His Heart's Delight (17 page)

They waited impatiently while several matrons
made their way out of the shop as Christiana insisted, “We are not
too late. There is no good reason in the world why someone else
should buy that bonnet when it is so perfect for you.”

In complete accord, the sisters turned their
full attention to the cause at hand.

~ ~ ~

It was obvious to Morgan that until he was
less distracted he would not be able to concentrate on play
sufficiently to best his opponent. Cartridge was newly arrived in
Town, flush with his winnings from some absurd bet and anxious to
increase his stake for the Season. If he played on, Morgan knew
that the money Cartridge wanted would come from his pocket.

There was nothing to do but withdraw and set
out in search of Christiana Lambert, for it was their morning
conversation that was keeping him from successful play.

He was certain that the gods approved the
decision when he met John Monksford on the steps of White’s,
although he did not appreciate the opportunity at first. He merely
exchanged a polite nod with Monksford and moved toward his
curricle.

Come to think on it, James had never
explained the reason for the tension between Monksford and all
things Braedon. Though Morgan could guess it centered on a woman.
With that thought Morgan realized that Monksford could prove useful
in this venture.

After this morning, he was almost certain
that Christiana might be inclined to ignore him if they passed on
the street, but Miss Lambert would certainly acknowledge Lord
Monksford and that would give him the opening he needed.

He turned back and hailed Monksford in the
foyer, which was empty now except for the footman awaiting
Monksford’s hat and gloves. “My lord, I am bound for Pall Mall in
hopes of finding Miss Christiana and her sister. I have word that
they are at Schomberg House. Would you care to join me and attempt
to search them out?”

Monksford’s surprise was not particularly
flattering.

“It is pure self-interest,” Morgan explained.
“I have particular need to see Miss Christiana and if you are with
me, I will be able to have a private word with her as you will with
Miss Lambert.”

Monksford bowed to him slightly. “It would be
my pleasure, sir.”

His instant agreement was a surprise.

“The truth is, Braedon, I have been hoping to
have a word with you since our meeting at the Lamberts’ the other
day.”

Morgan was curious, but the street in front
of the club was not the place for a conversation that might be less
than complimentary. He had fairly given up on establishing a
cordial relationship with the man.

With unspoken agreement they mounted Morgan’s
curricle and he turned the horses west from St. James.

It was no distance to Pall Mall but the
streets were crowded and Morgan was grateful for Monksford’s
silence as he negotiated his way past other equipages and every
matter of conveyance bringing goods to market. Only one pedestrian
was foolish enough to challenge his right to the road. The mud
spattered on that unfortunate’s coat was enough warning for all
nearby.

As they reached the arcade Morgan glanced at
Monksford, who was searching the crowded entry with some alarm.

“My machinations may be for naught, eh,
Monksford? Is everyone in London shopping here today?”

“So it would seem. Even if we are able to
locate them, we may not have the opportunity for more than a
greeting.”

Morgan tossed the reins to his tiger with a
word to wait until they were certain they were staying.

Moving into the entrance, Morgan shook his
head. “I did not think to ask which shop and I have never been here
before.”

“The convenience of Bond Street meets my
needs better. This is so much more suited to browsing. I think the
numbers could work to our advantage, though. Surely we will meet
someone who has seen them.”

As they moved through the crowd, Monksford
slowed. “My lord, I would like to apologize for my rudeness the
other day. I am never at my best when I am in your brother’s
company.”

It was a stiff little speech and Morgan was
afraid that he spoiled it by laughing in Monksford’s face. “You are
not alone, Monksford. James annoys the hell out of me five days of
seven.”

Monksford did not answer right away, but a
slight smile acknowledged Morgan’s frankness. After a considering
pause Monksford began. “I want to explain, my lord. I understand
that the viscount is not the easiest of men, but I feel I owe you
some explanation for my incivility. What happened between your
brother and me was a long time ago and one would think it should no
longer rankle.”

Monksford looked around him and then seemed
to travel back in time. “It is simple really. We were both courting
the same woman. And she chose me.”

Morgan wondered if Monksford was aware of the
note of astonishment in his voice.

He shrugged. “Marie loved Town life. She
loved the Season, the shopping, and the people. She was happy
enough in the country but she came to life in Town, rather more
like Miss Christiana than her sister. Many people misunderstood
that gaiety for something else. Your brother was one such and would
not give up his courtship even though it was clear where her
attachment lay.”

He stopped a moment, as if sorting through
the details. “It came to nothing. Marie was as loyal as she was
flirtatious, but it embarrassed me. And in the end it embarrassed
her.”

He looked directly at Morgan, who was silent
more in astonishment at this confidence than for want of words.

“I am not a city man, Braedon. Nor am I a
sophisticate, I make no claim to be. You can use me to further your
own courtship because I allow it, but if you interfere with mine
out of some misguided sense of family loyalty then I will have no
qualms about bloodying your nose as I did your brother’s.”

The last was spoken in a rush of defiance
that took much of the power from his words. Morgan still did not
speak. Amazing. So Monksford had bested James. Not only could this
man be a friend, but a role model too.

“Monksford, you need have no worry on that
score. My family loyalty does not extend to using a lady as a
source for revenge.” He bowed to Monksford, who acknowledged the
courtesy with a nod.

The two of them became more aware of their
surroundings, and realized that the intensity of their conversation
had attracted the attention of one or two of the
ton.

Morgan spoke slightly louder than absolutely
necessary “I have an idea for exactly the sort of costume you
should choose for the masquerade.”

“Ponsonby’s masquerade?” Monksford rose to
the occasion and followed his lead. “I have not given it a single
thought.”

Morgan had no doubt that was true. He lowered
his voice again. “You do plan to attend?”

“Miss Lambert will be there.”

Morgan nodded. It was all the explanation
necessary. “Just so, but it is essential that our costumes
complement each other or the ploy will not work.”

Monksford looked aghast. “We are to dress
alike?”

“No. No. We are to dress to compliment the
Misses Lamberts.”

“Ahhhh.” Monksford nodded with a slight smile
of appreciation. “And you have a plan for finding out what their
costumes are? Miss Lambert has made no mention of it and they do
seem to be caught up in the need to surprise.”

Morgan tapped his finger against his lip.
“I’ll find a way.”

They were passing a shop that specialized in
tailoring for gentleman and Monksford stopped to eye a jacket,
seemingly well made but in an unfortunate shade of gray.

Morgan moved on and Monksford followed. “I
would be delighted to introduce you to Weston, Monksford. His
tailoring would suit you prodigiously.” By the time they spotted
Christiana Lambert and her sister, it was clear that the two men
did not have a care for anything more serious than the cut of a
coat or the set of a shoulder, unless it was whether dark blue or
bottle green would suit Monksford better.

Morgan could only hope that Monksford was
taking this conversation to heart. The olive green he was wearing
today was not complimentary to his complexion, nor would it blend
favorably with the green shade of Miss Lambert’s pelisse.
Fortunately he knew that her awareness might make note of the
ill-suited shade, but her vanity did not extend to anything as
small-minded as ignoring Monksford because his choice of coats
would not blend with hers.

For Christiana, the millinery shop was a true
test of her shopper’s mettle and her new virtue of patience, but
when they left, not thirty minutes later, Joanna handed the footman
not one but two cumbersome boxes to carry. They agreed to go home
immediately to make certain that the hat would match the dress as
perfectly as they hoped.

As they progressed to the entrance,
Christiana listened as Sally gave the footman every detail of their
modest adventure, with an impressive explanation of her bargaining
ability. She really must remember to use that when Mama began to
fret about the expense of it.

They crossed the entire length of the floor,
stairs, and front hall of Schomberg House. Sally was describing the
hat Joanna had almost chosen instead, when Christiana heard her
sister clear her throat and speak. “Good day, my lords.”

Christiana did her best to keep her smile in
place when she realized that Lord Morgan
and
Lord Monksfore
were standing close by. Lord Morgan was looking splendid in a dark
blue though not quite navy coat and a beaver of shining black. His
smile drew one from her, but it faded and turned crooked when she
remembered the last time they had been together.

Why had Joanna acknowledged them? What was
her sister thinking? She really was not ready to see Lord Morgan
after her morning’s embarrassment The purchase of the hat had
distracted her from further understanding of exactly what she
should do, how she should handle this situation.

She did not even know what kind of situation
it was. Delicate? Absurd? And how foolish to be feeling something
close to panic at the thought of conversation with him. Shoppers
surrounded them and there were enough distractions on display to
make anything more than casual conversation unnecessary.

The surge of people moved around them with
ill-concealed annoyance. By mutual consent the four began to move
toward the doors as Joanna explained they were bound for the
carriage and home but were in no true hurry.

Christiana was feeling quite calm, enjoying
herself actually, until Joanna turned to tell her that she and
Monksford were going to the shop where they had seen the porcelain
vase. “It will be just the thing to distract Mama from the fact
that we are coming home with more than one new hat.”

Morgan nodded but made no move to follow.
Christiana wanted desperately to join them and it was not because
she had no faith in Joanna’s bargaining ability. How rude of Lord
Morgan not to ask her wishes in the matter. She most certainly did
not wish to be alone with him again.

They were within sight of the shop nearest
the entrance. The display table was filled with fans, artfully
spread so they showed to their best advantage. She craned her neck
to see one that was tucked behind a monstrosity of silk and
feathers. “One can see why these are at the entrance. They are so
tempting. What a lovely fabric combination!” She stopped short of
clapping her hands, trying for a more ladylike demeanor. “I think
that silver one would be perfect for my costume for the Hawthorns’
masquerade.” Never mind that it would cost more than their entire
Season in London.

She chattered on, not even certain of what
she was saying, but altogether certain that silence would be worse.
Eventually she did have to pause for breath and Morgan made the
most of it.

They still stood before the fans. She thought
that he was examining her favorite, but when she tried for a casual
glance at him, she saw that he was looking directly at her.

“D—do you think it would suit?” She blushed
at the stammer and was even more embarrassed when he shook his
head.

“Christiana.”

For some reason his use of her given name,
for the first time, made her even more nervous. It had nothing to
do with the frisson of pleasure that swept through her at the sound
of her name on his lips.

He spoke before she did, which was just as
well since she was sure that all she could manage was a croak.

“Whatever have I done to so upset you?”

What should she say? He knew her well enough
to know that her chattering was a way to avoid meaningful
conversation. She knew him well enough to know that he would see
through a lie. Besides, she hated the wretched self-consciousness
that had plagued her since morning. She wanted to enjoy his company
again, not dread it.

She looked at him and found she could not
quite speak with their eyes engaged. She looked away and spoke on a
sigh that imbued her words with annoyance and regret. “You offered
to dry my tears.”

“I
feared that might
be the reason.”

He spoke with such smugness that a bolt of
anger shot through her. Did he know everything? “Oh, really?” There
was an edge to her voice that she could not quite control. “Am I
that transparent? Or is this sort of insight some superiority that
comes to all men along with their vast experience of the
world?”

She cringed at her burst of temper. Was he
not trying to address the very question to which she wanted an
answer? His smile was in place, but did he realize that she could
read the annoyance in his eyes, the way they narrowed slightly, as
though he were trying to contain his anger. She bent her head,
knowing her bonnet brim would keep her chagrin hidden from him.