“After a number of years, she seems ready to try again,” he said.“Or perhaps the general and his wife have talked her into it. She is at least my age, possibly older. They are probably afraid she will not marry at all.”
“And Colonel Ware is the chosen one?” she said. “Another military man? Have they not learned their lesson?”
“Not everyone dies in battle, thank goodness,” he said. “Though Nick came very close on one occasion. It was a good thing Devlin and Ben—our older half brother—were there in the Peninsula at the time with another regiment. Ben stayed with Nick for a long while to look after him. He refused to let him die. Nick says he often cursed Ben for it at the time. He had a long, painful recovery. And I do beg your pardon. I am not supposed to talk to ladies on such matters. I sometimes forget that I should treat you as I treat all other ladies. You are always so willing to talk about the harder, often seamier realities of life. You are very different. In the best possible way, of course.”
She thought he meant it.
“Besides,” he said, returning to the original subject, “there are no wars in Europe at the moment. Nick is not on active duty. And yes, the Havilands are pretty obvious about their matchmaking intentions. But Nick will marry Miss Haviland only if he chooses to do so. So far he has steered clear of any commitment. However, I do believe he may be ready to settle down at last.”
He concentrated upon the traffic outside the park while he drove her back to Hanover Square.
How could Colonel Ware not be ready to settle down? He was not a very young man, after all. Miss Haviland had no noticeable flaws in either looks or manners. She knew the military life and the hardships it sometimes brought women. They were clearly beingencouraged by her parents. Neither of them had looked reluctant either last evening or this afternoon.
But what about Owen?
So far, he has steered clear of any commitment.
Had he been describing himself as well as his elder brother?
You are always so willing to talk about the harder, often seamier realities of life. You are very different. In the best possible way, of course.
One friend to another.
Not the slightest hint of any romantic intent.
Chapter Five
Nicholas had still not decided quite when he would ask for a formal interview with General Haviland and where, after that, he would pay his addresses to Grace herself, assuming the general granted his suit, which he would surely do. Nicholas was increasingly aware of his procrastination. If only he could besure. Did other men have this problem?
His mother helped him make up his mind. There was a letter from her on the breakfast table in his rooms a week or so after the ball. He settled to read it after helping himself to food and leaning to one side as his man poured his coffee. She had heard from Kitty, her longtime friend, now also her sister-in-law, married to Uncle George Greenfield. The two of them were in London for part of the Season and had attended the Duchess of Netherby’s ball. Nicholas had seen them there and talked briefly with them. Nicholas, Aunt Kitty had written to Mama, had paid marked attention there to Miss Haviland, daughter of his superior officer at the Horse Guards. He had danced twice with her.
“Kitty describes her as a paragon,” his mother had written. “Beautiful, elegant, and accomplished, with polished manners and impeccable lineage. You had better be careful if you do not wish to have your name linked inextricably with the lady’s. Kitty is, of course, a bit of a gossip, but one can be sure that what she has noticed, other people have noticed too. On the other hand, if you have fallen in love at last and are ready to declare yourself but are ever hesitant about the time and place—I know you so well, you see—perhaps you should suggest bringing the young lady and her parents to Ravenswood for a few weeks of the summer. How delightful that would be, and Gwyneth agreed with me when I suggested it to her. We could have a betrothal celebration involving both families. Simply say the word and Gwyneth will send an official invitation. Owen will be here too and Stephanie. Ben too for the week of the summer fete. Perhaps even Pippa.”
Gwyneth was the Countess of Stratton, Devlin’s wife. Stephanie was Nicholas’s younger sister. Ben was his oldest brother—half brother, to be exact. He was the natural son their father had had with a mistress before his marriage. Pippa—Philippa Arden, Duchess of Wilby—was the elder of his two sisters.
Nicholas lowered the letter to the cloth and shook his head in exasperation as he tackled some of the food on his plate before it got cold. Trust Aunt Kitty! In his opinion, she was more thana bit of a gossip. Now the whole of his own family as well as General and Mrs. Haviland were in imminent expectation of a betrothal. Though perhaps having his hand forced was not such a bad thing. Maybe it was just what he needed. If he asked Gwyneth to send the invitation, then he would indeed have no choice but to move ahead with his marriage proposal—provided the invitation was accepted, that was. Nicholas could think of no reason why it would not be.
He hadnotfallen in love. But his mother saw everything in terms of love and romance these days. She had remarried a few years ago and had been blissfully happy ever since with her second husband, who was the village carpenter of all things, though he was also a gentleman in his own right and her childhood friend. They lived what appeared to be an idyllic life in the picturesque cottage they had had built in a secluded spot on the banks of the river that divided Ravenswood property from the village of Boscombe.
Now Mama longed to see her remaining unmarried children—himself, Owen, and Stephanie—happily settled in love matches, though to be fair, she rarely pushed the issue. She was generally content to let her children live their lives their own way while she lived hers.
He nodded to the offer of a second cup of coffee and picked up the letter again. He would write to Devlin and Gwyneth, he decided, and suggest the invitation himself. The request would be better coming directly from him. He had no doubt they would do as he asked. They always enjoyed having houseguests, especially during the summer. Once the invitation was sent and accepted, a few bridges would have been burned, for no one would be able to doubt his intentions.
He read the rest of the letter, in which his mother informed him they were also possibly expecting the presence at Ravenswood of Mr. Joel Cunningham, the renowned portrait artist, for a few weeks. Devlin was trying to engage the man to paintherportrait. Succeeding would be quite a coup, apparently, since the artist’s services were much in demand and his time was at a premium.
“He takes a few weeks to produce one portrait,” she explained. “For a week or so he simply observes and talks to the subject and gets to know her as a person. Only then does he paint and revealthat person from the inside out, so to speak. It sounds quite alarming. I am not sure I would enjoy having my soul laid bare by a stranger intent upon depicting me just as I am for the world to see. However, Matthew feels I should do it, and so I will if the artist agrees to come. It is all very well for Matthew, of course.Heis not the one facing the ordeal of being painted. Apparently, Mr. Cunningham does not paint couples or families but only individuals.”
Joel Cunningham was Miss Winifred Cunningham’s father, Nicholas remembered. A young woman of curious appeal. She was not pretty or well endowed with feminine attributes. She dressed simply and wore her hair scraped severely back from her broad forehead to make herself look even plainer than she might otherwise be. She made no attempt to be charming or alluring. She was opinionated and wrongheaded. She was opposed to all warfare, for the love of God, and considered him cruel because he was a military man. She was unfeminine in every imaginable way—or ought to be. The curious thing was that she was not. Owen seemed taken with her. Was it possible he was considering marrying her? Perhaps it was Owen who had suggested the portrait to Devlin. Perhaps he expected that she would accompany her father if he did indeed accept the commission.
The image of the baby abandoned on the steps of an orphanage in a basket had somehow seared itself on Nicholas’s memory. Life had done well enough for her since then, it was true. But how could one recover completely from such an inauspicious start? It had been total abandonment. Not even a stranger turning over a bundle of baby to someone inside the orphanage, with perhaps a pathetic explanation and tears. She claimed quite adamantly that the mystery of her origins did not bother her, that she considered Cunningham and his wife to be her real parents and all their children to be her siblings.
Nicholas did not believe her.
He roused himself to finish reading his mother’s letter. Apparently, Cunningham was not sure of his answer. He usually spent the summer at home with his family and was unwilling now to be away from them after a bit of a lengthy stay in London. He had written to his wife for her opinion.
“Gwyneth has written to her too,” his mother wrote. “She explained that she understood completely and would respect the need of the family to be together at home during the summer months if that was what they wished. However, if Mrs. Cunningham would come with him to Ravenswood, and all their children too, she and Devlin would be delighted to have them, especially as there is to be the village fete during the summer and the children would be sure to enjoy it. And other guests are expected too. It would all be very jolly. So this is where matters now stand, Nicholas. I remember the large gatherings I used to host at the hall during the summers and long to see a return of the merriment, especially as someone else would be organizing it all this time and I could retreat here to the cottage whenever I wanted some peace. Apparently, the Cunningham family is rather large. But you have met the eldest daughter. Kitty mentioned that the Netherby ball was in her honor and that both you and Owen danced with her.”
Nicholas wrote to his elder brother before going off to the Horse Guards for the day. He dared not delay to ponder the wisdom of making such a decisive move. The time for procrastination was over.
