His Candlemas Hope Read online

She smiled, her eyes lighting up with joy. “Aye, and champagne, lemon, and of course, sugar.”

  He smiled back at her, and looked again at the widows, widowers, spinsters, and old bucks who had never married. Their eyes were eagerly pinned on them, as they were the only young couple in the room. He felt as if they were up on the stage. “I suppose it would take a little longer to get bosky on this stuff,” he said wryly, watching carefully for her reaction.

  She laughed. “That’s probably why this room isn’t too full. The men that have wives are probably gathered in the Card Room, making bets with money they don’t have, and drinking whisky like its water.”

  “You think all men bet with money they don’t have?” he asked softly.

  “Some men do. My grandfather did, and to a lesser extent, so did my father. Gambling was a terrible vice of my grandfather’s. My papa told me that his father used to lose thousands of pounds at the gaming tables. Fortunately, Papa never lost much. My grandfather’s gambling problem ruined the Estate for my father. My poor father. His habits didn’t exactly help us any. It took its toll on him, and robbed him of years he should have spent with us.”

  The gay look in her eyes faded, the beautiful green depths hardened, to such an extent that they truly did look like jade. It wasn’t too hard to ascertain that she had worshipped her father. He supposed that was a trait she shared with her cousin Fanny. Fanny also seemed to be just as devoted to her mother who had passed from this world three years ago. Somehow, he had an inkling that Hope didn’t share that in common with her cousin. She didn’t seem to be particularly fond of her mother, not by the guarded glances she had given the Baroness while she had been dancing with him.

  “Your father was a baron, isn’t that right?”

  Hope looked at him with love softening the hardened glint. “Yes. We…we were all raised in Devonshire. After Papa passed away, there was no place for us there anymore. I do not have a brother you see, and my father’s cousin inherited what was left, which, was precious little. I do not know how my father provided for us the way he did for all of those years. My mother’s generous dowry helped a lot, I know. As for us, well, finding a suitable man to marry us shall be…let me just say, it shall be difficult. We do not come with the title of Lady before our names, and we are veritable paupers. The only money we have is the pin money my uncle gives my mother for our allowances. It is a sizable sum, but still, we have no dowry, sir. I have no dowry.” Her words were spoken as if they were meant to warn him…as if they were meant to ward him off. She pinned her large green eyes on him, and he melted. He would do anything for her. He felt himself soaring on the feelings of euphoria sprouting within him. It was like a flower of love was growing inside of him.

  Flower of love?

  He wasn’t the sentimental sort. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? Micah was the one that wrote poetry, not him. He sipped his punch, and snorted. He was thinking poetic thoughts, and if he wasn’t careful, he would start voicing them aloud. His head felt foggy. He felt as if he was in a waking dream. He took a tentative step away from her, hoping she would not notice him. Her eyes followed him, and they narrowed.

  “I do not blame you for wanting to rush off. Most men want to turn tail and run whenever they find out we are penniless as well. And with your humble beginnings, I wager you need someone like my cousin. Alack, she is already taken. Lord Blessing made an excellent match. He shan’t ever have to worry about money from here on in.”

  He stiffened. She thought that both he and Felix were veritable paupers. Indignation welled inside of him. She had finally managed to rub him the wrong way.

  “My humble beginnings aside, I do not need to marry a woman for her money,” he said, fighting to keep the anger out of his voice. “I would never think of stooping so low. What I have in life is enough to keep you, nay, to keep any woman I select to be my wife in the lap of luxury. I have managed to accrue quite a lot of wealth over the years, thanks to my friends lending a helping hand with investments.” He shook his head. Anger surged within him. He never allowed his emotions to rule him, and right now, he felt terribly close to losing his temper with her. She hadn’t meant to insult him, something inside of him told him that. No matter. He was still properly insulted, and she had wounded his pride.

  Damnation. Everything was going along so well, and then, she had to go and say what she had said. She might as well have planted a facer on him. He wished she had planted a facer on him. That he could take. That he could recover from.

  He remained silent for a few moments more. “I…I should apologize, sir. I do not want you to be cross with me. I didn’t mean anything by what I said before. I am quite certain that your small fortune could entice many a young woman. Why, I have a few friends that might actually be willing to marry you and settle down in a nice little cottage somewhere. They want a good man, and financial security. They aren’t used to living in the lap of luxury, so whatever lap you can provide for them would be live up to their expectations.”

  Was she trading barbs with him, and waiting for him to fire back? Was she intentionally attempting to rise his ire? If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a certain tone to her voice, as she delivered her not so sweet soliloquy, and he was pretty certain he had once again been insulted, in a roundabout manner. She was a clever little minx. If what Lewis said was true, this also meant she wasn’t attempting to charm him with any of her magical wiles. Someone who was attempting to bewitch him wouldn’t have insulted him in such an overt way.

  Would they?

  The thing was, riling his passions were damnably hard to do. He had conditioned himself long ago not to be a slave to his emotions. It had kept him alive—and had kept him sane during his war years. His calm nature was just something he had been born with. His mother even claimed that he hadn’t cried that much as a baby. She said he had always possessed a kindly nature, and never wanted to be any trouble at all.

  He had been known to lose his temper with his mates, even coming to blows with them a few times in the past, but he always recovered quickly from whatever kind of a row they had. And their friendship was forged in blood. They could rage at each other and still know that nothing could shake their friendship. They were all stuck with each other. For the rest of their lives they would be stuck with each other.

  With women, well, with women, he was extremely patient. He didn’t think he had ever lost his temper with one before. He hadn’t even fought with his sisters, though his sisters had attempted to fight with him on more than one occasion. Perhaps, he should return to Nottinghamshire and see if there were any ladies there that enticed him.

  “I can understand why you think the way you do. I thought you were different from you sister Desi, but being spoiled little chits must run in your family line. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem to have afflicted Lady Blessing. As for my money troubles, I have none to speak of. It is true. I am a chandler’s son. I do not come from old money, and there are no peerages in my family to speak of, save for what I have earned for myself. I knew that being accepted by those in your class would be difficult. I thought that maybe, maybe, I would get lucky as Felix and Freddie have done. However, I confess, Freddie is different from Felix and me. Freddie was born into your world, he just fell out of it for a good part of his life. But me…I am a proper member of the good old hoi polloi. I might have trained myself to speak like a gentleman, and act like a gentleman, but I wasn’t born one, and I thank you for reminding me of that. I thought I could continue to put up with snobs, but I don’t think so. I think…I think I need to return to London and get lost in the thriving metropolis. At least…at least there I can be who I want to be without a stuck up lass like you throwing my past in my face.”

  “You were an officer…”

  “And a gentleman,” he snorted. “Aye. I was promoted out of the ranks by Wellington himself. The old man likes me, you see. Likes me so much, I sometimes receive correspondence from him. They…my old life wanted to snatch me back recently. They n
eeded my services, and decided to see if they could draw me back into the old games my mates and I used to play. I refused. I told them to go and pick on some of our other mates from the Angels of Death to do the missions they couldn’t get anyone else to do because frankly, they weren’t crazy enough. They need soldiers with a reckless streak—and I have that in great abundance. Ask Lord Cary or Lord Blessing and they would say I am reckless to a fault. I thought I had moved on from that life. I thought I was done pulling my arse out of the fire. I thought…oh, hell, forget about whatever I thought. I am rambling, and I sound like I have gone quite potty. I…I must bid you adieu now, my lady, or rather Miss Fortescue. I have the sudden urge to return to London. I hope you find a man that shall live up to your ideal, as I am obviously lacking in many areas.”

  Lucky set his punch glass down, and marched toward the door. He would leave the festivities behind, retire to his bedchamber and attempt to sleep a bit so he could get an early start in the morning. He’d had enough of Country living, and their hoity-toity ways. He wanted to throw himself back into Town life, and if he was lucky, maybe Wellington would have another mission for him.

  Hope watched him suddenly turn away from her.

  His body was rigid. She could feel the animosity emanating from him. Mortification spread through her. Mortification coupled with soul shattering guilt.

  What had she done?

  “Wait,” she called, before he had left the room. She could feel them being watched. They certainly didn’t have to worry about having chaperones. “Don’t go.”

  He halted mid-stride. She wanted to convey how badly she felt about what she had said to him. He was right. She had acted like a little spoiled chit. Her father would have been so disappointed in her.

  “I am sorry,” she said contritely. Praying that he would give her a second chance.

  He slowly turned to regard her. “Are you really sorry, or are you only telling me what you think I want to hear so I won’t leave?” His question struck her as odd. He kept looking at her as if he expected her to lash out at him, and that amused him. He was looking at her as if she was a performer in a droll. She half expected him to start laughing at her any minute now.

  “I am sorry, but I also don’t want you to leave,” she confessed.

  “I…I don’t know if I can do this,” he muttered beneath his breath.

  “Do what?” she asked, watching him take a few cautious steps toward her.

  “Go to the Library,” he whispered. “I will meet you there. I don’t want to say anything else. Not here anyway. There is no telling what that lot of old fools waiting for God over there will say should they overhear any of our chat, and well, I don’t like to feed the gossipmongers. Look at them, those old biddies are hanging on our every word, waiting to wag their tongues once we have gone.” Some of the old ladies gasped, and snapped out their fans, with an indignant huff. The men guffawed. He left the room ahead of her, and she waited a few moments and then gave chase. Why was she bothering with this man? He was acting like a bloody cad. She shouldn’t be running after him like a faithful little puppy. She was above that kind of nonsense.

  Could the burning she felt starting in her chest be….love?

  Chapter Seven

  Against her better judgement, she did exactly as Lord Langford had asked. She felt like a little ninny.

  Where had all of her Blessing and Fortescue pride gone to?

  She knew where it had gone. It had disappeared with her cutting words toward the circumstances of his birth. She had thought she was being too clever by half. Instead, she had just been a little minx in need of a dressing down. He believed her to be like Desi, and she had to concede that she had acted quite shamefully. In her defense…oh, what was the point. She had no leg to stand on. She had no way of justifying her shoddy attitude. What had gotten into her? Normally, she acted with decorum, and her all of her conventions of polite behavior had abandoned her.

  Entering the Library, she looked around for Lord Langford. She couldn’t locate him. The blackguard had led her astray. She was about to leave the room, and decided against it. Her cheeks were burning with shame, and she might as well stay here and gather her composure before setting off back to the ballroom. Desi would see her distress, and pounce upon her, only adding to her guilt.

  Sighing, heavily, she flopped down onto a sofa. Staring ahead, she started to go to a place deep within herself. Losing herself in her memories, she was back in Devonshire, with her father, and he was telling her one of his many stories. Smiling fondly at the recollection, she wanted to stay locked in this moment, frozen in her mind’s eye.

  “Where have you gone off to?” Lord Langford asked gently. “Off with the fairies are you?” His voice startled her, and she nearly screamed. She looked up at him. His irritation with her had faded away. He looked quite composed at the moment. His eyes danced merrily. His off with the fairy comment had obviously amused him.

  “I…you weren’t in here…I thought you had run off on me,” she said breathlessly.

  “Hardly,” he sighed, and sat down in a chair opposite her so he could study her face. Her cheeks only burned hotter under his silent scrutiny. “I did consider it though. I decided to put some distance between us, and see if I still wanted to meet with you. I wanted to be certain that I wasn’t under your enticing thrall.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked, all thoughts of begging for his mercy left her. He had quite undone her with his latest announcement. It pulled her out of her memories completely. The tender feelings that had filled her as she had gone down memory lane diminished completely. Irritation filled her once more. Why did she persist in talking to this bothersome man? His attitude wasn’t to be borne. He might look like a dashingly charming rogue—but he wasn’t.

  “I think, sir, that you have the wrong sister. Wait a few years, and my sister Desi shall be the perfect match for you. She can match your prickly personality, barb for barb.”

  She started to get up, and he rushed forward. “No…don’t go. Not yet. I wanted to clear a few things up between us. Once we have it all out in the open, why…there might be hope for us. And I want there to be hope for us, Miss Fortescue. I want…I want to for us to become better acquainted.”

  She shook her head. Why was she even associating with him? Right now the notion of him setting his cap on her was an extremely absurd one. One minute, he disdained her, and the next minute, he was talking sweetly to her. It made no sense, and she didn’t want dance to his tune anymore. She had played that game once before with the man who had almost ruined her entire life. And while Lord Langford didn’t look as if he would turn out to be a man of two faces, she didn’t want to take the chance. She couldn’t risk her heart that way.

  “I had to find out if I was truly attracted to you, or if I was being affected by your glamour,” he said. His smiled at her. It was meant to be a genuine smile, and yet, it twisted her gut, and made her chest tighten painfully.

  “Now, you have lost me again,” she said, sighing heavily.

  “You don’t know?” he asked. “Lewis assumed as much. I can’t believe the old chap was right, but then, he is rarely wrong. He is an expert on such matters. I never should have doubted him in the first place. But then, he did say you were dangerous.”

  “What are you going on about, sir? You sound as if you have been imbibing too much. Are you foxed?” she asked, moving forward. She placed her hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes and studied him intently.

  “Certainly not,” he said, truly offended that she thought that of him.

  “If you are not bosky, you haven’t been taking anything else, have you? I know men like you dabble with opium…”

  “No,” he said sternly. “Nothing of the kind.”

  “Well, if you are not under the influence of anything else but gaiety to be found at this ball, then, I think you have quite possibly gone to Bedlam.”

  His jaw dropped. “I haven’t lost my wits, Miss Fortescue. Really. I tho
ught better of you.”

  “As you say,” she said, eyeing him warily, she stood up, and this time, he didn’t try to stop her. Right now, she wanted to put a bit of distance between them. He suspected too much, and it made her uneasy. There it was again. That niggling doubt that plagued her, from what she had said to him earlier. She sighed, and turned to him. “I am sorry for what I said earlier, my lord. I beg you to accept my apology,” she said in a sepulchral tone.

  “Accepted and forgiven. I am the one who should be throwing myself on your mercy. I had no right to call you a little chit. Now, then, shall we start anew, Miss Fortescue?”

  Her posture relaxed. She sighed heavily, sagging her shoulders. “I…” Hesitation plagued her, and yet, she was curious about what he had said. He knew enough to mention her glamour. Was he accusing her of being a witch? Witches didn’t possess glamour. It boggled her mind. Had he guessed her secrets? If he had…her heart hammered in her chest. She couldn’t be able to confirm any of his suspicions until she knew she could trust him. “I would like that, sir,” she relented, “There is only one thing left I have to ask you.” He stared longingly at her, and his attention caused her alarm. “You spoke of my glamour…what do you mean by that? Are you telling me I have some kind of attractive quality you admire or are you saying that I am bewitching you?”

  “Both,” he replied simply, his eyes blazed with fire. Did he even know about the fire that resided within his own soul? It wasn’t her place to root into his past.

  Her eyes narrowed at him. Squaring her shoulders, she summoned her resolve. “I thank you for the first compliment. I do not appreciate the second one. I do not like being called a witch.” She didn’t like being called anything that she wasn’t. It wasn’t as if she had a prejudice against witches. Quite the contrary, actually. Good witches were a lot like her…but she wasn’t a witch, and he couldn’t be allowed to call her something she wasn’t.