Miss Armistead Makes Her Choice (2 page)

“And you have remembered what your mother has not?” he queried as he rose warily to his feet.

“I have been in England more recently,” she replied, looking up to squarely meet his gaze. “I enjoyed my come-out in London four years ago under the auspices of my aunt.”

“Ah.” He picked up a branch of candles and held them up so as to better inspect his visitor. Surely, if this girl had had a London season, she should have been quickly snaffled. Yet he detected no telling lump under her glove to signify a wedding band and there was a decided lack of lace cap under the smart bonnet she wore. “What help, then, do you seek Miss . . ?”

“Miss Armistead.” She regarded him steadily from her inconceivably green eyes. “My father is John Armistead of the East India Company.”

Colin caught his breath before it hissed out between his teeth. “Daughter of a nabob are you?” he suggested, though he hardly dared think it to be true. Beautiful, good
and
rich? Such a possibility required too much of his trust.

“Perhaps I might explain,” the butler intoned. “One of their team has thrown a shoe in the road just in front of the house.”

This time Colin felt his astonishment in full. Did she think him fool enough to believe that a second encounter in as many hours was naught but coincidence? That she and her mother had followed him home after spying on him through the window of the milliner’s was blatant. What they wanted of him, he had no idea, but he had been used by a woman once too often, already. “Could not the groom have walked the horse to a stables?” he asked, far too tersely to be deemed polite.

The girl’s face crumpled a bit, but she quickly regained command of herself. “He was most willing to do so but Mama refused to allow him to desert her. When I parted from Miss Hale—my friend who has come to London with us from Bengal—she was suffering from a fit of the vapors and Mama, who feels London to be a very wicked place indeed, was not far from it.”

Colin made no reply. Instead, he held the candles even higher to peer into her eyes as if in search of a truth she refused to utter.

“Sir!” the girl insisted. “There are two women suffering palpitations in the road before your
very door and you trouble me with questions. Is it not enough to know that three females are in need of your protection?”

“Yes, of course,” Colin acknowledged, his feelings a distressing muddle of doubt and shame. “Evans, have the boot boy take the horse in hand and invite Mrs. Armistead and . . Miss Hale, is it?” he asked with a questioning look for Miss Armistead who stood with such an admirable lack of temerity in his library. She nodded and he continued. “Ah! Invite them to come and join us here by the fire until the horse is properly shod.” He waved a hand at one of the wing chairs to indicate that she should be seated.

“Thank you,” she said as she moved to the chair with a grace that was not in the least diminished by her haste. He felt, once again, shamed as he realized how he had forced her to stand in the chill draft of the doorway far too long.

“Pray tell, by whose fire do I warm myself?” she inquired.

“I do beg your pardon, Miss Armistead,” he replied, feeling thoroughly humbled for the third time in far too short a space of time. “I am Mr. Colin Lloyd-Jones, not to be confused with Mr. Lloyd-Jones, my father.” He knew he ought to say more, but he hadn’t the least idea what that should be. His thoughts were divided upon the subjects of her admirable poise and how the flames reflected in her glossy black curls, all the while wholly aware that these were topics of conversation to be avoided at all costs.

“I pray I do not in any way inconvenience Mrs. Lloyd-Jones,” Miss Armistead ventured as she peeled off her gloves and raised her hands to the fire. When he did not immediately answer, she turned to bestow on him a smile, one which ignited her entire countenance with an even greater beauty.

As he replaced the candelabra and took up a seat across from her, he wondered yet again how such a diamond of the first water had not been spoken for during her London season or how he had failed to notice her at the time. Worse, he couldn’t begin to fathom what fearful occurrence prevented her from making a sparkling match long since. Her desperation was clearly evident in the way she
had pounded on his door in the dusk of evening in an overt attempt to scheme her way into marriage with him. Now she was asking, oh so delicately, if there were a Mrs. Lloyd-Jones. The whole of it was utterly mystifying.

“Sir, I beg your pardon,” she murmured, her eyes wide with what looked to be apprehension. “I am persuaded I have misspoken. Pray, forgive my impudence.”

The truth came to Colin’s tongue before he had time to consider. “No, not at all impudent,” he assured her, even as he wondered at her capacity to transform his doubt into full commiseration. He, however, failed to reveal his marital status, an omission that prompted her to turn her bewitching gaze upon him in a manner so divested of guile he knew not where to look. Mercifully, the discomfiture of the moment was put at an end by a knock on the door and the entrance of Mrs. Armistead, her eyes owl-like behind her spectacles. She was followed by whom he presumed to be Miss Hale, whose tear-streaked face and disordered locks denoted such genuine distress, he was instantly contrite.

“Please be seated, Mrs. Armistead,” he insisted as he leapt to his feet and indicated that she should take up his own chair. Miss Armistead also rose in favor of her friend, but he persuaded her to stay put, collected another chair from the corner and placed it in front of the fire with the others.

“Thank you,” Miss Hale said in a girlish voice that belied her full-blown looks. “I had thought we must surely freeze to death before help came!”

Miss Armistead’s gaze flew up in dismay and Colin wondered if her agitation at Miss Hale’s bald admission was further evidence of Miss Armistead’s impeccable manners or merely the mark of her determination to gain his favor.

“We are recently arrived from India and are not accustomed to the cold,” her mother hastened to remark.

“Your rescue might have come sooner if you had sent the groom for help,” he observed shortly, “rather than send a young maiden out into the night.” He could not like Mrs. Armistead but feared that his manner bordered on an insolence that betrayed his refusal to be, once again, in the wrong.
However, it was his instinctive desire to protect and defend Miss Armistead that troubled him most.

“I must confess it is my abject fear of the city that is to blame. You see,” Mrs. Armistead continued with an unctuous smile, “I so feared being alone without male protection. I am ever so fortunate to have such an intrepid daughter as I do in Elizabeth. I knew she could not fail us.”

Colin imagined a flash of understanding passed between the mother and her daughter, one which denoted their triumph at having landed themselves in such favorable circumstances, and he quickly turned to gage Miss Armistead’s expression. He was not fast enough, it seemed, for he found her looking demurely into her lap, her lips devoid of the air of victory he was persuaded would adorn them.

“But, surely, Mrs. Armistead, you are aware that the streets of London are not where a well-favored young lady should be found so late in the day unless appropriately accompanied.” He neglected to add that Bond Street was meant to be the sole province of males once the shadows began to lengthen, a fact of which she should certainly have been in possession, India or no.

“Oh, dear! Is that so?” she replied with a flutter of her hands. “I hadn’t the slightest idea. Dearest Elizabeth did mention something along those lines, but Miss Hale was weeping so volubly that I was unable to make out what Elizabeth was saying. Dearest,” she said, turning to Miss Armistead. “I had not wished to subject you to such peril. How fortunate we are that this fine gentleman was by.”

“Yes, Mama,” Miss Armistead replied as she reached out to pat her mother on the hand, “we are. However, it would be rude beyond bearing if we were to trouble Mr. Lloyd-Jones for a bit longer than need be. I am persuaded he was just about to sit down to his dinner when I arrived and for that I am most contrite.”

“Mr. Lloyd-Jones?” her mother asked with a nervous twitter. “Don’t say you are one of the Shropshire Lloyd-Joneses!” she exclaimed. “But, of course you are! How could I not have seen it immediately? Why, I grew up in the parsonage at Kempton and have many a pleasant memory of your father and uncles riding out on their lovely horses.”

Colin subdued a groan. Here it was, the vexatious groveling over his family and their fulsome funds followed by the gushing recital of connections and common relations, most of which were invented out of whole cloth. Worse was his realization that the Armistead’s knew to lie in wait for him. Mrs. Armistead must have noted the family resemblance the moment she clapped eyes on him; gray eyes, dark, curly locks and a dusky complexion were the Welsh inheritance of each and every Lloyd-Jones of his acquaintance.

Drawing deeply upon the well of generations of training, he allowed the expected smile to curve his lips. “Yes, indeed” he replied as he sketched the matron a brief bow. “I believe your people are no longer living at the parsonage,” he added with a sidelong look at Miss Armistead in order to know her reaction. He was puzzled by the color that suffused her face and more so by how she continued to gaze steadily into her lap. The thought had more than once crossed his mind that she must be an excellent actress, but he was forced to own that it was impossible to feign a sincere blush.

Mrs. Armistead must have taken in her daughter’s discomposure, as well. “Oh, my, have I misspoken?” Mrs. Armistead asked.

“No, Mama, it’s only that I am persuaded we have troubled Mr. Lloyd-Jones long enough. Perhaps he ought to be relieved of his duties as host. We shall do quite well on our own, shall we not?”

“Dinner has been pushed back, already,” Colin said with a wave of his hand at the butler who had toed open the door and was listening for his prompt to enter the library. “It would not be equitable to require Cook to bring it on again so soon.” With his words, the butler’s highly polished shoe disappeared from behind the door that shut so quietly even Colin did not hear it. To his chagrin, he was now fully committed to the entertainment of the ladies until they might be once again on their way.

There followed a thorny silence before Mrs. Armistead made what promised to be another unfortunate attempt at small talk. “There is to be a ball at the Carruth’s in two days time. As a Lloyd-Jones, I warrant you must have been written in at the top of the guest list. Have you plans to attend?”

“You honor me, ma’am, but I don’t believe I have been invited to that particular ball.” Colin
restrained himself from looking to the mantle where lay the invitation designed to proffer him entrance to the very ball of which she spoke.

“Oh, dear! Well, then, what about the Green’s do Tuesday next?”

“No, I am afraid I have not received that invitation, either,” Colin replied in mild tones at odds with the pounding in his head. He hadn’t an aptitude for deceit and he feared the insightful Miss Armistead saw through his denials.

“What of the Russell’s; have you not received their invitation?” Colin merely gave her a terse smile, unwilling to say anything that would further expose his perfidy, but she would not be silent. “It is certain you have received word of the Ames’ ball. And the Roberts’? Or perhaps the Scott-Montgomery’s?”

Colin silently shook his head with each name and prayed she would run out of friends and acquaintances before he, in a too conspicuous move, jumped to his feet and consigned the stack of invitations on his mantle to the flames below it.

“Mr. Lloyd-Jones, you grace the portals of Almack’s on occasion, do you not?” Miss Armistead asked in reasonable tones. They unaccountably served to soothe his frayed nerves in spite of his suspicions that she was aiding her mother in a quest to ascertain his schedule.

“Not often. In point of fact, I have sworn to a friend of mine that we should avoid all such entertainments this season.” Rather than be dismayed at his revelation of such a personal nature, he was relieved to give the ladies the truth, one which had no reflection on them at all whatsoever. In spite of that, a shadow passed over Miss Armistead’s face as if he had indeed dissembled at their expense.

“What a pity,” Miss Hale remarked. “I am persuaded I should have very much enjoyed dancing with you.”

Miss Armistead leaned forward and intently regarded her friend. However, Miss Hale seemed impervious to the silent admonition.

“You can’t be anything but an exquisite dancer, what with those longs legs of yours,” Miss Hale
continued shamelessly.

“Miss Hale,” Miss Armistead cut in. “You forget yourself. It is one thing to talk so amongst the officers back home, but you will find that few in London society shall look on you with favor if you do not mind your tongue.”

“I only wished to dance with him, Elizabeth, not wed him,” Miss Hale said with a pert air.

This admission seemed only to deepen Miss Armistead’s vexation and she rose quickly to her feet. “Mr. Lloyd-Jones, we thank you for your congenial hospitality but perhaps it would be best if we waited elsewhere.”

As it seemed unlikely that they should ever again lay eyes on one another, Colin was loathe to be so rude as to send them away. “I won’t hear of it. As a bachelor who lives alone, I am most often deprived of such genteel company.” As he listened to the words he spoke, he was surprised to know that they were indeed, true. Convinced that he would never again allow himself to be caught in the talons of a Cecily Ponsonby, he felt unaccountably safe admiring the disingenuous Miss Armistead from the distance his wounded heart afforded. Certainly, the heat from the fire had never turned Cecily’s cheeks such a delicious shade of pink nor had her pale blue eyes sparkled as, even now, Miss Armistead’s green ones did, for any reason at all whatsoever. So lost was he in his thoughts that he, at first, failed to notice that Miss Armistead still stood as if about to depart.

“Miss Armistead,” he admonished as he rose to his feet, “do take your seat.” When she did not immediately comply, he dared to take her by the elbow so as to guide her descent into the wing backed chair. He was unprepared for the flash of resistance she demonstrated and was utterly confounded by how the rigidity of her arm dissolved into compliance once she had raised her magnificent eyes to look into his.