Page 3 of The Spinster’s Stolen Heart (Willenshires #5)

Whitmore Manor, London

“You must attend, Nathan. You cannot withdraw, not for this gathering.”

Nathan bit back a sigh. There was so much work to be done. Ledgers to review, documents to write up, just endless, endless work. He couldn’t concentrate, not with his mother demanding so much of his attention.

“Nobody will notice if I’m not there,” he objected.

“Lord Davenport will notice. He’s a family friend, and it is Amanda’s first Season. She is his daughter, and you’ve known her for years. You must go.”

“I’m not sure Amanda will care if I go or not. I went to her come-out, didn’t I?”

There was a brief silence, and Nathan risked a glance up at his mother. She was, unsurprisingly, frowning at him.

Nathan’s study was a small room, designed with practicality in mind rather than design. He was well aware that his mother hated the poky little space, equally as much as she had when the previous Viscount Whitmore, Nathan’s father, had occupied it.

Lady Rose Whitmore was a diminutive woman, small and bright like a bird. She still preferred black velvet and pearls, as if still in mourning, and her greying hair was kept neatly pulled back. The black velvet aged her more than any wrinkles, and she was still a remarkably beautiful woman.

Nathan resembled his father, with his tall, broad-shouldered frame and pale brown hair. However, his eyes belonged solely to his mother, being large, sharp, and green. He did not consider himself handsome, with a face and figure more suited to striding around a muddy field in all weathers, rather than donning silk and dancing slippers.

“I have so much work to do, Mother,” he tried again. “Lord Davenport will understand.”

“He won’t,” Rose answered with finality. “I must insist that you escort me, Nathan. If you don’t attend, the insult will be too deep to ignore.”

That was a point he could not argue with. Sighing, Nathan replaced his quill pen, leaned back in his seat, and eyed his mother.

“You really want me to go?”

Rose pursed her lips. “You must go, Nathan.”

He sighed again. The Season was coming to an end, at long last. Nathan would have preferred to head to the countryside when London began to fill up for the yearly Season, but his work wouldn’t permit him. Furthermore, his mother would merely admonish him to make an appearance.

“I thought you’d have given up on finding me a bride for this Season, Mother,” he drawled. “I thought I’d been clear.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you know what Lord Colin Beckett says about you? The man who’s known you since childhood, and your dearest friend? He says that you throw yourself into work too much, and it’ll leave you a sad old bachelor one day.”

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t talk about me behind my back to my friend,” Nathan responded, a little shaken. “Why should I marry if I don’t wish to?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll be alone. I won’t live forever, Nathan,” Rose shot back. “Family is the most important thing in the world, and aside from me, you don’t have one. Your work won’t sit by the fire with you and hold your hand.”

I’m too tired for this.

“Very well, very well,” Nathan snapped ungraciously, getting to his feet. “I said I would come, and so I suppose I must. Now, if you don’t mind, Mother, I’d best go and get ready.”

“I’m glad,” Rose said, all smiles now that she’d gotten her way. “I’ve ordered the carriage for six o’ clock sharp.”

He grunted and stepped past her into the hallway. There was a mirror hanging opposite the door to his study, and Nathan found himself suddenly confronted with his reflection. He flinched, and paused, leaning forward to inspect himself.

Nathan had never been a dandy. In fact, he despised the over-reliance on ever-changing fashions one saw in the world these days. Good looks were a piece of good luck and not much else, and really counted for nothing. It was unfair that ladies were expected to market themselves by the blind luck of how their faces were shaped. Now, money was an asset worth having. Nathan recalled all too well the hard days of his youth, when a few bad investments and a run of ill luck had brought the Whitmore family almost to ruin.

Almost .

It had been hard work and perseverance which had brought them back from the brink, and now the Whitmores were a wealthy and well-respected family once again.

If he allowed himself to grow distracted, might they not slip back again? Nathan leaned closer to his reflection. Had that line between his eyebrows always been there? He forced himself to relax his forehead, but the line remained. He rubbed the space with his forefinger. The line remained, etched into his skin.

Shaking off the thought, he turned resolutely away from the mirror and hurried upstairs. If the carriage was coming at six, that didn’t leave him much time to get ready.

I hope you appreciate this, Davenport, he thought sourly.

***

“You shall ask Miss Davenport to dance, won’t you?” Rose asked.

Nathan, who had been staring out of the window and watching the dark scenery flash by, heaved a sigh. “Yes, Mother.”

“And don’t sigh like a dissatisfied child every few minutes.”

“I shall not.”

Rose adjusted her muffler, leaning back against the plush carriage seats. This was their finest carriage, freshly lacquered, with new padding on the seats and a few rugs and furs set aside solely to be used inside. It was a mark of pride for Nathan, keeping the carriage immaculate and up to date. In times gone by, people had pursed their lips in amusement when the Whitmore carriage rolled by, mud-splashed, and lopsided, with squeaky springs.

Not anymore. Not ever again, not if Nathan had anything to do with it.

Even the Davenports had been a little ashamed to own their friendship, in those days.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Rose pressed. “You must ask Miss Davenport to dance.”

“I shall,” he answered, hearing a touch of defensiveness in his own voice.

Stop it. You aren’t a petulant child, so don’t act like one.

Rose seemed satisfied with this and gave him a faint smile.

“Poor Amanda has had such a bad Season,” she added, sighing.

He frowned. “Really? I thought she was quite a success.”

“She was, but the Season is coming to an end, and still no betrothal. She’s quite downhearted. Not even an eligible proposal, from what I heard. It makes no sense, she’s such a pretty girl.”

“There’s always next year.”

Rose threw him an affectionate glance. “You would say that, Nathan. It’s different for ladies. Amanda is nineteen years old, after all.”

“What an advanced age,” Nathan remarked wryly. “Being eight years older than her, I must be positively ancient.”

“It’s different for men,” Rose said, as if that answered all of his questions and left nothing more to discuss. Nathan let the subject drop.

Anyhow, they were almost upon their destination.

***

Davenport House was huge, with cavernous ceilings and recently redecorated hallways. Every noise echoed. With the ballroom packed with people, music, and chatter, the noise was deafening.

Rose was immediately pounced upon by her little retinue of matrons, widows, and dowagers, and they all hustled away to sit by the wall and gossip. Nathan was left alone.

He prowled around the edges of the party, thinking about the paperwork waiting for him at home, and wondered how soon he could leave.

He spotted Lord Colin Beckett – or rather, Colin spotted him – and the man hurried towards him.

Colin was about twenty-five and betrothed to a very lovely girl. He was short and round, with a mop of tight red curls and a perpetual smile.

“I was surprised to see you here,” Colin remarked, falling into step beside his friend. “Did you mother force you out?”

“I think you know she did.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t hustled you down the aisle so far this Season. Didn’t she want you to marry this year?”

Nathan sighed. “She did, indeed, but I think perhaps she’s finally understanding that I don’t wish to marry. Not yet, at any rate.”

“Well, you’re seven and twenty,” Colin pointed out. “Most men are married by your age or at least giving it serious consideration. Don’t you want to get married?”

Nathan clenched his jaw. “I have too much work to do. What woman wants to marry a man chained to his desk? Once our finances are a little more stable, then I…”

“How much more stable do you want them to get?” Colin interrupted. “There shall always be more work to do, friend.”

“It hardly matters. I have yet to encounter a lady whom I wish to take as my wife, and I have no intention of entering into matrimony merely to satisfy the desires of my mother for a daughter-in-law.”

Colin shrugged. “As you like. Personally, I thought that Miss Davenport had her eye on you.”

Nathan glanced sharply at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t notice, or that Lady Whitmore didn’t warn you.”

Nathan said nothing. Now that he thought about it, his mother had been talking about Miss Davenport a great deal during the Season. He’d assumed it was because their families were so close, and that she was fond of Miss Davenport herself.

Could there have been another motive? It didn’t matter, of course. Nathan was not in love with Amanda. She felt more like a younger sister than anything, and he was quite sure that she felt just the same.

“Upon my word,” Colin murmured, giving him a gentle nudge. “Here she approaches.”

Sure enough, when Nathan glanced up, he saw Amanda pushing her way through the crowd towards them, beaming.

Amanda Davenport was considered a great beauty, and for good reason. She had pale blonde hair, matched with fresh, creamy skin, and a pair of large, expressive brown eyes. Her clothes always suited her perfectly, and she seemed to prefer pale, pastel colours in her gowns, to better flatter her complexion.

“There you are, Lord Whitmore!” she announced, descending on them. She spared a brief smile and nod for Colin, but her focus remained upon Nathan. “I’ve been looking for you all night. I just opened the ball with Papa, of course, but none of the ladies here seem to have your name on their dance card! How can that be?”

He smiled nervously. “I haven’t asked anyone to dance, Miss Davenport.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Well, don’t worry. I shall dance with you. See, I saved you a spot on my dance card.”

She fluttered the card in question in front of him, smiling coyly. Sure enough, there was one space left in her very full dance card. The next dance, the second one of the evening. Everybody got their ‘duty dances’ out of the way in the first set – dancing with fathers, brothers, relatives – and the second or third dance was when the real fun began.

“I see,” he managed. “Thank you, Miss Davenport.”

She seized his arm and towed him away towards the dance floor.

“I can’t bear to see you standing all alone,” she said, over her shoulder. “You are so funny, Lord Whitmore.”

He smiled faintly. “Thank you? And let me congratulate you, by the way, on a fine Season.”

She stopped dead, and he almost walked into her back. Spinning around, Amanda narrowed her eyes at him.

“Are you jesting with me?” she inquired with a hint of indignation.

Nathan felt rather cornered. “N-No, of course not! If I’ve given offence, Miss Davenport, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

She eyed him for a moment more, then sighed and continued her push towards the dance floor. Already, the musicians were starting up the strains for the next set. It would be a waltz, Nathan noticed, to his chagrin. The waltz was more or less established in polite Society these days, but there were a few families who disapproved of it. Up until recently, the Davenports had been among those families, but it seemed that they had changed their minds. Perhaps when it became time to find Amanda a husband.

“It was not a successful Season, and I am not betrothed,” Amanda explained brusquely. “I thought you might have known that.”

“Indeed, but you seemed to be having fun.”

She chuckled, shaking her head benevolently. “You are quite amusing, Nathan. However, it is not a matter of amusement. It concerns the prudent arrangement of one’s future. There were several gentlemen whom I considered with interest, yet alas, naught has come of it. Ah, well.” She shot a quick, thoughtful glance up at him. “The Season isn’t quite over yet.”

He cleared his throat. “Are you sure you should be talking to me of this sort of thing? I am a gentleman, and you a lady, after all.”

She gave a melodic titter of laughter. “Oh, heavens, Lord Whitmore, you are indeed amusing . We’re old friends, aren’t we? I can talk to you as I would talk to an older brother.”

Nathan forced a smile. “Of course.”

Something like relief settled over him. She’d just referred to him as a brother, which meant that Colin was wrong, and she did not have any designs on him. She simply liked him as a friend.

Well, I can be a friend, can’t I?

He had a feeling that Lord Davenport would be happy enough to see his daughter marry somebody like Nathan. Perhaps in years gone by, things would have been different, back when the Whitmores were poor and an embarrassment to the rest of the ton .

But that was then, and this was now. Now, things were very different.

“I’ve never understood this madness for ladies to marry during their first Season,” Nathan found himself saying. They had reached the dance floor and took up their positions for the waltz. Amanda stood entirely too close, fluttering long, pale eyelashes up at him. “Why can’t you enjoy a few Seasons in Society instead of settling down right away?”

“Heavens,” Amanda chuckled, shaking her head. “I can enjoy Society once I’m married, can’t I? That is when the merriment commences.”

Nathan said nothing, but he couldn’t help thinking of all the ladies he’d known who got married, and a year later found themselves with a child and a house to run, a bored husband, and a palpable sense of dissatisfaction. And then, all Society would have to say would be that she had lost her bloom and would immediately lose interest in the girl. It had happened to many famous beauties, women who had the eye of Society upon them for a few glorious months, only to shrink back into obscurity.

It was sad, in Nathan’s opinion. Was that all the women had? A burst of glory, then the drudgery of children and housekeeping for the rest of their lives?

It’s none of your concern, he told himself firmly.

The dance began. Amanda clung onto him, almost as if she were trying to support herself, and kept shooting quick, thoughtful glances up at him.

“And what about you, Lord Whitmore? Not betrothed?” she said at last, clearly keen to keep the conversation going.

“No, I am not in love,” Nathan heard himself say.

“That’s a pity. Miss Emmett is most fervently yearning for your company, I assure you.”

“I… oh. How do you know?”

“Well, she told me,” Amanda shot back, tossing her hair back from her shoulder. “She begged me not to tell anyone, as if it wasn’t already obvious.”

Nathan cleared his throat. “If she told you something in confidence, Miss Davenport, you ought not to have broken that.”

She looked annoyed at this. “It hardly matters.”

“If she told you and asked you to stay quiet about it, then…”

“Oh, hush, you don’t understand how things are between women. Most ladies are such awful gossips. Besides, you aren’t in love with her, are you? Are you in love with Miss Emmett?”

“No, I am not.”

“Of course you’re not,” Amanda agreed, allowing herself a small – and he almost thought, relieved – smile. “How could you be? She’s got all those nasty freckles.”

Nathan shrugged. “I always thought freckles were quite becoming.”

Amanda shot him another annoyed glare. “They’re ugly , Lord Whitmore. How can you think otherwise?”

He judged it best not to argue.

“And her skin is not good,” Amanda continued. “And she’s got hardly any fortune. She’s a dull thing, but I do feel sorry for her, so I keep her as my friend. I knew you wouldn’t care for her, though, and told her so.”

Nathan felt colour creeping up his neck. “Miss Davenport, you shouldn’t be unkind, you know. If she is your friend…”

“She’s not,” Amanda snapped, then flushed. “I mean to say, she is , but we’re both in Society to find husbands and start families, after all. What more would a woman want?”

There was a brief silence after this. Amanda kept glancing up at him, clearly hoping that he would speak, but Nathan could only think of how long was left in the set.

“My Mama keeps telling me that we would make a fine couple,” she said at last.

Nathan flinched. “I have no intention of marrying, Miss Davenport.”

She snorted. “ No man has any intention of marrying until he finds the right woman. It’s all strategy, you know, Lord Whitmore. A man as clever as you must understand that.”

On cue, the music ended with a flourish, and the dancers drew apart. Feeling thoroughly rattled, Nathan stepped back and made a neat bow. Murmuring something about finding refreshments, he made to turn and leave. Amanda’s hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks. Glancing down, he found her staring up at him, her expression thoughtful.

“Think about what I said, Lord Whitmore,” she said quietly. “I think it would be best for us both.”

She walked off without explaining any further, leaving Nathan with a growing feeling of unease.