Regency Christmas Wishes(10)

“Wait!” Jenna called as Adam turned for the door. “Uncle, I do not know what you are concerned about, but I swear Sir Adam and I met by chance. He was bringing a coin to Mr. Schott’s to be appraised. The same type of coin I showed you at breakfast yesterday. Let him see, Sir Adam,” she added, with a silent plea for him to understand a loving uncle’s obsession.

Adam took the coin out of his pocket. Then, for Miss Relaford’s sake, he relented. “I had no other reason for entering that shop yesterday, Mr. Beasdale. I swear it.”

Beasdale examined the coin. “Harumph. I suppose I owe you an apology, then. And my gratitude for keeping my poppet safe.” He mopped at his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief. “And I guess I shall have to extend that deadline after all.”

Adam had more pride than to take crumbs from a begrudging hand, especially in front of Miss Relaford. “No, sir. That is unnecessary. I have come into a bit of the ready, enough to tide me over until spring. I shall make do.”

Beasdale harumphed again, but was pleased, they could see, pleased enough to sit to tea with his unwanted guest.

“But do not mistake my gratitude or my hospitality,” he told Adam while Jenna was busy filling cups and plates. “I will not have a titled fortune hunter paying suit to my niece.”

Adam almost wished the banker to the devil, but he was Miss Relaford’s uncle, and she seemed fond of the old curmudgeon. The tea could have been ditchwater and the cakes might have had bits of macadam instead of poppyseed in them, for Adam’s appetite, and his pleasure in the day, had fled. He made his farewells as quickly as politeness allowed.

Miss Relaford walked him to the entryway. As the stiff-backed butler held the door open, she pressed a card of invitation into Adam’s hand. “I am having a small party on Friday evening in honor of a friend who is recently wed. I would be pleased if you could attend.”

“I am sorry, ma’am, but I must be returning to the country. And your uncle . . .”

“This is my party. And if you are concerned about the company, not everyone will be as disapproving of your circumstances as my uncle. My school friend married Lord Iverson, and some of his friends will be coming, as well as Uncle’s business associates and their families.”

“Ivy? Why, I went to university with him. You say he is married?”

“To Uncle’s best friend’s daughter, who was my bosom bow, Miss Sophia Applegate. Then you will come?”

He had no formal evening wear. He had no hope of winning over Mr. Beasdale. He wished it could be otherwise, but why torture himself further by spending more time in Miss Relaford’s company? “I shall think about it,” was all he could say, knowing he would think of nothing else.

“Please,” she said, and only went inside when the butler, who was not ill at all, but would be soon with the door open, coughed again.





5


“How could you, Uncle?”

Mr. Beasdale merely harumphed into his second serving of tea.

“Not only were you discourteous to a guest in your house,” Jenna went on, “but you insulted a gentleman who might have saved my life. The officer at Bow Street said that thief was a dangerous criminal.”

“He’s poor,” said the banker, reaching for another macaroon.

“Of course he is. Wealthy men do not steal ladies’ purses.”

“Not the thief. Standish.”

“So what?” Jenna asked, moving the plate farther from her uncle’s reach, for the sake of his waistline. “You and my mother were poor once. You always told me how your father started life as a free trader.”

“He’s a nob.”

“Pooh. A mere baronet. My grandfather was an earl.”

Beasdale’s snort said what he thought about that, and about all titled gentlemen in general. “Like half of the swells, this one is in debt. He owes the bank more than he’s worth.”

A frown formed on Jenna’s forehead. “Was he the one who took out the loans?”

“No.”

“Has he defaulted on his payments?”

“No, dash it. Am I to be interrogated in my own home, besides starved?”

Jenna placed one slice of lemon cake on his plate, a small slice. “I have one more question. Although Sir Adam seems to be a brave, kind, honorable gentleman, you will still refuse him permission to call?”

Put like that, Beasdale had no good answer. He set his plate aside, his stomach roiling. “I only want the best for you, my dear.”

“What if I consider him the best, the finest gentleman I have ever met? What if he is what I want?”

“Faugh. It is too soon for you to know. He’ll be leaving soon, anyway, back to his goats and hens.”