Page 10 of A Winter’s Romance

Attracting the attention of your target is but the first step in your marriage campaign. Misunderstandings often arise in conversation or through circumstance. Do not let such troubles linger, and be prepared to apologise if the fault is yours.

—Advice to Young Ladies

B en retreated into the library as Miss Ardley hobbled towards the front door, and headed straight for the brandy. Somehow, confronting the scheming minx with evidence of her plotting had not felt nearly as satisfying as he’d anticipated.

It hadn’t felt satisfying at all.

He took a large mouthful of brandy, almost choking on it, and sank into a chair by the fire. She was an excellent actress, he’d give her that. She’d looked genuinely puzzled when he mentioned deceit, but hadn’t been able to hide her dismay when she realised what he was handing to her. He’d even wondered if she had been about to cry.

He should be pleased to have rid himself of a scheming hussy.

The door opened as he was finishing his second glass of brandy, and Arthur came in. He stopped in front of Ben, leaning on his stick. “What did you say to Miss Ardley to distress her?”

“I suppose finding that she had failed to secure my interest might have done so.”

Arthur’s brows rose, and he held something out. “Has this anything to do with it?”

Ben frowned—it was that damned book again.

Arthur sat down. “Is this what you handed to Miss Ardley this morning?”

“It is. She has been following its advice. How did you get it?”

“One of the footmen saw it fly out of the Ardleys’ coach window and went to fetch it. An interesting volume. How did you come by it?”

Ben felt his face getting warm. “She dropped it when she fell in the snow that first morning.”

“I see. Ben, you’re my brother, and I want the best for you. I like Miss Ardley, and was beginning to think that she might be the wife you need. A woman I would have been pleased to call ‘sister’.” He stood and dropped the book on the table beside Ben. “If you knew she had this, why did you wait until this morning before giving it back to her? It looks very much like you’ve been leading her on.”

“A groom brought a bag with the things she dropped. I only looked in the bag this morning,” Ben said.

Arthur shrugged. “Even if she has been following the advice in here, it’s little different from what most young women would do.”

And his brother became the second person today to walk away from him in disdain.

Could he have made a mistake?

He picked the thing up. No—there was even a chapter on ‘Compromising Situations’, for heaven’s sake.

It has been known for some young ladies to force a gentleman’s hand by arranging to be caught with him in a compromising position… being discovered together in a closed room could be sufficient.

That was why she’d been happy to spend so long with him in the library that first day. His lip curled. That had failed.

What else had she tried? Falling… He turned to that part again.

A feigned fall also carries the risk of real injury, which could have you confined to a sofa for some days. It would be a rare single man who is content to dance attendance on an invalid for very long.

That made him rare—he’d been fool enough to wish to dance attendance on her.

But… wasn’t that paragraph warning the reader against feigning a fall? And why would she pretend to sprain her ankle at the pavilion? She already had his attention at that point.

Shame washed over him. He wasn’t quite ready to admit he’d been wrong, but he had judged her based on reading only a few sentences. He turned back to the compromise chapter.

I should caution you, however, against using such means at all. If you have to go to such lengths to obtain a proposal, you will have set yourself up for a life of misery tied to a man who did not want you.

He’d also judged the book itself without reading it properly. Not that he approved of most of the suggestions it gave, but it did include some sound advice as well. And there was something Arthur had said…

His brother was in the entrance hall, but so were the remaining guests, about to take their departure. He managed to get through the farewells and thanks, then dragged Arthur back into the library with him and shut the door.

“What, exactly, did you say to me earlier?” he demanded.

“That you might well have been a complete fool?” Now Arthur looked amused, curse him.

“No, your exact words. Something about when I found the book.”

Arthur thought for a moment. “If you found it before today, you’ve been leading her on. That bit?”

Ben sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. If he’d had more time to think about it, he might not have said what he had. “When I gave it to her, I said she lost it when she fell in the snow that first morning.” But there was worse. “And that the past few days had been entertaining—she must have thought I’d had it all along.” He didn’t look up, and there was a long, uncomfortable silence.

When he eventually spoke, Arthur’s voice had lost the sarcastic tone. “Two things.”

“Go on,” Ben said reluctantly.

“Why was she so distressed? I don’t think thwarted mercenary plans would have had her looking as she did.”

That made him feel more guilty. Even more of a blockheaded halfwit—and an unpleasant one, at that. “But why would she even have such a book if she was not husband hunting?”

Arthur shrugged. “How would I know? You could try asking her. ”

If she would even speak to him again. “What’s the other thing?”

“Why are you so troubled by it?”

Because he’d just destroyed something good. Something with the potential… no, something that was lovely, and important to him.

Footsteps crossed the library floor, then the door opened and closed.

What could he do now?

Mama came to Kate’s room that evening as she was preparing for bed, and dismissed Jenny. She didn’t say anything, but sat in the chair by the fire and waited.

Kate sighed. She had tried not to think about Mr Paynton at all, and managed fairly well during the journey. Later, when Mama went out to the charity meeting that had caused them to set off so early from Paynton Hall, she had given an account of their visit to Papa which hardly mentioned Mr Paynton, and then spent a couple of unhappy hours wondering how she could have been so taken in. But her step-mother deserved an explanation at some point; it might as well be now. “Madame Garnier gave me a book,” she started. The tale didn’t take long, and Mama listened without interrupting. “And I hope to never see him again,” Kate finished, vehemently.

Mama nodded, looking thoughtful. “Well, you need not receive him if he calls, but please do not give him the cut direct if you see him elsewhere.”

“So as not to cause gossip that might harm Cecy’s chances?” That was fair—none of this was Cecy’s fault. “Mama, I will be polite if we happen to meet in company. You can’t ask more of me than that.”

Mama stood and patted her shoulder. “No, that is reasonable. There will be someone for you, Kate, and you know your father does not mind if you don’t choose for another year or so.”

That thought did little to cheer her.

“Goodnight, dear.” Mama paused as she reached the door. “Kate, are you sure there was no misunderstanding between you this morning? Because if he was toying with you, he is a talented actor. I really thought he liked you well enough to seek you out when he comes to Town.” And she closed the door gently behind her.

Liking wasn’t enough. Not without trust.

It was good that Papa wasn’t pushing her to marry, but another season or two wasn’t very long to find a husband she wanted. Not after she’d already had two seasons and failed. Although her friendship with Mr Paynton had been made from whole cloth, it had felt real to her; could she find another gentleman who would arouse such feelings?

She would have to forget Mr Paynton first; his intention to ignore her should help.

But forgetting Mr Paynton would not be as easy as she hoped. The following afternoon, she returned from making calls with Mama and Cecy to be presented with a bunch of flowers and a salver on which lay a note.

“These came for you, miss,” the butler said.

Recognising the writing, her heart began to race uncomfortably as she took the note. If he despised her for husband hunting, why would he write to her? Had there been some misunderstanding, as Mama suggested? She swallowed hard, and managed to speak normally as she asked the butler to have the flowers put in water.

“Who is it from, dear?” Mama asked as they removed bonnets and pelisses.

“Mr Paynton,” Kate said. “We are dining with the Westons tonight, are we not? I will rest in my room until it is time to dress for that. Excuse me.”

Ignoring Mama’s concerned expression, Kate retreated to her bedroom and sat on the bed, turning the note over in her hands. If she was determined to forget Mr Paynton, she should ignore this. And he might still be entertaining himself at her expense.

But she had not thought him vindictive, and surely she was not such a bad judge of character? Hope won over caution, and she opened the note.

Dear Miss Ardley

I am writing to apologise for berating you as I did on your departure from Paynton Hall. I may have misjudged events; however, that is no excuse for my hostility. Please, will you allow me to call on you to apologise in person?

Ever your humble servant

B. Paynton

The wretched book had been hers, so there was some excuse for him thinking she had set out to hunt him. And it was possible that she had misunderstood what he’d said.

She needed to find out, but perhaps she should write to him. A letter would allow careful consideration of her words, ensuring there could be no further confusion .

Finding paper and pencil, for she knew the right wording would not come easily, she began work. But she still had only a rough draft written when Jenny came to help her dress for the evening. It was easy enough to explain how she’d come by the book, but far more difficult to explain that she hadn’t been husband hunting while still conveying that she might, in fact, like to have him as a husband without being so forward as to say so directly. If, of course, he had not been laughing at her for most of their visit.

Jenny knocked on Kate’s bedroom door late the following morning as she was making a fair copy of the letter. “Miss, there’s a box come for you. It’s in the parlour.”

Kate set her pen in its stand, happy for a distraction from the words she was still not quite satisfied with. Downstairs, she found that the box was a polished wood affair with a hinged lid, and that Mama and Cecy were waiting with avid curiosity to find out what it contained.

“It’s from Mr Paynton,” Mama said, and Kate’s heart began to race. “It must be a reply to your letter, dear. You did ask me if you might write to him, did you not?”

“Yes, but I haven’t finished it yet. Was there a note with the box?” Why would he send this before she’d even replied to yesterday’s note?

“No, but perhaps there is something inside. Do open it, Kate!”

Could it be a farewell gift? She hoped not, but still her hand trembled slightly as she lifted the lid, to see numerous wrapped objects of different shapes and sizes. Taking out a long package, she pulled off the paper to reveal a set of paint brushes with thicker, stiffer bristles than the ones she normally used. A larger muslin-wrapped object turned out to be a wide-mouthed glass jar with a cork stopper, containing a set of small bladders sealed with string.

Oil paints! He had remembered something she had wished for.

With growing excitement, more for what the gift might mean than for the objects themselves, Kate unpacked another, smaller bottle full of an oily liquid, three small canvases on frames, and some folded papers. She opened them warily, but the first paper wasn’t a message at all—it was covered in labelled dabs of different colours.

“What is that?” Cecy asked.

“A chart to show me what colours are in here.” Kate pointed to the jar. The other papers weren’t in Mr Paynton’s hand, and appeared to be instructions of some kind.

“An unusual gift,” Mama said.

Not only thoughtful, but an acceptance that women need not be restricted to watercolours. That she might choose how to paint. “Will Papa allow me to accept this, Mama? He never wanted me to paint with oils.”

“I’ll see if I can persuade him, dear. Have you found a note?”

She looked in the box once more, removing the last object. It was heavy; pulling off the paper revealed the geode she’d admired at Paynton Hall, and wished to paint. There was writing on the wrapping paper.

Please will you give me a chance to apologise in person? BP

Now, her notion of sending a letter seemed far too impersonal. She would meet him, but not here, where servants might be listening at the door.