“I still think you need a plan,” Warton said. “A course of action.”
“I am open to any suggestions.” Jonathon’s gaze lingered on Fiona. She smiled up at her partner and his stomach clenched. He didn’t like that radiant smile of hers being bestowed on anyone save him. And he didn’t like this business of being in love one bit.
His friends, however, thought his distress more than a little amusing, or at least they had last night. Jonathon had told Warton and Cavendish everything, from his first meeting with Fiona at the Christmas Ball to their disastrous parting yesterday. It had been a very long night, fueled by a great deal of liquor and, as the hour had grown later, had produced all manner of suggestions and more than a few plans to win Miss Fairchild’s heart. None of which seemed even remotely intelligent in the cold light of day. Although Warton had pointed out, either late last night or early this morning, that none of the far-fetched ideas the friends had come up with were even vaguely as absurd as Jonathon and Oliver’s scheme to sell books of nude drawings and prose of questionable quality.
The men had agreed, however, that Fiona absolutely had to be wed and blissfully happy long before she ever learned that there were no orders forA Fair Surrender nor had Jonathon ever intended for there to be. Given her reaction to his offer to provide her complete inheritance, the friends were confident she would not take this deception well either. And as much as they had all sworn oaths on each and every dead ancestor that had come before them never to reveal the truth to her, each and every one present knew that it was inevitable that someday, in some manner, she would learn the truth. No matter how many precautions a man took, women always learned the truth. At least in their collective experience.
“I said it last night and I shall say it again. I think you need to do something dramatic,” Cavendish said.
“Proclaim your love and your wish to marry her publicly. From, I don’t know, the stage of a theater, perhaps. The Adelphi would do nicely.”
Jonathon grimaced. “I don’t think so.”
“Between acts, of course,” Cavendish scoffed. “I don’t mean that you should interrupt a performance. That would be absurd.”
“No,” Jonathon said firmly.
“Fiona might not appreciate drama of that nature,” Oliver murmured as if he were actually giving Cavendish’s suggestion due consideration. “Besides, you would have to get her to the theater in the first place and that would certainly depend on what the production is, if there is a current production, and we’ve never seen Helmsley on the stage. He might be dreadful and humiliate himself and the rest of us in the process.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” Jonathon muttered.
“The time is not yet right for dramatics. Onstage or off.” Warton shook his head. “Although it may well come to that at some point. At the moment, however”—he paused thoughtfully—“I too think a grand gesture is called for.”
Cavendish raised a brow. “Grander than twelve dozen roses?”
Warton nodded. “Much.”
“But none of you have any idea what this grand gesture should be.” Jonathon blew a long breath. “I could just fling myself at her feet and beg her forgiveness.”
Cavendish snorted. “That wouldn’t be the least bit grand.”
“Or you could try, oh, I don’t know, what’s the word I’m looking for?” Judith’s voice sounded behind him, and he turned toward her. “Honesty?”
“Honesty is only of worth when it comes to telling the most ravishing women in the room”—Warton stepped forward and took her hand, raising it to his lips—“that she is the most ravishing woman in the room.” Warton’s gaze locked with Judith’s.
The most intriguing smile curved the lady’s lips.
Jonathon stared at his two old friends. He didn’t think they knew one another as more than passing acquaintances. This, however, seemed rather more significant than a polite encounter. He traded glances with Oliver. Was there something in the air tonight?
“Other than that,” Warton continued, releasing Judith’s hand, “honesty should be used only as a last resort in regards to women.”
Judith laughed. “You are not married, are you, my lord?”
“To my everlasting gratitude”—Warton chuckled—“no.”
“Honesty with women?” Cavendish shuddered, effectively breaking the moment he was apparently oblivious of. “It has never proved worthwhile for me.”
“It’s always worked well for Helmsley, though.” Oliver studied him curiously. “Until now, that is.”
“Under current circumstances, honesty might not be the best course,” Jonathon said under his breath. Judith hooked her arm through his. “Might I steal you away from this amusing group for a few minutes?”
“Lady Chester, I’m stunned that you would suggest such a thing.” Jonathon gasped in feigned surprise, then grinned. “They are not the least bit amusing, although they do think they are.”
“I’m sure they do,” Judith said. Her gaze caught Warton’s for a fleeting moment as if there was something between the two of them, at once unacknowledged and irresistible. She nodded at the others.
“Gentlemen.”
They each murmured something in return, then Judith and Jonathon took their leave to meander around the perimeter of the ballroom.
Jonathon leaned closer and spoke softly into her ear. “What was that all about?”
“What was what all about?” Judith’s tone was light, but there was a distinct flush on her cheeks.
“You and Warton.”
“I barely know the man,” she said in a lofty manner that prohibited any further discussion. Still, Judith and Warton? What an interesting idea.
Jonathon chuckled and she slanted him a sharp glance. “The more compelling subject of the evening, my dear man, is not me but you. Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Well, what are you going to do about Miss Fairchild?”
Jonathon sighed. “Does everyone in this town know everything about everyone?”
“Not everyone, but I certainly do.” She grinned. “Not at all surprising, when you consider that I have become the confidante of a certain red-haired young lady. She paid a call on me just this afternoon.”
“She did? Why? How?” Jonathon stared, then shook his head. “No, I don’t want to know and I don’t care.” He paused. “What has she said to you?”
“I couldn’t possibly reveal a confidence. It would not serve either of us well in the future.” Judith signaled a waiter, who immediately made his way to them with a tray of champagne-filled glasses. They each took a glass and the servant vanished as quickly as he had appeared. “However, I will say that she told me more than enough to make me realize that you have lost your mind.”
He snorted. “I already knew that.”
“It would be most amusing, if I weren’t so fond of you myself.” She studied him curiously. “Did you know you look positively miserable? You’ve always been annoyingly happy. I don’t believe I’ve never seen you look miserable before.”
“I’ve never been miserable before.”
“Because you have never been in love.” It was a statement more than a question. He met Judith’s gaze reluctantly. It was somewhat rude to admit to a woman whose bed you had shared, no matter how long ago, that you had never before been in love. He blew a long breath. “No, never.”
“Dear Lord, Jonathon, as remarkable as it seems, you appear even more distressed now than you did a moment ago.” She smiled, leaned closer and rested her free hand on his arm. “I was never in love with you either, so you needn’t look so stricken. As if you fear you have broken my heart by your admission.”
Relief swept through him. Still…“Not even a bit?”
She laughed. “A bit, perhaps. And you?”
“More than a bit.” He raised her hand to his lips. “How could I fail to have fallen under your spell?”
“How indeed?” she said wryly. “Even so, we both know you are a liar, the proof being the miserable state you now find yourself in. That, my dear, is truly love.”
He grimaced. “Then I certainly have not missed anything up to now.”
“Jonathon.” She stared at him in disbelief. “You have missed…everything. Every emotion, every feeling, every sensation is heightened when one is in love. There is indeed much misery and doubt and indecision and, yes, the potential to behave like a complete and utter fool. But the glories of love are just as pronounced and extreme. For one thing, there is the rather remarkable way you feel inside.” Her hand fluttered to her throat and she absently toyed with a pendant hanging from a chain around her neck. “As if part of you was always missing although you had no idea, and now, for the first time, you are whole.”
She stared unseeing at something very far away, something only she could see, and Jonathon wondered if she was still talking to him, or to herself. “It’s the closest thing to pure joy one can know in this world.”
Her gaze met his. “That’s what you have missed.”
He stared at her, not entirely sure what to say in response.
“And furthermore, should I ever be so lucky as to feel as miserable again as you do right now, I shall thank God for that wretched state.” She drew a deep breath, her composure at once restored, and smiled pleasantly. “Does that describe what you’re feeling at all?”
“Better than I can say.” He shook his head. “I could not put it into words as well myself.”
“Perhaps you could put it better on paper? You are a writer, after all.”
“I did, somewhat, in the story I wrote to match Fiona’s drawings. I didn’t intend it, but I can see my feelings in the words nonetheless. It may well be the best thing I have ever written. I was…inspired.” He cast her a helpless glance. “What do I do now, Judith?”
“You are asking for advice?” She raised a brow. “Again?”
“You were not a great deal of help the last time.”
“No?” Judith glanced at Fiona still dancing in the arms of another man and considered her thoughtfully. “I believe I told you to become friends, did I not? To ascertain your feelings toward her?”
Jonathon’s gaze followed Judith’s. “As I said. Your advice was not a great deal of help.”
“Or you failed to follow it correctly.”
“Admittedly a possibility,” he said slowly, “although I do think we have forged a friendship of sorts.”
“Friendship is an excellent beginning.”
“Judith—”
“How can I resist you? You are as pathetic as a lost puppy.” She heaved a resigned sigh. “And you obviously need assistance. I daresay you won’t receive it from that group of friends of yours, none of which, from what I have heard, have ever been overly successful with the fairer sex.
“It’s painfully apparent that you love this woman. If you do not wish to see her marry someone else and disappear from your life forever, you shall tell her how you feel.”
“It seems simple enough,” he murmured.
She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “I doubt it shall be the least bit simple. You have acted deplorably, you know. I recommend a certain amount of groveling as well as begging her forgiveness.”
He scoffed. “I shall apologize, but I shall certainly not grovel, nor shall I beg. I have never done either in my life.”
“You have never needed to before now.”
“That’s true enough.”
Fiona laughed at something her partner said and his heart twisted. Groveling, begging or whatever else was necessary was not too high a price to pay. “Well, there is no time like the present, I suppose.” He handed Judith his glass and stepped toward the dance floor.
“Don’t be insane. What are you thinking? Not here, and definitely not now.” Judith scoffed and thrust his glass back at him. “At the moment, there are no more than a handful of us who know of Fiona’s dilemma regarding her need to marry and the imminent arrival of the man her father chose for her. If you do anything to draw attention to the two of you here—and public groveling would indeed draw attention—it would spur no end of speculation as well as gossip. The truth is bound to come out, as it so often does.”
“There is nothing especially scandalous about the truth. She cannot help the terms of her father’s will.”
“Not that truth, but what about your scheme to provide her sisters’ dowries with a book of drawings of a questionable nature? Drawings produced by the young lady herself? Not to mention all the time the two of you have spent together without a respectable chaperone in sight?”
“Her drawings are art and quite respectable.” Even as he said the words he knew there were a great many people who would not see them as art at all but simply, and scandalously, as drawings of naked people. “And when we worked together, the door was always open. There was never the least bit…that is to say…”
Judith raised a disbelieving brow.
“Yes, well, you may have a point,” he muttered.
“Furthermore, I’m not sure you should declare yourself as of yet.”
“Why not?”
Judith cast him a pitying glance. “She might not believe you.”
“Surely she would….” He narrowed his gaze.“Why wouldn’t she?”
“Did you or did you not use words likeresponsibility andobligation and even, I believe,guilt ?”
“I might have.” He did hate to admit to that particular bit of stupidity aloud.
“You cannot simply go up to her now and say:I was wrong, Fiona, but I have come to my senses. I should have accepted your proposal at once because you are indeed the perfect woman for me. ”