Julia Justiss – A Most Unconventional Match (страница 9)

Hal bowed over her hand. ‘Charmed.’

‘Charmed to meet you, too, Mr Waterman,’ Lady Tryphena replied.

‘I’ve just been telling my son that we’re counting on him to escort us to all the most select functions this Season,’ his mama said, indicating with an elegant turn of her wrist that they might be seated.

Hal took care to select a chair as far from Lady Tryphena as possible.

‘That would be delightful,’ the girl said as she perched beside his mother on the sofa. ‘I’m sure you will know just which entertainments will be the most glittering. Mama has always said you possess the most discerning intellect of any lady of the ton.’

Mrs Waterman smiled and patted Lady Tryphena’s hand. ‘How very kind of you both. Indeed, I’ve just received an invitation to Lady Cowper’s ball for Friday next. It will be the most important event of the beginning Season. Hal, you will be free to escort us, I trust.’

Heart sinking, Hal scrambled to think of an excuse. While he rapidly examined and discarded reasons that would prevent his appearance at this choice social event, Lady Tryphena said, ‘There’s sure to be dancing, of course.’

‘Naturally,’ his mother replied.

Lady Tryphena looked Hal up and down, her gaze as assessing—and faintly disapproving—as his mama’s. ‘He does own the proper attire.’

‘Of course he does. But I shall send his valet a note just to make sure. Though looking at my son you might not always be able to credit it, Jeffers is quite competent.’

Astounded, Hal realised the ladies were discussing him…as if he weren’t even present.

Lady Tryphena didn’t look convinced. ‘Dancing pumps, too? He doesn’t have the look of a man who possesses dancing pumps. Not that he actually has to dance—’ her glance said she suspected he might cavort about the floor like a tame bear if set loose upon it ‘—but he should still be properly outfitted. In any event, I should be delighted to remain at your side, conversing with the gentleman waiting to speak or dance with you, for I’m sure you shall be immensely sought after, as always!’

His mother smiled graciously at that speech. ‘Sweet child, how thoughtful you are! But you must dance as well. My son will be suitably attired, never fear. Besides, we can always purchase the appropriate footwear if necessary.’

This was the worst yet. His mama’s previous candidates had all been too awed in her imperial presence to attempt much conversation, nor had they dared dart more than a few timid glances in his direction.

Perhaps he preferred ingénues after all.

A rising anger submerging his shock—and a hurt he should be long past feeling—Hal rose to his feet.

‘Sorry, pressing engagement,’ he said, interrupting the ladies’ ongoing discussion of the best shops in which men’s dancing slippers might be procured. ‘Pleasure, Lady Tryphena. Mama.’ After according them a bow he had no desire to give, he turned to stride from the room.

Apparently realising she had pushed him as far as she could, his mother made no attempt to stop him. ‘Friday next, Hal. We’ll dine here before leaving for the ball.’

Hot with rage, Hal didn’t so much as nod. As he walked away, Lady Tryphena said, ‘Is his speech always so oddly stilted?’

‘It’s a sad trial to me,’ his mother said with a sigh.

‘Well, if it pleases you, I shall certainly work on that! Perhaps with your help I can bring him up to snuff.’

The closing door cut off whatever reply his mother had offered. Too agitated to wait for the butler to return his hat and cane, Hal brushed past the startled footman stationed in the entry hall and quit his mother’s house.

He’d arrived in a hackney, but at the moment he was too impatient to linger while one was summoned. Besides, a brisk walk might help settle his anger and dispel the lump of pained outrage still choking his throat. Thankful that he had a goal to achieve this afternoon—the investigation of Everitt Lowery’s finances—he set off towards the City.

How should he proceed with his mother? He could simply fail to appear, but in the past that had generally resulted in an immediate summons accompanied by a jobation on his unreliability and lack of consideration for her feelings and sensibilities. It was usually easier to outwardly acquiesce to his mother’s demands.

She knew she could win any verbal battle, so he no longer attempted any, but rather went through the motions of escorting her while according her candidate of the moment so little attention and encouragement that finally either the girl or his mother gave up. After which he would suffer through a painful scene where his mother would rant at him for his unfeeling, ungentlemanly behaviour and ingratitude at her efforts, then wail that she was destined to die abandoned and unloved, denied the comfort of a daughter-in-law and grandchildren, before finally weeping and declaring she meant to wash her hands of him for good.

Unfortunately, she’d never done so. But this attempt was her most embarrassing and humiliating effort yet.

Would she never give a thought to his needs and sensibilities? He laughed bitterly. When had she ever?

Less than a month after his father’s death, at six years of age he’d been dragged off to Eton, still begging Mama not to send him away. At Eton, thank the Lord, he’d met Nicky, and in the harsh and often cruel world of schoolboys, eventually found a place.

He’d never cried for his mama again. The grieving lad’s open wound of need for parental love had closed and scarred over. He’d come home as seldom as possible, often spending his holidays with his friends Nicky and Ned, then moved into a town house of his own as soon as the trustees of his estate gave its management over to him.

Yet in her self-absorbed, quixotic way, he knew his mother loved him, as much as she was capable of loving anyone. She always claimed to have missed him when he returned, first from Eton and then Oxford, and demanded to hear all his news. After a few minutes of his halting recitation, however, she’d interrupt to begin a monologue about fashion and gossip that lasted the rest of his visit. And he’d know that, once again, he’d disappointed her.

Even now, she chastised him if he called too infrequently, though his visits never seemed to give her much pleasure. Still, he supposed her continual efforts to ‘improve’ him and find him a suitable wife were her way of demonstrating affection, a misguided but genuine attempt to make his life better—according to her lights.

As Hal the boy had given up hoping for his mother’s love and companionship, Hal the man knew ’twas impossible he’d ever gain her understanding or earn her approval. He just wished she would leave off trying to remake him into the sort of son she wanted.

Still unsure how he was going to avoid Lady Cowper’s ball—but adamant that avoid it he would—Hal stopped at the first hackney stand he happened upon and instructed the driver to take him to Bow Street.

Chapter Five

Late that afternoon, Hal ducked to enter the low doorway of a ramshackle tavern deep in the district of Seven Dials. The unpalatable combination of hurt, humiliation, frustrated anger and lust that had simmered in him all afternoon settled to a slow, satisfying burn as he spied his quarry in the dim, smoky interior.

He crossed the dirty rush-strewn floor to seat himself at a rickety table against the back wall and signalled the innkeeper for a drink. Keeping his gaze carefully straight ahead, out of the corner of his eye he watched the swarthy man seated at the adjacent table.

Hal waited, every muscle tensed, but, after sliding him one quick glance, Smith returned his attention to his brew. Hal exiled a silent breath of relief. Apparently the man didn’t remember brushing past him in Elizabeth’s hallway during his little visit to Green Street. He’d be able to retain the advantage of surprise.

Of course, the other dozen occupants of the taproom were covertly watching Hal as well. Strangers seldom wandered into the heart of one of London’s worst rookeries. And although Hal eschewed ton fashion and was dressed simply in a plain coat and breeches, the quality of his garments and his well-polished leather boots marked him none the less as a man of means.

Which meant, in this neighbourhood, as a mark who at the least should exit lighter of his purse, if he exited the premises at all.

The avaricious gleam in the eyes of the tavern wench who sashayed over to bring him his glass of blue ruin announced that she intended to get her share before the others pounced him. ‘Tuppence for yer drink, guv’ner,’ she said, leaning low to give him the best view of her assets. ‘Fer another, I’ll satisfy all yer wants.’

Hal slipped a coin in her hand. ‘For drink.’ Adding two more, he said, ‘For not satisfying rest.’

After quickly thrusting the coins into her bodice, the barmaid shrugged. ‘Just tryin’ to be friendly.’ Leaning closer, she murmured, ‘Beings you be so generous, lemme advise ya to scarper outta here afor ol’ Smith there calls out his bully boys. Otherwise, be lucky to leave the Dials with yer skin, much less yer fancy duds.’