Chapter 3
Chapter Three
It took Richard a good minute to recover from his shock.
But once he regained his composure, it proved no difficulty to obtain Miss Pershing’s address.
The two women, old and young, readily allowed him to escort them home.
And Richard delivered them to a modest yet genteel enough address within the hour.
And after having spent the rest of the night in a trance-like state over the seeming resurrection of his beloved Catherine, Richard rose bright and early, motivated for the first time in months to step out of Avington House for reasons other than escaping his nightmares.
Had he truly encountered Miss Pershing and her chaperone last evening? Richard doubted himself briefly even as his feet weaved his way through the familiar streets, the hustle and bustle of the morning rousing around him.
But it had to be true—for he held the elder Miss Ravenstone’s card in his hand even now. The address had been written on it rather than printed, but that was no hindrance.
With determined steps befitting his station, Richard routed his way through the fashionable part of Town confidently, an eagerness to his steps that made him feel much younger than his years.
The burdens of war might have aged him, and he knew he no longer had the carefree movements or the insouciance of men a decade younger.
But when it came to social prospects, Richard liked to think his innate Avington good looks, and the manly bearing that could only come with life experience, presented him in an advantageous light.
He would call on Miss Pershing. He would court Miss Pershing. And no overeager lord or dangers of childbirth would rob him of his chance this second time around.
A few turns later, he knocked at the address he’d called on last night and waited with an almost youthful agitation.
He was no fool, of course. He knew Adelaide Pershing was not Catherine Pershing.
A family resemblance in appearances did not necessitate a resemblance in every other way.
But after years of chasing the specters of the past, Richard felt, for the first time, a warming desire to live in the present instead.
“Sir.” a dour-faced manservant admitted him.
“Colonel Richard Avington, to see Miss Ravenstone and Miss Pershing.” Richard presented his card. The gesture felt almost foreign from lack of practice. When was the last time he’d paid a social call? When was the last time he’d conversed willingly with anyone not already related to him?
The manservant nodded and bid him to wait.
Richard paced the tight entryway as he tried to exhibit as much patience as he could.
It did not take long for the womenfolk to appear—Miss Ravenstone, reed-thin and smiling, and Miss Pershing, her head lowered over her delicate peach ensemble.
“Miss Ravenstone, Miss Pershing.” Richard greeted eagerly.
“Come, come, what an honor, Colonel Avington.” Miss Ravenstone ushered the trio of them into the parlor. “We must thank you for your gallantry in escorting us home last night.”
Richard nodded before seating himself. His eyes darted to Miss Pershing. It was difficult to make out the angles of her features with her face askance, although the morning light provided a better view than last night’s shadows did.
From his spot across the modest parlor, he could see that it was mainly her coloring that resembled Catherine.
Her eyes, he noticed, were darker than Catherine’s, even if they appeared similar otherwise.
And while Catherine had always floated around on a cloud of expensive perfume, there was an ever-persistent soft scent of sweet pea lingering around this Miss Pershing.
How were the two women related—and how much did it matter to him?
“London has been exquisite this Season thus far,” Miss Ravenstone remarked, forcing Richard away from his inspection of Miss Pershing. “Surely, a military hero such as yourself must have a long list of engagements.”
Richard gave a modest nod. “It was an honor to serve in His Majesty’s army. I would not go so far as to believe myself worthy of being referred to as a hero.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Richard saw Miss Pershing look up. Was it his experience in war that interested her? He certainly hoped she was not the sort to swoon over a soldier. The pains of war were nothing to admire or envy.
Miss Ravenstone cackled. “Oh, you are much too modest. Surely, a man cannot attain a rank as yours without the proper bravado.”
“I hesitate to accept such a compliment, madame.”
“Well, perhaps it is not always a matter of heroism. There are other ways to elevate a man’s position, of course.”
Richard paused. He tried not to frown too openly. “I do not think I understand you.”
“Oh, a man of your station!” Miss Ravenstone laughed in an almost forced manner. “Surely, there are certain—connections?”
And with that, the ideals Richard had shored up overnight in his mind began to wash just a bit away.
He kept his sigh under his breath. He was no aristocrat, but it required little more than a quick perusal of a few newspapers to uncover ties to one.
“I take it that the Avington name has preceded me?”
“Oh, of course, such an illustrious family must certainly be a great source of pride!” Miss Ravenstone looked ready to swoon in awe. “I believe there is a duchess in the family, Colonel?”
If the ambitious glint in Miss Ravenstone’s eyes was not so repulsive, Richard might have found her fawning bordering on the humorous.
“You are mistaken,” he said as civilly as he could. “It is my brother’s wife who has ties to nobility.”
“Oh, but I am certain you rub shoulders constantly with the ton!”
Richard frowned in full now. He couldn’t deny the Avington clan’s connections, but he most certainly did not want to associate with anyone who believed him only a stepping stone to social glory. His eyes flit to Miss Pershing. Did she share her aunt’s apparent ambitions?
She did not openly agree with them, at least.
“We are acquainted with several members of the aristocracy, yes,” he conceded. For the first time all morning, he felt eager to cut short his visit rather than to extend it.
His hostess did not seem bothered by his discomfort, if she perceived it at all. “Truly admirable, sir, I say. You see, my niece is here in London in hopes for—”
“Perhaps, Aunt, we should offer the colonel some tea?” Once more, just like the evening previous, it was Miss Pershing who kept her aunt’s advances at bay. The underlying firmness in her gentle tone surprised Richard, and he reconsidered her once more.
She looked young—very young. He was fairly certain she could not be older than twenty.
And yet there was something in her now-upturned face that hinted at a quiet strength beyond her years.
Her aunt might be determined to place her amongst other silly, hare-brained debutantes; but even at a glance, Richard could tell that Miss Pershing was not at all like them.
“Tea, yes.” Miss Ravenstone frowned at her niece, as if the woman debated within her about whether or not to reprimand Miss Pershing for the interruption. Then her face cleared before she called for the refreshment.
“There is no need. I thank you.” Richard rose. He watched disappointment flash over Miss Ravenstone’s face. He looked over at Miss Pershing, who returned his gaze with a knowing, apologetic look.
Whatever the aunt’s ambitions and methods, it was clear the niece did not approve.
That observation, more than her delicate features or her aunt’s crusade, tugged at Richard’s heart, forcing him to hesitate for a moment over making a clean escape.
He bowed deeply. “Until next time, Miss Pershing.”
He turned to bid the older woman farewell, only to have her stop him by saying, “You shall call again then, shan’t you? And perhaps take Adelaide to a ride at Hyde Park? It has always been her desire to get a good look of the park with a ride along Rotten Row.”
Drawing from his experience for the day, Richard could have sworn on his honor that it was most certainly Miss Ravenstone’s desire more than Miss Pershing’s that he take either of them on a ride in Hyde Park.
And yet, despite himself, he found himself saying, “Of course. I would be most honored to do so.”
It required a good portion of Adelaide’s self-control not to bark at her aunt before the chivalrous colonel had been ushered out the door.
The man was kind—tall and broad yet gentle.
Even faced with Adelaide’s avaricious, self-interested chaperone, he’d acted every bit the gentleman.
There was no doubt he’d faced down harsher enemies on the battlefield before, but knowing that the man could bear her aunt’s harsh nature did not lessen Adelaide’s admiration and embarrassment over the fact that he did.
After an interminable two minutes spent bowing and curtsying and quoting each other all sorts of courteous platitudes, the front door finally shut, and Adelaide breathed easy for the first time all morning.
“Now that would be quite the conquest!” Aunt Dinah laughed, triumphant.
Adelaide bit back an angry retort. She hardly knew what was worse—for her aunt to foist lechers such as Mr. Bamburst upon her, or to watch Dinah Ravenstone abuse the kindest gentleman they’d met in London yet.
“Bamburst should watch his back if he doesn’t double his efforts soon.”
With a self-satisfied grunt, Aunt Dinah marched up the hallway, spine straight. Adelaide took a brief moment to choose her words.
“I did not think the colonel wanted to drive me,” she said just before her aunt’s feet touched the first step of their rented staircase in their rented house, an extravagance paid with money Adelaide doubted anyone had. “And even if he did—he might not wish to once he learned the truth.”
Adelaide could feel her aunt’s anger before the woman said a word.