Wallflower (Old Maids' Club, Book 1) (19 page)

That meant he would have to do
something the idea of which was abominably abhorrent. He walked
back across the room to where he had been before and bowed to the
group of debutantes. “Lady Cressica, might you like to take a turn
about the room with me?” he asked, though it pained him to do so.
She plastered on her artificial smile and rose to take his arm. At
least having her by his side, he would appear inconspicuous to most
of the assembly.

And he wouldn’t have to talk much,
because she certainly wouldn’t be. That was a small
favor.

Oglethorpe led Lady Tabitha to a
settee near the pianoforte, where a young girl had positioned
herself to play and sing. Noah situated himself and Lady Cressica
close enough that he could see what was taking place between them
at all times.

He watched. And he waited.

Lady Tabitha accepted a glass of
lemonade from Oglethorpe and turned back to the debutante at the
pianoforte. As she rotated her gaze, she locked eyes with Noah for
the briefest of moments. He nodded in her direction. Color rose up
the back of her neck again, though he couldn’t ascertain if it was
from embarrassment or anger.

Whichever had caused it, Noah didn’t
mind. He had seen it occur all too frequently over the past many
years, trained upon her two brothers. Noah liked to see the
irritation in her when it was directed in his direction,
instead.

It meant she cared.

Chapter Ten

The previous night had been one of the
most tedious of Noah’s entire life. At the same time, somehow, it
was perhaps the most sensually irritating he’d ever
experienced.

He’d spent the whole of the evening
with Lady Cressica at his side, a girl with no more sense than a
bag of turnips, all the while watching Lady Tabitha’s every move.
Lady Tabitha, however, spent the entire evening fawning over the
attentions Oglethorpe lavished upon her.

When Oglethorpe spoke, she leaned in
to listen, and Noah’s eyes were drawn to her entirely-too-covered
bosom. When Oglethorpe stood, she took his hand, and Noah thought
of the softness of the skin kept hidden beneath her kid gloves.
When Oglethorpe walked, she walked along his side, and Noah itched
to be the one her hip and thigh brushed against as the silky fabric
swirled and swayed about her legs.

He’d gone home with a headache and a
throbbingly painful erection, the likes of which he could hardly
remember experiencing in his life, pushing against the flap of his
trousers.

And now, he’d had about all he could
handle. Lady Tabitha’s avoidance of him had to come to an end.
There was nothing else to be done for it. He would have to find a
way to get her to speak to him, and then he’d have to pay the
piper.

How he intended to go about all of
this, he had no idea. But a good place to start would be calling at
Shelton Hall. So, there he went.

When Livingston opened the door, Noah
was glad to see Shelton coming down the stairs directly behind him.
Shelton’s presence meant help. He would be sure Lady Tabitha came
down to see him, even if she came grudgingly. Livingston, on the
other hand, could do no more than show Noah to the drawing room and
deliver the message that he had arrived to call upon her. He was no
help for Noah’s cause.

A silent look passed between Noah and
Shelton, and then Shelton nodded. “Livingston, please show Lord
Devonport to the drawing room. I’ll let Tabitha know that you’re
here.” The look in Shelton’s eye said he intended to do far more
than simply let her know of Noah’s presence. He spun around on the
bottom stair and headed back up. Good. Noah hadn’t been obliged to
say a word.

After Noah had waited alone for
several minutes, Shelton came back with Lady Tabitha in tow. He
wasn’t quite hauling her bodily, but there was an admittedly fine
distinction between that and the manner in which he tugged on Lady
Tabitha’s arm as she tried to dig her delicate slippers into the
floor.

Noah stood and bowed. “Lady Tabitha.”
She stared at the floor. He should have brought flowers. Next time
he needed to remember flowers. His sisters had always been more
amenable to a gentleman caller if the gentleman in question had
brought a bouquet with him.

“
Well,” Shelton said
heartily, “I’ll just leave you two alone then.” He assisted Lady
Tabitha into a chair (forced would be too strong a word—somewhat)
and then left, pulling the door closed behind him.

Noah sat across from her, but she
would not raise her eyes. Lavender again. Her dress was lavender
sprigged muslin. He imagined the gray of her eyes would take on the
shade, if only she’d look up at him. Her hair was down today, in
curls that cascaded around her face and fell toward her bosom.
Instead of twiddling with her necklace, her fingers toyed with one
of the curls that lay there. Noah had to close his eyes for a
moment. Clear his head. Although he might have done it too late;
his blood was already flowing from one head to the
other.

“
It seems I’ve done
something to upset you again,” Noah started.

“
Yes,” Lady Tabitha said.
Then she raised her eyes and glared daggers through him. He’d been
right. They were a lavender-ish shade. “No. No, you haven’t done
anything to upset me.”

“
You’re clearly
cross.”

She gave a brusque nod. “I am. But not
due to anything you’ve done. I’m angry because of what you are.
Because I allowed myself to believe you to be something else. I
believed you to be honorable. I was sorely mistaken.”

Dash it all. His blood drained back to
its proper place. How had he gotten himself into such an impossible
scenario?

~ * ~

Lord Devonport’s face fell; he looked
more downtrodden than Tabitha had ever seen him. Good. He ought to
feel mortified. “What is it you think I am?” he asked.

“
You’re a liar. You’re a
cur. And most damningly, you’re a fortune hunter.”

With each point he blanched, but he
did not turn his gaze away from her. He looked her straight in the
eye. Steadfast. Stalwart. So he did have some pluck to
him.

“
I do not deny that my
financial situation is dismal,” he started. “But I have not lied to
you. I have never lied to you. I may not have told you everything I
should have, but I have not lied to you.”

Tabitha scoffed. “You’re a fortune
hunter. You only want anything to do with me because you know the
size of my dowry. I assume this is what Toby put you up
to?”

Lord Devonport took a deep breath.
“Your brothers knew of my situation. They suggested that since we
already have a cordial relationship, perhaps you might be a more
comfortable fit than another—”

“
Than Lady Cressica?”
Tabitha interrupted. “Or perhaps Miss Jennings? I believe you’ve
been paying each of them court as well as me. How will you make the
ultimate decision? Will it be the size of the dowry, or will
malleability of the bride play a factor, my lord?”

“
I don’t want either of
them. I want you.” His eyes implored her. “I’ve only ever wanted
you.”

Of course he wanted Tabitha. Her dowry
was more than double each of theirs, and then some. “I see. You
want the old, fat bride who must be desperate instead of the young,
dimwitted bride who might have other options. Makes perfect sense
to me.”

“
No—”

Tabitha cut him off again. “I
apologize. I oughtn’t to have said that about Miss Jennings. It was
rather insulting, was it not? She is young, it is true, but I would
not say she’s dimwitted. Lady Cressica, however...”

“
Stop,” Lord Devonport
said. “This is getting out of hand. You haven’t allowed me to say
what I came here to say.”

Tabitha stood and walked to the door.
“What is out of hand is your continued pursuit. Hear me now, Lord
Devonport. You are a fortune hunter. You’re out to improve your own
station through some poor, unsuspecting lady who doesn’t know
better than to tie herself to the likes of you. I am not that lady.
I never intend to marry at all, but I will most decisively never
marry a man who wants me only for the money I bring to a marriage.
May I advise you to give up your hunt? Feel free to do so at any
time.”

She walked coolly out of the drawing
room and closed the door, then climbed the stairs and made her way
to her chamber. Once she was safely inside, she leaned against the
door and fought down the fresh bout of tears threatening to
overwhelm her. Damn and blast, why did she have to be right? Lord
Devonport didn’t care for her. He would never feel an affection for
her, or look at her as anything other than a full coffer or a means
to avoid debtor’s prison.

He could have denied it. He could have
continued tell bouncers and told her how very wrong she was. He
could have broken out words like ‘love’ and ‘adoration,’ or even
‘fondness.’ But he hadn’t. Instead, he told her in no uncertain
terms that his financial situation was dire.

She wished Jo were here. If ever there
was a time that she needed her cousin, it was now. Jo would tell
her what to do. She’d tell her what a silly twit she’d been to ever
think a man like Lord Devonport could want her for herself, that
they all only wanted her for her dowry. A sad fact that would never
change. She’d remind Tabitha that this was precisely the reason
they’d formed the Old Maids’ Club to begin with, and that there was
no point in going back on their pact now.

Or if Bethanne were there, she would
hold Tabitha and tell her to cry until she couldn’t cry any longer.
She would sit at her pianoforte and play, and all the hurts that
Tabitha had stored inside would flow out of her. Bethanne would
dole out compassion and empathy, and do it all in a quiet and kind
manner, and Tabitha would have no option but to feel better when it
was all said and done.

If Aunt Rosaline were there—if she
were still herself and not some sad, empty shell of the woman she
once was—she would plop down on the bed beside Tabitha and pull her
into her arms. She’d say that any man who couldn’t love Tabitha for
precisely who she was didn’t deserve her anyway, so there was no
point in wasting good tears over him that could be better spent
elsewhere. She would tell Tabitha that she was beautiful, and
Tabitha would laugh it off as her aunt being partial...but she
would be laughing, nonetheless.

But Jo wasn’t there. Bethanne wasn’t
there. Aunt Rosaline would never again be there for Tabitha in such
a way. She’d have to sort her head out on her own this
time.

Tabitha needed time. She needed space
to think clearly. If she stayed in Town, she’d have neither, even
if she snuck off to stay with Jo at Hazelwood House for a while.
Visitors would come to call. There would be the unremitting hubbub
of comings and goings.

The sounds and activity of London
never ceased.

Staying was not an option.
She needed to get away from the Season. Away from the
ton
and all of its
goings on.

She could go to the Cottage at Round
Hill. Bethanne and Aunt Rosaline would welcome her with open arms.
But with Aunt Rosaline’s care, and little Finn running around,
there would be little peace and quiet to be found.

Round Hill was out too.

That left going to one of Father’s
country estates. The only one well staffed and prepared for a
member of the family to come home was his principle seat, Ainsworth
Court in Cumberland. They wouldn’t be expecting anyone home right
away, but she could send word ahead.

That’s what she needed to do. Tabitha
had enough pin money waiting to be used that she could easily
afford to hire a carriage for the journey; she wouldn’t need to ask
to use one of Father’s. Doing so would only alert him to the fact
that she was planning to leave. He wouldn’t take that well, not
when he was so determined to see her married. No, it would be
better to go without letting anyone know, and to leave a note
explaining what she’d done. At least then he couldn’t stop
her.

With her mind made up, Tabitha headed
into her dressing room. She hefted a trunk out from the corner and
threw open the armoire. One at a time, she removed her various
gowns from the wardrobe, hastily folded them, and tossed them
inside the case. When the armoire was half-empty, the first trunk
was full. She closed it and pushed it aside, then opened the next
trunk to begin the process again.

The new chest still had a few odds and
ends at the bottom, so Tabitha bent to retrieve them. A smattering
of hair pins were scattered on the floor, which she collected and
placed with the rest of her pins by the bureau. She picked up a
bonnet and set it aside, only to find a folded letter beneath
it.

Tabitha picked up the letter. It was
old, with bent edges and faded ink where it was addressed to her in
Aunt Rosaline’s sprawling handwriting. The wax seal had long since
fallen off.

Her hands shook as she opened it.
Tabitha knew this letter. She knew precisely what it said, though
she hadn’t looked at it or read it in many years. Aunt Rosaline
sent it to her on her twelfth birthday. She’d read it so many times
that the parchment was nearly falling apart at the folds, so many
times that her tears had left splatters over the words.