A Minor Inconvenience Read online

  “Captain, are you quite well?”

  “Thank you, sir, I am.” He tore his eyes from Colonel Lindsay’s face and fixed them on the papers in front of him. He was in no doubt that the colour in his cheeks was fluctuating between white as bone to a pink that would put Miss Williams to shame.

  “Captain Fanshawe dipped a little too deep last night,” Courtenay put in, and Hugh had never thought he would have reason to be grateful to Courtenay. “Captain Francis Courtenay, 52nd Foot, at your service, sir.”

  “Indeed.”

  Hugh dared to look up again and found Colonel Lindsay surveying them both with an air of faint boredom. “Tell me, gentlemen, as one only recently returned to these shores, where might one expect to pass an enjoyable evening these days?”

  Hugh looked down again. He knew the colonel could not be teasing Hugh by making an elliptical reference to the previous night. The very thought of it, however, meant he could not hold the colonel’s gaze.

  Thankfully, Courtenay saved the day. Talking had always been more to his liking than working, and with a senior office initiating conversation, what could he do but fling himself wholeheartedly into it? Colonel Lindsay moved across the room to Courtenay’s desk and propped a hip on it as he toyed with Courtenay’s quill, listening to the reeling off of a list of new gambling hells, the best places to attend prizefights these days, the latest opera dancers in Covent Garden and so on. In a burst of amity, they arranged for Lindsay to accompany Courtenay to the most recent exclusive hell to have opened, where Lindsay was assured that play was for those with deep pockets and no rackety types were allowed through the hallowed portals.

  “What of you, Captain Fanshawe? Will you join us?”

  Hugh looked up from where he had been pretending to study his paperwork and found Colonel Lindsay watching him with friendly invitation in his face.

  Courtenay’s crack of laughter split the air before Hugh could respond. “Captain Fanshawe spends his every evening on his mama’s leading string,” he informed Colonel Lindsay. “Indeed, I have no idea how he contrived to slip free long enough to fight overseas, unless his brother agreed to wet-nurse him.”

  Hugh sat rigid for an instant, scarcely able to credit his ears. He and Courtenay had never been friends and he knew the man had a tart tongue, yet he had never realised the depth of scorn that informed his opinion of Hugh. And the reason why they had not become friends, despite sharing this office for four months, was laid bare in Courtenay’s words—he understood neither obligation, nor duty, nor kindness to one’s widowed parent who sought only diversion from her single state.

  “I regret I have another commitment this evening, sir,” he said to Lindsay. “Another time, perhaps.”

  “When the seas have run dry,” Courtenay muttered, and when Hugh looked sharply at him, he raised his eyebrows in response. “You know it to be true,” he said, then looked back to Lindsay and shrugged slightly, as if to underline how difficult a time he had sharing an office with such a dull bore.

  “I shall hold you to that, Fanshawe,” Lindsay said, and it took Hugh an instant to remember to what he was to be held.

  “Ten o’clock, then,” Lindsay said to Courtenay in parting. He nodded to them both, and retreated as casually and in as unhurried a manner as he had arrived.

  …

  Hugh still felt unsettled on returning to his lodgings, to such an extent that he seized thankfully upon the missive from his mother that reminded him his presence was expected for a small dinner party that evening. Even that would be better than facing an evening with nothing to distract him from his thoughts.

  He was sure in his own mind, as sure as he could be after partaking as heavily as he had, that it had been Lindsay he had seen last night. He knew Lindsay had marked his presence and had subjected him to enough scrutiny that there could be no doubt of him recognising Hugh again. Yet what could Hugh do? He could scarcely approach the man and fall into conversation about the molly house they had both visited. It left him uneasy not to address the issue, however, because each time he thought of Lindsay, Hugh wondered if his presence at such a place might yet be betrayed. Hugh’s peace of mind wasn’t helped by thoughts of Lindsay’s figure—the strength that was so evident in his shoulders and the long lines of his powerful thighs in close-fitting green pantaloons.

  Requiring a diversion from such thoughts, he took some time choosing his outfit that evening, to the great delight of his valet who seemed to take it as a personal insult that Hugh preferred simple clothes when not in uniform. As Murray dressed him, he managed to convey to Hugh in no uncertain terms that if only Hugh could rid himself of his deplorable habit of patronising Scott rather than Weston for his coats, he might even meet with his valet’s approval. Despite the obligatory lugubriousness that descended upon Murray’s features when he brushed his gloved hands across Hugh’s shoulders and the entirely inferior coat, he couldn’t hide the air of satisfaction that suffused him that at last his master was almost doing him credit. Hugh thought perhaps he should indulge Murray a little more in his choice of dress, because it appeared not to take much to make him happy and he was a most excellent man who ran Hugh’s modest household in precisely the way that made Hugh comfortable. Going to Weston for his coats was an indulgence too far, however.

  Hugh arrived at the house in Half Moon Street to find that his mother’s idea of what constituted a small party was somewhat at variance with his. He put the best face on it he could and took the opportunity shortly after his arrival to snatch a few quiet words with Sophia. At least, that was his intention, but he found her deep in conversation with Miss Williams. As he approached, he was almost sure he could see Sophia’s clever touches in Miss Williams’ appearance tonight, for while her hair was still à la mode, it was more flattering in style, and the flowers twisted into it were cream rather than white, lending her hair a softer hue.

  “C-captain Fanshawe,” Miss Williams greeted him, her cheeks growing rosier by the instant.

  “Your servant, Miss Williams,” he returned, and wondered briefly at the quizzical look he received from Sophia. “Were you able to resolve satisfactorily your puzzle about shops?”

  “Oh yes,” Miss Williams said, hands clasped together earnestly. “Thanks to your kindness and to Sophia, who has been so helpful.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it,” Hugh said, and wondered just how he was going to speak to Sophia without Miss Williams hanging on their every word.

  “Lavinia,” Sophia said, “would you think it terribly remiss of me to speak for an instant to Hugh about the letter we had today from James?”

  “Oh!” Miss Williams said, and the colour which had begun to fade blazed up again in her face. “I’m sorry—I did not—of course. I shall go and speak to Lady Melksham, for she was so very gracious earlier.”

  Hugh looked apologetically at Sophia once they were alone. “Are you very out of sorts with me for introducing you?” Had he realised just how socially hobbled Miss Williams was, he would not have imposed her on Sophia.

  “Not at all,” she returned strongly. “She is the sweetest thing, and she is not usually so easily overset. I cannot think why she should be so tonight.”

  Hugh was fairly certain that Sophia’s words were loaded, accompanied as they were by a particularly speaking look, but he did not have the interest in Miss Williams to pursue Sophia’s meaning.

  “What does James have to say?” he asked.

  Sophia looked confused for an instant, then she put her hand on Hugh’s arm. “Oh, there is no letter. Forgive me for being so scheming, but I thought you wanted to speak to me and could not do so with Lavinia here.”

  “It’s nothing of import,” he said swiftly, not wishing Sophia to refine too much upon his subject matter, and also wondering just when Sophia had developed Emily’s ability of being able to see into his mind. “I merely wished to know how you are. Did you enjoy yester
day evening?”

  “Very much,” she said. “There were quite a number present, and such dancing, Hugh—you should have seen the tangle that resulted when Thomas Ivory stood upon Isabella’s gown and it tore. It brought the entire room to a standstill.”

  “And did you fall upon the side of clumsy oaf or poor unfortunate?” he teased, because Sophia’s heart was very tender.

  “It might have happened to anyone,” she scolded him, then added after a moment’s reflection, “although he is perhaps a little more prone to it than most.”

  “Did you stand up with anyone in particular?”

  Her brow creased slightly. “Sir Ralph was not present.” Perhaps she heard the clear dejection in her voice because she rushed on to add, “And of course the Marquess would not attend such a gathering. Not,” she confided in a lower voice, leaning in towards him, “that I am quite so enamoured of him as Mama appears to be.”

  No, that would be difficult indeed. He was, however, pleased to learn of the wretched Stanton’s continuing absence and only hoped it was due to him having found an heiress to court rather than it being a game he was playing with Sophia to ensure she was all the more receptive when he once more appeared in her orbit.

  There was nothing Hugh could do about that at the moment, so he changed the subject to the heart of what he wanted to know. “Will you guess who came into my office today?”

  “Good heavens, Hugh—not The Most Honourable The Marquess of Wellington?”

  “Brat,” he shot at her, as she clasped her hands in excitement and her face lit with pretended anticipation and delight. “You know as well as I that Wellington refuses to return to England for as long as we are at war.”

  “Well, I don’t know who else might have you so excited, brother dearest. Do tell.”

  Excited? That was an interesting word for the mixture of emotions that thoughts of Colonel Lindsay raised in Hugh’s breast. “Your partner from the Fitzroys’ ball, Colonel Lindsay of the 95th Rifles.”

  “Oh,” Sophia said blankly. Hugh’s great revelation had evidently proved hugely anticlimactic.

  “He had business at Horse Guards,” Hugh laboured on determinedly. “Did he happen to mention what brought him back to England when you spoke to him?” Because if Hugh knew that, he might gain some indication as to how long he would be in London.

  She shook her head, chestnut curls bouncing.

  “Lindsay, you say?” He had not noticed his mother’s approach until she interrupted his and Sophia’s exchange. “He’s younger son to the Earl of Badbury. A good fortune too, I believe, from his uncle, Winslow.” It seemed the content of their conversation was suddenly borne in upon her because sudden eagerness and calculation showed in her face. “You stood up with him, Sophia?”

  “For one dance, and he was merely being polite,” she said, and her lack of interest in Lindsay could scarcely be more plain. Hugh could not help but wonder at it. What would possess a lady to favour a ramshackle fool like Stanton, who modelled himself after one of Lord Byron’s romantic heroes, above the address and figure of a man such as Lindsay?

  “I believe Colonel Lindsay is only here briefly, for he mentioned business with the Adjutant General,” he said, determined to steer his mother away from any further thoughts about Lindsay. “Now, Mama, tell me just how it is you contrive to look more beautiful each time I see you?”

  “Flatterer.” She tapped him sharply on the arm with her fan, although a smile graced her lips. “Come with me, I wish to introduce you to Lord Maplethorpe. His youngest is in the Peninsula and he wishes to ask you about the situation over there.”

  As Hugh obediently accompanied her across the room, he hoped he had nipped his mother’s interest in Colonel Lindsay in the bud. The thought of Lindsay marrying Sophia left him feeling somehow hollow inside.

  Chapter Four

  The following day, Hugh devoted himself to his work. Even though he couldn’t see how his contribution was helping achieve victory over Boney, he had to believe it was useful in some way, if only to those officers who had requested leave.

  Courtenay did not appear until late in the day. When he did so he was pale, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair looked as though it had not recently known the attentions of a comb.

  “Dear God,” he exclaimed dramatically, staggering over to his desk and falling gracefully into the chair there. “What is it about the Rifles? Never go drinking with a rifleman, Fanshawe. It ain’t worth the pain afterwards.”

  Hugh felt no particular friendship for Courtenay after yesterday’s revelation of his true feelings, so he held his silence. It didn’t deter Courtenay from continuing to make his condition known, for he sighed exaggeratedly a great many times before he dropped his head down onto his desk, his groan muffled somewhat by the piles of papers on which his face rested. Hugh continued to work, scratching careful notations into the regimental books in front of him and compiling memoranda for Colonel Dalrymple as requested, and trying his best not to be distracted by Courtenay’s continued sprawl across his desk or the snores that ultimately emanated from his outstretched figure.

  When Hugh rose to his feet at the end of the day, leaving a neat stack of new paperwork on the corner of his desk, he hesitated for an instant over whether or not to alert Courtenay to the onset of evening. He decided to leave him to continue sleeping. His decision may have been influenced the smallest part by Courtenay’s attitude the previous day. It was most certainly not due to Hugh’s envy that Courtenay had evidently enjoyed a long and pleasurable evening with Colonel Lindsay. That thought didn’t even cross his mind as he put on his greatcoat and headed back to his lodgings, and it did not stay with him as he dressed for yet another ball. His attention was entirely upon his outfit, as his valet would vouch.

  When he arrived at Half Moon Street, Lady Fanshawe greeted him with unusual enthusiasm. “You look quite the thing tonight, Hugh, even if you are not in regimentals.”

  Startled, he glanced in the looking glass above the fireplace, to find that Murray had dressed him in a coat of blue superfine with gold buttons that shone in the light, a white silk waistcoat and satin knee breeches, and had evidently persuaded him while his mind was elsewhere to tie his neckcloth in the Mathematical style.

  “Hugh!” Sophia greeted him as she came into the room. “Have you seen my new gown? It is apple-blossom crape, and just see how the beads and drops are arranged á la militaire. It is quite as splendid as your regimentals but much prettier. I have decided it is one of my very favourites.”

  Hugh found it difficult to tell the difference between this particular gown and any of the other ball dresses Sophia wore, but he knew better than to volunteer that information. He admired it suitably, making her smile. Then she turned her gaze upon him.

  “You look bang up to the mark tonight,” she said, and laughed at his disapproval. “I know I shouldn’t use such an expression, but it’s true. Is there a particular lady whose eye you wish to catch?”

  Hugh spread his hands out in a plea. “Can a fellow not dress to gladden the heart of his valet once in a while without being assailed for it?”

  “Evidently not,” Sophia said. “Come, we mustn’t be late.”

  Which must mean she was expecting Stanton’s presence tonight. Hugh was suddenly glad he had agreed to accompany them.

  The ballroom at the Trents’ townhouse was crowded, hot and noisy. Hugh did not like his chances of keeping a close eye upon Sophia in such circumstances and had to trust to his mother’s experience of chaperoning, as well as to Sophia’s own good sense. He didn’t want to believe she would ever do anything improper, but her incomprehensible fondness for Stanton might allow him to persuade her into something that she would in no other situation consider. He set no store in the power of Miss Williams to dissuade her; he had already greeted that young lady this evening, to be met with more blushes and stammers that had trailed off into s
uch a tangle of half-formed sentences that he had been forced to hold forth on the subject of the weather at excruciating length in order to give her time to recover her countenance. He had finally been able to retreat when their hostess approached with a fair-haired young man whose blush equalled Miss Williams’ own and who appeared desirous of making her acquaintance.

  As Hugh circled the room, he searched for Stanton. He was, at least, always easy to see—he was far too emotionally tortured to bother with such mundane things as styling his hair, and his rebellion against society’s strictures found expression in waistcoats of a most alarming range of colours and patterns.

  Hugh’s thoughts about Stanton had driven other matters from his mind and so it took him a while to realise he was not imagining the flash of dark green uniform with silver buttons and red silk sash that he glimpsed from the corner of his eye. Turning on the spot, he saw the familiar figure that could only belong to Colonel Theo Lindsay making his bow to Emily, who was regarding him with distinct approval in her face. She laughed at something Lindsay said, and Hugh was familiar enough with her to know it was not mere politeness but true amusement. Something twinged within his breast, and he turned his attention to searching for Stanton once more.

  Sometime later, he completed his circuit of the ballroom, only to observe that somehow he had missed his quarry, for Sophia was standing up with the cursed Stanton. Emily and Lindsay also formed part of the set. Hugh leaned back against the wall and watched. If there was the suspicion of a glower upon his face, it was to do with Stanton’s temerity, nothing more. He was quite obviously charming Sophia with his attentions, and even Hugh had to admit that he was a very handsome fellow, if one could overlook his reprehensible character and sartorial solecisms.

  Hugh’s brow lowered further once the dance had finished because Emily, of all people, was presenting Lindsay to Sophia, and she was standing up with him for the next dance. Even seeing Stanton necessarily prevented from further contact with Sophia in such a way did not calm him. When he realised that supper was to follow the dance, meaning Lindsay would accompany Sophia, it was all he could do not to grind his teeth. It was scant comfort to see that no matter how Sophia’s head might have been turned by Stanton, she was still behaving properly, turning all her attention on her current partner and smiling prettily at whatever he was saying. Hugh wondered just what it was Lindsay said that caused each of his partners such pleasure in his company.