Like No Other

Chapter 9: Gone Awry

                Mr. Beaumont grinned and said that he was happy to see them both again. “I hope you’ve already recovered from your headache last night, Miss Davis. I was sorry to see you leave quite so early.”

                “Oh, yes I am well now, thank you! It was really unfortunate to suffer headache in the middle of revelry,” she fibbed, and instinctively aware of Julie’s eyes plastering on her.

                They pursued an amicable conversation, about the weather and shopping and other fripperies, and when they had exhausted all the topics they could think of, Mr. Beaumont finally asked Caroline, “May I invite you to join me driving out later, Miss Davis?”

                To which she replied with obvious delight, “Oh, yes! That would be wonderful, thank you!”

                The gentleman smiled warmly at her, announced the time he would call upon her later, and then begged his leave and bid them good day.

                With her knowing smile, Julie turned to her friend. “Do you know what I think?”

                “What?”

                “I think that Mr. Beaumont is quite taken with you!”

                At this pronouncement, so confidently delivered, Caroline blushed in spite of herself. “D-don’t be silly! We’ve only just met last night!”

                “Does that matter? God knows how many married ladies had only been acquainted with their husbands for nigh a sennight before matrimony,” Julie, with the wisdom of a dowager, pointed out.

                The very thought of matrimony seemed rather distant to Miss Davis, whose youthful mind had never thus far delved on the subject. But on the matters of heart, which were quite indispensible to so devoted a reader of romance such as herself, she could hardly deemed herself indifferent. To receive such attention from one so amiable, gallant and utterly charming a gentleman as Mr. Beaumont was quite flattering indeed, and had for more than once made her heart aflutter. Was this an indication of love? But she could not know, and thus had only replied to her friend:

                “Indeed, your thought of Mr. Beaumont’s attention towards me is quite unwarranted, Julie!”

                “And only fancy! Eight-thousand pounds a year!”

              Caroline rolled her eyes heavenwards, and was at the verge of pointing out to her friend the substantial sum her dear Papa had put on her dowry, had it not been for the sake of modesty. The subject continued to prevail, but when Miss Davis had announced her desire to have some Gunther’s ice, it had entirely dropped, and Mr. Beaumont’s name had never once again spoken.

            Meanwhile, the aforementioned was sauntering along Upper Brook Street, and was eventually found standing in front of the massive doors of Stokeford House where his cousin Stefan was presently residing. His visits were quite regular, and were always in the expectation of one Mr. Philips, the butler of Lord Stokeford, a man of advanced years who possessed a remarkably straight countenance and equanimity, and had always been with pleasure of opening the doors for the Earl’s relatives.

                 “Good morning, Mr. Beaumont. His lordship is in his study.”

          Mr. Beaumont handed his cane and hat to the butler, murmured his thanks and headed directly to his cousin’s whereabouts.

           Such delight it was for him to see their friend, Lord March who was presently conducting a one-sided conversation, as it was quite plain that the other occupant of the room seemed to be entirely ignoring him, being completely immersed in the papers that piled before him on the table.

          “Ah, my dear chap!” he exclaimed upon perceiving Mr. Beaumont’s presence. “Would you consider moving in this magnificent house so I would never be left to conjecture as to what time you’d likely to appear?”

           “Forgive me, Robert, but I was not entirely aware that you are living here,” countered Lord Stokeford sarcastically without looking up from his work.

            Chuckling, his cousin answered, “No, thank you. Albany just suits me well. But I don’t mind having luncheon and dinner here.”

               “So am I. But I’m afraid my prolonged presence no longer amuses Stefan.”

                “Amusement has no place when one’s working hard, I’m afraid.”

           Both gentlemen received a non-committal grunt as a reply, and thus completely dismissed the notion of drawing Stefan for conversation.

          “Come,” prompted Robert. “Why don’t we repair to the library and have a glass of brandy? I’m sure Stefan would not mind in the least.”

           But the offer had been good-naturedly declined, as Mr. Beaumont briefly explained that he was actually heading for Grosvenor Square, where he was invited for luncheon at number 24, and was only dropping by to say hello.

            “At Lord Stratton, yes?” asked Stefan.

           “Yes, that’s right. And I will be driving Miss Davis out in the afternoon, so I suppose I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

             “Miss Davis! Driving her!”, cried Lord March. “Well, what’ll the deuce say to that!”

           Mr. Beaumont did not delay any moment for his leaving, and so had bid the two gentlemen good day, and quitted the room with a brighter prospect of hearty repast. His departure had left a bout of silence, and was soon broken by Lord March saying, “Tell you what Stefan, I’ll be dashed if there won’t be an engagement announced in this family before the Season’s out.”

               The Earl finally looked up. “Indeed? Then may I suggest that you be prepared for a letdown.”

         The gentleman chuckled and shook his head at his friend’s dispassion. “Life’s full of surprises, my boy. You’ll never know,” his gaze was suddenly distant as he peered through the window pane, sunk deep in his own thoughts. “Indeed, we’ll just never know.”