Despite her bold declaration, Jenny hesitated in front of the hall mirror and tucked a lock in place before moving toward the door to the main salon, where her butler Fiching stood sentry.

“A Mr. Kevin Whattling, madam,” he intoned as he reached for the gilt door handle. Then he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “A regular top-o-the-trees Corinthian he is too, Miss Jenny. Shall I stay, or would you like an excuse to be alone with him for a moment?”

Jenny didn’t have the heart to scold him for his lack of protocol. After all, she’d known the man since her childhood. What little remained of his hair was white now, and his eyes were buried in wrinkles, although the faded blue still held the twinkle of kindness she remembered. His spare frame looked elegant in his black coat and breeches, but she knew just how much it cost him to stand so straight when he suffered from rheumatism.

“Stay, please, Fiching,” she whispered back. “I can’t imagine what he could want.”

Fiching winked at her.

She composed herself and nodded permission for him to open the door. She could feel him behind her as she came into the room.

Her visitor rose to his feet as she entered, and she was hard pressed not to gasp. It couldn’t be! Her legs trembled beneath her, and she had to fight a sudden desire not to run back upstairs to Martha.

He was dressed in a cutaway coat of dark blue superfine, with a blue-and-white striped satin waistcoat peeking out in front. His snowy white cravat, crisp shirt points, and long legs encased in white breeches with shining tasseled Hessians bespoke the proper gentleman of fashion. She stood there staring, mouth hanging open. A part of her brain warned her she looked significantly less intelligent than she was rumored to be, but she couldn’t seem to move to do anything about it.

He bowed. “Miss Welch, how kind of you to receive me.”

“Mr. Whattling,” Jenny managed, dropping a curtsey and wishing she was wearing something more elegant than her puce silk. “How nice of you to call. To what do I owe this honor?”

He was watching her closely, and now he smiled ruefully. “Ah, you don’t remember me, do you?”

At least he didn’t suspect her obsession with him. “Well, perhaps not precisely,” she replied, thinking that it was near the truth since she had only just now learned his name.

“Ah, what a leveler,” he said with a sigh. “I had so hoped I’d made a lasting impression. We met at the Baminger’s ball last November. You stood up with me for a country dance.”

She did not need his reminder to relive the scene. Even then she had been shocked by his regard. All she had managed was to nod in agreement to his request for a dance. Thankfully, the pattern of the dance had made conversation almost impossible. Yet the few times he had addressed her she remembered answering in monosyllables. It was little wonder she hadn’t remembered to have someone introduce them—she had barely been able to meet his eye. Much as she had wished to see him again, she could not understand how she could have made any kind of impression on him for him to wish to further the acquaintance.

“Yes, of course,” she replied with a nod. “It has just been some time, after all.”

“But I haven’t forgotten you,” he replied, surprising her further. “I’ve thought of you quite often.”

“And it’s taken you months to call?” she asked, then felt the blush deepen as she realized how blunt she sounded.

Straight-faced, he replied, “I was unavoidably detained.”

Jenny felt a laugh bubble up at his sheer audacity, but she forced it down. “And your purpose in coming today?”

“I wanted to ask if you’d go driving with me tomorrow afternoon.”

Jenny blinked at the matter-of-fact answer. She peered more closely at his face, but there was nothing in his lapis eyes to indicate that he was less than sincere. Yet it was impossible to believe. “I confess to some confusion, sir. Perhaps you had better sit down.”

He obligingly settled himself on the sofa. She crossed to the wingback chair opposite him and spread her skirts to sit before realizing that perhaps he had expected her to sit beside him. Well, if he’d come for any sort of social purpose, he would soon find her lacking. All she had to do was survive the next few moments.

She studied him closely, but what she saw confused her even more. As Fiching had surmised, this man was obviously a polished example of the breed Corinthian, a breed she usually went out of her way to avoid. Their frivolous, sensation-seeking, devil-may-care attitude repelled her, as it seemed the complete antithesis of her quiet way of life.

Yet, hadn’t she just been wishing for a change?

 

 

–

 

Kevin found himself feeling oddly nonplussed as he sat across from Eugennia Welch, her butler standing guard near the door. When he had been ushered into the room and left to cool his heels, he had looked around in hopes the room would tell him more about its owner. The floor-to-ceiling west-facing windows took up one entire wall and were draped in yards of filmy light-filtering white gauze with white-on-white satin panels held back on either side by gilded ivy. The wall opposite the door was hung in a similar satin in saffron shot with gold, with a white marble fireplace in the center. The painting over the fireplace was a sunny pastoral scene in a gilt frame. The other walls were painted the same light yellow and boasted other paintings and miniatures well spaced and nicely grouped. The furnishings consisted of the white satin-striped sofa on which he sat; two yellow wingback chairs opposite flanking the fireplace; several decorative tables on which perched figurines, vases of flowers, or other knickknacks; and three glass cabinets with similar items. All in all, it was a cheery, richly furnished, decidedly feminine room.

And it seemed to fit the stern-faced woman in front of him not a bit.

The lady he fondly remembered from the fall dance had been tall and regal. The outmoded dress she wore had failed to conceal her womanly curves. He knew it had been the rumor that she was unattainable that had inspired him to ask her to dance, but in doing so he had caught a glimpse of a vulnerable, gentle woman he had felt drawn to protect. Despite her unenthusiastic reception today, the same feeling brushed him, and he realized ruefully that the person she most needed protection from was himself.

Her butler didn’t seem to think so. When Kevin glanced his way, the fellow gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. His mistress was less encouraging. By sheer determination, he forced himself not to squirm under her direct gaze. Before she could speak, he decided to go on the attack.

“What is it you’d like me to clarify, madam, to help alleviate this confusion you spoke of?”

She hesitated, then leaned forward, as if ready to attack the situation herself. “Tell me, Mr. Whattling. What made you decide to seek me out now?”

He decided to be as honest as possible. “When we stood up together at the Baminger’s, there was something about you that made me think we should get better acquainted.”

“No doubt my scintillating conversation,” she said, leaning back as if already disappointed in him.

She had to remember she’d said little. “You were the soul of discretion,” he said. “Yet there seemed to be a common purpose, a meeting of minds, if you will, that made me feel we might be friends.”

“Friends?” The way she stared at him told him that was the last thing she had expected him to say. “You thought we could be friends?”

He smiled. “Does that surprise you, madam?”

“Surprise me? It shocks me to the core. I have a certain reputation, sir, as a bluestocking, while you are clearly a dyed-in-the-wool Corinthian. Are you certain you have the right person?”

He wasn’t sure whether the cough from the butler was directed at him or her. He chuckled at her assessment. “Oh, you’re the right person. I know of no rules that say a Corinthian and a bluestocking cannot enjoy each other’s company. So, will you drive with me tomorrow?”

For a moment, he thought he had her. A light came to those hazel eyes, and her chin came up just the slightest. But she shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, if I appear dense, but your, er, interest in building this friendship seems most precipitous. Without roundaboutation, if you will—why me, why now?”

She would accept nothing less than complete honesty. He admired her for it. He put on his most solemn face. “Very well, if you insist. I am grossly in debt and only a quick and advantageous marriage can keep me from Debtor’s Prison. I have been told I could have any woman in England. I’m sentimental enough to want to feel at least a little affection for the woman I marry. I’ve looked over the prospects carefully, and you were my first choice.” His grin broke free. “In short, Miss Eugennia Welch, I intend to marry you.”

He knew it was a bold statement, but the lady before him froze and stared at him, eyes wide, and he had a sudden sinking feeling he had overplayed his hand. She recovered her composure with an obvious effort and rose to stride majestically to the door. Convention demanded that he rise as well, but he did so with a tremor. She was going to order him out, perhaps even direct her staff to toss him down the steps for his audacity. He didn’t like having to defend himself against the elderly butler.

She threw open the door, and he tensed.

“Fiching, leave Mr. Whattling and me alone for a time, if you please,” she said to her retainer, who looked surprisingly stunned for one whose profession required an impassive front. “Leave the door open and see that we are not disturbed. If I raise my voice, you are to come in immediately with Stevens and Jenkins.”

He looked at her askance, then bowed before what he saw in her face. She turned to Kevin.

She was an open book. Every feeling, every thought flashed across that expressive face. Disappointment in him, as if she had hoped he might be different than the other men who had been rumored to have proposed. Embarrassment that she had once more met a man who preferred the fortune to its owner. Chagrin her servants would soon know of it unless the butler was more close-mouthed than most. The way she clasped her hands behind her back was a clear attempt to calm herself.

“Mr. Whattling,” she said firmly, “I appreciate your frankness. Let me be equally honest.” She opened her mouth, then shut it again, as if seeking the right words. He made himself remain still, waiting. Finally, she sighed. “We can have little in common. What makes you think we could possibly suit?”

He couldn’t help his grin. “Come driving with me and you might find out.”

A smile threatened on those posy pink lips. “You are most tenacious, sir. But why, if I may be so bold, should I agree to this meeting if I do not see a happy end?”

“Do you gamble, madam?” When she shook her head, he tried another direction. “No, of course not. Have you ever played whist?”

She must have taken the question as a doubt of her social skills, for her answer was frosty. “Everyone who is anyone plays whist, sir.”

“Certainly. Forgive the question.” He bowed. “I was merely trying to develop an analogy. When we play whist, we play it for the chance of beating a worthy opponent, of besting our own expectations. It is the chance that the game will be worth playing that encourages us to play. I am merely asking you to take that same chance.”

She conceded his point with a nod. “But whist is an enjoyable pastime, I have always found. It sharpens the intellect. My experience with driving has not been so pleasurable.”

His grin widened. “That, madam, is because you’ve never been driving with me.”

She laughed. The sound was joyful, abandoned, and something inside him leaped to meet it.

“Very well, sir,” she agreed. “I will drive with you tomorrow. However,” she added quickly as he beamed in triumph, “I promise nothing more. Going driving in no way indicates that I will accept your offer of marriage.”

He bowed. “I understand completely, Miss Welch. I shall try not to let your acceptance turn my head. Will half past two in the afternoon be a suitable time?”

“Quite suitable.”

“Then I shall take my leave until then.” He strode to her side, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. Looking down into her eyes, he held her hand, and her gaze, just longer than was proper, and she shivered as if she could feel the warmth of his touch travel from her gloved fingers through her entire body.

“Until tomorrow, Miss Welch,” he murmured, bowing himself out.

 

–

 

Jenny stood where he had left her for some time, trying to sort through her conflicting feelings. She found his presence exhilarating, but his proposal audacious. As if she would ever give in to a proposal of marriage simply because the gentleman had a handsome face and a charming manner! She had righteously rejected the last three fortune hunters who had dared to propose. Her withdrawn lifestyle and reputation as a bluestocking had held off others who might otherwise have been tempted by her fortune to seek her out. So even if he had been more charming than the others, why should she encourage him?

Perhaps because his face had been so solemn when he’d confessed his lack of funds, making him look years older and not a little weary. Perhaps because she had been wishing so fervently for a change. She had started to tell him that she had no interest in marrying, but found she could not bring the words to her lips given her latest mood. She had started to amend it to say that she had no interest in marrying him, but he was too uncannily like the vision of her handsome prince for that to be true either. While she was still sure she could never bring herself to be courted by a fortune hunter, driving with him might indeed be enjoyable, and it would definitely be different from her usual occupations.

A cough roused her from her thoughts, and she turned to see Fiching and Miss Tindale peering in the open doorway.

“Did you accept him, miss?” her butler asked hopefully.

“Did you send him packing?” Martha asked with equal hope, obviously having been told the story by Fiching.

“Neither,” Jenny replied with a toss of her head. She walked past them to the stairs. “We are going driving tomorrow.”

As she climbed to the second floor, she wondered if twenty-four hours would be enough time to choose a suitable outfit.