Not Just a Wallflower (A Season Of Secrets #2)(17)
Author: Carole Mortimer

‘Yes.’ No need for Justin to ask from whom the other man had heard that snippet of information; the dowager duchess and Lady Cicely, along with Lady Jocelyn Ambrose, were, and always had been, as thick as thieves!

‘My grandmother mentioned how happy it has made the dowager duchess,’ Hawthorne confirmed Justin’s surmise.

Happy did not even begin to describe Edith’s jubilation in having Justin living with her at Royston House. Indeed, the dowager was so contented with the arrangement that her health seemed to have improved exponentially, to a degree that there had been no need for any further calls to Dr Franklyn.

A fact which relieved Justin tremendously. Although he couldn’t help being a touch suspicious of this rapid improvement in her health…

Cynical of him, perhaps even egotistical, but Justin found he could not help but wonder if the dowager’s recent ill health had been yet another ruse on her part, one that had succeeded in his agreement to reside at Royston House, at least, and as such put him another step closer to the idea of matrimony?

It would please him, of course, to know that his grandmother’s health was not as precarious as she had given him the impression it was, but it would irritate him immensely if he were to learn that he had fallen victim to her wily machinations.

Except Justin knew he wasn’t living with her solely out of concern for her health, that it was also concern for Eleanor—which she would likely not appreciate if she knew of it—that had been the main factor in his decision. He was only too well aware now of Litchfield’s viciousness of nature, which in turn made Eleanor, and Justin’s grandmother, both prime targets if the earl should decide to act upon that viciousness.

‘Royston…?’

Justin gave himself a mental shake as he returned his attention to Hawthorne. ‘You mentioned your upcoming nuptials…?’

The other man nodded. ‘You have made quite an impression on my darling Magdelena, you know.’

‘Indeed?’ He eyed the other man warily; Miss Matthews was a beautiful and charming young woman, and he had been pleased to assist Hawthorne in freeing her of the devil who had been so determined to ruin her life, but other than that he had no personal interest in her, and if Hawthorne thought otherwise—

‘So much so,’ Hawthorne continued, ‘that she will hear of nothing less than that you stand as one of the witnesses at our wedding.’

‘Me?’ Justin could not have been more shocked if Hawthorne had invited him to dance nak*d at Almack’s!

Hawthorne’s eyes gleamed with devilish laughter. ‘I realise how unpleasant that task must be to one as opposed to matrimony as you are, but Magdelena is set upon the idea.’ And he was obviously a man so much in love with his future bride that he would allow nothing and no one to deny her smallest desire.

Ordinarily Justin would have found it repugnant to witness such a change in character as he had seen in Hawthorne since he had fallen in love with Miss Matthews. But, for some inexplicable reason, Justin now found his main emotion to be curiosity.

An unhappy first marriage had soured Hawthorne to repeating the experience. Until he had met and fallen in love with Magdelena Matthews, an occurrence which Hawthorne did not at all seem to regret. Indeed, the very opposite was true; Justin had never seen the other man look happier than he had these past few weeks.

Where were Hawthorne’s feelings of resentment at the thought of conceding his freedom? Of being led about by his nose and his manhood for the next forty years? Of the possibility, unless he took a mistress, of sharing his bed with the same woman for decades? Also, Hawthorne had a young daughter from his first marriage—had he thought of her welfare in all of this—?

‘Magdelena and your ward, Miss Rosewood, have become such fast friends these past few days.’

Justin straightened abruptly as he realised he had once again allowed himself to become so distracted by his own thoughts, he had not been paying attention to Hawthorne’s conversation. ‘Did you say Miss Matthews and Eleanor are now friends?’

The other man nodded. ‘They have become inseparable since the night of the Royston Ball.’

Which explained why Eleanor had been accompanying the dowager on her visits to Lady Cicely’s home recently, as Miss Matthews was residing with Lady Cicely until after the wedding.

‘Indeed,’ Hawthorne continued, ‘the two of them are out together now, in the company of our mutual grandmothers, deciding upon material for Magdelena’s wedding gown.’

Damn it, it appeared that Hawthorne knew more about Eleanor’s movements than he did! Which, given the circumstances of her complete aversion to his own company, was not so surprising…but was incredibly galling.

‘My young daughter, Amanda, who is to be a bridesmaid, is also with them,’ Hawthorne relaxed back in his chair. ‘A great concession on her part, believe me, as she would much rather be in the stable with her pony than shopping for dresses. I believe it was her deep affection for Magdelena and Magdelena’s for her—and, of course, the bribe of calling at Gunter’s for ice-cream, once the unpleasant task has been completed—which went a long way towards convincing Amanda otherwise!’

So it seemed that Hawthorne’s daughter from his first marriage had not been in the least excluded from her father’s happiness in his forthcoming marriage. Or, quite obviously, the time and affections of her future stepmother.

Hawthorne quirked a questioning brow. ‘Why are you looking at me so strangely?’

Justin’s jaw tightened; he had not realised he was being so obvious. ‘You appear—’ He stopped, gave a wave of his hand and then tried again. ‘You actually seem to be happily anticipating remarrying, Hawthorne.’

The other man grinned. ‘Incredible, is it not, considering our conversation on the subject just weeks prior to the announcement of my betrothal?’

A conversation in which both men had voiced their aversion to entering into the married state—Hawthorne ever again, Justin until some distant time when he could no longer avoid his duty of providing the heir—both men bemoaning their grandmothers’ machinations in trying to bring that unhappy event about for them.

‘Perhaps we are all to receive news of another betrothal quite soon…?’ Hawthorne suggested.

Justin stiffened warily. ‘What on earth do you mean?’ Close as Eleanor’s friendship with Miss Matthews was purported to be, he could not imagine Eleanor confiding their lovemaking to the other woman. And even if she had, Eleanor’s aversion to his company did not in the least give him the impression that she hoped there would be more of the same, or that it would eventually lead to a proposal of marriage. The opposite, in fact! It was—

‘I am referring to Endicott and Miss Rosewood, of course.’ Hawthorne eyed him curiously.

Lord Charles Endicott and Eleanor?

That young pup Charles Endicott and Eleanor!

What the devil was going on? He almost couldn’t think straight as lights seemed to explode behind his eyes.

‘It would be considered a good match for your young ward,’ Hawthorne continued conversationally, seemingly unaware of Justin’s sudden turmoil of emotions. ‘Endicott is both wealthy and second in line to a dukedom.’

Admittedly, Endicott was indeed as Hawthorne described, and at two and twenty, he was also considered charming and handsome by those society mamas looking for a suitable and wealthy son-in-law. But as far as Justin was aware Eleanor had only met the other man once, on the evening of the Royston Ball, when she stood up to dance a single set with him. Of course, he had noted that one of those dozens of bouquets of flowers, delivered the day after the ball, could have been sent from Endicott, but even so…

Justin gave a decisive shake of his head. ‘I have no idea how you have hit upon such a misconception, Hawthorne, but I assure you that Eleanor does not have any such ambitions where Endicott is concerned.’

‘Oh?’ Hawthorne looked surprised. ‘In that case, perhaps it might be kinder if she were to discourage his attentions, rather than appearing as if she enjoyed them.’

Justin looked confused. ‘I have absolutely no idea what the devil you are talking about!’

The other man gave him a speculative glance before replying slowly, ‘No, apparently you do not…’

* * *

‘What do you think, Ellie?’ Miss Magdelena Matthews prompted as their party stood outside Gunter’s confectioner’s shop in Berkeley Square. ‘Was that not the most delicious ice-cream you have ever tasted?’

Ellie returned the smile. ‘Most certainly.’ It was also the only ice-cream she had ever eaten; there had been no money for such extravagance as this during her childhood and she had never been to London during her years as Lord Frederick’s stepdaughter, nor had there been the time, or the money, to indulge in such things since she had become companion to Edith St Just.

But Ellie had hoped—willed herself—to give every appearance of enjoying herself, as she conversed and smiled and ate her ice-cream with the others in their party, the enchanting Miss Amanda Hawthorne having most especially enjoyed the latter treat.

Yes, outwardly, Ellie felt sure she gave the impression of happiness and contentment. Inwardly, it was another matter, however…

This past three days, since the evening of her error in allowing Justin to make love to her in her bedchamber, and realising she was in totally and futilely in love with him, despite his behaviour, had been nothing short of hellish, made more so by the fact that the duke now also lived with her.

As arranged, he had duly arrived at ten o’clock the following morning, his entourage of valet and private secretary in tow, the former arranging for the excess of luggage to be placed in the ducal chambers situated at the front of the house—well away, thank goodness, from Ellie and the dowager duchess’ apartments at the back of the house—whilst the latter took over the study and library for the duke’s personal use.

Edith St Just, as predicted, had been beside herself with joy at this turn of events. Indeed, the dowager had been flushed with excitement ever since, thankfully showing no sign of the illness or fatigue that had previously plagued her, as she happily reorganised the household to fit around the duke’s daily schedule.

Ellie had been far from joyous. In fact, she had hoped, once Justin had time to consider the matter following the incident in her bedchamber, that he would have sensitivity enough to find a way in which to delay—indefinitely!—his plans to move in.

She should have realised that would be expecting too much from a man who obviously cared for nothing and no one, other than his grandmother’s comfort and, of course, his own!

Ellie was therefore left with no choice but to absent herself from Royston House as much as possible. Something that had proved only too easy to do when the invitations, to theatre parties, dances and assemblies, and alfresco dining, had flooded in following her success at the Royston Ball. And, too, she had developed a deep friendship with Magdelena Matthews, the two of them finding they had much in common as they talked together whilst the dowager was visiting with her dear friend Lady Cicely.

Indeed, if not for Justin’s depressingly broody presence at Royston House, and her unrequited love for him, Ellie knew she would have enjoyed her change in circumstances immensely.

Indeed, she was determined she would enjoy herself, in spite of the brooding, distracting Duke of Royston!

She turned to smile at the young, handsome gentleman standing beside her. ‘How fortuitous that we should meet you here today, my lord.’

Lord Charles Endicott gave a boyish grin. ‘Not so much, when you consider that I overheard you and Miss Matthews discussing the outing when I chanced upon you during your walk in the park yesterday.’

‘That was very naughty of you!’ She laughed merrily.

His eyes warmed with admiration for her appearance in a gown of pale green with matching bonnet. ‘A man has no shame when he is in pursuit of a woman!’

She raised auburn brows. ‘And are you pursuing me, my lord?’

‘Doing my damnedest, yes.’ He nodded, a gentleman aged in his early twenties, with fashionably styled dark hair and flirtatious brown eyes set in that boyishly handsome face. ‘Excuse my language, if you please,’ he added awkwardly.

‘I find your remark too flattering to be in the least offended,’ Ellie assured with another chuckle; Lord Endicott was perhaps a little too much of a dandy in his dress for her tastes, but otherwise she found his company to be both pleasant and uncomplicated. Unlike another certain gentleman she could name!

‘Will you be attending Lady Littleton’s musical soirée this evening?’ he enquired eagerly. ‘If so, might I be permitted to—?’

‘My ward plans to spend this evening at home, Endicott,’ a cold voice cut repressively across their conversation.

A voice Ellie recognised only too easily.

As indeed did the others in her group as they all turned in unison to look at him, the dowager with some surprise, Lady Cecil and Miss Matthews with some considerable curiosity.

Ellie took a moment to straighten her spine—and her resolve—before she also turned to look at him, instantly aware that neither her straightened spine or her resolve were sufficient for her to withstand the icy blast of his glittering blue gaze as it swept over her before alighting on the hapless Lord Charles Endicott, as that young gentleman bowed to the older man.

Lord Endicott was a picture of dandified elegance in his superfine of pale blue and waistcoat of pastel pink, the collar of his shirt uncomfortably high, neckcloth intricately tied at his throat, and giving him all the appearance of a posturing peacock when placed next to Justin’s sartorial elegance, in grey superfine, charcoal-coloured waistcoat and snowy white linen.

Although possibly only half a dozen years separated the two men, they were as different as day and night, the one so bright and colourful, the other a study of dark shadows.