Julia Justiss - A Most Unsuitable Match

Resisting the strong urge to slap the mocking smile off his face, Pru hesitated. No gentleman, having received permission to take a young lady for a stroll, would go off to do something else until he’d returned her safely to her chaperon. Lord Chalmondy was making it quite clear that, though her fortune might have rendered her acceptable to Lord Halden’s cousin, this duke’s son did not consider her deserving of being treated as a gently born maiden should be.

He was obviously fully aware of her reputation, and would treat her—at least where there was no one from society to reprove him—as one of the Scandal Sisters.

Furious, but determined not to let it show, she said, ‘Clever enough to need no further encouragement to quit the company of gentlemen such as yourself.’

‘Excellent,’ Lord Chalmondy replied, appearing not at all disturbed by her thinly veiled rebuke. ‘You see, Lord Halden, the lady has released you.’

‘You are sure you don’t mind, Miss Lattimar? I’ll see you somewhere later, then. You’ll tender my farewells to your aunt and Lady Isabelle, yes?’

At her curt nod, he dropped her arm, left her there on the pathway and set off with the soldiers.

Fuming...and humiliated, for a few long minutes, Prudence simply stood, watching them lope down the path and out of the park, their loud laughter and jesting trailing after them. Lord Halden never gave her a backward glance.

Still angry, worried her debut in Bath might turn out to be as disastrous as a foray in London would have proved, with dragging steps, Prudence turned around and set off to find her aunt.

Meanwhile, Johnnie Trethwell was limping through his second circuit of the paths at Sidney Gardens. He’d been happy to drop his aunt off to visit one of her cronies rather than have her accompany him, which allowed him to walk at a faster pace. Pushing himself and his knee to the limits of its endurance was the only way he was going to regain its full strength—no matter how much he was going to regret that determination come evening, when it would likely pain him in earnest.

He’d just turned the corner of the outer pathway when he spied Miss Lattimar, walking alone a dozen yards in front of him.

Johnnie halted, stifling his immediate impulse to go to her. He’d felt only too keenly the anxiety on her face in the Pump Room when Markingham had pulled him into the group of soldiers conversing with her and her evident escort, Lord Halden. Not that he’d been insulted by her obvious reluctance to have the Duke’s son know they were acquainted. Though his attentions had been keenly sought the world over by bored matrons with more lust than morals—an arrangement that suited him perfectly well—he was only too aware that keeping company with a man of his reputation would do nothing to help her efforts to entice a proper suitor. Not burdened as she was with her questionable reputation.

He remembered the bleak resignation in her eyes when she stated she had no choice but to adhere to every rule of propriety. For a lady whose extraordinary beauty would normally have given her licence to be as capricious as she chose, that was the saddest comment yet.

He should remain silent and let her go her own way.

But the pathway ahead of her was deserted. There was no one about to see or disapprove. With that treacherous fact to encourage him, he couldn’t quite defeat the desire to talk with her.

Still debating, he quickened his pace, closing the distance between them. Then, as he got nearer, he noticed how dawdling her steps were, how her head drooped and her arms trailed loosely at her sides, her reticule dangling by twisted cords, unnoticed. She looked the picture of—dejection?

Concerned in spite of himself, over his bad leg’s protest, Johnnie pushed harder, until he was within hailing distance. ‘Miss Lattimar!’ he called. ‘What’s this, walking alone? Has a press gang rounded up every man in Bath, or have they all gone blind?’

Under his keenly observing eye, she first stiffened, then straightened, then slowly turned towards him. Hurt and mortification in her expression, she opened her lips to speak, must have thought better of it and forced a smile instead. ‘It’s such a lovely morning, I thought I’d have a stroll while Aunt Gussie rested on a bench.’

He was fairly certain, according to his vaguely remembered standards of conduct for single young females, that walking alone in a respectable garden in a genteel city like Bath with her chaperon nearby wouldn’t be considered precisely fast . But he did clearly recall his more adventurous sister being roundly scolded for leaving her maid behind on such a foray, her governess emphasising that ‘a well-bred young lady never walks anywhere unaccompanied. Never!’

Her troubled expression revealed the same distress he’d read on her face in the Pump Room. As he stood, watching her, something flashed between them, some wordless connection, spurring in him the urge to move closer. He had the absurd wish that he could take her in his arms and somehow ease her burden.

‘Is something wrong? How can I help?’

Her eyes widened with alarm before, shaking her head, she said, ‘How did you know I was upset? I’ve worked so hard on the ability to appear serene, regardless of the circumstances!’

That response was so unexpected—and delightful—he had to laugh. ‘Well, I did come upon you from behind, when your guard was down.’

‘Then you couldn’t have seen my face.’ Her exasperation deepened. ‘Or did I give myself away when I greeted you? Please, let me know! In my circumstances, I must be able to control my demeanour, or the wolves truly will devour me alive.’

That truth was enough to extinguish his amusement. ‘I suppose you’re right. But don’t worry too much. Most people see only what they expect to see. Half the time, they are too occupied with their own needs and desires to notice much of anything around them. If I’m a keener judge, it’s because I’ve had to be. Travelling among various native groups in India, most of them hostile to one another and often to the English, one had to be a keen observer. Able to evaluate a man’s stance and expression to fill in the many gaps in my comprehension of the local dialect, so I might accurately assess whether I was being invited to join a hunt—or was the object being hunted.’

As he’d hoped, that teased out a genuine smile—and he had to suck in a breath. The effect was like coming out of a dark cave into brilliant noon sunshine.

Basking in it, he said, ‘May I escort you back to your aunt? Perhaps we can scandalise and confound a few disapproving matrons on the way?’

But she hadn’t completely recovered, for his joking suggestion brought an immediate, alarmed widening of those enchanting blue eyes. Hastily he added, ‘Excuse me, I was just funning. As you can see, the gardens are deserted. I should be able to return you safely to your aunt without endangering your reputation.’

She looked at him, the wry smile on her lovely lips making him wish she were as scandalous as society branded her, so he might kiss that luscious mouth, right here in the park.

While he beat back the desire, she said, ‘You’re right and I apologise. I’ve been suspicious of you at every turn, while you’ve done nothing but seek to protect me.’ She sighed. ‘If only my reputation were less...tarnished. I wish it were sterling enough to allow me to associate openly with the only man I’ve ever met, outside my own family, who hasn’t judged—and dismissed—my character without meeting me or having me utter a word. How I wish we could be friends!’

Somewhat to his surprise, Johnnie had to acknowledge he shared that wish. Outside his own sisters, he had next to no experience of gently bred maidens, having left England right after university and having carefully avoided newcomers from the Fishing Fleet during his time in India.