Mrs Sommersby’s Second Chance. Laurie Benson
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‘But you said you propositioned Mrs Sommersby and she’s a widow.’
‘Yes, but she’s a widow who had made it known that she was not interested in marriage. With her looks and lively character, and that bit of information, I was taken with her for an entire Season.’
‘An entire Season?’
‘It was a number of years after her husband died and as I said, years ago. And just because I was taken with her doesn’t mean that I was celibate for all those months.’ The smile on his face reached his eyes. ‘Perhaps that was why she turned me down. She’s a shrewd one, that one.’
‘Perhaps she simply didn’t find you attractive.’
‘We both know that cannot be the reason.’
‘Have you always been this confident in your charms?’
Hart appeared to give the question consideration. ‘Yes. I suppose I have been. But that doesn’t signify now. Now I am a contented married man who can look back with pleasant nostalgia on the life I led. What about you? You are not one to place your relationships out for the world to see. Are you as confident with women as you are with business? I’ve not witnessed that side of you in all the years we’ve known each other.’
The waiter came to their table to clear away their plates, saving Lane from having to answer.
‘Lane?’
Damn. He hated the thought that went into answering questions like this. Years ago, Lane learned no good came from analysing his feelings. It was best to move through life without thinking too much about what anything made him feel. He had become quite skilled at it.
‘I do well for myself.’
The vague comment made Hart laugh. ‘With the money you’ve made I’m sure you do and I’ve been told you are not hard on the eyes.’
Lane sat up a bit taller. ‘By whom?’
‘Miss Violet Westfield, one of Sarah’s friends. She saw us together some time ago. I can introduce you when you are back in London, if you like?’
Was his wife’s friend as attractive as Mrs Sommersby? Not that Mrs Sommersby was an outstanding beauty, but she was pretty and there was just something about her. He turned back to take a look to try to determine what it was.
‘If we can get the funding we need, it might be some time before I’m back in London,’ he replied, keeping his eyes on Mrs Sommersby.
‘And your decision is based solely on your need to remain here on business?’
When Lane looked back at Hart, he wanted to hit that all-too-perceptible smirk off his face.
‘Yes.’
‘Hmm. Well, I’m sure you have things that you need to address back at the coffee house and I promised Sarah that I would be home by noon to go with her for a drive around the countryside, so why don’t I ask for the bill and we can leave?’
‘I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go on ahead? I’m going to sit here and finish my coffee.’
‘Your coffee?’ That smile was back on Hart’s face. ‘I see. Well you wouldn’t want to leave any coffee in that cup of yours, now would you?’
‘No, I would not. And stop looking at me like that. I told you, I’m just finishing my coffee.’
‘If that’s what you want to call it, that is fine with me. I can’t imagine where you might find another cup of coffee in this town.’
‘You really should go. It would be a pity if you returned late to your wife and caused her to bar you from your bedchamber tonight.’
‘That is not likely to happen—however, I’ll let you enjoy your coffee in peace.’ He stood up and adjusted his cuffs. ‘I will stop by to see you before I leave for London.’
‘When do you expect to have an answer for me?’
‘Sarah and I had planned to leave on Friday. You’ll have your answer in about a week or so.’
A week of not knowing if they would be able to proceed was going to feel like an eternity. His grip tightened around the handle of his cup. One of the worst things about needing other people to help finance his business ventures was that it put him at someone else’s mercy. More than anything he hated having to depend on other people. After living the first sixteen years of his life in the Foundling Hospital, he had learned very early on to live his life without being dependent on anyone for anything. It took a great deal of effort to relinquish some of his control.
‘Do try not to be such a curmudgeon while I am gone. You wouldn’t want Mrs Sommersby to find out what a grump you can be.’
It was very tempting to trip Hart on his way past him and as his friend walked towards Mrs Sommersby’s table he almost wished he had done it. In true Hart fashion, he looked back at Lane with a smile before he altered his course slightly, missing the table where she sat.
Every nerve in his body was strung tight. Relying on others was not something he was comfortable with, but unfortunately it was part of doing business. And now he would have to wait a week before he knew if they could move forward with their plans.
As his vision began to clear, Mrs Sommersby came into focus. How long he had been staring sightlessly at her, he had no idea. She was listening intently to what her companion was saying. What did women talk about when they weren’t in the company of men? The question had never occurred to him until now. Once more, Lane tried to read lips and once more he failed miserably.
She had this way of gracefully moving her fingers as she continually spun her cup in her saucer. It was distinctly possible that she wasn’t even aware she was doing it, but oddly enough watching her movement was easing his agitation. Suddenly she looked his way and, as their eyes met, a slow smile spread across her face. Something inside him shifted and it felt as if the sun had come out for the first time during this very gloomy day.
Spotting Mr Lane sitting approximately four tables away from her in the bustling Lower Assembly Room had made a fine morning even better. It had been quite some time since Clara had captured the attention of an attractive man in his thirties—at least one that was unaware of her lofty family connections or her very comfortable financial position. And even though she knew his attention had more to do with the fact she was probably one of the only people he recognised in the room, it still was a wonderful feeling.
When she dipped her head as a silent greeting, he returned the gesture with the smallest of smiles.
‘I would so love to see The Rivals,’ Miss Harriet Collingswood said, drawing Clara’s attention away from Mr Lane and back to the conversation she had been having with her new friend. Harriet was the older daughter of her neighbour; the one the Dowager had suggested might be in need of their help finding a husband. ‘My mother doesn’t like Mr Sheridan’s work and has refused to take us to see the play,’ she continued. ‘She had seen two of his plays in the past and found little humour in them. However, I heard they are quite amusing and I do so love to laugh.’
Giving Harriet a sympathetic smile, Clara resisted the urge to see if Mr Lane was still watching her. With a concerted effort, she focused all of her attention on the woman sitting across the small round table from her.
The more time Clara spent with the young woman, the more she discovered she liked her. Taking her to the spa this morning to drink the waters with her and then bringing her here to the Lower Assembly Room for breakfast had proved to be a wise decision. It had become apparent that spending time with her while Clara searched for potential husbands for the woman would be rather enjoyable.
Although, currently, it was proving to be impossible to keep her attention