APretenseofLove (5 page)

“Ouch. Sharper than a serpent’s tooth. I hadn’t expected
that of her.”

“If she’d been speaking sharply it might not have hurt as
much. She was so sad. So resigned.”

“Resigned to what?”

“How should I know, Ringley? You have sisters, enlighten me.
I have been the ideal gentleman around her. I refrained from buying her gifts
or sweets after she complained, and have not sent her flowers in more than a
week. I have done everything she asks…”

“And what
isn’t
she asking? Why is she so opposed to
your attentions?”

“Again, you are the one with sisters. I have no inklings of
the machinations of the fairer sex.”

Tapping a finger on his chin, Ringley sat in thought. “Tell
me all that was said this morning.”

Ben paced again. “I don’t remember what we said. I mentioned
I would be leaving in a week, and she said it’s important to be needed. And
honest. She wants to be happy and couldn’t bear having her heart broken.”

“I see. And what would cause her heart to break?”

He tried to remember her words, but it seemed his heart had
begun to beat so loudly when she’d spoken, he hadn’t heard most of what she
said. Then he remembered another conversation between them. “Her mother had a
broken heart. Mr. Seton apparently admitted he’d loved another, not Mrs.
Seton.”

“Very well, but how does that pertain to you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve told her I have never loved. I’m not
even certain I understand how one goes about falling in love, when I only know
the kind my parents found in a marriage of long duration.”

“Quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

Ignoring the man, Ben continued to let his thoughts flow.
“I’ve told Miss Seton I have no intention of engaging a mistress when I marry,
so she can’t have any fear of being hurt after she’s fallen in love with me.”

The answer came on him like stampeding cattle. “That’s it!”

“What is?”

“She’s fallen in love with me, don’t you see?”

“How’s that again?”

Ben whooped and tugged Ringley from the chair, prancing
about like a fool in love. “She loves me. Miss Seton loves me.”

Ringley pulled his hands free and stepped back. “The woman
asked you to leave Town and you understand that to mean she loves you?”

“Not that part, no. The part about the broken heart. I could
only hurt her that way if she loved me. She’s afraid if I remain in Town, she
will accept my proposal and be crushed when I don’t return that love.”

“I can see where you might take her meaning that way. But
what will you do about it?”

“First thing, I will leave her to her Lord Milquetoast. She could
never love such a man as he.”

Rolling his eyes, Ringley nodded. “Of course not. Not when
she has your wit and eloquence before her.”

“Be quiet, man, and help me determine how to show a woman I
love her. I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”

Jean fastened the buttons of her pelisse in preparation for
the cool night air in Vauxhall Gardens. With one final look at her reflection,
she descended to the ground floor to find her mother.

As she walked, she toyed with the cold pearls at her neck.
The necklace had been her mother’s, given to Jean on her most recent birthday.
They’d originally been a gift from her father to her mother on their first
anniversary, before their relationship had changed. Jean had mixed feelings
about wearing them.

Had Papa ever loved Mama? Jean would never know, since Papa
died years ago. She acknowledged the possibility her mother had brought on some
of her own sorrow. If Papa had tried to love her but she’d withdrawn upon
learning she was his second choice, he would not be solely to blame.

Was Jean equally foolish to reject Mr. Tilbury from the
start?

Voices carried from the salon and Jean went there to look
for the other ladies. As she entered the room, however, she stopped short at
the sight of Mr. Tilbury.

He was regally dressed in a black cutaway coat and trousers,
his vest as bright a white as his shirt. With his hair combed back from his
face, he appeared more polished than she could recall seeing him. And quite
magnificently handsome. Something within her fluttered awake as he met her
gaze, but she just as quickly smothered it.

Why had he come? It showed his disregard for her feelings,
since she’d asked him to leave her alone. Of course, he’d already arranged to
be their escort, so perhaps his being there had nothing to do with her. He was
honoring his promise to his aunt. Jean would keep her distance as much as
possible to keep her discomfort at a minimum.

Mr. Tilbury crossed the carpet and bowed. “You steal my very
breath.”

She offered him a formal curtsey. “You’re too kind.”

“No, I’m not. If no one has said those sorts of things to
you, you must broaden your search. Never settle for a man who cannot lavish
praise on your beauty.”

“Whom I choose for a husband is not your concern, Mr.
Tilbury. You agreed to provide entrance into what assemblies were available to
me, not to make the choice for me.”

“I owe it to your brother to watch over you, Miss Seton.
Now, if you are ready, I know my aunt is eager to see the Waterloo reenactment.
Shall we?” Rather than offering Jean his arm, he escorted Mrs. Granderson out
the door, as was her due.

Jean followed her mother to the carriage and accepted Mr.
Tilbury’s assistance in boarding. She fixed her gaze out the window for the
duration of the ride.

Vauxhall Gardens at night was even more splendid than by
day. Lamps twinkled along the walkways, although some side paths led into
darkness. Agnes had told her stories of what happened in the shadows there.
Jean shivered at the idea of such trysts and hurried to catch up to her mother.

Mr. Tilbury had reserved a box for them to dine in before
the entertainment began. Tonight’s reenactment of the Battle of Waterloo was to
be the main performance.

Mrs. Granderson filled their plates with thinly sliced cold
meats and an assortment of fresh fruits. Jean swore the food tasted even more
flavorful for being eaten out of doors. She’d been on picnics, but never had
those involved fine linens, ornate silver and music. “This is such a delight.”

“And there is so much more to see,” Mrs. Granderson agreed.

“Will there be fireworks?” Jean asked.

Mr. Tilbury’s mouth turned down as he spoke. “If they
portray the reenactment anything like the original event, there will be more
fireworks than one can anticipate.”

Jean wondered what his experiences in battle had been like.
He’d never spoken of it, never mentioned any scars, physical or otherwise. Her
brother kept those matters private as well, most likely to protect her. If she
were to marry Mr. Tilbury, would he allow her to know all sides of him?

She shelved that thought immediately. She wasn’t marrying
him. His battle scars didn’t affect her directly, it was true, but that didn’t
mean she was blind to the notion he had any. Unable to hide her concern for his
well-being, she asked, “Are you eager to watch that performance, or would you
rather we avoid it?”

He shrugged, then spoke softly, leaning close to her ear.
“My aunt is looking forward to it. I shouldn’t wish to disappoint her.”

Not surprisingly, he felt it his duty to endure something he
might otherwise avoid, for the sake of his aunt. That drew his character out to
be so very different than she’d first imagined it. “I don’t believe she would
want you to suffer distress on her part.”

“I shall endeavor to make certain she isn’t aware that I’m
distressed. It won’t be as bad as all that. I sold my commission long before
Waterloo, and never fought a battle near there. Besides, I doubt the portrayal
will resemble the actual events. Where would the entertainment be in that?”

After eating, they walked to where benches had been set up
for the theatrical staging. As Mr. Tilbury suggested, the play was primarily a
farce to belittle that Frenchman whom society was so eager to make sport of.
The shooting was loud and the poor actor who portrayed Napoleon was chased back
and forth across the stage until Jean wondered if it would ever end.

It did end, but not before she was tired of sitting on the
hard bench amid the thousand or so other audience members. She rose with as
much grace as she could, smiling at Mrs. Granderson, who seemed delighted by
the entire production.

“Well then,” said that lady. “Shall we seek out some
refreshments or would you two rather explore the pathways?”

Jean blinked in surprise until she realized Mrs. Granderson
couldn’t be implying what Jean supposed. There were many lighted areas where
they could walk and she assumed their chaperones would remain close behind
them. While she didn’t look forward to more time alone with Mr. Tilbury—in
fact, every minute with him wore away at her resolve to dislike him—she could
not appear rude or ungracious. She looked to him for an answer.

He raised that one expressive brow, sending shivers down her
back. “Shall we walk, Miss Seton?”

“If you wish.” She laid her hand on his sleeve and strolled
with him to the wide sandy path between the rows of horse chestnut trees. After
a few moments of silence, she asked, “Was the war really much like that?”

“It was nothing like that, and everything like it.”

“Could you be any more ambiguous?” She laughed softly. “Very
well, we shall speak of other topics. Do you plan any improvements to Greater
Yarmouth, now that it’s yours?”

She never heard his reply, for in that moment she realized
they had become friends. She understood him, and when he wasn’t doggedly pressing
his suit, she liked him.

This did not bode well for her decision to marry Lord
Milford.

When they returned to the townhouse, Mrs. Granderson asked
her nephew in for a drink. “It is merely midnight. I have no desire to end the
evening in one of the many ballrooms we might visit, but am not ready for my
bed.”

“If you like, I would be happy to come in,” he replied.

Jean struggled to free her arms from the tight sleeves of
her pelisse, until Mr. Tilbury assisted. He once again stood closer than was
proper and spoke in conspiratorial tones. “I am eager for the time I might kiss
you good night.”

“Do not say such things. What will the others think?”

“They will think exactly what I meant. I wish to kiss you.”

She spun to face him and took her garment from his hands,
clutching it to her chest. “Just when I believed we could be friends, you go
and ruin it.”

His smile only made her focus on his lips. “Do you suppose
none of the men who dance with you are thinking of how they might steal a kiss?
Those who come to call or walk with you in the park?”

Her brows pulled down. “I don’t imagine they are thinking
any such thing. All of my callers have been gentlemen.”

“And gentlemen have no feelings, no desires—”

“Please stop. You shouldn’t speak to me thus.”

Mr. Tilbury bent over her hand now that her gloves were
removed, pressing his lips to the bare skin there. Fire scorched her and she
pulled away.

He didn’t smile or apologize. “I hope the man you choose
kisses you often, and well. You deserve no less.”

Jean gasped but was unable to turn away. She should slap
him, scold him. She should not do what she wanted to most, which was to ask him
to kiss her. Then the moment was lost as, stepping around her, Mr. Tilbury
crossed the marble floor and entered the salon where Mama and his aunt had
gone.

* * * * *

Ben stood in front of his aunt’s townhouse, looking up at
the window he assumed to be Miss Seton’s bedchamber. He hadn’t been in that
room since her arrival but knew the décor suited her best. Most likely she
wasn’t in her bedchamber at this moment, as she’d always risen early when she
stayed in Greater Yarmouth. She was probably in the morning room with the older
ladies.

He should be in his own rooms, packing to return to Three
Gables. He didn’t have much to pack and didn’t plan to leave until after
Ringley wakened, so there was no rush.

If he went inside now, his aunt would offer him food, and he
didn’t think he could eat. Didn’t think he could digest what he’d eaten. He was
quite certain whatever food he’d downed last night still churned in his gut.
Even the thought of coffee made him ill.

He couldn’t put it off any longer. He must ask Miss Seton to
renew their betrothal before he returned home.

And he had no confidence in her answer.

A lovesick fool, that’s what he was. Mooning at a window and
dreaming of the woman who stood beyond the glass. This was not his manner.

It was time to end his misery, one way or another. He
marched up the stairs and rapped on the door, grunting in response to Burton’s
greeting. “Mrs. Granderson is in the morning room, sir.”

“Thank you, Burton.”

The three ladies sat in the fall of sunlight coming through
the large window. His aunt looked up when he entered. “Good morning, Benjamin.”

“Good morning, Aunt Granderson. Mrs. Seton. Miss Seton.”

“To what do we owe the pleasure of this early call?” His
aunt sounded every bit the grande dame she pretended to be.

“I wish an audience with Miss Seton,” he said gruffly. With
the difficulty he had getting the words out, he was grateful his voice didn’t
crack.

“Of course. The fire in the library should have been lit,
you may use that room.”

Nodding, he stole a glance at Miss Seton, whose color had
vanished completely. He smiled in encouragement, whether for himself or the
young lady, he wasn’t sure.

Miss Seton rose and walked soundlessly into the library,
which was just across the hallway. She stopped before the fire and didn’t face
him.

Ben stood a few feet away. “I am sure you understand the
purpose of my visit. Please hear me out before you reply. It’s become apparent
to me I know nothing of love. I presumed it to only come after many years of
friendship, when all the while it’d begun to grow within me, unnoticed.”

He raked his fingers through one side of his hair, fighting
to find the words he needed. Trying to calm the burning in his gut. “It
blossomed under your laughter and the way you pick at the hem on your glove
when you are nervous. Your smile when our eyes meet across a crowded room. All
these things have fed and nurtured this creature without my knowing it, and
only when faced with the loss of them I realized the truth.

“I cannot be happy without you, dearest Jean. May I call you
that now? My life would continue as it has if I had left when you requested,
but my existence would have been in shadow. I wish to come out of the shadows
and bask in the sunshine you bring. Please say you will have me. Say you can
return my love.”

Jean turned, lifted her gaze to his, but he couldn’t read
her response on her face.

From the open doorway came the sound of Burton clearing his
throat.

“Yes, what is it?” Jean asked in a tone more sharp than
normal.

“Lord Milford wishes to speak with you, miss.”

Blast and bollocks, could his misery get any worse? The man
had uncanny timing.

“Ask Mrs. Granderson if he might take coffee with them,
Burton. I shall join them shortly.” She kept her eyes on the doorway, then on
her hands, which she clenched and unclenched. Finally, she faced Ben. “You know
what I am looking for in a husband, and I have been more than clear that I did
not believe that man is you. I admit my fear of being in a loveless
relationship has driven my search. I couldn’t marry a man I felt incapable of
loving me forever.

“But neither could I marry a man I didn’t love. In these
past few weeks I have learned to recognize my own feelings, to distinguish
between hope and true affection. I was flattered, at first, when you arrived in
London claiming we were still betrothed.” She laughed. “I’m sure I hid it well,
but I did feel some joy that you wanted me. But I wanted nothing of the man I
thought you to be.”

Fear squeezed his ribs, making breathing impossible. “I
assure you—”

She held up a hand. “I wronged you with my narrow opinion of
you. I confess it. I placed you in the class of men who produced an heir, then
returned to their clubs and their lightskirts, leaving their families to raise
themselves.”

“If you—”

“I am not finished.” She took a single step toward him. Her
voice took on strength. “You have flirted with me shamelessly, in places we
were bound to be overheard. You taunted me with threats of kisses, the likes of
which I might never recover from.”

Hope burst through the acid smothering it deep inside him.
He moved closer, waiting for the words he needed to hear. “Should I apologize?”