An Evening at Almack's (Timeless Regency Collection, #12)

by Sally Britton

He spoke with a lilt to his voice Mattie had always found rather charming. What on earth was he doing here, on their street? And how could Beatrice not recognize the man who had grown up practically on their doorstep?

Although he’d matured, all his former features remained much the same. If her sister didn’t recognize the man, it was likely because she’d never paid him much attention in the first place. Oliver’s slight frown seemed to indicate he might think the same.

The speculative gleam in Beatrice’s eyes made Mattie’s stomach clench. Mattie knew that look. She’d seen it all her life, from the time Beatrice was a child and discovered a toy she coveted.

Beatrice adjusted the reticule on her wrist but looked up at Oliver through her eyelashes in a manner that rather reminded Mattie of a puppy begging for scraps. Unfortunately, the men of London seemed inclined to like puppies.

Oliver folded his arms across his chest, tucking his hands beneath them. If he didn’t force his hands still, he knew he’d fiddle with his cravat, a nervous habit his recently acquired valet despaired over on nearly a daily basis.

Watching her sister flirt with Oliver Bolton, a handsome man if Mattie had ever seen one, left the elder sister slightly nauseated.

Oliver came to pay a morning call to Miss Beatrice, a true spring in his step. He’d hardly slept the night before, busy as his mind had been in conjuring up Beatrice’s delightful laugh and the way she’d looked up at him through her eyelashes. The attention she’d lavished upon him the previous evening, speaking to practically no one else, had done much to encourage him.

Matilda Rayment might not be the golden-haired beauty her sister was, but she had an allure of her own Oliver could not deny. Her dry sense of humor and the way she expressed herself with clarity and sincerity were qualities he rather liked. And she did have striking eyes.

Of course, making his way through the streets of London, he realized he hadn’t passed such a pleasant evening with good company in months.

He couldn’t think of one uncomfortable moment at the baron’s table, nor could he recall any dinner companion being as intriguing as Matilda Rayment.

At least she didn’t have to wonder about Oliver’s motives for spending time in her company. Of course, it would be best if she stopped enjoying their conversations and showed him how wrong Beatrice was for him.

Her height, which was unremarkably average, didn’t matter much anymore, as she was rarely asked to dance anyway. Unless a man was interested in Beatrice.

While Beatrice had flirted her way about London from the first moment she’d stepped foot on its cobbled road, Mattie had never been particularly interested in finding a husband. A husband would be inclined to tell her what to do, when she had a perfectly capable head on her shoulders.

Sitting straighter, she spoke with determination. “My duty is to help Beatrice obtain a suitable match, care for Papa, and assist in running the family estate.” She nodded to herself and stood from the table, ordering her thoughts.

Her hand, ungloved, touched his, and as he curled his fingers around it, something inside her uncurled and grew, tiny tendrils of warmth creeping through her as if seeking the sun.

Oliver led her down the terrace steps while her mind tried to unravel itself from whatever strange thing had taken hold of her. Noticing dimples and feeling strange sensations at a man’s touch was hardly becoming, and nothing at all like her.

Had she not taken his arm at the theater? Having spent several hours in his company only the day before, it was ridiculous to think any of the sensations overtaking her consciousness could be attributed to Oliver Bolton. Perhaps she was taking ill.

The amount of thought he’d given the topic surprised her, as did the way her heart warmed to him with each word he spoke.

Why were they talking of her when she was supposed to be finding a means to distract him? And why did it disappoint her when he didn’t call her by her Christian name again?

Oliver was nothing but kind. If only Beatrice could be happy with his modest circumstances. But Mattie knew her sister, knew what she would expect of her future, and she knew they were running out of time. At twenty-two, Beatrice was growing out of the age when men would be dazzled by her. She needed to be married, to be cared for, before their father worsened. Before we are all in the country, caring for him and hiding from the gossips.

“Back so soon? And tell me, were there adventures?” “Perhaps the start of one,” Oliver answered before Mattie could respond, settling into the chair near her father as though intending to stay for a long time. That warmth she’d felt earlier made itself known again, wrapping around her heart in an alarmingly familiar manner.

He’d seen the curious light in her eyes, the hesitancy. His determination to be nothing but affable was working. Matilda didn’t know what to make of him, and he hoped her desire to see him vanish had begun to crumble.

The best part of his plan he hadn’t even anticipated: he found he enjoyed Matilda’s company. She had a quick wit, and her rare laughter was enchanting. He saw glimpses of the child she’d been when they’d first met, and the tiniest hints of the young woman she was when he left to claim his unexpected inheritance.

Not like Matilda. From the first moment they’d met, she’d spoken to him with gravity and even her practical compassion. But it didn’t matter what Matilda thought. His goal was to gain Beatrice’s attention, and he would not be satisfied until he did.

He drifted off to sleep, trying to enumerate Beatrice’s finer qualities, but all he could think on was the flash of surprise and the charming blush in Matilda’s cheeks when he’d called her by her Christian name.

“I don’t care that you’re a young lady,” he’d told her when they’d been bent over account books for what seemed like years. “This responsibility could fall to any person, regardless of sex. There are many who would take advantage of you, but if you know how to handle these matters yourself, you can demand fair treatment.”

Mattie closed her eyes and willed her heart to stop racing. How had everything turned so wrong so swiftly?

“Why change?” Mattie muttered, a strange melancholy taking hold. “You’re beautiful in everything. And ruining everything.”

Whatever plans Mattie had made—and they had been the frailest of plans—were dashed to ruin.

Beatrice would flirt, simper, bat her eyes, and giggle delightfully for hours. And Oliver? He would do as so many other gentlemen had done. He would bask in her sister’s glow, and Mattie would shadow them both, nothing more than a chaperone.