Page 10 of A Trial of His Affections (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #2)
Chapter Ten
M iles paced the pavement on the opposite side of the street from the Exeter ‘Change. Dunsmore had said they would come at two o’clock, but it was a quarter past the hour, and there was still no sign of them. Could he have changed his mind and taken her to the Tower instead?
Miles ran a hand through his hair. Why was he even there? Dunsmore, while disagreeable, was an honorable man. At least in the sense that Grace’s reputation would not be at risk. Besides, Mrs. Jenkins would surely accompany them. Grace’s reputation was secure, and there was nothing that would change that. They did not need him.
He grumbled. “My presence is unnecessary.” Yet he could not make his feet move him toward his carriage waiting on the next street.
Instead, he paced the pavement, waiting for them to arrive. He simply needed to see her with his own eyes and ensure that she was well. Then he would leave.
A carriage turned the corner onto the Strand, and he immediately recognized the matching bays. Dunsmore.
Miles ducked behind a crowd of people on the corner as his heart raced and perspiration dotted his brow. Now that they were there, he could leave. Had he not just wanted to see her?
Dunsmore’s carriage stopped in front of the building across the street, and Miles watched as a footman handed Mrs. Jenkins out first and then Grace. Why had Dunsmore not handed her out? It was a common courtesy. Could he not be bothered with even that?
He lost sight of them as the crowd jostled, and a man carrying crates on his shoulder waited for several carriages before crossing the street. Miles stood on his tiptoes, making himself taller. It allowed him to see over the crowd, but it also made him easily seen. What if they caught sight of him there? Surely that would be worse than losing sight of them . He knew where they were going after all.
He ducked back down and crossed the street behind a slow-moving hackney, catching sight of them just as they entered the building.
Miles straightened, tipping his beaver slightly forward. He would peek inside, then be on his way. He had papers that needed reviewing. He had no time for such nonsense.
Miles stood on the pavement and counted to fifty slowly. Perhaps not slowly but more so than when he usually counted. When the number fifty flitted through his mind, he stepped forward and grasped hold of the handle, pulling the door open. He entered and paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He passed the door leading to a business occupying the lower floor and bounded up the first few steps but stopped just short of the top. How was he to remain undetected if he charged up the stairs?
He looked back down, eyeing the door outside. He should leave. He had no idea how many people visited that day. It could be a crush or, just as likely, nearly empty. How would it look if he appeared at the same place as Grace and Dunsmore? They would easily spot him if the crowds were sparse.
Moving more cautiously, he made his way the rest of the way up the staircase and peered into the first room. It was not the crush he hoped it would be but neither was it empty. If he could join a group, perhaps he could blend in without Dunsmore or Grace noticing him.
The door closed at the bottom of the stairs and Miles stilled. Were they coming up, or were they visiting the shop? Footfalls on the steps answered his question.
Miles leaned casually against the wall, waiting for the group to pass him so he might join them in the rear.
It was a group of six people. Two of the women looked at him suspiciously as they passed, but as soon as they stepped onto the upper floor and caught sight of the first animals, their attention moved away from Miles. It was just as he had hoped.
“Look at the lion,” one lady said in awe. “His mane is so full.”
Another lady giggled. “He looks no fiercer than a cat. I wager his fur is very soft. I so wish I could pet him.” The lion rolled onto his side as if inviting the woman to make good on her comment. She placed her gloved hand to her mouth and giggled again.
Miles rolled his eyes. What a ninny. Did she not realize the lion likely missed the thrill of the kill? It would take her arm off in a flash, he was certain.
He looked ahead and spotted Dunsmore and Grace at the monkey display. Each monkey lived in its own small enclosure. They paced on all fours at the front, staring down at the people. One, whose cage was barely above eye level, sat down and pulled a slice of fruit from the small tray of food. He put it to his mouth as he stared down.
Miles’ group moved behind Grace and Dunsmore, stopping to look up at the monkeys in the cages up higher.
Miles scratched at his cheek. From the corner of his eye, he saw the monkey in front of Grace scratch its cheek.
He paused. Was it watching and mimicking him?
Miles ran a hand through his hair.
The monkey ran its hand over its head.
Miles grinned. The monkey scrunched up his nose and grinned a toothy smile.
Miles rubbed his hand over his chin. What if…he shook his head. No. He could not. He was not even supposed to be there.
Grace turned and smiled at something Dunsmore said.
Miles squinted at their backs. Then again, maybe he could. He lifted his hand and stared at the monkey before he pretended to throw something at it.
The monkey let out a squawk as he shoved the rest of the fruit in his mouth. He picked up something from the floor of his cage.
Miles’ eyes widened. No, no. That was not what he had intended. But he was too late to stop it. The monkey’s hand came through the bars, and he sent something flying. Only it did not hit Dunsmore as Miles had imagined. Instead, it was Grace who let out a shriek.
Miles dropped his head and slouched down, turning quickly away from sight. He hurried toward the steps, taking them three at a time, and did not look up until he was safely on the pavement outside.
He ran a hand over his face. What had he done? What had he been thinking? It was not as if the animal knew who Miles wanted to hit with the fruit. Indeed, were monkeys even known for their accurate throws? He had no idea. But that wasn’t the point, was it? He had made a monkey his accomplice, with no thought of the outcome. And to add insult to injury, he suspected the monkey had not thrown fruit. What it had been, he did not care to think on.
Miles closed his eyes.
Grace’s gown was surely ruined. By Jove, what would she say if she ever discovered it was his fault?
He walked quickly to where he’d left his carriage parked down the street. Climbing in, he sunk down in the seat and waited. He wasn’t sure for what. He just knew he couldn’t leave yet. Perhaps he wanted to see if she fled the menagerie in tears or a fit of rage.
Lud, how was he going to tell Grace what he had done? What was he going to tell her he was doing there? It was bad enough he had followed her but then the whole monkey incident? It looked bad…very bad. How was he to explain everything without looking like a complete nodcock? But then, he was a nodcock, so it seemed unlikely he’d escape that moniker.
But explain he must. He could not allow her to think it had been an accident, could he? But it was an accident. Just not the kind of accident she surely believed it to be.
His eyes widened slightly. Would Philip call him out for it? It would be within the man’s rights to do so.
He pulled in a deep breath. He would tell her. Maybe after they went to the museum. After all, she was looking forward to that outing. There was no sense ruining it before they went. He would tell her after. Perhaps they could go to Gunter’s and have tea. She would not scream at him if they were in public, would she?
Perhaps he should buy her something to soften the blow. What could he give her? Flowers?
He discarded that thought immediately. She had an entryway full of flowers.
She would likely need a new gown after this. Perhaps he could buy a bolt of fabric and have it delivered to the house—enough that both ladies could have a new gown made? It would be the least he could do. And it would not be so inappropriate if he did not single out Grace, surely.
He glanced out the window as Dunsmore, Grace, and Mrs. Jenkins exited the menagerie. Even from Miles’ distance, he could see the stain marring Grace’s gown.
Dunsmore’s hands flew about in the air, and he spoke animatedly to them. Both Grace and Mrs. Jenkins had furrowed brows. What was he saying to them? Miles leaned closer to the door as if he could hear the exchange—which he couldn’t.
Dunsmore’s carriage pulled up, and he climbed inside. His carriage moved away, leaving the ladies standing on the pavement.
“What the devil?” Miles peered out.
Mrs. Jenkins looked up and down the street. Was she looking for a hackney?
Had the cad left them behind? Anger pushed Miles’ guilt to the side. How dare Dunsmore abandon them. He leaned out and called to his driver. “Carry on.” But as they neared the front of the Exeter ‘Change he rapped on the side. “Hold up, Blake.”
He opened the door and motioned to the ladies. “May I give you ladies a lift?”
They exhaled a deep breath and nodded as they hurried to his carriage. He swung down quickly and handed each woman inside.
Once he settled on the bench opposite them, he crossed one knee over the other and looked at them in question. “Is everything all right? You looked very concerned standing there.”
Grace looked to be nearly in tears. Miles had to look at Mrs. Jenkins, else it would surely undo him.
Miles had a mind to land Dunsmore a facer for what he’d done. He glanced down and spotted the front of her gown. The dark stain spread across the front, and upon closer inspection, marred her gloves as well. She must have attempted to brush it off. He bit at the side of his cheek to keep his features neutral.
“We came with Lord Dunsmore,” Mrs. Jenkins said.
Miles feigned understanding. “Oh, yes. Today was the outing. Where is Dunsmore?” He frowned and looked out the carriage window.
“I would guess he is very nearly home by now,” Grace mumbled.
“But why did he leave you? Did your outing not go well?” His insides churned. He was a rogue of the worst kind, sitting there pretending he knew nothing of the incident.
“If abandoning us on the pavement means it went well, then it was a resounding success!” Grace bit back a sniffle.
“He left you on the pavement? But why? Dunsmore is nothing if not a gentleman.”
Grace turned her head and looked out the window.
“His gentlemanly behavior does not extend past the possibility of soiling the fabric of his squabs.” Mrs. Jenkins raised her eyebrows in disapproval.
It seemed Miles’ plan had worked…to an extent. He thought neither of the ladies would desire the attentions of Lord Dunsmore. But it seemed unlikely they would choose Miles either once they learned of his role in the accident.
He smiled sympathetically. “I will see you home. Perhaps we can discuss this once Miss Jenkins has changed her clothes,” he eyed the smeared, dark spot on her gown. “And perhaps has some distance from the event.”
Mrs. Jenkins nodded. “She might need to go to Scotland to get enough distance.”
Miles looked over at Grace, and his chest constricted as a fat tear rolled down her cheek.
Lud, he was the worst sort of man.
* * *
Miles stopped just outside the parlor door, a large parcel tucked under his arm. He peered into the room. Philip sat in a chair by the window, a ledger on his lap.
He looked up and smiled. “Yardley. It’s good to see you.” He gave Miles a grim look. “I understand I owe you a debt of gratitude. A good bit of luck that you happened upon Elle and Grace when they stood stranded outside the menagerie.”
Miles’ smile was tight. “Yes. A stroke of luck, indeed.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. Would Philip read the guilt that was surely etched on Miles’ face? He watched his friend from beneath his lashes. Or did Philip already know? Was that his way of testing to see if Miles would confess everything?
But Philip’s smile seemed too genuine to be a trick.
Miles sucked in a quick breath.
“I’m sorry to impose, Jenkins. But I found this in a shop today, and I wished to bring it to Mrs. Jenkins and Miss Jenkins. I feel a certain responsibility about what happened.” He handed over the bolt of fabric.
Jenkins took the package, a knowing smile on his lips. Only Miles doubted he really knew what it was all about. “You can’t blame yourself. It’s not as if you made the monkey throw…anything. And your friend’s actions were not your doing.”
Miles sat down in the chair. “I can’t call him much of a friend. I’m wondering now if I really knew him at all.” He shrugged. If only he hadn’t known him as well as he did, he might not feel so guilty. “I never would have thought him the sort of man to abandon a lady. Especially when it was not Miss Jenkins’ fault.”
“What was not my fault?” Grace asked as she swept into the room in a fresh gown.
“Whatever happened at the menagerie.” Miles stood and raised his brows.
Her face turned a deep crimson, and his stomach twisted painfully. “Suffice it to say, I don’t believe there is a future between Lord Dunsmore and me.”
Miles was grateful for that, at least. He sucked in a breath. He should tell her now before he lost his nerve. Just say it. Maybe she would not be so angry with him. After all, it’s not as if Miles was a monkey handler. How was he to know what the creature would do? She would understand it was all an unfortunate accident, would she not? Perhaps she would still go with him to the museum, even after she learned the truth.
“We didn’t even see all the animals.” She looked so disappointed, and he vowed they would return together so she might see everything.
“I’m sorry.” He took a breath to plunge into his apology when she turned to him and stared at him with raised brows.
“I must thank you again. Had you not happened by when you did, the day would have been a complete disaster.”
Miles swallowed. “You need not thank me.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Has Philip told you what happened?”
“I believe I deciphered the basics of it.” Miles squirmed in his seat. Just tell her. “But if it is too painful to recall the particulars, you need not relate the story.”
Her cheeks reddened. “It was an ill-tempered monkey. That’s what happened.” She leaned in. “Did you know they throw…” She pulled back and swallowed, looking as if she might be ill, “ things out of their cages? Disgraceful things…” She stopped speaking and put a hand to her mouth as if trying to staunch the sickness from coming up her throat. “I have asked Mary to burn my gown.” She looked almost as distraught about that notion as ‘the incident.’ And she seemed not the least bit affected that nothing would come of Lord Dunsmore.
Miles closed his eyes. How could he be so happy about one thing and so distraught about another, all at the same time?
A sputtering laugh sounded next to Miles, and he looked up to see Philip schooling his features.
Grace scowled at him. “How can you laugh about it, Philip? It was humiliating. And it was such a lovely gown, too. Regardless of what Lord Dunsmore thought.”
Philip lifted a brow. “He did not like your gown? I thought it very pleasing.”
She shook her head. “He said the style might be of the current fashion, but he was nearly certain the fabric was from last year.”
“What a bunch of poppycock,” Philip grumbled. His earlier mirth was gone.
Miles winced and ran a hand through his hair. How was he to tell her now?
Grace turned slightly. “But I have bathed three times, and I intend to put it behind me.” She smiled and looked at the package on Philip’s lap. “What is that?”
Philip lifted it and held it toward her.
She let out a delighted squeal. “It is for me?”
“For you and Elle,” he clarified.
His gaze flicked to Miles. “Mr. Yardley wasn’t certain if Elle’s gown was ruined also. He thought you might both need a new gown after the menagerie.”
Grace pulled the string, and the paper fell away. A gasp of breath sounded as she ran her hand over the printed muslin fabric. “Are those fern fronds?”
Miles nodded. “Yes. When I saw it, I thought of you.”
Philip smiled. “And Elle. We all know how much my wife loves ferns.” He bit down on his lip, but they still twitched.
Grace ran the fabric through her fingers. “Thank you, Mr. Yardley. This is very kind of you.”
Miles smiled and stood up. “I am happy to help...” he glanced at Philip, “Mrs. Jenkins and you.”
She hugged it to her chest. “I could not have picked a better fabric myself.”
Miles dipped his head, guilt and excitement warring inside his middle. Although he could not say which would come out the victor.