Page 44 of Unending Joy
Stuart’s smile was thin. “’Twould be better to approach through her sisters. I will ask Patience. She, in particular, is quite shrewd.”
Freddy acknowledged the stratagem. “I shall attempt gentle enquiry. If Joy nurtures only mild interest we may yet avert entanglement.”
Carew folded his arms across his broad chest. “All of us will keep watch on St. John henceforth. Gamblers undone today may double their stakes tomorrow. If he loses again, his desperation will surface. I have some connections in the industry I can call upon. If he is under the hatches, they will find out.”
Freddy nodded and tossed off the last of his brandy. Heat chased doubt down his throat. “He will not drag Joy into ruin. That much I swear.”
They all agreed on that point. Carew leaned back and trained that too-perceptive gaze upon Freddy. “And what of your own campaign, Cunningham? London wagers a tidy sum on the moment you cry off your bachelor’s freedom in favour of Miss Partridge’s blue eyes.” Thornhill chuckled, while Stuart raised a brow.
Freddy found himself swirling the dregs of his brandy. “‘Campaign’ gives the matter a military grandeur it does not deserve. I have paid court, danced attendance, fetched shawls, and taken her driving…yet every time prudence urges me to advance to the sticking point, the words turn to dust.” He managed a rueful smile. “Miss Partridge is amiable, certainly, but when I picture a lifetime of conversation I hear only politeweather and agreement with my opinion. I fear a lifetime of no other topic.”
Thornhill gave a bark of laughter, and Stuart’s expression softened to a shade approaching sympathy. Carew said simply, “Then do not propose.” The simple advice settled in the room like a verdict, and Freddy felt its truth root deep.
When at last Freddy took himself off to bed, his candle flame danced, casting long bough shadows upon timbered walls. Freddy paused outside a mullioned window that overlooked the lawn sloping towards Ascot Heath. Under a crescent moon the course shimmered faint silver.
Why should Joy’s admiration for St. John vex him so? Friendship, he told himself wishfully, but jealousy, raw and unvarnished, was the crux of it. He had spent weeks pretending Letty Partridge’s docility pleased him. One fichu-wrecking kitten had proved the futility of that experiment. Instead, Joy, with her spectacles and frank opinions, gales of laughter, and untamed heart, had twined herself around his thoughts. And now a soldier with polished boots and empty pockets threatened his dearest Joy. Freddy dared not delude himself that St. John would tolerate Joy’s and his friendship. Though, if St. John left on campaign, he would not be there to object, would he? one devil in his head reasoned. But your own wife might not tolerate Joy having free run of the house, as it were, the devil continued his unwanted commentary.
Freddy set his brow to the cool pane. If St. John truly needed money, Joy’s dowry would beckon like harbour light to a storm-tossed sailor. The Colonel’s war-forged charm might lure even a wary girl, but Joy was not cunning in subterfuge. If someone like him asked for her hand, she might accept, believing it an adventure. And afterward—he flinched at the possibilities: creditors knocking at Westwood’s door, years alone while the Colonel’s regiment campaigned, Joy’s bright spirit dulled bydisillusion. Though St. John did seem taken with Joy. Did he, perhaps, do the man a disservice?
Freddy straightened, resolve forming firm as stone. Tomorrow he would watch and listen, and, if need be, act. Friendship sanctioned it, but something deeper demanded it. He just couldn’t quite put a finger on what that was.
CHAPTER 14
Maeve burst into the sitting room with that unmistakable sparkle of delight which no effort of decorum could entirely subdue, and with Joy, there was no such restraint. In one lithe movement, she swept up Camilla, held the contented creature aloft, and executed a waltz turn fit to set any Almack’s patroness nodding approval. The kitten submitted with only a few mewls of protest. Joy felt laughter rise at the sight, but knew some news must be forthcoming to bring such delight to her friend.
“My dearest Joy,” Maeve cried, settling Camilla against her shoulder, “Thornhill is to host a ball!”
Joy arched a brow. “And perhaps,” she ventured, folding her hands, “a particular announcement is to illuminate the occasion?”
A dimple flashed in Maeve’s cheek, then permitted herself a small, irrepressible squeal. Joy felt the certainty bloom—this was no mere dance, but the herald of formal betrothal.
“The Duchess of Thornhill’s famed resistance must at last have yielded to the Duke’s wishes,” Joy remarked.
“Indeed it has! I do believe Carew and Grace may have helped in that quarter.”
Rising, Joy pressed Maeve’s free hand. “I am exceedingly pleased for you. Few couples are so handsomely matched.”
Maeve’s fingers tightened round hers. “And I wish—oh, how fervently I wish—that you should share the very happiness that is mine, Joy!”
Joy smiled—sincere, though tinged with that curious ache which attends a friend’s sudden nearness to bliss. “We must hope,” she answered lightly, even as Camilla leapt to the floor and Lord Orville pounced on his sister.
“I have been so consumed by my own prospects that I have hardly asked after yours,” Maeve said, sinking beside Joy on the brocade sofa. “Tell me everything about Colonel St. John. Thornhill swears the Colonel could scarcely remove his gaze from you through the entirety of Ascot.”
Joy traced the brocade’s faded vine with a gloved finger, marshalling composure. “That is hardly the truth as he was scarcely in my presence! There have been no declarations, nor even the hint of one. His attentions, while flattering, have advanced no further than compliments, occasional waltzes, and more talk of bloodstock than of sentiment whilst we ride or drive.”
Maeve’s brows arched in polite astonishment. “No declarations? I am all astonishment! I thought gentlemen of the army prided themselves upon decisive action.”
“Perhaps he practises the patience of a siege,” Joy said, essaying a smile. “In which case I may still escape before the walls collapse.”
Maeve laughed, but sobered when she saw Joy’s expression. “Do you wish to escape?”
“I wish—” Joy paused, aware of the honesty Maeve’s friendship deserved. “I wish to feel certain before I am trapped into certainty. At present I like the Colonel very well, but likingis a slender thread on which to hang a lifetime.” Including her freedom.
Maeve nodded. “Then we shall abandon speculation and attend instead to affairs entirely within our command—new ball gowns!” She rose and declared that nothing short of a visit to Madame Clement would do for a diversion.
Joy could not but laugh. “Must we? The French dragon of pins?” She sighed dramatically. “Very well—provided you promise to guard my person.”
“You are the most unnatural female, Joy!”
