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“And why not?” said Lady Reggie. “He is very handsome, is he not? A splendidly proportioned man and I liked his manners. He is perfectly eligible, I should have thought.”
“And rich,” Lady Humphrey said. “A very good match, one would say. What is your objection? Has he crossed a line?”
“No, nothing like that,” Eloise said. She frowned, mulling it over. “He was piqued when I failed to respond to his charm, so now he is amusing himself by making up to the poor relation without any serious intention, and I very much dislike to be deceived.”
Connie reached across and patted her hand. “Eloise, dear, no man has any serious intention to begin with. He may be attracted to a woman… he may be very greatly attracted, sometimes, but he cannot move directly to an offer of marriage. He must get to know the object of his affections first, to determine not only whether she is a suitable helpmeet but also the true state of his own heart. Greater acquaintance may make him think again, and then he can back away before he is irrevocably committed. Or he may find his original opinion confirmed a thousandfold, and may proceed to a more serious courtship. But he can only reach that point if he has the opportunity to know his lady a little better. Do you see?”
Eloise nodded.
“Francis was just so,” Connie said. “He liked me at once, but he had almost been ensnared once before, so he was very cautious and he set up a sadly devious scheme to get to know me better. He pretended to be betrothed to another lady, and Reggie pretended to be betrothed to me, and I knew nothing at all about it.”
“He fooled us all,” said Lady Juliana darkly.
“But that is… horrid!” Eloise cried. “Deception is above all things the most despicable tactic for a lover to use. He might have broken your trust altogether.”
“He almost did,” Connie said. “I rang such a peal over him, you cannot imagine, and he got in such a muddle over it all that I almost married Reggie instead!”
“I am very glad you did not,” Lady Reggie said, and the ladies all laughed.
“Well, so am I,” Connie said, “very glad indeed, and it all worked out for the best in the end, but it was a close-run thing. But you see, my dear, a man must be allowed the privilege of courtship, and you must guard your heart until he makes his intentions clear. It may come to nothing, but it would be a very good match for you if he comes to the point, there is no hiding that fact.”
This conversation depressed Eloise beyond measure. It would indeed be a good match, if ever it were to come to a proposal. Will Fletcher was everything that any woman could wish for in a husband, especially a woman like Eloise, desperately poor and dependent on the charity of kind relations, who had had no prospect half so good before. And yet… she did not trust him. He was precisely the sort of man she despised utterly. Smooth, plausible and irrepressibly flirtatious, every word deceitful. He had been so kind to her at the theatre that she had let her guard slip momentarily, but she knew his motive — he was piqued by her dislike, and was trying to earn her good opinion. But it was all a lie, she was certain.
Still a drive in the park was not to be disdained, so Eloise chose her attire with care. For reasons she could not explain, even to herself, she wore a different gown for this second drive with Mr Fletcher. Connie had provided such delightful apparel, and it would be a pity not to make the most of her generosity, she told herself. Besides, if she wore the delicately embroidered muslin, she could wear the fetching dark orange spencer with the matching bonnet and parasol. Oh, the extraordinary luxury of owning matching bonnets and parasols! The muslin was rather flimsy, it was true, but the weather was warm and the outfit so becoming, and that had nothing at all to do with the maddening Mr Fletcher.
He was on time, striding into the entrance hall as the clock struck the hour, and how splendid he looked! Nothing would alter her opinion of his character, but she could still admire his fine figure, enhanced by a beaver hat, immaculate breeches and long great coat aswirl around shining top boots.
“Miss Whittleton! How delightful you look,” he said as he rose from his bow. “Now I am sorry we arranged so early an hour for our drive, for there will be no one but I to admire you as you deserve.”
“What nonsense you talk, sir,” she said, smoothing her skirts for about the twentieth time. Was she nervous? How foolish.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am. I had forgot that compliments are objects of suspicion to you. Will you take my arm?”
She was not the sort of delicate flower who needed a man’s arm to support her, but still, it was a pleasant change to be treated to the courtesy she saw offered to others, more significant than her. She was so often the one scurrying along behind, carrying shawls and parasols, or rushing off to fetch an umbrella. With her uncle and aunt in Westmorland, and more recently with her aunt in Bath, she had accepted with equanimity her subordinate position, but oh, how gratifying to be the sole object of a man’s attentions! To be handed into the curricle as if she were a precious object! She sighed with pleasure. It meant nothing to him beyond the diversion of the moment, she must always remember that, but she would not have been human had she not basked in such consideration.
As they moved off, she watched his hands as he drove, admiring his easy competence with the ribbons. Perhaps he saw her watching, for he said, “Do you drive, Miss Whittleton?”
“Only a gig,” she said, amused. “Never so fine an outfit as this. Your horses are beautiful, sir.”
“Thank you! I count myself fortunate to have them. A school friend was obliged to retrench after some losses, and had to sell.”
“So you had them at a good price, I dare say.”
“Well… I could hardly do that to a friend. I paid the going rate… perhaps a little more. That way we both feel we have done well from the exchange.”
He looked uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation, which was interesting. He displayed more sensibility than Eloise had expected, giving her a glimpse of a different, more principled man beneath the surface frivolity.
Before she could speak again, he went on, “And how did you enjoy the performance last night? Very dramatic, was it not?”
“A little too dramatic, perhaps,” she said, amused. “I very much enjoyed the theatre itself, however, and the antics of the audience. Did you notice the little group in the pits trying to attract the attention of your sisters? Most diverting. But do tell me — who were the persons you met just as you returned Tabitha to our box? Connie did not recognize them.”
“Oh, how gratifying!” he cried, and laughed out loud, so noisily that his greys took umbrage and speeded up.
When he had brought them down to a properly sedate pace for Pall Mall, she said, “Why is it gratifying?”
He was silent for a moment, negotiating an awkward gap between a landau awaiting its passengers and a slow-moving dray, then he said with a grin, “The persons whom Lady Carrbridge failed to recognize were our neighbours in Hertfordshire — in fact, they sold us the estate of Chadwell Park — and you will be pleased to know that they despise me even more than you do. To them, I am an upstart, a jumped-up tradesman aping his betters, and it astonished them beyond measure to discover that I am acquainted with a marchioness, however slightly.”
His voice had a pleasant timbre to it, she decided, and especially so when he was excited or enthusiastic, as now. It was a melodious voice, and she supposed that must account for part of his success with women. One preacher in Bath Abbey had just such a soothing voice, and half the female portion of his congregation sighed over him, even some of the married ones.
