An Arrangement of Sorts (36 page)

“I would rather ignore the bonnets,” Moira grumbled, wincing as Marguerite accidentally pricked her.

“We have strict orders to give you bonnets, but ones that have an open front, so you can see better. Very elegant choice, my dear,” Madame said approvingly. She rattled off a few more things, but Moira wasn’t listening anymore.

Three pairs of boots, very sturdy. Bonnets with open fronts to see better. Someone knew her tastes very well, indeed.

Someone who loved her.

The Earl of Beverton? Who the devil was he and how could he possibly love her when she had no idea who he was?

Piled down with more boxes and bags than she thought possible for one person to carry, Moira made her way back to the boarding house, her head still spinning. Fifteen dresses, ten sets of undergarments and stockings, seven nightgowns, three coats, four spencers, four pelisses, three cloaks, two wraps, six pairs of gloves, four pairs of slippers, three pairs of boots, two hats, and three bonnets.

The sheer volume was enough to make the sturdiest of people dizzy. Aside from the one they had stripped from a manikin and made to fit her, the dresses were not done yet, but they would be in two days, Madame promised. So in reality, she was only carrying one dress… and every other accessory she had been given.

Madame had requisitioned a lad from the cobbler’s shop next door to help her, as they were the ones providing the boots, and the boy was struggling every bit as much as Moira, but he was eager and willing enough. That was probably due to the fact that he assumed there would be a tip in this for him, and he was right.

They reached the boarding house eventually, and once everything had been deposited onto the floor
, since
she had no idea where else they were supposed to go
,
she paid the boy a half a crown, which delighted him so much he asked if she had any other boxes for him to carry. Amused, she told him that, if he wanted, he could help her with the rest of the dresses in two days
’
time. He nodded vigorously and rushed back off to the cobbler’s, grinning the whole way.

Moira looked about her and felt absolutely bewildered. Who in their right mind would pay for a woman to receive so much? Whoever this Earl of Beverton was, he was remarkably generous, and terribly wealthy, to boot. If this was his way of trying to court her, he was not going to succeed. She was not to be swayed in this manner.

Well, perhaps a little, but it was hardly appropriate.

Madame had said it was to be for her wedding trousseau. So the Earl of Beverton had known she was to be married, and still he bought her all of this for love?

She shook her head, unable to make sense of the whole affair. Nobody would buy a woman all of this if he knew she was about to be married. It would be a fruitless gesture, however generous, for she couldn’t give him anything in return.

She wondered about the earl. Who was he? Did he know her family? Perhaps he was an old friend of her parents, and had somehow heard of her being of age and being engaged, and wanted to be sure she had the proper garments befitting her parents’ daughter.

But why then would Madame and the girls say he loved her? If the earl was an older man, it was entirely possible that he could have been a godfather to her. She had no memory of any godparents, so perhaps that was it.

She shook her head and sank onto the bed. No, even if that were true, her engagement was not known anywhere. Even in Gillam, people were not aware of the attachment. That had been their secret, only to be revealed when they would marry.

She could hardly accept the attentions and gifts of a man who might have been in love with her when she didn’t even know him, which obviously meant that he didn’t know her, and therefore,
could
not love her.

She groaned in frustration and lay back on the bed with a sigh. The dresses were lovely. Indeed, she had never seen anything like them. The fabrics, the colors, the designs… she would be far more richly dressed than she ever imaged anyone being. And everything suited her so well, which was a very pleasant surprise. Such care had been taken for her clothing, such detail. Everything thought of and planned out. Who could possibly know her well enough to care so much?

She wished Nathan were here. He would find great delight in the whole affair. She could imagine his face laughing at her as she was stuck with pins and draped in fabric, a living, breathing manikin who was not permitted to speak anything beyond “thank you” or “
oui
”. No choice in the matter at all. Nathan would have loved it.

He was also terribly clever. He could have helped her solve the mystery of who this Earl of Beverton was, to be buying her such things. Together, they would have figured it out and she would have been able to return the favor somehow to the earl.

Of course, Nathan would have thought she was deserving of every bit of attention she received.

He was sweet that way.

Tears sprang into her eyes and she curled up into a ball. She missed Nathan fiercely. Now that Charles and Maggie were to be married, she had no one in whom to confide.

She missed Nathan’s smile and his laugh. She missed the way he could cheer her up in an instant. She even missed the way he had the power to make her doubt everything she had ever known and set her heart aflame, as disconcerting as the habit was.

Again, she felt the urge to run after him, to throw convention entirely aside and accept the life of mediocrity she was used to. Life with him would be anything but mediocre, regardless of their fortune or situation. It would be heaven on earth, even if they lived in a hovel with pigs.

Well, maybe not the pigs. Nathan would never live with pigs.

She laughed to herself, tears still rolling down her face. Oh, she missed him. She was so much better with him than she was without him.

But he was not here.

And her words to Gwen had been quite right: A woman did not throw herself at a man, no matter how in love with him she was.

Especially if she had no idea of his returning the sentiment. A rebuttal would have been too much to bear.

So she would wait. And hope. And wait some more.

And someday, it would not hurt so much.
    

C
hapter
T
wenty
O
ne

“W
ait,
those
Dennisons?”

Nathan rolled his eyes, tempted to throw the remnants of his drink in Colin’s face. “Yes,
those
Dennisons.”

A rather colorful amount of expletives came from the group, and Nathan waited, not so very patiently, for them to finish.

“If I had known that then, I would have gone with her myself,” Duncan said with a laugh.

“She didn’t ask for you,” Nathan growled, clenching his glass tightly.

“And for good reason,” Geoff crowed with a loud laugh, slapping Duncan on the back. “You’d have taken her all the way round to Eastbourne and Brighton before realizing that you should have turned north!”

More good-natured laughter came from the group, Nathan excluded. Why had he decided that he ought to tell his friends everything? He was strongly tempted to shove off from the table and go back to his empty house and attempt to play the role of benevolent earl to his tenants, rather than sit here and relive his time with Moira with the jackals he had for friends.

After resolving everything with Spencer and swearing to return in two weeks so the brothers could spend more time together before the wedding, Nathan had decided it was long past time to return to Hampshire and Beverton House, assuming it was still standing. Given the state of his friends at the moment, he was astonished that it was not burned to the ground or worse.

They had been delighted to see him, but more delighted at the prospect of the story he had to share with them. He had been shuffled off to
T
he Horse and Rider and had a drink shoved into his hand before he had said more than five words all together. He had been rather plagued with questions, until Derek had shut them all up and asked Nathan to start from the beginning. He had gotten no further than Moira’s revelation of her fortune before Colin had interrupted him with his inane babble, and now he dearly wished he had stayed away longer.

“Gents,” Derek said with a loud banging on the table, effectively shushing them all again. “I think Nathan would rather get on with the story, if you have quite finished with your squabbling.”

“Well, well,” Colin said in a grumbling tone as he scooted his chair back in, “Derek is playing Mother Hen? Rather awkward, isn’t it?”

“He has turned a bit sensitive lately,” Geoff mused aloud, attempting to appear rather concerned about the notion.

“Shut up, the lot of you,” Derek muttered with a roll of his eyes, looking back to Nathan. “Go on, Nate. What happened then?”

Nathan shot him a grateful look, and continued with his story for a time. Of course, he had not gotten very much further before he was again interrupted.

“So, you just kept asking each other questions?” Duncan asked, looking bewildered.

“Yes,” Nathan said with a sigh, realizing that there was no way he would be able to get through the story quickly and resigning himself to having to talk. “It provided some very useful and pleasant conversation. You should try sometime.”

Duncan laughed and toasted Nathan as the others snickered.

“I personally would like you to go back to the breeches part,” Colin said with a wry grin. “I can only imagine what a sight that was.”

“And your imagination is where that is going to stay,” Geoff broke in quickly, seeing the murderous look Nathan was gathering. “I have no desire to break up a brawl in this fine establishment, so that will be the end of that line of query. Nathan, she utterly refused to let you be a gentleman?”

“At first, yes,” Nathan said, allowing his anger to abate and smiling at the memory. “She was determined to be as independent as she had been in the past. Only after several pleadings on my part did she relent even the slightest.”

“Can’t imagine that went over well with you,” Derek said in an amused tone. “Mr. Perfect Gentleman, and all that.”

He chuckled. “No, not at all. Eventually, it became a sort of game, when it was not infuriating.” He continued on, and attempted to convey his emotional state as it had progressed, and he suddenly found that his friends were no longer straining to interrupt. They sat attentive, no questions or teasing in their eyes, but more of a stunned silence. He appreciated the opportunity to share a little of what he had felt with them, and prayed they would somehow understand.

When he finally reached the end of his tale, he sat back, exhausted. Each telling of the story came easier, but it still expended the same amount of energy from him. When he heard nothing from his companions, he looked up at them, and found them all watching him with a mixture of confusion, amusement, shock, and disbelief on their faces.

“Well?” he asked quietly, when no one said anything. “Have you anything to say about what I’ve just told you?”

“I don’t know that there are words,” Duncan said slowly, shaking his head, his eyes wide. “I can’t even make sense of it. I mean, we all knew she was perfect for you when she walked in, but I, for one, never even…” He trailed off, as if losing track of his thoughts.