Claiming the Chaperon's Heart (7 page)

Adam snorted with disgust and threw himself down in the wing chair opposite. ‘The damned fools have made a mess of things, if you ask me. They say I must sell...house, land, horses and carriages. Everything my father left me is owed to the bank and more. They tell me I am not responsible for more than his estate is worth, but they cannot tell me how I am to live—or who will loan me money for the scheme we had in mind. I do not have three thousand to put up, Paul, nor yet half as much...’

‘I am sorry for it.’ Paul frowned over the news. ‘Are you certain everything must go?’

‘It appears my father ran on the bank for years. Nothing is left after the bank is paid—so I must either marry an obliging heiress quickly or return to soldiering. Yet without the allowance my father made me I am not certain I could support myself in the manner expected of an officer.’

‘I could put my lawyers on to it,’ Paul offered. ‘We might get a better offer than these fellows have told you. Why not let me see what I can do—if I can save enough for our venture, would that suffice?’

‘Yes, for I should make my home in Ireland and visit London only occasionally.’ Adam looked slightly odd. ‘I am in funds for the moment because I won five hundred guineas the other night. I had hoped for similar luck this evening but...’ He sighed and shrugged.

‘Better to keep what you have for the moment,’ Paul said. ‘That sum would buy you a decent house in Ireland—and if I buy the land we need to train our horses, we shall be halfway there...’

‘I do not care to hang upon your sleeve, Paul.’

‘Nonsense. I intend to go ahead with the scheme and at the very least would offer you a partnership, even had you no money to contribute. I told you before, I think of you as my brother, Adam—and your friendship, horsemanship and sheer good sense would make me want you as my partner and manager. Whether or not we can salvage something from your estate is immaterial to me, though not of course to you.’ He smiled warmly at the man who had nursed him through a debilitating fever on the ship from India. ‘Come, Adam, do not refuse me.’

‘You make it impossible for me,’ Adam said and looked half angry, half rueful. ‘You’re too good, Paul. I don’t deserve such consideration.’

‘Nonsense,’ Paul replied carelessly. ‘You’ve been a good friend to me, Adam. Without your care and attention, I think I might have died on that ship—and I am grateful to be alive and recovering my health. I could not run my stable as I wish without your assistance, my friend, so let’s have no more of this nonsense. You will remain my guest until my lawyers can sort out your affairs and then we shall go to Ireland and buy what we need.’

Adam shrugged his eloquent shoulders. ‘Since you insist on being grateful for a mere kindness, what can I say?’

He tossed off his brandy and stood up. ‘I must write some letters, and one to permit your lawyers to investigate my father’s affairs.’

Paul watched him leave, puzzling over something he’d noticed for the first time...though it might have been there before but not as strongly. There was a slight resentment in Adam’s manner of late, almost as if he disliked receiving favours from a friend. Yet why should he feel like that? They had been friends in India...or had Adam been a little resentful then, because of Annamarie?

Paul would have dismissed the idea as mere fantasy had he not seen that smouldering look in Adam’s eyes when he’d told him he would give him a partnership even had he no money to put into the scheme. On the ship Paul had been totally reliant on his friend and nothing could have exceeded Adam’s care for him. The ship’s doctor had been busy, for more than twenty others had taken the virulent fever and nine of them had died. Paul believed that he owed his existence to Adam and would willingly have settled the sum of ten thousand pounds on him had he thought it would be accepted, but he believed that to flaunt his wealth in such a way must spoil what he had thought a perfect friendship.

It was difficult when one had rather too much good fortune and the other had none, Paul reflected. He could not give such a sum to Adam without giving offence but perhaps...yes, perhaps there was a way that it might seem to be a stroke of luck and not charity...

* * *

Jane was pleased when she saw the two gentlemen enter the ballroom that evening. She had not seen either of them at a fashionable affair like this one and had decided that Lord Frant must dislike social events of this kind. However, both he and Viscount Hargreaves looked very elegant this evening, immaculately dressed in their black evening clothes with frilled white shirts. One slightly taller and heavier, the other an Adonis. Jane was amused to see almost every feminine eye follow their progress through the room. Two newcomers were always of interest, but these men were both striking—and one at least was reputed to be wealthy. Of the other’s estate she had no knowledge and would not have given it another thought had she not seen Melia’s immediate reaction.

Her face lit up and Jane sensed the suppressed excitement in her. She was clearly waiting for the man she admired to come to her. He did not do so immediately, but joined a group of gentlemen who were laughing and talking excitedly, possibly about a horse race. Several of the gentlemen had been talking about a particular race that evening. Not one of the usual meetings at Newmarket or another of the racecourses but a private affair between two gentlemen, who had placed a large bet on the outcome at White’s. Lord Bedford and Captain Marchant had been a trifle the worse for wear when the bet was placed, it seemed, but now everyone was placing odds, mostly for Captain Marchant’s grey, which was held to be the better horse, but, since the race would take place on a private estate, only those invited would be privileged to see the outcome. Everyone else would have to wait until the news reached town.

‘Lady March, I trust I am in time to secure a dance with you?’ Lord Frant’s voice behind her made Jane turn in surprise. ‘I should like a waltz—and the dance before supper so that I may claim the privilege of taking you in.’

‘Why, yes, I see no reason to refuse you since my card is still untouched.’

‘I cannot believe that,’ Paul said and took her card from her to write his name in two spaces. Two dances were the permitted number allowed before one was thought to show an attachment. ‘There, I did not expect to have my choice and can only think that Someone Above thinks kindly of me.’

Jane smiled, looking up at him with a mixture of amusement and an odd shyness. She had come to the ball prepared to act as Melia’s chaperon, but there was really no reason why she should not dance—although it was the first time since she’d become a widow that she had even thought of it. For a moment grief and regret smote her. Was it right that she should dance and be happy when her dearest Harry no longer shared such pleasures?

‘Perhaps He does,’ she replied, but the sparkle had gone from her eyes. ‘However, I must admit to curiosity about your request, sir. Have you no other lady to oblige you?’

‘None I cared to ask,’ Paul replied with an innocent air. ‘I have noted your perfect taste, in all you do and wear—and your mama told me that you have a flair for knowing what will look well.’

‘You have met Mama?’

‘Yes. I happened to meet Roshithe at my club and he was very interested in the situation in India. He asked me to dine and I accepted. Your mama was a kind hostess and talked to me about you later that evening...’

‘Oh, dear,’ Jane said and sighed. It was as she’d half expected: Mama had been meddling again. ‘I fear my darling mother may have exceeded what is necessary or proper in extolling my virtues—you see, she wants to find me a second husband. I have disappointed her in refusing all her suggestions.’

‘You wrong her sadly,’ Paul said, mouth twitching. ‘I found your mama delightful company and enjoyed my evening. Since I believe I have made a friend in her husband, I look forward to many more such affairs—when perhaps I may also have the pleasure of your company.’

‘Did Mama tell you I should be here this evening?’ Jane asked, half annoyed that her mother should try to throw her in the gentleman’s way. She toyed with the idea of refusing his request for help but decided that would be churlish after she had first accepted.

‘Everyone is here this evening, are they not?’ Paul remarked, waving his hand to indicate the rapidly filling reception rooms. ‘Shall we make our way to the floor? I believe our dance is starting now...’

Jane placed her hand lightly on his arm, marvelling that he seemed to have the knack of making his way easily through the crowd—a word, a look, a smile and the thing was done. When he placed one hand at the small of her back and then took hers in the other, Jane felt a small tremor run through her. She looked up at him a little uncertainly but he merely smiled and swept her out into the throng of dancers.

He was so light on his feet for a large man. Jane was immediately aware that she need have no care for her feet; she had only to follow his lead and let herself flow with the music. Dancing with this man was sheer delight and a pleasure Jane had seldom known. As a young girl she’d been popular enough, but too often gentlemen had either trodden on her toes or been stiff and awkward when dancing. Harry, of course, had danced well, but then, he did everything well. However, he preferred hunting to dancing and once they were married he had avoided attending a ball unless it was a regimental one and he was ordered to attend.

She had learned that Wellington expected all his young officers to dance well and enjoyed entertaining the ladies who accompanied the Army; wives and daughters were made much of and always treated with respect. Indeed, the worst thing any officer could do was to flirt with or compromise a brother officer’s wife or daughter. It was an unwritten law and Jane had been treated scrupulously by Harry’s friends.

‘May I share them?’ Paul said, making her aware that she had not spoken for a while. ‘Your thoughts—or are they too personal?’

‘I was thinking that I had not enjoyed a dance so much for a long time,’ Jane said. ‘I have not danced since my husband was killed...but before that I did not have much opportunity. It is rare to find anyone so perfectly in tune with oneself on the dance floor, sir.’

‘I have never danced with anyone who gave me so much pleasure,’ Paul said. ‘But I learned when I was with Wellington, of course—as all his officers do. If they have no skills before they become staff officers they are obliged to learn quickly, and well.’

‘Yes, indeed. When I was with Harry in France all his friends danced well...’ Jane caught her breath but discovered she could continue without tears. ‘However, I could not say that any of them were quite your equal, sir.’

‘Now you have put me to the blush, for you will think me a vain creature seeking compliments,’ Paul said, but his eyes smiled at her. They lapsed into a pleasant silence, each enjoying the sensation of the dance and the magic of the music as they swept about the floor.

It was some time before Jane noticed that many of the dancers had drawn back to the edge of the dance floor, seemingly to watch them as they moved fluently across the floor and back again. She laughed, caught with sudden excitement and reckless as she twirled round and round, never thinking for a moment beyond the moment the dance must end. Yet end it did at last and there was a little buzz of spontaneous applause, which only then Jane realised was for them. It brought a flush to her cheeks and she felt warm with embarrassment. Had she been able, she might have escaped to the veranda to take a little air, but immediately Paul escorted her from the floor, Jane was surrounded by young gentlemen clamouring for a dance with her.

‘I was not sure you would dance.’ A man she recognised as one of Harry’s closest friends asked for her card and wrote his name in two spaces, each of them waltzes. ‘Had I known you were in town I should have called.’

‘Captain Forlan,’ Jane said. ‘How nice to see you this evening—the last I heard was that you were wounded in Bonaparte’s last battle.’

‘Yes, but it was merely a scratch,’ he replied with a smile.

Jane nodded, knowing that every young officer spoke of the most appalling wounds as just a scratch. As he walked away from her, she noticed a slight limp and understood that he did not wish to speak of his wounds, especially at a ball. He was a charming young man; Jane remembered him from those dreadful days after Harry was killed, when his friends had been so kind. She’d been in such grief, dazed and shocked, unbelieving that the man she’d adored could have been taken from her so cruelly. His friends had seen her on to a ship; some of their wives had been dispatched to stay with her until she was home with her family. She recalled Captain Forlan begging her to send for him if she were ever in need of a friend, which of course had not been the case. Mama had fussed over her, and then Will had carried her off to his home and simply been there, neither fussing nor ignoring her, but ready to do whatever she required.

However, this was not the time to be thinking of such things. Now that Jane had been seen willing to dance, she was not permitted to sit out. At supper she was once again surrounded by young officers, though Paul had secured their table and had the waiters bring a selection of all manner of trifles to tempt a lady’s small appetite. However, this did not stop the gentlemen from wandering over to offer a glass of champagne or anything else Lady March desired. Jane might have preferred a little time to engage her companion in private conversation, but she was not granted the time, and consoled herself that she would certainly have time the next day since she was to visit his house.

‘We shall talk tomorrow,’ she said in a low voice when it became apparent that they were not to be granted a moment of peace. ‘I had not expected to have so many friends around us at supper...’

‘I shall look forward to it and give you to your admirers with a good grace, ma’am.’

The smile in his eyes brought an answering one to hers. He could not know it, but she had little interest in all the flattery that was bestowed on her that evening. She almost wished she had not danced, for that seemed to have opened the floodgates, but she could not wish away the two wonderful dances with Paul, one that magical waltz and the other a more sedate two-step before supper.