The counterfeit attachme.., p.11
The Counterfeit Attachment, page 11
He could not avoid a meeting, Fitzroy had seen him and bobbed his head. Begrudgingly, Edmund acknowledged the man and braced himself for the impending conversation.
“I am terribly sorry, but I have just seen an acquaintance,” he said to Miss Radforde. “Might I introduce you and Mrs. Aston?”
Miss Radforde glanced back at Mrs. Aston before she agreed. Edmund didn’t see what passed between the ladies, but he hoped Mrs. Aston’s scowl would serve to deter Fitzroy.
Edmund briefly made the introductions. Fitzroy’s eyes lit up in recognition at the name Radforde and he was all politeness to the ladies.
“How strange to see you in London, Glenhaven,” Fitzroy said. “I thought you never left your little parish.” He smirked at Miss Radforde. “I never knew a more stay-at-home fellow.”
“Oh,” she replied in a neutral tone.
Edmund was used to Fitzroy’s veiled insults, but Miss Radforde’s lack of defense was disheartening.
“Yes, my profession does keep me from London. But I rather like having something active to do. I could not bear to spend all my time gadding about.”
Fitzroy laughed, giving the impression that they were chums instead of adversaries.
“And yet today you find yourself in our fair metropolis.” Fitzroy turned to Miss Radforde. “Did you enjoy your walk in Hyde Park, Miss Radforde?”
“I have enjoyed our outing,” she replied. The stiff politeness of her tone and the vagueness of her words were so at odds with her character.
“We have just come from Bullock’s Museum,” Edmund said.
Fitzroy made a tsking sound. “Bullock’s? Why, Miss Radforde must have been bored to tears.”
“No, indeed. I—” She paused as if unsure how to continue.
“Say no more,” Fitzroy grinned as if he knew a secret.
Why had she become tongue-tied in Fitzroy’s presence? Did she care for his title? Could she possibly wish to impress him?
“I enjoyed every minute of our visit,” Edmund declared.
“Of course you did,” Fitzroy replied. “But one can’t expect a lady to find such things enjoyable.”
Edmund waited for Miss Radforde to reprimand Fitzroy, to tell him how wrong he was but she remained silent, a statue on his arm. He looked back over at Mrs. Aston and was pleased by her scowl but she too did not speak.
“I think it best not to assume what Miss Radforde enjoys,” Edmund said. “Now you will excuse us, we really must be going.”
Fitzroy smiled and bowed elaborately over Miss Radforde’s hand. “I hope we might meet again. And when we do, I promise something more exciting than a museum.” He barely acknowledged Mrs. Aston.
Miss Radforde smiled but did not express a wish to meet Fitzroy again.
It baffled Edmund to see her so restrained. But she had acted similarly with Mr. Hunter. Was her behavior dependent on the man? Or was she only different with him? He did not know if it was flattering or insulting that she was so open with him.
They continued to walk; Mrs. Aston trailed silently behind them.
Edmund glanced at Miss Radforde and was surprised to see a small smile on her lips.
“What?” he asked sharply.
“I was merely thinking how amusing Mr. Fitzroy’s opinions are.”
“Oh?”
“He will be very surprised to learn that such a stay-at-home fellow is making an expedition to America.”
“Or to learn that you greatly enjoyed Bullock’s.”
Her smile grew wider, confirming Edmund’s opinion that she had not cared for Fitzroy. Which made her behavior all the more frustrating.
“Why were you so silent?” he asked.
Her forehead crinkled as she frowned. “With Mr. Fitzroy?”
“Yes, you might have said the museum was your idea or that you enjoyed it.”
“Mother believes being a bluestocking a character defect. To show enthusiasm for a museum is unseemly.”
“Unseemly? That’s—” he shook his head. Saying rude things about Mrs. Radforde would never do. He began again. “Showing enthusiasm for a museum is not unseemly and will have the added benefit of helping you quickly discern who is worth talking to.”
“You don’t like Mr. Fitzroy.”
He did not, but that was beside the point.
“I don’t like you hiding your true opinions to please those inferior to you in taste and intellect. Good sense is in short supply, and it is a pity to pretend you don’t have any.”
She colored. “Since you believe I have such good sense, I will thank you not to lecture me. You may not care what others think, but I do not have that luxury.” Her words came out in a frustrated rush.
“You care what Fitzroy thinks?”
“No, but I—” she shook her head. “I don’t expect you to understand. It is different for you.”
Edmund didn’t understand but he wanted to. Why would an intelligent heiress who had declared herself uninterested in marriage hide her true self? Was it merely to please her mother? Or was there something else?
If Edmund did not agree to her plan was she doomed to always hiding? He glanced back at their disapproving shadow. He did not think Mrs. Aston could hear him but he leaned closer anyway.
“Miss Radforde, I have decided to agree to your plan.”
Her eyebrows rose; her pursed mouth relaxed into a smile. “Truly?” The pure happiness in her voice was undeniable. Edmund felt like he had given her the key to her cage.
They reached the door to Hatchard’s and Mrs. Aston joined them as they entered.
Brightly lit, lined with shelves, and containing that unique smell of paper, leather, and glue, the bookseller was an inviting oasis. Instead of focusing on the display with the latest titles, Edmund found himself watching Miss Radforde. There was much that needed to be said before they embarked on their ruse.
As she took in the shop, she smiled sweetly, as if greeting an old friend. Her eyes returned to him.
“I would like to see if they have the latest Curtis Botanical Magazine.”
“Of course.” Edmund gestured to the corner where the periodicals were kept. Mrs. Aston followed them but with less focus than before.
As they browsed the titles Miss Radforde spoke. “Mrs. Piper had a subscription to Curtis but since leaving school I have not had the opportunity to read one.”
“Then I hope they have it,” he said.
If she had been reading Curtis regularly that accounted for some of her knowledge. What else did she enjoy reading?
When Miss Radforde found the coveted magazine, her face brightened. She opened it and instantly appeared engrossed. Realizing he could not just look at her, Edmund plucked a copy of Ackerman’s Repository and flipped through the pages without really seeing the words.
After several long minutes Mrs. Aston drifted away to examine the stationery and Edmund tried to concentrate on the page before him.
“You cannot tell anyone of our arrangement,” Miss Radforde whispered, with her eyes still on the magazine.
Edmund smiled but did not look up. Her bluntness might be his favorite quality.
“I agree.”
“Do you have a plan? For how to proceed?”
“To take you to every interesting place in your guidebook.” He peeked up at her and was gratified by a swift glance from her gleaming blue eyes.
“Every interesting place is impractical,” she teased.
“Then the places that you most wish to see.”
“That is very generous of you.” She turned the page of her magazine and he did the same though he had not read a word. “When we attend the same ball, you must dance with me, of course.”
“I make it a habit not to attend balls. Unless you think it necessary for our ruse?” Edmund thought he wouldn’t mind a ball if it meant dancing with Miss Radforde.
There was a brief pause. “If we are seen together during the day that should be sufficient,” she reasoned aloud. “I would rather spend our evenings at lectures, though I don’t think Mother will permit it.”
“If she thinks my intentions sincere, won’t she wish to encourage them?”
“Yes, but she might want me to make more conquests,” she said bitterly.
“Well, you will just have to tell her that you wish to spend time with me.”
Miss Radforde sighed. “Yes, I will.”
Edmund could not interpret her sigh or her reluctance. This idea was hers.
“Do you suppose…” She paused long enough that Edmund looked up at her. She was chewing on her lip, her forehead furrowed.
“Suppose what?”
She looked up and met his eyes. “That spending time together is enough for people to believe we are forming an attachment?”
“It takes very little for gossips to matchmake. However, I believe we must appear to enjoy one another’s company.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“I know, it is a difficult proposition,” Edmund teased.
“I do enjoy your company,” she said.
He tried to ignore the heat creeping up his neck and tapped his chin as if in thought. “You should be sure to say as much when in the hearing of others. That should help our cause. You might gaze longingly at me on occasion. We might stand a little too close in public.”
“Do be serious.” She looked down at her magazine, flustered.
“I am quite serious. I have observed several courting couples and a certain obsession with proximity and long looks are de rigueur.” Edmund’s observations were limited to his brother George and a few couples in his parish, but he felt the principle correct.
“Oh.”
“If you do not wish it, we do not need—”
“No, your reasoning is very sound and it should not be a hardship.” Miss Radforde’s voice was steady, but Edmund sensed her agitation.
What was the source of her disquiet? Did she find the idea of being close objectionable or the opposite? An experiment was in order.
He looked about. Mrs. Aston was paying for her stationery and he expected she would soon join them. He set aside his magazine.
“I shall demonstrate.”
He closed the space between them until his chest brushed her shoulder. She peeked back at him, her blue eyes wide. He resisted the urge to look in them and looked down at the drawing of a lily instead. As if intent on the page, he leaned forward.
The movement brought their cheeks close. The tickle of her curls made his skin tingle. His neck flamed. The experiment was yielding a different result than he predicted. Her proximity was surprisingly affecting.
He swallowed thickly. “You see, it is simple. To an observer we look quite enamored.” His whisper was rough.
“I see, most instructive,” she murmured.
“Charity.”
They both jumped, putting distance between them.
“Mrs. Aston.” Edmund turned to the unwelcome arrival and tried to regain his composure.
“I was showing him the illustration,” Miss Radforde stammered like a child caught stealing sweets.
“I do not think it as good as Miss Radforde’s drawings,” Edmund added, a little too loudly.
Mrs. Aston did not even glance at the magazine. She regarded them with narrow eyes. “We should be going,” she said.
“Of course,” Edmund replied. “Miss Radforde, let me purchase the magazine for you.”
She thanked him as she handed the periodical over. He strode to the counter, grateful for some space from the two women. If Mrs. Aston was any metric, it did not seem there would be any difficulty in convincing society of an attachment. However, there was a real danger of fooling himself.
As he handed over his coins to the clerk, Edmund reminded himself he could not develop feelings for Miss Radforde—no matter how affecting her presence or interesting her conversation.
She had made her opinion of him and marriage quite clear. He was bound for America. She wished to be an independent spinster. Their arrangement was merely a convenient way to escape their mothers’ plans. It could never be anything more.
Thirteen
As they left Hatchard’s, Charity ignored Penelope and her disapproving looks. She ignored her on the drive back to Russell Square and as they said goodbye to Mr. Glenhaven. She would have continued ignoring her but once the door closed on the street, Penelope turned to her.
Charity raised her hand to forestall the censure.
“I am tired. There will be time enough to harangue me before the ball. Why don’t you go and tell my mother about my failings.”
Penelope’s frown turned to shock. “That is not—Charity, you must know that I am not some spy.”
Charity sighed and hugged the periodical Glenhaven had purchased to her chest. It would be pointless to remind Penelope that she had threatened to tell Mother everything. She would deny it, but reporting on Charity was part of her position as companion. Charity was glad she had not told her that the courtship would be a sham.
Penelope sighed. “Let us talk later, after we have rested.”
Charity nodded and escaped up the stairs. Once in her room, she leaned against the door and took a deep breath. A slow smile spread over her face. Glenhaven had agreed. She would be spending many mornings exploring London with him. Her mind wandered over the day, all she had seen at Bullock’s, their discussions, and their conversation in Hatchard’s.
Her smile slipped.
She looked down at the Curtis Botanical Magazine and resisted the urge to turn to the page with the lily. She had not expected such a reaction when Mr. Glenhaven had stepped beside her.
She knew he meant nothing by standing so close and bringing his face near hers, but her body had still heated. His proximity should not have affected her. She had danced with men and walked beside them; she had even been in Mr. Glenhaven’s arms, but it had never produced such a fluttering in her stomach.
Thanks to many conversations with her friends, it was easy for Charity to develop a theory. But she fought the logical conclusion. She could not possibly be infatuated with Mr. Glenhaven.
She did not have any of the other signs that she had observed in her friends. She was not preoccupied with him or anxious to see him again or about to wax poetic about his hair. No, there was another explanation.
His demonstration had surprised her. Her physical reaction was nothing but nerves and confusion. The more time they spent together, the more such things would become easier. Wouldn’t they? She simply could not be infatuated with him; that would ruin everything.
Charity shook her head. She would not taint her victory with worry. She pushed away from the door and moved to her easel. Mother would be out until the evening and she itched to make a painting of the banksia serrata.
A few hours of painting would be a good distraction. As she retrieved her supplies, Charity recalled Mr. Glenhaven’s encouragements. He was right; she needed to ask Mother for time to pursue her botanic studies.
What would he think of her paintings? Would he praise or censure? She suspected he would be honest and point out the flaws, regardless of her feelings.
She stopped and frowned. She should not be thinking of his opinions. Putting him from her mind, she applied herself completely to her painting. It took little effort to become engrossed in the project.
When they entered the ballroom that evening, Charity searched the crowd for Glenhaven. Though she had no reason to expect him to be in attendance, she couldn’t help looking.
Even with her height, the crush of people made it impossible to survey the entire room. It was an ornate and modern space bright with beeswax candles, filled with fashionable people. She had already forgotten which earl or viscount owned the home.
“Charity, dear, do not gawk so. I daresay anyone worth meeting will make themselves known.” Mother’s voice bristled with censure. Charity dropped her eyes to her hands.
“Yes, Mother.”
Mother led them through the room, searching for a place she thought best suited for observing and being observed. The progress was slow as they stopped to greet friends and acquaintances. Charity could not recall many of their names but soon found herself engaged to dance with a Mr. Simmons and Mr. Dyer.
“I am glad he asked you,” Mother said after the Dyers walked away. “But let us hope for some more eligible offers.”
Charity nodded.
“Such as that gentleman,” Mother gestured toward the windows on the left. “That is Viscount Banham’s heir.”
Charity followed Mother’s direction and was surprised to recognize Mr. Fitzroy. He stood surveying the room lazily. He was not as tall as Glenhaven, but his features were more in fashion. No doubt many thought him handsome. His dress was impeccable, his bearing distinguished, though Charity preferred more muted colors and a less haughty air. He was to be a viscount? Glenhaven had not mentioned that detail.
“He is looking this way. Charity, dear, capture his attention.”
Even if Charity had the first notion how she might accomplish that task, she had no desire for Mr. Fitzroy’s attention. But it did not matter, for he had recognized her. His lazy smile grew and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. To her horror, he began to move toward them.
“He is moving this way,” Mother said with barely contained excitement. “Would that we could arrange an introduction.”
“We were introduced to Mr. Fitzroy this morning,” Penelope said. “He is a friend of Mr. Glenhaven.”
“Well, how very fortunate.” Mother smiled like a cat delivering its latest kill. “I knew Mr. Glenhaven would be a useful conquest.”
Charity agreed with Mother but introducing her to Mr. Fitzroy was the least useful thing Glenhaven had done. They all turned to greet the soon-to-be viscount as he approached.
“Miss Radforde, what an unlooked for pleasure,” Mr. Fitzroy said warmly.
“Mother, may I introduce Mr. Fitzroy?”
They conducted the usual pleasantries and made the obligatory comments about the crowds and the weather. Fitzroy was all that was charming and complimented Charity prettily. She might have been flattered if she cared at all for the man’s good opinion. Before they separated, Charity had agreed to a dance.
