A Most Unsuitable Match

‘Excellent,’ Lord Chalmondy replied, appearing not at all disturbed by her thinly veiled rebuke. ‘You see, Lord Halden, the lady has released you.’

‘You are sure you don’t mind, Miss Lattimar? I’ll see you somewhere later, then. You’ll tender my farewells to your aunt and Lady Isabelle, yes?’

At her curt nod, he dropped her arm, left her there on the pathway and set off with the soldiers.

Fuming...and humiliated, for a few long minutes, Prudence simply stood, watching them lope down the path and out of the park, their loud laughter and jesting trailing after them. Lord Halden never gave her a backward glance.

Still angry, worried her debut in Bath might turn out to be as disastrous as a foray in London would have proved, with dragging steps, Prudence turned around and set off to find her aunt.

Meanwhile, Johnnie Trethwell was limping through his second circuit of the paths at Sidney Gardens. He’d been happy to drop his aunt off to visit one of her cronies rather than have her accompany him, which allowed him to walk at a faster pace. Pushing himself and his knee to the limits of its endurance was the only way he was going to regain its full strength—no matter how much he was going to regret that determination come evening, when it would likely pain him in earnest.

He’d just turned the corner of the outer pathway when he spied Miss Lattimar, walking alone a dozen yards in front of him.

Johnnie halted, stifling his immediate impulse to go to her. He’d felt only too keenly the anxiety on her face in the Pump Room when Markingham had pulled him into the group of soldiers conversing with her and her evident escort, Lord Halden. Not that he’d been insulted by her obvious reluctance to have the Duke’s son know they were acquainted. Though his attentions had been keenly sought the world over by bored matrons with more lust than morals—an arrangement that suited him perfectly well—he was only too aware that keeping company with a man of his reputation would do nothing to help her efforts to entice a proper suitor. Not burdened as she was with her questionable reputation.

He remembered the bleak resignation in her eyes when she stated she had no choice but to adhere to every rule of propriety. For a lady whose extraordinary beauty would normally have given her licence to be as capricious as she chose, that was the saddest comment yet.

He should remain silent and let her go her own way.

But the pathway ahead of her was deserted. There was no one about to see or disapprove. With that treacherous fact to encourage him, he couldn’t quite defeat the desire to talk with her.

Still debating, he quickened his pace, closing the distance between them. Then, as he got nearer, he noticed how dawdling her steps were, how her head drooped and her arms trailed loosely at her sides, her reticule dangling by twisted cords, unnoticed. She looked the picture of—dejection?

Concerned in spite of himself, over his bad leg’s protest, Johnnie pushed harder, until he was within hailing distance. ‘Miss Lattimar!’ he called. ‘What’s this, walking alone? Has a press gang rounded up every man in Bath, or have they all gone blind?’

Under his keenly observing eye, she first stiffened, then straightened, then slowly turned towards him. Hurt and mortification in her expression, she opened her lips to speak, must have thought better of it and forced a smile instead. ‘It’s such a lovely morning, I thought I’d have a stroll while Aunt Gussie rested on a bench.’

He was fairly certain, according to his vaguely remembered standards of conduct for single young females, that walking alone in a respectable garden in a genteel city like Bath with her chaperon nearby wouldn’t be considered precisely fast. But he did clearly recall his more adventurous sister being roundly scolded for leaving her maid behind on such a foray, her governess emphasising that ‘a well-bred young lady never walks anywhere unaccompanied. Never!’

Her troubled expression revealed the same distress he’d read on her face in the Pump Room. As he stood, watching her, something flashed between them, some wordless connection, spurring in him the urge to move closer. He had the absurd wish that he could take her in his arms and somehow ease her burden.

‘Is something wrong? How can I help?’

Her eyes widened with alarm before, shaking her head, she said, ‘How did you know I was upset? I’ve worked so hard on the ability to appear serene, regardless of the circumstances!’

That response was so unexpected—and delightful—he had to laugh. ‘Well, I did come upon you from behind, when your guard was down.’

‘Then you couldn’t have seen my face.’ Her exasperation deepened. ‘Or did I give myself away when I greeted you? Please, let me know! In my circumstances, I must be able to control my demeanour, or the wolves truly will devour me alive.’

That truth was enough to extinguish his amusement. ‘I suppose you’re right. But don’t worry too much. Most people see only what they expect to see. Half the time, they are too occupied with their own needs and desires to notice much of anything around them. If I’m a keener judge, it’s because I’ve had to be. Travelling among various native groups in India, most of them hostile to one another and often to the English, one had to be a keen observer. Able to evaluate a man’s stance and expression to fill in the many gaps in my comprehension of the local dialect, so I might accurately assess whether I was being invited to join a hunt—or was the object being hunted.’

As he’d hoped, that teased out a genuine smile—and he had to suck in a breath. The effect was like coming out of a dark cave into brilliant noon sunshine.

Basking in it, he said, ‘May I escort you back to your aunt? Perhaps we can scandalise and confound a few disapproving matrons on the way?’

But she hadn’t completely recovered, for his joking suggestion brought an immediate, alarmed widening of those enchanting blue eyes. Hastily he added, ‘Excuse me, I was just funning. As you can see, the gardens are deserted. I should be able to return you safely to your aunt without endangering your reputation.’

She looked at him, the wry smile on her lovely lips making him wish she were as scandalous as society branded her, so he might kiss that luscious mouth, right here in the park.

While he beat back the desire, she said, ‘You’re right and I apologise. I’ve been suspicious of you at every turn, while you’ve done nothing but seek to protect me.’ She sighed. ‘If only my reputation were less...tarnished. I wish it were sterling enough to allow me to associate openly with the only man I’ve ever met, outside my own family, who hasn’t judged—and dismissed—my character without meeting me or having me utter a word. How I wish we could be friends!’

Somewhat to his surprise, Johnnie had to acknowledge he shared that wish. Outside his own sisters, he had next to no experience of gently bred maidens, having left England right after university and having carefully avoided newcomers from the Fishing Fleet during his time in India.

Not that avoiding them required much effort. With the dearth of single English females in India, the ladies venturing out in search of husbands on the yearly voyages from England had no trouble finding partners. Even those with little beauty and few charms had numerous suitors, clearing the field for him to turn his attentions to the more dashing married matrons.

True, he found Prudence Lattimar’s beauty arresting. He sensed a fire beneath her carefully controlled façade, no matter how stringently she was trying to mask it, that couldn’t help but draw him like the proverbial moth to her flame. He had the tempting suspicion he might be just the man to coax that flame into a very satisfying conflagration.

More surprising, though, he was discovering himself equally captivated by Miss Lattimar’s lack of artifice, her directness and honesty—traits he suspected were in short supply among females looking to attract a husband. Not just husband-hunters, he amended. He’d found those qualities lacking in virtually every female he’d ever known.

‘I would enjoy your friendship,’ he acknowledged—though what he’d do with the friendship of a woman he could neither bed nor wished to marry, he didn’t know. Dismissing that qualm, he said, ‘We must consider ways to make that happen. But not at this moment. Now, let us just enjoy as much conversation as we can squeeze in before I must surrender you to your aunt. So, how goes it with your Duke’s son?’

She tilted her head at him. ‘You truly want to know? I got the impression you didn’t like him very much.’

‘Just because he looked at me in my regimentals as though I were a slug that had just crawled on his shoe, before dismissing me as a nonentity? Excuse me, not just a nonentity, but scapegrace rakehell who shouldn’t be allowed within speaking distance of his—or your—pristine person?’

While chuckling at his description, she shook her head. ‘He did treat you badly, which was not at all well done of him.’

Johnnie shrugged. ‘One can’t expect wisdom or discernment from a university dandy—or a bunch of play soldiers who’ve never been within a musket-sound’s distance of a real battle.’

‘Unlike you, who are a real soldier?’

Grief and pain twisted in his gut. Fortunately, she could have no idea the cost of being a ‘real’ soldier, he thought before he shut down the memories and summoned a smile. ‘Now you’ve caught me being as dismissive of them as they were of me! I admit, I have something of a distaste for Fitzroy-Price’s ilk. I served under too many colonial officials whose chief qualification for the job was their papa’s elevated title or connections. However, though I may have spent most of my adult life outside England, even I am not too dim to recognise that wedding the son of a duke must top even “wealthy”, “young” and “charming” on every fond mama’s list of the sort of husband she’d choose for her daughter.’

She nodded. ‘He would be accounted a prime catch. Especially for someone like me.’

He frowned. ‘Someone like you?’

‘Yes. He’s to receive a living from his uncle, Aunt Gussie tells me. How better to redeem my reputation, than to become the blameless wife of a clergyman?’ Her enthusiasm faded a bit. ‘Though I would hope he would learn not to be drawn in by rough companions and to treat all people with more respect. But he’s young. His solemn role as a spiritual advisor will mature him and endow him with wisdom and compassion, I’m sure.’

With an effort, Johnnie restrained himself from rolling his eyes. In his experience, pampered, wealthy young men went on to become self-important, pompous older men, supremely confident in their superiority and disdainful of the rabble—which included most everyone else in society—beneath them.

But, as young and sheltered from the world as unmarried maidens were, Miss Lattimar had probably not yet learned that lesson. It wasn’t really his place to teach her.

While he worked hard to keep from expressing his opinion, Miss Lattimar said, ‘Enough of Lord Halden. Might I ask you a question?’

Primed now to expect almost anything, he immediately replied, ‘Of course! Although if it deals with society, I can’t promise to have the expertise to accurately answer it.’

‘You absolutely have expertise about this society! I’ve never seen more of the world than our estate in Northumberland, the town house in London and the little I’ve experienced so far of Bath. I’m so envious of the travels and the adventures you’ve had! Please, can you tell me what it was like, living in India?’

‘Tell you about India?’ he echoed, surprised. ‘Ladies usually beg to hear about storms at sea, or pirates. Generally, only men ask me about India.’ And then, mostly for tales about the women.

‘I’m sure you’re a marvellous storyteller. And I truly would like to hear about your life there.’

‘Very well, India. Let me see if I can pick out the bits best suited for a maiden of your tender years.’

She giggled. ‘Oh, no! I want to hear all the spicy bits, too!’

Did she have any idea how irresistible she was? he thought, totally charmed. ‘All right, then. Let me see if I can find bits spicy enough to titillate you without losing whatever credit I might have with your aunt for protecting you on your walk back.’

Quickly searching through memory to select a story that might entertain her without veering into the salacious, he launched into a description of the grand procession in the State of the Nawab of Surat in which troops from his regiment had participated. ‘After the termination of the fast of Ramadan, one of the holiest events in the Muslim year, the Nawab ordered a grand parade from his durbar to the principal mosque. A select few of us British regulars marched after him, followed by elephants and camels carrying kettle-drummers and musicians, local men on horseback, their mounts as richly dressed as they were, and finally a state palankeen bearing representatives of the East India Company, members of the ruling British council, the Governor of the castle and the Admiral of the Mogul’s fleet, all in dress uniform. Ah, the noise of the excited crowds calling and hooting, the women ululating, the tramp of boots, hooves and elephant feet! The sound of the drums and the strange melodies of the native lutes, the scent of marigolds, incense, perfume—and dung. And clouds of dust, enveloping us and coating our mouths and uniforms.’

She laughed, her eyes shining. ‘You describe it so vividly I can almost hear it—and smell it! You are a marvellous storyteller! My twin sister, Temperance, who has a great desire to explore foreign places, has collected all the travel journals and memoirs she can find, but hearing such episodes described by someone who actually lived them is so much more fascinating than merely reading about them. Tell me more!’

So he did, secretly delighted when she begged him to continue his tales through one more circuit around the park before he returned her to her aunt.

When they finally turned down the pathway and saw Lady Stoneway and another matron sitting on a bench, her rapt expression faded. ‘I hate it that it isn’t wise for me to associate with you. It was so...energising to talk about something truly interesting, rather than having to confine my remarks to innocuous observations on the weather, or monosyllabic murmurs of appreciation for whatever a gentleman is prosing on about!’

‘Good heavens! Is that what you have to do to look respectable?’ When she nodded, he shook his head. ‘How...stifling. And how much I admire you!’

She gave him a sharp look. ‘It isn’t polite to mock.’

‘No, I’m entirely serious! It’s fortunate I have no desire to mingle in polite society, for I probably wouldn’t last half an hour before I got thrown out on my ear. I’m far too prone to ignore convention and say exactly what I think, hang the consequences.’ He chuckled. ‘Which, probably, is why I was never a success at school and the Army in India looked askance on me. I ask too many questions and probe into too many areas they would prefer left unexplored.’

Miss Lattimar smiled—and she really was temptation incarnate when she smiled, he thought. A soldier ought to get a medal for bravery or restraint for resisting the completely understandable urge to kiss her senseless on the spot.

‘My governess was for ever warning me and Temperance against doing that,’ she was saying. ‘Although Temper is so much braver and bolder than I am. She does tell people what she thinks. Defies them about casting us in the image of our mother, too, instead of trying to deflect them and please everyone, like I do.’

‘It takes self-control and admirable discipline to limit what one says. Particularly when the comment one struggles to suppress is bang on the mark. I’d say that makes you the one who is strong and brave.’

She looked startled, as if she’d never thought that of herself. ‘How kind of you to say so! I only wish I could believe it. Much as I try to be perfectly behaved, so that society will come to believe I am not my mother, I must confess, sometimes I feel like giving up the effort. Abandoning prudence and caution, raising my skirts and running through Sidney Gardens shrieking, just to see the look on some censorious matron’s face. Or stripping off my stockings and wading in the fountain—like Temper and I used to wade in the river at home.’

‘Probably best to suppress such impulses,’ he said—even as it pained him to think she felt compelled to restrain that bright, exuberant spirit. ‘I doubt they would be considered very suitable in a vicar’s wife.’

He regretted the words immediately, for they extinguished the merriment on her face in an instant. ‘I might be able to wade in a fountain, in the privacy of my own garden, with my children accompanying me,’ she said after a moment.

‘I hope you will.’ Yet, he couldn’t help a probably futile wish that somehow, she would avoid a fate that, to him, seemed destined to lock her for ever in a role where her natural charm and zest for life would be straitjacketed.

Just beyond speaking distance from her aunt, she stopped, as if she needed to armour herself to return to the world of rules and subterfuge. Lips parted, she gazed over at him, regret at having to part and longing on her face.

A wave of desire swept through him to carry her away from the propriety-bound world she was about to re-enter, off somewhere they could be alone. Where he might succumb to the urge to kiss her that had dogged him from the moment he saw her again.

From the widening of her eyes and the little intake of breath, he knew she felt that sensual pull as strongly as he did. And he was as helpless to resist it as a cobra hypnotised by a mongoose.

Giving him a tiny negative shake of her head, as if wordlessly acknowledging both the desire and the impossibility of indulging it, she said, ‘I have to go back.’

‘To the world of society and its rules.’

‘Yes. But I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed our walk. Maybe...maybe we can find a way to walk together again in future. I imagine my aunt will be fatigued and want to return home at once, so I’ll say good day to you now, Lieutenant.’

He bowed. ‘And to you, Miss Lattimar.’

They had nearly reached the bench on which both women sat before their approach was noticed. ‘Prudence—and Lieutenant Trethwell?’ Lady Stoneway said, looking both surprised and confused.

‘Miss Lattimar!’ the other woman exclaimed. ‘Where is my cousin?’

‘Lord Halden...encountered a group of friends, who pressed him to accompany him immediately on a...a mission of some importance.’

‘But—he just left you, unaccompanied?’ Lady Stoneway cried.

‘Fortunately, Lieutenant Trethwell was at hand to make sure I returned safely,’ Miss Lattimar said, giving him a quick, silent plea that he not contradict her slight alteration of events.

His lips tightening, he understood all too well. He’d already overheard some salacious remarks made about her by several of the soldiers joking with Fitzroy-Price that day in the Pump Room. Men who spoke of her like that would have no compulsion about insulting her by carrying off her escort and leaving her to fend for herself.

But it didn’t say much for her escort that he’d agreed.

No wonder she’d been looking so dejected when he came upon her!

‘Well, Lord Halden shouldn’t have left me here, without proper escort back to my house!’ the other matron said angrily. ‘And so I shall tell him, when next I see him. Careless boy!’

Johnnie’s cynicism deepened. He had no idea of the identity of the overdressed, self-important woman with Miss Lattimar’s aunt, but she conducted herself just like the wives of the high-ranking men he’d known in India. Concerned only with her own consequence and well-being, sparing not a thought for the beautiful young woman her cousin had left alone, vulnerable to attack by any ruffian who might have come upon her. No matter how unlikely it was that a ruffian would be roaming about Sidney Gardens on a sunny morning.

‘Shall we all walk together to engage a sedan chair, Lady Isabelle?’ Lady Stoneway suggested. ‘I’m sure that’s what Lord Halden expected we would do.’

The matron visibly brightened. ‘You are right, Lady Stoneway. Of course that’s what my cousin must have thought. No need of him to keep his friends waiting, when we might escort each other.’

‘Before we go, Aunt Gussie, don’t you want to thank Lieutenant Trethwell for making sure I came to no harm?’ Miss Lattimar said, her voice calm, but something steely in her eyes. ‘And present him to Lady Isabelle?’

Lady Stoneway looked uncertain for a moment before nodding assent. ‘You are quite right, Prudence. I do thank you for safeguarding my niece, Lieutenant. Lady Isabelle, may I make you acquainted with Lieutenant Lord John Trethwell? His elder brother, as you may know, is now Marquess of Barkley.’

Lady Isabelle’s cool expression indicated she knew exactly who he was and, for a moment, Johnnie wondered if she were debating whether or not to give him the cut direct. Which wouldn’t bother him in the slightest, except for the embarrassment it would certainly cause Lady Stoneway and Miss Lattimar.

The latter, he noted with no little amusement, despite her self-professed craven submission to society and its dictates, was staring almost defiantly at Lady Isabelle, as if daring her to refuse the introduction.

Not at all to his surprise, the older woman capitulated—barely. ‘Lieutenant,’ she acknowledged with the slightest incline of her head.

‘Lady Isabelle,’ he replied, offering a bow considerably more polite than the one he’d given Lord Halden.

‘Shall we be off?’ Lady Stoneway said, obviously reluctant to press her luck any further with the matron. Her aunt’s kindness—and concern for Miss Lattimar’s status—were the only reasons Johnnie resisted the urge to further tweak Lady Isabelle by insisting he accompany them.

‘I should be going myself,’ he said, with an ironic quirk of his lip. ‘Good day to you all. Miss Lattimar,’ he added, unable to stop himself as they turned. ‘Safeguarding you was a pleasure.’

Her eyes lit up and the smile she gave him was pure enchantment. ‘I very much appreciated it,’ she replied, before taking her aunt’s arm and walking off, Lady Isabelle beside them.

Johnnie stood and watched them until her lovely figure disappeared from view.

Reviewing his impressions after their second meeting, Johnnie found Miss Lattimar’s appeal had only increased. Along with the physical attraction he would expect her beauty to evoke in any red-blooded male, he’d felt an unexpected and disturbingly powerful connection on some deeper level. Having had a glimpse of the exuberant, uninhibited character she was trying to suppress—he chuckled, envisioning her, skirts held up, wading in the Sidney Garden fountain—he felt a strong urge to prompt her to be herself, without restraint. Even though the woman she became when she did so was not just more natural, she was even more devilishly attractive.

He sighed. He very much wished he could pursue her openly—in spite of the fact that he had never previously pursued, nor had any use for, a well-bred virgin. Following that trail led to marriage, something he had always avoided. Not just because he wasn’t sure, with the vast floral garden of the feminine beauty and charm the world had to offer, he’d be able to limit himself for a lifetime to plucking just one bloom.

He also knew his wanderlust nature too well and the chances that he’d ever want to stay for long in one place were slim. A good English wife would probably prefer a settled countryside home with a husband in it to look after her and any children. To offer marriage without being able to pledge that wouldn’t be fair to any lady, no matter how much she attracted him.

And when he travelled, he travelled alone. He’d witnessed first-hand the agony of someone who’d lost a beloved. He might sometimes be lonely enough to wish for a heart’s companion, but loneliness was an old friend, something he’d grown accustomed to enduring. Better to suffer a quiet flame than to open oneself to an all-consuming conflagration.