A Most Improper Proposal. Molly Wishlade Ann

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СКАЧАТЬ a trembling hand to her chest and held it there to convey her sincerity.

      ‘That is most kind of you, Aunt Lydia, but I would not inconvenience you. However, we have much to discuss. I would like to call on you tomorrow, if I may?’

      James stared at his aunt, his head on one side.

      ‘Of course, James, my dear, of course.’

      He took her hands in both of his and raised them to his lips. His aunt was clearly distressed and he did not want to place her under unnecessary strain at her great age. She seemed to have shrunk during the course of their conversation and her yellow gown now appeared too big for her. It hurt him to be this formal with the lady who had rocked him in her arms in his infancy, sneaked into the kitchen with him to steal cakes when Cook’s back was turned and kissed his knees better when he had fallen and grazed them.

      This was Aunt Lydia: sweet, kind, eccentric Aunt Lydia and he wanted things to be the way they were; the way they had been before; before it all went so terribly wrong.

      He cleared his throat. ‘But this is neither the time nor the place to think on it nor to discuss it.’

      She shook her head.

      ‘No, James. A public display of feeling would not be proper or desirable.’ Her lips twitched. Was there a touch of sarcasm in her tone?

      ‘It would not.’ Besides, he was acutely aware of the bright hazel eyes assessing his every movement and the small, pearl-clad ears listening to his every word, and he did not want a witness to the frank discussion that must take place between him and his mother’s sister. Not even such a comely and intriguing witness as Miss Isabella Adams.

      He lowered his aunt’s hands, then turned to Isabella and reached for one of hers. She paused before giving it to him and he felt his own cheeks colour at her hesitation. If it was this hard to take her hand, he wondered how difficult it would be to take more. The thought of a challenge made him smile inwardly and he decided to reconsider it at a more convenient time.

      ‘Miss Adams.’ He bowed low over her silk gloved hand and brushed his lips against it. Her sharp intake of breath when his mouth met the silk caused him to look quizzically into her eyes. He caught sight of something there but blinked, and whatever he had seen was gone.

      He lingered there for a moment longer than was necessary because her sweet fragrance pleased him but she did not look back in his direction. Reluctantly, he released her hand and pulled himself up to his full height.

      ‘Well then, Aunt Lydia,’ he straightened his black tailcoat, ‘I will visit you tomorrow morning.’

      ‘It will be good to see you,’ his aunt replied, her eyes full of a thousand questions.

      ‘Ladies,’ he bobbed his head, then turned on his heel and hurried away. He had to force himself not to turn and seek out Isabella’s eyes again.

      He had found her aloofness most confusing and unusual and he wondered if its roots lay in her anger at the incident at their first meeting or if there was in fact more to the young woman. She intrigued him and he wanted to learn more about her. It had been quite some time since he’d felt any real interest in a woman and he had a feeling that there was something special about his aunt’s companion.

      * * * *

      ‘Ah, Lord Crawford! How good to see you again,’ Lady Castlereagh reached out both hands in greeting to James, causing her ample bosom to bulge at the low neckline of her damask gown.

      He took one of her hands and bowed low over it.

      ‘Lady Castlereagh, it is a pleasure.’

      She giggled like a maiden.

      ‘You are as comely as ever, my lady,’ he bowed again.

      She raised her fan and half opened it over her face flirtatiously.

      ‘Oh, Lord Crawford, you are too kind.’ It was difficult to imagine how this bubbly woman with her sandy brown ringlets and warm brown eyes could reduce some of those keen to attend Almack’s into trembling wrecks. He’d even imagined himself half in love with her at one point in his youth and spent several weeks fantasising about burying his head between her rounded thighs. He shook his head.

      ‘Lord Crawford, old fellow.’ James felt a large hand land on his shoulder and he turned to face Lord Castlereagh.

      ‘Foreign Secretary’ – he bowed – ‘how are you?’

      ‘Very well, thank you,’ the politician replied, shaking the proffered hand firmly. ‘Still being kept busy by our neighbours across the channel, amongst others’ – he smiled conspiratorially – ‘but Britain will always come out on top, old chap.’

      James bit his tongue, not wanting a political war of words so soon after his return. He was as happy as the next man at Napoleon’s recent defeat but that did not mean that he agreed with all of British foreign policy. Besides, he had more pressing matters to deal with so he forced out, ‘Of course, Lord Castlereagh. I’m sure you’re right.’

      ‘How did you enjoy your travels?’

      ‘Very pleasant, thank you. It did me good to get away.’

      The musicians in the balcony changed pace, moving to the triple metre of the waltz. The lively rhythm added to palpable buzz in the air.

      ‘Good, good, glad to hear it.’

      They both watched as groups of ladies and gentlemen took to the floor.

      ‘I see that the Almack’s uniform has not altered during my absence.’ James gestured at the dancers where the men were identical in their breeches, waistcoats and jackets. They reminded him of magpies.

      ‘No, old chap,’ Lord Castlereagh replied gruffly. ‘The patronesses would never accept that.’

      James felt Lord Castlereagh’s curious eyes upon his face.

      ‘But the ladies look good, eh, James?’

      They did, he couldn’t deny it as he eyed the dazzling rainbow of jewels and evening gowns. A seasoned eye could easily distinguish between the married women and the debutantes, because the younger ladies were dressed in creams and pastel colours whilst the more mature and experienced amongst the gentler sex wore darker, richer shades of crimson, navy and black. The pure colours sported by the debutantes implied that they were themselves pure and innocent but every man of the ton was aware that it was not always the case.

      ‘We have had some delightful debutantes this year,’ the politician continued. ‘If I were a younger man… and single of course.’ He laughed and slapped James hard on the back. ‘But you…’

      James’ nostrils flared. He knew where this conversation was heading.

      ‘I have just returned to England, my lord, and I need to reacquaint myself with my lands and such before I even think of such matters.’

      He scanned the room for his aunt but he was unable to spot the lemon of her dress or the pink of her companion’s. If he could just locate Miss Adams, then Aunt Lydia would not be far away.

      ‘Well, СКАЧАТЬ