Unconventional Suitors 01 - Her Unconventional Suitor (13 page)

Gillian sat on the edge of her seat. “I did, at first.”

“Then what is the problem?” her mother asked, her voice raising angrily as she enunciated each word slowly.

“The problem is that I do not feel anything when he touches me, nor does his personality intrigue or excite me.”

“La!” the duchess scoffed, removing her gloves and using them to swat at Gillian’s thighs. “You are beginning to sound as pea brained as Phoebe. She is always reading those silly gothic novels and day dreaming about absurd notions such as finding true love’s kiss. Let me be the first to inform you that such a thing does not exist. You would do well to cease fantasizing about some abstract motion and settle for finding a man who will provide you with a comfortable existence.”

“Is that what you did, mother?”

Gillian watched as her mother squirmed uncomfortably in her seat while glaring boldly at her. “My business is none of your affair. We are talking about your life here, not mine.”

“Well let me inform you of something, mother. Those silly notions, as you put it, do indeed exist. For I have found a man who not only will provide me with the lifestyle you require for my future, but he loves me as well and I have strong feelings for him in return.” Her mother was momentarily speechless so Gillian continued, wishing to make the matter perfectly clear. “And that man is not Lord Evander.”

Her mother sprung from her seat and settled herself on the bench next to Gillian taking both of her hands into her own, her mood changing so drastically that it made Gillian’s head spin. “Tell me who this man is. Is it the Viscount Adderleigh’s son? I had heard that he was enamored with you.”

“I do not even know the man,” Gillian scoffed, completely dismayed.

“Well then do not keep me in suspense any longer, who is the lucky gentleman?”

Gillian was hesitant to tell her mother, knowing full well that she would not react positively to her admission, but when her mother continued to badger her, she finally relented. “It is none other than Benedict St. Claire, the Earl of Danford.”

The duchess promptly fainted.

Gillian scooped her mother into her arms and gently shook her. “Mother? Mother, can you hear me?” Her mother did not give any response.

She held her firmly in her arms and waited for the carriage to arrive at their townhouse. As soon as the carriage lurched to a stop, a footman opened the door and Gillian screamed, “Quick! Go get father, mother has fainted.”

Long minutes passed until her father finally appeared. “Gillian, whatever happened?”

She transferred her mother to her father’s arms as she spoke, “I will tell you once we are inside.”

Her father nodded his agreement as they made their way into the house. Walking into the drawing room, the Duke of Chesley promptly laid his wife on the rose settee and instructed a maid to fetch some smelling salts and a glass of water. As she did so, he demanded Gillian explain what had happened.

“Well, father,” Gillian said nervously, “I simply told her that I had found the gentleman I wish to wed.”

Her father’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well that was certainly fast Gillian, though I fail to see why that would shock your mother so. We had fully expected for you to make a match before the season’s end. My question to you is, does this man return your feelings?”

“Of course he does,” she said proudly. “And I am certain he will be calling on you shortly to discuss the arrangements.”

“Over my dead body,” her mother shrilled as she flailed wildly on the settee in an attempt to rise, having suddenly come to.

“Calm down, Phillipa,” the duke commanded as he shoved her gently back down. “What has gotten in to you?”

“Your daughter is attempting to ruin her reputation by aligning herself with that fool.”

“What fool?” he commanded to know as both of his white eyebrows came together in a straight line over his eyes.

He looked to his daughter for an explanation, which she promptly gave. “He is not a fool, father. He is the Earl of Danford.”

“By gads, Gillian, the Earl of Danford is a married man!” her father exclaimed, his cheek twitching in a manner that gave display to his anger.

“Oh Charles,” the duchess groaned dramatically. “You are behind the times. If you would bother going into society more frequently you’d be up to date on all of the latest. Or heaven forbid you simply listen to me when I speak, for I am absolutely certain that I told you that Timothy St. Claire passed on this past winter. His son is now the earl.”

“Well that’s a relief. For a moment I was worried that our daughter was in love with a married man.”

“Well this could be worse,” the duchess wailed, digging her hands angrily into the settee cushions.

“Stop it with your theatrics, Phillipa. What is it about the earl that has you so worked up? You always spoke fondly of the late Lord Danford. Surely his son is cut from the same cloth.”

The duchess sat up and grabbed the glass of water rudely from the maid who had just returned. She took a long sip of the liquid before shakily handing it back to the maid. “His attire is grossly out of fashion.”

A thick silence ensued. The duke blinked several times as if he could not believe what he was hearing. “That is it?” he finally asked, perplexed by why his wife who was nearly giving herself an apoplexy over such an inconsequential matter.

“Isn’t that enough? He has repeatedly made a cake of himself by showing up at one event or the other in ridiculous attire. If Gillian associates with him, she will become a pariah.”

“Phillipa, dear, I think you are overreacting,” the duke said, voicing Gillian’s exact same thoughts.

“How dare you, Charles!” the duchess shrieked, offended by her husband’s inability to see reason.

“Now, now,” the duke said as he patted her hand in an attempt to soothe her, “we will finish discussing this later, in private. Understood?” In lieu of an answer, Phillipa jutted her chin out and turned her face away from him.

Her poor father, Gillian thought as she watched her mother’s childish antics. She was grateful that it was him who would be dealing with her emotional outbursts further this night and not her.

“Father?” she asked softly when the silence in the room stretched out uncomfortably. “May I retire for the night?”

Her father nodded while giving her a wan smile. “Yes, dear. We will discuss this matter further once I have finished this conversation with your mother.”

Gillian turned and walked slowly up to her room. She felt drained by the night’s events. Her moods had vacillated between anger, elation, and extreme irritation, and at the moment she found herself feeling resentful towards her mother for ruining her earlier excitement at Lord Danford’s marriage proposal and his subsequent proclamation of love.

Sarah was waiting for her the minute she walked into her room. No doubt some of the other servants had alerted her to their early arrival home. She was certain her mother’s outlandish behavior would be the cause of much gossip below stairs. As soon as her gown had been traded for a thin cotton night dress and her hair had been brushed and plaited, she turned to Sarah and asked, “Would you fetch me a hot milk posset?”

“But of course, my lady.”

As soon as Sarah had departed, Gillian went and sat before the fireplace. Several logs sat in the hearth but a fire was not lit. With the advent of summer, Gillian instructed the servants not to light a fire in the evenings, for she preferred to sleep with a slight chill in the air, finding that she slept much deeper when she did.

What was she going to do to convince her mother to allow her to wed Lord Danford? Her mind mulled over several ideas but none of them seemed promising. It vexed her to no end that her mother was being so stubborn over a man’s choice of clothing. Would it be too forward of her to suggest to Benedict that he commission a new wardrobe now that he had confessed his love for her? Gillian contemplated the idea, for it certainly had merit. How could her mother continue to refuse Lord Danford if he was no longer an unfashionable embarrassment?

Her heart lightened the more she thought about what seemed a simple solution. Yes, she’d just have to be bold with him, which had certainly never been a problem for her in the past. She smiled for the first time since she left his presence earlier that evening.

Sarah returned with a steaming mug of posset. Gillian cupped the drink in her hands for a moment before taking a long, calming sip. She would need its soothing effects to sleep peacefully after the eventful evening she’d had. Sarah turned down her bed while she waited for Gillian to finish the concoction before taking the empty mug from her hands and departing.

Gillian was just about to crawl into her bed when she heard a thump behind her. Startled, she turned around and observed her surroundings. There on the floor below the open window lay a small bouquet of flowers with a roll of parchment hanging from the tiny, pink ribbon that was tied around them. Picking it up, she hurried to the window to see if the person who had bestowed the gift was still there. She looked out the window just in time to see the unmistakeable silhouette of Lord Danford as he retreated down the street and away from their townhouse. Gillian smiled widely as she watched his figure until she could no longer see him in the dark.

Turning from the window, she undid the ribbon holding the flowers together and unrolled the parchment. She laid the flowers gently on her desk and began to read: The minutes tick by in long, painful agony

each moment we are forced to be apart.

I long to gaze upon your face,

though it’s memory is emblazoned forever upon my heart.

Your touch, your kiss, your witty repartee…

I confess, that is all I’ve got, but that should come as no surprise to you seeing as how you were already aware that I am most definitely not a poet. I beg your forgiveness for my lack of skill with the pen and hope you do not hold it against me that I could not finish the verse. Sleep well, my darling, and dream of me, for I will be dreaming of you.

All yours,

Benedict

Gillian fell asleep with the unfinished poem curled up in her hand. She’d most definitely be dreaming of Lord Danford that night, of that she was certain.

Sarah had just finished helping Gillian into a simple white morning dress, dotted with delicate blue rosebuds, when a knock at her door startled them both. Gillian went and sat at her dressing table while Sarah answered the knock. Several seconds went by before Sarah scurried over to Gillian and began pulling a brush hurriedly through her hair.

“Your father wishes to speak with you in his study. I will fashion your hair simply so you do not have to keep him waiting.”

Gillian nodded her response and closed her eyes as she waited for Sarah to finish styling her hair. Her slumber the night before had been fitful and she was thoroughly dreading the conversation she was going to have with her parents, for she had little patience for her mother’s antics. She hoped that the solution she had come up with would appease them both.

She found her father sitting behind his desk in his study, with her mother sitting stiffly on the leather chair across from him, a frosty silence ensued. Gillian could feel the tension in the air as she strode to her father’s desk and waited expectantly as she observed him. She had always thought her father rather dignified looking with his head of white hair and deep brown eyes, the same color as hers. And though his hair gave away his age, his face was still smooth, albeit several small lines surrounding his eyes and mouth. He wasn’t a large man, neither was he small, but he carried himself in such a way that one could sense the power and authority his title as Duke of Chesley afforded him.

“You may have a seat, Gillian.”

Gillian sat but she did not relax. “Have you had enough time to talk some sense into mother?” she asked anxiously.

“Gillian, I am sitting right here. Do not proceed to talk about me as if I am not present,” her mother scolded. Clearly she was not in any better mood this morning than she had been last night. What a pity.

“Your mother and I have discussed things and your mother’s greatest concern is for your reputation. Now, to be fair, I have yet to meet the earl personally, but from what your mother says, he has made himself a laughingstock by parading about Town in rather unfashionable clothing.”

Gillian wanted to laugh. “Father, he is not the only man in London to wear outdated clothing. Surely you remember the Viscount Worthington and his proclivity for wearing powdered wigs and salmon colored dress coats, though neither can be considered in the least bit fashionable.”

“I do remember that ghastly man. His personality was, unfortunately, as obnoxious as his clothing. Is that the case with the earl?”

“Heaven’s no,” Gillian exclaimed. “Lord Danford is not a slow top at all; he’s a perfect gentleman I can assure you.” So maybe that last bit was a slight lie, Gillian thought as she remembered his addicting kisses. Perhaps he was more of a rogue than a gentleman but she would certainly never admit that to her father.

“How can you be certain of that? You have gone riding with the man once and suddenly you are an expert on his behavior and manners?” Her mother’s shrill voice was grating on her nerves.

“Where did you go riding?” her father asked Gillian, keeping his attention fully focused on her.

“In Hyde Park, during the fashionable hour no less.”

“Well then,” he huffed as he turned to his wife. “Gillian has already been seen out and about with this man, and her reputation isn’t any worse for it.”

Gillian smiled victoriously. “Yes mother, I returned from the jaunt unscathed. I think you are putting too much stock into frivolous and superficial things. A man can purchase a new wardrobe. The things I admire about Lord Danford are things that money can’t buy.” Like his scorching kisses and the way she felt desired when he held her in his arms.

“She has a point, Phillipa. If the man does not have any repugnant qualities beyond his apparent lack of taste in clothing, I see no reason to deny Gillian the opportunity to be courted by him.”