An Unacceptable Offer Page 3

  It was pure accident that she had been presented to him. She really did not know Lord Pendleton well. He had merely been playing the courteous host. And Lord Fairfax must have felt obliged to invite her to dance. Her, rather than Honor. Of course, she had been presented first. Tomorrow he probably would not know her again if he met her at another function. But there was this half-hour that she was to spend with him. And supper afterward. It would be something to remember. Five years before, she would have been ready to swoon quite away at such an unexpected encounter. Jane smiled to herself at her own very school-girlish response to a perfectly ordinary occurrence.

  “You waltz very well,” the viscount said. “You must have had some practice.”

  “Actually I was shamed into learning the waltz,” Jane said. “The first few times I tried, I tripped all over my partners’ feet. Then one young man told me to relax and feel the music in my bones. He said dancing with me was somewhat like dragging around a sack of meal. I thought him impertinent at the time.”

  His left eyebrow rose. “And you do not now?” he asked. “I hope you gave him a thorough set-down.”

  “Oh, undoubtedly I did,” Jane replied. “He was my brother.”

  She expected him to laugh at the absurd story. She felt uncomfortable when he did not even smile.

  “How do you take to London after living in the North of England?” he asked. “Are you quite dazzled by the splendor of it all, or do you find yourself longing for the peace and quiet of the countryside?”

  Jane considered. “A little of both,” she said. “I certainly would not like to live permanently in town or even to come here annually during the Season. But once in a while it is pleasant to have all the activity and the crowds around you. I would not say I am dazzled. I was here five years ago, you see, and discovered then that nothing is essentially changed when one moves to a different setting. I suppose it is because one has to take oneself with one. It is a lowering thought to realize that.”

  “You sound as if you do not enjoy your own company, Miss Matthews,” Fairfax remarked.

  “On the contrary,” she said. “I have learned a great deal in five years. And one thing I have learned is to like myself. If we cannot like ourselves, we can hardly expect anyone else to do so, can we?”

  “I suppose not,” he said. “Sometimes it is difficult, though. To like oneself, I mean.”

  Jane smiled and was suddenly very aware of his blue eyes looking directly into hers, and from so very close. She broke eye contact with him in some confusion and glanced around her. She was just in time to see Honor being led onto the dance floor by Ambrose Leighton. Why was he so late claiming her? But the answer was clear to Jane almost before the question was formed in her mind. Honor must have excused herself from her obligation to him, certain that the viscount would solicit her hand for this set. How humiliated she must feel to be caught thus on the sidelines, minus the partner she had been so sure of.

  “Do you miss your daughters, my lord?” she asked, turning back to her partner. “I understand you left them in the country.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You know of them?” he asked.

  Jane felt herself flushing. “I daresay everyone in the ton knows as much,” she said. “You may not arrive in London and expect to remain anonymous, you know.”

  “I had forgotten,” he said. “I thought I would be quite the stranger here for a while. It is years since I was last here. In fact, it must have been the year you were here. It is strange that we never met. But you asked about my daughters. Yes, I do miss them. They are a constant source of delight to me. The elder is only four. However, they are in the hands of a nurse who lavishes all the love of her heart on them. She was my nurse too, and I can vouch for the fact that they will receive the best of care.”

  Conversation between them flowed with surprising ease for the rest of the waltz and for the first part of the supper while they sat alone. She told him of her life on the Yorkshire moors, a life which was saved from loneliness by the presence of a village close by and the homes of her brother and sister and her numerous nieces and nephews. He told her something about his estate in Hampshire. She found him quite charming. Although he had solicited her company only out of politeness, he did not give the appearance of boredom or eagerness to be gone in order to find himself a more attractive partner. She had expected somehow that he would be a trifle arrogant.

  Fairfax was not bored. In fact, he was beginning to relax somewhat. He felt quite fortunate in his first choice of partner. Not that Miss Matthews was the sort of female he would have chosen if he had been able to look around him freely. She was not a girl in her first bloom and there was nothing remarkably pretty about her. That little cousin of hers was far more to his taste. But sometimes good manners had to take precedence over personal inclination. His uncle had presented her first, the dancing was about to begin, and he had felt obliged to ask if she were free.

  He had thought he was to be stuck with a silly partner for all of one waltz and the supper when she had told the story about her brother. But it was not so. In fact, she seemed to be a woman of some sense. Years before, when he was single, he had put up with all sorts of feminine silliness. And the sillier the female, it had seemed, the more she had to say. Strangely, he had not minded at the time. Empty-headed, vaporish girls had made him feel more masculine and virile, he supposed. But he did not think he would be able to stand that now that he was older.

  Miss Matthews might not be a beauty, but at least she had something interesting to say. He supposed she had given up trying to lure a husband with all the usual feminine wiles. She was settling into the life of a spinster, no doubt. Though he must not be unkind. She could not be older than five-and-twenty at the most. Perhaps no older than Susan would have been. Yet he could not imagine Susan having matured into a life of quiet good sense.

  Fairfax raised his hand in the direction of Joseph Sedgeworth, who had just entered the supper room with a young lady on his arm. That same young lady who had been at his godmother’s two days before, if he was not mistaken. His friend led her toward the table. Fairfax got to his feet.

  “Miss Crawley,” he said with a bow, “how good to see you again. You are looking very lovely.”

  The girl blushed to the roots of her red hair before he turned away to present his friend to Miss Matthews. Before they could all sit down, Miss Jamieson had also arrived at their table on the arm of a young man whom she introduced as Ambrose Leighton.

  Miss Jamieson did most of the talking for the rest of the supper. She was indeed very lovely with her dark hair and creamy complexion and very shapely figure. And she was very well aware of her own beauty and charm. He should be enchanted, Fairfax thought. In fact, he was attracted. There was a sparkle and an animation about the girl, although it was somehow counteracted by her obvious vanity. But he was also amused. The little chit was all the rage, his uncle had said. Yet she seemed such a very young girl. Had Susan been like this when he had fallen so headlong in love with her five years before? Probably she had, though physically the two girls did not resemble each other except in size.

  Fairfax found that his amusement grew during supper. Miss Jamieson was clearly setting her cap at him. Indeed, Miss Crawley seemed very aware of him too, though she was blushing and tongue-tied and looked anywhere but at him. He felt so much older than he had five years before. He had lived through what seemed like a lifetime of experiences since then. He had not expected to draw female attention with as much ease as he had as a younger man. He had expected that the very young girls, at least, would look on him as an older man not worthy of a second glance. It might be amusing to find that he still had the old power to attract.

  “Miss Jamieson,” he said as the guests around them began to stroll back toward the ballroom, “I suppose it is too much to hope that there is any space left on your dancing card?”

  “By coincidence, I have not promised the next set to anyone, my lord,” she said, glancing coquettishly at him wit
h her large dark eyes. “The reason being that three latecomers were arguing over which should be granted the last dance on my card. I was so cross with them that I told them that they might all take themselves off and quarrel elsewhere. I wanted nothing more to do with them for this evening.”

  Fairfax found that he had to make a great effort not to laugh aloud. This little creature was quite delightful. She lied without a flicker of guilt showing on her face. Who was the poor fellow that was about to be thrown over for him? he wondered.

  “Then might I have the honor, ma’am?” he asked, pushing back his chair and rising to his feet.

  “Oh,” she said, “how wonderful! I must confess that I was not looking forward to the next dance. I was afraid that some people might think I was a wallflower.”

  “Wallflower?” Fairfax repeated. “You? Never, ma’am. I am sure anyone with any sense would have divined the truth immediately.”

  She blushed becomingly and placed a hand on his.

  Sedgeworth was soliciting Miss Matthews’ hand for the set, Fairfax noticed. In fact, the two of them had been talking quietly for the last five minutes or so.

  “What a perfectly divine ball!” Honor said with a sigh in the carriage later.

  “You enjoyed yourself, did you, puss?” her father said with a chuckle. “I should think so too. You seem to have all the young bucks in London chasing after you.”

  “Oh, they don’t signify at all,” Honor said with a dismissive gesture. “All mere boys. Now, Viscount Fairfax is what I call a man.”

  “And it is said he is in search of a wife,” Lady Jamieson said. ”His poor first wife died, you know.”

  “Don’t you think he is just divine, Jane?” Honor said. “And will you not change your mind now and wager with me on which of us will get him?”

  “Get him!” Jane repeated with a laugh. “As if we would be the only two contestants, Honor. The man danced with at least half a dozen other ladies tonight.”

  “We must not be daunted by the fact,” Honor said. “After all, we were his first choices. And you were his very first, Jane. Maybe he already has a tendre for you and I shall have to fight desperately to win him from you.”

  Jane laughed outright. “Honor,” she said, “you are so delightfully transparent. The idea of Lord Fairfax’s developing a tendre for me is so absurd that you know I am bound to disclaim the truth of any such suggestion and assure you that he must prefer you. And we both know that I was not really his first choice. The poor man did not have much alternative but to ask me, if he did not wish to appear ill-mannered.”

  “Do you really think he preferred me?” Honor asked eagerly. “Indeed it would not be so very strange if he did, would it? All those horrid plain men seem to prefer me to any other girl. It would be just too rotten if the only handsome man in town were to prove the exception. Do you think I may expect a visit tomorrow afternoon, Jane? Mama?”

  “I should not be at all surprised, my love,” her mother assured her. “You are easily the loveliest debutante this year and he must have an eye for beauty, for apparently his first wife was very pretty. Not that Jane is an antidote, of course. In fact, Jane, you look quite well in that particular shade of green. You should wear it more often. You could easily pass for twenty.”

  “Should I accept an invitation to go driving, do you think?” Honor asked in some anxiety. “Or should I appear more aloof at first?”

  Jane burst into laughter. “Honor,” she advised, “why do you not let the viscount put in an appearance before you face tricky problems like that?”

  “Oh, but one must be prepared for any eventuality,” Honor said. “Don’t you agree, Papa?”

  “Am I going to have to spend a fortune on a grand wedding this summer already, puss?” Sir Alfred Jamieson asked with a chuckle.

  “Oh, Papa!” Honor protested. “Do not tease. I am very serious.”

  “Jamieson, I do wish you would have a word with the coachman about the mad way he turns this corner into the driveway,” his wife said crossly, swaying against him as the carriage turned.

  “You should hold on to the strap, my love,” he replied mildly. “But I shall certainly speak to him.”

  Chapter 3

  HONOR was doomed to disappointment the next day. Though she had her usual array of bouquets and nosegays delivered during the morning, and though several visitors arrived during the afternoon, including three gentlemen admirers, Viscount Fairfax was nowhere in evidence.

  “It is not that I really expected him,” she assured Jane after the last visitor had left and they were both climbing the stairs to their rooms to change for a late-afternoon drive. “After all, he has scarcely settled in London yet, and we did meet for the first time only last evening. And I am not conceited or anything, Jane. But I did think perhaps he would not consider it too forward to pay me a short call. Or to pay you a call. We must remember that he might be nursing a desperate tendre for you.” She laughed merrily.

  Honor’s remaining hope for that day was that the viscount would be at Mrs. Tate’s musicale that evening. It promised to be a very dull affair, but he might be there. Perhaps no one had yet told him what a bluestocking Mrs. Tate was. Honor was unusually subdued during the drive back home.

  “I don’t understand it,” she said. “If the man is in search of a wife, why did he keep himself at home this evening? You would think that he would have wished to follow up his advantage of last evening, would you not, Mama?”

  It was Jane who answered. “How do you know that he stayed at home,” she asked, “merely because he was not at Mrs. Tate’s?”

  “What?” Honor asked, alarmed. “Do you think some other females have had him all to themselves tonight, Jane? That would be vastly unfair.”

  Jane joked with her cousin and was genuinely amused by the strange mixture of conceit and anxiety she displayed. But for herself she was not happy that Fairfax had decided to return to town just at the time when she was there. She found herself unable to put him from her mind for more than five minutes at a time. She had relived over and over the hour she had spent in his company the evening before. How very charming he had been, and friendly. She wished somehow that he had appeared cold or arrogant. At least then perhaps she could have persuaded herself that she had loved merely a handsome exterior for five years.

  She was disturbed at seeing him again, excited by the fact that at last she had met him, danced with him, conversed with him. And she knew that for the next several weeks she would live for the glimpses she might have of him and the remote chance that he would recognize and acknowledge her, even talk to her on occasion. She was every bit as bad as Honor except that she kept her feelings to herself and had none of Honor’s confidence in attracting the viscount’s notice.

  She did not wish to feel this way. It was childish to worship an unattainable man. It was demeaning. She was a grown woman who had spent painful years building self-respect. Was she to lose it now so easily in the consciousness she must have of her inferiority to him in the power to attract? She had spent those same years learning to face life with calm common sense. She knew—or thought she knew—exactly what she wanted of life. She wanted to find a husband with whom she could be comfortable, and she wanted to devote her life to that husband and to his home and children.

  Mr. Faford called the afternoon after the ball and took her driving in the park afterward. He talked about his prospects. He had a comfortable income from land he had inherited from his father. He would inherit more on the death of his grandfather. And once he had married off his younger sister, he would be without dependents. His reason for telling these things to Jane seemed quite obvious to her. It was not vanity, surely, that told her that she might expect to receive an offer from him before the Season was out.

  She should be preparing her mind to accept Mr. Faford. In fact, she must accept him or face a probable future as a spinster in Yorkshire. That part of the country did not abound in eligible bachelors. Marriage to Mr. Faford would offer h
er just the sort of life she had been looking for. Yet now, only one day after seeing Viscount Fairfax again, she was feeling dissatisfaction. Dreams of love and romance were forcing themselves on her. Ridiculous, childish, quite unrealistic dreams. Was she to give up her chance to marry merely because of that vague longing? What could she gain from such an attitude but a long and lonely future?

  Jane had been quite relieved not to see Fairfax at Mrs. Tate’s musicale. She hoped that perhaps they would not see a great deal of him at all. She might be safe if that were so.

  It was three days before she saw Lord Fairfax again, in a quite unexpected setting. She made a visit to Hookham’s Library that morning, taking a maid for company. Honor, who normally read a great deal, had given up the pastime since her arrival in London, along with painting, her great passion. She dreaded more than anything the label of bluestocking. Jane drew a copy of Mr. Fielding’s Joseph Andrews from a shelf. She had heard of it. It was reputed to be a satire on Mr. Richardson’s Pamela.

  “Good day, Miss Matthews,” a man’s voice said from close behind her.

  She whirled around. She would know that voice anywhere, having spent an hour listening to it a few evenings before. She smiled. So he recalled her name too.

  “Good morning, my lord,” she said. “Is it not a beautiful day?”

  “Indeed, yes,” he agreed. “Lovely enough to make me almost wish that I were back in the country. Are you wondering if that book is worth reading?”

  “I have heard of it,” she said, “and have been wishing to read it. I have read Pamela and disliked it heartily. I should be quite delighted to hear someone make fun of it.”