Page 15 of A Hint of Scandal (The Mismatched Lovers #2)

M ax, acutely aware of his one-armed limitations and the task he’d set himself that day, let down the carriage step for her. “This is my brother’s outfit, I should explain. Before he was taken ill, he was a great fancier of horseflesh and a noted whip. They’re his horses, although he allows me to treat them as though they’re mine.” He was gabbling, but it was almost impossible to shut up. The void between them needed filling with words, and he seemed incapable of preventing his mouth from running away with itself. What sort of a fool would she take him for?

With a little awkwardness, he handed her into the body of the barouche. “As you may imagine, I’m limited as to what vehicles I can use nowadays.” He climbed in and settled himself beside her, not quite close enough that their legs might touch. “There’s an impressive curricle in the mews behind Westbury House which I long to take out, but I can only use it if I take a groom with me. And that’s too frustrating.” Why couldn’t he just shut up? It was as though he had some sort of death wish and wanted to draw her attention constantly to his disability. As if she wouldn’t have noticed it long ago.

She bestowed a gentle smile on him. “I’m perfectly happy with a trip out in this fine equipage, Captain. I’m not a great admirer of speed, and I believe, that once in the park, we’re confined to making a decorous progression.”

More at ease, Max managed to smile back at her, although he remained irritated with himself for behaving more like a green schoolboy than a seasoned army officer. Despite his limitations, as he’d put it, and her professed preference for sedate travel, it would have been fun to take Serafina out in the racy curricle and perhaps driven along the Great Bath Road into the not-too-distant countryside. The number of things you needed two hands for never ceased to grow.

Serafina smoothed her skirts as the estimable Badger, Julian’s coachman who was now standing in as groom and driver of the barouche, clicked his tongue at the two horses, Bella and Bonny. The carriage moved off into the as yet quiet traffic.

She drew in her breath. “I’ve never been for a carriage ride with a gentleman before.” She peeped up at him from beneath her straw bonnet, her gray eyes brimming with enjoyment. For an instant, his heart warmed at the sight of her pleasure, before the thought that offering for her just because she was convenient rose to stick in his craw. He’d professed himself prepared to do just that to the first woman who was remotely pleasing, but somehow, doing so to Serafina seemed wrong. He couldn’t quite work out why that should be. He’d think about that later.

However… for now he would have to overcome these inexplicable feelings. She was intelligent, good company, and although not pretty, pleasing to the eye. What more could he hope for in a bride? She might even be able to overlook his glaring problem. Possibly out of politeness. Yes. He would ask her today, while she was feeling grateful to him for having taken her out, and while she was away from her brother’s family. At least if she said yes, he wouldn’t have to look further for a bride.

However, she had a question for him first. “Might I ask you something, Captain?”

“Of course you may.” He swallowed, a little wary of what she might ask, due to the direction his own thoughts had taken. Small talk with young ladies did not come naturally to him. An idea dawned. “But as this is our second outing together, perhaps you would do me the honor of addressing me as Max?”

Color rose to her cheeks, rendering her suddenly almost pretty. “I would like that very much… Max. And perhaps you could in turn call me Serafina, for that is my given name, chosen for me by my dear Papa.”

Warmth suffused Max’s chest to dispel those lingering feelings of guilt, and he couldn’t help but smile, conscious of heat rising to his own cheeks. Ridiculous. However, he was a gentleman and a reply rose unbidden to his lips. “A beautiful name, and one that should be spoken aloud as often as possible… Serafina.” Her name rolled off his tongue, and he suppressed the urge to repeat it. Several times. She might be a little surprised if he did. He was a little surprised himself by that urge.

He hesitated, searching for something else to say and feeling a bit of a fool. Why were soldiers so much easier to talk to than women? “Named for the highest of angels—the seraphim. The fiery ones.” Whatever had made him think that about her? And what was more, say it out loud.

She laughed, shaking her head. “I suspect the name doesn’t really suit me. I am much more of a mouse than a fire breather, by necessity.”

The barouche turned into Oxford Street and headed towards the park. “I don’t see you as a mouse at all.” Which was true. Despite being ruled by her horrendous family, she had about her the air of one suffering in an enforced silence maintained only because she possessed such good manners and common sense.

She had to be strong to have dealt with that family all her life and emerge undaunted. Since she was a tiny child, in fact. Well, practically undaunted. A lesser woman would have buckled. A lesser woman would most likely accept his intended offer with alacrity. For a moment he hesitated, unsure of what her response would be. She wasn’t like those girls his mother had tried casting in front of him so far. She’d already told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t here in London to find a husband. But surely that had only been because she didn’t think of herself as suitable marriage material?

“You have a gentle exterior but with the strong heart of your namesake.” He’d nearly said a heart of granite, but on reflection had amended his words, as they didn’t sound a good descriptor of a lady. And he didn’t want her to jump to the conclusion that he thought her hard. Which she wasn’t. Or at least, he didn’t think she was, which was a different thing altogether. And really, he didn’t know her well at all, as yet. So what was he doing thinking of proposing to her?

She patted at a stray strand of hair, loosened by the breeze generated by the progress of the barouche, away from her face. “I like to think I’m strong. In the face of adversity, I do not give in to weakness, unless common sense suggests I should do so. I have had to bow to common sense on many occasions in my life. It is almost always wise to do so, I have found.”

“An admirable sentiment and advice you could do well to pass on to both your niece and mine. Wise words for young girls debuting in society.”

They passed a carriage bearing someone Max knew, and their exchange of nods gave him a moment to compose himself. If he was going to make her an offer, he needed to explain to her what it entailed. He glanced at Badger’s broad back, far enough away and with his attention too much taken by his horses and the other traffic to be listening. Hopefully.

“Serafina,” he began.

She turned those luminous gray eyes on him. “Yes?”

This was far worse than waiting to go into battle against the French or the Turks. “I would like to explain myself to you.”

“Do you feel a need to do so?”

He indicated his bad arm. “I do. You see before you a man who is only, in truth, half a man.”

“An arm does not make a whole half of you, surely?”

He pressed his lips together and drew in a breath. “It might just as well. There are many things I can no longer do, because all of them require the use of two arms and two hands. Being unable to perform those tasks and having always to have help for simple things like shaving makes me feel as though I’m but half a man.” The temptation to reveal to her how impotent he felt at not even being able to dress himself arose, to be discarded. Too much, too soon. She might interpret his offer as a desire for a nurse, and that was the last thing he needed. The last thing he wanted her to think. The ignominy would be too much for him.

“I can assure you, I do not see you as even three quarters of a man, but rather as a complete man.” She was smiling still, her lips forming a perfect bow. What would it be like to press his own lips to them in a kiss?

Promising.

“And yet I am here before you, unable to take your hand in mine.” As she was sitting on his right, this was true.

Her cheeks reddened, but in a most attractive manner. She bit her lip, keeping her eyes down to regard his right arm where it hung in its sling. Damned thing. “Might I enquire as to how you came by the injury to your arm? And if it is… permanent?”

He glanced down as well. Best to be honest, Julian would say, and lay your cards upon the table, face uppermost. “You may ask indeed, and I have no reason not to tell you. I was shot while involved in a somewhat reckless cavalry charge at the Battle of Vimeiro in Portugal. The nerves are damaged beyond repair.” He paused. “I’ve seen every doctor in London, I think, and they all say the same. I’ll not be able to use it again. I have no feeling in it from the shoulder down.”

She reached across and laid her own hand on his useless one. “I am truly sorry.”

Unable to feel her touch, he found his heart unaccountably aching for want of it. Such a small thing, touch, but so important. More important than he’d ever given it credit for.

To cover his discomfort, he shook his head. “What for? You didn’t pull the trigger. And there’s nothing anyone can do to undo the damage. It’s been six months, now, and I’m growing used to my limitations.” He sighed. “But I wanted you to be fully aware of my disability.”

“I had guessed it, but it makes no difference to our friendship. You are not diminished by it in my eyes. I am not about to shun you for it.”

Badger maneuvered the barouche through the busy gates into the park and they set off, most decorously, down Rotten Row, in the company of a whole host of other equestrians both in carriages and mounted. The brighter weather had brought them all out. Over in the distance Max caught momentary sight of the distinct form of Mirza Abulhassan Khan, the Persian ambassador in his colorful national dress, cantering sedately along the Row.

Was this the place for him to continue in the direction he had planned? He took a deep breath. “Serafina, you told me you weren’t here in London looking for a husband. That you were here for Letty, alone. There’s something I didn’t tell you. I’m here not just to escort my sister-in-law and my niece, but also to find myself a bride.”

Her face fell.

“No, no, you misunderstand. I am twenty-nine-years old. On my thirtieth birthday I will inherit a substantial fortune left to me by my father. Property and funds that came into the family from my maternal grandmother and so are not entailed. But only if I’m married by that date.”

Her eyes widened, still confused. He was bad at making himself clear.

“I have been away in the army until very recently and marriage was far from my mind. My brother has made it known that he wants me to marry before he… before it is too late, and I am in agreement. But I’m not easy to please and I don’t find any of the girls my mother has thrust beneath my nose in the least bit attractive.” He shrugged. “And I doubt any of them found me to their taste either, as I’m unable to dance with them, and that is all girls like that want to do—dance and flirt.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand. If she interrupted him he’d never get it said and the moment would be gone. “No. Let me finish. I need a bride who will not bore me in a month. I need someone who is sensible and intelligent, not some feather brained girl straight out of the schoolroom. And I must marry very soon or I’ll lose my inheritance.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You wish me to help you find a bride?”

He almost laughed. “No. Not at all. I wish for you to be my bride.” There. He’d said it.

Damnit. A carriage going in the opposite direction to them pulled in close. It held the impressive Lady Routledge and one of her many similarly impressive daughters. She waved imperiously at Badger to stop, and he did.

Serafina shot Max a hunted look before composing her features into bland politeness. Max forced himself to smile. “Why, Lady Routledge, how unexpected.” She would choose this very moment to appear, as if out of the blue. The woman had an altogether uncanny nose for gossip. His eyes slid sideways to check Serafina wasn’t about to give everything away and found her face still expressionless.

“Captain Aubrey, good day to you.” Lady Routledge’s beady eyes fixed on Serafina, a touch of confusion in them. She must be sorting through her memories to fix upon exactly who Serafina was. “Ah,” she finally exclaimed. “Miss Gilbert. Lady Gilbert’s… young relation. I thought I knew you.” She raised her exquisitely painted-on eyebrows at Max. “Out with Captain Aubrey, I see.”

Max ground his teeth. The last thing he wanted was one of the worst gossips of the ton seizing upon him as a subject. “My sister-in-law is acquainted with Lady Gilbert,” he lied, although probably it wasn’t as much a lie as he was thinking. “We’re out taking the air.”

Lady Routledge raised just one single arched eyebrow at him this time. “Remember me to dear Lady Westbury, Captain Aubrey. Good afternoon, Miss Gilbert. Captain.”

Her driver clicked to his horses and her carriage moved away.

The moment she was out of earshot, Serafina turned to face Max, her gray eyes brimming with accusation. He’d rather hoped they’d be brimming with excitement at the prospect of marriage to him. “Was that a proposal?”

Feeling less confident, if that were possible, he nodded. “It was. You need to escape your family, and I need a bride in order to receive my inheritance. Perhaps it’s a little more along the lines of a business proposal.” Good God, had he just said that? But there was no unsaying it now.

“Oh.” Nothing in her tone gave away what she was thinking but her eyes had not lost their accusing expression. Had he somehow insulted her?

“You would gain significantly. I will inherit a house and estate in Wiltshire, not too far from my brother’s estate at Bratton Park. I’ll keep a house in Town as well, if you wish. And you’ll have a generous allowance for… your attire. I know from Maria and Arabella how much ladies like to spend on gowns and such like.” Was this the right thing to say? From her appearance she didn’t look like a girl who spent money on clothes, but he might be wrong about that.

Why was she not looking pleased?

“You will have your own carriage and as many servants as you require.” What else might a young lady require on marriage? He was scraping the bottom of his barrel of knowledge now, but felt more as if he were digging himself a deep hole to fall into.

Her eyes narrowed. “Pray tell me what it is you would expect in return?”

Aha. The nub of it. She was a virgin, of course. She had told him she didn’t want to be married and was probably worried she might have to partake in one of the consequences of the marital state. Despite his fondness for her, or perhaps because of it, he felt sympathy. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Merely that you will be hostess for any social gathering I might wish to hold.” But was that really all he wanted? Dealing with young ladies was so much more confusing than dealing with soldiers.

“Nothing?” Did she sound a tiny bit disappointed? Or was he reading into her tone of voice something that wasn’t there? Perhaps, on the other hand, it indicated relief?

He nodded. “A marriage strictly in name only, so that I may receive my inheritance. And so that you might escape your brother’s house.” The longing for her to fall into his arms and declare that she would love to be married to him rose from nowhere. Wasn’t that what was supposed to happen when one made an offer for a young lady? Even if love were not involved. He pulled himself up short.

What was he? A romantic hero from a novel? He swept that thought away, to where it belonged. Even though she’d claimed she didn’t find his useless arm unmanly, the certainty that she didn’t have feelings for him remained. And of course, he didn’t have feelings for her beyond those warm ones of friendship. And as his mother would say, many a good marriage was based on friendship alone.

She nodded. “Oh. Of course. How very kind of you to wish to take me away from Milford House.” Her tone had flattened.

“An arrangement that should suit us both. I imagine we could spend many evenings discussing Egypt together.” This wasn’t quite how he’d wanted his proposal to come out. In his head, her reactions had been quite different. She didn’t even seem pleased.

What had gone wrong?

They were approaching the Kensington Palace end of the Row now, where Badger swung the carriage around. A weak winter sun shone down on them and the breeze ruffled Serafina’s hair.

She gazed at Max out of troubled eyes. “Thank you very much for your offer, Max. But if you don’t mind, I shall have to take some time to think about it.”

What? She was considering saying no? Was he so awful that staying on with her brother as an unpaid servant was a better option than he was? Max slumped back in his seat, speechless, his ego well dented. He’d rather imagined she’d be grateful to be removed from the frosty confines of her brother’s house and shown just a little pleasure in his proposal. It was going to be an awkward drive back to Great Titchfield Street.