Page 17 of A Trial of His Affections (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #2)

Chapter Seventeen

M iles left Jenkins’ townhouse and walked—not paying heed to where he went. What was Wetherby about? Why had he asked Grace to the theater? Miles had only wished for the man to ask her to dance a set or two. Not spend an entire evening with her.

He shook his head. Why had he thought it would only be a dance or two? He scrubbed a hand over his face. Deep down, he knew it would be that way. How could it be anything but? Grace was handsome—quite as handsome as any other young lady of the ton . But it was more than that. She was intelligent, kind, and strong. She had not even teared up after her fall last evening. And based on the bruising and scabs he’d just seen, it had to have hurt a great deal.

He sighed. He had hoped the gentlemen would only dance with her. Is that not why he’d gone along with Fin and Freddie’s ridiculous idea? Because he knew the gentlemen would not pursue her?

Whatever Fins assertions, the plan was not working. Grace was nowhere closer to accepting him than she’d been last year. Perhaps even less so because her resolve to secure a title seemed to have only grown in the last few months.

And why did he feel ready to land Freddie a facer? Or maybe it was Wetherby he wanted to strike. He shook his head and frowned. Perhaps he was not particular about who he hit. He just wanted to punch someone.

Miles flexed his hand at his side as he breathed in deeply. He kneaded at the back of his neck. Perhaps it wasn’t his brother or Lord Wetherby who needed a punch.

He thought back on the state of Grace’s arms from her fall the previous night. A fall that he had caused. It was troublesome enough that he had kicked the walking stick—he was usually more in control of his emotions—but then he had allowed Allington to take responsibility for the mishap. Not that Allington deserved Miles’ sympathy. The man was certain to hurt Grace in other ways. But Miles should have confessed his part in it to her—to his part in her other mishap as well.

Lud, when had he become such a coward?

He kicked at a pebble on the pavement and made a decision. He would tell Grace everything. He had to tell her because it was eating him up inside, slowly and painfully, every time he saw her. Every time he thought about her.

He stood in front of Fin’s house. Why was he there? Surely he was not there to seek more ill-advised advice.

He scrunched up his nose. While he wanted to place all of his woes at Fin and Freddie’s feet, he could not. Fin had not engaged with the monkey. Nor had he kicked Allington’s ridiculous walking stick. And had not Fin expressed hesitation to the plan? In truth, the plan had been Freddie’s. But regardless of whether Freddie or Fin came up with the plan, the blame was not theirs.

It rested squarely on Miles. He could have ignored the plan—cast it aside. It was not as if Fin and Freddie had forced him to take part.

The front door opened, and Fin stepped out. He grinned. “Miles, I was just thinking about you.”

Miles raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Yes. I’m headed to the club. I’m certain Stanhope and Freddie will be there. I thought it the perfect day for you to submit for membership. Then you can join us.”

He made it sound so logical. So perfect. But how could anything be perfect? Could he not see that Miles was falling apart? Could he not see the turmoil he was going through?

Fin paused on the pavement and stared at him. “Are you well, Miles?”

“Yes.” Miles nodded. “Well, no.” He looked down at his feet. “I suppose physically I’m well enough. I just learned that Wetherby has asked Grace to the theater tonight.” He stepped up into Fin’s carriage. “I wanted to take her to the theater,” he sulked as he dropped heavily onto the bench.

Fin grinned. “Then why did you not ask her?”

“I can hardly ask her to do everything at once. I already took her to the British Museum. I thought to wait a day or two.” Miles crossed his arms, feeling his petulance rise.

“Why do we not go to the theater also? My box is in full view of Wetherby’s.” Fin rapped on the side of the carriage. “It is perfect for watching people, if you understand my meaning.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Miles scowled back at him.

“Several months ago, I might have agreed with you. But these last few months? I’m not so convinced.” He gave Miles an appraising look. “What has Miss Jenkins done to you?”

Miles shook his head and dropped it into his hands. “It is not her, per se. It’s me. Something’s been amiss with me. I’ve not quite been myself of late.”

“Then the theater is just the thing. We shall have a grand time.”

“I’m not so certain.” Miles rested his head back and stared up at the ceiling.

“But I am,” Fin said with far too much merriment in his tone. “Someone needs to chaperone you and make certain you do nothing foolish.”

Miles looked over at him. While he did not like the inference, Fin may not be too far off the mark. “May I bring my sisters?”

Fin’s eyes brightened. “Of course. I have yet to see Lady Evangeline and Lady Arabella this Season.”

Miles did not feel any better. But he no longer felt as if he needed to land someone a facer. Which seemed to be progress. Even if it was only a small bit.

* * *

Fin, Freddie, Stanhope, Ari, and Evie sat in the box seats with Miles.

Jenkins, his wife, and Grace occupied Wetherby’s box.

Miles breathed in deeply through his nose. Fin had been correct that his box had a perfect view of Wetherby’s. However, he had not yet decided if that was favorable or not.

“Wetherby looks very smug,” Fin smirked.

“But Miss Jenkins looks lovely,” Evie said pointedly to Miles. “You must be very good friends with Lord Wetherby if you introduced Miss Jenkins to her.”

Freddie snorted out a laugh. “Hardly, Evie. Miles cannot stand Lord Wetherby.”

From the corner of his eyes, Miles saw Evie frown. He stretched his legs out, crossing his feet at the ankles and trying to look unaffected by the conversation. It would be best if he paid it little heed. And it was not as if he owed his sister an explanation.

“Do you think Miss Jenkins likes Lord Wetherby? She seems to smile a great deal at him,” Ari observed.

Miles’ eye twitched twice. “I do not believe it has progressed that far yet. But I suppose there is that eventuality.” He ground out the last words. That eventuality . His mouth said the words, but his brain would not allow him to consider it. Grace could not marry Wetherby, could she? She was far too intelligent to fall for a man like him. But was she seeking a love match? She had not listed that among her qualifications.

His chest tightened. Lud, what if she did marry him?

When she’d asked him to introduce her to his friends, Miles could not imagine how he could live watching her marry someone so close to him. But what if she married one of his enemies? Was Wetherby an enemy? He was not a friend, that was for certain.

Miles shook the thoughts away, turning his attention to the actors on the stage. But they did not hold his attention for long. His gaze slid over to Wetherby and Grace, a slight smile turning one corner of his lips.

Wetherby chatted incessantly, pointing at the stage and then to people in the audience. Grace looked straight ahead, a barely contained look of annoyance on her face.

Perhaps this evening would not draw to the conclusion Wetherby thought it would. Perhaps Miles had worried over nothing.

He turned his gaze to the stage, and his shoulders relaxed. Even though he worked diligently to convince himself that Grace held no interest for Wetherby, he continued glancing in their direction.

By the midpoint of the first act, Wetherby no longer spoke. A rather vexing turn of events. He’d never known the gentleman to pay anyone but himself mind. That he had noticed Grace did not share in his desire to chatter through the entire play was rather surprising. And disappointing.

Wetherby, for his part, sat quietly watching the actors—that is when he wasn’t watching Grace. Drat it all! Miles’ jaw tightened.

Polite applause sounded, and Miles sucked in a breath. He looked away from Grace, only then noticing the actors bowing before leaving the stage. Finally, it was interval, and he could go see Grace.

Freddie and Fin stood and stretched. “Shall we adjourn to the saloon for refreshments?”

Ari nodded animatedly. “I’m parched.” She looked up at Fin in adoration. Miles had long suspected his youngest sister held a bit of a tendré for Lord Finsbury. Not that the gentleman would reciprocate. Ari was just a girl.

Miles flicked his gaze toward Wetherby’s box, which had already emptied.

It was his chance to speak with Grace. He could ask her how she enjoyed the play—see if she was softening toward Wetherby.

Miles walked through the crowds, hardly noticing anyone.

The air felt thick and damp. The smell of sweat and various shaving soaps mingled, leaving his stomach unsettled. Why did so many people have to come to the theater? There should be a law against it, he sulked.

The saloon was hot and crowded. People stood in groups, talking and looking at those around them.

Miles imagined most of the ladies were assessing the gowns of the other ladies in the room. Both men and women were surely noting which lady attended with which gentleman. Several of the couples would surely make the printed rags tomorrow. But would Grace and Wetherby be one of them? That thought soured his stomach even more than the smell.

Grace and Wetherby stood with Jenkins and his wife, quietly sipping at their drinks.

Freddie nudged Miles in the arm. “There they are.” He moved in Wetherby’s direction, and Miles followed behind.

Grace and Wetherby chatted companionably. Grace even smiled at things that Wetherby said. Thunder and turf! Did she find the gentleman’s company tolerable? Enjoyable even? Miles had not anticipated that.

A knot formed in his throat. He reached for a glass of lemonade and painfully swallowed it.

“What do you think of the play thus far, Miss Jenkins?” Fin asked with apparent interest.

Grace smiled. “It’s diverting. The actors are very talented, especially Miss Chambers. I had heard tell that she was a fine actress. She does not disappoint.”

“It is the first play you have seen, is it not?” Wetherby asked.

Grace nodded, her eyes bright with excitement. “Yes, it is.”

“Then I hardly think your opinion is trustworthy. You have nothing to compare it to.” Wetherby grinned condescendingly at her as he patted her arm like a child.

Grace smiled tightly. “Yes, you’re surely correct.”

Evie cast a dark glare at Lord Wetherby. “I find I’m enjoying her performance as well.” She looked pointedly at him. “And as this is not my first time at the theater, I believe your assessment is off the mark.”

Wetherby eyed Evie up and down with a raised brow. “You have attended the theater often, Miss?”

Evie smiled malevolently. “It’s Lady Evangeline. Lord Weymoth and Mr. Yardley are my brothers.” She straightened her back and lifted her chin. “And I have been to the theater often enough, my lord.”

It was a complete bouncer. This was Evie’s first time in London, just as it was Grace’s. But Miles was not about to make the lie known. Indeed, he looked at his sister in a new light. He’d often wondered how she would do when she came out in a year or two. But it seemed she would not be a wilting flower in any corner. He rather thought it likely she would be declared a diamond.

Wetherby muttered something about the impertinence of young girls as he turned away and chatted with Lord Dunsmore, who had mysteriously appeared. What was that about? Had the men planned the meeting, just as Miles and Grace had? Or was it the result of spontaneity?

Wetherby turned his gaze back to Grace. She smiled at him, but it did not reach her eyes. At least Miles could hang his hat on that. It seemed unlikely that banns would be read anytime soon.

He turned away, mumbling about fetching another glass of lemonade. The others continued their conversation without even a glance in his direction. Perhaps he should just return home. No one would miss him, surely.

He stood by the drink table and watched his friends. Grace seemed captivated by what Wetherby said—even though he had been abominably rude to her—but was that the truth of it? Was she hanging on his every word? She had a talent for looking interested until one looked into her eyes. That was where the lie would be detected.

For his part, Miles had spoken with Wetherby hundreds of times, and he had seen nothing so engaging about him. It was not difficult for him to decide she was only being kind.

“How is the lemonade?” Ari asked.

“Rather watered down.” Miles threw back the remaining gulp and handed one to his sister. Then he grabbed another but paused when he saw the group coming toward him. He stepped to the side and allowed Grace to move into his spot next to the table.

He leaned in. “I must agree with my sister. I think Miss Chambers plays her part very well.” Not that he actually knew. One would have to have paid attention to know such things.

Grace turned to face him and grinned. “I think so, too.” Her gaze flicked to the man speaking to Mrs. Jenkins. “Although Lord Wetherby is correct. I have no basis for judgment.” She pulled her lip between her teeth. “It’s times like these that I feel as if I’m not up to the task ahead of me.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “He’s a pompous nodcock,” he nudged her.

Wetherby wiggled in between them and leaned forward to pick up drinks for himself and Grace. Then he turned his back to Miles, effectively shutting him out of his conversation with Grace.

Miles could not hear what they said over the noise from the crowd. All he heard was a chuckle from Grace. But was it feigned or in earnest? And why did he hope so badly that it was feigned? It was just a chuckle after all. It was not the kind that made his insides quiver. At least not very much.

Miles took a step to the side and lowered his shoulder slightly, bumping Wetherby firmly in the back before quickly stepping back and looking down into his cup.

A squeal sounded.

Miles grinned.

Wetherby sounded like a woman when taken by surprise. That was an unexpected—albeit welcome—outcome. Hopefully, the wretch was thoroughly soaked with lemonade.

“Not again,” Grace moaned.

Miles looked around Wetherby. Grace stood with her hands out to her side, a dark stain slowly running toward the hem from her chest and abdomen.

Deuced, take it! How had he done it again?

Miles looked at Wetherby, hoping some of the drink had spilled on him. But alas, the jackanapes had not even a drop on his dark coats.

Closing his eyes in frustration, Miles ran a hand down his face before stepping forward to apologize.

“Wetherby, you really should be more careful,” Fin frowned but then looked over at Miles and winked.

“But, I—” Wetherby sputtered, his face dark. “It wasn’t me. Someone bumped into me from behind.” He cast a scowl at Fin and then at Miles. Did he know it was him? Or was he simply scowling at him because he was there?

“You need not make excuses. Apologize to the lady,” Freddie said in feigned disgust.

Wetherby swallowed hard. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Jenkins.” He cast another withering look at Fin and Miles. “Someone bumped me from behind. If I could have prevented it, I would have.”

Lord Dunsmore’s gaze ran from Grace’s head to her toes. “At least you did not wear one of your finer gowns this evening. Indeed, that would have been a shame. As it is, it seems merely an inconvenience.”

Grace’s cheeks pinked all the way to her ears. She looked at Lord Wetherby. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see if anything is to be done about this in the retiring room.”

Wetherby nodded. “Yes, I cannot imagine you would like to be seen like that.”

Miles squinted at the men. They were acting as if the accident was Grace’s own doing. He reached forward as if he thought to help wipe up the mess but pulled his hand back when he realized what he was doing.

His lips pursed tightly. He should make his part known, but by doing so, Wetherby would also know. And Miles could not give the man the satisfaction. He would apologize when Wetherby was not around. He did not wish to see the man gloat.

Wetherby and Dunsmore chatted to one side, leaving the Jenkinses to chat with Miles, his sisters, Freddie, and Fin.

The sound of a bell chime traveled through the room, and the crowd, as one, moved toward the stairs. Wetherby and Dunsmore joined the herd and made their way toward their boxes. Was he not going to wait for Grace?

“Excuse me, my lord.” She appeared at his side. “There is nothing to be done for the stain here. Would you please see me home?”

Wetherby grunted and frowned. “But I’ll miss the rest of the performance.” He waved a hand toward the doors leading outside. “There are always plenty of hackneys waiting. I’m certain you’ll have no difficulty in hailing one.”

Jenkins and his wife blinked several times.

Grace stared in disbelief. “You are staying?”

He guffawed. “Of course, I’m staying. You wouldn’t wish for me to miss such a fine performance, would you?” Now that he was being asked to leave early, it seemed Wetherby had underestimated Miss Chambers’ talents earlier.

Miles swallowed down the renewed urge to deliver a facer—though this time, he had a very particular face in mind. “I do not mind missing the rest of the performance. I can take you home, Miss Jenkins.”

She cast a dark look at Lord Wetherby, but when she turned back to Miles, there was a soft smile on her face. “Thank you, Mr. Yardley. You are a true gentleman.” She enunciated the last word, no doubt for Lord Wetherby’s benefit. But the man was already heading for the stairs.

“You need not leave early, Miles.” Jenkins also cast a look at Lord Wetherby’s back as he climbed the stairs to his box. “There are hackneys enough outside. We shall see Grace home. You need not leave early.”

Miles lifted a shoulder. “But I don’t mind.”

Grace placed her hand on his arm and shook her head. “Philip has the right of it. I cannot ask you to miss the end. Especially not when you were enjoying Miss Chambers’ performance.” That bouncer had come back to haunt him.

“But I don’t care if I miss the end.” His voice rose in pitch. Did they not realize he must do something to fix—or at least help—the situation he’d created? “I was not as diverted by it as you suppose.”

Evie grabbed Ari by the hand and pulled her forward. “Why do you not all stay? We shall escort her home.”

Ari feigned a yawn, rather unconvincingly. “Yes, I’m rather fatigued and would not mind leaving early.”

Miles eyed his sisters. He was uncertain what they were about, but he could not say he was angry with them. Of the many reasons they might have had, he was certain the foremost was that they liked Grace and wished to assist her.

Grace smiled at his sisters. “Yes, that is likely the best solution.” She looked at Evie and frowned. “Although I’m sorry to pull you away. You seemed quite passionate about the performance.”

Evie grinned mischievously. “You need not concern yourself. In truth, I do not care if I ever see Miss Chambers perform again. I’m rather bored with the whole thing.” She looped her arm through Grace’s and moved toward the doors. But after only a few steps, she paused and looked over her shoulder. “Freddie, we’re taking your carriage. Have Miles or Lord Finsbury bring you home.”

Freddie dipped his head before turning back to their group. “Miss Jenkins must surely be cursed with bad luck.”

Miles scowled at his brother. “It’s nothing of the sort. How can she help it if Wetherby was careless with his drink?”

Both Fin and Freddie raised knowing brows. “True. It was Wetherby’s fault, was it not?”

Miles breathed in deeply through his nose.

“I should go with them,” Mrs. Jenkins said.

Philip shook his head. “You were enjoying the play. They will be fine.”

Miles stared at the doorway they had left through.

“Do not worry, Miles. Ari and Evie will ensure she arrives home safely.” Freddie patted Miles on the back.

“I’m not worried,” he scoffed. Concerned, perhaps. But not worried. His sisters were competent, even if they were young.

“It appears our evening has not ended after all,” Mrs. Jenkins said with a partial smile. “But if we do not hurry, we will miss the entire second half.”

Miles nodded but could not pull his gaze away from the doorway. Was Grace well? Had they left only because of the stain on her gown? Or because of the unkind things both Wetherby and Dunsmore had said to her?

When he had introduced Grace to both men, he’d known they would surely say unkind things to her. It was part of the plan after all. But witnessing the interaction had been more painful than he’d thought. With every cutting word, Miles could see doubt clouding her eyes. But it wasn’t doubts about the gentlemen—she seemed rather clear on that notion. It was doubts about herself. Doubts that she was worthy of gentlemen of their status. And that was perhaps the most painful thing he’d ever encountered. How had he ever thought Freddie’s plan a good idea?

Grace may finally come to accept him, but it might only be because she was so beaten down by those he’d introduced to her. Did he want only a shell of Grace?

He frowned as he settled into his seat, his mind far away from the stage. Indeed, he would take any bit of Grace she offered to him. But he didn’t wish to be the man she settled for out of doubt or diminished hope. He wanted her to choose him—freely and with the same longing he felt for her.