The Gentleman Spy: A Guardian/Ward Historical Romance

Chapter 23

‘Really, Beauden, you ought not to make a habit of such entrances,’ his mother said, glancing up from her book as he walked into the morning room of the Calverleigh townhouse on Grosvenor Square.

‘I sent a note signalling my intention to join you in town shortly after you departed, and you replied with a long list of engagements to which you’d committed, underlining the ones you thought I’d most enjoy. It’s hardly a surprise.’

The dowager made a quiet murmuring sound more to herself than to him. ‘A mention without date or time, but you are known to do as you please.’

He stiffened a little at her comment. ‘I am also known to keep my word. Where are Lou and Miss Doubleday?’

‘Your sister is with the dancing master. Poor dear will get all the steps sewn up in the right order eventually. Emerald is at Hookham’s with Mr Abbott. She made his acquaintance at Lady Cawdry’s ball the other night. He seemed quite taken with her.’

A ball he’d been loath to miss, but he’d learned Babin was leaving Kent the same day and used the opportunity to steal into the man’s study through a window on the ground floor and riffle through his correspondence, a gambit which had supplied the names of two co-conspirators but no firm date.

‘Henry Abbott?’

‘Unless you know another.’ His mother studied him with unabashed curiosity. ‘What is that look for, Beauden?’

‘She ought not to spend so much time in his company, or any at all.’ Beau remarked, shuffling through the newspapers on the rosewood end table near the sofa once more.

‘Goodness me. The Abbotts are a perfectly unexceptional family, the children as much as the parents.’

Unexceptional was right. There was nothing notable about Henry Abbott, other than he was the absolute wrong type of man for Miss Doubleday. ‘She can do much better.’

His mother’s gaze drifted up once more, her full attention now settled on him, an interested gleam in her eyes he didn’t care for. ‘Do you think so?’

‘Don’t you?’ he asked, a little offended on Miss Doubleday’s behalf.

‘I think Henry Abbott is well mannered, from a good family, and not unpleasant to look at.’

‘What I heard you say is he’s boring and has had the good fortune not to be horse-faced.’

His mother closed her book and let it settle between her palms. ‘Interesting you should interpret my words so. You know, as well as anyone, a man with a comfortable income and some connections is a good match for Emerald. With her fine countenance, she may secure a baron, or if she is very lucky, a viscount with the means to marry where he chooses, but she will not land a nonpareil and knows better than to try.’

A wave of anger washed through Beau. ‘Should not she also have the option to marry where she chooses? Why is it Father never enlarged her dowry?’

‘I could not say. He discussed the idea with me on more than one occasion but, as you know, never acted. You may do so, of course.’

He could, and should. No one would deny she deserved it. But just as he opened his mouth to say so, he snapped it closed. More than he hated feeling his ward was limited in her choices, he hated the idea of her being courted for her dowry and not her intelligence or kindness.

‘You know, it has only just occurred to me I could as well. How embarrassing to admit I’d never considered such a thing to be in my power, but I’ve money from my own mama.’

‘Funds you intended for Louisa, no?’

His mother lifted a shoulder. ‘Yes, but Lou already has plenty and won’t mind sharing. Besides, I’ve long since considered Emerald another child of mine.’

‘But she’s not,’ he quipped, almost before his mother finished speaking.

‘How ungenerous of you to say so, although I can suppose why you’re anxious to make that distinction,’ the dowager retorted with a smirk.

‘I don’t take your meaning.’

‘I’m certain you do, but if you wish to play the fool, Beauden, this one time I’ll let you. A nod to your honour and diligence in observing the sweeping impropriety of pressing a suit upon your own ward.’

The astonishment Beau felt was not reflected on his face nor in his demeanour, but his mother’s frankness was unwelcome, if only because she dared to hint at feelings Beau had been trying so hard—and failing—to ignore.

‘I commend you on your forthright speech. Now, you only have to say how angry you are with me for my protracted absence, and we may be done with it.’

Shock paled his mother’s face. There were few as English as she in her ability to overlook conflict and discomfort. She gave a little sniff. ‘I am not?—’

Beau didn’t let her finish. ‘You are. Very much so, and rightly too.’ He could tell she was surprised to hear him say so by the slight widening of her eyes. ‘Father knew why I was so often gone. He didn’t approve, which is perhaps why he never mentioned such a thing to you. For him, duty to Oakmoss took precedent above all else. But I needed to carve my own path. I am very glad I did, though I know I stayed away too long. At the moment, I cannot say more, but I hope you will believe my life away was so much more than balls and hunting parties and will accept my apologies for leaving you and Louisa alone in your grief.’

The dowager sat quiet and still. Her countenance had softened, but the look in her eyes was not one of forgiveness. She rose and walked to where he stood, drawing one of his hands to hold between her much smaller ones.

‘I thank you for what you have said. I have been angry with you, but only a very little for myself. What claim can a mother have on her grown-up son? I felt your absence—keenly, as any parent would, and so did your sister. We often wished for your return, but we were not the ones most impacted. Do you understand?’

Sourness settled in the pit of his stomach. He had known, almost from the day of his arrival, who’d suffered the most under his prolonged sojourn, and not once had he explained, apologised, or shown his ward any sign of appreciation. Miss Doubleday had not done it for him, he was all too aware, but she had done it without being asked, without complaint, and without any expectation of gain.

In response to his mother’s question, Beau gave a concise nod. He then kissed her cheek, withdrew his hand, and departed to his rooms, where he would be left at peace to castigate himself.

He was not a man worthy of Miss Doubleday, and wasn’t sure he could be, but he was certain of one thing: If anyone deserved to know what had kept him away, it was her.