Chapter Four #2
He wanted to soften their stern pucker with a kiss.
Not the right moment.
“You are the client, not I. Besides, as I have just told you, I have a betrothed.”
Who was likely dead. Or on a secret mission. Acquired a new identity.
Possibly married to someone else.
This was no time to toss out those comments. Much too hurtful, and the last thing he ever wished to do was hurt Gwendolyn’s feelings more than he already had.
“He loved me. He has always loved me,” she muttered, apparently not yet through ripping off this bloody scab that had never healed.
By her mention of her betrothed, James took it as his permission to continue asking about this man who had captured her heart and now seemed to be crushing it. “Tell me a little more about Andrew Clement. Did you meet him at a ton ball? Or were you acquainted before your debut?”
“Andrew and I have known each other all our lives. I have always been first in his heart, ever since we were children. He is two years older than me.”
“I see.”
“He was the first one to dance with me at my coming-out ball. He was first to kiss me…um, the only man to ever kiss me. He was the first to woo me. First to offer for my hand in marriage. There was never a question we would be together.”
But this troubled James all the more. If all she said was true, then Andrew’s betrayal of their love felt truly heinous. How could he abandon Gwendolyn like that?
He must be dead.
James resolved to dig into this matter quietly.
“I had other suitors in queue with their marriage offers. My father insisted on hearing all of them out, even though he knew I would only accept Andrew. It was fairly obvious that most of my beaus were after my trust fund and could not care less about my thoughts or feelings. But Andrew cared. He loved me.”
James nodded. “This is a problem you ladies have that gentlemen do not. We are given an unfair advantage in the way our laws are fashioned to give us power over our wife’s possessions. You must not only give us your heart, but all your worldly goods.”
“And that is fraught with danger. But Andrew was not like the others. I trusted him.”
James had never met him, so he could not know if her betrothed was trustworthy. He hoped the man was, for Gwendolyn’s sake.
But as she went on to describe her childhood in Devon, it sounded as though it was not quite as idyllic for Andrew.
James got the impression her betrothed was not all that gallant nor as fully committed to their future as Gwendolyn described.
Granted, he’d probably liked her well enough.
But how much of his affection was genuine and how much of it forced?
He was an earl’s second son who needed a fortune to maintain his style of living.
Did he truly love Gwendolyn? Or had he considered her an easy mark?
Was this why her father had insisted on hearing all marriage proposals before finally relenting and accepting Andrew’s offer?
Gwendolyn went on about Andrew, seeming to need to convince herself of his faithfulness more than she needed to persuade James. “We will marry the moment he returns home.”
This did not please him at all.
What she really needed was to hear some harsh truths about men. He did not want her clinging to any illusions about this fellow who was wreaking havoc on her life and spoiling any chance of her finding future happiness.
But she had been through enough for one day. There would be no more lectures from him for now.
However, Andrew’s behavior truly galled him. No man in love abandoned his bride. James would have walked through fire for Gwendolyn, if she were his to love. He would not have hesitated.
In fact, he felt a compelling urge to do something for her right now.
Gad, was he falling in love with his matchmaker?
He cleared his throat.
No, he was merely moved by her situation and felt protective because she was so vulnerable. And she looked…not only beautiful, but soft and irresistible.
“What time should I stop by tomorrow, Gwen?”
“Um, I have some shopping to do in the afternoon, and then Lady Fielding’s soiree in the evening. Perhaps ten o’clock in the morning? It could take us a few hours to come up with a suitable list of new prospects.”
He nodded. However, he had made his choice.
Her.
Gwendolyn was his to marry. His to bed. His to love.
But how was he ever to win her heart when he was competing against a phantom?
They turned onto Duchess Square, effectively bringing an end to their conversation.
However, James was not done thinking about her. The only way he was going to win this romantic battle, truly win it without lingering doubts, was to discover Andrew’s whereabouts.
He knew of an excellent investigator by the name of Homer Barrow, a respected Bow Street Runner he would now engage to assist him in this quest. Andrew Clement’s disappearance required extensive investigative skills, and no one was sharper or more experienced than Mr. Barrow.
James would have him dig deeper than anyone had dug before.
Beyond ship manifests. Beyond regimental records or hospital admissions.
Homer Barrow knew people. He could search the dockside taverns.
Make forays into the Seven Dials and other seedy areas of London.
Hunt through opium dens, old soldier homes.
Seek out those soldiers in Andrew’s regiment, officers and infantrymen alike who had served under him.
This Bow Street investigator had contacts everywhere, from the highest echelons to the lowest, and knew how to ask the right questions. He could even place a man in the Earl of Hornsby’s household to ferret out information that the earl might be holding back.
James would extend the investigation to Dover. Portsmouth. Cornwall. The Continent.
Anywhere necessary.
However, he was not going to tell Gwendolyn about this. No, he needed to keep her out of it. If Mr. Barrow and his team of investigators failed to turn up anything, then nothing was lost. If they did find something, then James wanted to be the first to learn about it.
His instincts warned that the news would not be favorable for Gwendolyn. Indeed, there was something quite off about Andrew Clement.
Gwendolyn’s lips were still trembling as his carriage drew up in front of her home. Her chin was wobbling, too.
But her eyes were clear, no doubt because she had spent all her tears while crying into his chest.
James reached out to place his hand over hers. “Gwen…will you be all right? Do you need a little more time? We can take another turn around Mayfair.”
She released a breath. “No, I’ll pull myself together now that I am home.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He spoke with a measure of hopefulness, for this day had been a bad one, and he’d been to blame.
He would not be surprised if she sent over a note in the morning telling him that she never wanted to see him again.
She scrambled out of his carriage the moment it came to a stop. “Yes, tomorrow. At ten o’clock. Just try not to send any more screaming harpies my way…and not another word about Andrew.”
Although she was the one who kept raising him despite insisting on putting an end to that conversation.
Because that wretched man festered in her mind.
James watched her dart into her house without a farewell or a glance back at him. She was eager to be away from him.
“Milbury, you idiot,” he muttered.
Would she decide to dismiss him as a client come morning?