Julia Justiss - A Most Unsuitable Match

‘The breeding you just disparaged?’ he pointed out.

‘Nothing wrong with the blood,’ she flashed back. ‘Just with several recent possessors of it.’

Declining to point out the lack of logic in that statement, he said, ‘I happen to believe setting up a trading operation is a better route to wealth than sacrificing myself on the altar of some India nabob hoping to marry his daughter into the aristocracy. Or confirming the whispers already swirling around Bath that I’m a fortune hunter, intent on seducing a rich lady of quality. The “parson’s mousetrap”, they call marriage. Whereas I’d describe being tied to just one woman as more like...fitting myself for a garrotte,’ he teased.

‘A garrotte, indeed!’ she scolded, whacking him on the arm. ‘Those who disparage marrying money never seem to object when someone in their own family manages it. Since you claim to be unable to tolerate wedding an heiress, I suppose you think if you dance attendance on me , I’ll leave you my fortune to invest in that trading empire?’ she asked tartly.

Johnnie merely chuckled. ‘If I were totty-headed enough to entertain that hope, I’d better be prepared to wait a long time! I expect you’ll outlive us all. Besides, I would think your own sons stood in line before me in that regard.’

‘They inherited wealth enough from Woodlings not to need mine.’

‘Your grandchildren, then.’

‘Both my boys had sense enough to marry girls with large dowries. Their brats won’t need my money either.’

‘In any event, I visit you—as you well know—because you’re the most interesting relative I possess. You may leave that fortune to your dog, for all I care.’

‘Hmmph!’ his aunt said, looking pleased at his response. ‘It would serve you right if I left it to some improving school for the instruction of indigent girls.’

As she spoke, the periphery of his gaze caught on a flutter of movement. Turning in that direction, he realised what he’d seen was the ripple of pale fabric against the green verge beyond the path.

Two ladies walked towards them down the central alley. He’d just begun to turn back towards his aunt when his gaze, scanning lazily upwards, landed on the faces of the ladies and stopped dead.

A bolt of pure physical attraction immobilised him, spiking his pulse, suspending breath. He’d bedazzled dark-eyed maharanis , beguiled matrons famed as the Diamond of their cantonment, but he didn’t think he’d ever beheld a woman more breathtakingly beautiful than the one now approaching them.

Realising, if the walkers continued straight ahead rather than taking the nearby cross-path, they would soon draw too near for him to make any discreet enquiries, he bent to whisper in his aunt’s ear. ‘Good L—Heavens, Aunt! Who is that divine creature?’

Lady Woodlings peered down the path before straightening with a snort. ‘Precisely the sort of female you need to avoid!’

Surprised by her vehemence, he gave the girl another quick glance. ‘Avoid—why? I know fashions have changed since I’ve been away, but she doesn’t look like a high flyer to me.’

‘She might as well be,’ Lady Woodlings retorted scornfully.

‘Aunt Pen, I’m only a simple male,’ Johnnie said with some exasperation. ‘A clearer explanation, please.’

Sadly for a body eager to have the seductive Beauty pass more closely, but fortunately for his compulsion to find out more about her, the lady and her older companion did in fact turn on to the cross-path and proceed away from him. In partial compensation, though, he was able to stare openly at her enticingly rounded figure as she glided away, the gold curls beneath her elaborate bonnet shining brightly in the afternoon sunshine.

‘Very well, Aunt Pen,’ he said, once he was sure they were out of earshot. ‘Who is she and why must I avoid her?’

‘One of the Scandal Sisters. The twin daughters of infamous Lady Vraux.’

No more enlightened by that information, he said, ‘Meaning, she was embroiled in some scandal in London? Remember, Aunt, I left university straight for the army and haven’t been near the city in years.’

With considerable relish, his aunt launched into the tale of a beautiful but immoral, high-born lady who, after presenting her long-suffering husband with a son and heir, proceeded to scandalise the ton by blatantly flouting her many lovers, one of whom sired her second son, another giving her twin daughters. ‘Why the devil Lord Vraux allowed her to name the chits Prudence and Temperance, I can’t imagine! As if transgressing moral boundaries weren’t enough—she must mock them, too.’

‘So the daughter has shown herself as profligate as her mother?’ he probed.

‘Not yet. She’s not even out, officially, though she must be approaching the age where most young ladies would be at their last prayers! The on dit was the girls were to be presented in London this Season—but then, a few weeks ago, two imbeciles just down from Oxford fought a duel over their mother. Of course, a presentation in the face of that would have been impossible. I’m surprised her aunt—that was her father’s sister, Lady Stoneway, walking with her—dares to let the creature show her face, even in Bath! Though one must pity the poor woman, trying to find husbands for such a pair. It won’t be easy, their fat dowries notwithstanding!’

‘But you know nothing to the detriment of the daughter?’

‘How could I, when she’s not out yet?’

‘Precisely my point, Aunt,’ Johnnie said drily.

‘Never you mind, she’ll embroil herself in some scandal soon enough. As I’ve been saying, blood will tell. And you may get that look out of your eye, Johnnie Trethwell!’

‘What look, Aunt?’

‘The look of a hound who’s just scented a fox! Why is it that, whenever one tries to warn some rascal with more energy than sense to steer clear of danger, he’s immediately compelled to charge after it?’

‘Probably because he’s a rascal,’ Johnnie replied with a grin. ‘Come along now, Aunt Pen. Introduce me.’

His aunt drew back, a horrified expression on her face. ‘I will never! I know I’ve been urging you to marry an heiress, but the poor looby who marries that girl? He may be able to spend her money, but he’ll never stop worrying over who he’ll find in her bed.’

‘A pity. I shall have to contrive some other way to make her acquaintance.’

‘Mark my words, John Stewart William Trethwell,’ his aunt said indignantly. ‘Take up with that creature and you’ll never see a penny of my money!’

Johnnie leaned down to kiss his aunt’s hand. ‘There’s nothing for it, then,’ he said as he straightened. ‘You’ll have to leave it to the dog.’

With a hint of a limp, he set off down the pathway, determined to wangle an introduction to the divine Miss Lattimar.

Keeping a discreet distance, he trailed the young lady and her aunt as they left the gardens and proceeded towards the Pump Room. Once there, he was able to station himself across the room from her, where he could observe her without his scrutiny being obvious.

Her beauty certainly did not pale upon closer examination. Eyes of the deepest cerulean blue set in an oval face graced with flawless porcelain skin, full, apricot lips, those glorious golden curls and a figure that approached the voluptuous... He’d never seen a lady so breathtaking. But having seen—and possessed—a great number of ladies, as he observed her behaviour, his scepticism about the validity of his great-aunt’s claims about her character increased.

It wasn’t just the ethereal beauty of her face, which brought to mind the image of angels singing in heavenly chorus. There was a sweet gentleness and deference in her manner towards the lady who’d been identified as her aunt—and a wary caution when they were approached by anyone else. The blush that tinged her cheeks and the slight stiffness in her manner when a gentleman stopped to greet them—even the old retired soldiers there to take the waters—was so at variance to the sort of flagrantly seductive behaviour of which her mother was accused, he couldn’t believe she was cut from the same cloth.