with sufficient funds, but with no interest in being in the fashionable set. It is well known he has ousted men from his club for acting as scoundrels or for ill-mannered behavior. If you are in his good graces, others will regard you as a comfortable guest, if not a highly sought after member of a party.”

Comfortable . That sounded perfect. Especially for one as out of practice with the fashionable set as Edward.

“Some think the club is a place for misfits, of course,” Baker said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Others, the more open mind sort, see it as a club for independent thinkers—for men with varied interests. You would not be the first soldier to join, for instance. You would not feel at odds at Blackstone’s.”

Edward found himself nodding. “Yes. It sounds like I ought to at least find a way to meet Lord Blackstone.”

“I can arrange an introduction.” Baker’s grin reappeared wider than before, a hint of pompous delight in his air. “My wife’s brother is a member of that club.”

The weight of responsibility pressed upon him again, all the heavier for the conversation and realization of how much depended upon him impressing this ‘eccentric’ Lord Blackstone. Edward was not a man to rely on others; even this request of coffee with Baker had been a hard letter to write. He turned his coffee cup slowly in his hands. “I never thought I would have to re-enter Society at all. Much less for the sake of another.”

Baker appraised him without pity. “That is what guardianship is. You are not merely managing an estate, Halstead. You are shaping the future for your ward—her future.”

The words landed upon him like lodestones. He swallowed the last of his coffee and set the cup down with deliberate care. Daphne’s future was in his hands. If he mis-stepped, if he failed, what would become of her?

Miss Price’s dire warnings echoed in his mind.

Failure was not an option.

“There’s more to this reluctance of yours than time away from your hermitage, isn’t there?” Baker mused, watching Edward’s fingers tighten slightly around the handle of his cup.

Edward chuckled, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension in them, but made no reply.

“A man doesn’t spend two decades avoiding Society without reason,” Baker continued, his tone turning speculative. “A man of your caliber doesn’t get turned down from one, let alone two, clubs. Just what happened to you all those years ago, Halstead?”

“Nothing Society would care to remember,” he finally muttered, and before Baker could press, he added, “But since I must make my return, I might as well do it somewhere I still have a chance.” He met Baker’s gaze and forced a smile. “When can you introduce me to Lord Blackstone?”

* * *

The bell above the door chimed as Felicity and Daphne stepped into Keller’s Fine Stationery perhaps habits had changed. Perhaps a little frivolity for her niece was no bad thing.

Which made her feel somewhat guilty as she said, “Perhaps a set of each? The pink for private notes to friends, the cream for formal correspondence?”

Daphne’s face brightened. “That is an excellent idea!”

“Very well, then,” Felicity said, turning to the enthusiastic clerk. “We will require a selection of writing paper in both shades. We will also need a set of calling cards in each as well—engraved, of course—with Miss Price’s name and direction. A set of fountain pens, ideally engraved with her name, and a set of pencils, too. And a blotter. And an inkwell set. And some ink.”

Well, if the Colonel was in earnest about establishing Daphne for the Season she deserved…

The clerk smiled. “A fine choice, miss. And what will you require for yourself?”

Felicity hesitated a moment before giving a polite but firm shake of her head. She had no need for calling cards—she was not in Society, nor did she have many acquaintances outside of those who already knew where to find her. Besides, it was not her life that Colonel Halstead had agreed to fund. “Only Miss Price today.”

As the clerk made note of the order, the bell above the shop door chimed once more. A tall, stately woman swept into the shop, her gown of deep blue silk rustling as she moved. A maid followed behind her, carrying on her arm a small reticule and an ivory fan.

Felicity instinctively straightened, recognizing the quiet air of importance that a lady of high standing exuded as naturally as breathing. Daphne, still flipping through paper samples, hadn’t yet noticed the newcomer.

But Felicity had a feeling this woman had already noticed them.

The newly arrived lady glanced around the shop, taking in the shelves, the clerk, and finally, Felicity and Daphne. There was no immediate smile, no recognition, merely a calculated sweep of the eyes, the sort of look a seasoned Society matron gave when assessing the worth of her surroundings.

But Felicity recognized the Countess of Kendal immediately.

The lady moved forward, her posture effortlessly regal, her dark blue silk gown skimming the polished wooden floor. A string of pearls lay at her throat, her gloves pristine, her bonnet framing a face which had once been undoubtedly beautiful, now retaining beauty but refined with age and experience.

Daphne, oblivious for a moment, continued sorting through the samples.

The lady’s gaze lingered on her, then shifted briefly to Felicity.

And there it was.

The moment of recognition, followed almost immediately by dismissal. A flicker of politeness, but no real interest. Felicity had seen it many times before. She was a genteel spinster, and in the world of the ton, that made her invisible.

Once, long ago, she might have harbored hope that a woman of standing would see her as something more than a chaperone. A friend. An equal. But unmarried women of a certain age were ornaments of naught but practicality, noticed as far as they were useful and then summarily ignored. She had learned to carry that invisibility like a shawl, worn tightly and without complaint.

Daphne, however, was young, fresh, and eligible, untainted by the world’s critique or censor. That made her worth attention.

The woman turned slightly, addressing the clerk in a voice that was pleasant but carried quiet authority. “I came to see if the sample for my daughter’s stationery is ready, Mr. Keller.”

The clerk bowed immediately. “Of course, Lady Kendal. I will have it brought at once.”

Lady Kendal. A widow, two daughters, one of them just older than Daphne’s age, the other a little older, from Felicity’s memory. She had met the woman when she had come out, ten years before. The countess hadn’t been impressed with her then and would not be impressed with her now. But it was not her own reputation she wished to impress.

Lady Kendal turned her piercing gaze back toward them. “Miss Price. It has been a long time. I do not believe I know your young companion,” she said smoothly.

Felicity resisted the urge to stiffen, not from nerves, but from years of ingrained experience. She already knew what was coming.

“Lady Kendal,” she said evenly. “May I present my niece, Miss Daphne Price?”

Daphne, to her credit, curtsied immediately and gracefully. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

Lady Kendal’s lips curved slightly, and though it was not quite a smile, it was close enough to pass for one. “Another Miss Price,” she said, giving her a slow nod of acknowledgment. Only then did she return her attention fleetingly to Felicity.

“And you are her chaperone rather than her sponsor this Season, Miss Price?”

The words were delivered lightly, but with an air of certainty. Felicity’s cheeks burned. She was still a miss: she hadn’t corrected the countess with a husband’s name, and she wore the drab, modest clothes of a matron in mourning.

But she smiled, smooth as ever. “For now, yes. Her guardian, Colonel Halstead, supports that decision.”

Lady Kendal expression flickered with surprise, followed by a moment’s recalculation. “Ah. Colonel Halstead. I am somewhat familiar with that name. A gentleman soldier, is he not? Well, well. I had not heard he had a young lady under his care.”

“It is a new development,” Felicity said, tone even. “The death of my brother was unexpected. We are both grateful for Colonel Halstead’s willingness to take his duty seriously.”

The Countess returned her gaze to Daphne. “When will you be out of mourning, child?”

“My guardian and aunt believe it will be appropriate to attend events the first week of March,” she answered demurely, after a quick glance at her aunt. “Though I will keep some reminder of my father on my person for a long time to come.” She touched the necklace she wore, a simple pendant on a black ribbon.

“There are no strict rules of how long one ought to wear black, of course,” the countess said, glancing at Felicity’s all black attire. “Let there be no doubt that you loved your father, my dear, and most will understand.”

“That is wise counsel, Lady Kendal.” Daphne kept her eyes lowered, and Felicity could not help feeling proud of her.

Yes, there were those who would comment about Daphne’s abbreviated time in black, but there were no true rules written about when one could cast off mourning without someone thinking it too soon. Besides, Daphne’s father would not want her to waste away in shadow when she was so young and full of life.

“Hmmm. And is this your first time to visit London?”

“Yes, Lady Kendal.” The young lady braved her own question, and Felicity tried not to smile in quiet pride. “Are you often in Town?”

The lady nodded stiffly. “Yes. It is my primary place of residence. My youngest daughter, Lady Louisa, is only a year older than you, I believe. She will make her debut in court this Season.”

Daphne lit up, genuine pleasure in her smile. “How lovely for her.”

Lady Kendal’s gaze assessed her in a way that Felicity recognized too well; appraising, weighing pedigree, manners, and potential connections. Then she smiled slightly, a hint of satisfaction in the curve of her lips. “It would be well for young ladies of similar age and experience to become acquainted before the Season begins properly,” she said smoothly. “I shall mention you to Louisa and see if we might arrange a time to meet.”

Daphne looked to Felicity, eyes shining, as if seeking permission.

Felicity, despite the sting of being so thoroughly dismissed, gave her niece a nod of approval. It was down to her niece, now, to start forming these connections.

“That is most generous, my lady,” Daphne said pleasantly.

Lady Kendal barely acknowledged her response. Instead, she returned her attention to the clerk, speaking as though neither of the other ladies were there at all. She looked over the stationery with gold embossed lettering, nodded, and gave direction for a few adjustments. “Do be sure my daughter’s stationery is prepared before the end of the week, Mr. Keller. We will require it in time for several important invitations.”

Felicity’s hands folded carefully in front of her. This was Society; a place where youth mattered more than intelligence, and breeding mattered more than good sense. Where marriageable young ladies were seen, and spinsters were merely tolerated. She had long since accepted that this was her place in the world, but the sting of it never fully faded.

Daphne, however, was delighted. When Lady Kendal remembered them long enough to bid them a courteous farewell and swept from the shop, Daphne practically hummed with excitement.

“Aunt Felicity, can you believe it? She wants me to meet her daughter—Lady Kendal! A lady! Oh, this is a good first step, is it not?”

Felicity forced a smile, smoothing a hand over her jacket. “Yes, darling. Wonderful indeed.”

Because it was. For Daphne. That was all that mattered.

But as she turned back to the counter to approve the engravings for Daphne’s calling cards, Felicity found herself unable to shake the reminder—yet again—of precisely where she stood on the rungs of London’s fashionable set: as close to the bottom as one could be before actually becoming a servant.

It was a thought she pushed far from her mind as they continued on to other errands until the time came to rejoin Colonel Halstead for tea. The tea shop he had suggested was warm and bustling, the scent of fresh bread and spiced cakes mingling with the sharp notes of steeping leaves. Felicity and Daphne arrived just before the appointed time, the weight of their parcels slightly burdensome but nothing they couldn’t manage. They had ordered most things to be delivered to Briarwood House, but a few items had seemed important to keep with them. At least, Daphne had wanted to keep them, and Felicity could hardly deny her such a small thing.

She spotted Edward Halstead at once. He sat near the window, an untouched cup of tea before him, his broad shoulders making the delicate chair seem far too small for his frame. The sight of him in such a genteel and feminine setting, amid painted porcelain cups and cream cloth-draped tables, doilies covering every spare inch amidst the soft pink of the wallpaper, was almost amusing. He looked like a soldier placed in the middle of a garden party, yet he wore the scene well, appearing at ease despite his incongruity.

Daphne hesitated only a moment before moving toward him, fingers clutching the fabric of her skirt in a nervous gesture Felicity recognized. It was strange how easily Daphne had engaged with Lady Kendal earlier, yet now, in front of Colonel Halstead, she turned shy again.

“Colonel Halstead,” Daphne greeted him with a small curtsy.

The gentleman rose immediately, bowing with precise courtesy before gesturing for them to take their seats. “Miss Price, Miss Daphne.” His gaze flickered over the packages they carried. “I see the day has been productive.”

Felicity settled into her chair, careful with her movements. It was a small effort, but after hours of standing, walking, and enduring subtle slights, she felt the ache in her legs and shoulders. Her gown was still tidy, her bonnet and hair still in place, but the strain of the day draped around her like a too-heavy shawl she could not take off.

“Very productive,” she said lightly. “Daphne now has her calling cards and writing paper ordered. She has been measured for a new wardrobe appropriate for a young lady of her station. We were even given the unexpected honor of meeting the Countess of Kendal.”

Colonel Halstead lifted a brow. “An honor?”

Daphne brightened, though she cast a quick glance at her aunt before saying, “She was very kind. She suggested I might make the acquaintance of her daughter, Lady Louisa, before the Season begins.”

Colonel Halstead’s expression gave nothing away, but Felicity caught the way his gaze flickered over Daphne, assessing. Was there anyone in Society who wasn’t measuring up their neighbor? “That is good fortune, indeed,” he said quietly. “Lady Kendal is well respected in London.”

“Yes,” Felicity murmured, lifting her teacup to her lips to hide her wry smile. Well respected, indeed. And well practiced in the art of social dismissal.

Colonel Halstead’s attention shifted to her. “And you, Miss Price?” His voice was as even as ever, but there was something in the way he regarded her which made her straighten slightly. An unexpected flicker of interest in his eyes. What did it mean? “How did you find your day?”

Felicity took a breath, composing herself. There was no point in lingering on old wounds. She was accustomed to them, after all. “Quite satisfactory,” she answered, choosing her words carefully. “We accomplished a great deal. Miss Daphne was the focus of our time, as she should be.”

Colonel Halstead said nothing at first, only stirred his tea absently before speaking again. “That does not exactly answer my question.”

Felicity’s fingers tightened around her cup. Observant man.

Before she could formulate a response, Daphne leaned forward slightly, her shyness giving way to earnest enthusiasm. “Aunt Felicity is being modest. She has been guiding me all day, and has helped me choose the best of everything—and she never once thought of herself, though I did try to have her spend at least some of her own funds on something pretty or even useful for herself. She would not take even a moment to consider doing so—but then, she never does.”

The gentleman’s gaze sharpened on Felicity, something unreadable in his expression.

Felicity forced a small smile. “It is a chaperone’s duty to ensure the young lady in her charge is properly provided for. Besides, I have no personal needs at present. That is all.” It had been years since anyone expected Felicity Price to indulge in anything simply for the pleasure of it. That was a privilege for young women with futures ahead of them. Her days of acquiring pretty things for herself had ended when she realized there was no one left in the world who cared whether she wore pink roses or daisies in her hair.

A silence settled between them for a moment, but before Colonel Halstead could speak again, a server arrived to take their order. Grateful for the reprieve, Felicity changed the topic the moment the server left, keeping Daphne engaged in sharing her thoughts about London thus far. Though she caught Colonel Halstead’s gaze on her several times, his expression somewhat worrisome, he appeared to study her for a purpose. Perhaps trying to determine whether she would be invited to stay or told to go.

How could she convince him he needed her to remain in Daphne’s life?