His Lordship's Chaperone (11 page)

“I believe you are correct.”

“I’ve come by this afternoon to drop off two more
gowns for you.”

“I do not know how to thank you, Your Grace.”

The Duchess straightened, drawing herself to her
full stature. “Do not thank me, my dear. You forget it is Lord Haverton who is
more than happy to foot the bill.”

Haverton put down his pencil and pushed his work
aside. Disturbed and agitated with his mother’s annual address, he couldn’t
draw a straight line even if he put his mind to it.

Why the devil couldn’t his mother leave well enough
alone? The only thing worse than females chasing him was his mother pushing him
toward the unruly crowd. Haverton wished to please her but he refused to marry
simply because it was what she wished. If he had married the first time she had
suggested it, this year would mark his fifth wedding anniversary.

He paced from the hearth to his desk and back
again. This discussion became more disturbing as the years went on but he was
not about to give in. No. He was not ready and nothing his mother said would
make him change his mind.

“I just saw Mother on her way out.” Simon had
wandered into the library. “I have the most dreadful feeling I’ve missed
something important.”

That’s all he needed, Simon to quiz him on Mother’s
lecture. “Mother wants me to marry.” There was no need to say more.

“Did she mention anyone in particular this time?”
Simon, who did not suffer the same fate as he, could not imagine how tiresome
the exercise was.

“She did have several suggestions: Miss Constance
Bartholomew, Miss Emma Dunstead, and Lady Honoria Darlington.”

“Lady Honoria?” There was a strange note in Simon’s
voice.

“Do you know her?”

Simon rubbed his chin. “Ah, yes. I do believe so.”

Haverton would never mention their mother’s
outrageous suggestion that he consider Mrs. Hayes. It must have been his
mother’s idea of a joke. It wasn’t at all funny. There was no reason for her to
throw a servant at him because she was angry.

“Ah, now the Season has officially started. It
doesn’t truly start, you know, not until Mother states her list of
eligibles
. Is there something wrong with her suggestions?”

“No. I’m sure they are all young, charming, and
very pretty,” Haverton replied equitably.

“Do you object to marrying someone prettier than
yourself?”

“I am not pretty!” His brother knew exactly what to
say to anger him too.

Simon did his best to hide his nasty smile but he
did not do it well. “If that is what you wish.”

“I most certainly do.” It was bad enough he had to
live with his accursed visage, he did not need to be reminded. Twice within the
same day, no less.

“I ran into Mrs. Hayes earlier.”

“Did you?” Haverton rounded the end of his desk and
seated himself.

“She’s interested in music, more specifically, the
pianoforte.” Simon lifted a polished marble paperweight and studied its facets.

“Is she?” Not that it interested him in the least.
“Mrs. Hayes is a pure joy. I don’t know why you’d waste your time at parties
when you could be spending time with her. She can hold her own at chess and
she’s the most delightful wit. Didn’t you know what a charming girl you’ve got
under your own roof?”

Was Simon in collusion with their mother? Haverton
wondered. His own brother acting against him? He rather thought not.

“How do you know so much about her?”

“We did more than play and discuss music, you know,”
Simon drawled in a suggestive tone.

Haverton schooled his face into an emotionless
mask.

“I spoke with her. You learn all sorts of things
when you converse with people.”

“And what else have you learned?”

“Come now, you must know something of her?” Simon
replaced the paperweight on the desk. “You should exchange words with her some
time.”

“Of course we’ve exchanged words.” He had spoken to
Mrs. Hayes on a daily basis, sometimes several times a day.

“Yes, of course you would have.” Simon scratched
his head. “Allow me to rephrase. Have you listened to anything she had to say?”

That gave Haverton pause. “As far as I can
remember, she’s never said a word to me.”

“I don’t doubt it. Not that you would have heard
what she had to say if she had,” Simon mumbled. “I don’t think you notice half
of what’s going on around you.”

Haverton looked up from his papers. “I’m sorry,
Simon. Did you say something?”

Simon smiled and crossed his arms in front of his
chest. “I believe that is the point exactly.”

Settling into his coach across from his chaperone
to leave for Lord Dibblee’s that night, Haverton contemplated an eccentric
thought.

Was Mrs. Hayes truly exceptional?

He drummed his fingers on his leg. He couldn’t
imagine. Could his chaperone outshine the other lovely ladies of London? He
doubted that even more.

Just because he had been interested in young widows
in the past did not mean he would involve himself with this one. Never in his
life had he turned his eye onto a pretty servant girl.

However, he was curious. Haverton uncrossed his
legs and straightened in his seat. Certainly, Mother was joking about him
marrying Mrs. Hayes but whatever had Simon seen in her? Was she so very lovely?
The Marquess decided that having a look at her for himself would not do any
harm.

By the soft, flickering interior light of the
carriage, Haverton turned his head toward the corner where she sat and for the
first time truly gazed upon his chaperone.

Catherine blinked and swallowed. She tried to
swallow. Her mouth had gone dry. Lord Haverton had pulled the air from her lungs
just as he had from the entire interior of the carriage, leaving her
breathless.

He hadn’t said a word. He just looked at her.
Looked at her.

Was it her hair? Had a strand fallen from its
place? Her new dress, perhaps? It was far from the diaphanous gowns many of the
guests wore. Catherine’s modest striped muslin gown was not as attractive as
the green cotton she had worn, and ruined, last night. With the exception of
her gowns, she hadn’t changed her appearance since her arrival. Still, he
studied her.

Time stretched on. He stared at her face, over her
body, and into her eyes. And she couldn’t help it. Catherine stared back.

He had dark eyes. Not black, but brown. She never
knew eyes could be that brown. That penetrating. He wore a strange expression.
Attraction? Curiosity? No, she’d describe it as interest.

The door opened, making her jump. She hadn’t even
felt the carriage stop. Catherine blinked again. The next thing she knew, she
was entering the Dibblee residence. As usual, she followed the Marquess and he
behaved as he usually did. He ignored her.

Catherine began to wonder if she had imagined it
all. Had he really stared at her? Recalling the moments before her arrival
caused heated blood to rush through her veins and caused her heart to beat a
wild tattoo. She knew she had colored for her face burned.

To disappear among the dowagers and chaperones is
all she wanted. Catherine strode to the far corner and sank onto a chair. His
lordship would not stare at her here, in front of all these people, as he had
in the carriage, would he?

No, he would not dare. Fumbling through her
reticule, Catherine found her spectacles and pushed them onto her face. It was
her bluestocking disguise that had never failed to make her feel unattractive
and safe.

But Catherine could still feel it. His gaze upon
her. She was certain. Rather than look at him, rather than meet his intriguing
gaze, she would look elsewhere, anywhere.

But how could she? What a tangle. It would prove
most difficult to watch over a charge whom one did not wish to see.

Haverton stood with Lord Fitzgerald in the ballroom
but his mind was completely occupied with thoughts of his chaperone. From
inside the carriage, he had had a very good look at Mrs. Hayes. Haverton did
not find her to be an exceptional beauty nor was she the grand
conversationalist Simon had purported her to be. She hadn’t said a word during
the entire journey.

“I say, Haverton, is that Sir Giles over there with
his housekeeper?” Fitzgerald pointed across the room to the open double doors.

Haverton spotted Sir Giles and his … female
companion. Was she his housekeeper? It was hard to say, definitely more
domestic looking than genteel. Very hard to say indeed.

The couple approached and Sir Giles spoke first.
“Haverton, Fitzgerald,
may
I introduce my chaperone,
Mrs. Davis.” Mrs. Davis curtsied. “That will be all.”

Mrs. Davis retreated, taking her place with the
noticeably growing number of chaperones. It was quite clear their number had
substantially increased.

“Haven’t you moved up in the world,” Fitzgerald
voiced in a droll, uncompromising tone. “Wouldn’t have thought you to have a
problem with the ladies. You’ve the looks of a double-snouted boar.”

“It’s the well-endowed purse they’re after,” Sir
Giles interjected, making himself sound worthy of employing a chaperone.

“From what I hear, that is the only thing you have
to interest the ladies,” Fitzgerald quipped.

“I say …” Sir Giles continued, ignoring Fitzgerald,
directing his comments to Haverton. “If I can’t make it work for me, what’s the
use of having it? Started looking for my own dragon the very next day.”

“It pleases me that you’ve found contentment in the
presence of a chaperone,” Haverton added while not completely paying full
attention to the conversation.

“Made a world of difference at Grafton’s ball last
night,” Sir Giles added.

“I can agree with you there,” Fitzgerald said.
“Went to the Stoddard rout with Mrs. Fowler.” He gestured to where she sat, in
the chaperones’ corner. “All went very well.”

“Not you too, Fitz?” Haverton had hired his chaperone
out of necessity. Had his friends followed his lead out of their convoluted
idea of fashion?

Fitzgerald ignored the comment and whispered to
Haverton. “Just look at that.” Fitzgerald pointed across the room. “The
chaperones far outnumber the dowagers—they nearly outnumber the guests.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Fitz.”

Fitzgerald chuckled in good humor. “If only they
didn’t look so dashed unpleasant.”

“They have to look dog-faced, don’t you know.” Sir
Giles joined the conversation. “Can’t have a chaperone more lovely than the
lady he courts.”

“To be sure, the only one who could get away with
it would be you, Haverton.”

“What?” The Marquess had heard what Fitzgerald said
but he hadn’t quite understood why he had said it.

“Your chaperone, man,” Fitzgerald clarified. “She
is quite lovely. But only the real beauties are of interest to YOU.”

“I hadn’t noticed, really.” Haverton lied. It had
only been an hour earlier that he’d found that out for himself. Mrs. Hayes
wasn’t the middle-aged matron he’d originally thought. “Do you think so?”

“Simply fetching,” Sir Giles agreed. “Well, old
man, we’re off to claim a partner for the next set. You?”

“No. I … I’m not …” Haverton couldn’t help glancing
toward the chaperone corner for another look at Mrs. Hayes. There must be
something about her that drew high praise from those around him which he had
overlooked.

Mrs. Hayes sat across the way, trying to blend into
the wall, if he wasn’t mistaken.

Was she hiding? From what? Or whom? He couldn’t
imagine.

‘Fetching,’ Sir Giles had said, which was only
slightly different than his brother’s opinion.

Was she really? It was hard to tell from this
distance. What he needed was a closer look.

“Ah, there you are, Haverton.” Brewster came
striding toward him, halting his progress. “Are you or are you not going to
sell me that bay?”

“I haven’t made up my mind,” Haverton replied,
somewhat distracted.

“Haven’t made up your mind?” Brewster glanced from
Haverton’s face to where he looked. “I see your difficulties.”

“Difficulties?” The remark caught Haverton’s
attention. He didn’t consider his chaperone a ‘difficulty,’ merely a curiosity.
He turned his back and stepped farther away from Mrs. Hayes, hoping that would
keep his mind on his present conversation.

However, Brewster kept looking in her direction.
What disturbed the Marquess more was the approval in his acquaintance’s eyes.

“The bay,” Haverton said, trying to focus
Brewster’s attention back to the topic of horses.

“
‘Pon
my word, can you
see it?” Brewster’s eyes were round as saucers.

“See what?”

“She’s interested in you. Can see it in her eyes,”
Brewster announced like a man of the world. “And what a beauty she is.”

“Are we speaking about the bay?”

“Oh, no. Something far more important than a horse.
A woman.”

Haverton turned to gaze at the woman Brewster
spied. Mrs. Hayes gazed at him from across the room. Was Brewster mad, trying
to make trouble? Was everyone plotting against him?

“That woman is my chaperone, not an eligible nor an
appropriate choice for my attention.” The suggestion made him angrier than he
cared to admit.

“She’s a woman, man. You may have your choice of
the finest ladies but the rest of us mortals are not as fortunate.”

“I’m afraid not.” His friend would not foist
Haverton’s own chaperone on him just as his mother had—not even in jest.

“I don’t know what you’re waiting for.”

“It should make things very complicated.” The
Marquess would never consider dallying with one of his servants.

“Complicated? As it stands, you’re the very devil
to deal with now.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“You might ask yourself why you’re keeping company
by yourself these days. Haven’t seen you at the club. Don’t even want to sell
me a horse.” Brewster made his last comment regarding the bay and backed away
from the Marquess.

Haverton wanted to be alone. He didn’t need to hear
his mother pushing him to marry. He didn’t need to hear Simon singing praises
of Mrs. Hayes nor his gentlemen friends joining in on the chorus.

He preferred his solitude. Solitude gave him time
to think. Having his solitude presently meant he was not completely alone. Mrs.
Hayes was merely a few moments away.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her watching
him. His
neckcloth
seemed to be tightening around his
neck, cutting off his air. He had to remove himself—away from the gaze of Mrs.
Hayes.

He could no longer be in the same room with her.
This was ridiculous, her presence had never affected him like this before. No
female ever had this effect on him. Haverton glanced at her again then averted
his eyes when she turned in his direction.

He squeezed his eyes closed, ran his finger under
his collar and drew a ragged breath. The room was growing warmer by the moment
and his collar was too tight. Mrs. Hayes observed his every move. He couldn’t
scratch his nose without her knowing which finger he used. Never was his urge
to flee so strong. He needed to leave, remove himself from her view.

Haverton paused at the door and looked back. Mrs.
Hayes was already moving toward him. Reason told him she was only performing
her duty, following the instructions he had given her. Yet he couldn’t escape
the notion that he was being pursued, by his own chaperone no less.

The Marquess staggered toward the men’s room.
Stepping inside, he felt as if he had entered a sanctuary but glancing over his
shoulder, the trailing Mrs. Hayes did not show any sign of slowing. Once he had
stepped through the door, a liveried footman held up his hand and stopped her
from entry.

“This is the men’s room,” the footman said. “No
women allowed.”

Her gaze darted about before she stepped away,
backing into the long halfway.

“You’ll have to wait elsewhere, miss,” the footman
instructed.

Haverton had hoped she would go back to the
ballroom. What she did was find a seat in the hallway and sat to wait.

The Marquess paced from one side of the room to the
other. If he stood near the wall next to the hearth, he could not see her. Nor
could she see him. Crossing back in front of the door, Haverton couldn’t stop
himself from glancing at his chaperone seated outside the room.

Why did he insist on tormenting himself? This was
madness. She held no interest for him, he told himself. He did not want her.

He would not, could not, allow such a thing to come
to pass—to become involved with his chaperone was improper. The Marquess paced
one way and then another, then back again at an increasing pace. Distracted by
his own troubled thoughts, Haverton ran into a footman and fell to the floor
unconscious.

Catherine had supervised the footmen loading her
employer into his coach at the Dibblee residence. She was told that Lord
Haverton’s condition was due to a collision with a footman. Good Lord, how had
he allowed that to happen? The servant seemed to have recovered but the
Marquess had not. There was a sizeable lump on his right temple, just beyond
the hairline. She would have thought he would awaken with all the jostling of
the coach, but he remained unconscious during the entire journey home.
Catherine grew concerned. Perhaps she would need to call for a physician.

Once they arrived at Moreland Manor, she expected
Maybury would have retired for the evening. If she could just get the Marquess
to his room his valet would then take over. And Catherine would be more than
happy to turn his lordship over to James.

The carriage door opened and there were a few
awkward moments when Catherine and the footman stared at one another in silence
while she decided exactly how to manage.

“Would you help me see his lordship upstairs?” she
asked the footman. Catherine pushed Lord Haverton upright, positioning him to
exit.

The movement woke his lordship, who promptly
ordered, “Yes, saddle my hunter, if you please. I’ll be going out for a morning
ride after I finish my morning tea.” Which did not make any sense since it was
the middle of the night and he was not dressed nor was he able to climb onto a
mount—nor was
he
drinking tea. He had, after all,
bumped his head and in doing so clearly must have addled his brain.

The footman took a good portion of the Marquess’
weight but Catherine felt weighted down, making the ascent of the staircase
difficult.

She was losing her grip. “He’s slipping,” she cried
to the footman. “Stop for a moment, please.” As requested, they paused and
Catherine moved closer to Lord Haverton for a better hold. The solid feel of
him pressed against her side and the intimate placement of her arm wrapped
around his waist, holding him tight, weakened Catherine’s knees. Would she be
able to make it up the stairs?

He lifted his head and stared at Catherine through
heavy-lidded eyes. “
Telllll
me, Mrs.
Hayyyyes
.”

“What is it, my lord?” Catherine looked into his
face, his very handsome, close face, and knew she shouldn’t be this close,
regardless of his condition.

“Did I,” he groaned, “enjoy,” he groaned again, “myself?”
he asked with each step upward.

Between her current task and his proximity,
Catherine was completely distracted and couldn’t make out his query. “Did you
what, my lord?” She never received an answer.

He moaned with every step they took up the
staircase. He must be dreaming. In his current state, whatever could he find so
pleasurable?

“You smell so sweet,” he murmured with a smile.
Reaching the upper floor landing, they stopped a moment for Catherine to catch
a much needed breath. Once at his bedchamber door, she leaned away from him,
waiting for the footman to push the door open. “Let’s place him on the bed,”
she instructed.

It was all the footman could do to get him on the
bed. The Marquess didn’t exactly fight them but Catherine found it difficult to
pry his arms from her shoulders. If she hadn’t known better, she would have
thought Lord Haverton was working at cross purposes.

Catherine excused the footman with, “That will be
all, thank you.” She looked around for James. Where was the valet? Surely he
must be here.

After a few minutes, she knew he wasn’t coming.
With James’ absence, Catherine would have to see to Lord Haverton herself. It
should not have been much different than seeing Tommy Talbot to bed.

Not much, she reminded herself.

Unprepared to touch his person, she started with
his shoes. His black pumps slipped off easily enough and she stood there
wondering what do next. His stockings and silk breeches must remain. She
refused to touch his lower limbs, which left her with the upper half of his
body.