The Gentleman Spy: A Guardian/Ward Historical Romance

Chapter 5

‘You never had Father’s will read.’

Beau had trailed Emerald out of the study when she’d brushed past him, mouth agape, eyes wild, but he hadn’t followed her as she’d stormed down the corridor. He’d turned up the stairs and sought out his mother in her private sitting room, where she was poring over a pile of correspondence. The dowager glanced up, her expression bemused.

‘Of what are you speaking, Beauden?’

‘Father’s will. Did Anders read it to you?’ he asked, referencing the family’s long-time solicitor.

The dowager would never do something so unladylike as shrug, but the slight lift of her delicate shoulder came close. ‘There hardly seemed a reason to do so.’

‘I’m shocked he didn’t force the issue. He certainly should have.’

‘Oh, let poor Mr Anders be. He tried,’ replied his mother in sulky tones. ‘You know how men are. They come all undone at the seams when faced with a lady’s tears.’

Beau levelled a stern stare at his mother. ‘However true that may be, I suspect there is an exception when dealing with one’s mama.’ A peevish expression flitted across her face, which he ignored. ‘Miss Doubleday appeared to have no notion of my guardianship over her.’

‘Well, to whom else would such a responsibility fall?’

‘You cannot expect young ladies who have never been out in the world to have a mind for such things. I suspect Miss Doubleday had greater concerns.’ Because of his protracted absence, but his mother was not guiltless in allowing his ward to take on so much of the estate management and so wisely said nothing to condemn him or herself.

‘She’ll be of age soon enough. Who bears that title on paper can hardly matter. It hasn’t for years.’

‘It seems to matter a great deal to her. While I have sole guardianship of Miss Doubleday, you share that responsibility with me where Lou is concerned, of course. Although I have charge of her property and funds, as well as Miss Doubleday’s small dowry, and it is my approval each will require for marriage.’

His mother pretended to examine her finely manicured nails. ‘You say that as if you care who Miss Doubleday selects as a husband.’

‘I do, insofar as he’s not a rake, scoundrel, gambler, drunk, bumpkin, blackguard, flat, fop, blood, buck, Corinthian, rattlepate, hellhound, or wastrel of any other sort. Father desired a good match for her. I will do my part to uphold his wishes.’

A derogatory little murmur was as close to a rebuke as his mother was capable of. ‘You are several of those yourself, are you not?’

With a smile neither open nor encouraging, Beau replied, ‘My attention is all yours, if you care to enlighten me.’ He stared at his mother for another full minute. ‘No?’

With a graceful lift of her chin, the dowager stared down her nose. ‘It was my intention to invite you to attend the assembly in Ramsgate this evening with me and Emerald, although I won’t if you’re going to be uncivil.’

He glanced at his watch fob. ‘It’s half past three. When were you to share your plans?’

‘When the opportunity presented itself, and here we are.’

Beau was standing just inside the open doorway and heard Miss Doubleday’s forceful exhale before he caught sight of her pale blue morning dress. The garment had come under his notice earlier in the study, the way it flattered her figure, the colour like the sky on a winter’s morning.

‘Miss Doubleday.’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ she repeated once more with finality. ‘There is some mistake, a misunderstanding.’

‘Your father left nothing to chance when planning your care until you came of age. When he passed on, my father became your guardian. When my father departed this earth, I became your guardian. I grant you, your father very likely never imagined the latter as a real possibility.’

‘You haven’t even been here,’ she cried.

‘All the same. Had you never wondered whose responsibility you became when my father died? It’s an assumed thing, you know, for guardianship to pass from father to son in cases such as these.’

Her mouth opened and closed as if she were forming words but had decided to eat them rather than speak them. ‘You haven’t even been here,’ she repeated in a whisper. He could see her working through the implications and attempting to suppress her irritation. ‘There is no recourse.’ It was a question but came out more like a statement.

‘You could petition the courts and more likely than not bring them round to the idea of my mother as your guardian. However, as you are neither titled nor richer than Croesus, it would be some time before they heard your case, and by then your majority would be a thing many months past. Take heart, Miss Doubleday. Your birthday is not so very far off. You said so yourself.’

‘Any length of time is an eternity when one cannot do what one pleases.’

‘You have done me an unfair turn if you believe I have any intention of interfering with those things which bring you pleasure.’

Her eyes were as dark as a moonless night, but a faint blush swept across the apples of her high cheekbones. He watched with rapt attention, warmth spreading in his core. She nodded, said not another word, and retreated down the corridor and out of view.

Beau didn’t seehis ward again until he handed her into the carriage bound for the Ramsgate assembly rooms. In the dark, her face was inscrutable, and although she carried on easy conversation with his mother during the ride, she said almost nothing to him. When they alighted in front of the Albion Hotel, he offered one arm to his mother and the other to Miss Doubleday, who cast a sidelong glance at him before placing her hand on his bicep in such a delicate way he wasn’t certain whether she was touching him at all or merely hovering her hand where it ought to rest.

As he helped her remove her cloak in the antechamber, he inquired whether she would permit him to lead her out for the first.

‘That pleasure is already afforded to Mr Lyon.’

‘Charles Lyon?’

‘He’s the one, yes. You know him a little. Or perhaps, as my guardian, you will forbid me from dancing with any partner not personally selected by yourself.’

Her face wore a wide-open, innocent expression. He was not deceived and did not think she expected him to be so. The Lyon family lived in the North, but Charles Lyon and his sister, Miss Esther Lyon, spent a considerable amount of time with an aunt who lived less than ten miles from Oakmoss. Given the young man was closer to Miss Doubleday’s age than Beau’s own, he had very few memories to draw upon when Lyon was mentioned and only remembered him as a slightly awkward youth with troublesome skin and a weak jaw.

‘I already promised not to suspend any pleasure of yours. To that end, is he still a gangly thing at war with his body for control of his limbs?’

Miss Doubleday nodded towards the open doors of the ballroom. ‘He comes this way now. You may judge for yourself.’

Beau turned, and although he knew his features remained neutral, he bit his tongue in dismay. Awkward Charles Lyon needed no padding to fill out the shoulders of his coat and had surpassed Beau in height. A handsome young man was nothing to Beau. A handsome young man upon whom his ward bestowed her most winning smile was an altogether different matter. He pulled his quizzing glass to inspect Mr Lyon, savouring the young man’s quick flinch and fluster as he did so, before inclining his head and greeting him as Beau knew he must.

‘Welcome home, Lord Avon. Your return must be an endless source of joy to your family.’

Lyon was sincere in his sentiments, but Beau struggled against a natural urge to dislike him.

‘The musicians have finished tuning their instruments. You are here to lead my ward out for the first, are you not? Do you always plan your dances so well in advance?’

‘Only when Miss Doubleday is concerned. She is the most elegant dancer in all of Kent and well beyond, if I may be permitted to say, as you will see for yourself.’

Beau watched the pair join three others for the opening cotillion. Mr Lyon wasn’t wrong. Miss Doubleday’s steps were light, her movements graceful. Her face soon pinked with exertion, and she radiated unaffected delight that drew him to the edge of the dance floor. To give his attention to anything other than his ward would have been impossible. The King himself could walk in and Beau’s eyes would remain steadfast on her person, transfixed by her bright, happy smile, the warmth and amusement shining through her dark eyes, the way Mr Lyon clasped her hand, and the roiling knot of jealousy surging hard and sudden through him.

He had been powerless to ignore the jolt of attraction he’d felt when he first saw her—the fleeting moment of cosmic magic which put in front of him a face so striking he could never have imagined and now could never replace. But an urge to flick the four-inch blade out from his black patent opera shoe and retrieve his ward from the side of Mr Lyon at any cost necessary was annoying, inconvenient, and not something on which he cared to linger.

Beau stood motionless, hands clasped behind his back, and ignored the feeble, hesitant, and ridiculous attempts of those trying to capture his attention until his mother came to his side and said, ‘Really, Beauden, I ought to have left you home. Who do you think you are? That Mr Darcy fellow?’

‘My ward is dancing. It’s my responsibility to ensure her partner does not attempt anything untoward.’ At the odd choking sound his mother made, he turned to look at her. ‘Did you just scoff at me?’

‘It wouldn’t matter a jot to you if I did.’

In a steady, even tone, Beau replied, ‘You think me incapable of doing what is right.’

‘Yes, that’s what I was thinking,’ said his mother in a tone suggesting otherwise. ‘I see Mrs Skeffington.’ With those words, she flitted away, leaving Beau to count down the minutes left in the set.

No sooner had Mr Lyon led Miss Doubleday back to Beau than the small group was swarmed with other gentlemen begging the pleasure of her hand for a dance—any dance.

‘The young lady has honoured me with her second. You will excuse us,’ Beau stated with icy hauteur as he folded her hand into his own and ignored her look of burning reproach.

‘How dare you?’ she gritted through a smile as he turned them back to the dance floor. Her fingers were long, delicate, strong, and she crushed his own to illustrate her displeasure.

‘As your guardian, I dare as much as I choose.’ Inside his gloves, his palm burned where it pressed against hers, and he could detect a faint pulse as it beat a fast, agitated rhythm. ‘You may add that to my list of crimes if it pleases you.’

‘I’ve no room left on your sheet.’

They took their places across from one another and waited as other couples completed the set.

‘I see why young Lyon was so eager to secure your first.’

The music began. When they slipped past each other to turn with the other couple, wisps of her sweet, fresh scent filled his chest on a breath.

Miss Doubleday glided to his side. She had just enough time to raise a brow in amused contempt and say, ‘Ah, so that’s what this is about,’ before the steps parted them once more.

‘Indeed.’ Beau was captivated by the exquisite way she wielded her scorn. When she chasséd back to him, he held her hand in his, more firmly than any dance required.

‘Had you only been home to make your own request sooner.’ She held a stiff smile, turning to face him for a promenade, and kept her body as far apart from his as the steps and his hungry grasp would allow.

‘If you wished for my presence at Oakmoss, you only had to say so,’ said Beau when they were once more side by side as the couples around them took their turn. Even in the crowded room, he could hear her sharp inhale.

‘Beg your pardon? You’re suggesting I should have asked you home?’ she hissed between clenched teeth and upturned lips. ‘You needed to be reminded of the responsibilities you continued to shirk with your extended absence? No, you knew what needed to be done and didn’t wish to do it. I suffer under no misapprehension that anything I could have written would have made a difference to the date you deigned to walk through the doors of Oakmoss once more. You could have returned home at any time and chose not to.’

His icy eyes landed on an unknown young lady across from him whose face wore an open, curious expression. When she discovered herself caught in his gaze, she went red as a ripe cherry and shifted her own to one of the dancers moving between them. Miss Doubleday was right, of course, and he was torn between admiration of her forthcoming speech and irritation with her indictment of his character.

‘You know nothing of me nor of my extended absence. Although had I any notion my ward was so popular, perhaps I would have returned sooner to oversee your education and better audit the company you keep.’

She turned her head to fully look at him, and the fire in her eyes set him ablaze. ‘Your concern with my dance partners fascinates me.’

Beau swallowed the growl rising in his throat. ‘You’ve impressed upon me the full effect of my absence, Miss Doubleday. Until you come of age, you have the singular distinction of being the object of my solicitude. May you find the honour both pleasurable and gratifying.’

He watched gooseflesh prickle the skin of her long, graceful neck despite the heat of the room. At his side, his fingers twitched with wanting. The dance ended, and her chest heaved with a full breath, as if startled back to life. With defiant focus on everything around her but him, she applauded the musicians before turning away and melting into the crowd under his acute, inscrutable stare.