Chapter 4

"W hy are you staring at Lady Winifred Tuttle?"

Ajax shot a shocked look at his beautiful, eccentric mother, the Dowager Duchess of Westleigh. "I am not."

His mother gave him an amused look, her eyes dancing. That look—he knew it oh so well. The look of a mother who could not be tricked or fooled or lied to. It was most annoying.

And she'd caught him, right there on the edge of the ballroom at Sanderson House, trying to understand how the devil someone as marvelous as Lady Winifred could end up a spinster.

He should have known better than to contemplate Lady Winifred. But he'd been unable to resist once he'd realized she was there.

And, of course, his mother had noticed.

His mother was like a seer who could see beyond the veil or through the glass and know the truth of all things. It made growing up deuced difficult because there were no secrets in the Briarwood family. He supposed, in the end, it was an excellent thing because as far as he could tell, secrets really only led to dark places.

But sometimes a fellow wanted a little bit of privacy, at least from his mama. Still, he supposed, he was grateful that she knew everything about him, and he was fairly certain he knew just about everything about her.

Still, he didn't like being called out on the spot like this.

"You've never looked at her before," she pointed out. Her brow furrowed and she mused, "I don't really think anybody has ever looked much at her before. At least not someone like you."

He scowled. "Why?" he demanded through gritted teeth. "There's nothing wrong with her. I daresay she's superior to most."

As far as he could tell, Lady Winifred was a cut above the ladies of the ton. She was sensible, funny, not unattractive and, well, plucky. He liked plucky. He felt more gentlemen should like plucky. Plucky ladies made plucky children, and who wouldn't want to have a plucky child?

He abruptly frowned. How the devil had he gone from thinking about Lady Winifred to thinking about having a child with her? He hadn't. That's not actually what he had thought. It had all been hypothetical, in any case.

His mother's lips twitched. "Oh dear. Is something transpiring that I should be made aware of?"

"No, Mama. Absolutely not." He huffed out a breath, then ventured, "Why the blazes would you say Lady Winifred isn't noted by people like me?"

His mother tsked before she shrugged. "The ton is full of fools who do not see a person's true worth. Lady Winifred is not even a wallflower anymore. She hasn't been for some time. She usually sits with the old ladies and observes. In silence."

"She's not old," Ajax protested, horrified that this was Winifred's lot in life. His blunt, bold, funny Winifred sat in silence?

"I didn't say she was old," his mother returned as she surveyed the crush. "I said she sits with the old ladies. Not the Gorgons, mind you. Just the ones who seem to have given up."

Ajax scowled. "How very dreary for her."

"How very dreary for anyone ," his mother drawled. "I cannot imagine sitting, fading away in the corner somewhere like a gown that has gone out of fashion."

His mother would never go out of fashion. Oh, no. She was the sort of stuff that would always keep being reborn no matter how bad things got. Perhaps it was being born in poverty in London, then climbing her way up to become one of the greatest actresses of the London stage, and then being selected by his father to be his duchess.

It was impossible to know, but nothing got his mother down. Not for long. She had chosen a long time ago not to despair but to always insist on hope.

Actually, he rather thought there were some unique qualities that Lady Winifred might share with his family, clinging to hope being one of them. Except for the fact that it did seem like Winifred was about to give up.

Because after their adventure concluded, it sounded as if she was planning on retreating to a little life in the country as her family wished.

He didn't like the idea of someone having one last hurrah with him and then giving in, allowing their light to dim. Perhaps he could convince her to revolt instead.

It was a winning idea.

Yes. He liked it well.

And this whole idea of an adventure without kisses… He wasn't sure he could do that. And not because he was a rogue, but because her lips were the most delicious shade of pink and her eyes had sparked when he had touched her cheek.

"Oh dear," his mama said. "That look is most dangerous. What are you thinking?"

He cleared his throat. He shared quite a lot with his mother, but he wouldn't be sharing thoughts of kissing Lady Winifred.

"Just that Lady Winifred shouldn't be sitting over there in a faded chair with faded ladies, fading away herself."

"Oh my," she said. "How passionate of you, my dear. I didn't even know you knew the lady."

"We've become recently acquainted," he said.

"When?" she asked.

"In St. James's Park."

His mother arched a brow. "Many things happen in St. James's Park that no mother should know about."

"It was in daylight, Mama," he drawled.

"Even so," she trilled. She whipped out her fan, snapped it open, and began to wave it before her face. "In my day, St. James's Park was a place of true ill repute. Still quite fashionable, of course."

In his mother's day, things had been far wilder than they were now. Slowly, very slowly, the age of wickedness was fading out. King George was not fond of such things. He and his Queen Charlotte had done everything they could to bring a sort of dignity to England, a dignity that had not been there in the past.

He wondered how long it would last because Prinny had very little interest in dignity. The man was more interested in perfumes, cravats, handkerchiefs, and drama.

While Ajax understood his own political party's desire to get rid of the old guard and usher in a new era, he wasn't sure Prinny was the fellow for the job. Still, they didn't live in a republic. They lived in a monarchy, and one could not get rid of him.

Granted, it seemed the French had gone that route, as had the Americans, but according to his brother, Achilles, things in France were going to hell in a handbasket and quickly. His cousin, Jean-Luc, seconded the sentiment. Jean-Luc and his sisters had barely, it seemed, escaped with the clothes on their back, some funds, and, well, their wits.

Things were devolving fast across the channel, and Ajax prayed to God that it would not go the same way here.

It certainly didn't seem so in this ballroom where people acted as if violence wasn't erupting across France.

It amazed him how people could go about their lives as if the world wasn't falling apart just outside their doors. But that was, it seemed to be, how humans coped with chaos—by simply dancing on as if nothing was amiss.

He supposed, in the end, it wasn't a terrible idea. What did wailing and gnashing teeth do? But he did hope his brother the duke and his brother Hector were able to make some good changes in society soon. Otherwise, they would go the way of lost empires.

And he quite liked England, if he was honest. It was a country that was bold and full of rich history. He wouldn't like to see it fall to the wayside like France.

"You've grown very serious," his mother said suddenly.

"Forgive me. I know I am not accustomed to looking thus."

He was not the serious one of his brothers.

As a matter of fact, he generally was the jolly one, the one with muscle, the one who got things done, the one who caroused all over town and made merry.

In truth, all his brothers did that. But he was never the one people thought of when it came to intellect or politics. He simply negotiated his way through life, enjoying it, supporting people, making them happy. And truthfully, he felt that was quite a noble endeavor.

Making people happy was important. The more happy people there were in this world, the less misery there would be. And if there was less misery, well, things wouldn't fall apart. And that's exactly what he was going to be doing with Lady Winifred Tuttle. He was going to ensure her happiness. Yes, he would ensure happiness one person at a time.

"Excuse me, Mama, I must go, and—"

"You be careful, my dear," his mother warned suddenly.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, turning back to her.

"Something is afoot." She whipped her fan shut. "My internal mother warning knows it to be true."

He scowled. "Mama, don't—"

"Oh, no, no, my dear," she rushed. "I understand. You have only just met her in St. James's Park, but—"

"No, Mama," he said. "Never you fear. All is well."

"Oh, of course it is, my dear." She smiled at him and let her gaze travel in the direction of Lady Winifred. "It's better than well. It is positively marvelous."

His mother then turned on her delicate heel and sailed off through the company in search of more conversation, knowing that if she said anything else, she would likely only induce further argument, and set him to entrenching his heels, insisting that something wasn't afoot.

But something was afoot.

Even he could tell his dratted feelings for Lady Winifred were not typical. No, the Briarwood alert that his heart was in danger was beginning to make itself known.

He should run.

Yes, really that's what he should do. Except, it wouldn't work. It never would. Briarwoods could not escape their fate. Once they met the one that was for them? There was no arguing or fighting it.

Still, surely she wasn't…

Ajax shook his head and, without thinking, charged his way across the room, wandering through the beautifully dressed company.

He found himself standing before Lady Winifred.

She stared up at him from her delicate perch upon a rather spindly chair. She had remarkably good posture. Her fingers clasped her cup delicately, and she blinked up at him. Where was the bold young woman he'd met in St. James's Park?

There was a strange sort of mask over her face at present. Not a literal one, but one which seemed to keep her plucky character at bay. She looked quite placid, except there was alarm in her eyes.

"Lord A—" she stopped herself and plunked her cup down on the table beside her. "Forgive me, I don't believe we've had the pleasure of making each other's acquaintance," she rushed.

And then one of the old ladies with withered hands, slightly myopic eyes, and a crooked wig rumbled, "This is Lord Ajax. Whatever are you doing over here, my boy?"

"Well, Lady Sanford, I have come because it looked as if all of you could use a little bit of cheering up."

"Charity, my dear. Charity," Lady Sanford bleated. "None of us like to feel as if—"

"But," he exclaimed, "how could I possibly feel that I was giving out charity when the lot of you have lived such remarkable lives? Can you not regale me with tales of your favorite Seasons?"

And with that, he pulled out a chair, sat down beside the elderly lady, and glanced over at Lady Winifred.

"Dear Lady Winifred," he said, "if Lady Sanford will not divulge her secrets, surely you can tell me a thing or two."

She gulped. "I beg your pardon."

Lady Bartley, sitting to Lady Sanford's left, pursed her wrinkled lips. "Lady Winifred rarely says anything. She has learned to be quiet. It took some time for her to do so. So please do not encourage her to rattle on. She used to go on and on. Dear goodness, she could put one to sleep with her knowledge and attention to detail."

He gritted his teeth. How dare these women censure Winifred? "She's passionate then."

"Passionate!" The older lady exclaimed. "That is not the word for it."

And one of the other older ladies leaned forward, her wig teetering. "Eh?" she said. "Passion? No passion for us spinsters and widows here. We have given up such a life. No, it is our life now to hold the torch of life and carry on."

"To what?" he asked simply.

The elderly lady blinked at him. "I beg your pardon."

He cocked his head to the side. "What are you carrying on for exactly?"

Lady Winifred pressed her lips together and appeared as if she was choking on a laugh.

The older lady looked at him. "Well, I don't really know, but I do know that I am quite capable at it."

"Of course you are," Lord Ajax said firmly, not wishing to give offense. "I can tell the lot of you are extremely capable, especially Lady Winifred. Lady Winifred, please regale me with your knowledge."

"No, my lord," she said, shaking her head. "I find that unlikely. Gentlemen are not generally interested."

"In?" he asked.

"Well," she began, smiling slowly. "If you insist."

"No," Lady Sanford cut in, waving her arms like an angry crow. "Up you get, Lord Ajax. Up you get. No gentlemen over here. This is for ladies who have eschewed your sex. We have no need of you here."

He was being shooed away. Was Lady Sanford a wooly sheepdog, keeping her charge secure?

How he longed to whisk Winifred away. Did he dare? Yes, he did.

"Well, if my conversation with the lady disturbs you, then I must simply ask her to dance."

And with that, Lady Winifred's eyes bulged. "Surely not."

"Do you not know how to dance?" he asked.

"Of course I do," she returned, though she appeared quite alarmed at the prospect. She leaned towards him and whispered so softly that the older ladies could not hear, "But if you recall, I told you that I have not been asked to dance in years."

"Then you must indulge me," he said as he stood. "For I feel the need to do a jig."

What else could she say to that except to gulp, place her hand in his, look at the ladies around her, and say, "Why, of course, my lord. Whatever you require."