Page 47 of Unending Joy
Stuart closed the notebook. “A reliable Bow Street Runner can be engaged by dusk. He will observe St. John’s lodgings, track his movements, note all rendezvous. Give me a few days.”
Westwood nodded approval. “Do so. Meanwhile we must not alarm Joy.”
An ironic smile touched Freddy’s mouth. “I doubt much can ruffle Joy. But I shall try to keep mum.”
Rotham, who had watched the exchange with mingled amusement, now stretched. “If your Runner digs up nothing, will you concede the gentleman’s honour?”
Freddy met his gaze squarely. “If he proves himself honourable I will rejoice, for Joy deserves no less, but until then, I reserve judgement.”
With the business temporarily concluded, the circle’s attention drifted back to politics. Montford was indignant that anyone would postpone the coronation purely to bully a royal spouse. Westwood argued that public opinion must cool or else stones would fly. Freddy, distracted, let the talk wash over him. If only information could be won about St. John as readily as rumours about the Queen Consort flew about the club.
Yet, what could he do?
Freddy excused himself, then began walking, destination ambiguous. He needed time to clear his head. Something did not feel right about St. John, yet there was nothing to discredit him. Maybe he had dipped too deeply at the races, but that was nothing more than half thetoncould claim at one time or another. It certainly did not make him unworthy, unless it was something he could not recover from. He was a decorated soldier from a good family. If he made Joy happy, then that mattered above all else.
Freddy knew he should go back to wooing. He could make some afternoon calls and take someone for a drive or walk through the park, yet he soon found himself in Berkley Square.
“Good day, Hartley.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Cunningham. Miss Joy is in the garden with the cats.”
“Of course she is. I know the way.” Freddy kept his hat since he was going back outside.
“Very good, sir.”
Freddy walked through the house and into the gardens and found Joy sitting on a bench near the small fountain. Frederica was sunning herself next to Joy, whilst Camilla and Lord Orville were romping about with each other.
“Why are you not out making calls, young lady?”
“Freddy! I did not hear you come in.”
“Is your head bothering you?” He shifted completely to concern, and slid onto the bench beside her.
“I think perhaps I am still adjusting to the spectacles. ’Tis nothing for you to concern yourself with.” Frederica rolled over on her back, and Joy began to stroke the cat’s stomach.
“You are certain that is all?”
“Freddy, am I erring in some way? There have been no declarations. St. John has not yet spoken to Westwood.”
Freddy was glad of it, but he did not say that to Joy. Something inside him twisted with pain that anything would make Joy question herself or her worthiness.
Freddy was glad of it, but he did not say that to Joy. Something clawed within—half fury that she should imagine fault, half savage relief that the Colonel was holding his tongue. He watched the wind lift a stray curl from her temple, sunlight glinting off the spectacles’ gold rim. She looked very small just then, almost defenceless, as though a change in breeze might tip her doubts into certitude.
“Erring?” he echoed softly. “Joy, you have done everything except ride into Almack’s on a charger announcing your dowry. A man who cannot gather the courage to speak when you stand before him is hardly a prize worth fretting over.”
She gave a rueful tug at her bonnet strings. “Perhaps he is merely still evaluating me.”
“Evaluating is what one does with horseflesh. People require rather more affection.” Freddy leaned forward, elbows on knees, forcing himself to sound teasing rather than savage. “Besides,the Season is only half over. There is still time for any number of gentlemen to discover your worth; gentlemen who can complete a sentence without military metaphors—or heroics.”
Joy’s mouth curved. “It is rather tedious.”
His pulse lurched. “I confess I save my heroics for emergencies—runaway curricles, damsels in rivers, that sort of thing.”
Joy laughed and the sound loosened a knot beneath his ribs. “What will I do without you to make me laugh, Freddy? Our plan is not meeting with success.”
Freddy did not know what to say to that. Part of him wanted to call an end to searching for anyone else, but she deserved to see St. John’s courtship through, if that was her desire.
“You will never lose me, Joy.”
