Chapter Three

Vauxhall Gardens was ablaze with lanterns when Cornelia arrived with her parents. A trio of acrobats performed in front of the orchestra, attracting a motley crowd of onlookers of all ages and classes. Strolling couples chattered merrily along the shadowy paths, and, on the other side of the piazza, a juggler tossed plates in the air. The revelry at Vauxhall usually pleased Cornelia as she had no time to be bored. A ball, on the other hand, she found exceedingly tiresome. Although she enjoyed dancing, she disliked the endless smiling, polite greetings, feigning interest in people she knew would whisper behind her back. At Vauxhall, one could find a diversity of amusements without an excessive amount of empty social interaction.

Tonight was another matter, however. Her father had arranged with the vexatious Marriage Maker—her fists clenched whenever she thought of it—for her to meet some former operative in search of a wife.

Her father had told her what he knew about her prospective groom. A British spy.

If not for the prospect of marriage, she might have been excited about meeting such an intriguing man. She might have struck up a friendship with him and prevailed upon him to tell her about some of his adventures, but now she would have to discourage him completely. She had done it before—though not with her parents present and not after she’d promised to take their husband-hunt seriously. Her stomach churned.

After the contretemps with her parents, she’d devised a plan to attract a naval officer, like her father, who would be absent for months or even years at a time. Preferably, one who would be satisfied with a marriage in name only. She would have his name and the freedom allotted to married women and he would have her dowry and an illustrious military career. A fair bargain, it seemed to her. Her mother could join her father in Canada and she could continue her work with the Foundling Hospital and not have to worry about bringing any defective progeny into the world.

Neither will you have to worry about telling your husband the truth, a small voice said.

She shoved aside the thought. If her marriage was in name only, and her husband was gone, her lie—her omission—was of little consequence. But only if she could choose her husband.

But no, she couldn’t be allowed to find her own husband. Her father insisted she meet this Mr. Warrington, who was not only The Marriage Maker’s choice, but someone her father had met and considered suitable as a prospective son-in-law.

Which meant he was completely unsuitable to fit her plans.

Cornelia’s gaze caught on a tall gentleman, ten feet to their right, who sidestepped two passing ladies. His light brown hair, a bit tousled in the breeze, made him look oddly vulnerable. His eyes slid past the ladies to Cornelia. She flushed and dropped her gaze.

An instant later, black trouser clad legs came into view and she lifted her eyes to find the brown-haired gentleman had stopped in front of them and faced her father.

“Admiral Hardcastle, we’ve been expecting you and your family,” he said.

Good Lord, this would be the gentleman her father had in mind for her.  He was  taller even than she—who was used to being called a Long Meg—with wide-set shoulders, a slightly curved Roman nose, and smoky gray eyes. She had to admit that he made an appealing picture in his dark blue jacket with polished gold buttons and perfectly tied Mathematical. But she’d seen handsome gentlemen before. She would not be swayed by a pretty face.

“Warrington, good to see you again. Léonie, Cornelia, this is Mr. Preston Warrington. Warrington, this is my wife Léonie and my eldest daughter, Cornelia.”

“Delighted to meet you, Mr. Warrington,” said her mother.

“A pleasure, Mr. Warrington,” said Cornelia, her cheeks burning. How she wished the earth would open up and swallow her. Or even better, swallow him.

“The pleasure is mine, to meet such lovely ladies.” He bent over their hands. “Allow me to show you to our table. My brother is anxious to make your acquaintance.”

He escorted them to a table with an excellent view of the Orchestra building, where Cornelia noticed band members gathering even as the acrobatic performance came to a close.

“Mrs. Bland is to sing tonight,” said the pleasant-faced brother, who had risen from his seat at their approach.

“William, Viscount Warrington,” said her purported suitor. “A great lover of music, as you see. William, meet Miss Hardcastle and her parents, Admiral and Mrs. Hardcastle.”

“Mrs. Bland is a favorite of mine, as well,” Cornelia offered, once the formalities had concluded and they were seated in the booth. “Her voice is lovely, of course, but the humor in her manner makes her quite irresistible.”

The viscount smiled at her, and Cornelia remembered that she was supposed to discourage the potential match between her and his brother. Well, she could hardly behave badly with her parents looking on. It wasn’t as if she wanted to like the Warringtons, after all.

Food and wine were brought to the table as the orchestra struck up a lively ballad and Mrs. Bland came to the stage front to add her buoyant lyrics to the mix.

 

The shepherds call me Little Sue,

Who sport and frolic round,

The rustic pleasures I pursue,

Content with me is found;

They talk of love, and call me fair,

And woo as lovers woo;

I tell the swains he must be rare,

Who marries Little Sue;

Oh rare, oh rare, he must be rare,

Who marries Little Sue;

 

The swain who would my bosom move,

Must be what I declare;

My lover must have sense refined,

Have wit and humor too;

The youth be gentle, brave and kind,

Who marries Little Sue;

Oh rare, oh rare, he must be kind,

Who marries Little Sue;

Oh rare, oh rare, he must be kind,

Who marries Little Sue.

 

Cornelia found herself clapping and singing along with the audience. She forgot about her plan to appear unpleasant—until she happened to look at her purported suitor during the last chorus and caught him staring at her with an odd look in his eyes. She knew that look. Oh dear. She would have to take her plan to the next level. It wouldn’t do to give him any hope that they had a future together.

* * *

Preston liked her. Far too much for his own good. It wasn’t just her dark good looks—she bore a strong resemblance to her beautiful mother—or her delightful womanly curves, or even that her height was perfect. She was intelligent and well-spoken, with a superb sense of humor. She was clearly her father’s daughter. Under different circumstances, he might have considered courting her. But in these circumstances, it would be unfair to do so. She deserved a true marriage, which she would never have with him. He was a travel-the-world-and-discover-new-things sort of man. He quickly tamped down the thought that exploring her might be even more delightful than exploring the pyramids of Egypt.

When the music paused for an interval, Preston asked Miss Hardcastle to walk with him—primarily because his ribs hurt from William elbowing him beneath the table. He had to admit it was better not to delay the inevitable. Presumably, Miss Hardcastle had expectations of him, and he should dash them now rather than allow her affections to grow.

Although…he hadn’t seen any signs of such from her. Merely a smile of amusement at a humorous anecdote. Rapt attention to the music and entertainment. Nothing that could be considered flirtatious. In fact, she seemed to avoid his gaze, and when she could not, her expression took on a sort of polite indifference. Ladies always took note of him. Well, not always. Sometimes they would feign a look of nonchalance for the express purpose of making their affections a challenge to be won.

Was that the case here? If so, he would have to let her know in no uncertain terms that a match between them was not in the cards.

* * *

Cornelia did her best to ignore Mr. Warrington’s nearness. Once they escaped earshot of their relatives, she whispered, “Mr. Warrington, I must have a word with you. Perhaps we could walk down the Dark Walk for a bit of privacy.”

He took a step away from her. “I, too, have something to say, but in the light, where we may be seen by everyone.”

Her mouth dropped open. Surely, he could not think… Oh, how aggravating!

“Miss Hardcastle, I am sorry to inform you that I am not in the market for a wife, in spite of what you may have been told.”

Heat flushed through her. Oh, how she wanted to box his ears. She clenched her hands into fists and knew just where to aim to make her feelings clear.

“I am sure you will make some lucky man a fine wife, but it will not be me. You see, I am planning a trip to India, and after that, perhaps even China. I would be not only a neglectful husband, but an absent one. A fine lady like you deserves better.”

Time slowed almost to a stop as Cornelia tried to turn around the direction of her thoughts. He didn’t want to marry her? He was going to travel the world and not reside in England? How utterly…perfect.

She unclenched her fist and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Mr. Warrington, I think we shall deal famously with each other. Do listen to my proposition.”

* * *

Preston reluctantly allowed himself to be led down the Great Walk, well-lit as it was and suitably populated with other couples, families, and a few animated children. He was reasonably certain that any plan conceived by a young woman seeking a husband would not be of interest to him, no matter how attractive he found her to be.

“You see, Mr. Warrington, I have no wish to marry you, either,” she said.

He blinked. She didn’t want to marry him? Why not, for heaven’s sake? Did she have another suitor?

“I do not understand,” he said. “Why are we here, then? Why go to the trouble of engaging a matchmaker at all?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why did you?”

“I didn’t. It was my brother’s idea. I told him it was a damned fool idea…” He stopped in his tracks and smiled sheepishly. “Ah, your parents. Of course. But…you do not wish to marry?” In his experience, all young ladies wished to marry. What else could they do?

“I decided long ago to live independently of any other person,” she said.

He started them forward again and listened as she explained her deep commitment to the Foundling Hospital.

“You do not want children?” he asked.

She smiled, though he was certain he noted a hint of sadness. “The children in the Foundling Hospital need my love and care,” she said. “I can provide that much more effectively if I have no children of my own.”

Preston nodded politely, careful to keep from his expression the doubt he felt. A young, vibrant woman of means could easily have children and help with the Foundling Hospital. There was more to her story than she shared.

 “I would simply continue with my work there,” she went on. “However, my father has been appointment to Canada as Governor General of British North America. My parents are reluctant to leave me on my own.”

Preston could well believe that. A young woman could not set up household on her own without causing a scandal.

“I assured them that I can be trusted to remain here alone to continue my activities,” she went on, “but they will not hear of it. Either I marry, or my mother will stay here and allow my father to go alone.” She shook her head. “I cannot do that to them. They have been too often separated in their marriage.” Taking a deep breath, she looked him directly in the eye. “So I promised them I would seek a husband. What I didn’t tell them is, well, I was hoping to find a naval man like my father, who would be away for long periods of time, you see…and I would remain at home and live, more or less, as I am accustomed to doing.”

Preston could scarcely believe his luck. Her scheme was improbable, of course. Yet…it was perfect. He didn’t want a wife. She didn’t want a husband. Their marriage could be in name only, and they could live their lives apart quite happily. If she was being truthful, that is, and this wasn’t some elaborate mantrap.

“Tell me more.”