The Wallflowers To Wives Collection. Bronwyn Scott
of ladies. He was probably unaware he’d even done it. She knew it meant nothing and yet her mind was fixated on it, just as it fixated on the sweep of her skirts against his leg as they walked, as if they were a real couple, as if they belonged together. It was an easy fantasy to fall in to.
He nodded. ‘It means everything to me. The appointment is a chance to do some good in the world. To stop war, to find peace, to rebuild a continent one decade at a time. It’s a chance to make a difference.’
Claire hazarded a glance up into his face, surprised to see his merry blue eyes serious. He meant every word. Here was another brief glimpse into a different Jonathon Lashley than the one she was used to seeing.
She nodded slowly, digesting the import of his words. ‘I think that’s very noble.’ It wasn’t the passion behind them that made them noble, it was his motivation. He didn’t want this for his glory, but for the good it would do others. ‘You have a cause. I didn’t know, didn’t realise.’ She wondered what else she didn’t know about him. Yesterday and today had proven there were depths to plumb that went far beyond his smile and good looks.
‘You’re not expected to know. It’s hardly an appropriate topic of discussion during the waltz or a quadrille.’ Jonathon smiled, but she recognised the tactic as one of avoidance. He was trying to dismiss the topic.
Claire shot him a sideways look from beneath the brim of her bonnet. ‘You’ve given yourself a difficult task. Empires thrive on wars, it seems. It takes war to build them up and wars inevitably follow when they collapse, leaving uncertainty in their wake.’
Jonathon nodded. ‘I fear we may be losing another empire and it’s too soon. The Ottomans can’t last and they’ve been the instruments of their own downfall. It’s too soon to lose them after Napoleon. There is still so much instability since 1814. I can only imagine the land grabs that would go on. It’s been only seven years. If not handled correctly, Central Europe will erupt.’
She listened intently as Jonathon elaborated on Slavic states and nationalism, Phanariots and the Christian Millet. How had she not known this side of him? How could she have known? She’d never had any time with him, only seen him from a distance. Did anyone know this about him? The jolt of unlooked-for jealousy startled her. Was this a side of himself he kept strictly for those who knew him best? Claire was suddenly envious of any and all of those friends, those close enough to bear witness to his thoughts, his passions. ‘And Miss Northam, does she share these opinions?’ Perhaps that was the blonde beauty’s appeal?
* * *
She was staring at him. He feared for a moment he’d talked her into a stupor. Usually he was so very careful not to overwhelm people with his opinions. But Claire had seemed enrapt. She’d been such a good listener. Once he’d got started, he’d felt encouraged to continue. Only when she’d asked her question did he realise how he must have run on. ‘Miss Northam? Oh, no. We’ve never discussed it at length. She prefers to talk about fashion and society.’ Jonathon answered easily as if those preferences were entirely natural and expected.
‘Of course,’ Claire said shortly and Jonathon recognised his mistake. For being a usually skilled diplomat, he’d managed to step on Claire’s feelings with regularity. She was certainly interested in goings-on abroad. She’d learned Turkish, after all. He should have anticipated she’d view his response as a veiled reprimand.
‘I find a well-read woman refreshing, however. It doesn’t have to be all fashion and gossip.’ He hurried to cover his unintended slur.
She gave him a wry smile. ‘You don’t need to say that for my benefit. I am well aware my intellectual appetites are not appealing to many men. I would never ask you to pretend.’ He didn’t care for the coldness he heard in her voice. Had she learned that lesson the hard way? It was one more thing he didn’t know about her. Had there been suitors? Had they been driven away by her inquisitive mind? Neither did he like the implication that he might be capable of duplicity.
‘I never pretend,’ Jonathon said solemnly. ‘Do you? Were you pretending to enjoy my discourse on the Ottoman Empire?’
‘Why no, I...’ Her protest was drowned out by the warmth of his smile.
‘I’ve made my point, then. We can be honest with one another.’ He gave her a considering look. ‘It’s fair to say, though, that you are different than I expected. You’re not at all what you seem.’ He was pushing the boundaries of propriety now. He should stop. What he was about to say in order to justify his comment was hardly appropriate either.
Her sherry eyes narrowed in wary speculation. ‘Different how?’
‘In the past, I’ve had the distinct impression that you didn’t want to be noticed.’ And your dresses have become much more attractive.
‘You can hardly have failed to notice that I am something of a bluestocking, Mr Lashley. Men don’t tend to enjoy that sort of female companionship.’ Her response was polite, but there was a cold honesty to her words. They’d reached the back terrace, their starting point, and arguably a signal that he should depart. Jonathon chose to ignore the signal.
‘Is that why you’ve set yourself apart until now?’ Jonathon ventured, a suspicion taking root. Had she set herself apart out of deference to her intellectualism and her desire to preserve it instead of sacrificing it to society’s whim? If so, it was done at great cost to herself. She had to know such a choice would leave her unwed, alone. Her modest dresses, her quiet demeanour would have driven off any man before he got within twenty feet of her. But this Season, things had undoubtedly changed. Those dresses were certainly not designed to repel.
‘Until now?’ Her brow furrowed.
‘May I ask, is there someone you are interested in? Do you have a suitor?’ He wasn’t quite ready to let go of his hypothesis that a woman dressed to impress. There was a man involved.
She looked down at her hands, suddenly uncomfortable. He should apologise, but Jonathon couldn’t restrain his smile. ‘So I am right. There is a man of interest? May I ask who it is?’ Perhaps he could help things along. Maybe he could offer the man some encouragement if he saw the fellow at one of his clubs. She came off a bit aloof with her occasionally sharp tongue and sharper mind. The gentleman in question might not know she was interested. It was the least he could do for her. She was helping him. He’d like to return the favour and he could hardly pay her the way he would a tutor.
She shook her head. ‘That is not necessary. He is unaware of my interest,’ she stammered, taking great care with her words.
He pulled out his pocket watch, surprised to see that it was half past one. He’d overstayed his welcome. ‘Perhaps we should make him aware. Will you be at Lady Griffin’s tonight? You might save me a dance.’ The fastest way to make a man notice you was to dance with another. Arrogant as it might seem to admit, women who danced with him were noticed because he was noticed. A flirty widow who wanted more than a waltz from him had once told him matchmaking mamas sat in a corner keeping lists of his partners.
‘Oh, no! I couldn’t.’ She was truly aghast.
He would not let her withdraw. ‘Come now, I’m not proposing we drag him out into an alley and beat some sense into him.’ Although maybe the fellow needed it if he was oblivious to Claire’s charms.
‘Well, if you put it that way, je voudrais rien de plus.’ She gave him a little curtsy. ‘Nothing would please me more.’
He could think of a few things that would please him better than a dance. Perhaps a kiss. The errant thought struck him hard. He wanted to kiss Claire Welton? It was admittedly a bit more tame than yesterday’s chairs and ropes, but where had that idea come from? She was his French tutor, nothing more.
Perhaps it was mere male curiosity. Now that there was another man involved, perhaps he wanted to know what he was missing. There was a difference between wondering and wanting. Wondering was objective and wanting was not. There was that dress to consider, too. She’d worn a deep-yellow gown today, the shade of daffodils, and it brought out