Chapter Fifteen
Leonard padded down the stairs, ready for his afternoon tea.
He paused at the sideboard by the door where Fitzroy kept all their incoming correspondence.
He picked the pile up, continuing on to the dining room, mindlessly flipping through them.
There was an invitation to a ball at the Bambers’, a dinner invitation from family friends, the Mortons, and a letter from his father.
Taking his seat at the table, he reclined with the letter from Father as Fitzroy poured him a cup of tea. “Thank you,” Leonard distractedly said, slipping his finger beneath the familiar wax seal. It wasn’t necessarily uncommon for his father to write to him, though neither was it common.
Luckily, it only seemed to be an update on the estate.
Father needed Leonard’s help with a few things upon his next visit, and he wanted to be sure Leonard set enough time aside to accomplish them.
The end of the letter held something much less welcome.
A reminder to Leonard to accept whatever invitations he received and to do his best to make himself pleasant.
And to find a wife, of course.
Leonard tossed the letter down, then picked up the two invitations. Which one was less loathsome? The ball would require him to dance, but the dinner party would force him to make conversation and exchange pleasantries. The ball he could at least hide himself somewhat in the crowd.
The Bambers’ ball it was.
After finishing his tea, he walked to the morning room where his mother’s writing desk resided. The floor gave small creaks as he walked down the hall. Before he made it, a knock sounded at the door.
Fitzroy rushed to answer it, so Leonard slipped into the morning room and took a seat at the desk.
Goodness, surely it couldn’t be Mrs. Gillingham.
He thought he would have a slight reprieve before she accosted him with her presence again.
He distinctly remembered her saying it would be two days before their next task.
When Fitzroy walked in wearing a frown, he knew in his gut it was her.
“Mrs. Gillingham to see you, sir.” Fitzroy held the card out to him, and he almost didn’t take it. “She has an escort today.”
Leonard narrowed his eyes, hardly believing it. She was not one to care about propriety.
“She is in the entry. Shall I bring her in?”
He rubbed his fingers on his brow. “No, I shall come out there, Fitzroy.” He sighed as he stood, then strode out to the small foyer.
Mrs. Gillingham wore a deep blue pelisse with a cream-colored bonnet, adorned with a matching blue ribbon. And he could not even lie to himself—he found her lovely.
“Mr. Stanton.” She smiled and dipped into a curtsy. “I have come to see if you’d like to join me and get an ice at Gunter’s.”
He looked behind her toward what he assumed was a maid or companion of some sort. “Mrs. Gillingham, I’m sure you realize it is not customary for a woman to call on a man.”
“Yes, I realize that,” she admitted. “But I knew you would not, so you forced my hand.”
Putting his hands on his waist, he said, “I have forced nothing.”
Mrs. Gillingham bit her lip, her eyes narrowing into slits.
Then she strode forward, stopping just before him.
The blue of her pelisse made the similar color in her eyes almost startling.
“I had wanted to apologize. And I thought getting an ice and going for a walk sounded like a pleasant afternoon activity.”
There was that blasted innocent look of hers again. The one that pulled at his conscience, the one that told him there was more to her and her story than just being the eccentric woman who stole his great-grandmother’s ring. Why did it get to him so?
“Apologize?” he asked, instead of immediate acceptance.
“Yes.” Her smile seemed forced. “I feel . . . poorly about the way I spoke to you yesterday. I would like to rectify that and clarify some things if you would allow me.”
“By getting an ice at Gunter’s.” He tilted his head, looking down at her, being sure she realized just what she was saying.
She fluttered her lashes. “Yes.”
“I—”
“I think it would be good for you,” she pressed on. “Get you out of the house and into the fresh air. Socialize.”
“I don’t like to socialize.”
With a breath that bespoke a loss of patience, she closed her eyes. “It would only be an hour or so of your time. Surely you have enough of it to spare that.”
“And if I don’t go?”
“The curb outside looked rather comfortable. I could just spend my afternoon there.”
“Perfect,” he said, pasting on a bright smile, pushing lightly on her back toward the door. He dropped the smile. “Have a nice afternoon, Mrs. Gillingham.”
He had no true inducement to go. He was no longer looking for a bride now that he had lost the wager, and this had nothing to do with the task for which she had agreed to pay him. If he went, it would simply be to spend time with her. And that seemed . . . dangerous. On several levels.
She narrowed an eye at him, but she still held a smirk on her mouth. “Very well.” Making her way out the door, she looked over her shoulder. “I think you underestimate my determination, Leo.”
Ugh, he hated that nickname. Is this how Ambrose felt any time they referred to him as Rosie? Poor man.
Leonard gave his head a hard shake. “Do not call me that.”
She threw a flirtatious wave over her shoulder, walking out the door with her companion. Fitzroy shut the door behind them, giving Leonard a look of long-suffering.
“I will be in the morning room, Fitzroy.” Leonard headed to his mother’s writing desk once more, ready to scribble out a quick letter to his father.
But when he sat, the desk being situated next to the front window, he had a perfect view of the street.
Mrs. Gillingham, surely enough, was perched on the curb, looking about as if it were a preferred activity of hers to sit along streets.
“For goodness’ sake,” he mumbled, standing and striding to the door. He flung it open. “What are you doing?” he called out.
With hands folded neatly in her lap, her back straight, Mrs. Gillingham turned and waved at him with a wide smile. “I’m just sitting. Do not let me bother you.”
“For the love of—” He pulled back into the foyer, grabbing his hat and gloves.
“Going out?” Fitzroy asked.
Leonard shook his head. “Apparently I am.”
The gray clouds gathered overhead, and Leonard held his dish of fruit-laced ice. At first, he had declined any for himself, but Mrs. Gillingham was not having it. Finally, he chose the lemon flavor, and he did not regret the choice as he walked about with his bowl of white confectionery.
“How is yours?” Mrs. Gillingham asked, taking a bite of her raspberry-flavored ice. “Mine is quite refreshing.”
He took a bite. “Quite good, actually.”
She bumped her shoulder against his. “See? Are you not glad you ordered your own? Though I wouldn’t have minded sharing.”
Leonard glanced back at the maid trailing after them, but her eyes were not on them. Instead, she seemed to be eyeing all the gentlemen walking about.
“So,” Leonard began, eating another bite of his ice. It really was good. “You mentioned an apology?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Gillingham stared down at her cup, using her spoon to swirl its contents about. “I went home feeling horrid after our conversation yesterday. You were generous enough to open up to me, and I was quite forceful with you.”
“Is that any different than usual?” He brought his spoon to his mouth once more.
“Perhaps not,” she said, peering at him from the corner of her eye. “But after I considered our conversation, I realized I was projecting my own desires on you.”
“In what way?” He dug his spoon in again and realized his frozen treat was quickly depleting.
Finally, she took another bite of her own, her mouth slightly puckering, then licked her lips clean.
His eyes flicked to the motion, and he forced his gaze somewhere else.
“I don’t have any family left,” she finally said.
“So, my intention in my rebuttal yesterday was borne from my own desire to have a family again. Yours is still alive, so my thought was that you should do anything within your power to be with them and love them. That is all. But I fear I went too far and made you feel poorly or overridden.” She looked up at him.
“I do understand your frustration. That would not be an easy burden to bear. Wealthy or not, life can be a trial.”
“Yes, it can be.” He went to take another bite, but it was gone.
Mrs. Gillingham smiled. “You should have gotten a double. And got the lemon along with the raspberry. I feel like the pairing of flavors would be lovely. The sweetness of the raspberry along with the tartness of the lemon.”
“Perhaps,” he allowed.
“Sort of like life, isn’t it? Bitter and sweet. It has both, and in some ways, one makes you appreciate the other more.”
Leonard’s mouth tightened across his face. “I see what you are doing.”
“I’m not doing anything,” she said innocently enough, scooping a large bite of ice into her mouth. “My goodness, that’s delicious. I really wish you would try it.”
He lifted his spoon from his cup, then reached over and took a bite of hers. “Hm. It is quite good.”
At first, Mrs. Gillingham’s eyes only widened, but then her mouth cracked into a smile and she laughed.
The sound seemed to bubble out, as if she didn’t believe he had actually done so, then she went so far as to throw her head back.
She straightened, smirking at him. And he found himself enjoying being the one to make that smile appear.
“I seem to be rubbing off on you, Leo,” she said.
He scrunched his brows, but he felt the corner of his mouth lift regardless of his efforts to stop it. “Do not call me that.”
“I quite like it.” She strode ahead, and he took a few quick steps of his own to catch up.
“I think,” he said, then licked his spoon to clean it of any residual ice, “you like it simply because you know it bothers me.”
“Me?” She looked up at him, smiling widely. “Perhaps.”
“So,” he continued, the raspberry flavor lingering on his tongue. She wasn’t wrong. It would have tasted good paired with the lemon. “Let me ask you something now.”
Her brows rose as if in challenge. “Be my guest.”
“Did you steal, even when you were married?”
She pursed her lips, the raspberry ice making them redder than usual. His thoughts took a turn as he wondered if the flavor also lingered on her lips.
And that was his sign to keep his eyes from her mouth for the rest of eternity.
He cleared his throat and brought his gaze to her eyes instead. Unfortunately, they were also intriguing. Was there no safe place for him to look?
Honora glanced around before idly stirring her ice again. It was quickly becoming a pool at the bottom of her glass. “No. I did not.”
He pulled a face. She really made no sense to him, and he found himself more and more curious as to what made this woman tick or motivated her actions. “Then why go back to it?”
“I told you. I get bored.” Her stirring increased in speed. “Which is why I forced you to get ice with me today.” She tucked her chin down, lifting a shoulder and smiling at him.
“Perhaps you should find a hobby so you don’t find yourself so bored all the time. Your lack of a social life is rather dangerous to yourself and others.”
Her smile remained, but the corners softened as if she were now only doing so for appearances.
“What?” he prodded.
“Oh, nothing.” She shook her head. “It is only that I do have a friend. Laura. At least, I did. I haven’t heard from her in weeks.
Perhaps that is the reason I did what I did.
A rash decision to distract myself from the fact that my one friend in life may have moved on.
” She looked down at her cup, her mouth pulling to the side.
“Did your husband not participate much in society?” Surely they would have had friends or family.
Had her husband kept her under a tight watch?
Leonard couldn’t imagine Mrs. Gillingham choosing such a man.
And yet, nothing else would explain her lack of a social life, even after her husband’s passing.
“He—” She bit her lip, looking up and around at their surroundings. “No, he was social.”
“So why do you not have friends?”
She was silent for a moment, then turned her face to him. “Why the sudden interest in my life? Have you become smitten?”
While Mrs. Gillingham had no qualms about flirting with him, something was off about her question. The attempt at flirtation seemed forced and ingenuine. “I am only asking you a question. You know more about me than I do about you. I only wish to even the scales.”
“Then you may ask away. Just not about that.”
He watched her, and while he was extremely curious about her evasion of the topic, he decided to leave it be. There may be old wounds there that she wasn’t ready to discuss yet, and who was he to force her?
Once Mrs. Gillingham finished her confection, they took their cups back and returned to Leonard’s coach along with her maid. When they arrived at her townhouse, he escorted her to the door.
“I hope that wasn’t too awful of an afternoon for you,” she said, stopping with her fingers grasping the handle.
He wanted to lie. Wanted to say he hated every moment of it.
“I enjoyed it too.” With a small smile and a bow, he left her gaping after him.