Page 4 of Weave me a Rope
Chapter Two
When Spen visitedhis Aunt Corven the following afternoon and told her about the events in the garden, she refused to sanction the three termagants who had caused Lady Daphne’s accident. “You should not have involved yourself, Spenhurst,” she growled. “Dear heavens, young man, what were you doing in the garden alone? Do you want to be trapped into marriage by some ambitious young trollop? The girl Cordelia, for example? A title-hunting mushroom if ever I saw one.”
That wasn’t Spen’s impression of the young lady. Unless, indeed, she was clever enough to know treating him with veiled disdain and largely ignoring him would attract his attention like nothing else.
Arguing with his aunt was pointless, but perhaps he could appeal to her sense of self-worth, which was as inflated as his father’s. “Lady Daphne was your guest, Aunt Corven, and those three young women—for I shall not call them ‘ladies’—insulted you when they tormented her.”
Sure enough, his aunt was struck by the point. “True,” she said. “I shall need to have a word with their sponsors. Lady Daphne might be simple, but she is the daughter of an earl, and those jumped-up young misses need to be reminded of what is due to her consequence. And mine!”
This gave Spen the result he wanted, and so he complimented his aunt on the cake she had served with his teaand said his farewells, pleading another engagement. As he left, however, she returned to the topic of his angel.
“That girl is a sort of relative of a mill owner or a merchant or some other kind of tradesman. She may catch herself a lesser title, for her dowry is obscenely large, but she shall never be accepted in Society. The best she can hope for is that her encroaching ways will not be held against any sons and daughters.”
Some imp of mischief prompted Spen to comment, “She is pretty and has the manners of a lady.” Both were true, but he should have had more sense. He had to endure a ten-minute lecture on his duty to the title and his family, which precluded him from ever choosing a bride whose breeding was not the equal of his own.
“Though an earl’s daughter would also be acceptable, Spenhurst. We ought not to be too particular.”
He was quietly seething as he descended the stairs of the Corven townhouse. Spen was not a person to his father or his aunt. He was a demmed stud for the Deerhaven bloodline.
It was partly out of pique over his aunt’s attitude he decided he should visit Miss Cordelia, to see she had come to no harm.Lady Daphne and Miss Cordelia, he corrected himself. He should visit them both. He might be a pawn in his father’s dynastic machinations, but he was also a gentleman.
He refused to think about the fact that Miss Cordelia was the lady he could not forget, and she was the one he wanted to see. She was low-born? So what? He wanted to check on her well-being, not propose to her.
All right. He could be honest, if only to himself. He wanted to kiss her. But she was a lady, no matter who her parents were, and he was a gentleman. Kissing was not an option, even if the thought of it filled his mind with images he had better banishbefore their impact on his anatomy became embarrassingly obvious.
He would call on Lady Daphne immediately, for Ashburton House was just around the corner. How did he discover where the other lady lived without word of it coming to his father’s ears? And should he take flowers?
*
Lady Daphne hadtaken no harm, her companion assured him. He had had the happy thought of buying two bouquets of flowers, one for Lady Daphne and one for Miss Faversham, and the older lady, at least, was delighted. Lady Daphne bobbed a polite curtsey, but soon slid off the chair to the hearth rug, where a basket of kittens absorbed her attention. It was clearly her opinion they should stay in the basket, but they were of a different mind. She had no sooner retrieved one than another escaped.
Miss Faversham regarded her with benign affection and confided, “I know sitting on the floor is not quite the thing, Lord Spenhurst, but indeed, I do not have the heart to rebuke her.”
“Certainly, do not do so on my account,” Spen assured her. “I would not for the world spoil her pleasure. She is very gentle with the little beasts.”
“The stable boy brought them inside this morning,” Miss Faversham explained. “They are old enough to be handled and she will do them no harm. It is very kind of you to understand.” She blushed. “We did not expect callers, or I would not have permitted them in the parlor.”
“They are sweet,” Spen said, as one daring feline sniffed at his boots and then reached to bat at the tassels. He picked the little creature up and tickled its tummy, to be rewarded by a strenuous effort to bite his fingers.
Lady Daphne retrieved the kitten, scolding it as she put it back in the basket. “No biting. Biting is naughty.” She then abandoned it to chase after another runaway.
“May I offer you tea?” Miss Faversham asked. Somewhat reluctantly, if Spen was any judge.
“Thank you, but I must be on my way,” Spen said. “I should also call on the other lady of last night. Her aunt was Mrs. Walters, and I heard the younger lady addressed as Cordelia. I do not suppose you know her direction.”
He was in luck. Miss Faversham confirmed the lady was a Miss Cordelia Milton and gave him the address. She found it necessary to explain the circumstances as if there was something a little shameful about the fact, that she and Mrs. Walters had struck up a sort of friendship in the wallflowers’ corner. “She is really a most gentile lady,” Miss Faversham said, adding, “given her circumstances. And Miss Milton has had a most superior education.”
Armed with the information he needed, Spen made his farewells and set off to buy two more bouquets.
Mr. Milton occupied a large townhouse in one of the newer squares in Mayfair. Spen wondered what the man’s neighbors thought of his presence, but certainly, there was nothing in the house or its appointments to hint that the owner was an upstart. A very proper butler accepted his card, informed him that the ladies were receiving, and conducted him up a flight of stairs to the drawing room.
Unlike the parlor at Ashburton House, the room was full of callers. Not a large enough crowd to bring on his affliction; that would take thirty or forty, all strangers. He’d learned to tolerate and even enjoy smaller groups long ago.
But nine callers, all male, were a lot for a medium-sized parlor. Spen even recognized a few. If the rest were of the sameilk, Miss Cordelia Milton was being besieged by gazetted fortune hunters and rakes.
For a moment, he watched her unobserved. She was, he had noticed last night, quite similar in overall shape and size to Lady Daphne. Her curves were a little more pronounced. In daylight, he could see that her hair and eyes were not as pale in color—Lady Daphne’s hair was near white and her eyes the pale blue of a winter horizon, whereas Miss Milton’s hair tended towards gold and the blue of her eyes echoed a summer sky.
Nonetheless, Miss Daphne was merely pretty, but the intelligence in Miss Milton’s face as she chatted with her admirers made her lovely to him. She looked up when he was announced, smiled, and rose to her feet to come and meet him. “Lord Spenhurst, how nice of you to call.”
