Chapter 4

Chapter Four

T here are others that are just as delicate.

Scowling to himself, Andrew threw back the door that led to his study and stormed into the room. For whatever reason, his encounter with that irritating young lady had made him more than a little out of sorts – indeed, he found himself angered at some of her words. He had been reveling in how much the ton had been delighting in his words, had been glad to know that so many ladies of the ton were discussing it, and even meditating upon it, only to hear dismissive words come to him instead.

"It should not matter what a mere Miss thinks," he told himself, coming around to his behind his desk, slamming one hand down upon the table. "Why should I find myself concerned about her response?"

Closing his eyes, he took in a long breath, trying to tell himself that he was being ridiculous but, still, the thoughts would not leave him. Over and over, he saw the lady turn her gaze from his, her expression one of consideration as she had informed him that other work was better than his, that she found herself delighting in the poetry of other men rather than thinking that his was on the same level as theirs. Why that irritated him, Andrew could not say, but yet, it was like a needle that continued to drive into his skin.

"This is foolishness!" Throwing up his hands, he pushed himself up from the table and moved to walk to the other side of the room, only for a knock at the door to break through his thoughts. "Yes?"

"Lord Glenfield has come to call, my Lord."

"Show him in." Andrew kept his gaze on the window as his friend came in, taking in a breath and attempting to push his frustration out of his expression before turning around. "Glenfield, good afternoon."

His friend frowned.

"Whatever is the matter?"

Andrew's expression crumpled.

"I thought that… nothing, that is to say. Nothing at all."

Lord Glenfield lifted an eyebrow.

Sighing, Andrew went to pour them both a brandy.

"I thought that I had been able to keep my expression free of all that I have been thinking," he said, by way of explanation. "Brandy?"

"Yes, if you please." Lord Glenfield took it from him with a nod of thanks. "I did not think that you would be at home this afternoon, given that you were meant to be meeting with Lady Sternford. I stopped by only on the chance you would have returned a little earlier than anticipated."

Andrew rolled his eyes.

"I did not spend much time with Lady Sternford, unfortunately."

"And why is that? Did she not appear?" Lord Glenfield frowned. "I thought she made it very plain to you that she would be glad of your company."

A wry smile tipped Andrew's lips.

"It seems that most people heard her say such a thing," he replied, as his friend chuckled. "She said it into my ear in such a loud voice that almost every other person in the room heard her! Yes, we arranged to meet in the bookshop and yes, she did arrive – but I must make it clear that I only intended to acquaint myself a little better with her, that is all. Nothing more."

Lord Glenfield snorted.

"Then why meet in such a private place? Why not walk with her through the park and further acquaint yourself that way?"

Andrew considered then shrugged, a small smile twisting the edge of his mouth.

"Mayhap I would not have been able to acquaint myself with her in the way I desired, should I have done that."

The bark of laughter from his friend made Andrew grin, his frustration over the other young lady fading from him.

"And did you acquaint yourself with her as you desired?" Lord Glenfield asked, just as Andrew's irritation returned swiftly. "I see that you are frowning hard, my friend. I presume that she was not as willing as you might have hoped?"

"Oh no, it was not that," Andrew returned, rolling his eyes. "It was more that I found myself unable to be present with her without any further company for, given what one young lady said in the presence of the bookshop keeper, the man seemed quite determined to reorder the books in whichever part of the shop I was in!" Lord Glenfield's lips quirked but Andrew only scowled, his frustration now burning through him again. "That young lady, whoever she was, took it into her head to say aloud what it was that I had said to her only a few minutes beforehand – and had I known that she was going to say something, I would never have dreamed of speaking so."

"Why did you say it?"

"Because," Andrew sighed, heavily, "I was irritated. I came upon her unexpectedly and she dropped a book she had been holding – a book of poetry, I might add. I told her that I would purchase it for her, given that it was a little damaged, but she refused."

His friend frowned.

"And that troubled you?"

"I did not want her to refuse, but it was more that she…" Sighing, Andrew threw back the rest of his brandy, suddenly feeling rather foolish. "She compared my poetry with other poems she preferred."

A light of understanding came into Lord Glenfield's eyes. "You took offense because she did not think well of your poem?"

Another sigh and a flush of embarrassment crept up Andrew's chest.

"I might have taken it a little too personally. I have been greatly appreciative of those in the ton who have valued my work, and to hear this young lady essentially saying that it was not in any way different from any other poem did irritate me somewhat."

His friend nodded.

"So you spoke foolishly about your intentions as regarded coming into the bookshop?"

"It was not foolish," Andrew protested quickly. "All I did was speak the truth, though I mayhap ought not to have been so clear about it."

"And thereafter, what did you do?"

Andrew flung up one hand, his empty glass in the other.

"Am I at confession?"

"What did you do to make the young lady speak about your intentions in such a clear way?"

Andrew closed his eyes.

"I followed after her, delighting silently in how my honesty had set her ill at ease–"

"Because she did not care for your poem."

"Exactly." Andrew let out a hiss of breath, realizing now just how childish and foolish he had been. "I insisted upon paying for the book and she turned around and spoke both harshly and directly, telling the shopkeeper what it was that I had come to do in his establishment."

"And, I presume, she did not let you purchase the book for her?" Lord Glenfield asked, his lips tugging into a wide smile, despite Andrew's mortification. "My dear friend, you did not behave well, I must say! Rogue you are, yes, but you have never been rude."

Andrew closed his eyes for a moment, wishing that the sense of mortification would pass.

"I am aware that I did not respond well, Glenfield. But the deed is done and now I find myself here, eager to write another poem in the sole hope that she might find this one to be better than the others."

His friend blinked.

"You would take her lack of interest in your work and use it to push you to write again?"

"I would write regardless," Andrew clarified, knowing he could be truthful with his friend, even if Lord Glenfield did not truly understand. The fellow had only written a few letters in his life thus far and had no interest in either writing or reading poetry. "It was your suggestion that I write to The London Chronicle and, given that this first poem has been so eagerly accepted, I feel it is almost my duty to provide them with another!"

His friend took a sip of his brandy, swirling the remainder of it in his glass.

"But her appreciation for poetry other than your own is your steering force?"

Andrew did not answer, a little surprised at the fire which had sprung up within his heart, ever since his conversation with the lady. Instead, he shrugged lightly and then turned away on the pretext of pouring more brandy.

"Might I ask what this young lady's name is?" his friend asked, coming over with him, his glass at the ready. "I think I must meet her, given the influence she has had upon you."

"There is no influence, only irritation," Andrew replied, pouring himself a good measure before doing the same for his friend. "And as for her name, I have very little idea."

Lord Glenfield's expression filled with surprise.

"You are not acquainted with her?"

"No, I am not."

"And you did not think to ask her at the time?"

Andrew shrugged.

"I am a rogue, am I not? What care I for propriety?"

With a chuckle, Lord Glenfield lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip.

"Then you will simply have to point her out to me so that I can do the proper thing and make certain that we are correctly introduced."

A slight frown pulled at Andrew's forehead.

"For what purpose?"

"Well, I am looking to make a match this Season, am I not?" his friend replied, as something heavy dropped into Andrew's stomach. "This young lady sounds tenacious and determined, and I do see the value in that." His eyebrow lifted. "Pretty?"

Thinking back to when he had first seen the lady, Andrew's lips pulled flat. He did not want to admit to his friend that yes, he had found the lady pretty but yet, there had been a hint of gold in her fair curls and her blue eyes had been very striking indeed.

"I suppose that I would say so."

"Capital! Then I look forward to being introduced to her," Lord Glenfield grinned, lifting his glass as though he were toasting Andrew. "Mayhap we shall see her again at the ball this evening."

"Mayhap we shall."

Andrew muttered the words, failing to find even the smallest amount of either interest or happiness in the idea. At least, he considered, as the conversation turned to other things, if she was at the ball, then he would know her name, and that was something, at least.

"Do you see her?"

Andrew winced as Lord Glenfield hissed into his ear.

"My friend, please. You need not be so eager."

"Oh, but I am! I want very much to meet the young lady who has caused you so much frustration," came the reply, as both he and Andrew himself looked out across the ballroom. "My goodness, it is something of a crush here this evening, is it not?"

"Yes, I suppose it is." Andrew looked around but could not see the lady, choosing instead to turn his eyes to the small group of young ladies standing near them. "If I find her, I will inform you. Ah, good evening to you all!" Smiling broadly, he brought his attention to them, his heart lifting just a little as three of the five looked back at him with obvious recognition in their eyes, and the other two quickly dropped their gazes, though their cheeks were flushed. Andrew's grin grew wider. Those two young ladies he had already swept into his arms on one previous occasion, and, no doubt, they would be eager for more of the same, should he offer it to them. The other three, though he was acquainted with them, had not yet shown any interest as regarded his flirtations, but Andrew did not mind that. In time, he was sure that most, if not all, of them would become interested.

"A good evening to you also, Lord Kentmore," one Miss Hayter said, her eyes soft as she gazed back at him. "Are you dancing this evening? We must hope that this is why you have come to join our conversation."

"Oh, but of course I am!" Andrew exclaimed, extending his hand for her dance card, which Miss Hayter gave to him directly. "I have also come to see what it is that you are all discussing, for I am terribly nosy, you see."

He grinned at this, and the ladies laughed with him, the color growing steadily in the cheeks of some.

"Well, I do not mind informing you, though I am sure that you will already be aware of it," said another, glancing around at her friends. "We are speaking of the poem that was in the London Chronicle, and wondering if there will be another next week, given just how much we adored it!"

"Mayhap the gentleman who wrote it – for we presume it was a gentleman, though we do not know for certain – might be encouraged to write again, to write to his love, whoever she may be." Lady Margarete sighed almost plaintively, putting one hand to her heart. "I think it a most beautiful gesture of affection."

"I do not think that it was a gentleman who wrote it." Andrew's eyebrows shot up as Lady Tabitha, a young lady whom he had not yet caught with his attentions, smiled all around the group, evidently seeing or sensing their shock and surprise. "I think it is a young lady, writing the desires of her heart to the gentleman she adores," she continued, as the ladies looked at each other with some murmuring to their companions. "It does not say that it be gentlemen or lady now, does it? Why do we think that it is a gentleman? Could it not be that a young lady feels such a great affection that she has put it into words and then posted it to The London Chronicle? Mayhap this gentleman she cares for does not think or feel as she does and thus, she is determined to make certain that he knows of it by having it printed in the paper. Is that not a reasonable expectation?"

"No, I do not think so."

The words came out of Andrew's mouth before he could stop himself, seeing every eye turn to him and, flushing, he shrugged and tried to make light of his fervent remark.

"What I mean to say is that I am of the mind of everyone else," he said, quickly. "I think the phrasing and the like means that it comes from the mind of a gentleman, though I might very well be incorrect in that."

"There is no way to tell, I suppose," another young lady sighed, her lips curving gently. "I do hope that it is a gentleman, for I should very much like to try to guess which fellow it might be."

This made a few of the young ladies laugh softly, their eyes shining as they contemplated the idea – and Andrew's pride grew furiously. His chin lifted, his shoulders pulled back and he stood as tall as he could, reveling in all that they thought of his work.

And then, a face appeared just to his left and that delight soon faded.

"Oh, Miss Hawick, good evening! And to you also, Miss Hawick, Miss Marshall."

Andrew scowled as the three ladies came to join them, his spirits beginning to pull low.

"Might I ask if you are acquainted, Lord Kentmore, Lord Glenfield?" Lady Margarete asked, as Andrew forced himself to pull his face into an expression of nonchalance, looking at the lady he had seen earlier at the bookshop.

"No, we are not," he said quickly, lifting his chin a notch as the young lady looked back at him directly, showing not even the smallest hint of embarrassment. "Though I should very much like to be acquainted with three such beautiful ladies."

The young lady he already knew said nothing and did nothing, looking back at him as though she were a statue made of marble. Her friend beside her looked away, though the third lady let out a small exclamation of obvious joy, clasping her hands in front of her.

"I should very much like to become acquainted with a gentleman who speaks so kindly and sweetly," she said, her voice a little high-pitched as though she were truly caught up with excitement. "How very good of you to say such a generous thing about us, sir."

"You are quite welcome."

Andrew looked to Lady Margarete who, after a nod to the lady, turned back towards him.

"Lord Kentmore, Lord Glenfield, might I present Miss Lillian Hawick, Miss Charlotte Hawick, daughters to Viscount Morton, and Miss Sarah Marshall, daughter to Viscount Somerville."

Andrew bowed low, as did Lord Glenfield, finding himself rather delighted now to know the name of the lady.

"I am delighted to be introduced to all of you."

"Miss Hawick, Miss Marshall, Miss Hawick, might I present the Earl of Glenfield and the Marquess of Kentmore."

As Andrew rose from his bow, the three ladies dropped into their curtsies, though only one of them was smiling. Miss Marshall and Miss Charlotte Hawick were looking at each other, a knowing look in their eyes as they both turned their attention back towards himself and Lord Glenfield.

"I am delighted to meet all of you," he heard Lord Glenfield say, an eagerness in the man's voice that Andrew did not understand. "Now, do tell us, ladies, what you think of the poem in The London Chronicle? We are all just discussing it, wondering whether it be a gentlemen or lady who wrote it."

"Oh, but I think it must be a gentleman, for it is so beautifully written and has just a fervency within its words!" Miss Lillian Hawick exclaimed, speaking before the others had even a chance to say a word. "I do not think that I have ever read the like!"

Andrew let himself smile, only to see the way that the other Miss Hawick turned her head away and murmured something to Miss Marshall, who then nodded fervently.

"And you?" Lord Glenfield asked, directing his attention directly towards Miss Marshall. "Might you have an opinion?"

"Oh, I do indeed," Miss Marshall replied, her eyes bright as she smiled back at him. "I first of all thought that it was truly wonderful, only for my dear friend here to bring me a book of poetry which I have spent some time this afternoon reading. I am not about to state that the poem in The London Chronicle was poorly written, only to say that I now understand that there is a vast array of such works written and I am eager to read as many of them as I can. Some are written with such passion, I can barely breathe!"

"Truly?" Lady Margarete's eyes flared, her interest evidently piqued. "I should very much like to read this book of poetry, if you would be so good as to share it with me? I confess that I have not read very much poetry, and I would very much like to do so."

"I would be glad to share it," Miss Marshall returned, making Andrew's stomach clench. Lady Margarete had spoken with delight about his work only a few moments ago and yet now, after hearing the recommendation from Miss Marshall – which had been influenced by Miss Hawick – she appeared to have almost forgotten it!

"I am quite certain that there will be another poem in The London Chronicle very soon," he said, interrupting the conversation and having all eyes turn towards him. "Mayhap then we shall discover whether it be lady or gentleman who writes it!" With a small nod, he made to take his leave, only for one of the young ladies to make a small exclamation.

"Lord Kentmore, were you not to dance with some of us?"

Andrew closed his eyes briefly, then forced a smile.

"Yes, of course. You are quite correct. I would be glad to take a dance from any of you." Within a few seconds, Andrew found himself with five dance cards and, having already signed Miss Hayter's, handed that one directly to Lord Glenfield. "How delightful," he muttered, seeing his friend grin. "I am to have my entire evening taken up with dancing!"

The ladies giggled at this and, one at a time, Andrew passed the cards to Lord Glenfield who, thereafter, gave them back to the ladies.

"And what of you, Miss Marshall?"

Andrew looked at Lord Glenfield, surprised to hear him speak so directly to one young lady in particular.

"I see that neither yourself nor Miss Hawick have offered me your dance cards," Lord Glenfield continued, his eyebrows lifting. "Might it be that you have no desire to dance? If it is, then I would find that a great pity given that everyone here is eager to do so!"

Miss Marshall and Miss Hawick shared a look and then, with a small smile, Miss Marshall slipped her dance card from her wrist.

"How very kind, Lord Glenfield. Yes, I should be glad to dance with you."

Miss Hawick's gaze steadied itself on Lord Glenfield though, for whatever reason, Andrew could not take his eyes from her.

"As should I," she said, clearly, "though I am feeling a little fatigued this evening so I think only one dance will suffice."

Andrew's gut twisted and he grimaced, though quickly pulled that from his expression for fear that the other young ladies would see him do so. It was clear to him that Miss Hawick had no interest in being in his company, and certainly had no desire to dance with him. Lord Glenfield recognized it too, handing the card back to Miss Hawick at once though he smiled as he did so, which irritated Andrew all the more.

"What a capital evening this shall be!" Lord Glenfield declared as Andrew, bowing his head, finally managed to take a step away from the ladies, detaching himself from them. "I look forward to dancing with each and every one of you."

"As do I, of course."

Andrew nodded, turned, and released a long breath, closing his eyes in relief at no longer having to be in Miss Hawick's company.

"She does not like you in any way, does she?" Lord Glenfield laughed and slapped one hand on Andrew's shoulder. "Are you certain that she does not know that you are the one who wrote that poem?"

"Quite sure," Andrew stated, firmly, sending a sharp look in his friend's direction. "It seems that the impression she has of me is a very poor one."

"Indeed. Clearly, she is not at all inclined towards rogues," Lord Glenfield chuckled. "But that will not matter to you, since you have practically all of the ladies in society eager for your company! One lady disinterested cannot be a great concern, I am sure."

Andrew took a long breath, set his shoulders, and nodded.

"Quite," he agreed, firmly, telling himself that he was being ridiculous in allowing his frustrations about the young lady to rise once again.

"And you are going to write another poem for The London Chronicle, are you not?"

Resolve poured into Andrew's veins.

"Do stop saying such things here, where someone might overhear! But yes, I certainly am. And this time, it shall be longer than two verses," he declared, making Lord Glenfield's eyebrows lift in surprise. "And I shall make certain that there can be no question over whether it is a gentleman or a lady writing it."

"I see." Lord Glenfield chuckled quietly. "And which young lady shall be your muse this time?"

Andrew shrugged, brushing aside that question though, much to his astonishment, the only face that came to his mind was that of Miss Hawick. Much to his relief, Lord Glenfield began to talk of something else entirely, though, try as he might, Andrew could not remove the image of the lady from his mind and that was very troubling indeed.