A Most Unconventional Match by Julia Justiss Read Free Book Online Page A

grimaced. He’d suffer a hundred jawbonings before he’d wear a monstrosity like that.
    Did Mama really think that a whalebone contraption and one hideous waistcoat could turn him into the pattern-card of fashion she wished him to be? Or was she merely trying to irritate him beyond bearing?
    Unhappily, he was going to have to call on her and find out. Best do it first thing this afternoon and get it over with, before he went to Bow Street to investigate Mrs Lowery’s unsavoury caller.
    Setting his lips in a grim line at the prospect, Hal tugged the bell pull to call for luncheon.

    Several hours later, after dressing with a care that would doubtless be lost on a lady who was anticipating lace-tied pant legs and a boldly striped waistcoat, Hal presented himself at the large family manse on Berkeley Square. Holmes, his mother’s butler, showed him to the Green Parlour, assuring him his mother had been anticipating his call and would receive him directly.
    Palms already sweating, Hal propped one shoulder against the mantel, hoping his mama’s social schedule was full enough that the time she’d allotted for this visit would be correspondingly brief.
    He heard the door open, heralding his mother’s arrival, and took a deep breath. As Mrs Waterman swept into the room, Hal walked over to make his bow and kiss his mother’s proffered hand.
    â€˜Lovely gown, Mama. Look enchanting.’
    As, in truth, she did. Through arts jealously guarded by that lady and her dresser Hayes, though she was well passed her fortieth year, Letitia Waterman contrived to appear decades younger. Her intricately arranged blonde curls were as bright, her body as slender and her pale skin almost as unlined as when she had been the brightest new Diamond in society’s Marriage Mart, a society over which she ruled still.
    One of the scores of beaux she’d dazzled her first Season had been Hal’s father, Nathan. And since, though the Watermans were untitled, the family was related by blood or marriage to half the great houses of England and possessed more wealth than most of them put together, it hadn’t been thought surprising that, from the scores of offers she’d reportedly received, she had condescended to bestow her hand upon Nathan Waterman.
    Hal sometimes wondered if his father had ever regretted that.
    â€˜Thank you, dear.’ His mother’s eyes, blue where his were grey, inspected him before she made a small moue of distaste and waved him to a chair. ‘I see you failed to avail yourself of the more fashionable garments I selected for you.’
    â€˜Sorry, Mama. Most kind of you. But not my style.’
    â€˜That’s precisely the point, son,’ she replied, a touch of acid in her tone. ‘I was attempting to replace “no style” with something more befitting a man of your stature, but I see that, once again, you have rebuffed my attempt.’
    There was no point answering that, even if Hal were tempted to try to make an explanation. She’d only interrupt his laborious reply, wincing slightly as if his halting speech pained her, which he supposed it did.
    Really, son, must you be so blockish? Her oft-repeated reprimand echoed in his head. Just state what you mean! If only it were that simple, Mama, he thought.
    It wasn’t that he didn’t immediately formulate a reply. He just couldn’t get the words out. Not for the first time, he regretted that humans didn’t communicate by note.
    He was an eloquent writer, all his Oxford professors had agreed. He’d even gained somewhat of a reputation penning amusing doggerel for his friends’ amateur theatricals. And, though he’d never admit it to anyone, occasionally he still wrote sonnets like the ones that had earned him high marks in his composition classes.
    Though his mama, were she aware of this talent, would probably find it as shocking as his financial pursuits. A gentleman was prized for