Never A Bride

Chapter 5-1

Chapter Five

The Honorable Isabella Orton was a handsome woman, and she was also tall, as tall as Kate, and also flat-chested. James glanced surreptitiously at Miss Orton’s chest again and wondered how he could tell Kate that he wanted a wife with a bosom. Not necessarily a lush bosom. All he required was something soft and warm that filled his hand and his mouth. Something like—

Resolutely he refused to look at Kate. He had never, until this moment, spared one thought for her breasts, and yet now he found himself desperately wanting to compare them to Miss Orton’s. Well, he was not going to. Kate’s breasts were larger than Miss Orton’s, and that was all he needed to know. He was not going to look.

Miss Orton laughed at something Kate said. James hadn’t been paying attention. He thought they were discussing the upcoming ball.

“She’ll make dire pronouncements!” Kate said. Her laugh was almost a giggle.

James stared at her. He’d never associated the words Kate and giggle together before.

“And she’ll glare daggers at anyone who dares to dance the waltz!” Miss Orton said.

Kate’s answering smile was almost wicked. “I know.”

“The waltz?” James asked.

Both ladies turned to look at him.

“Mrs. Forster thinks that waltzing is a sin,” Kate explained. “A dreadful sin. And she tells absolutely everyone so. Quite loudly. She holds very strong views.”

Miss Orton nodded.

“Have you invited this Mrs. Forster to your ball?” James asked.

“Of course,” Kate said.

“And is the waltz to be danced?”

“Of course,” Kate said again. Her gray eyes gleamed with laughter.

Her amusement was infectious. James found himself smiling. His gaze strayed down from her laughing eyes, past the disconcertingly delicious mouth, towards her breasts. His throat tightened. It took effort to turn his head away, but he did so. He’d given Kate’s breasts no thought in the eleven years he’d known her, and he was not about to look at them now.

James clenched his back teeth together and smiled at his hostess. “I look forward to making the acquaintance of the formidable Mrs. Forster. How will I recognize her?”

Isabella Orton laughed. “Merely by listening.”

“Well?” said Kate, as the curricle swept down the lane. “Do you like her?”

“Yes,” said James. “I like her. But I don’t wish to marry her.”

Kate turned her head and stared at him, her eyebrows drawn slightly together. “Why not?” she asked. “She’s everything you require. She’s tall and clever. And she has a sense of humor. She’s nice.”

“Very nice,” agreed James. “But I don’t want to marry her.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged, unable to say that he wished for a wife with a bosom. “I prefer you,” he said, refraining from looking at Kate’s breasts.

“Why?” she asked. It was clear from her tone that she wouldn’t be fobbed off with a vague reply.

“Because . . . because she’s too thin.”

“Thin!” said Kate indignantly. “You never said anything about thinness.”

He shrugged again, and gave the eager team their head. “It didn’t occur to me sooner.”

She frowned at him. “So you want a wife who’s not thin?”

James nodded, completely incapable of telling her why.

One of his horses snorted, and Kate looked as if she’d like to do the same. “Very well,” she said. “Miss Hart, tomorrow.”

If there was one word to describe Miss Amelia Hart, it was plump. The lady had voluptuous curves. A multitude of voluptuous curves. James glanced at Kate. She met his look. There was a glint of amusement in her eyes and her smile was sharp. Miss Hart, he realized, was Kate’s revenge for calling Isabella Orton too thin.

He knew men who’d love to lose themselves in Miss Hart’s embrace, but he wasn’t one of them. Compared to Kate she was . . . he searched for a word. Ripe. That was it. Too ripe. Delicious to some palates, but unfortunately not his own.

Her bosom was magnificent. Unwillingly, his eyes were drawn to it. If there was one thing Miss Hart wasn’t, it was flat-chested.

He’d managed yesterday not to compare Kate with the Honorable Isabella Orton. Today he failed miserably not to compare her to Miss Hart. Despite his best intentions, despite his heartfelt wish not to, James found himself glancing at Kate’s chest.

The bodice of her gown was close-fitting and high-waisted, and what he saw beneath the figured muslin made his heart beat faster. Kate didn’t have breasts for a man who liked to bury himself in lush and ample flesh, but neither was her bosom as meager as Miss Orton’s. Rather, she had breasts formed for someone like himself, a man who preferred to savor his delights in small, sweet, succulent helpings.

His breath caught in his throat and he coughed. Both ladies turned to look at him. James found himself momentarily unable to speak. He coughed again and reached for his teacup. “Excuse me,” he managed, and then he drank the amber liquid and found himself in control of his voice again.

Miss Amelia Hart smiled at him, a sweet smile that lit up her pretty, plump face. She had charming dimples. “Would you like more tea, my lord? With lemon, not milk, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He passed over his cup. “Thank you.”

For the rest of the visit he refrained from looking in Kate’s direction. In the curricle, though, it was impossible not to glance at her without being rude.

“Well?” she asked, in what was becoming a familiar interrogation. “What do you think?”

“Not thin,” James said.

“No.” Kate met his gaze and he clearly saw her amusement. It gleamed in her eyes and hovered on the curve of her mouth.

He turned his attention back to the horses. “Very pleasant, but . . . her charms are too abundant for my liking.”

There was silence for at least half a mile. When he glanced sideways at Kate he thought that she was struggling between laughter and annoyance.

“Another requirement?” she asked finally.

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Kate said. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“Thank you,” James said, relieved that he didn’t have to explain himself further.

“But,” said Kate, in the tone of someone determined to argue, “I think you’re being a great deal too particular! Isabella and Amelia are two of my closest friends, and they’re very nice. You could do much worse than to marry either of them.”

“Yes,” James said. “The fault is clearly mine.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t look mollified.

“Why are they unmarried?” he asked.

“Isabella . . .” Sadness touched Kate’s face, chasing away the annoyance. “Isabella was to be married, but her fiancé . . . he died of the fever, two years ago. It was very hard for her. She hasn’t had a Season since. She doesn’t wish it.”

James thought of handsome Miss Orton and her laughter yesterday with Kate. “I trust she has recovered?”

“I don’t know,” Kate said. She frowned slightly. “I think so. I hope so, because I believe that Mr. Renwick is interested in her.”

“Then why did you show her to me?” James asked, with asperity.

His tone appeared to amuse Kate. He thought she suppressed a smile. “Oh, there’s no attachment between them,” she said. “In fact, I doubt Isabella’s even aware of his interest. But . . .”

“But?”

Kate shrugged. “I’ve seen him watching her at the assemblies.”

“Watching? Is that all?”

“So far. I’ve invited him to the ball. I’m hoping he’ll dance with Isabella.”

“Matchmaking, Kate?”

Color rose in her cheeks. She didn’t deny it. “They would suit each other.”

James was tempted to tease her further, but a goat was tethered beside the lane and one of the leaders took exception to the lowly creature. When they were safely past he turned to Kate again. “And Miss Hart? Why isn’t she married?”

“Amelia?” A crease formed between Kate’s eyebrows. “Too many men share your opinion, it would seem.” There was censure in her voice. “She had a Season, but there were no offers, except for one that was quite unacceptable, and since then—” Her mouth tightened. “It’s not fair. She’s a very nice girl.”

The weight of those frowning gray eyes made James uncomfortable. He felt a flicker of guilt for his hasty rejection of Miss Hart. “Why was the offer unacceptable?”

“Mr. Farley,” Kate said, grimacing with distaste.

James had an instant image of the elderly dandy as he’d last seen him, strutting around the perimeter of Almack’s, his thin face encrusted with cosmetics and his black eyes glittering as he observed the dancing ladies. He could almost smell the man’s overpowering scent, heavy and cloying. “He offered marriage?” James was astonished. “I hadn’t thought—” Abruptly he recalled himself. “I beg your pardon.” Mr. Farley’s penchant for ample women was well known, but his offers were generally of a less formal nature and made to ladies of a different class than Miss Hart—and it was not a subject he could discuss with Kate.

“He was very taken with Amelia,” Kate said. “As I understand it, his attentions were extremely particular. Amelia says she didn’t like it at all.”

James could well imagine that Miss Hart hadn’t liked it. Farnham was a randy old goat. A well-heeled, randy old goat. “Her parents didn’t, ah, encourage her to accept the offer?”

“For his money? No. They were as appalled as Amelia.” Kate was silent for a short moment, her eyes considering him. The glint of amusement was back. “I’m sure they would find no fault with you, though. Are you quite certain . . . ?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Quite certain.”

Kate’s mouth quirked in a manner that was eloquent of her exasperation. James chose to ignore it. “Do you have anyone in mind for Miss Hart?” he asked. “Other than myself?”

“No.” There was a sigh in her voice. “I did think, for a while, that Mr. Wood was going to offer for her, but he’s not made the slightest push . . .”

“Mr. Wood?”

“He purchased Brede Hall a year ago. He’s a widower. Not at all handsome, but very personable. Amelia liked him, and I thought that he liked her and that perhaps he’d offer for her, but . . .”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I must have been mistaken. Although I could have sworn . . .” Her lips twisted ruefully, drawing his eyes to them. “My imagination was clearly too active.” She shrugged lightly and he almost—almost—looked at her breasts.

James turned his head away abruptly. Kate wasn’t the only one with an overly active imagination. His own was telling him that her mouth would be warm and soft and sweet, and that her breasts would be like small, ripe fruit in his hands, smooth and formed perfectly for his taste.

The moment of lust was fleeting and intense—and deeply unsettling. James felt as if, in that second, his world had shifted and he’d lost his balance. He clenched the reins between his fingers and frowned at the horses. What was wrong with him? Kate was . . . Kate was Kate. He didn’t desire her.

“Who do you have for me next?” he asked, slight roughness in his voice.

“Two of the Reverend Charnwood’s daughters,” Kate said. “The family will be dining with us tomorrow. And then Miss Wilmot is paying a visit.”

James risked a sideways glance at her and waited for a repeat of the unwelcome sensation. It didn’t come. His relief was profound.

The next morning brought Lizzie’s letter, fetched early from the receiving office by a groom. Kate read it sitting up in bed with a rosewood breakfast-tray across her knees. The blue chintz curtains were drawn back from the windows, showing a high, pale, spring sky. Sunlight fell in bright bands across the embroidered counterpane, making the blue and gold silk threads gleam. Kate sipped her cocoa while she deciphered the letter. Lizzie’s normally neat hand was an eager scrawl that tumbled across the page, crossed and recrossed, making it a challenge to read.

I shall depart on the twenty-seventh, wrote Lizzie, quite early, and anticipate arriving in the middle of the afternoon. I have been studying my maps until I know the route by heart. By my reckoning it is 68 miles. I look forward to the journey tremendously—and even more to seeing you again, dearest Kate. What fun we shall have together!

“More than fun, Lizzie,” she whispered beneath her breath. “More than fun.”

Kate read the letter to the end and then refolded it. She turned her head and stared out of the window, the letter clasped loosely in her hand. Wisps of cloud trailed across a sky the color of duck eggs. How long would it take James to see that Lizzie was the perfect bride for him? How long would it take for him to fall in love with her? Not long, surely. Not long at all.

Kate looked away from the bright, pale sky and discovered that she’d crumpled the letter in her hand. She unclenched her fist and smoothed the creases with her fingers and laid the letter on the breakfast-tray. She had no appetite this morning. The day was fine and she would start it as she always did when she was able, with a ride. A good gallop was what she needed.

They sat down to dine at seven, a late hour by country standards. The Charnwoods were an ever-expanding family and those offspring not in the schoolroom—two sons and three daughters—had accompanied their parents. A white linen cloth covered the mahogany table, laid with a Wedgwood dinner service in green, finger bowls, ivory-handled cutlery, and long-stemmed wineglasses. Beeswax candles burned in the candelabra, their glow reflected in the gilt-framed mirror above the fireplace and in the gleaming silver of the ashets and cover dishes.