A Lady's Favor (3 page)

“By all means, be crass.” He waved her to a chair while he sat in the one across from her. He hadn’t thought to order tea, but glanced toward the door as though doing so was a request in and of itself.

“As I was saying,” Miss Davidson continued, “I cannot seem to shake his attention, but my mother said something last night that has given me an idea. She said that if a man of higher situation showed interest in me, I would not be obligated to suffer Lord Strapshire’s attention.”

She raised her eyes to meet his, and he knew she saw the surprise on his face even though he tried to repair his expression quickly. Mathew’s father was heir presumptive to his uncle’s earldom. The current earl, Mathew’s great-uncle, was only a decade older than Mathew’s father and in very good health; the title would not fall to his father for some time.

Mathew, as the only son, would then be the heir apparent, although it would, he hoped, be some time before he inherited as well since he cared a great deal for both his father and uncle and would not inherit until they both passed. In the equation of status and title, Mathew’s inheritance trumped Lord Strapshire’s barony even if the inheritance felt so distant that it rarely factored into Mathew’s daily life. He was disappointed that Miss Davidson was here for his title alone instead of somehow having an interest in him for his own sake, but to expect such interest, after what had happened all those years ago, was nothing short of fantasy on his part and he knew it.

And, as he reviewed what she’d said, he felt his hopes rising once again. He had often wished she could see his
true
character, which was why he had accepted her mother’s invitation to last night’s dinner party. As usual, however, Miss Davidson had avoided him—until that look had passed between them. And now this.

“It would all be playacting, of course,” she said, puncturing his growing optimism. “It is only your title and position that will count toward anything at all, and if there were any other man in Brookborrow who could fill the role, I would not be coming to you for help. I know it will be very awkward for us both, but it need only last until Lord Strapshire realizes that my interest lies solidly elsewhere. Then I feel sure he will return to London and leave me in peace, after which you and I shall pretend a falling out and return to our current situation.”

Their current situation was avoiding one another rather pointedly, and yet Mathew had become increasingly aware of Miss Davidson each time he returned home these last years. He had wondered if his notice was because she was a woman he would never have or because she had grown to be so lovely and self-possessed. Were she to have a London season—only the very rich and titled bothered with such a thing in this county—she would be a Town favorite, he was sure. But she was not one to go to London, and Mathew was here more permanently now, intent on learning the way of estate management long before he had to take on the full responsibility.

He had not dared hope that his relationship with Miss Davidson would improve now that he was settled back in town, but her look from last night had pricked his wildest imaginations just enough to give them full run of his thoughts now that she stood before him, begging the return of the favor he owed her.

“Of course I will help you.”

Her eyebrows lifted in clear surprise. “You will?”

He nodded, smiling now that it was all decided. How many times had he wished he could show her that he was not some irresponsible miscreant without a modicum of rational thought in his head? It seemed fate had given him that very opportunity. Once the debt was repaid, perhaps there would be a foundation set for building something more.

“Really?” she insisted.

He could not help but laugh. “Did you not come with the expectation that I would accept?”

“Desperation more than expectation, perhaps.” Her expression softened. “Thank you.”

There were details they should discuss—like how Miss Davidson imagined her mother might react after Strapshire left and Mathew’s attention faded, but Mathew did not want to introduce such concerns.

“What precisely do you need me to do?”

“Will you, by chance, be attending the Beards’ ball tomorrow night?”

“Certainly.” Mathew had been besieged with invitations once it was known his return to Brookborrow was of a permanent nature. His mother had made it quite clear to him that part of his duty, now that his schooling was finished, was to begin a family. He had not been looking forward to being paraded around like a pony at a show, but this was different.

“Would you ask me to dance the first dance?” Her cheeks turned pink, and she shook her head in self-reproach. “I can’t believe I am doing this. My mother would roast me over an open flame if she knew what I was about.”

“Then we shall make sure she learns nothing of it,” he said with a smile. “I will present myself for the first dance and, then, perhaps a waltz as the evening progresses? Two dances will make a statement.”

“Yes,” she said, sounding relieved.

“And perhaps I might invite you to walk through the gardens after that second dance?”

“Oh, please do,” she said, sounding nearly breathless. “And I shall look at you adoringly, and we shall have to come up with all types of things to talk about.”

“I’m sure it will not be too difficult.”

She frowned. “I fear this will be horrid for you, Mr. Hensley, and I do apologize for my ill-mannered visit and request. If I were not desperate, I would not have come, but I do appreciate your sacrifice for me.”

Desperate? Sacrifice?

She stood and he followed suit. They again locked eyes.

“What is your favorite color, Miss Davidson?”

She drew her eyebrows together. “My favorite color?”

“So that I might sent round a posy, as they do in London, and have you bring it to the ball. When Lord Strapshire notices, you can tell him it’s from me.”

“He won’t notice,” she said with confidence. “But Mama will. My favorite color is yellow, but the dress shall be lavender tomorrow night.”

“Very good,” he said, inclining his head. He put out his hand. “Shall we shake on our agreement?”

She looked from his eyes to his hand to his eyes again, then put her hand forward. He wished she were not wearing a glove so that he might feel her skin instead of the kid leather. Still, her gloved hand was warm, and she gave his fingers an affirming squeeze.

“Thank you, again, Mr. Hensley,” she said.

He smiled, feeling just a little bit wicked at his true hopes for this arrangement. With a little luck, he would not only overcome the poor opinion she had of him but earn her regard in the process. Perhaps he could even help her forget the Incident entirely by supplanting those memories with new, far more pleasant ones. “My pleasure, I assure you.”

THREE

“Is that . . . a posy?” Mama asked once she was seated opposite Bianca in the carriage the evening of the Beards’ ball. Her eyes lit up and her expression turned to satisfaction. “Did I not tell you Lord Strapshire was a considerate sort of man?”

“It is not from Lord Strapshire,” Bianca said, trying not to sound as smug as she felt. She had been right that Mama would take notice of the small bouquet. “It is from Mr. Hensley.”

Mama looked at the small bouquet of violets wrapped in yellow ribbon, and then at Bianca with surprise. “Mathew Hensley?”

Bianca nodded, keeping her expression neutral as her mother tried to puzzle out this turn of events. The carriage jolted forward at the driver’s flick of the reins, and it took a few seconds for the wheels to fall into a steady rhythm in time with the horse’s clippity-clop steps.

“But you two have never said a single word to one another. Did you not argue with me about inviting him to the dinner party last Tuesday night?”

“I did,” Bianca said, looking away so that her mother might not read her eyes too closely. “He has always been so much older than I and, what with his father’s title and all those years he was away at school, I never expected that his interest would turn to me.”

She lifted the flowers to her nose and inhaled the fragrance of the tiny blooms. They really were lovely. A small but fragrant bouquet, wrapped tightly with satin ribbon around the stems so that they were easy to hold. The ribbons trailed down nearly two feet from the bouquet itself. “I’ve never received a posy before.”

“Hmm,” Mama said, looking at her daughter with a ponderous frown. “One wonders why Mr. Hensley would seemingly avoid you—don’t tell me you haven’t noticed as much—and not even talk with you at the dinner party the other night, yet then send a bouquet.”

“He included a note,” Bianca said, grateful for that consideration on his part. She pulled the small paper from her reticule and handed it to her mother.

Mama read it aloud. “‘Please accept this token of my affection as an indication of my hopes of knowing you better. Yours truly, Mr. M Hensley.’” She stared at the note, reading it silently a second time. “I still don’t understand.” She regarded Bianca, who used all her strength of mind to keep from shifting beneath her mother’s gaze. To cover her nervousness, she raised the flowers to her nose again.

“I have never received a posy before.”

“You said that,” Mama said dryly.

“Well, I believe it bears repeating,” Bianca said, defending her redundancy. “Lord Strapshire has certainly never sent me such a consideration. Perhaps he sends flowers to himself instead.”

“Do not be unkind,” Mama said. But she posed no further argument and instead straightened her satin glove. The seam was not lined up correctly; perhaps she had put it on in a hurry. “I hope you remember that Lord Strapshire has been ever so attentive to you in other ways all the weeks he has known you, while Mr. Mathew Hensley has known you all of his life and is only now making any kind of connection.”

“Better late than never.” Bianca shrugged casually. “And he is to be an earl one day.”

“I just had never considered him for you,” Mama said, a thoughtful tone in her voice, as she turned to look out the window.

Bianca felt secure enough to claim this first interaction a success. Mama was surely pondering on her only daughter surpassing the title of baroness and moving straight on to a countess.

When they arrived at the Beards’ fine estate, the footman handed them from the carriage and they made their way to the ballroom. After being announced at the door, Bianca tried not to be obvious as she glanced around the room in search of Mr. Hensley. When she saw him standing near the exterior doors, she was surprised to find him in conversation with Lord Strapshire himself. Standing side by side made it natural to compare the men.

Where Lord Strapshire was handsome and poised with perfect hair and an elegant manner, Mr. Hensley was square-shouldered, solidly built, and a few inches shorter then Lord Strapshire, but still a hand’s width taller than Bianca. Mr. Hensley did not have such bright eyes, and yet there was a spark of intelligence in them that Bianca found more appealing. What good were beautiful eyes if there was no brain behind them? Mr. Hensley lacked Lord Strapshire’s square jaw and willowy physique, but he was dressed in elegant evening black, as opposed to Lord Strapshire’s more overt red coat and silver knee breeches. Lord Strapshire was not necessarily a fop, but, standing beside him, Mr. Hensley looked so . . . masculine.

The realization did odd things to Bianca’s stomach, and she turned away, certain that the anxiety of seeing the two men together was triggering her nervous reaction. But she could not keep her eyes averted for long and was soon watching the two men discreetly while Mama continued her conversation with her friends.

From his gestures, Bianca could tell that Lord Strapshire was telling some story he found quite fascinating, and although Mr. Hensley kept his expression neutral, she knew he was humoring the irritating man. His opinion of Lord Strapshire was the same as hers, which she considered a definite stroke of luck. If he had liked Lord Strapshire—as it seemed the rest of the village did—would he have been willing to help her? He must be very eager to settle the debt between them, otherwise he would never have agreed to this game that bordered on impropriety.

From her interactions with him thus far, she could see Mr. Hensley was very different from the rascal schoolboy who had somehow managed to end up tied to the rafters of that shed all those years ago wearing nothing but his drawers. . . She shook her head to keep from thinking about the Incident. To allow the memory too much room in her mind would make it difficult to look Mr. Hensley in the eye—even if he had grown into a steady, handsome man in the years since.

As though he could feel her eyes on him, Mr. Hensley looked at her from the other side of the room. He smiled and she felt her neck turn red. What if he had known what she’d been thinking of? She smiled shyly and tuned back into the conversation between Mama and the other matrons.

What does he see when he looks at me?
she wondered. The scrawny young girl with a muddy hem who had rescued him from his cousins’ prank? Or could he see her for the woman she had become?