Love and the Single Heiress

Chapter 10

Today’s Modem Woman may well find herself the object of affection of more than one gentleman. This is an enviable position as it is always good to have a choice. If, however, she eventually decides that one must be chosen over the others, the best way to discourage the excess gentlemen is to make it plain her affections are claimed elsewhere.

A Ladies’ Guide to the Pursuit of

Personal Happiness and Intimate Fulfillment

by Charles Brightmore

That evening, Andrew sat across from Lady Catherine in her carriage en route to the Duke of Kelby’s soiree. While he would have preferred another cozy, laughter-filled evening like last night rather than a gathering where God only knew how many men would be vying for Lady Catherine’s attention, he intended to make the most of whatever courting opportunities the night might bring. And if one of those opportunities was the chance to discourage the competition, so much the better. With his impending departure from Little Longstone hanging over his head like a dark cloud of doom, he refused to squander any time.

Just then Lady Catherine smiled at him and bloop went his heart. Dressed in a pale turquoise muslin gown, with matching ribbons woven through her shiny chestnut curls, she stole his breath. By God, he could not wait for the day when he could freely draw her into his arms and kiss her rather than gawk at her from a distance.

Returning her smile, he said, “The color of your gown reminds me of the beautiful, sparkling clear waters of the Mediterranean. You look”-his gaze drifted over her, resting for several seconds on her lips before meeting her eyes once more-“stunning.”

Catherine felt the heat of color bloom on her cheeks. “Thank you.” Her gaze flicked over his dark blue jacket, neatly tied cravat, and cream breeches, and she had to press her lips together to contain a sigh of feminine appreciation. Was it possible for a man to look stunning? One look at her companion told her that clearly it was. “One could say the same about you.”

“One could?” he teased. “Or one does?”

His smile nearly stole her breath. “Are you attempting to extract a compliment from me, Mr. Stanton?”

“Heaven forbid. I am merely trying to ascertain whether you inadvertently gave me one.”

She pursed her lips and pretended to give the matter grave thought. “My goodness. It appears I did.”

“Then I thank you, my lady. Indeed, I don’t believe I’ve ever been called ‘stunning’ before. Tell me, did Spencer tell you about our adventures in the village?”

“Yes, although apparently not everything, as he didn’t wish to ruin your surprise. It sounds as if you two had a jolly time.”

“We did.”

“He said that quite a few people looked at him rather oddly, but that ‘Mr. Stanton fixed everything.' He said you introduced yourself and Spencer to everyone you met, and to all the shopkeepers whose stores you visited.”

Mr. Stanton nodded. “When people realized he was your son, they were very kind. Everyone we spoke to sent you their best regards. Some people did stare, but I assured Spencer they were most likely only curious, not unkind.”

“He told me that you said if anyone was unkind to him, you’d pound the, um, piss out of them.”

“My exact words,” Mr. Stanton agreed without hesitation.

She couldn’t contain the grin pulling at her lips. “Well, while the method might perhaps be a bit uncivilized, I’m grateful for the thought. I trust the good people of Little Longstone did not see fit to make you put your pugilistic talents to use?”

“They were all the personification of kindness. In fact, we even saw someone I know. One of the museum investors.”

“Oh? Who was that?”

“Mrs. Warrenfield. She suffers from numerous maladies and is visiting Little Longstone to take the waters. She mentioned the duke’s party this evening-I assume she’ll be attending.” He hesitated, then said, “You were surprised that Spencer wished to venture into the village.”

“In truth, I was stunned. Spencer loves to wander about the estate, walking to the springs and strolling in the gardens. The property is private, and I’m grateful he has such a place, where he can strike out on his own a bit as it builds his strength and allows me to not worry-which, I’m afraid, I tend to do. But he’s always been adamant about not wanting to venture off the grounds; some years ago I simply stopped asking if he wanted to join me.”

“I realize you were worried about him, worried for him, and I appreciate that you trusted me enough to allow him to accompany me. Spencer appreciated it as well.”

“I didn’t doubt he was in good hands. While I freely admit I was concerned that someone might hurt Spencer’s feelings, I was confident that you wouldn’t hesitate to-”

“Pound the piss out of them? It would have been my very great pleasure.”

She lowered her gaze, and she plucked at the satin strings on her reticule. “After Spencer told me about your afternoon in the village, I told him about the shooting.” Looking up, she met his gaze squarely. “I give you leave to say ‘I told you so. ’”

“He was upset.”

“That is putting it mildly. He insisted I tell him every detail, questioning me in a manner I suspect a Bow Street Runner might use to interrogate a crime suspect. It required a great deal of reassuring on my part to convince him I was fine.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fit.”

“Did that argument convince Spencer?”

“Not exactly. He demanded to see my injury. After he saw for himself that it was barely more than a scratch, our conversation took a turn for the better.”

“He was hurt that you hadn’t confided in him.”

“Hurt, angry, worried. His expression was one I hope to never see again.”

“Spencer worries about you just as you worry about him. We cannot always protect the people we love from worry, as much as we might want to. Sometimes we just have to let them worry.”

“Spencer said something very similar-right after he reminded me that he is no longer a child. He then made me promise never to hide something important from him.” One corner of her mouth lifted. “I, of course, extracted a similar promise from him.”

“So everything was well in the end.”

She nodded. “I believe in the back of my mind I had every intention of telling him, but I took umbrage at your telling me I should. I haven’t had a man underfoot telling me what to do in many years.”

“I’m certain you meant underfoot in the nicest way,” he said with a flash of his dimples. “And I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do. I was merely suggesting.”

“I realize that-now. However, at the time I reacted badly, and I’m sorry.” She shot him a sheepish grin. “I’m afraid that Today’s Modern Woman does not like being ordered about.”

He drew back in exaggerated surprise. “Indeed? I hadn’t noticed that at all.”

She laughed. “As for Spencer, he became very manly about wanting to take care of me.”

“Yes, well, I’m afraid that that is what men like to do with women they love-take care of them.”

His softly spoken words set up a fluttering in her stomach. “Yet Today’s Modern Woman can take care of herself.”

“Still, it is nice to have someone to share both the good and bad things life offers.”

She considered his words for several seconds, then nodded. “Yes, I suppose that is true.”

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees and regarded her solemnly. Her breath caught with awareness at his sudden proximity, filling her head with his clean, masculine scent. Her heart thumped hard at the serious expression in his dark eyes.

Silence swelled for several seconds, then he said, “Do you realize that we’ve been in this coach for nearly a quarter hour, and we’ve yet to argue? In fact, unless I am mistaken, we actually just agreed on something.”

She blinked. “By God, you’re right.”

“Again we agree!”

“And this in spite of the fact that the words ‘Today’s Modern Woman’ were spoken.”

“Three times,” he said.

“Twice.”

“Ah. I knew it was too good to last.”

She couldn’t help but smile at him, and she absorbed the warmth that suffused her when he smiled in return. The carriage jerked to a stop, and she forced her gaze away from him to look out the window. They’d arrived at Kelby Manor.

A house filled with people where she would not have to spend a cozy evening alone with Mr. Stanton. Which was precisely what she needed.

For, as their enjoyable carriage ride had just illustrated, Mr. Stanton was proving increasingly difficult to avoid and ignore.

Swirling a brandy in one of the duke’s fine crystal snifters, Andrew stood in a group of gentlemen who were discussing some nature of farming techniques. Or perhaps they were discussing sheep. Or was it finances? As his attention was firmly fixed across the room, he wasn’t quite certain.

Lady Catherine stood near the fireplace chatting with her friend Mrs. Ralston, and while he could have happily stared at Lady Catherine’s lovely profile all evening, he was currently more intent upon the men casting their gazes in her direction.

Based on the number of gentlemen attending whom Andrew had met at Lord Ravensly’s birthday party in London, the duke had obviously made good on his promise to invite his friends to take the waters. Standing near the punch bowl, Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth were staring at Lady Catherine as if she were a sweet in the confectioner’s shop. Then there was Lord Kingsly, that married reprobate, eyeing her in a way that had Andrew tightening his grip on his snifter. And near the French windows stood Dr. Oliver, to whom Andrew had been introduced shortly after arriving, making what he assumed were his “mooning eyes” at Lady Catherine. It wouldn’t take much convincing for Andrew to blacken both of his damned mooning eyes-

“-Don’t you agree, Mr. Stanton?”

Andrew jerked his attention back. The duke, Lord Borthrasher, Mr. Sidney Carmichael, and Lord Nordnick all looked at him with expectant expressions. “Agree?”

“That women today are becoming far too bold in expressing their opinions,” said the duke.

“I have noticed, yes,” he said dryly. “Yet I prefer a lady to say what she thinks.”

“But often what they’re thinking is utter nonsense,” protested Lord Borthrasher.

“I suppose that depends on the lady,” Andrew said.

“Well, they’re just far too opinionated if you ask me,” the duke said. “My nieces, for instance.” He jerked his head toward the trio of pastel-clad young ladies twittering near the open doors leading to the terrace. “Haven’t an intelligent thought amongst the silly lot. Earlier today the youngest informed me that she had no intention of marrying for fortune-she would only marry for love. Ridiculous gel. ‘Tis a father’s responsibility to arrange marriages based on the advantageous joining of fortunes and properties.”

“Extremely unfashionable to be in love with one’s wife,” Lord Borthrasher remarked. He turned to Lord Nordnick. “Hope you’re planning to choose wisely, Nordnick.”

A deep flush crept up the young man’s neck. “Surely it is possible to make an advantageous match with a woman one also loves.”

“Nonsense,”said the duke, with a wave of his hand. “Choose a wife based on her family and fortune, then count your blessings if she is someone you can live with without undue stress. Save your love for your mistress.”

Lord Nordnick looked at Andrew. “You’re an American, Mr. Stanton. As such, do you have a different opinion?”

“Yes. Rather than marrying a woman I could live with, I’d marry the woman I couldn’t live without.”

Lord Borthrasher harrumphed. “And you, Carmichael? What is your opinion?”

“It is a father’s right and duty to have his daughter marry as he sees fit,” said Mr. Carmichael.

Andrew tensed. Before he could stop himself, he asked softly, “And if the daughter disagrees with her father’s choice of groom?”

Mr. Carmichael turned toward him with a measuring look. He raised his hand to stroke his chin, and the diamond on his ring flashed. “She would be wise not to. Interfering with such arrangements is begging for disaster.”

“Well, I’m hopeful my brother-in-law will be able to marry off those three silly chits of his,” the duke said. “The sooner the better, I say.”

A movement across the room caught Andrew’s attention, and he turned. Dr. Oliver was heading toward Lady Catherine. “If you gentlemen will excuse me?” With a nod, he stepped out of their circle. Before he crossed the room, however, he leaned behind Lord Nordnick and said quietly, “I have it on the best authority that Lady Ophelia holds a fondness for tulips.”

Satisfied that he’d done what he could for Nordnick’s courting attempts, it was time to see to his own. As he made his way across the room, his gaze raked over Dr. Oliver in critical assessment. He’d hoped the doctor would prove old, decrepit, and frail. Bald. With a hideous paunch. And brown teeth. Or better yet, no teeth. With a countenance that resembled that of a hound. An ugly, no-tooth, paunchy, bald hound.

Unfortunately the doctor was tall, robust, and certainly not much over thirty, if he were that old. Andrew watched grimly as Dr. Oliver’s face-his damned good-looking face-lit up like a bloody candle as he approached Lady Catherine. His grin displayed a set of perfectly even white teeth. Andrew felt a strong urge to uneven those teeth.

“A word with you Oliver?” he asked, strategically waylaying the man before he reached the fireplace.

Dr. Oliver halted and nodded at Andrew. “Of course. Didn’t have much of a chance to speak with you when we were introduced earlier. Pleasure to meet the explorer fellow who’s starting the museum with Lady Catherine’s brother. Tales of your exploits with Lord Greybourne have provided many hours of entertaining conversation between Lady Catherine and myself.”

“Have they indeed?” Andrew said silkily. “Did she tell you the legend of the unfortunate suitor?”

Dr. Oliver frowned, then shook his head. “I don’t believe so.”

“Very sad tale. A misguided young man-who oddly enough was a physician-set his sights on the object of another man’s affections. As the lady was extremely lovely, the man-who was a very reasonable gentleman-understood the physician’s fascination with her and decided he would give the physician fair warning. He looked the physician straight in the eye, and said, ‘The lady regards you as nothing more man a friend, and you’d be wise to remember that. If you make any further advances toward my woman, I’ll be forced to hurt you.’ ” Andrew shook his head sadly. “Frightfully barbaric lot, those ancient Egyptians.”

Understanding slowly dawned in the doctor’s gaze, and his jaw tightened. “You don’t say. So what did the doctor do?”

“According to the legend, he backed away. A most intelligent decision.”

They stared at each other for several seconds, then Dr. Oliver said, “I’m certain that if the physician backed away, it was because he realized that the lady did indeed regard him only as a friend. Not because he was a coward.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Because if the lady had given the physician any indication that her regard was deeper than friendship, well, then, I think the other gentleman would have had a fight on his hands.”

Andrew kept his expression impassive, but he mentally applauded the doctor. If not for Lady Catherine, he might actually like this man. “I think we understand each other.”

“Yes, I believe we do. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Stanton…”With a curt nod, the doctor left him and headed toward the punch bowl.

Excellent Another suitor taken care of. Andrew glanced around and when his gaze settled on Lord Kingsly, his eyes narrowed. Clearly Kingsly, as well as several other gentlemen, would do well to hear the tale of the unfortunate suitor.

Catherine stood alone at the fireplace, sipping her sherry, awaiting Genevieve’s return. When Genevieve had excused herself for a moment, Catherine had actually been relieved. For the first time in their long acquaintance, she’d had difficulty following her friend’s conversation. She’d been forced to say “pardon?” three times, and it was all his fault.

This evening was not going at all as she’d intended. Oh, the avoid portion of her plan was working splendidly- shortly after arriving she’d left Mr. Stanton in the company of the duke and several other gentlemen, then had joined Genevieve. It was the ignore portion of her plan that was failing miserably. She knew every time Mr. Stanton moved about the room. Every time he spoke to someone new. Every trip he made to the punch bowl. In desperation she’d finally maneuvered herself so that her back was to the room, but then she found herself straining her ears for the sound of his voice and stealing quick peeks over her shoulder to ascertain his whereabouts.

Never in her life had she been so excruciatingly aware of someone. Never in her life had she found it so completely impossible to ignore someone. It was an unsettling, confusing sensation, and she was quite sure she did not like it one bit.

Genevieve rejoined her, and said in an undertone, “Darling, I just overheard the most fascinating conversation.”

“Oh? Between whom?”

“Your Mr. Stanton and Dr. Oliver.”

Warmth rushed into Catherine’s cheeks. “He is not my Mr. Stanton, Genevieve.”

“Based on what I just heard, I rather think he is whether you want him or not. He’s just staked his claim to Dr. Oliver, very cleverly I must say, under the guise of a tale called ‘the legend of the unfortunate suitor. ’”

“Staked his claim? What do you mean?”

Catherine listened intently as Genevieve related the conversation she’d overheard. When she finished, Genevieve heaved a delighted sigh. “That man is simply divine, Catherine.”

Heat scorched Catherine, and she tried to convince herself it was the heat of embarrassment. Of outrage at Mr. Stanton’s temerity. Yet as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t deny the almost primitive feminine thrill racing through her.

“Oh, to be desired like that again…”A slow, devilish smile curved Genevieve’s lips. “If not for my hands, I believe I would offer you some competition for Mr. Stanton.”

A swift, strong, and undeniable shot of jealousy pulsed through Catherine. “You are welcome to him,” she said stiffly.

Genevieve laughed. “Darling, if only you meant that, and my hands were not crippled, and the gentleman not so thoroughly enamored of you-” She cut off her words and leaned closer to Catherine to whisper, “Here he comes.”

Before Catherine had a chance to draw a deep breath, Mr. Stanton stood before her. “May I join you ladies?”

“Certainly, Mr. Stanton,” said Genevieve, with a beaming smile. “This is a delightful party, is it not?”

“Indeed it is. I’m enjoying myself immensely.”

“You’ve been very social, Mr. Stanton,” Catherine said, pleased her voice sounded so cool in contrast to the heat singeing her. “I believe you’ve spoken to everyone in the room.”

“Just trying to spread a little cheer.”

“We were just speaking about competition,” Genevieve said, her blue eyes filled with innocent warmth.

Catherine’s belief that her cheeks couldn’t grow any hotter was proven incorrect, and she shot her friend a repressive look-a look Genevieve blithely ignored.

“Competition?” Mr. Stanton repeated. “In regard to sporting events?”

Genevieve shook her head. “In regard to matters of the heart. Would you care to share your opinion?”

Mr. Stanton’s gaze shifted to Catherine, and the compelling look in his dark eyes stilled her. Then he turned his attention to include Genevieve in his answer. “Identify the competition,” he said, “then outmaneuver it.”

“Excellent advice,” Genevieve said, nodding in an approving manner. “Don’t you agree, Catherine?”

Catherine had to swallow twice to locate her voice. “Er, yes.”

“The music is about to begin,” said Genevieve. “Do you know how to do our country dances, Mr. Stanton?”

“Passably well.”

“Waltz?”

Mr. Stanton smiled. “Extremely well.”

“Excellent. I’m certain you won’t lack for partners.” Genevieve leaned forward and lowered her voice in a conspiratorially manner. “The duke’s nieces have taken a keen interest in you.”

“What?” Mr. Stanton and Catherine said at the same time.

“The duke’s nieces. They’re quite smitten.”

Catherine’s gaze shot over to the trio of young ladies. Three fascinated gazes were fastened on Mr. Stanton as if he were a new species of exotic animal. An unpleasant, unwelcome cramp Catherine was beginning to recognize all too well squeezed her.

The string quartet played a series of arpeggios, then launched into their first selection, a waltz.

Mr. Stanton turned toward Catherine and offered a formal bow. “As we were unable to share a dance at your father’s birthday party, may I request the honor now?”

Common sense indicated that dancing with him, being held in his arms, did not fit in at all with her avoid-and-ignore plan. But everything female in her longed to accept his offer. It had been so long since she’d danced. And she wanted so very much to dance with him…

“I’d be delighted,” she said.

Lightly resting her fingers on his proffered forearm, they made their way to the dance floor. He turned her to face him, and her breath caught at the expression in his eyes. Before she could decipher that look, however, her hand was engulfed in his, his palm settled firmly at the base of her spine, her hand rested on his broad shoulder, then… pure magic.

The room swirled by in a rainbow blur as he led her expertly around the gleaming floor. Warmth spread through her from where his hand touched her back, encompassing her in a heated glow as if she stood in a ray of summer sunshine. She could feel the supple strength of his shoulder beneath her fingertips, and pleasurable tingles radiated up her arm from between their clasped palms. His scent, that pleasing mixture of clean linen, sandalwood, and something else that belonged to him alone, filled her head, rendering her almost giddy.

She felt as if she were soaring, flying in his strong arms as everything, everyone, faded into the background except this man whose gaze never left hers, whose rapt expression somehow made her feel womanly and beautiful. Feminine and exciting. Young and carefree. Invigorated, her heart pounded with exhilaration, infusing her with a sense of freedom such as she’d never known, forcing her to call on all her breeding so as not to throw her head back in a most unladylike manner and simply laugh with pure and utter delight.

When Mr. Stanton led them to a stop, she hadn’t even noticed that the song had ended. For the space of several heartbeats, neither moved, standing as if locked in a motionless dance. Erratic breaths puffed from between her parted lips, although whether her labored breathing was due to the exertions of the dance or the man still touching her, she couldn’t tell. Gazing at him, it seemed as if his dark eyes held hundreds of secrets, thousands of thoughts, and she suddenly found herself desperate to know each and every one of them.

Applause for the musicians roused her from her stupor. He slowly released her, and she instantly mourned the loss of his warmth and strength. After forcibly gathering her wits, she clapped politely and smiled at him. “You do indeed waltz extremely well, Mr. Stanton.”

“My lovely partner inspired me.”

“I fear I am frightfully out of practice.”

“You gave no indication of it, but please consider me at your disposal should you wish to hone your skills.”

The temptation to spend hours indulging in the delicious sensation of whirling around the dance floor with him nearly overwhelmed her.

No, to dance with him again would be most unwise. And prove yet another failure to her avoid-and-ignore plan. Yet she had no desire to dance with anyone else present.

The sound of feminine laughter caught her attention, and she turned. The duke’s three nieces were descending upon them, their gazes riveted on Mr. Stanton, each girl clearly hoping for an invitation to dance.

And Catherine realized, quite unsettlingly, that not only did she have no desire to dance with anyone else save Mr. Stanton, but she did not desire Mr. Stanton to dance with anyone other than she. His earlier words echoed through her mind: Identify the competition, then outmaneuver them.

Looking up at him she said softly, “I fear I’m feeling a bit… overheated. Would you mind terribly if we went home?”

Instant concern flashed in his eyes, pricking her conscience, although she felt, in truth, quite overheated. “Of course not. We’ll leave immediately.”

She tried, very hard, to ignore the glow of pleasure suffusing her at his agreement as it boded very poorly indeed for her avoid-and-ignore plan.

She tried, but she failed.