Chapter Two
Peter Havensham had missed a few things about London in the three years he’d been away.
Tedious musicales featuring the inept daughters of the ton were nowhere on that list. He enjoyed music when performed relatively well.
He enjoyed the company of others, even when cramped into such small quarters as the Garrisons had provided.
This night, though, the room was full to bursting with both ill-played selections on the pianoforte and matchmaking mamas and pushy papas, nearly all of whom had made a point of introducing him to their eager daughters.
The marriage mart. He certainly hadn’t missed that.
As soon as he was able to make his escape without insulting his hostess, Peter did so, and with all possible haste.
Why was it so utterly impossible for a gentleman to meet a young lady with whom he might strike up a tender association without having to endure such misery?
That did not seem such a strange request to make.
He was alone in the world. His father had died three years earlier, and his brother the year after that.
Peter had no other family, his mother having passed on when he was too young to truly remember her.
He had only an empty estate and a house filled with silent rooms. He’d hoped, by returning to London, to renew old friendships and, if fate proved kind, to meet a lady he could love and with whom he could live a happy life.
Someone to bring joy back to the corridors of his home.
He’d forgotten how wretched Society insisted on making the process.
He entered his club, questioning his own intelligence. What had convinced him that London life during the Season would have changed at all in the past three years?
Peter went directly to his favorite room: the library.
He’d spent many an evening here, quite often in the company of his closest friend, Robert Carlton.
This late at night, however, the library was empty.
He took some solace, despite missing Robert’s companionship, in the quiet peacefulness that enveloped him.
He dropped into a leather armchair and leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling.
One pleasant evening spent in enjoyable conversation with a young lady. Was that truly such an unattainable goal? He’d never thought so before the past few weeks.
“Havensham, isn’t it?”
A gentleman, vaguely familiar, and, judging by the generous amount of gray in his hair and the lines on his face, more of an age with Peter’s late father than with himself, had stepped inside. He made his way to the chair nearest Peter, whose peace and quiet, alas, had not lasted long.
“I was sorry to hear about your father.” The new arrival sat. “And about your brother.”
Peter had learned to respond with a simple nod when receiving expressions of regret over his recent losses. The pain was not as fresh as it had once been, but the reminders, constant as they had been since his return to Town, had brought much of the heartache back.
“Have you grown tired of Society so quickly?” the gentleman asked. “We are a mere few weeks into the Season, and here you are hiding at the club.”
“I simply have too much respect for Bach to hear any more of his works destroyed by unskilled musicians.”
The gentleman smiled slightly. “A musicale, was it?”
Peter nodded. “Undertaking the social whirl is a dangerous thing when one is a single gentleman of some standing.”
“You would prefer a simpler approach to finding and courting a young lady?”
“Does not every gentleman?”
The new arrival turned a bit in his chair and faced Peter more directly. “I knew your father, though I realize you and I are not well acquainted. Gregory Sherwood.” He held out his hand, and Peter shook it. “He was a fine gentleman, your father. I suspect you are very much like him.”
“I try hard to be,” Peter said, puzzled by the direction of their conversation.
“In deference to him and in recognition of how insufferable the marriage mart truly is, I would like to invite you to join my family in our box at the theater tomorrow.”
The invitation was a surprise, to say the least. “Your wife won’t mind?”
“She won’t. Neither will my daughter.”
Ah. The mystery was solved. Another ambitious father.
“I appreciate the generous offer,” Peter said, “but I am not—”
“This is not an attempt at matchmaking,” Mr. Sherwood said. “We are not concerned over her future. I simply thought you might enjoy an evening away from the pursuit of very determined young ladies and their families.”
Peter tried to imagine such a thing. He hadn’t in the three weeks he’d spent in London enjoyed a single evening free from the company of those who saw him as little more than a potential income and home for their daughters.
Though it would likely be awkward, spending the evening in the company of a young lady to whom he’d not yet been introduced, her father had assured him that the family wasn’t desperate for a son-in-law.
Peter could for once simply enjoy a night at the theater.
The evening might prove to be a fine one after all.
Given the three weeks he’d just endured, the fates owed him a bit of good fortune.
***
Eleanor was convinced the fates disliked her. Far from abandoning the plan to marry her off to Mr. Broadstead and allowing time for her to find her heart’s desire, Eleanor’s parents had issued an ultimatum under the guise of “giving her a choice.”
They had chosen one alternative to Mr. Broadstead, selected by her father.
He had chosen a gentleman whom she’d never met and had only the vaguest recollection of ever hearing about.
The near-stranger would, in fact, be joining the family in their theater box tonight.
She was charged with coming to know him, deciding her feelings, and choosing to marry either this stranger or a gentleman she disliked more by the day.
She had tonight’s meeting alone in which to make her decision.
The fates must positively despise her.
She and her parents were alone for now in the family box, but the evening’s performance would soon begin. With each passing moment, Eleanor grew more uneasy.
“What do you know of this Mr. Havensham?” she asked her father.
“Very little.” He had been short with her ever since Mr. Broadstead’s visit.
“He is near in age to you. In my brief conversation with him, he said nothing unkind about any specific person and didn’t say a single flattering thing about himself.
As those are your primary objections to Mr. Broadstead, I assumed this new gentleman would meet with your approval. ”
She was absolutely certain her father knew more of this potential suitor than he was admitting. His requirements were far too specific for such a haphazard selection. He had, however, taken to mirroring Mother’s campaign of mockery, belittling Eleanor using her own sincere words of concern.
Was it so ridiculous of her to long for a husband who was respectful, and who would treat her with gentleness and dignity? At times like these those wishes seemed more than outlandish; they felt pointless.
“Does Mr. Havensham know why he was invited this evening?” Her heart lodged in her throat as she waited for the potentially humiliating answer.
“No.” Father left his response at a single syllable.
That short word, however, was enough to give her hope.
She and this gentleman could make one another’s acquaintance without the pressures of a settled understanding. She would be far more likely to meet the real him rather than the facade so many put forward when they were aware that they were being assessed.
Perhaps the evening would not be an utter disaster after all.