Julia Justiss – The Awakening Of Miss Henley (страница 9)

After dispatching Miss Henley to her destination, Theo found a hackney and went on to the jeweller’s, chuckling inwardly as he reviewed the assortment of glittering bijoux the clerk brought for his inspection. Though almost tempted to ask about a chatelaine, he chose instead a handsome pair of sapphire and diamond earrings which, he thought, fit the irrepressible Miss Henley’s description of being ‘fine enough not to insult the lady, but not so opulent as to inspire hope’.

That purchase made and enclosed in a velvet box, he found another hackney and proceeded to the reading room at his club. Requesting pen and paper, he spent some time choosing just the right words to accompany the gift, then summoned a footman to deliver it. Envisaging the detonation of hysterics likely to result once the gift had been opened, he decided it would be wiser to remain at the club for the evening, rather than risk encountering Lady Belinda at some society entertainment while her volatile emotions would likely still be unsettled. And chuckled again as he recalled Miss Henley’s jibe about him being a ‘timid soul’.

Not timid, just prudent, he silently answered her, and then shook his head again at how he tolerated from her remarks that would earn anyone else who dared utter them a steely-eyed gaze, if not an outright challenge. Not that a gentleman could invite a female to a round of fisticuffs or clashing blades.

But then, he couldn’t imagine any other woman making such nearly insulting remarks. As the rich younger son of an ancient aristocratic family, he was accustomed to having females, be they young or old, married or single, treat him with courteous attention and deference, if not outright flattery. Miss Henley alone tossed out remarks that confounded, even rebuked him, her keen gaze focused on him, her raised chin almost challenging him to cut her or give her a sharp set-down.

But then, she’d done that from the start, he thought, recalling that now infamous first meeting—or rather second meeting.

He’d been riding in Hyde Park when he’d spied last Season’s Incomparable, Miss Temperance Lattimar, riding ahead of him, accompanied by another lady. Though he had no serious intentions towards the Beauty, she was an amusing companion and, as no gentleman was currently claiming her, he decided to approach.

‘Lord Theo, good afternoon,’ Miss Lattimar said, nodding as he rode up and doffed his hat. Turning to her companion, a tall, plain girl of no particular distinction, she said, ‘Miss Henley, I believe you already know this gentlemen, do you not?’

Her eyes examined him with a disconcerting directness before she nodded as well. ‘Yes, we are acquainted, though I doubt Lord Theo remembers me.’

In truth, he had no recollection whatsoever of having met her, but it would be most unchivalrous to say, so—especially as she appeared to be a friend of the divine Miss Lattimar. ‘You are mistaken, Miss Henley,’ he protested smoothly. ‘How could I forget so charming a lady?’

‘We were partners for a waltz.’ After a short pause, giving him a strangely speculative glance, she’d added, ‘At Lady Mansfield’s ball last Season.’

Theo didn’t recall it, but then, he’d danced countless waltzes over the last year and could hardly expect to remember every one. So he nodded and smiled, and said, ‘A most enjoyable occasion. You danced delightfully.’

Miss Henley gave him a falsely sweet smile. ‘Except, we were in fact introduced at Mrs Dalworthy’s soirée, where we were partnered for a country dance.’

He must have looked as shocked as he felt, for Miss Lattimar burst out laughing. ‘Shame on you, Emma, you naughty thing! Lord Theo, I’m afraid Miss Henley is a most singular female. She says exactly what she thinks and does not tolerate idle flattery.’

Embarrassment flooding his face, he’d been at first incredulous, then angry that she’d had the gall to expose his white lie so blatantly. He’d been about to return some blighting reply when he met her fierce gaze and noted that confrontational tilt of chin.

She expected him to blast her, he realised. And unlike any single female he’d ever met, she didn’t care a jot if he did.

It hadn’t been, as she later accused, his desire not to appear churlish in front of Miss Lattimar that had induced him to choose a milder reply—but rather the urge to confound her expectations as neatly as she’d confounded his.

‘So I see,’ he said drily, giving her his most charming smile. ‘How unkind of you to trick me, Miss Henley.’

‘I expect it was, Lord Theo,’ she allowed, looking a bit surprised that he hadn’t dealt her the set-down she deserved. ‘However, I would prefer you to admit you didn’t recall meeting me, rather than offer me the polite lie. Although I do dance delightfully.’

She’d laughed then, the charming sound of her merriment defusing the rest of his irritation. ‘I expect you will remember this meeting! But I shall certainly understand if you do not ask me to dance when next we meet.’

She really didn’t care whether or not he wanted to associate with her. Surprised anew, and intrigued, he said, ‘An honest female who disdains flattery and says exactly what she thinks? On the contrary! I shall add you with Miss Lattimar to the very short list of eligible females with whom I dance or converse.’

‘You generally preferring, of course, ineligible females,’ she’d tossed back.

Laughing in spite of himself, he nodded. ‘And now you are trying to make me blush at my scandalous reputation.’

‘Not at all. I hope to be scandalous myself, some day. Ah, Miss Lattimar, I believe we’re about to be overtaken by a host of your admirers. Sadly, I fear you will have to cede your place, Lord Theo.’

‘Until the next time, then, ladies,’ he said, tipping his hat and riding off as the group of gentlemen Miss Henley had spied approaching arrived to surround Miss Lattimar.

His interest piqued by a female who dared treat him in such a radically unconventional manner, he’d been drawn to seek her out each time they’d chanced to meet at various entertainments. And once he knew to expect a different sort of commentary from her, he soon recognised the humour that softened the edge of her sharp remarks, as well as the keen intelligence that prompted her pointed, unconventional but absolutely accurate observations on all manner of things. He was led ever further down the garden path, curious to hear what new, startling, unacceptable-to-society remarks she might put forth—and what new, blighting comments about his character she might utter.

And then there was that unexpected but unmistakable sensual attraction. The intensity of her hazel-eyed gaze, the sense of barely controlled energy beneath the outward guise of a demure, properly behaved young female, and full lips that were an invitation to sin… She called to him on a physical level as powerfully as a fêted beauty like Lady Belinda.

Recalling her recommendation that he take up a career as a Royal Mail coachman, he laughed softly. That humour faded as he went on to wonder just how loud a peal her mama would ring over her for dismissing Mr Null. Fortunately, he was reasonably certain that no matter how roundly she was abused, the pressure applied by her mama would be more likely to push her into finally declaring that independence she kept telling him she meant to seek than to capitulation and acceptance of the numbing sterility of an arranged marriage.

It really was a shame that society offered so few options for intelligent, clever women. He could easily see Emma Henley taking a seat in Parliament, arguing for the causes about which she’d told him she’d been writing letters.

He shifted uncomfortably. Recalling her desire to do something important, to make a difference, touched too closely on the festering sore deep within which, though covered over by a dressing of busyness and society’s acclaim, had never completely healed.

Although they were not nearly as hemmed in by rules and conventions as females, the opportunities for well-born young men to ‘do something important’ were also limited.

As a younger son, he would never inherit the responsibility for managing his family’s various estates or providing for the welfare of their tenants. Though he enjoyed books, he felt no call to retreat into scholarship, and though he dabbled in investments, a gentleman never dirtied his hands dealing with money. Nor had he any taste for engaging in the push and pull of politics that so fascinated Miss Henley.

Only one thing fired in him the sort of enthusiasm he glimpsed in that lady and it was as impossible a career for a gentleman as standing for Parliament was for a woman.

Sighing, he glanced down at the writing paper on the desk before him. Almost of their own accord, his hands set aside the pen and inkwell and rummaged in the drawer for a pencil.

Quickly he sketched the silhouette of a lady bent over her side saddle, urging on her galloping horse. He added hash marking and shading, the bend of the delicate feather in her riding hat against the rush of wind. The stance, and the hat, obscured her face, but he had no trouble envisaging it: the long, pale oval, rather prominent, determined chin, the unexpected sensual lips. And those eyes! What a transformation they underwent, when she escaped from the conventional trivialities of social conversation!