My Dear Miss Dupré, page 9
Willow set down her hot chocolate and slowly slid her hand across the table, her fingertips brushing the top of his knuckles. He allowed himself to hold her hand, then released it at once, knowing what such a display could cost her should anyone recognize them.
“Yes, Teddy. You have a great chance. And I promise that I will not string you along if my heart tells me otherwise.”
He lifted the crimson rose from the vase and held it out to her. “Then that’s all I can hope for . . . at least for now, my dear Miss Dupré.”
Seven
What do you mean, Day happened upon you?” Oscar Seaborne crossed his arms over his broad chest, his agitation slipping through his smile as he towered over Willow from her place upon the stool, plucking the strings of her harp in the middle of a rather difficult sonata. “I thought this was supposed to be a fair competition.” He gave a short laugh and turned the page of the sheet music on the stand for her, his shadow blocking the next note in the flickering candlelight that her mother had insisted was more romantic than using the gaslights.
She guessed at the notes, the immediate discord making her flinch as she hurried on to the next note to disguise her blunder.
“If I had known that I could have ‘happened upon you,’ I would have sought you out, as well. This is the second time in two days this has occurred. And I am certain, being a businesswoman, that you know there are ten of us who have not yet even been out with you.” He sent her a wink to soften his words.
She paused, the unfinished melody irking her fingers, yet Mr. Seaborne had a point. She leaned forward, using her shoulder to set down her gilded harp before straightening the sheet music, gathering her patience. She folded her hands atop her golden skirts in an attempt to remain sympathetic, but it was growing difficult, as her chin was throbbing and her dull headache had now reached her temples. She shifted uneasily and caught Teddy edging toward her despite that their being together any more today would further disquiet the men. “Mr. Seaborne, you are absolutely right. I apologize for the breach in etiquette to you and to the others.”
He coughed, reddening a bit. “Thank you for recognizing that . . . this hasn’t been the easiest competition. I never thought I would be in a situation where the woman I am courting is also balancing fourteen other relationships.”
She smiled, dropping her gaze to her hands. “Me neither, and I know I am doing a poor job of it.”
“I am not usually a jealous sort of fellow.” He ran his hands through his wavy brown hair. “But, with this competition, I find that every little moment is heightened and could have a thousand other implications for my future. Frankly, it is all rather exhausting.”
Willow jerked her head up to look at him. Mortified. Here she was thinking only of herself and her future. She had never thought it could possibly be as hard for the men as it was for her to picture a future. And if they happened to be able to build an idea of a life with her, and she hadn’t even glanced their way in a day . . . she shook her head, knowing how she would feel if the situation were reversed. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
He shrugged. “You have had enough to worry about.”
“Well, that is no excuse, but I do have a little surprise in store that may help alleviate your frustrations about not having any time today.” She rose from the stool and faced the rest of the men in the music room and gave a brilliant smile. “I will be joining you for a special dinner that my mother has so graciously arranged for us.” At the mutterings about the room, she pictured it from their perspective. What could possibly be special about a dinner? It is not as if they hadn’t already had several dinners with her. Willow looked to Mr. Lennox, who was whispering to Mr. Pruett. “Mr. Lennox, do you have a comment that you would like to add?”
He shuffled, uncomfortable that Willow had heard him, his left eye twitching behind his monocle. “I was simply thinking that the only ones at a dinner table who can visit with you are the ones in your immediate circle. The rest of us look like fools staring and wondering what jest was made to cause you to laugh.”
“This dinner is special, as we shall be having an indoor picnic dinner.” She beamed at their cheers, relieved to have done something right today, and crossed the room to pull the bell cord to signal the staff, lingering for a second with her hand against the wall for support when Cullen joined her, his hand at her elbow.
“Theodore informed me of your spill. You should take care not to overdo it.”
“You are one to speak. What are you doing out of bed?” Despite her scolding, Willow’s heart leapt at being near him again after their almost-kiss at the doctor’s, and without thinking of what she was doing, she relinquished her hold on the wall and eased her weight onto Cullen’s hand, allowing his strength to support her. “I should have taken Mr. Day’s advice and kept off my feet, for I fear I am making a mild headache much worse due to my innate desire to please everyone.”
“Is that an invitation to carry you to the nearest settee?” he teased, but she caught an unmistakable gleam of desire to carry through with his scandalous proposal.
“And risk the jealousy of the gentlemen? I fear some of their tempers are worse than Mr. Doyle’s on my board.”
“I am not certain who Mr. Doyle is, but I assure you, it is well worth it to me to risk any jealous revenge if it means I can hold you in my arms between the space of here and the settee. I can manage the men, though something tells me you can more than hold your own against an irate, irrational suitor.”
His faith in her warmed her. Most times she acted more self-assured than she felt, hoping that one day she would eventually possess her father’s confidence in the workplace. “How is your head?”
“I have had a nasty headache since the accident and kept to the conservatory for a moment of quiet, but this afternoon, your sister Philomena found me and was quite helpful in offering me a homeopathic remedy to help aid the headache powder into functioning more efficiently. And Sybil worked to raise my chances in the competition by divulging all sorts of diverting stories about you over chess.” He grinned. “I told them they weren’t allowed to visit with any of us suitors yet, but they said they had permission from your mother, given my circumstances.”
Touched by her sisters’ thoughtfulness, she pressed a hand over her heart. “Oh, Phil. I wouldn’t be surprised if she attempted to open an apothecary one day. And dear Bil better not have told you anything terrible about me.”
He waggled his brows at her last question and merely shrugged. “Perhaps. As for the apothecary business, I would not doubt Phil’s ability to do so. After all, with her sister pioneering the business world, it would not be that outlandish for her to wish to become an apothecary.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The peppermint concoction she gave me has me feeling much better already.”
“Oh. That’s why you do not smell like yourself.” She froze as the words left her mouth, realizing just how reprehensible they sounded. “If you’ll excuse me, I best check on the others.” She dropped her hold on him and was crossing the room to speak with Fritz when she caught Mr. Seaborne’s conversation in passing.
“Of course, she doesn’t exclude Theodore, nor the other three from the previous outing,” Oscar complained under his breath to Digory Pruett. “How are we supposed to have any time with her when competing against everyone at once?”
She winced. Again, she had not thought of that. Willow could just imagine the headlines tomorrow, declaring her ineptness. Skirting away from Mr. Seaborne, she joined Fritz and engaged him in small talk until the doors opened and the servants entered behind Father on his cane and Mother, who directed where the plaids were to be spread over the Persian rug and pillows were to be strewn about, wicker baskets bulging with goods atop each blanket to enhance the picnic aesthetic Mother sought.
Mother excused her from Fritz and pulled Willow away to speak privately. “There is nothing quite so relaxing as a picnic, is there, dear?”
“And being relaxed is exactly what I need at the moment with fifteen men’s gazes on me. Thank you.” Mother was truly surprising Willow with her unique ideas to drive her together with her beaus. In the past, she had dismissed her mother’s suggestions, yet now Willow was beginning to see her in a new light. Even though Willow took after her father, there was a reason why Mother and Father complemented each other.
Mother winked at her. “That’s why I thought of this. Many years ago, my mother did the same for me and my beaus to create an enchanting atmosphere while eliciting jealousy to bring about a swifter proposal from my favored suitor.”
“And did it work?”
“Your father proposed within two weeks of courtship, so I’d say so.” She sighed, smiling and nodding over the room, pleased with her work. “It looks magical. I wish your sisters could join you, but I think we should attempt to keep them apart from your beaus a little while longer. At least until you have narrowed them down.” She nodded toward Cullen, who was helping a footman spread a blanket. “But I’m afraid they rather like him already.”
Willow lowered her voice. “They have no worries on that score. I agree, however, that they shouldn’t mingle yet, though I will miss their feisty additions to the conversation. Please tell them that I will stop by their room tonight to catch them up on all the details.”
Mother nodded toward Digory Pruett and whispered, “Now, how about you ask Mr. Pruett to be your partner for dinner?”
Willow bit her lip. “I was hoping to speak more with Mr. Quincy.”
“Very well, but do try to visit with Mr. Pruett at some point this evening.” Her lips pursed at a footman’s arrangement of a blanket over a Louis XIV chair. “A picnic is supposed to aid in a feeling of comradery, and a chair does not accomplish that.” She clicked her tongue and swept off to see that the blankets were arranged to her exact specifications as Father sank into his oversized wing-back chair beside the fire, propping his feet up on a stool while conversing with Mr. Starling and Mr. Jones.
Willow scanned the room and found Mr. Quincy speaking with Cullen in the corner, both their forms inclined in her direction as if covertly keeping an eye on her movements about the room. Such a strange business to be courting so many at once, but a little bit of awkwardness could not be helped. She approached them, smiling at Mr. Digory Pruett and Noah Walden and Archie Lovett in passing. “Mr. Quincy? Would you mind joining me?”
An undeniable excitement sparked in his blue eyes. “My dear Miss Dupré, I thought you would never ask.”
Cullen shifted, obviously perturbed. “You still owe me that private dinner, Miss Dupré.”
“Soon,” she promised as she took Kit’s arm, then walked toward the room’s arched alcove and semicircle of floor-length glass doors where a blanket was spread, providing them with a modicum of privacy. Sinking onto the plaid, her skirts billowed about her in a golden cloud while thoughts of her girlhood infatuation came flooding back.
“It feels like a fortnight since our waltz. I half thought that you had forgotten me.” He flipped open the basket and peered inside.
“You know, you don’t need to wait to speak with me whenever I come to the library to visit. You can come to me.” She leaned forward and whispered, “And I give you permission to seek me out, but do not tell the others, else I will never get anything finished.”
“It shall be our secret.” He lifted out two crystal glasses from the basket and handed one to her before retrieving a corked, frosted bottle of what appeared to be lemonade, sending her mouth to watering.
“Ah, looks like there is enough room for three.” Fritz plopped down on his side without invitation, bracing himself up on his elbow, his hand holding his head in such a boyish, carefree manner that she did not have the heart to scold him for his indecorum, though she did not wish to share her time with Kit Quincy.
Kit’s jaw tightened and he openly glared at Fritz in a rare show of annoyance. “Hardly.”
Fritz sat up at that, the jovial light in his countenance fading. “Sorry, Kit. I won’t stay then, but I do have something for you, Willow.” He reached into his coat and retrieved an envelope and handed it to her.
She turned it over, finding it blank. “What is this in regard to?”
He sighed theatrically. “Do you know nothing of romance, my lady? I shan’t spoil the mystery. Open it later.” He winked at her before hoisting himself to his feet and leaving her with Kit.
“Do you enjoy picnics, sir?” Willow insouciantly slipped the envelope into her hidden pocket that she required her seamstress to include in all her dresses, including her evening wear, and took a sip of the cool, tart lemonade.
Kit removed a delightful meat pie for two from the wicker basket. “Quite. And what a novel idea to have one indoors.”
“Thank you, although it is not of my design. I was recently accused of not having enough excitement in my life, which is why my mother is planning all sorts of strange activities for us to do. She says it will help me bond with my future husband and bring me in touch with my younger self.”
Using a silver pie knife, he scooped a generous portion of meat pie onto a plate for her and handed it over with a fork before fixing his own plate. “Now that I think of it, it is rather brilliant to create opportunities for adventure, amusement, and of course romance, to aid in speeding up the process that typically can take a few seasons to fully blossom.” He lifted a steaming forkful of pie and popped it into his mouth. “If I recall correctly, you always had a knack for adventure that landed you into trouble. And the last we spoke, you also mentioned harboring an affection for me after my rescuing you.”
“Mr. Quincy! Such a thing to bring up over dinner.” She could not halt the blush from burning her cheeks. She set aside her fork for the cool glass again. “I told you that in a moment of nostalgia and I regret it sorely now.”
“Come now. There is no harm after all these years to admit to such a thing.” He raised his glass to her. “I brought it up to thank you. For it gives me courage to dare to hope.”
She took in the masterpiece before her with his broad shoulders, dark complexion, with streaks of gray appearing at his temples. “As long as we are being candid . . .” She kept her voice low despite the steady hum of conversations about them. “What is the draw for you to be here? You are wealthy and . . .” Dashing and impossibly kind.
“And?” He raised his brows, waiting.
“And, well, good-looking and sweet, if you must make me spell it out.” She laughed, taking a tiny bite of pie. “What can I possibly offer you that would tempt you to endure such a competition? You could have anyone you like. You should have anyone.”
He set aside his fork, propped up one knee, and rested his arm on it. “I know why you are hurrying into a marriage, Willow. As you are aware, my cousin is on the board, Mr. Lowe, and he mentioned to me the ultimatum.”
She swallowed hard. She had feared word would get out. “So, you know that they do not respect me . . . that they find me wanting as a leader.” The shame nearly overwhelmed her. It was one thing to receive such news from her parents and endure the board’s judgment behind closed doors, yet it was quite another to discuss it with a man she so admired.
“I think you may need to reexamine yourself, Miss Dupré. While there is a gap in our ages, yes, and I have lived a bit more of life than you have, I have kept an eye on you for years.”
“Years?” She ran her finger along the rim of her glass, her heart hammering.
“A platonic interest, of course, for I was engaged for part of the time. But during that period, I found you to be kind and brilliant and devout. You are more than your business, your family, and wealth.” He took her hand in his. “You have an inheritance that is incorruptible, which will never fade away.”
Willow dropped her gaze to her plate at the reference to the book of First Peter, her breath catching, touched. Never had a man spoken to her thus. More than my wealth? More than my name? Unbidden tears filled her eyes, but to disguise that fact, she reached for the basket on the pretense of looking for dessert. They finished the rest of their meal over talk of Kit’s pursuits and were just beginning on his aspirations when Cullen approached her with a bow.
“Miss Dupré and Mr. Quincy, I apologize for interrupting, but I noticed you had finished your dessert and I was wondering if I may take a turn with you, Miss Dupré?”
“Of course.” She placed a hand on Kit’s sleeve. “Thank you for the lovely conversation and encouragement. I look forward to finishing our discussion at a future time.”
“My pleasure. I meant every word.” He rose with her and bowed.
“Right this way, my lady.” Cullen escorted her to the adjoining room, where a silver pot and two cups awaited on a side table before a fire, along with a sweet nosegay in a crystal glass of water.
“How lovely.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “Did you do this?”
“I think it was the Fae.” He winked at her and continued to hold her hand as she sat on the tête-à-tête love seat with its backrests that curved in the shape of an S, which allowed them to visit face-to-face while still maintaining propriety. Though her mother had acquired the piece of furniture when Willow came of age, she had not made much use of it as yet, much to her mother’s dismay.
He reached for the pot. “Allow me.” He poured her a cup of chocolate and handed it to her, their fingertips meeting for half a second. “I wanted to apologize for ruining your outing and then collapsing upon you at the doctor’s front door.” He ran his hands through his hair, revealing a battered ear. He settled onto the love seat, teacup in hand.
“It wasn’t you who ruined the outing. It was Mr. Harolds. And besides, it is not every day that the damsel gets to rescue the hero in distress.” She sent him a brazen wink and sipped from her teacup.
