Hardly A Gentleman

  HARDLY A GENTLEMAN

  Caylen McQueen

  Chapter One

  Seventeen

  Margaret’s foot hovered ominously above the ground as she alighted from the carriage. As her honey brown eyes drank in the resplendence of her surroundings, her entire body froze. Having been born and raised in London, she was unaccustomed to the endless emerald expanse and craggy cliffs of the Devonshire countryside. Distracted as she was by the majesty of the scene, she failed to see the mud below her, and neither did she anticipate her slipper sliding through it. In an instant, she was mired in the soggy ground.

  As Margaret struggled to her feet, she momentarily thrashed around like a frightened pig. Fortunately, her mother came to her aid before too much damage was done, although nearly half of her gown was quite thoroughly ruined. Margaret thought she heard laughter, and it took her a moment to identify the culprit. Not far away, a strange, fair-haired young man was chortling unabashedly at Margaret’s plight.

  “Are you alright, Maggie?” her mother asked the question with a gasp, and proceeded to readjust the bonnet on her daughter’s head. “Are you hurt?”

  “I am… uninjured,” Margaret replied, though her pride had most certainly sustained an injury. With narrowed eyes, she turned her attention to the laughing boy, whose heartless chuckles failed to cease. “Who is that young man, Mama? And why does he laugh? It seems quite cruel to me.”

  “Perhaps he is a servant of your grandmother?” Margaret’s mother suggested. “If so, I will inform her of his thoughtless behavior, for which he will surely be admonished. Now…” Lynette Berryton gently laid a hand on her daughter’s back and steered her in the direction of her mother’s house. “Your grandmama will be very eager to see you. Divest yourself of those soiled garments and do endeavor to make yourself presentable.”

  Eager to be rid of the mud stains, Margaret was only too happy to follow her mother’s instruction. As soon as she was alone in her quarters, she removed the dirty dress and changed into a gown of crisp, white muslin. After removing her bonnet and rearranging her hair to the best of her ability, she was confident that she looked well enough to be received. She was glad her grandmother was not around to witness her unceremonious fall into the mud; Lydia was, after all, her favorite grandmother. And every year, on the day Lydia was born, Margaret and her mother would visit her at her Devonshire estate.

  When Margaret eventually entered the drawing room and saw her grandmother on the settee, her woes were immediately put to rest. Lydia Stapleton had a face that was reliably jovial and a smile that was perpetually warm. Her sweet countenance had a way of melting even the sternest of hearts. Lydia was a petite woman: very short, but slightly portly. At seven and sixty, her hair was still golden, and only slightly gray. Her eyes were pale blue and vibrant; her cheeks were round and always rosy.

  “Maggie! Dear!” Lydia leapt from the settee and rushed to her granddaughter’s side. Framing the younger woman’s face between her hands, she said, “Good gracious, girl, you are so very lovely! I’m quite certain you must be the prettiest young woman in London. Surely you have many young gentlemen slathering at the mouth?”

  Margaret chuckled at her grandmother’s suggestion. “Not quite so many, I am afraid.”

  “And your hair!” Lydia continued. “It is such a lovely shade of red. Has it gotten even more red since the last time I saw you, dear? Is that even possible?”

  “I am sure you imagine it.” Margaret smiled broadly as her grandmother fussed over her hair.

  “Oh… what is this?” With her thumb, Lydia swiped a smudge from Margaret’s cheekbone. “Is that mud on your face?”

  “I had hoped to hide the unfortunate truth… but… yes.” The young woman heaved an interminable sigh. She silently admonished herself for failing to notice the mud before she presented herself. The looking glass must have lied to her. “As I was climbing from the carriage, I… I slipped.”

  “Was the footman not there to assist you? Shame on him! You poor dear!” Lydia led Margaret to the settee, and when they sat, she gently clasped her granddaughter’s hand. “You look well, Maggie. Have you been well?”

  “Indeed. And you, Grandmama? I hope you are in good health?”

  “My health is as good as my age will allow,” Lydia answered with a chuckle.

  “It feels as if ages have passed since I saw you,” Margaret remarked. “Once a year is simply not enough!”

  “On that, we agree!” One of Lydia’s two cats was nuzzling her leg, so she picked him up and placed him on the settee between them. “How is London? You are out in society now?”

  Margaret answered with a nod. “And I attended my first ball not long ago.”

  “Ah! That sounds tremendously exciting!” Lydia exclaimed. “Do tell me all about it, dear. Do you have many admirers? Has any worthy gentleman captured the heart of my dearest granddaughter?”

  “One ball, Grandmama! I have attended one.” Margaret laughed. “If my heart was captured so easily, I would doubt my sanity!”

  “But surely there is someone?” her grandmother pressed. “A certain young man who towers above the rest?”

  “If you are asking if I know any young gentlemen who are very tall, I am afraid I do not.” Margaret grinned at her sarcastic reply, as if she was quite pleased with herself. “If you are asking if I was impressed with anyone in particular… perhaps.”

  One of Lydia’s blonde eyebrows was raised. “Oh?”

  “Lord Malforth. He asked me to dance… twice. To my knowledge, he did not dance twice with any other ladies.” Merely mentioning her suitor’s name made Margaret’s pulse race a bit faster. “And he is, I daresay, fiendishly handsome!”

  Lydia leaned forward, interested in the details. “His hair… is it dark?”

  Margaret nodded. “Indeed. Nearly black.”

  “And his eyes?”

  “As blue as the sky above us! He also has a scar above his right eye, which I find to be rather fetching.” Margaret’s hands were suddenly twisting in her lap. “But Mama… she does not approve of him. She thinks he is too old for me.”

  “And how old is the gentleman in question?”

  “Eight and twenty. The gap is not so vast, is it? It is only… eleven years.”

  “Perhaps it would be beneficial to remind you that your grandfather was twelve years older than I was?” Lydia pointed out. “So… no. It is not so terribly vast.” Even though Lynette was not around, Lydia leaned toward her granddaughter and lowered her voice. “However, you must endeavor to keep this discussion between ourselves. If your mother knew I disagreed with her opinion, the repercussions could be grievous to us both!”

  Margaret giggled at her grandmother’s surreptitiously spoken words. Before she could reply, the door opened, and a young man entered the drawing room unannounced. It was, in fact, the same young man who laughed at Margaret’s tumble into the mud. When her eyes made contact with his, her brow immediately furrowed. The young man was very plainly dressed and his hair was comically disheveled, so she assumed he was a servant of some kind. However, he was clutching a book in his hands, which seemed a bit curious. Surely this rapscallion did not know how to read?

  “What is this?” Margaret’s nose involuntarily wrinkled as she studied the intruder.

  The young man winked as he lifted the tome, and with a hint of mischief in his voice, he replied, “This is a book. Surely you’ve seen one before, Miss Berryton?”

  “How very impertinent!” Margaret gasped. “Who is this young man, Grandmama, and why does he address me so insolently?”

  “This is Jacob, dear. Jacob Billingsley. He is a very dear friend of mine, and I am sure he meant no offense. He is a very kind young man, I assure you.”

>   “I am a kind young man,” he agreed. Jacob sat in a chair across from them, leaned back, and crossed his legs at the ankle. Everything about his posture suggested he had every right to intrude on their conversation. “Be a good lass and listen to your grandmother.”

  “But surely he is not… not…” The word was on the tip of Margaret’s tongue, but she could not bring herself to say it. She leaned closer to her grandmother’s ear as she finished her thought. “He is not a gentleman?”

  “Indeed! Jacob is a vicar’s son,” Lydia explained.

  “I would have never guessed such a thing. His behavior has already been… questionable.” Margaret continued to sneer at him, and he continued to study her with amusement. To her grandmother, she whispered, “Why is he dressed a bit like a guttersnipe?”

  “He is only a bit ragged,” Lydia came to his defense.

  “And he—”

  Margaret was interrupted by the young man sitting across from her. “Forgive me for saying so, but you have been less than ladylike yourself, Miss Berryton,” he accused her. “You scarcely afforded me a chance to speak before you proceeded to judge me… although I am not particularly surprised. I have heard that women with red hair were a particularly feisty breed.”

  “Do you hear him, Grandmama? Listen to how he goes on! It is hardly the behavior of a gentleman!”

  “Please,” Lydia sighed as she beseeched them both. “Will you erase this hostility? You are two of my very favorite people, and I would much rather see you being friendly with one another.”

  Margaret, ignoring her grandmother’s plea, continued, “Although… perhaps you cannot refer to someone so young as a gentleman. If he is still a boy, the bulk of his behavior might be excused?”

  “He is not much younger than you, Maggie.”

  “I’m fifteen,” Jacob replied.

  “Fifteen. I suppose that explains it.” Margaret lifted her chin, perhaps a bit haughtily. She refused to forgive him for having laughed at her unfortunate plunge into the mud. “However, no one has explained to me why Mr. Billingsley entered the drawing room as if he was expected!”

  “He was expected,” her grandmother said. “Though it pains me to say it, my eyesight has gotten a bit… strained… in recent months. I fear I may be going blind.”

  “No!” Margaret shrilled. “Surely not!”

  “It might be true… only time shall tell. I am half-blind already, if I am being entirely honest.” Lydia’s lips dipped into a frown as she confessed the truth. “Jacob comes to me nearly every day. He reads to me. He has been very generous with his time, and his company gives me great pleasure.”

  “He reads to you?” Margaret stared at the smirking boy sitting across from her and tried to imagine him doing something so selfless. Somehow, she could hardly fathom such a thing. “I suppose that is… honorable.”

  Jacob opened the book on his lap and smoothed his hands over the pages. “Would you like to listen, Miss Berryton?”

  “I have only just arrived, and I have not seen my grandmother in nearly a year!” Margaret exclaimed. “Can you not allow us some time together? Alone?”

  Jacob asked Lydia, “Is that your wish as well, Mrs. Stapleton?”

  “For the moment, I should make my granddaughter my priority. I am, however, exceedingly grateful to you for coming, Jacob.” He looked disappointed, so Lydia attempted to comfort him with a smile—which was very effective. Lydia’s smiles were always charming. “I will see you tomorrow, I hope?”

  “Of course.” Jacob rose from his chair and bowed to the ladies. “I suppose I shall take my leave. It was lovely to meet you, Miss Berryton.”

  His eyes were narrowed, so she assumed his words were a formality. Margaret could hardly blame him for his scorn, for their encounter was anything but lovely. “And you as well. It is very kind of you to read to my grandmother. I am sure she appreciates it very much!”

  Jacob looked a bit puzzled by her sudden attempt at cordiality, but he said nothing. With a shrug, he headed to the door.

  “He is a vicar’s son… truly? And… fifteen?” He was gone now, and Margaret was shaking her head with disbelief. “He does not look fifteen. He looks twelve.”

  “He is a very kind young man,” Lydia feebly defended him.

  “The lack of manners was inexcusable as well. Perhaps, in time, he will mature into something more pleasant.”

  “And perhaps you will as well…” Lydia murmured under her breath.

  “No matter. You seem to like the young man, and I would prefer not to waste another thought on him. I doubt I shall ever see him again.” As Margaret reached for her grandmother’s hand, her eyes were wide with excitement. “Now… I have much to tell you about Lord Malforth!”

  Chapter Two

  Eighteen

  “It was very kind of Grandmama to give us these gowns, and make no mistake, I am grateful.” As she stared at the dresses laid out on the bed, flaxen-haired Cynthia Prescott heaved an unbridled sigh. “But would it be wrong to tell her how utterly outmoded they are?”

  “Of course it would be wrong, Cynthia!” Margaret chided her cousin. “You cannot do that! It would be terribly heartless of you!”

  “I would sooner die than let someone see me in a gown with such brazen ruffles!” Cynthia plucked the most ostentatious garment from her bed and hurled it at Margaret. “You, however… you could wear it. You rarely concern yourself with such trivial things. And you are, after all, Grandmama’s favorite. If you wore one of these offensive gowns to supper, I am sure she would be most pleased!”

  As a slight frown tipped her lips, Margaret asked, “Are you supposing that fashion is less of a concern to me than it is to you?”

  “No, Maggie! I meant no offense. I am merely suggesting that you are not as vain as I am, and therefore not as fastidious. I was complimenting you.”

  “Hm. Right.” Skeptical Margaret sat on her bed and crossed her arms.

  “I must say, I am very glad you are here,” Cynthia said. She sat beside her cousin and gently touched her hand. “I have been here for two days, and I was getting rather lonely. I need a companion my own age, and…”

  When Cynthia failed to finish her thought, Margaret tilted her head and urged, “And?”

  “And… there is a young gentleman of particular note, and I wish to get your opinion of him.” Cynthia’s mouth slipped into a grin as her thoughts turned amorous. “There is something undeniably special about him. He is quite possibly the kindest young man I have ever met.”

  “Who is this man?” her cousin asked.

  “Jacob Billingsley.”

  It took Margaret a moment to recall where she had heard that name before. One could hardly fault her for failing to remember him. She had, after all, met him a year ago—and they only spoke to each other for a day. “I have met this young man before, and I only remember that he failed to impress. What is it you like about him?”

  “He is handsome, gentle, attentive, and so very kind-hearted!” Cynthia happily sang his praises. “He might lack connections and property, but none of that would matter if I loved him… and I believe I could love him. If we were married, I would be the first of all of my friends to find a husband… and that includes you, Maggie, even though you are two years older than I am!”

  “Are you truly considering marriage with this young man?”

  “Perhaps. If nothing else, the thought amuses me, and I have enjoyed his attention.” Cynthia gave her chin a pondering stroke. “However, he mostly pays attention to our dear grandmama… although I can hardly imagine why he would. Why would a young man choose to squander his time with such an old woman? He must be afflicted with the most impenetrable ennui!”

  “You are being unkind!” Margaret accused her. “Our grandmother is the most good-natured woman in the world, and we would be wise to follow her example.”

  Cynthia answered with an unladylike snort, as if to say her cousin’s opinion meant little to her. Before either young lady could utter a
nother word, they were called to the drawing room, where their grandmother awaited their company. Lydia Stapleton was confined to a Bath chair now, and her eyesight continued to fail her. When her granddaughters entered the room, she could only see them through an immense fog.

  “My dears!” Lydia exclaimed. She opened her arms, and they took turns embracing her. “I cannot begin to tell you how delighted I am to have both of you with me!”

  “We are the delighted ones,” Cynthia objected, which made Margaret roll her eyes. “How could we not be delighted by your company when we were blessed with the most delightful grandmother in the entire world!”

  “I don’t know if I’m that, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Lydia turned her attention to Margaret and asked, “You remember Mr. Billingsley, dear?”

  Margaret’s entire body jolted when she finally saw the young man in the room. She had somehow failed to notice him, even though he rose to his feet when they entered. Had Lydia not introduced him, Margaret would not have recognized him. Jacob Billingsley had aged significantly in a year. He was taller than Margaret now, and his face was more of a man’s than a boy’s. She was amazed at how quickly a boy could mature.

  “It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Berryton,” Jacob said, bowing as he spoke. “And you as well, Miss Prescott.”

  “Li-likewise,” Margaret stammered. As she moved to the settee, she could not tear her gaze away from him. His appearance had changed so drastically, it was astounding. Even his clothes seemed less shabby.

  Cynthia spoke next. “Mr. Billingsley… when I mentioned your name to Margaret, do you know what she said?” She paused for dramatic effect, smirking. “She said you failed to impress her! Can you believe that?”

  “Cynthia!” Margaret hissed her cousin’s name. “That was not for you to repeat!”

  “I am sorry to hear it.” In spite of Cynthia’s words, Jacob was smiling at Margaret. “She did, however, impress me. I have scarcely been able to purge her flaming red hair from my thoughts.”