Page 12 of A Hint of Scandal (The Mismatched Lovers #2)

M ax walked the short distance between Great Titchfield Street and Cavendish Square in just a few short minutes. Lamplighters were already out, working fast to dispel the gathering gloom, but the streets were no less busy. The enticing aroma of hot chestnuts induced him to stop where a man was selling them and buy himself a few, wrapped in a twist of old newspaper. He’d eaten nothing at noon and his stomach was protesting at his neglect.

As a soldier, he’d often had to eat while on the move, wherever he’d come across available food. Uncaring of what anyone might think at seeing a gentleman eating on the street, he shelled them quickly as he walked, relishing their sweet flavor. Just for a moment, he was back in Portugal with his men again, before Vimeiro, and the world was the right way up.

He pushed the memory away, and his thoughts returned unbidden to Serafina. Had she ever tasted the delights of street food? Most likely not, with the way she was kept under such close lock and key by her family. Next time, he’d initiate her. Next time… The expression on Lady Gilbert’s face swam like an unwelcome specter into his head, and he saw again the way she’d looked at Serafina as though she were the lowest of the low. His blood heated with indignation. He could take Serafina away from that life, show her something more existed, keep her safe. Marry her.

What?

His thoughts so shocked him, he ground to a halt, and the man who’d been walking behind bumped into him. Words of apology wafted into the night air from both sides, but Max’s thoughts were still on Serafina. What had he just thought? Were they not the musings of someone with the intention of… fulfilling his brother and mother’s wishes?

People flowed past him like the water of a river does around a rock. If he had to marry someone in order to please his brother and inherit his estate, which, since his wound, he couldn’t have cared less about, then why not a girl as out of the ordinary as Miss Serafina Gilbert? A girl who could talk of things other than the gown she was wearing or the tittle-tattle of the ton and the current on dits . A girl who wouldn’t bore him within a few weeks of their marriage. But he was fooling himself. How could a girl like her ever see him in the light of a suitor? Could any girl, in fact? With this arm? Of course not. He was just dreaming of something that could never happen. She wasn’t interested in him or what he could or couldn’t offer, and she’d made that very clear. She’d accepted his invitation merely to satisfy her curiosity about the contents of a museum she’d longed to visit. Her conversation had been proof of that, having been entirely about the exhibits they’d seen. Her enthusiasm had been for the long dead Egyptians, not for him.

Damnit. How had he allowed his head to be overruled in this way? Hadn’t he vowed after the condition of his arm had been diagnosed never to marry, nor even to take any interest in a woman again? Despite the promise Julian had coerced out of him. And yet, here he was, in Town for only a few days, and at the very first ball he’d escorted the Aubrey ladies to he was considering the first woman he’d had occasion to converse with as a possible wife. Of course, he’d told his mother and Julian that he’d offer for the first woman who wasn’t a fool who happened to cross his path, but he hadn’t really meant it. Had he? And this one was a woman who so clearly wasn’t interested in him as a man, and who no doubt saw him as something less than that, thanks to his arm. Was he that weak willed and foolish? No, she might become his friend, but she would never look at him as a possible husband. Would any woman?

He came back to his senses and started walking again. Ahead, on the eastern side of Cavendish Square, he spotted the front door of his brother’s town house. He’d better hurry or he’d be late for dinner. And if he was late, he’d suffer a catechism from both his mother and sister as to where he’d been. And it would come out that he’d taken a young lady out for the afternoon, a fact they’d pounce on like bees on honey.

Having successfully sneaked inside and up the stairs without being spotted by any of his family, he found Watkins, his valet, waiting for him in his bedroom. His evening apparel was already laid out on the bed, and Watkins had a slightly agitated air about him, as though he’d been waiting some time. He probably had. However, as Max’s soldier servant, he’d become well acquainted with his master’s atrocious timekeeping and was not above administering a reproving stare, or even a few words. On this occasion, he confined himself to merely a pursing of the lips and a slight frown.

Max sighed. “I know, I know. I couldn’t help it. The streets were crowded and I could hardly shoulder my way through and send redoubtable matrons flying.” He gave Watkins a rueful smile, which was returned with a diminishing of the frown. He was a few years older than Max, and it was easy to tell from his wiry build and the tough, careworn set of his features that he’d until recently been a soldier.

“We’d best make haste, Captain,” Watkins said, his reproving tone redolent with the accent of the wilds of Yorkshire where he’d grown up on a small tenant farm. “Her ladyship the dowager informed me we have guests for dinner.”

“Guests?” Max raised his eyebrows. Damnit, though. The last thing he wanted was guests. He was not feeling very sociable tonight. Not that he ever felt particularly sociable with people he didn’t know.

“I believe Viscount Gray and his brother are in the drawing room,” Watkins said, flicking an imaginary speck of dust off Max’s shoulder. “Allow me to assist you out of your coat.”

After nearly ten years in the army and only a few months out of it, Max resented having to be helped to dress and undress by his valet, but there were some things two hands were essential for, such as knotting a cravat. And buttons.

“Thank you, Watkins. You’re right, as usual. I’d better hurry or my mother will reprimand me for being out too late and keeping her waiting. Mothers never seem to think of their sons as anything more than small boys.”

“Very true, sir.” Watkins, his expression inscrutable, helped Max out of the buff-colored coat he wore during the day. Did the valet possess a mother somewhere, who fussed over him the way the dowager did over Max and Julian? Max had never thought to ask him, mothers not having been a much discussed subject amongst the military. Hard to imagine Watkins with any family at all. He had the air about him of having sprung fully formed into life as first a soldier servant and then a valet.

Max’s hand went to his cravat, but in vain. Undoing a cravat was as hard as knotting one with only one hand. Without a word, Watkins came to his aid. He had a subtle way with him that diminished the feeling of helplessness Max hated.

Half an hour later, resplendent in his full evening dress of navy blue tailcoat, over a white shirt and a navy waistcoat, and white silk breeches, stockings and black pumps, Max descended to the drawing room. Where he encountered his mother and sister-in-law’s visitors. His two nephews, offspring from her first marriage to the late Viscount Gray, Henry and Louis Herbert, were already ensconced on comfortable seats and in the middle of some racy story of their adventures that was making Arabella, their impressionable half-sister, giggle uproariously and the dowager frown in vain disapproval.

Of course, everyone stopped in their tracks when Max came in, as all heads turned towards him. Another thing he hated, as whatever their intention, he now always took it to mean they were looking at his bad arm. On occasion it felt as though the arm itself must be about ten times its normal size, and the only thing anyone noticed about him.

“Uncle Max!” Arabella exclaimed. “Look how lucky we are that my brothers have found time to call on us. It feels such an age since we last saw them.”

Henry, who’d held the title of Viscount Gray since his father died when he was only six years old, let out a bark of laughter. “Heavens, Bella, but you saw us last night at the ball. Have you quite forgotten?”

Arabella pouted. “But that was at a ball, and, as you’re my brothers, you paid me no attention whatsoever. You were far too busy flirting with the other young ladies present to even notice me.”

“Oh but we did notice you,” Louis, two years younger than Henry, put in. “Who could not have with the crowd of assiduous suitors you had clamoring to have their names written in your dance card. You were quite the success, as you well know, and we couldn’t get anywhere near you.”

The dowager, seated near the nicely blazing fire, modified her frown and managed to smile with unaccustomed benevolence on her step-grandsons, of whom she was fonder than she liked to let on. “I noticed you two dancing attendance on the young Gilbert girl.”

What? Max’s ears pricked. Had he missed something?

Louis grinned at the dowager, irrepressible as usual. “How could we not have, as she was by far the prettiest girl present.” He caught Arabella’s eye. “After you, of course, Sis.”

Henry nodded. “Although she was under the protection of some kind of female guardian, a veritable dragon, who seemed to be vetting all of us young men who attempted to press our attentions on her. I had the feeling the woman could see straight through me to my very heart. Unnerving.”

Louis snorted with laughter. “And when I think of what’s hidden in your heart it’s a wonder she didn’t expire on the spot. But worth her scrutiny to secure a dance with La Belle Miss Gilbert. We’ve been this afternoon to call on her. Not a sign of the dragon, thank goodness, and her mama was kind enough to leave her alone with her callers. Although unfortunately we had to share the room with no less than six others, one of whom was a far too rich cit of advanced years. He obviously fancies his chance with her due to his fortune.”

Oh. Of course. Max heaved a metaphorical sigh of relief. They were talking about Letty Gilbert, not Serafina. A certain amount of indignation arose that they’d not only ignored the attractions of Letty’s youthful aunt but dismissed her as nothing but a guardian dragon. Although he was fond of his two nephews, they’d never ranked high in his estimation of their qualities, and now they sank even further.

“Letty Gilbert is such a nice girl,” Arabella put in. “I believe I can count her amongst my friends now. We were able to converse in between dances while we sipped our lemonade, and I found myself growing fond of her immediately.”

Max’s estimation of his niece’s assessment of character dropped a notch as well. From what he’d seen of Miss Letitia Gilbert, he would not, so far, have classed her as ‘a nice girl’.

“Does that mean you can invite her here?” Louis asked. “Because if you do, please let me know, so I can call by chance to see you.”

Henry guffawed with laughter. “Not just him, but me as well. I won’t have him taking advantage of me. He is the younger brother, after all. I’m the one with the title which must make me much the more attractive of us two.”

“But I’m the most handsome,” Louis put in, with a grin that was enough to dispel any bad feelings in his brother. These two had always vied with each other in this playful manner and it had never amounted to much angst.

Arabella pouted. “Perhaps I will, but perhaps I might prefer to spend an afternoon in girlish chatter rather than being interrupted by two hapless young men intent on stealing away my new friend.”

“Max,” Maria said, patting the vacant seat beside her. “Come sit beside me and tell me about your afternoon before we have to go into dinner. I’ve had my fill of the prattling of young people.”

He took the seat with relief, a little insulted that she didn’t consider him young any longer, and determined not to think about the slight on Serafina. After all, she was nothing to him. Wasn’t she?

“I paid a visit to the Egyptian antiquities of the British Museum. It’s a long time since I was last there, and they’ve vastly improved the displays. I saw the Rosetta Stone—an object that interests me because, as you know, I’ve been to Rosetta. It wasn’t there when I last went. In fact, there were a lot of new exhibits and a whole new gallery to explore.”

Maria sighed. “Dear Julian would love to go there, I’m sure. Such a pity he’s not well enough to have accompanied you. He could have found a lot of new material for his book, I imagine. Although why you gentlemen find dusty old remains from years ago so interesting, I have no idea.” Her face fell a little. “And there I was, thinking you might have been doing something fun.”

He chuckled. “But it was fun. For me, at any rate.” More fun than he was ready to share.

She brightened. “Perhaps it would do my boys good to spend an afternoon in such an intellectual pursuit rather than passing their time in drinking and gambling at White’s.” She followed this with a frown. “Not to mention pursuing flirtations with pretty girls they have no intention of offering for. As the mother of a daughter, I abhor the fact that young gentlemen pay court to eligible young ladies with no intention of anything further than enjoying themselves at their expense.”

Max smiled. “So you see why I don’t advocate an afternoon of fun, then.”

She laughed. “Touché. And now I think it must be time to go into dinner.”

Max offered her his arm, while Henry escorted the Dowager and Louis accompanied Arabella, and the party proceeded into the dining room.

It was a cozy, intimate meal, with the two younger men, both born raconteurs, holding forth with further tales of their adventures in Town, where they shared rooms. Max was able to sit for the most part in silence, reflecting further on his afternoon with Serafina.

Not that he wanted to think about her. Rather that it was occupying his brain to the exclusion of all else. Most confusing. He tried listening to Henry and Louis but just could not concentrate. Was this what it was like to feel an attachment to someone? Or was he just intrigued by a bluestocking of a girl who seemed so deserving of a better life? Most likely he was confusing the pity he felt for her with warmer feelings of friendship. How could a girl he’d met only twice, and who had talked on both occasions only of history, have captured his thoughts so completely? And so easily. If that was what had happened.

He tried again to listen to Louis’s latest tale, but failed.

Was he feeling like this just because of an inclination to help her escape a life that must be less than pleasant? If anyone could be described as a dragon, it was not Serafina but the intimidating Lady Gilbert. Who probably already had her eye on Henry as a possible, titled of course, spouse for her lovely daughter. Not nearly so intelligent and interesting a girl as Serafina though. Why was he having to repeatedly go over how he was feeling like this? Why couldn’t he get that young lady out of his head? He huffed a deep, disgruntled sigh.

“Max, you’re not eating,” the dowager said, her tone a mix of anxiety and reproof. “I’ve been watching you, and all you’ve done is push your food around your plate. Are you ailing?”

Max stared down at his plate. She was right. He’d rearranged the food but not touched it. What to say to avoid alerting her? “I have a megrim, I suppose, after little sleep last night followed by a day in the overcrowded streets of London, and it’s making me feel out of sorts. I’m not hungry. It’s nothing. I’ll take a headache powder before I retire, and I’ll be fine in the morning.”

His mother’s hand twitched as though she would like to lay it on his forehead to check for fever as she’d done when he’d been a child. “You’re sure that’s all it is?”

He nodded. He couldn’t blame her for her worrying. With her husband long dead, her older son such an invalid, and Max himself now war-damaged, it was little wonder she interpreted every uneaten meal or pallor of cheeks as a sign of imminent demise. “Nonsense, Mama. Of course I’m sure. I’d tell you if I were truly sick, rest assured.”

She nodded, but the worry in her eyes told him she wasn’t totally convinced. To show her he was telling the truth, he took a mouthful of the now nearly cold dinner and chewed. For some reason, it was tasteless and took forever to reduce to a consistency he could swallow. But the reward for that was her mollified expression and a small smile. “That’s better.”

Conscious of his mother’s continued scrutiny, he managed to eat a little of the dessert that followed, but it sat leaden in his stomach as though he had no taste for it at all. Which in itself was strange, as normally he possessed a healthy appetite. It must have been those chestnuts. That was it. They’d filled him up. It was a relief when the meal ended and the ladies retired, leaving Max with his two nephews and a bottle of his brother’s best port.

“I gather you’ve been to Great Titchfield Street,” he said to Henry as he passed him the port. “Do you intend to make an offer for the girl? Your mother would be more than happy if you were to provide an heir for your title. She worries about it as your father died so young.”

Henry took the bottle. “Heavens, no. I went to keep Louis company. He’s the one smitten with the girl. And our papa died racing his curricle with another young buck, not from any illness. So I think we’re quite safe from inheriting that.”

Louis, hand out waiting for the bottle, had the grace to blush. “I wouldn’t quite say I was smitten.” But he sounded insincere in his denial.

Max sipped the port. His brother kept a fine cellar here in his townhouse, although not so extensive as the one at Bratton Park. “You could do worse.”

“She’s a diamond of the first water,” Louis said, the blush deepening. “Every young man at the ball was chasing after a dance with her, as they were with Arabella, of course, but when she looked at me…” His voice hoarsened. “It was as though only she and I existed in that whole ballroom.”

Henry burst out laughing. “I had no idea you were such a poet, Lou.”

Louis scowled at him. “I think I must be in love.”

More derisive laughter from his older brother. “That’s what you said only last year about that actress of yours.”

Max held out his hand for the port bottle. “How do you know when you’re in love then?”

Henry shrugged. “No idea. Never been in love. Unlike Lou. He’s been regularly in love ever since he went up to Oxford.”

Louis scowled a bit more. “Those were mere dalliances. This time it’s real. And as to how I know… well… I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I think of her all the time. That’s how I can tell it’s true love.” He bestowed a beaming smile on Max and Henry. “I fear I shall have to make an offer for her before the week is out. She tells me she’s going to the Hadleigh ball on Friday, and she even intimated she hoped to see me there. I’m confident my feelings are reciprocated.”

Henry leaned back in his chair with a grin. “They’ll need to be, with your lack of fortune. That mama of hers has ‘fortune hunter’ stamped across her forehead if I’m not mistaken, with underneath that ‘title hunter’ in smaller letters. To get to the daughter you’ll have to get past the two guard dogs—the mama and the dragon.”

Max frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t refer to any lady as a dragon. You know full well how mothers need to guard their daughters from the likes of you two. And it’s impolite when you don’t know the lady concerned.”

Louis and Henry turned surprised expressions on Max. “Who made you the defender of old spinsters?” Henry, who’d always been the more outspoken of the two, asked.

Irritated now almost to the point of wanting to plant a facer on his nephew’s physiog, Max resisted that impulse with difficulty. “Good manners have made me so,” he said, a little stiffly. “And if your mother had the sense she was born with, she’d have instilled better manners in the pair of you.” He stood up. “And now I’m going to join the ladies.”

As he closed the door he heard Louis’s voice, strident with amazement. “Whatever’s got into him tonight?”