Someone to Romance Page 7

  “I hear of both Mr. Rochford and the American wherever I go,” Matilda said. “I assume it is Mr. Thorne you were speaking of, Althea? Lady Vickers has not been shy in putting it about that he is wealthy, so I daresay it is true. She would lose considerable face if it turned out that he was a pauper. I look forward to meeting both gentlemen. And I agree with you, Viola. Perhaps we really ought to start thinking of ways to throw Mr. Thorne into Estelle’s path again, and Mr. Rochford into Jessica’s.”

  “We?” Mildred asked, her eyebrows raised. She took the cream pastry after all, since no one else had removed temptation from her reach, and bit into it with slow caution.

  “Well, if the past few years are anything to judge by, they are not doing much to help themselves, are they?” Matilda said. “What they need is a helping hand. Not to attract the gentlemen. Good heavens, they are both unusually lovely girls and could not possibly be more eligible if they tried, one of them the daughter of a duke and the other of a marquess. They need a helping hand to narrow their choices to one and to fall in love.”

  “I wish it could be done as easily as saying it,” Louise said with a sigh.

  “Alexander and Wren are expected to arrive in town tomorrow,” Althea said, speaking of her son and his wife, the Earl and Countess of Riverdale. “Elizabeth and Colin are planning a small party to welcome them, though that is only an excuse, of course. Elizabeth loves entertaining and Colin does nothing to restrain her. I believe he loves it too. Perhaps I could suggest that both Mr. Rochford and Mr. Thorne be added to her guest list?” Elizabeth, Lady Hodges, was her daughter.

  “Are we all playing matchmaker, then?” Mildred asked. “I thought we had stopped that after Matilda’s wedding.”

  “It is not matchmaking when one arranges to throw together young people who may not have the good sense to throw themselves together,” Edith said. “Is it? I daresay Jessica and Estelle have met so many eligible gentlemen since they left the schoolroom that by now they can hardly recognize a good catch when they see him. I agree with Matilda. And Viola. They do need a helping hand.”

  “Aunt Edith,” Matilda said, wagging a finger in her direction, “you are talking just like one of us.”

  They all laughed.

  “I am sure Elizabeth can be trusted not to be too obvious about it,” Louise said. “But, Althea, can you make sure that Mr. Rochford and Mr. Thorne are not the only guests from outside the family? Jessica would realize the truth in a moment and she would be mortified. She would confront me with it too. She is very prickly about having her life interfered with.”

  Althea’s eyes twinkled. “Elizabeth would never commit such a social faux pas, Louise,” she said. “But yes, I will make sure there are other guests outside the family.”

  Louise sighed again as she surveyed the plates set out upon the table. “Oh,” she said, “whatever happened to the cream pastry I have had my eye on? Did someone eat it? It was you, Mildred, was it not? You always did that when we were girls. You would wait until there was one slice left of a cake we all adored, and you would take it without any offer to share. My waistline thanks you, however. I hope something will come of Elizabeth’s party, but I will not hold my breath. Behold a mother in the depths of despair. Hand me that plate with the jam tarts, will you, please, Aunt Edith?”

  * * *

  * * *

  “It is a magnificent bouquet, Jessica,” Anna, Duchess of Netherby, said, sounding a little doubtful. “It is also a little hard to see around, is it not?” She got up from her chair across the hearth from her sister-in-law’s and sat on another. “That is better.”

  The bouquet, lavish and enormous, and surely containing at least one of every species of flower known to mankind, had been awaiting Jessica in the drawing room when she returned from a morning visit to the library with Anna and her children, Rebecca, aged four, and Jonah, aged two. Six-year-old Josephine had not gone with them, though reading was one of her favorite activities, because her father, Avery, had asked if she would like to ride her pony and accompany him to Hyde Park. Horses and riding were Josephine’s passion.

  The bouquet was from Mr. Rochford and was just the sort of thing Jessica might have expected him to send if she had thought about it. The dozen red roses from Lord Jennings, standing in their crystal vase upon the sideboard to one side of the door, were dwarfed in comparison.

  “I wish it had been put somewhere else but here,” Jessica said. “It is almost embarrassing.” No, it was embarrassing.

  Anna laughed. “I believe you have made a conquest,” she said. “A big one. All the other single ladies in London would surely go into collective mourning if they could see it.”

  “He danced with me once,” Jessica protested.

  “Ah, but he had eyes for no one but you while he was doing it,” Anna said. “And at supper he conversed with no one except you. I would swear he did not even look at anyone else. Then, after escorting you back to the ballroom, he left abruptly, never to return. He strode out, in fact. I would not swear that he intended to draw everyone’s attention, but . . . Well, I would wager a modest amount upon it that he did.”

  “He wanted to dance with me again,” Jessica explained, “and professed himself to be heartbroken when I informed him that the remaining sets of the evening were all spoken for.”

  “You have indeed made a conquest.” Anna laughed again and poured them a second cup of tea. Luncheon was over and all the children except Josephine, who was still out with Avery, were in the nursery for their afternoon naps. Jessica’s mother had gone with Aunt Mildred and Aunt Matilda to call upon Grandmama and Great-aunt Edith. It felt good to relax.

  Jessica was not quite sure she liked Mr. Rochford. She wanted to. He had certainly seemed like the answer to all her prayers when she first set eyes upon him last evening. He was young, dazzlingly handsome, charming, amiable, and very eligible—or was about to be. He seemed in a fair way to becoming the darling of the ton. Certainly all eyes had been upon him throughout the evening. And though he had danced every set before theirs, it had been impossible not to notice that she was the focus of much of his attention. She had been the focus of all of it during their particular set, as Anna had just observed, even when the figures of the dance had separated them for brief spells. He had been visibly crestfallen when she had told him, untruthfully as it happened, that she did not have a free set to offer him for the rest of the evening after supper. When he left, he had succeeded in looking somehow tragic. Had it been deliberate?

  What was it she had not quite liked? Oh, there was absolutely nothing. Perhaps for the first time in her life she was powerfully attracted to someone, was in grave danger of falling in love with him, and had taken fright. But no, that was absurd. That was not it. What was it, then?

  Was it his waistcoat? Would a plain ivory one to match his silk knee breeches have looked more elegant with the dull gold evening coat? Her own brother was known for his gorgeous attire, morning, afternoon, and evening. He was known for his elaborately tied neckcloths, for the copious and glittering pins and rings and fobs and quizzing glasses he wore about his person. But . . . Avery was never, ever vulgar. Had that waistcoat crossed a borderline into vulgarity, then? But what a trivial reason to dislike someone—to perhaps dislike him. Ah, but then there was his smile. It was a spectacular smile, given the white perfection of his teeth, but did it always have to be quite so wide? He had worn it practically all evening except when he was leaving. Oh, and there was the studied elegance of his bow, which he had demonstrated for her several times. And the lavish and numerous compliments he had paid her.

  She was being unfair, she told herself. He was new to London. He was new to the social prominence of being heir to an earldom, though his father was not yet the earl. Last evening had been his first ton ball. He had told her so. He had probably been horribly nervous and had overcompensated for that fact. She must give him a chance to grow more at ea
se in the new life that was about to be his. She would like nothing better than to fall in love with him and marry him and live happily ever after as the Countess of Lyndale. The future countess. She must not consign his father to the grave just yet, poor man. Or the present earl, for that matter, though it was surely almost certain that he really was in his grave and had been for many years.

  Yes, she would allow herself to fall in love with Mr. Rochford if she possibly could. But there was also this bouquet. There was something undeniably . . . ostentatious about its size. Perhaps he had merely ordered it but had not actually seen it. Perhaps if he had done so . . .

  “What is amusing you?” Anna asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Jessica said, startled out of her musings. “Though I was thinking that if that bouquet was divided up into smaller ones, we could fill every room in the house quite adequately.”

  Anna laughed again. “It was a very generous gift,” she said. “Ah. Was that the door knocker?”

  They both listened and heard the sound of the heavy front doors being opened below them. Visitors? They were not expecting anyone. But soon there was the unmistakable sound of the butler’s footsteps approaching the drawing room.

  “Mr. Rochford, perhaps?” Anna said, raising her eyebrows at Jessica.

  The butler opened the door after tapping on it. “Mr. Thorne wishes to know if Lady Jessica is at home to visitors, Your Grace,” he said, addressing Anna.

  “Mr. Thorne?” Anna frowned and turned her gaze upon Jessica.

  “Lady Parley presented him to me last evening,” Jessica explained. “The American, Anna. Sir Trevor Vickers’s godson. But how strange of him to call here today. He requested the introduction yet did not ask me to dance. Mr. Dean’s set was about to begin, but there were numerous other sets after that.”

  “Ah yes, I remember the gentleman,” Anna said. “Someone pointed him out to us. For some reason he appears to have caught the imagination of the ton. Perhaps because he is a fine figure of a man and there is some mystery about him. Are you at home to him?”

  He had disconcertingly dark eyes. They made her uncomfortable. In two brief encounters she had been unable to identify the color of those eyes. Blue? Black? How could they be both? Yet they were. They were very penetrating eyes and seemed to look not just into hers but through them. Why on earth had he come here?

  There was one way to find out, she supposed. Besides, she recalled that last evening Mr. Rochford had not been the only gentleman who had piqued her interest. Mr. Thorne had too, though surely only because of that earlier encounter when she had mistaken him for a cit. That was not altogether right, however. Her interest had been aroused last evening even before she recognized him. He was handsome. Well, sort of handsome. Attractive would be a more accurate word. Very attractive.

  “Jessica?” Anna prompted.

  “Show him up, by all means,” Jessica said, addressing Avery’s butler—and then wished, too late, that she had sent him back downstairs with a different answer.

  A minute later Mr. Thorne stepped into the room, looking, as he had last evening, the epitome of elegance, in a dark green, form-fitting coat with buff pantaloons and shiny Hessian boots, both of which garments hugged powerful, shapely legs. His linen was white and crisp, the fall of his neckcloth neat and simpler than it had been last evening, as befitted daytime wear. A diamond pin of modest size winked from its folds. He looked larger, more imposing, than he had looked either last evening or back at the inn.

  And yes, Jessica decided all within the span of the first second, he was very definitely attractive. More so than Mr. Rochford. But less handsome—if the two men were to be judged by facial features alone, that was. Facial features were not everything, though.

  Anna had risen to her feet and was moving toward him, her right hand extended. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Thorne,” she said. “I am the Duchess of Netherby, Lady Jessica’s sister-in-law.”

  “Your Grace,” he said, taking her hand and bowing over it—a slight bow, not a lavish one. He turned his eyes upon Jessica, who had also risen, though she had not moved away from her chair. “Lady Jessica.”

  “Mr. Thorne,” she said, watching him as he took the seat Anna had indicated.

  “I trust you enjoyed the ball last evening,” he said, addressing them both and holding up a staying hand when Anna lifted the teapot and looked inquiringly at him. “No, thank you, ma’am.”

  “We did,” Jessica said. “Lord and Lady Parley must have been very gratified. They can boast in all truth today that their ball was a grand squeeze.”

  “And I hope you enjoyed it too,” Anna said.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  This, Jessica thought, would clearly be hard going. But he had come for a specific purpose, it seemed, and he got down to business without further ado.

  “I wonder, Lady Jessica,” he said, turning his attention and the full intensity of that disturbingly dark gaze upon her, “if you are free tomorrow to drive out to Richmond Park with me. I have been told it is well worth a visit.”

  Oh goodness.

  “Alone, Mr. Thorne?” Anna raised her eyebrows while Jessica regarded him thoughtfully.

  “In an open curricle, ma’am,” he said. “Ought I to have arranged a party? I have become unaccustomed to the English way of doing things.”

  But he looked slightly amused, Jessica thought, as though there were something a bit funny about her needing a chaperon if she stepped out with him.

  Would she go? She knew nothing more of him than his name and the facts that he was a relative of Lady Vickers and had recently returned from a lengthy stay in America. Any other gentleman, if he made so bold as to call upon her the day after making her formal acquaintance, would ask no more than that she drive in Hyde Park with him at the fashionable hour of the afternoon or that she reserve a dance for him at the next ball. Or he would send her flowers. Her mother would certainly have something to say about this invitation if she were here. So would Avery.

  But good heavens, she was twenty-five years old. And he was not asking her to go to the ends of the earth with him. Or the moon.

  But did she want to go? That was the only question that signified. “It must be all of two years since I was last in Richmond Park,” she began, but before she could say more the drawing room door opened and Avery strolled in.

  He was still in his riding clothes, though he wore them, as he wore everything else, with a somewhat showy elegance. He had abandoned his outdoor garments. He was holding a quizzing glass in one hand, not as bejeweled as the one he had chosen last evening, though really there was no great difference. He wore rings on multiple fingers of each hand, and his nails were perfectly manicured. He might have been considered foppish, Jessica had often thought, had it not been for the air of authority and masculinity and even danger that he wore as surely as he wore his perfectly tailored clothes. And, as she had so recently thought, there was never anything vulgar about Avery’s appearance.

  His eyes paused upon Mr. Thorne for a moment before moving to Anna. “We have returned,” he said. “No falls and no broken bones, you will be happy to know, my love. Merely a few sulks that we could not continue riding for yet another hour.”

  “You are sulking?” Anna asked.

  “Ah,” he said, raising the glass halfway to his eye. “Yes. I was not as precise as I might have been, was I? Josephine has gone upstairs to paint, because it is what she wanted to do all along. She did not want to go riding. It is stupid. She did it merely to humor me.”

  “Oh dear,” Anna said, smiling. “May I make Mr. Thorne known to you? My husband, Mr. Thorne.”

  Mr. Thorne had stood to make his bow.

  “You were pointed out to me last evening,” Avery said, regarding their visitor with lazy eyes. “But there was no chance to make your acquaintance. You are a kinsman of Lady Vickers, I understa
nd?” He looked steadily at Mr. Thorne, his quizzing glass halfway to his eye.

  “Her second or third cousin, possibly with a remove involved,” Mr. Thorne said. “I never was sure of the exact connection. We are a large, far-flung family.”

  “As far-flung as America, I understand,” Avery said. “But you have returned.”

  “I have,” Mr. Thorne said agreeably, and Jessica was again given the impression that he was amused. “And Lady Vickers has been obliging enough to make my return known to some of her peers, though I have been gone, alas, too long to remember any of them, if, indeed, I ever met them. I visited London only once or twice when I was a young lad.”

  “Quite so,” Avery said, raising his glass all the way to his eye as he looked the bouquet over with a slightly pained expression. “Your offering, Thorne?”

  “No,” Jessica said quickly. “They were awaiting Anna and me when we returned from the library with the children. I believe they would look better broken down into several vases and distributed through the house.”

  “I will leave that to your judgment,” he said, lowering his glass. “But I am happy to relinquish my mental image of you staggering into Hanover Square under the weight of such a floral offering, Thorne.”

  “Mr. Thorne has asked me to drive out to Richmond Park with him tomorrow,” Jessica said. “In his curricle. I have not been there for at least a couple of years.”

  “A curricle,” Avery said. “Without her mother or a maid to accompany her, then. It is fortunate, Thorne, that you have Lady Vickers to vouch for your respectability.”

  “It is.” He inclined his head, and Jessica thought he still looked slightly amused. Most people, even men, meeting Avery for the first time were awed by him, even intimidated.

  “Again,” Avery said, “I leave the choice of whether she accepts your invitation or not to my sister’s judgment.”

  Mr. Thorne had not sat back down since Avery entered the room. “I will not take any more of your time,” he said, turning to her. “Lady Jessica, will you drive to Richmond Park with me tomorrow?”